by Sarah Black
“You’re supposed to pretend you have some manners, you dickhead.”
Painter threw back his head and laughed. John put his hands on his hips and sighed. He had forgotten the way Painter liked to throw a wasp’s nest when he walked into a room, just to see what would happen. Gabriel was watching Brightman. His face was bright pink, and he looked like he was choking on a piece of meat. John wondered how many gay general jokes he’d been forced to listen to in the last couple of days.
“Give me those.” John pulled the files out of Painter’s hands. “How did your boys get to Tunis if they were working in Algeria?”
“I don’t know.”
Brightman got very busy suddenly, setting up the scanner/fax machine that had been delivered.
“They had a couple days off, didn’t report back to work. Nobody’s sure exactly when they split.”
“You don’t think somebody went into Algeria and snatched them? Why would they?”
“I don’t know, John.” Painter sounded exasperated. And worried. “Ransom? To hold the operation hostage? But I absolutely don’t want the Algerians involved, not after what happened last time.”
“Agreed. So what are you doing?”
“Security for a drilling operation. Natural gas fields.”
“Do you know who has the boys?”
“The communication I got was from the Ministry of Justice. Ali Bahktar.”
Gabriel looked up suddenly, and John put the files down on the desk. “Ali Bahktar? Is it….”
“Yeah. Same kid, as far as I know. He’s the right age, anyway. Now he’s an assistant muckety-muck for Islamic affairs. If he’s going to be a thorn in anybody’s backside, John, I want it to be yours. He tried to cut your throat, right? And the Horse-Lord stopped him? I bet he hasn’t forgotten.”
“Neither have I. I think he was thirteen, fourteen. Something like that.” John thought about this, studied Painter. If John went to Tunisia, it could very well enrage this kid, no, this young man, to the point he would make a strategic error. It might get John killed, but Gabriel would have his back, like always. It was a good tactic, to turn an enemy’s anger back against him, like throwing sand in his eyes. Ali Bahktar wouldn’t be able to think clearly until the irritant was gone. And by that time, the two men he’d come to rescue would be gone with him, quiet as smoke. “Okay, good.”
Painter stood up, handed an envelope to Brightman. “Expenses,” he said. “Do whatever General Mitchel or the Horse-Lord asks you to do, okay? Don’t fuck this up, Brightman. I’m giving you a chance here. And keep receipts.”
“I’ll try, sir.” Brightman’s voice was wooden. He stood at attention until Painter had closed the door behind him.
“Okay,” John said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get to work. Brightman, first order of business, get us a pizza. We’re starving. We haven’t eaten all day. You two decide what you want on it. Get me a bottle of water.” He pulled out a yellow legal pad so he could take notes. Painter had given him three folders. The first was labeled Samuel Brightman. The other two were labeled Eli Green and Daniel Forsyth. “And when the pizza is on the way, Sam, you can explain to me what you know about how these two guys ended up in Tunisia.”
Brightman studied the ceiling as if he were looking for the hand of God in the woodwork. “Uh, sir, you know anything about Spartacus?”
“You mean the historical figure of Spartacus? Organized a slave rebellion?”
“No, I mean the show. Like, Spartacus: Blood and Sand? Andy Whitfield?” He turned to Gabriel. “It was the first season, and Daniel went nuts over Spartacus. He starts reading all these books on Roman history. Then Andy Whitfield gets cancer, and all the guys were like in mourning. All I know is I overheard him telling Eli if General Painter sent him to Algeria, he was going to find a way to get to Carthage, lay some flowers down for Andy Whitfield. It was the right thing to do, sir. He felt like a brother warrior. Carthage, it’s in Tunisia, right?”
GABRIEL set up the computer, and when the pizza arrived, the three of them pulled chairs up to the table and watched the first episode of Spartacus: Blood and Sand. It was strangely bloody, even for ancient Rome, and John wondered why the director moved to slo-mo every time blood was spilled. It looked as though they were meant to watch with 3-D glasses.
