by David Hosp
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ Cianna said.
‘Not that much. There are people who spend their lives studying these types of antiquities. I only have enough knowledge to recognize the basics.’
‘How did you learn it?’
‘It was part of my job, once,’ Saunders said. ‘Stolen artwork has formed a large part of Afghanistan’s underground currency for nearly a decade. The Taliban, Al Qaeda, many of the warlords – they all trade in these things when they are moving arms or drugs. I had to know enough to try to shut it down, or to use it for our own purposes if necessary. Any historian would tell you this piece is priceless.’
‘How much does “priceless” go for on the streets?’ Nick asked.
Saunders looked at him. ‘In the neighborhood of half a million dollars,’ he said after some consideration. ‘Maybe more.’
‘Nice neighborhood,’ Nick said.
‘I suppose,’ Saunders agreed.
‘You suppose?’
Saunders frowned. ‘You don’t understand what I mean. It’s a very important piece, and very valuable, but it doesn’t make sense that these people would be killing over this.’
‘It’s worth half a million,’ Nick said. ‘There are people in this neighborhood who’ll kill for a couple grand.’
‘Yes, but they wouldn’t travel halfway around the world to do it.’
‘If you bought the plane ticket, they would,’ Nick pointed out.
‘Let me put it another way,’ Saunders said. ‘The people we are dealing with are fanatics. This isn’t about money, unless we’re talking about enough money to buy a nuclear weapon – and a half-million doesn’t get you close. Besides, there are thousands of antiquities that have been stolen from Afghanistan and Iraq that are worth every bit as much as this. I can’t see what’s so unique about this that it would create some sort of an international conspiracy.’
‘Maybe it’s got some sort of religious significance,’ Cianna suggested. ‘That would give it more value for many people.’
‘It would,’ Saunders agreed. ‘But this is from the first century. We intercepted the message about your brother from Jihadis – radical Muslims – who wouldn’t care particularly about first-century nomads. Mohammed wasn’t born until the sixth century.’ Saunders began rewrapping the dagger in the old cloth, then stopped. ‘Do you have anything softer? The rag Charlie wrapped this in could scratch the gold.’
‘Sure.’ O’Callaghan dug around behind his desk and pulled out a soft plaid shirt folded into a drawer. ‘I keep an extra here in case I get spilled on.’
Saunders wrapped the dagger in the shirt and left the other cloth on the desk.
‘What now?’ Cianna asked.
‘Now we go back to your apartment,’ Saunders said.
‘The police may still be there. My neighbors would have heard the gunshots.’
‘Maybe, but there’s no blood and no bodies. They may ask some questions, but eventually they’ll have to give up and go home. Besides, we have to assume that Sirus will try to contact you to see whether you have the dagger. He can’t do that unless you’re at your apartment.’
Cianna looked at Nick, and he nodded. ‘It makes sense.’
Nick looked at Saunders. ‘You gonna take care of her?’
‘I can take care of myself,’ Cianna said.
Nick ignored her. ‘I’m serious. I know you’ve got a job to do, but I need to know that you’re looking out for her in all this. Otherwise I’m coming along for the ride.’
‘No need,’ Saunders said. ‘I’ll look out for her.’
Nick looked long at Saunders, sizing him up. ‘Okay, then,’ he said at last. ‘I’m here if you need anything.’ He nodded and led them down the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lawrence Ainsworth sat at his desk, his wide, bony shoulders hunched forward. In front of him a computer-enhanced map of Afghanistan revealed a mess of divided interests and limited control. Blue borders indicated the various zones where the American military still held sway, but many of them were dotted lines, a nod to the reality of a fully fluid situation. The map was the product of military intelligence enhanced with the information gathered by Agency operatives in the field. There were hundreds of such agents, all under Ainsworth’s control. No four of them combined provided the consistency of accurate and useful information that Saunders had when he was active, though. Without Saunders, Ainsworth felt like he was flying blind.
