by J C Ryan
Josh wasn’t naïve. He knew she wasn’t flirting. At the same time, he wouldn’t have objected if she had. The only problem he had was whether anyone would believe an average-looking guy like him could have bagged a beautiful creature like Marissa as his wife. He kept his thoughts to himself.
By the time they finished their dessert and then coffee with a cheese platter the long-suffering server brought them afterward, they had the rudiments of a plan. That was all they could do. What happened after they got to Afghanistan would depend on what they could find, or not, about Rex there. Maybe they’d find his remains. Even though Brandt didn’t think so, they had to start there and eliminate or confirm it.
Like Brandt, though, Josh thought it was entirely plausible that Rex could have escaped the ambush and left the country. Rex’s legend in CRC was not based on rumours it was based on facts. Marissa said she’d take his word for it. Brandt had given them carte blanche. They were to keep searching until they found Rex or conclusive proof of his death. Privately, Josh thought it might be the work of years. He himself knew how to disappear and he was good at it, that was one of the skills they were taught at CRC, but he knew Rex was even better.
They’d take a week to develop their legend, get their gear together, and wait for Brandt’s logistics team to get them the identity papers they’d need to move freely in Afghanistan and some of the neighbouring countries such as Pakistan, India and China. After that, they’d fly commercial to Kabul under the guise of journalists. It wasn’t a truly safe legend, but it was the only one that fit a husband and wife team asking questions about a paramilitary outfit called Phoenix Unlimited. With luck, they’d convince the informants they found that their interest was in persuading the West that those groups had a just cause. If they were seen as sympathetic, maybe they wouldn’t lose their heads.
They arrived in Kabul on the same day that Rex flew from Mumbai to Riyadh.
***
MORE THAN A month had passed since the ambush that had purportedly killed Rex and the bulk of the Phoenix Unlimited employees, including the CEO, Frank Millard. In the meanwhile, Brandt had discovered the link between the two men, Frank and Rex, who’d been in the same unit in Marine boot camp. He couldn’t find any evidence that they’d had any contact since. That didn’t mean they hadn’t, just that the evidence hadn’t survived. But in Rex’s first report he’d mentioned that he knew Millard to be a good man and a good soldier, so he was going to use the serendipity of Millard’s outfit being present in Kabul to use them as his logistics team. Brandt had given no objection.
Marissa dressed up in full garb, full-face hijab and all, accompanied her ‘husband’ to the address they had. It was her first visit to Afghanistan. She had been to Saudi Arabia and a few other Muslim countries before and she hated their treatment of women and the edict about the clothes they had to wear in public. But she was not going to let her peeves get in the way of the mission.
She and Josh already knew that Phoenix Unlimited had disbanded and, as expected, the compound was deserted. Not a shred of evidence remained to testify to the presence of a multinational team of paramilitary agents ever having been there.
“What’s next?” Marissa asked.
“Landlord?” Josh answered.
“Good idea.”
However, there also wasn’t a shred of evidence to tell them to whom the property belonged. They knew because they’d gone over it with the thoroughness of forensic investigators. Finding nothing, they were forced to ask at neighboring businesses and homes, jumbled together as if the city had never heard of city planning. Maybe it hadn’t. Neither of Brandt’s operatives knew whether city planning had been a thing thirty-five-hundred years ago, when it was founded.
Their search took them several blocks away from the compound before they found the butcher shop where Millard’s cook had bought their meats. There, they heard from the proprietor that none of the Phoenix people had remained after a tragedy killed most of them.
“Yeah, well, tell us something we don’t know,” Josh mumbled just loud enough so that Marissa could hear.
They already had names and contact information for the survivors, but they’d hoped to find at least one remaining who wasn’t on the list. It was a depressingly short list, and the handful of agents had scattered to the four winds. Josh speculated they may even have joined another paramilitary group and not stayed where their last known addresses were. What they now knew was that the story of the explosion and the number of casualties had not been exaggerated. But the reason for the explosion had been covered up.
“The story is that they were searching the house and grounds for explosives,” the butcher told them. “And they accidentally found some. May Allah receive them and give them peace. Our country will not be safe for our children and our children’s children if these terrorists and their bombs are not discovered and eradicated.”
Marissa thanked him gently. Not every Afghani citizen was a bad guy. But those who were surely succeeded in giving all the others a bad name.
“Can you give us the location of the explosion?” she asked. “We’d like to pay our respects.”
The address the butcher gave matched the information they had. So far, they’d learned nothing to convince them their intel was false.
Marissa had a growing dread that the samples they took at the scene really would match Dalton’s DNA. She had a fondness for John Brandt that had nothing to do with the fact he was her employer. He was a decent man who’d been dealt a hard blow in the death of his wife. He’d lost his faith in a career that had betrayed him and his old-school CIA cohort. He’d lost agents before, but none as personally close to him as Dalton. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him his favorite agent, someone he looked on as the son he’d never had, had also died.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IF DIGGER’S THOUGHT processes had been like a human’s, they probably would have run along the lines of, “What am I supposed to do now? My alpha and my meal ticket has been taken away, and I have no idea where I am.”