Gabriel’s mouth dropped open at the love scene between the young Thracian and his pretty wife. Brightman was restless in his seat, but John spared his feelings, just handed over another slice of pizza with minimal eye contact. “Those are a couple of good-looking youngsters,” he offered. Gabriel reached under the table, squeezed his knee, hard. Finally Brightman had to excuse himself. John leaned closer to the screen and pointed. “Gabriel, there’s no way those two aren’t really screwing. Can you believe that? I didn’t think they could do that on TV. Jesus, that’s hot. I mean, look at his face.”
“I am looking at his face,” Gabriel said. He still had John’s knee in his hand. “We need to not watch any more ancient Roman porn with your new aide. I mean, that might be considered worse than watching porn with your parents, like workplace sexual harassment or something. He’s probably blowing a blood vessel right now.”
“Or blowing something. Agreed,” John said. “You can turn it off now. I think we’ve seen enough. So are we to understand these two knuckleheads went into Tunisia to visit the ancient city of Carthage, and they did something there that drew the attention of some authorities, who then took them into custody? And somehow Ali Bahktar got involved and decided to rattle a few American cages? I think our boys were confused about geography, or we don’t yet know the whole story. Why Carthage? Ancient Thrace was up around Macedonia.”
“Confused about sums it up, boss.”
Brightman was back, and from the spots of water on his shirt, John understood he had splashed cold water on his face.
“Okay, assignments. Brightman, work on reservations and transportation, leaving tomorrow if possible. Pack for yourself for a week. Find out if we can transport some weapons into the country, and if not, make arrangements for us to obtain some weapons from Painter’s people in Algeria. Better safe than sorry. Gabriel, can you do some research on Tunis and Carthage? I seem to remember it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Maybe we can find a way to get the UN or another organization involved. Do a political map of the ministries, if you can get up to date information, and see if you can find out the legal structure of the courts. I wonder if their law system is still primarily French Colonial? I will get us up to speed on Painter’s company and the boys, and the political climate in Tunis right now, since the riots last year. Also I’ll research young Mr. Bahktar for the last, what, fifteen years? What else?”
“John, it’s nearly eleven.”
John looked up from the file and glanced at his watch. “Oh, sorry, Gabriel, you’re right. I’m still in another time zone, I guess. Brightman, we’ll break for tonight. We’ll see you back here at 0800?”
Brightman stood up, and John noticed for the first time the fatigue on his face. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be here.”
John leaned forward over his computer screen, typed Government of Tunisia into the search engine. Gabriel leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen. “Let me have this pretty lemon-yellow shirt. I’ll send it down to the cleaners with mine.” He reached around, loosened the knot in John’s tie. “Why don’t you take a break? We can play Spartacus.”
John laughed at him, but he scooted his chair back from the table and stood up. “Was there some crazy, power hungry Roman general in the mix? That’s who I want to be. You get to go into the arena, jump around with a sword. Wearing sweat and a loincloth.”
“Sure to be a crazy Roman,” Gabriel said. He finished untying John’s tie, slid the silk from under the collar. “Hey, they have a pool downstairs. Fancy a swim?”
“Oh, yeah. That sounds good.”
“I like this new style,” Gabriel said, running his hands over John’s new haircut. “You still look like you, j
ust a little more… I don’t know.”
“Cooler,” John said, smiling up at him. “It’s all an illusion, my friend. I’m not even close to being cool. But if you like it, I like it.”
“The yellow makes your eyes look really silvery. I saw Painter giving you the once over.”
“He was just hoping I’d grown a fat ass sitting in a chair all day.”
“Batman doesn’t get a fat ass.” Gabriel pulled him close, reached down to nibble on the skin of his neck. “David Painter is such a dick.”
“What do you think of that story Brightman told us? About why the boys went to Tunisia?”
