by Tom Hron
Harry remembered when he’d first met him at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in San Diego in an off-campus class. His Mediterranean face, soft black eyes, and quick smile had seemed a little insincere, but that impression had been wrong. His white robes had hidden a swimmer’s body, someone who could dive two hundred feet just by holding his breath, and his smile was more mischievous than false in any way. No one knew the sea any better or had more courage than Shawki had.
When he’d gotten off the airliner at the Bahrain airport, Shawki had taken him to the dhow and given him a berth, then he’d almost slept an entire day away, catching up on his rest. Now he’d come up on deck for a supper of shawarma, roast chicken in pita bread, and a Rob Roy made from Shawki’s secret stash, since Moslems weren’t supposed to drink alcohol. Already they had reminisced about their college days and all the good times they’d had, and they’d also talked about pearling … but not the reason for Harry’s unexpected visit. Wherever he went on deck, Shawki’s curious gaze followed him.
Turning from where he had watched the sunset, Harry faced him. “Listen, thank you for getting me into the country. I would have been in big trouble without you, since I didn’t have time to pack anything or get the necessary paperwork.”
“I was thrilled completely when you called and said you were coming and remember very well when I visited your country and you were like a brother to me. It’s not often that one is given the chance to repay an old debt he has owed a long time.”
“There’s never been any debt.” Harry smiled. “You were my best friend when I had needed one, and UC was an awfully big step for a Montana boy.”
“Ah … for a Bahraini boy too, but we overcame those terrible times, yes?” Shawki laughed.
“Mostly because of your Mercedes and Cessna airplane, and it’s funny we got any grades at all.”
“You were the reason and made us study very hard, and so my father was generous. He was proud of me.”
Harry shook his head wistfully. “I miss those times when life was much simpler, when I never had to face anything, at least not like now. I guess I don’t know how to say this so it makes sense to you but I’ve lost everything, maybe even my freedom, as hard as it is to believe.”
The evening’s silence fell around the dhow, along with the setting sky. There had always been a strong intuition between them, created by their friendship and by the way they made their living, always on the edge of danger. Each had flown so fast or swum so deep they valued the moments when there was time to spare and the time to think. Somehow, Harry would finish saying what he had to say.
After leaving the Air Force, he told Shawki, he’d gone to work for Lockheed Martin, testing a top-secret airplane. On the maiden flight someone had tried to kill him and he’d crashed, or maybe it had been the other way around with someone trying to kill him after he’d crashed, he wasn’t sure. Anyway, he’d made his getaway by stealing a White House airplane, but now he was a man on the run, always having to look over his shoulder. He didn’t think he was even safe in Bahrain, and wondered if he had put Shawki in danger with his reckless escape.
“For the first time in my life I really don’t know what to do,” he explained. “I want to go back, but I know if I do I’m a dead man. There’s no greater mistake than making fools out of the FBI and the National Security Council, and they have the power to make me disappear and get away with it. Who’s to complain?” he added with a grim face. “They’d just cover it up.”
Shawki’s eyes opened wide. “Your government would kill you? What have you done wrong, Harry?”
“Nothing that I know of, but clearly there was a setup of some sort regarding my test flight. I wasn’t supposed to come back alive.”
“You are talking a little in circles, I think.”
“I realize that, but I’ve been made a target and I’m lucky to be alive. Almost no one was supposed to know about me, but now I see that was never true. Question is, was it the airplane or me they were after, or maybe both?”
Shawki raised his eyebrows. “Were you doing something besides flying?”
“I was watching over the technology a bit like a self-made counteragent.”
Shawki’s face suddenly looked like he had smelled smoke. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Our technology always gets stolen.” Harry looked off into the night. “We invent the most amazing things, and then the next thing we know, Beijing or Moscow has it, exactly the same thing. The idea was to stop that from happening again.”
“The manufacturer is the problem?”
“No, those people are great. The problem starts when the government gets their hands on it.”
Shawki took a long pull on his drink. “Tell me, why would someone want to destroy you and this secret airplane. What good would it do them?”
“I’m not sure and none of it makes any sense.” Harry walked to the dhow’s railing and turned. “The plane was the ultimate weapon, and I would have thought everyone in Washington who knew about it would have wanted it in the worst way. At least that’s what I thought when I first saw the head of the president’s National Security Council, a man named Skeleter, fly out for its maiden flight. But now I’m convinced that he had something to do with the crash.”
“What do you know about his background? Maybe he is the person you are looking for, actually.”
“I don’t know much about him, other than he’s been a White House advisor a long time. Through two or three administrations, as I recall.”
“Money, sex, and power … one must be the reason, or it could be all three, yes?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry gave a commensurate nod. “My father once said, ‘follow the money.’ Problem is there’s no way to do that right now.”
“You really want to go back, don’t you?” Shawki’s eyes held him for a moment, waiting.
“Of course, but it would mean my death sentence.”
“What if there was a way to endear yourself to your government, a way to make them like you again?”
Harry frowned. “I have no idea how to do that.”