Or maybe not. Digger was an exceptionally intelligent dog, not given to futile kvetching. So, what he did was follow the policeman as he marched Rex down the street at a discreet distance. Rex had commanded him to hide, but there was precious little cover in this desert environment. Digger wasn’t hungry – he’d taken time to eat the rest of Rex’s sandwich after emerging from the hedge and before following the scent of his human leader. He wasn’t thirsty now, but the heat beating down on his thick black coat would make it imperative for him to find a source of water soon.
When Digger arrived at the building, he saw Rex being put into a car. Rex didn’t see him, so he didn’t give another command. Digger continued to hide. When the car began to move, Digger moved, too. At first, he was able to keep up. Then the car got to a road where it speeded up. Digger had to cross under an overpass with no cover, but there was also no traffic, so he made it without incident. After that, he ran as fast as he could, but the car was too fast.
All Digger could do was follow the road, hidden by some shrubs that appeared here and there. Within a minute, he was far behind the car, but he kept going in direction the car went. The car slowed to turn a corner, and Digger caught a glimpse of it. Immediately, he turned and began dodging through a field of sand and rock to intercept the car. It was a mistake. He lost sight of it. Then thirst overtook him, and he detoured to the smell of water, finding a fountain where he drank deeply.
A sound overhead attracted his attention, and he looked up. Digger of course didn’t have a word for the thing in the sky, but he knew what it was. Something like it had carried him to this place, not long ago. He lowered his head and looked in the direction from which it had come. He cut across another big field and saw the car that Rex was in, now pointed in the opposite direction on a road that led to the flying-thing place. He began to run faster.
By the time he reached the road, he was confused. There were many cars, and some looked like Rex’s car. T
hey were all going in one direction, though, so he followed beside that road and lifted his snout in the air to search for Rex’s scent, but he couldn’t find any. It was only the smell of gas coming from the cars.
At last, a faint trace was familiar. Rex was somewhere ahead. He moved closer, ignoring the people who saw him and yelling at him. His friend needed him. He crept closer, hiding while he did so, until he saw the right car. It was not moving, and no one was in it. He knew it was the right car because it had Rex’s scent. He crawled under it to wait for Rex.
***
INSIDE THE AIRPORT police station, Rex was worried and angry as well. Worried because it was beginning to look like a bigger deal than he’d thought and concerned about Digger’s whereabouts and safety. Angry at the situation and at himself for the misstep. He hadn’t visited Saudi Arabia before, but he couldn’t help but believe being arrested here was not a good idea.
When he heard the policeman who’d arrested him saying ‘blasphemy’, he got really worried. The punishment for blasphemy in Saudi Arabia was in the discretion of the presiding magistrate and could range from a warning, a heavy fine and lashes to the death penalty — public beheading. Despite his intention to be compliant and not make waves, he couldn’t let that stand. He protested, loudly, that he had not intended to blaspheme. It had happened only because he was not Muslim and had not realized it was Ramadan. Of course, he had only the highest respect for the Muslim religion.
When his protests fell on deaf ears, he took another tack.
“I am here to complete a business transaction with a member of the royal family. I demand that I be brought before a magistrate immediately to plead my case. The prince is expecting me.”
It might have worsened his plight, but his situation couldn’t get much worse. He hoped it would make them show their intentions and speed up the process. He was not going to allow them to hold him for years, or months, or even weeks. He had a responsibility to Digger, and he’d made an implicit promise to Akshara Gyan to rescue her daughter. He intended to keep both obligations and if it meant to do so he had to break out of custody and in the process break a few necks and limbs, then so be it.
The policemen in this station were more familiar with laws foreigners were likely to transgress. They saw it happening every day, and most of the time it was overlooked, settled with the payment of a fine, or someone above their pay grade received a bribe and released the miscreant. Occasionally, it was more serious, and more often than not, it somehow involved a member of the royal family.
Rex had inadvertently cited the one circumstance that the police tried to avoid like pork — getting on the left side of a member of the royal family.
There was a magistrate on hand to deal with foreigners right in the airport. That way, their cases could be heard right away, and the offenders deported immediately if the infraction warranted it.
Rex was brought before the magistrate and allowed to plead his own case. Back in the US and other first-world countries the general wisdom was he who has himself for a lawyer has a fool for a client. Rex believed it to be very wise council, but in Saudi Arabia justice could sometimes be swift and attorneys tended to interfere with rapid legal processing. He wasn’t given the option to call one.
However, he had an advantage over many Americans who’d found themselves crosswise with the law in a foreign country. He spoke the language. Fluently.
In eloquent terms, he apologized for his accidental offense. He admitted the infringement. There was no way he could truthfully say he didn’t take a bite out of his sandwich – the policeman had caught him red-handed. Furthermore, he knew the law, at least the core of it. He wasn’t a Muslim, as he’d said before, he respected their religion and would never consciously do anything to dishonor the religion. He knew Ramadan was holy and he knew what was expected of Muslims during this time. What he didn’t know was that the laws pertained to non-Muslims. Had he known that, he would never have committed such a monstrous transgression.
