by Saad Hossain
“In the old days, they would have charged us,” the Lion said.
“They don’t need to,” Hamid tapped toward the opposite roof, where the fat man had set up shop. “He’s bringing up heavy armaments. They’ll just blow us out of the sky.”
“We should get out of here then.”
“It might be a bit late for that,” Hamid said. “Can you still move?”
“I’ve been known to recover from mortal wounds,” the Lion said. “Do you think the others still live?”
“I think we’ll see a big explosion when they die,” Hamid said.
“I gave the watch back to Dagr,” the Lion said.
Hamid stared at him.
“I want him to look after it if he survives.”
“What, you’re retiring?” Hamid asked. “No more grand quest?”
“Let someone else do it. I used to think Avicenna was the devil, but nowadays, the whole world seems to be like him. It seems he’s multiplied and I’ve reduced.”
“Yeah, now he probably wouldn’t even make the first deck.”
“What?”
“You know, the cards the Americans made for the top villains.”
The Lion laughed, startled with the irreverence of the image. For a moment, he felt completely carefree.
“Shall we get on then?”
“Toward the fat man or the imam?” the Lion asked.
“You want to flip a coin?”
Hassan Salemi saw them hurtling toward him, jumping the gap between roofs amid a cacophony of bullets. It did not faze him. He had faced down countless men with the same cold courage. He pushed his soldiers forward and let them take the brunt of the attack. The larger man was swinging his rifle like a mallet, flattening skulls, mowing men down with brutal strength. The other one was shooting while in the air.
With the phlegmatic nerves typical of the imam, Salemi allowed them to approach, dropped to one knee, and shot the giant three times at point blank range. He staggered and incredibly kept on moving. What manner of devil is this? He let the giant pass him and then shot him again, spraying his back with bullets, until the man went down from sheer volume of fire. The hammer of his gun, having exhausted its store, continued to click for several minutes before he could lift his finger.
He felt a shadow over him and turned. The infidel torturer burst through his guards to reach him. He was grinning, a crazed bloodstained mirth that Salemi could not understand. He was almost dead. Almost. He was on fire, hands dripping napalm, touching everything like a demon child, screaming defiance and heat in that tight space. Even as bullets pounded into him, he spun into Salemi and grabbed hold in a tight lover’s embrace until they were cheek to cheek and spinning across the roof.
Salemi felt hard round bars pressing into his chest: explosives. There were explosives tied to the man’s vest. He tried to struggle out of that iron grip, felt the burning man laughing against him, a terrible, haunting sound, a slow-pitched whine that leached the strength from his limbs. Then there was a great noise and the world turned red.
“He’s dead then?” Avicenna could scarcely hide the eagerness in his old voice.
Behruse stood over the mutilated body of Afzal Taha, the last disciple of Al-Hakim, as it still stirred with the stubborn remnant of life.
“Not quite. It’s remarkable,” Behruse shouted into his walkie talkie. His ears and nose still bled from the explosions. “He’s been shot eight times, so much that he looks like a beggar’s sock. He’s also been blown up, burnt to a crisp, and then tossed down eight stories. Yet his body still moves.”
“Cut his head off!” Avicenna screamed.
“I am doing so now,” Behruse said. He was, indeed, sawing through the neck of the Lion. “God, his spine is massive.”
“At last, the devil is dead.”
Behruse hoisted up the head and looked around at the carnage. Hardly any of Salemi’s men had survived: The explosives had destroyed the entire roof, besides flinging the Lion’s body to the ground. Salemi himself was gone, vaporized along with Col. Hamid, formerly of the Republican Guard. Still, it was over. They could leave this place now, and his master would once again fade into obscurity for the next hundred years.
“Are you holding up his head?”
“Yes,” Behruse said. “His blood is dripping down my elbow.”
There were noises of glass and drink. “I am now drinking to your health, with this cognac that comes from the stores of Napoleon himself.”
“Well thanks, boss, but I’d rather have the drink myself,” Behruse said.