Shawki grinned like a cat. “I might know of a way, and we could make twenty-five million dollars, besides.”
Twenty-five million. The number transfixed Harry’s mind like a spearpoint, and for a moment he wondered if Shawki had mistakenly thought he was more suggestible, given that he was so overstrung. Then he remembered he’d seen Shawki chase man-eating sharks simply for fun, so there was little doubt he had something in mind. “What are you thinking?” he asked in a cautious tone.
“We capture Abu Muhammad,” said Shawki confidently.
“The guy who took over for Usama bin Laden after he was killed?” he asked in disbelief. “You must be kidding. The State Department has had a price tag on his head for years and the CIA can’t even find him. They call him the Iron Mongrel because he once ripped someone’s throat out with his bare hands.”
“Yes, he’s a very, very bad man, I suppose why he’s worth so much money.” Shawki shrugged as if such details were of no importance to him and went on with same dispassionate tone. “There is always gossip between the boats on the pearling banks and this summer I learned that he’s hiding in Abadan. It was said the Iranians are helping him train terrorists and suicide bombers for Iraq, Israel, and your country.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Abadan. For God’s sake, we can’t go there.”
“Am I not right in thinking your government would be most thankful if you brought them Muhammad?” Shawki stirred his drink with a forefinger, lifted his eyes, and grinned. “All would be forgiven, yes? Your ex-wife works for Senator Jefferies, chairman of the Intelligence Committee? What more could you ask for, really?”
The dhow creaked and groaned on the harbor swells, then the amidships lantern flitted and hissed. Were the shadows dancing in its reflection somehow real? Harry wondered. They looked so much larger than life in the darkness, as if the ghosts of Anubis were somehow in
rhythm around him. Was he losing his mind? Shawki’s idea was actually making sense, given that he needed to expose his enemies, whoever they were. Yet …
He shot Shawki a diagonal look. “It sounds suicidal, and why on earth would you want to help me in any event?”
“You, of all people, are worried about danger?” asked Shawki in a burst of laughter. “Harry, you are flying airplanes at the speed of light almost and I’m diving to the bottom of the ocean always. What is so dangerous about Iran?”
Harry slowly walked back and forth in front of Shawki as if to say “Good point.” Finally, he stopped and asked, “All right, tell me what’s in it for you. You certainly don’t need the money, so why stick your neck out for me?”
“You are my friend, so I ask myself what you would do if I needed help.” Shawki sipped his drink and then spoke again with an elaborate wave of his hand. “But that is not the reason completely. My country is still a monarchy and it is only a matter of time before Muhammad and Iran tries killing my father and me because we are a part of the royal family. Sad but true. Therefore, I do myself a big favor if I get rid of him.”
“But you’re still pearling for a living, working shares with your crew. Won’t everyone see that as important?”
“Maybe for a little while.” Shawki wrinkled his face. “But then somebody will remind them that my father is the emir’s brother and that will be reason enough for them to kill us both when they get the opportunity.”
Harry clamped his eyebrows together. “Okay, presuming I’m willing to do this, how many men would it take?”
“The fewer the better, I think,” said Shawki. “We must come in from the sea at the mouth of the Shatt-al-Arab, the river just below the Tigris and Euphrates, and if there is more than three or four, someone will see us.”
“I don’t understand how you think we can find him. Abadan is a big place, three or four hundred thousand people as I recall, and we’ll get caught the moment we start snooping around.”
“I have a better idea. There is a terrorist camp near the Iraqi border that Muhammad visits often. He uses it as hostel for the insurgents and suicide bombers he sends around the world. Once we find that camp, it’s a waiting game with a very big payoff.”
Harry stood motionlessly, letting his silence help mitigate his answer. So many unknowns, he thought, but the FBI would be forced to leave him alone if they succeeded in catching Abu Muhammad. Afterward … Except where was the terrorist camp? He frowned. “I take it,” he said, “that you don’t know where the camp is located.”`
“Sad to say, no, and we must find out within a few hundred meters, at least if we can. Do you have any ideas?” Shawki glanced at him and then looked away.
“Yes, but it’s been a long time since I’ve asked her for anything. That’s what you were thinking, right?”
“Catherine would help you, no?”
“She would have to get the location off of CIA satellite and drone photos, which, believe it or not, are now so good you can count the rivets on an airplane parked at an airport.”
“Do you think she would?”
“If Senator Jefferies would help her, I suppose she would. They’re pretty close.”
“Is there something between them?”
“Maybe. I’ve never asked because it’s none of my business.”
“What happened between you two? You were perfect together.”
“In every way but our careers, given that she loved politics and I loved flying. I suppose our marriage was doomed from the start.”
For a moment Shawki sat quietly. Finally, he asked, “Will you call her then?”
Harry shook his head, although more to escape the painful memories than to answer the question. They had been so much in love. “I wouldn’t dare call, and we’ll have to find another way,” he said at last.
“Why can’t you call?”