Ainsworth’s head was down, but he sensed the door open. It was a part of his training that would never go away. He’d grown accustomed to noticing every aspect of his surroundings, from a shift in a shadow, to the slightest breeze from an opening door.
‘Most people knock, Bill,’ Ainsworth said.
‘Most people have to,’ Bill Toney replied.
Ainsworth looked up. The retired colonel was younger than him – in his late fifties, with thick dark hair streaked grey at the temples and a posture that betrayed his military background – but still old enough to remember the Agency’s heyday, when the Cold War required that aggression be carried out in secret. Back then, secrecy was the greatest asset the Agency had in the battle for inter-governmental influence, and it had wielded that secrecy effectively to maximize the breadth of its influence and funding. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union there had been far more pressure on the American government to operate in the light of day. The world had little trust for its only superpower, and four successive presidential administrations had bowed remarkably, if not entirely, to a new spirit of transparency. Covert operations were now looked at as unclean – necessary evils to be tolerated only in the most extreme circumstances. As a result, the military’s power, and the corresponding power of Toney’s NSA, had grown at the expense of the Agency’s influence. Toney and Ainsworth were both well aware of their relative positions.
Ainsworth pointed to the chair across from his desk. ‘By all means, then. Please sit.’
Toney remained standing. ‘Where’s your boy, Saunders?’
‘On leave,’ Ainsworth said. ‘I thought it would be best for everyone.’
‘I heard a rumor he was up in Boston. That true?’
Ainsworth shrugged. ‘I don’t keep track of people when they are not on active duty. This job is consuming enough. You’ve got to allow people a little bit of space in their personal lives, you know?’
‘I didn’t think Saunders had a personal life.’
‘Like I said, I don’t keep track.’ Ainsworth leaned back in his chair, looking up across his desk at Toney. ‘Is there some reason you care? Are you planning out your next vacation? I could have Saunders give you a call when he gets back, give you a recommendation.’
Toney’s face was stone. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ Ainsworth leaned forward again and went back to his work. Toney remained where he was. After another moment, Ainsworth looked up again. ‘Was there something else, Bill?’
‘I’ve had my people look into this situation involving Charles Phelan,’ he said finally.
‘That quickly?’ Ainsworth sat back in his chair. ‘It only took two days.’ The sarcasm in his voice was thick. ‘You must view this as a high priority.’
‘There’s nothing to it,’ Toney said, ignoring Ainsworth’s tone. ‘He’s a nobody.’
‘I thought all our soldiers were heroes.’
‘He’s hardly a soldier,’ Toney continued. ‘He was a low-level shipping clerk. And not a very honest one, at that. It looks as though he may have been involved in some activities shipping looted goods out of the country.’
‘Not the sort of thing we encourage our people to do, these days, is it?’ Ainsworth watched Toney’s face closely. ‘Still, I suppose it’s the same story in every war. It’s not exactly surprising.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Toney said. ‘But it is embarrassing. And in this war anything that embarrasses the military can have more of an impact t
han in any other conflict we’ve dealt with before. We’re viewed as marauding Huns over there, set on conquering and pillaging the land. Anything that reinforces that image tends to inflame the passion of the Afghan people and provide recruiting material for the extremists.’
‘So,’ Ainsworth said slowly, ‘perhaps the best thing we can do is to make clear that we will not tolerate this behavior. Arrest him and put him on trial in a very public way.’
Toney shook his head. ‘You and I both know that won’t work. Look at Abu Ghraib. We couldn’t have been any more vehement or public in our disgust over that. Did anyone care? No. All anyone over there could focus on was that it happened. All anyone remembers is those goddamned photographs. It would be the same here. All anyone would focus on is the fact that some assholes in the Army were involved in smuggling antiquities. Christ, by the time the press got done with it, people would think we were paying our soldiers with the ancient treasures of Mohammed.’
‘Perhaps we didn’t go far enough in our treatment of those responsible for Abu Ghraib,’ Ainsworth ventured.
‘What are you talking about? They were tried. They are rotting in jail for the rest of their meaningful lives. That’s not enough?’