The only lie he told was that he hadn’t known it pertained to non-Muslims. Having lived in Afghanistan for more than a year, he did know that. He also knew the best lies had an element of truth. Everything else he’d said was true.
It helped also that in questioning him, the magistrate asked his business in Saudi Arabia. Truthfully again, he said he had a business transaction with a member of the royal family. He didn’t say it would be a one-sided transaction.
At this juncture, he saw another opportunity to strengthen his plea, and solemnly promised to the magistrate that as soon as he met with the prince, he would make sure to apologize and ask for forgiveness for embarrassing the royal family and his eminence the King.
Whether it was his eloquence, the fact that he made his plea in perfect Arabic, or because the magistrate was impressed or perhaps intimidated by his claim of business with one prince Mutaib bin Faisal bin Saud, Rex would never know. All he knew was that his potential death sentence was commuted to five lashes, which the honorable magistrate suspended for a period of three years. Meaning, the magistrate explained, Rex would not receive the punishment now, but if he were to be found guilty of a similar offence in the next three years, the five lashes would be meted out to him on top of whatever sentence he would get for the new offence.
Rex was relieved. He had no intention to stay in Saudi Arabia for three years. However, he wasn’t so sure he could promise that he wouldn’t break any laws or anything else for that matter, in the next week or so of his planned visit to the kingdom. He intended to not get caught again, and if he got caught, not to submit to an arrest as timidly as he did earlier.
***
REX SUPPOSED IT wouldn’t be good form to ask for a ride back to the park, a distance of perhaps eight or ten miles by road. His rented van was still there unless it had been impounded. He had no idea where Digger might be. After collecting his cell phone and other items that had been confiscated upon his arrest, he walked out by the same door from which he’d entered.
The sun was high in the west, and the door was on the south end of the northeast-oriented terminal of the airport. Rex, whose sense of direction was flawless even in a foreign country, figured the racetrack was almost due east or perhaps a little north of that, and maybe five miles as the crow flew. In the distance, he could see structures that might be an office park or light industrial complex, perhaps a mile away across the airport complex’s roads.
He debated whether to call a taxi from his current location or to walk across to the other buildings first. He was about to walk through to the other side of the building where the passenger areas were, when a movement under a nearby squad car attracted his attention. Two black paws, followed by a familiar black snout, emerged. Rex looked around quickly, giving Digger a hand-signal to wait.
Seeing no one nearby, he gave the signal to come, and Digger wriggled out from under the car. He ran to Rex and jumped, landing with both front paws squarely on his chest. Rex staggered and then righted himself.
“I’m glad to see you, too, buddy,” he said in a low voice.
Digger whined his agreement and then jumped again, landing a lick on Rex’s cheek before gravity pulled him back down.
Rex kneeled down, took Digger’s head in his hands and pulled it to his own face. Digger licked his face while he was scratching him behind the ears. “Thanks for waiting for me buddy. Okay, let’s get out of here.”
His decision was made for him. He couldn’t take Digger through the building without a crate or a leash. The fact was, he probably couldn’t get him into a taxi without a leash, either, even if he could find a driver willing to take a dog at all.
“Can we get back to the Jeep, boy?” He called every vehicle a Jeep, because Digger recognized the word.
Digger gave a soft woof and turned in what Rex had decided was the right direction. He walked a few steps, then turned his head back to look at Rex. The message was clearly, “What are you waiting for?”
Rex had walked farther in wo
rse heat than this. It wasn’t his favorite idea, but he could do it. “Lead the way,” he said to Digger. He followed as Digger set out. A few minutes later, he regretted the choice, as Digger started to cross a wide area of macadam. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a runway.
“Digger, no!” he called, but he was too late. The dog was halfway across. Expecting to be shot, Rex sprinted after him. They’d never have gotten away with the stunt in America. Maybe because of Ramadan there were fewer planes taking off and landing. Rex didn’t know. He just thanked his guardian angel when they made it without being run down by a plane or shot as a terrorist.
Across a wide expanse of sand, they found the onramp to a raised highway, followed it up and across, and back down the offramp on the other side to the road that led to the buildings Rex had seen earlier. Those turned out to be a private jet-port, almost deserted. They passed by and continued in a slight north-easterly direction. Digger seemed confident of his direction.
By the time they reached the racetrack and the small park on its grounds where Rex had been picked up, Rex was drenched in sweat. Digger had taken another drink from the fountain he’d found before, but Rex hadn’t. He was parched. He saw his SUV where he’d left it and was soon drinking water from a bottle that had been in the cooler. He found it difficult to pace himself but knew that guzzling it would probably cause an equal and opposite reaction.
He was also half-starved, but the sandwich he’d been eating was gone. He looked at Digger. “Did you eat my sandwich?”
Digger dropped his head and avoided Rex’s eyes. He recognized ‘eat’ and ‘sandwich’.
Rex interpreted the gesture as “what are you talking about?” or “What sandwich?” But Digger’s body language proclaimed his guilt. Either way, he didn’t dare take another bite of anything, in case another police officer was lurking nearby. It wasn’t yet sundown. If any policeman or anyone else had tried to bust him for drinking the water, also forbidden during daylight hours of Ramadan, he’d have done some busting of his own.