“The NSA. The National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, which is an entirely different organization than the National Security Council. They eavesdrop on everything that’s said by telephone from overseas. All their computers are programmed to pick up key words in every language, and the moment she took my call they’d know our plans.” Staring ahead into the darkness, he paused. “… come to think of it, there is a call I should make, regardless, since there’s no other way to get in touch with him. Apache Joe would be perfect.”
“No would-be heroes please.” Shawki rolled his eyes. “This is a very serious thing. We will need two or three good men to pull this off, and then who knows how long we will have to live like rats in a snake-infested salt marsh, if we are even so lucky. One viper bite and it’s all over for us, and everyone’s endurance will be greatly tested, I assure you.”
“That’s why we need Joe.” Harry’s eyes looked possessed. “He’s lived his whole life off the land, and we won’t need anyone else if we take him along. He has two border collies, and they will be as good as a dozen men.”
He next explained how he’d met Joe and how much he had admired him, adding that no one knew more about deadly snakes and survival than Joe. This was someone who could keep them alive, someone who could assuage their weaknesses when it came to going without food and water, when it was so cold you couldn’t move or so hot you couldn’t think, when it was every bit as dangerous as a wasteland could be. There was a spiritual quality about him too, something else they might need before their odyssey was over. No question about it, he added, Joe was their man.
“Okay, you have me convinced,” said Shawki finally, “but how are calling him without tipping off the NSA, and we still need the satellite and drone photos as well? We’re back to where we started, I think.”
Harry peered into his Rob Roy glass and spun the ice around its rim. “I’ll call him and say that I want to buy his dogs, which should be innocuous enough. He already knows where I’m at. The camp, well, don’t you have access to the diplomatic pouches that go to your embassy in Washington almost every day? We’ll simply send her a letter.”
Shawki’s eyes lit up. “I should have thought of that. No one dares open a diplomatic pouch, and the letter will be hand-carried directly to her, and the same thing in return. Harry, I had no idea you were so Machiavellian.”
They calculated the time zones and then Harry used Shawki’s iPhone to dial the international code and Joe’s number in Arizona. A few seconds later, a recorded message came on and said the line had been disconnected. He tried again, thinking that he might have dialed the wrong number, but the recording just played once more. Fear drained his face. “He’s gone,” he said. “My God, they must have arrested him.”
Shawki peered at him. “What are you saying … who arrested who?”
“The FBI or the U.S. Marshals—they always do the dirty work for the government, either knowingly or otherwise. I tried to warn him that they might come after him and his line is dead.”
“Call somebody who knows him, a friend or something. You can’t just rely on a long-distance call. Maybe he’s just hiding, if he is as you say.”
Harry stared at Shawki. What were the names that Joe had given him for the dumpy place at the end of the road? Cannibal Junction and Max … who could forget? Using the iPhone again, he googled until he found an address and telephone. After dialing, the number picked up on the third ring.
“Yeah,” said a cigarette voice.
“I’m looking for Apache Joe, and he told me to call this number if for any reason I couldn’t get in touch with him. Do you know where I can reach him?”
“Who is this?” the voice wheezed.
“My name’s Harry, and I’m his friend.”
“Joe never knew nobody named Harry.”
“Yes, he does. Wait a minute, what do you mean by never? What’s happened to him?”
“Never heard Joe mention you, ever.” The voice sounded as if it might hang up any second.
“Listen, how would I know to telephone you if Joe hadn’t given me your name, and he’s got two dogs n
amed Cochise and Geronimo. For God’s sake, don’t hang up on me.”
For a few moments the line just breathed, then finally answered once again. “Lots of folks think Joe and the dogs are dead, blown up by a bomb of some sort, and the feds won’t let nobody near his place, saying they’re still investigating, so who in hell knows what’s going on?”
Harry felt his own breath catching in his throat. Why on earth had they done it? Joe hadn’t done anything and hadn’t known anything, either. Then he remembered something that had been said only a moment earlier.
“You said lots of folks … what do you mean? Do you think he’s still alive?”
“Maybe—maybe not. Listen, I got to go.”
“Wait, take a message for me. If you see Joe, tell him I called and want to buy his dogs. Can you remember that? I need his dogs right away.”
“Yeah, okay.” Then the line went dead.
Heartsick, Harry swung around and faced Shawki. “Someone bombed Joe’s place and no one knows what happened to him.”
Shawki made a serious face. “If he’s really what you described, he’s still around someplace. It will take us a few days to get ready, so give your phone call a chance. You’re the one who said how much he wanted to join you.” Shawki then let the night’s silence fall around them once again, lastly adding, “You know, it’s time you told me a little more about the night you crashed. You must have left out something.”
Harry nodded solemnly. Why in hell hold out? It was clear that he was poison to everyone he touched, and the secrecy oath that he’d signed had become, in every sense of the word, his death warrant. There was no one better to trust than Shawki.
“When I started my descent from orbit that night,” he began, “everything was operational. For over an hour the aircraft had tested perfectly in every flight mode, and the only thing that had gotten my attention was the controller had asked me to double-check my flight data subsystem. That had seemed a little odd, since he had all the readouts right in front of him.