Just then their communicators cracked to life on the secure channel, and a torrent of panic burst forth.
“Raptor 4 to Bear 1! Blue 4 to Bear 1!”
“What? What? This is Behruse!”
“Abort! Abort!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Behruse shouted. “Where is Blue Raptor 2?”
“Dead! Dead, everyone here is dead!”
“What?”
“Blue Raptor 2 is down! Blue Raptor 3 has disappeared! I repeat. They’re all down! He’s killing everyone. Even civilians. These buildings are full of dead people. It’s a fucking mausoleum!”
“Blue Raptor 4! This is the Mountain,” Avicenna said. “Listen to me. All hostiles in other quadrants are down. I repeat. All other hostiles are down. We are sending reinforcements. I command you to track the assassin in the eastern quadrant.”
“No, no, this place is full of hostiles,” Blue Raptor 4 moaned. “It can’t be just one man. It’s barbaric. I’m not staying here.”
“How many men do you have?” Avicenna snapped across the line.
“No one. They’re all gone. He’s killed everyone.”
“Raptor 4!” Behruse said. “Get your ass back there!”
“Fuck you, Behruse. I’m not dying here for your fat ass. I’m getting outta. Aargghh leavemealoneIwasleavingIsurrender! Isurrenderaaaahhhhh…”
“Behruse, what the fuck just happened?” Avicenna asked.
“Er…”
“Hello?” A new voice, breathing hard.
“Hello!” Behruse said. “Who the fuck are you? What have you done to Blue Raptor 4?”
“Blue Raptor? Is that what you call him? Really?”
“Who is this?” Behruse asked. “Listen to me. You’re the arms dealer, right? Kinza, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Well your boss the Lion is dead,” Behruse said. “I’ve cut his fucking head off.”
“Oh?”
“And the other fucker with him is dead too,” Behruse said.
“How did he die?”
“He blew himself up.”
“Alone?”
“He got Salemi,” Behruse said. “Listen, you had beef with Salemi, right? Salemi is dead. He’s rain in the gutters. You couldn’t pick him up with a teaspoon. This is over. You’re surrounded. Just come in and we can talk.”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
“So you’re going to lay down arms?” Behruse asked, dubious.
“Not quite.”
“What the fuck do you want? You want to walk? Go ahead.”
“Not really, no.”
“We have no fight with you. Just walk away, man.”
“You’re the fat man Behruse, right? I’ll be seeing you.”
“No, I’m Ahmed! Ahmed!”
“He’s hung up, you fat coward,” Avicenna said after a minute.
“What the hell does that guy want?”
“He wants to kill us, you moron!” Avicenna said. “Round up your men and get back here! And don’t forget to bring the head.”
The Lion tried to move, and the searing pain from every nerve ending told him that this was not possible. Things were broken, things pierced, skin destroyed, charred black into a sludge, mixed with the debris of the other fallen, hiding him in masonry and mangled flesh. Ayn Sawfar flashed through his mind, when the Druze had fallen in thousands to Janissary guns, and he had hidden in a hillock of corpses, in the pec
uliar claustrophobic space between life and death until the immortal clockwork had pulled his body back from the brink.
He saw the fat man looming near him and shut his eyes for the coup de grace, yet the fool moved on, rummaging around some other destroyed body. The machete glinted, blood sprayed from disgusting hacking noises, the thwack of a butcher’s blade beating bone, and the fat man stood up triumphant, holding up the wrong head.
The Lion started to wheeze with hysterical laughter.
The gunship hovered in the air like a hesitant moth, the two passengers bickering in the back while the pilot repeatedly thumbed the red trigger button, almost lasciviously, hoping he would finally be permitted to unleash the hellfires. Sabeen and her men were across the street, firing a variety of ineffective long range weapons at them. It was a stalemate of sorts. The Apache had withdrawn somewhat, but the looming shadow of its black form still discouraged Sabeen from charging.
“We just have to soften her up a bit,” Hoffman said.
Mother Davala snorted. “Clearly, your time in confinement has broken you. Were you raped by the dog boy? You are completely delusional about this woman.”