“Sounds like a bunch of Rangers. We need to bring them home, pronto, John. I didn’t like the sound of Ali Bahktar’s name, especially with Ministry of Justice behind it.”
John nodded. “Me, neither.” He gave Gabriel a squeeze around the waist. “Hey, did you take a good look at Green’s name? Eli Hannibal Green. I wonder if that’s our Carthage connection.”
“I bet his mom was a fan of the A-Team.”
“Either way, I suspect his name has ignited a passion for Carthage in young Mr. Green. Let’s hit the pool, get our laps in. And then we’ll see about playing Spartacus.”
Chapter 8
THE pool was empty, the rest of the hotel guests not being on New Mexico time. The water felt good on his back, and he stretched, let himself float on the surface. Gabriel nudged him. “Hey, old man. I don’t think you can catch me, not in the water.”
John shook his head, pulled himself against the edge of the pool, braced his feet against the wall. “You sure about that?”
Gabriel was doing the same thing, getting himself into launch position. “What are we racing for?”
“The usual. Tequila.”
“You’re on,” he said, and Gabriel launched himself off the side of the pool. Ten laps later, and John never caught up. He wasn’t far behind, though, maybe just the length of Gabriel’s long legs.
Gabriel threw a towel over John’s head, and he dried himself off.
“You want me to find you a pool back home, so you can work the arthritis out of your knee and kick my ass on a regular basis?”
Gabriel pulled him over by the waistband of his trunks, wrapped a dry towel around his waist. “I was thinking that very thing.”
They took the stairs up to their room, stripped out of their wet trunks. John went into the shower first, and when he came out, he saw the red light on the phone was blinking. He’d stuck his cell into the suitcase when they’d gone downstairs. He picked up the receiver, listened to the message. It was from Kim, asking him to call home right away, no matter how late. He dug out the cell, scrolled down through four phone messages that sounded increasingly frantic. He punched in the number for home, and Kim picked up before the second ring. “Uncle John?”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s trouble, I don’t know….”
“Is anyone hurt?” Kim hesitated again. “Who?”
“Juan. He’s not hurt, not really, it’s just that I was out tonight, taking pictures, and Abdullah came with me. And we saw him.”
“You saw him where?”
“Running with the baby gangbangers, Uncle John. Sureños 13. Wearing their colors. With a piece in his pocket. He pretended he didn’t know us, and we followed him when he left, picked him up and brought him here. He says he was just blowing off steam, it was no big deal.”
“Kim, he had a weapon? You’re sure?” John looked around the room. Gabriel was coming out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his face happy.
“Yeah. I’ve got him locked in one of the bedrooms. Billy’s with him. Uncle John, I didn’t know what to do! I just….”
“Pull it together,” John said. “You need to tell Gabriel what’s happened.”
“Oh, God, no! Can’t you….”
John handed over the phone. “It’s Juan. He isn’t hurt, but there’s trouble, Gabriel.”
John watched Gabriel’s face turn sick and white, his eyes blank. He looked like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water in his face. John turned back to the computer, pulled up the page for Southwest Airlines to see if he could find them a fast plane home.
“Let me speak to him, Kim.” There was a pause, and Gabriel said, “He said he wouldn’t talk to me? Kim, you listen to me. Listen. Don’t let him out of the house. Secure him with duct tape if you have to but keep him there until I get there. Have you called his mother?”
John looked up, and Gabriel caught his eye, shook his head. “A sleepover. Great. Okay, Kim. Hang tight. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Gabriel disconnected, threw the phone down on the bed. He stood there in his towel, frozen, staring down at the phone.
“Looks like there’s a 1015 out of Dulles,” John said. “Let me see if I can find anything earlier.”
“I did this, John.” Gabriel had his hands over his eyes. “This is on me. I couldn’t wait, I was so fucking miserable whenever we were apart, which was all the time, so lonely every time you left I felt like I wanted to rip my chest apart. And when it got so bad I couldn’t stand it, I got married, had the kids, tried to be somebody else, anyone else so I could spread it out a little bit.” He was pacing now, and John leaned back against the table, watched him.