‘That’s just the people on the ground. Some might argue that nothing happened to those truly responsible. Those farther up the chain of command.’ His gaze bore into Toney’s eyes as he spoke. ‘Perhaps, in this case, if we found the people responsible farther up the chain of command and put them on trial, then people would believe in our commitment.’ He could see the muscles in Toney’s jaw tense.
‘I’m trying to prevent a civil war,’ Toney said. ‘Maybe you don’t comprehend that.’
Ainsworth shook his weary head. ‘The civil war has already begun,’ he replied. ‘Maybe you don’t comprehend that.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Saunders followed Nick and Cianna down the stairs into the dimly lit bar. It was clear to Saunders that the place was more Nick’s home than a business; more the definition of who he was than what he did.
‘Do you think you’ll open back up for the rest of the night?’ Cianna asked.
It looked as though Nick had just been pondering the same question. It was still relatively early. ‘Probably,’ Nick said. ‘I’m gonna be here anyways, and it shouldn’t be that busy a night.’
A voice from over by the doorway startled them all.
‘I don’t know about that, Spudge,’ the voice said. ‘It might get busier than you think.’
The light by the front door was flipped on and Saunders saw a short, balding man standing between what looked like three bodyguards. The man’s face looked like it had taken the worst of a few fights in the past, and his skin was pitted and veined. He held a gun, as did the two nearly identical men flanking him. The fourth man, taller and leaner than the other three, stood behind them, also armed.
‘Gruden,’ Nick said in an exasperated tone. Saunders recalled Nick’s earlier warning that a low-rent thug was looking for the dagger as well. He saw Nick’s gaze go to the tall young man behind the other three. ‘You’ve added to your entourage, I see,’ Nick said.
Gruden nodded. ‘You know Carlos McSorlly, right, Spudge? He’s been makin’ a name for himself in the projects. I think you’ll find that he’s pretty impressive.’
‘Too bad he’s never learned to read. The sign outside said the place is closed, Miles,’ Nick said.
‘Sign’s wrong. I say you’re open,’ Gruden replied. He looked Cianna up and down. ‘Good to see you back in the neighborhood,’ he said to her. ‘You still look good, Cianna. Your face is kinda fucked up, but I guess that’ll heal.’
‘I don’t see how you have a say in when my bar is open or not, Miles,’ Nick said.
Gruden smiled. He had the pointy, yellow-brown teeth of a goblin. He gestured with his gun. ‘I guess I’ll have to make that clear, then.’
‘I guess so,’ Nick said. Saunders thought it was probably not the best strategy to antagonize the man, given the situation, but he respected Nick’s refusal to back down to a man like Miles Gruden in his own bar.
Saunders scrutinized each of the four men carefully, looking for weakness. Gruden’s was clear: he was the leader, but he oozed over-confidence, and overconfidence was usually a fatal defect. The two twin fireplugs next to him looked as though they were concentrating hard on keeping their drool from running down their chins. They shared their boss’s overconfidence, but they lacked even the minimal intellect Gruden displayed. Without his leadership, they would be lost. The younger kid standing behind the three others seemed to be the wildcard. He had a slightly manic look in his eyes, and he was grinding his teeth loud enough for Saunders to hear it from across the room. Saunders’s impression was that he was crazy, and therefore would be reckless. That could be both a strength and a weakness, and Saunders would have to watch him most closely.
After his initial assessment, Saunders concluded that the four men posed more of an inconvenience than a genuine threat. If handled properly, they could likely be disarmed without much effort. He just had to wait for his opening.
Nobody moved for several seconds. Gruden nodded, and the three other men with him began spreading out bit by bit, forming a semicircle around Cianna, Saunders and O’Callaghan. ‘You’re gonna learn some respect tonight, Spudge,’ Gruden said.
‘I don’t think so.’ Nick moved back toward the bar. ‘You want a drink before the war, Miles?’
Gruden snorted at the question. ‘Never a care for you, eh, Spudge?’
