by Bobby Adair
The problem became acute for Najid because the men he’d actively recruited in the governments often died, leaving Najid to recruit again, mostly in the form of bribery, sometimes in gold or silver, sometimes with food or promises of powerful positions in a post-Ebola world.
So it was that Najid was on the telephone, “You said your name is Saeed Dalelv?”
Dalelv confirmed. He explained his position. He named the man he’d replaced, an Ebola victim just four days prior. Dalelv had been the man’s assistant and knew the job well, or so he said. One of the instructions that Dalelv’s predecessor had left him with was to inform Najid Almasi about anything having to do with any Western government’s interest in Dubai, especially if that government was the United States.
During the negotiation for payment, Dalelv said something that piqued Najid’s interest.
“Say that again,” Najid ordered.
Dalelv, startled by Najid’s sudden change in attitude, said, “The Americans are requesting permission to fly through our airspace, to possibly land in a remote location at their discretion and then fly away again.”
“Do you have more details?” Najid asked.
“I do not,” said Dalelv. “I found it vague and interesting enough I thought I should pass the information on to you.”
“What became of the request?”
“It was denied.” Dalelv said it as if it was a matter of course. “Insufficient information was supplied. I was not privy to the conversation, but the man who complained of it to me intimated that the Americans were planning one of their covert operations on sovereign Dubai territory and that it would be in everyone’s best interest not to allow them to proceed.” Dalelv couldn’t help but add his editorial views. “With all that is happening in the world, can the Americans not satisfy themselves with their own problems for a change?”
Najid did not answer. The question was obviously rhetorical.
Into the silence, Dalelv said, “There is one other thing.”
“Tell me.”
“The man who provided me the information about the denial of permission told me the Americans contacted his counterpart in Oman with a similar request.”
“Was that request granted?”
“It was.”
Najid, healthily paranoid from the bombing he’d survived, believed he might be the target of this American interest. “Do you have a date and time when this incursion is due to arrive?”
“I do.”
Najid listened and then told Dalelv, “This must be delayed. I do not care if it is stopped, but it must be delayed. I need an extra day to make arrangements. My gratitude to the man who could arrange such a thing would be significant.”
Chapter 41
Salim watched Paul make his way slowly up through the jungle gym of ladders and catwalks until he came to a stop again at Salim’s door. Salim knew he’d return. Even Salim knew the story he’d spun up with half-truths and lies wouldn’t stand up to inquisitive contemplation.
He’d wished a thousand times he hadn’t said anything to Paul Cooper, but in those days leading up to that one in Paul’s clinic when he’d gotten Paul’s attention, he’d felt a compelling need that grew and grew until he’d had no choice. Each time he saw Paul, he looked like a man carrying a burden that would soon crush him. Salim believed that news of Austin might help him. Unfortunately, Salim never thought much past that point. Hence, the hastily constructed, amateur lies.
Paul came to a stop and glared. “A woman died today.”
“The rumor is that she was alive when they took her out of your clinic,” said Salim.
“When I talked to the doctor a couple of hours ago, he said she had a lot of problems. She died when they were trying to revive her.”
Salim shook his head and looked down. Death lurked everywhere, taking anyone. Salim had seen too much of it. “Why are you telling me?”
“It was your fault.”
Salim knew that to be true. How did Paul know it as well?
“Tell me the real story about what you were doing in Africa. Tell me the truth about my son.”
Salim turned and walked a slow circle in his cage. He thought about his dead sister, mother, and father. He thought about all those bodies he’d seen in Kapchorwa, Dallas, and Denver. So many dead. He knew his guilt. Maybe he deserved to have Paul make good on the threat to drain him dry. No, he deserved something a million times worse. Ten million times worse.
“I went to Pakistan to do my part for jihad.”
“You are a terrorist, then.”
Meekly, Salim said, “Was.”
Paul waved a hand at the Arab men and women in the other cages. “These are your terrorist buddies?”
“I don’t know who these people are. I never saw any of them before they put me in here.” Salim drew a deep breath. “Before I tell you the true story you need to know this: everything I told you about Austin is true. I saved him from the burning hospital. He was alive when I left him there.”
Paul’s anger flared. “When you left him to die?”
“Maybe.” Salim forced himself to look into Paul’s fiery eyes. “I didn’t start out to kill everybody on the planet, but that’s what I was a part of.”
“What did you do it for then?”
“Not this.” Salim stared into the rusty dimness of the silo. “I was stupid. I wanted to fight for a cause I believed in.”
“Jihad?”
Salim shook his head as he spoke. “Not that. I thought it was that, but I was wrong. I only know it made sense to me at the time. I was stupid. What they put me in by sending me to Kapchorwa, I never would have agreed to do that. We were all tricked. When I started to suspect something truly evil was in the works, I did my best to save Austin. I saved some other people too. I could have been killed for it.”
“You weren’t killed because you were too much of a coward to stand up to the terrorists holding your leash.”
Salim accepted that. It was probably true. He could have hauled Austin into the trees and stayed with him but at the time, he—he didn’t know what he was thinking. He was out of his head with fear that night and doing his best to hold onto the tatters of his humanity by saving those he could.