“It’s the bastard Behruse’s fault,” Hoffman said. “He’s poisoned her mind against me.”
“I’ve got things to do, you know.”
“I have a plan,” Hoffman said, tapping his head.
“If it doesn’t involve blowing that bitch up, I’m going to be seriously disappointed.”
“Pilot, come in pilot!”
“Sir?”
“Release the box!”
“Er, the one you left on the seat?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in it?”
“What do you mean what’s in it?” Hoffman asked, incensed. “I’m giving you a direct order!”
“Sir, quite frankly your orders have sucked, and I’m gonna have to check what’s inside the box.”
“I forbid you to open the box!”
“Er, there appears to be leaflets inside the box.”
“I forbid you to read them!”
“It appears to be poetry. ‘She walks in beauty like the night.’ Someone called Byron,” the pilot said. “Addressed to someone called Sabeen, from someone called You-Know-Who.”
“I forbid you to repeat any of this to anyone!”
“Sir, this is the craziest shit I’ve ever done. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to tell everyone I know.”
“Oh well, then just remember, my real name is Captain Fowler.”
“Right, sir,” the pilot said. “You want me to dump this stuff from the air now?”
“Yes.”
“Over the lady’s position?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, done.”
“Now let me down somewhere safe with the rest of my suitcases.”
“Hoffman?” Mother Davala demanded. “What is happening?”
“Don’t worry,” said Hoffman. “I got this.”
Behruse was making his way back down the street, swinging the severed head to and fro when it began to rain leaflets. It made him pause and look up. His men saw the ugly maw of the Apache gunship and quite naturally ran for cover. Behruse, somewhat literate, was drawn to the pink hearts and swirly writing on the leaflet, which appeared to be atypical of the propaganda normally raining down on Baghdad.
A closer scan made him put down the severed head and burst out laughing. The mirth rolled out of him in gigantic waves, making his belly shake and his eyes tear. He was doubled over when he saw the brief shadow behind him. He tried to turn, but the US marine lurking behind him was fast as a snake. Something like a screwdriver plunged into his neck with a hot gush of pain.
He staggered a few steps until his legs gave way. Sprawled on the street, he looked up and saw the marine Ancelloti looming over him.
“I gave you good weed,” Behruse gasped, confused.
“Hoffman says hi,” Ancelloti said. He stuffed a leaflet into Behruse’s open dead mouth and walked away.
“I can’t see,” Mother Davala complained. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s got the white flag out,” the pilot said. “I think he’s surrendering. Ok, he’s definitely surrendered. They’ve disarmed him. The girl has him kneeling down. He’s talking a lot.”
“He’ll probably make us surrender too,” Mother Davala said bitterly. She had never before employed such an unsatisfactory servant.
“Wait. One of the thugs is giving him a last smoke,” the pilot said. “Now he’s passing around a bottle. The girl is getting pissed. Wait. He’s got his suitcase open. He’s handing things out. Oh shit! He’s got all the colonel’s bourbon! Fuck! He’s giving it away. Ok, Goon 1 is walking away with an armload. The other suitcase is open now. It looks like Skittles. Goon 2 just loaded up his pockets. Ok, Goon 3 is drinking bourbon with his Skittles now. Wait, they’re making him get up.”
“Hopefully they’ll shoot him now,” Mother Davala said.
“No, they’re hugging him. He’s passing around joints. Ok, he’s got out a pile of cash. The girl is super pissed. She’s waving her gun around. Goon 4 is walking away. Goon 5 just kissed him on the cheeks and took the empty suitcases. Um, pretty much all the goons are gone. Ah, he’s wrestling with the girl. He’s disarmed her. Ok, he’s kissing her now. Aaaand, he’s walking back. I can’t believe this. He’s actually disbanded the entire enemy unit using bourbon and Skittles.”
“What’s the woman doing?”
“She’s just kind of standing there. I can’t read her face. It’s like she’s smiling.”
“Put me down,” she ordered. “I’m getting out.”
