“Alhamdulillah.”
“My friend. Do you remember the prayer for the dead?”
“No.”
“Say what you can, when you must.”
“What do you mean, Arif?”
“Thank you for everything. Jazakallah19. Please, go back. I will speak to the tribesmen.”
Mahmoud walked away after a gentle push from Arif to send him on.
* * *
18 nonbelievers, non-Muslims.
19 May Allah reward you.
Chapter 40
Arif called an elder tribesman to him. Josh stood waiting between LB and Khalil. LB remained bareheaded, his helmet in the truck bed. The spy wanted to sit, but Josh jerked him upright.
The ring of two dozen tribesmen eyed the four of them in the center. The qabili appeared unsure, twitchy. The surrounding desert and night sky were not evident under the glare of the headlights, and the evening cool had disappeared. The pangs in Josh’s side and forearm had also vanished. He sensed only sight and sound and the slip of sweat down his back.
Berko murmured into his microphone, and several times he answered, “I don’t know. Hold.”
Khalil staggered. Josh jammed a hand under his armpit to right him. Khalil looked around confused, as if he’d just arrived.
“What is happening?”
“Hang on. We’ll be out of here soon.”
While Arif conferred with the old man, Berko kept up a narrative into his radio, tapping the button at his vest, describing the shifting situation.
Arif patted the old man’s back to usher him off. He leaned to kiss his wife’s forehead, then stood to behold the four of them lined up in the lights.
He beckoned for LB to come to him.
Berko held LB back.
“What’s that about?”
“Don’t know ’til you let me go.”
The lieutenant unhanded LB, not liking him walking off alone. Berko asked what Josh thought was going on and got a shrug.
LB moved beside the stretcher, edging Arif aside to check the IV running into the princess’s right arm free of the burqa. When he was done, he made room for Arif. The big Saudi planted both hands on the Stokes litter to hover over his wife. He lowered his face to hers, and in the shining headlights, a glistening tear dripped from him to run down his wife’s cheek as if it were hers. He smoothed it away with his thumb, then spoke in English to her closed eyes.
Arif talked to her low and privately, with LB standing close. The ring of men and weapons waited; Josh began to fidget, taking on the anxiousness of the tribesmen.
Arif pushed away from the stretcher and tailgate. LB returned to his place beside Josh, while Arif strode to the middle of the circle. Josh nudged LB.
“What was that?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. This guy.”
“Tell me.”
“Can’t.”
“What’s he going to do?”
“We’re about to find out.”
Arif faced the four of them from several strides away. In Josh’s grip, Khalil began to tremble.
Berko muttered into his microphone, “Hold.”
Arif hoisted a wide palm at the unseen stars. He lifted his voice to match the hand, for the Americans and the spy and all the tribesmen to heed him in the heart of the lights.
“Abidah. Sai’ar. Ba-Jalal. Hear me.”
Arif spoke, pivoting as if on a slow turnstile to address the tribesmen in the ring and hunkered around the hut, and the five men standing at machine guns in the beds of the pickups.
“You have shown me great loyalty, all of you. Men of the Abidah, you came at a call that a guest in your village, a man of the Kingdom, not one of your own, had his wife stolen from him. I thank you.”
LB nudged Josh to have him interpret the Arabic. Josh shushed him.
“Qunbula Hossain. Three of your kin were murdered this night trying to stop the kidnappers. I respect your rights.”
Josh bit his tongue, hard-pressed not to speak up. The gunfight at the roadblock had been set off by the Sai’ar’s extortion. It hadn’t been murder but escape. How was Arif arguing for their safety by saying this?
Arif scanned the circle again.
“Brothers of the Ba-Jalal. Men of honor. You have paid a harsh price for your father’s vow to me. No man is worthy of such faithfulness, nor could he repay it.”
Arif lowered the hand to aim it at Nadya.
“My wife lies at the gates to Paradise only because she did not leave me in Afghanistan. Or in the Kingdom. Or in prison. Or in Yemen.”
Arif spread his arms wide to encompass all who had gathered around him. Skewered on the surrounding lights, in flowing clothes that made him seem greater, the bearded Saudi seemed a prophet, an angry one.
“You are here . . .”
He swung to confront Josh, the two pararescuemen, and Khalil.
“You are here . . .”
In a flash, Arif whisked from under his tunic a black pistol. He stuck it at the sky.
“For me.”
Arif fired a round. Everyone jumped. Josh lost his grip on Khalil, who wobbled but stayed upright.
Arif held the smoking muzzle aloft, the way the Bani Yam and Josh had held their janbiyas only an hour ago. He thundered.
“I claim, for all of you, the right to tha’r.”
Arif continued to pivot under the gun, glowering so intensely he seemed on fire. He demanded of any tribesman or brother to contest his right to take vengeance on their behalf. None answered.
Arif lowered the pistol to LB’s chest.
LB drew back, then caught himself. One hand rose to his vest to push the talk button for his radio. He said only, “No. Hold.”
The stocky sergeant took a stride toward the gun.
“Okay.”
In the next heartbeat, young Berko moved up beside him, towering over LB.
Josh hauled Khalil forward into line.