Salim sat down on the floor of his cage and asked Paul to sit down as well.
He told Paul his whole story; from the minute he boarded a plane to leave Denver on his way to Pakistan, to the moment he found his parents and his sister dead at the house after traveling halfway around the world to get home. He left out no detail. He admitted every sin.
Within a couple of days of arriving home, the police arrested him and brought him to the detainment facility where he eventually ended up in a cage in silo K3.
By the time the story was done, Paul was leaning against the support bars that served to keep Salim in. Nothing was said between them for a long time until Salim said, “If you drain me dry tomorrow, I’d deserve it.”
“You would.” Paul’s voice had lost the angry edge. He sounded defeated.
“I can’t make up for what I’ve done.”
“Nope.” Paul turned and looked at Salim. “Why haven’t you killed yourself?”
Salim turned away.
“Seriously. How do you live with the guilt?”
Salim got angry and glared at Paul.
“I’m not asking you to kill yourself. I sincerely want to know why you haven’t.”
“I don’t know.” Salim put his head in his hands. “I think suicide compounds my stupidity with cowardice. Death brings an end to my suffering.”
“Life in the silo is shit.” Paul looked around. “But you’re not suffering, not like most people out in the rest of the world.”
“My suffering is spending every moment I’m awake feeling the weight of my choices, knowing what I’ve done to hurt more people than I can imagine, knowing that every person I meet for the rest of my life is almost certainly the relative of somebody I killed by bringing Ebola here. If you want to strangle me, Mr. Co
oper, reach your hands through the cage and do it. I will not resist. I deserve that, and more.”
Paul didn’t reach through the cage. He didn’t know what to do.
Salim said, “Until the day when somebody takes my life I’ll gladly give my blood or anything I can. I hope it saves some lives.”
Chapter 42
The night came and went with no attack from the Somalis, though at least a thousand of their reinforcements had taken up a position in the cover of a collection of houses and trees within sight of the south wall. The jihadists and Somalis who had retreated the night before had moved mostly into the city north of the airport.
While waiting for the attack to come, Mitch brought Austin to the east side of the perimeter set up by the Marines. He took away Austin’s AK-47 and gave him an M-16 that matched those used by the Marines.
“We’ve got plenty of ammunition for the M-16,” said Mitch. “If the attack comes and if things get bad, you need to be ready to shoot. The CO is thinking about putting you and the other novices out here on the east end of the camp with a platoon of Marines to keep you from wetting your pants.”
“I won’t wet my pants.” Austin had no idea what would happen if he were part of a line of men defending themselves against a mob of attacking Somalis. “But do you think it’s a good idea to have civilians defending the base?”
“The CO’s words, not mine,” said Mitch. “And you won’t be defending the base. You’ll be defending your life. That’s what this is, Austin. The Somalis might be trying to take the base, but they won’t be taking prisoners. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m going to show you how to reload this thing and how to shoot while lying on your belly or kneeling. I don’t want you standing up while you shoot unless you absolutely have to.”
“Okay.”
“Most importantly, if this all goes down, you need to pay attention to the Marines. Do whatever they tell you to do. Whatever they tell you even if you don’t agree, even if you think it’s a bad idea. They know what they’re doing. You don’t.”
“Got it.”
“If they shoot, you shoot. If they retreat, you run. Got it?”
“Got it, boss.” Austin looked at the burned-out frames of several planes on the tarmac east of their position. “Do you think the Somalis will come during the day?”
Mitch shook his head.
“Then we’ll miss out. If they come tonight, we’ll be gone.”
Mitch shook his head. “Still trying to get final permission to land in Muscat. It’ll be tomorrow evening at the earliest.”
Austin looked down at his new weapon. “You said we have plenty of ammunition?”
Mitch nodded.
“I guess I need to find out if I’m a prodigy with this thing. Show me what to do.”
Chapter 43
Three backpacks stuffed full of plasma made up the load Larry needed to haul to the surface. He stared at them on the floor. He grumbled.
Paul stood back and watched Larry. “This is what you wanted. You said fill all the bags. You said we didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re carrying two.” Larry glared at Paul. “I’m carrying one.”
Paul shook his head. “Make two trips. This is your deal, and you’re the one making money here.”
Larry leaned over and rubbed his knees. “I been up and down the damn ladder all day. I ain’t makin’ two more trips tonight. You better haul this shit, or it’s your ass.”
Paul leaned over and selected one of the backpacks. “I’m taking this one, do what you like.” He marched out of the clinic, leaving Larry to grumble threats. Paul didn’t care. He’d climb the ladder and leave the bag in the tall, dry grass beside the dirt path that led from the exit hatch to the warehouse. Then he’d go back to his bunk and stare at words on the pages of a book he still wasn’t reading. He’d come back out later after Larry had done his business. Paul would stare at the diamond sparkles in the blackness above and try to find the moment of peace that got him through each day.
When Paul reached the ladder, Larry was still lagging far behind. Paul climbed. When he was ten rungs up, Larry was coming up the hall, complaining about the weight of the bag, making threats he could do nothing to back up, and muttering about his knees.