‘I sleep okay,’ Nick said. He was up against the bar, and he put his arm on it, reaching casually to the other side.
‘That’s far enough, Spudge,’ Gruden said, raising his gun and pointing it at Nick’s head. ‘You think I don’t know what’s back there?’
Nick’s hand was dangling over the inside of the bar, less than a foot from where the shotgun was hanging. Saunders admired the tavern owner’s spunk, but it was clear to everyone that he would never get a shot off, even if he managed to get his hands on the shotgun. Nick pulled his hand back and frowned at the mobster. ‘What do you want, Miles?’ he asked.
‘I want to know where the dagger is. Between you and Charlie’s big sister, I know you know. You’re gonna tell me.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about,’ Nick said.
‘No?’ Gruden pointed his gun at Cianna. ‘Maybe if I shoot her, you’ll remember.’
Saunders moved in front of Gruden’s gun.
Gruden pulled the hammer back on the revolver. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded. He moved forward slowly until he noticed the shirt bundled in Saunders’s hand. Saunders shifted the bundle to make it less conspicuous, but it was too late.
‘That it?’ Gruden asked.
‘Is this what?’ Saunders responded.
‘Charlie’s antique golden dagger.’
Saunders squared his shoulders and clutched the dagger to his body. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, either.’
The tips of Gruden’s ears flushed red. His short forehead crinkled into a malevolent frown, and his smile became a sneer. ‘I don’t know who you are, but you’re gonna learn some fuckin’ respect tonight, too. I had a deal with Charlie to buy that, and I’m going to take it. You understand? Hand it over, and we can be on our way while you can still walk.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about me,’ Saunders said. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ll be walking out of here just fine.’ He wanted to draw Gruden in close. He was sure he could make quick work of the man, and that would throw the others into a panic.
Gruden laughed. ‘It’s four against two. And we’ve got guns.’
O’Callaghan looked at Saunders and Cianna, counting out the three of them with his finger. ‘He’s a math whiz.’
‘I don’t count girls.’ He leered at Cianna. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t hurt this one. I got other plans for her.’ To Cianna he said, ‘Word is you’re spending your time trying to save all the fu
ck-ups in the world.’
‘I haven’t reached out to you, so all would be an exaggeration,’ Cianna replied.
He laughed at that. ‘It’s a fuckin’ shame, you know? You could make a pretty penny for yourself with the right management.’ He leaned in closer to examine her face. ‘Yeah, that’ll heal, all right. A little makeup, and you’ll bring some good money even with it. You and I can talk some business. You can make a lot more with me than you can doin’ charity work.’
‘Fuck you,’ Cianna spat.
‘Well, yeah sure. For starters. We’ll see where it goes from there.’
Nick grunted angrily. ‘Get out of my bar,’ he said. ‘Now.’
Gruden spoke to one of his men. ‘Joe, why don’t you take the girl over to the side of the bar,’ Gruden said. ‘No need for her to be in the middle of this. She gets more bruises, and she’ll be worth less.’
Nick stepped forward, but Carlos McSorlly raised his gun and pointed it at his chest.
‘Keep it up, Spudge,’ Gruden said. ‘Trust me: Carlos, here, would like nothing better than to put a round into you. It’d only help his reputation.’
Saunders put a hand on Nick’s shoulder to hold him back. He didn’t want things to get out of control too quickly; the key was to take Gruden out first. Besides, he thought it would not be a bad thing to have Cianna moved from harm’s way. In truth he shared some of Gruden’s chauvinism, though his flowed from a far more chivalrous vein. He felt he could maneuver more freely if he wasn’t worried about Cianna getting caught in a crossfire.
Cianna, too, encouraged Nick to back off, which surprised Saunders somewhat. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘It’s not worth it, Nick. I can take care of myself.’
‘Listen to her, Spudge,’ Gruden said. ‘It’s not worth it.’
Nick looked over at Cianna and she nodded. ‘It’s okay,’ she said.
Gruden gave his goblin smile again. ‘Joe, take her out of this.’