Arif swept the dark eye of the pistol across the four of them. Inside his beard, his upper lip curled away from his teeth. The gun planed back across their lineup, settling again on LB. Arif kept his voice to the tribesmen loud.
“This American and his men are warriors. But they were not called to battle here. They, too, have taken an oath. They vowed to save my wife.”
LB, with the pistol on him, urged Josh in a whisper. “What’s going on? What’s he saying?”
Before Josh could answer, Arif elevated the gun just above LB’s bare head. He fired a round sizzling over the desert. At the bang, LB stumbled back a step, expecting the impact.
Without pause, the Saudi swung the pistol to Berko’s big frame. Berko winced as Arif shot past his helmet.
“For her life, I give you yours.”
Again, Arif held the gun high and rotated, a commanding figure.
LB and Berko both gulped hard, stiffening their legs. Berko rubbed his face and breathed into his palm. LB spit.
“What the hell was that?”
Hurriedly, Josh began to explain Arif’s Arabic, the reprieve. All around them, the qabili were restless, mumbling but accepting so far.
Arif dropped the gun to his side. A different energy suffused him, the swelling performance over. Arif’s voice turned intimate, not a pronouncement. He faced Khalil and challenged him.
“Who is your tribe, spy?”
Khalil licked his lips, eyes downcast. Arif asked again.
“Who is your tribe?”
Khalil shuddered against a chill only he felt.
Josh lifted a palm in Khalil’s defense. Arif did not acknowledge this, and Josh let the hand down.
“Huashabi.”
Khalil answered in a clear voice, his black shoes spread apart in the dirt, his wounded shoulders squared, “I am Huashabi.”
Josh marveled how the man, twice tonight, faced guns.
Arif nodded.
“You drugged my wife. You kidnapped her.”
“It was my mission. I am a soldier.”
“You killed three Sai’ar on the road.”
“I had no choice.”
“Your mission.”
“Yes.”
Arif stepped closer. Two-handed, he whipped the pistol up.
“This for that.”
The bullet struck Khalil mid-chest. Standing close, Josh recoiled from the blast and the muzzle flash, the zip and thud that blew Khalil off his feet. The spy’s arms flew up and for an instant he fell as if reaching for Josh to catch him. Khalil landed dead on his back while the noise fled and the qabili muttered in approval.
Josh searched for his footing. He staggered in front of the two pararescuemen. Needles burst in his rib cage. Behind him, LB and Berko quivered, too, but wanting to act.
Lowering the gun, Arif turned another circle, shouting to the tribesmen.
“The Huashabi have paid the Sai’ar. There is nothing beyond this.”
The qabili bobbed their heads, muttering, Yes, it is fair.
Arif let their agreement percolate a moment before again raising the pistol high into the night.
The price was not to be just Khalil.
LB saw this, too. Josh reached back an arm to hold LB behind him.
Arif bellowed directly at Josh, directing the pistol with his voice.
“The Abidah have lost two brothers. They were American murders. They are an American debt.”
Arif lowered his volume, only for Josh. He spoke in English.
“Afterward the others may go.”
Josh, the bigger man, shoved LB away.
Chapter 41
The bullet spun Josh around and dropped him on his face. His hands clutched in the dirt; one knee tried to crawl.
LB bent at the waist, screaming.
“You gave your word. You son of a bitch.”
From steps away, Arif trained the pistol between LB’s eyes.
“I promised you no one would die who did not have to.”
LB leaned toward the gun. He growled, rooted to the spot. Arif gazed back at him down the short barrel.
Berko moved between them. Arif followed the lieutenant with the gun. Berko ignored the pistol to kneel beside the groaning diplomat.
LB struggled against the momentum of his temper, Arif’s betrayal, more spilled blood. Behind the gun, Arif seemed controlled, cold, and LB despised him more for that.
Berko rolled Josh onto his back beside the dead spy. The bullet had struck high and right in the torso, not a clean shot to the heart like Khalil. Berko tugged the knife from his ankle holster. Arif pointed the pistol at the back of the lieutenant’s head while the kid sliced through Josh’s bloody sweatshirt.
Berko exposed the wound only long enough to press both hands over it, oblivious to Arif’s gun behind his head.
“LB. Get your med ruck.”
Arif did not shift the pistol from Berko’s head. LB hesitated, unsure what he would do if the Saudi pulled the trigger.
“LB. Snap out of it. Go.”
LB ran for the pickup, still focused behind him, afraid to hear the crack of the pistol. He reached the princess, unconscious on her litter. He could easily snatch his M4 out of the truck bed. The image of the rifle in his hands blaring at Arif made him leave it behind. The gun could do nothing to save any of their lives right now. He grabbed his med ruck. When he’d turned to hustle back, Arif had walked away.
None of the tribesmen moved or took their hands off their guns.
The diplomat’s wound was bad, but the bullet had missed the lungs and airway. Blood ran without bubbles; he was able to breathe. Tango two. Berko took away his hands and peeled off his stained plastic gloves. He gave over to LB the tending of the downed diplomat, to get on the radio.