“And it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t let you go, John, and when it got so bad again I thought no more, I can’t live this way, wearing the mask, always hiding behind that mask, I left. And when I did, I took that bright, happy kid who loved his mom and loved his school and loved riding with me in the chopper and I turned him into this.” He held up a hand when John started to speak. “No, don’t say anything. You know I’m telling the truth. He was full of light. And I just couldn’t let him finish growing up with a mom and a dad and an all-American family. I couldn’t do it, and now look where we are.”
Gabriel leaned over the table, his broad back so bent and humble John felt his throat close up just a bit. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was afraid the extra weight of his hand might be enough to break Gabriel’s back completely.
“Yes, you did it.” Gabriel straightened up, stared at him. “You did it and I did it, and he has made some choices, too. So what do we do now? We go home and work on our family and we help him walk back into the light. Okay? Settle down. Nothing’s happened yet. There’s time.”
“John, what if he really has done something? He had a gun. Kim said he had a gun. What if he’s done something he can’t go back from?”
“Let’s not make this any worse than it already is, okay? He’s still Juan. He’s still your kid that you’ve loved since he was born.”
Gabriel reached up, wiped roughly across his face with the heels of his hands. Then he turned and picked up the phone again, punched in a number. “Kim? If he won’t speak to me, then you go into the room and hold him down and put the phone up to his ear, you understand me? Just do it!”
John turned back to the computer. “Okay, I’ve got a 0745 out of Dulles.”
Gabriel was talking now. “Son, this is Dad. I know you’re mad right now. I don’t know what’s going on. But I wanted to tell you that I love you. No matter what, you’re my son and I love you. I’ll be home tomorrow, and we’ll figure this out. Juan? Will you talk to me, buddy?” He waited a moment, and John could see his shoulders sag. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I love you, now and forever. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
He turned back to the bed, threw down the phone again. “Martha thinks he’s having a sleep-over. I’m not going to call her until I get home.”
“We can be on the early flight,” John said. “That will put us home at….”
“No.” Gabriel put his arms around him, rested his chin on John’s head. “No, you need to go to Tunis, and I need to go back to Albuquerque. I’ll take care of this, and you go get these boys, okay?”
“I don’t want to leave you. I’ve spent too many years leaving you, Gabriel. We’re better together.”
“Brightman seems like a nice kid. He was a Ranger. He should be good to go.”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. Just be careful. Brightman, he’s lost an eye. He didn’t say anything about it, but he’s blind in one eye. Probably from whatever gave him that pretty scar on his forehead. But I wonder why he didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“I’m sure that’s why they discharged him. Painter wouldn’t have let him work security with one eye. Why did you decide you wanted him for your aide, anyway?”
John tugged him close, wrapped him up as tightly as he could, felt Gabriel’s heart beating through layers of muscle and bone and skin. “I’m Batman, baby.”
IT WAS more complicated than that, but John was used to going on instinct when he was choosing his team. Brightman had a still, controlled air. They were going to need that quality to get everyone home safely. But John read through the file Painter had given him, wondered if he’d made a colossal mistake.
They were sitting up against the headboard, reading files, both of them too keyed up to sleep. John handed the folder to Gabriel. “You are not going to believe this.”
Brightman had been discharged due to his blind eye, but he would have been discharged regardless, since he’d assaulted the eye surgeon who was trying to fix said eye. There were three notes from Painter, and John recognized the army shorthand. Brightman was an excellent soldier, top of his class infantryman, had qualified in LRR, long-range recon. But his forward progress had been marred by what Painter thought was a problem with authority. He’d been disciplined twice for physical assaults toward a superior, and that was before he’d had the head injury that cost him his eye and led to the assault on the eye doctor.