Dagr walked slowly, like an old man afraid of breaking his hip. He had taken a bullet squarely in the chest and cracked ribs now made every breath an agony. The Kevlar was deathly hot and heavy. He had dropped all his weapons but one, a single glock tucked into his waist. They had finished all their bullets.
Kinza moved beside him a few feet away, slinking along the walls. He was literally coated with blood, some of it his own. He had taken wounds, perhaps mortal ones, but the Mukhabarat were broken. The last of them had run. Kinza’s communicator, appropriated from Blue Raptor 2, had ceased to cackle with commands and countercommands. The last panicked screams had faded to silence. The enemy was no longer trying to find them. Kinza had killed everyone.
They walked now through an empty street. Far away the Apache thumped overhead, waiting. The house at the end of the cul-de-sac was unassuming. A single arch hid an ivy-covered door that was bolted. They forced it open. If there had been guards here before, they had run away.
They heard noises in a back room, a man desperately trying to raise someone on the phone. He ceased when Kinza opened the door. It was an old man, drinking brandy, surrounded by CCTV screens.
“You are the arms dealer?” The old man said. “I am Avicenna.”
“Yes,” Kinza said.
“Please, both of you, take a seat,” Avicenna said.
“That’s not why we’re here.”
“I understand that you’ve met Afzal Taha?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know his story.”
“Yes.”
“You also have the watch?” Avicenna asked.
“My friend does,” Kinza said, nodding at Dagr.
“Well, the long story of Al-Hakim the Druze is finally over,” Avicenna said. He raised his hands in mock prayer. “You are no longer required. Give me the watch and go your way. There will be no further retaliations from me.”
“Retaliations. Hmm.”
“Afzal Taha is dead,” Avicenna said. His voice was calm. “It’s over.”
“So I’ve heard,” Kinza said. “It’s not over for me.”
“I don’t know what you’re fighting for, you pup,” Avicenna said. “But your insolence is more than I can bear. I will kill you. I will rape your mother and your sisters. I will sell your family into slavery. I will erase from this earth any human who harbors any memory of you.
”
Kinza smiled.
“He is smiling,” Dagr said, “because he has no mother, no sisters, no lovers, no one at all.”
“Then you, professor,” Avicenna said, something twitching in his eyes. “I know you. I will beat your wife to death. I will throttle the breath from your child. I will kill your friends and their friends. Do you think I have not done worse in the long years of my life?”
“My daughter is dead,” Dagr said. “My wife is dead. I had two friends. One blew himself up killing your dog Hassan Salemi.” He started to laugh and then choked because it hurt so much. “You’ll be taking fuckall from me.”
“Do you want gold then? Money?” Avicenna asked. “I have the wealth of a hundred kings buried in the desert.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Kinza said.
“Life then?” Avicenna asked. “The secret that gave Taha his powers is the same that has kept me alive this long. Give me the watch, and let us become immortal!”
“No.”
“Die then!” He leapt from his chair, far faster than humanly possible, something sharp darting out of his sleeve.
Kinza snaked forward. The spring-loaded knife tip took him in the throat, severing all the arteries. Poison flooded his mouth. The edge of his blade crashed into the old man’s outstretched wrist, taking it off. As they both fell, Kinza’s second knife slashed upwards, scoring along Avicenna’s belly, ripping up everything.
“Dagr,” Kinza whispered. “Run.”
Something in his bag began to beep.
EPILOGUE
HOFFMAN OPENED A THERMOS AND POURED SOME COFFEE. HE fished out two tin mugs from somewhere, filled them, and offered one to Dagr. The helicopter thumped the air, clawing up with brute force. Kinza, in the end, had settled his accounts with an explosion that had rocked the entire city. Avicenna’s house was gone, the bodies of the dead vaporized in a gaping crater. The fire had spread, and the outer buildings, rigged with explosives, were starting to blow up like firecrackers on a string. The heat from the blasts rocked the helicopter. Far below, hapless policemen and firefighters were trying to come to grips with the madness.