LB stuffed combat dressing into the wound. Fired from close range, the round had drilled a neat hole; the big diplomat was so thick the bullet hadn’t exited. LB couldn’t guess where the round had stopped. After striking the collarbone it could have ricocheted anywhere inside the trunk. If the bullet wasn’t sitting next to his heart or his aorta, if Josh left this place alive and made it to surgery, he had a chance. Along with the princess, he had a five-hour trip ahead of him. LB readied a fresh bandage and gauze wrap.
On the team freq, Berko hailed Jamie and Mouse out of the mud hut, to hurry forward with another Stokes litter. Quickly the young lieutenant briefed Wally, who was watching from the dark desert. Wally responded with “Roger.” Berko was doing the job right.
Josh wheezed through clenched teeth, his color paled. He put a powerful grip on LB’s forearm.
“Get out of here.”
“We are.”
“He said you could go.”
“We’re all going.”
“Khalil.”
LB reached over to check the spy’s carotid pulse. He touched only silent flesh.
“No. Stop talking. It’s not your strong suit.”
Josh’s groan pained him.
Mouse and Jamie joggled out of the hut carrying a second Stokes litter from the GAARV. LB tapped his PTT to tell them to go back for a body bag.
Arif’s shadow crossed him. LB rose fast, and they almost bumped chests.
“Keep your calm, Sergeant.”
“That’s tough. Trust me.”
“You will leave the spy’s body.”
“We’ll take him.”
“He is Yemeni and Muslim. The Sai’ar will bury him in the correct way. They will notify his clan.”
LB let this go. It sounded better than anything he had to offer Khalil, just a plastic bag, a long ride in the dark, a cold locker, a wait to contact his kin.
“Why’d you shoot them?”
“To allow you and your men to go free. There was no other way. Others, as you say, needed to live.”
LB indicated Josh, making it plain that Arif would have to go through him.
“What about him?”
“I’ve spoken to the Abidah. You may take the diplomat.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“To put you in my debt.”
LB tempered his tongue. Like his rifle, it could do nothing but claim more victims.
“For what?”
“So you will take my wife with you.”
“That’s the smart move.”
“You’ll keep her alive. You’ll get her to the best hospital.”
“As fast as I can.”
“You’ll save my wife, Sergeant.”
“I will.”
“It’s very important you tell her everything I said to her. For her ears only.”
“I will. And I’ll tell her what else you did.”
“If you must.”
“Is that why you didn’t shoot me?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. Well. Thank you.”
Behind them, Mouse and Jamie trundled the diplomat on the litter toward the mud hut, to load him into the GAARV. Berko knelt alone in the ring of headlights, watched by the armed tribesmen. He finished tucking the spy into a body bag.
“You know the diplomat’s story. You can fill that in.”
“You mean the man you shot?”
“The man I did not kill, Sergeant.”
Berko lumbered past. He bore the zipped-up corpse across one shoulder.
“You’re still a murderer.”
The Saudi faced off with LB, a head taller.
“Yes I am. You seem to want to judge me.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Have you killed, Sergeant?”
“It was never murder.”
“Of course. Always in uniform. Always
under orders.”
“That’s right.”
“There is a man on the desert road fifty miles south who would argue otherwise, if he had not been reduced to ashes by an American mistake. My wife, kidnapped and shot, would be dead by a bungled CIA plot were it not for you. Forgive me, Sergeant, I am without the luxury of a uniform. I had to decide. Not someone else.”
Arif held up a hand to stop LB from replying.
“Say it to my wife when this night is over. I trust her response to you better than my own.”
Beside the princess, Arif and LB did not back off from each other.
“One final thing.”
“Whatever.”
“Will you drive north over the roads or the desert?”
“We’ll stay off the roads.”
“Could you go faster on the highway?”
“Sure.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“Then I ask you to follow me on the road. I will put one of the Abidah behind you. We will assure your safe passage.”
“Let me check with my captain.”
“My wife needs every minute.”
“We all do, pal.”
Arif dipped his head in solemn scrutiny.
“I believe you are a man who knows this to be true. Good-bye, Sergeant.”
Chapter 42
Behind Arif, the American vehicles were invisible. Farther back on the road, Mahmoud’s headlights occasionally winked, blacked out between Arif and the Ba-Jalal. The effect was discomfiting, like something crossing the moon.
Alone in the pickup, Arif drove 55 mph, the pace the American captain had specified. He was hard, that one, emerging out of the dark in his large, powerful vehicle, weapons trained, the sacked body of the Yemeni spy strapped on board. His tone was clipped, and he, too, seemed to want a fight with Arif. The captain and his stone-faced rescuers would have been elusive and dangerous if a running desert battle had happened. Arif was thankful it had not but was not moved to thank Allah more. He regretted this but could not change his heart.
Mahmoud had assured Arif that he’d arranged no more roadblocks ahead. The Ba-Jalal could not be confident that other Yemeni desert tribes or the Bedu had not set up their own obstacles to charge petty tolls. Mahmoud had given Arif enough money to pay and a Kalashnikov to be the final arbiter. If the Yemeni military had their own desert checkpoint, the Americans would take to the sand unseen.
The Empty Quarter Page 31