The ladder creaked when Larry mounted it. Paul hurried. Distance would help mute the echoes of Larry’s bitching.
“Wait up,” Larry called.
“Why?” Paul asked. “We’re climbing a ladder. We’re not walking through the woods.”
“Wait.”
Paul climbed a few more rungs at a tentative pace while he looked down. “What?”
“You gotta wait for me.”
Paul kept on and heard Larry scrambling on the ladder to catch up. “Why do I have to wait for you, Larry?”
“‘Cause.”
“Because why?”
“The Captain.” Larry stuttered through a few pants. “He wants us to come up together. Security or somethin’.”
Paul shook his head. Larry was lying. He set his pace and moved on up. He paused. What if Larry was telling the truth?
Larry closed the distance until he was on Paul’s heel.
Something bumped Paul’s foot as he took a step up. “Watch your hands, you’re too close.” Paul got angry. Larry truly was an idiot. He took another step and Larry’s hand gripped his ankle and yanked. Paul’s feet swung out, and he barely caught himself with his hands. “Dammit!”
“Stop,” Larry ordered.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Paul looked down as he tried to get his feet back on a rung.
Larry had an elbow wrapped around a rung and was making every effort to pull Paul off the ladder with his other hand.
“Let go,” Paul yelled.
Larry’s eyes were full of hate, and he yanked.
Paul kicked.
Larry grunted. “Stop it.”
“Let go.”
Larry’s hateful stare didn’t turn away. He pulled harder. He leaned back, holding the ladder with one hand, daring to hang most of his weight on Paul’s ankle.
“Stop!” Paul kicked at the fingers on his ankle.
Larry cursed.
Paul kicked again, and Larry’s bony fingers unclamped.
Larry screamed.
He thudded at the bottom of the shaft with a grunt as the concrete floor pushed all the air out of him.
With hands shaking, Paul got his feet set, and wrapped his arms around the rusty ladder to look down. Larry was at the bottom. One of his arms was moving. His head lolled. A bone protruded from his shin. Another broke through the skin below an elbow.
Chapter 44
They hauled Larry up vertically. He’d been tied to a cage stretcher, the kind that dangled out of rescue helicopters. Larry was half-conscious, moaning, and hollering.
Paul, his shoulders stiff from his part at pulling on Larry’s rope, now stood in the grass on the surface just outside the hatch, looking alternatively at the three backpacks at his feet and at Captain Willard. Willard was perturbed and silent as he looked alternatively at the bags and at the warehouse. A semi-trailer was backed up to the warehouse, its diesel engine idling. The driver clearly expected to be leaving before long.
Captain Willard looked Paul up and down. He pointed at the backpacks. “I know you’re in on it. Larry told me you’re one of his boys.”
Paul didn’t respond.
“Here’s how it’s going to work now,” said Captain Willard. “Larry Dean is out of action. We got to make a delivery and get payment tonight. When I say we, I mean you. I go over there, and I do what I do. I inventory all the legit stuff. I do it in front of the camera. Only one of them works.” Captain Willard pointed at the warehouse. “Have you been in there before?”
Paul shook his head.
“I’ll point out which camera works. I’ll point to where Larry stashes the contraband. After I leave, you make the exchange with Millie; she’s the truck driver. You’ll do it all out of the area
where the camera can see.”
“You sure the other cameras don’t work?” Paul asked.
“You don’t ask questions. I know what I know. You do what you’re told. Understand?”
Paul did understand, but he resented it one-hundred-percent.
“After you get the payment, you stuff it in the backpack. Don’t take cash. Millie’s a wily old bitch. She might try to give you cash because you’re new. Gold is what we trade in. That’s it. She’ll have it.”
“Gold coins?” Paul asked. “How much?”
Captain Willard reached over and tapped Paul on the side of the head. “You’re supposed to be one of the smart ones. Good God, you’re dumber than Larry. Jewelry. Watches. Shit like that. That’s what people are trading these days.”
“How will I know if it’s real? How will I know how much to take?”
Captain Willard heaved a great sigh. “You don’t worry about that. You just make sure she gives it to you. I’ll check it all out after you bring it to me. If what she gives us is bad, then she gets nothing next time. We’ll take our business to other drivers.”
“Got it, bossman.” Paul didn’t figure his tone was enough to convey all the sarcasm he meant, so he topped it with a fake smile.
“Bossman is right and don’t you forget it. Pick up those bags. Let’s go.”
Chapter 45
The supplies Millie brought in had been unloaded. The legitimate boxes of plasma were scanned, accounted for, and loaded onto the truck for Millie’s return trip. The plasma was bound for the distribution pipeline to hospitals and clinics that treated Ebola patients.
Only Paul and Millie were left in the warehouse.
“Now that it’s just the two of us. Where’s Larry?” Millie showed her smiling yellow teeth.
“He had an accident.”
Millie’s smile waned into something clearly fake. She put a finger to her head and pantomimed pulling a trigger. “Accident? Did he get cross with the wrong people?”
“Nothing like that.” Paul thumbed in the direction of the silo complex. “He slipped off a ladder coming up from the silo earlier tonight. He got hurt pretty bad. Compound fractures, and a concussion, I think.”
