Nelson Lowhim's Blog, page 131
October 18, 2013
A back from a short break
The radio silence was me out in the Northwest enjoying some time away from the city (and amazed at how every town had at least a drive thru espresso shack...). Readers will have to be patient as the next novel is being edited, though I'm extremely proud with what I have here, and I'm sure that readers will find it exciting as well.
To tide you over, I have pasted the start of the novel (nope, not the final edited one). Enjoy it:
The
man walked to the street and looked down at the cafe, rustling awake in the
morning sun. He could feel his muscles wrapped tight around his bones. And he
could smell coffee in the air. But this was no time to think of his one
addiction. He nodded at the young man beside him. The young man, Abdul, was
sweating, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Don’t
worry. I’m going to be here with you the whole way,” said the man. He stroked a
scar on his jawline. It went deep. Old wounds from a war on the other side of
these desert sands. In the mornings his jaw bone would hurt like nothing else.
He
walked first, to scout the cafe, which was now filled with Western tourists. No
one seemed alert. All had that vapid look the man had come to associate with
the hated Westerners. He scowled at a handful of women with skirts on.
As
he walked past, he pulled his cellphone out. “Abdul, it’s clear. Get a coffee
and do it.”
He
didn’t look over his back. When he turned a corner he jumped into the passenger
seat of the car. The street here was busier. That gave them more cover. Horns
honked, and the pollution wafted into his head. He waited. A few minutes later
Abdul came around the corner. He smiled. Abdul jumped into the back.
The
man pulled out a remote control. He had done this hundreds of times, and it
never got any easier. He handed it to Abdul.
“Your
turn,” said the man. “When I say so, press the button.”
The
young man nodded and grabbed the remote, a little too easily for the man’s
tastes.
The
car drove forward and the cafe came into view. The man saw some kids playing
soccer in front of the cafe.
“Not
yet,” he said. He placed a hand on the driver’s forearm. “When he presses the button
you move away slowly, like there’s nothing wrong. Got it? No driving fast.”
The
man watched as the cafe owner drove away the kids with a broom. He noticed the
red skin of a tourist who seemed to see him.
“Now.”
The
flash and corresponding shock wave traveled through the man, and he felt the
warmth of the explosion. Then the car alarms and screams. Smoke and mangled
debris was all that remained of the cafe. They drove slowly around the corner.
A few streets over people were going about their business. None of them seemed
to know what was going on only a few blocks away. Near a pile of garbage Abdul
threw the remote.
Soon
they were on a highway out of the city. They stopped when they finally came to
a mountain side house. It was their safe house. The government didn’t have much
control out here.
But
the man knew that his day wasn’t over. There was a meeting with some of the
local tribal leaders in the evening. But first he was gong to have to talk to
his bosses.
He
told Abdul to relax and drink some water.
He
walked into his office and saw his two bosses. The head of Al Qaeda in Magreb,
and the liaison from Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. The man didn’t much like either
of them. They were too grand, and never liked to hear about the minutiae of the
local political movement. But they brought in recruits and money, so the man
didn’t have a choice.
“Please
to sit down,” said the man. “Drinks?”
The
two men shook their heads. The liaison was a tall and lanky man. He claimed to
have fought the infidels in Afghanistan. But the man didn’t believe that since
the lanky man, Mohammad looked too good, with skin too smooth to have seen a
battle. The man in charge of the Maghreb, Laith, was a short and stout man. He
had blue eyes and red hair, though he was born in the sands of Algeria.
“How
can I help you?” the man said, sitting back in his chair.
“How
did the operation go, Ali?” Laith asked, his eyes gleaming.
“Let’s
see,” Ali said, massaging his jaw bone again. It was always aggravated when
these two came here. He switched on the TV and turned to the news channel.
There was the cafe, with emergency services pulling people out of the rubble.
Laith
and Mohammad giggled with glee. Ali forced a smile, though he didn’t like the
way these two men seemed to love the sight of destruction. It only served to
highlight how much they hadn’t done anything on the ground. How they hadn’t had
actual blood on their hands and clothes and how that blood hadn’t infiltrated
their dreams.
“It
says ten dead, twenty injured, good job,” Mohammad said.
“Thank
Abdul,” Ali said. “He was the one who carried it out. His first.”
“He’s
a soldier,” Laith said.
Ali
didn’t say anything. It was also the desk men who would dismiss a soldier’s
job. “What do you two want?”
“Just
wanted a discussion of where your team was going. The next few missions,” Laith
said.
Ali
let out some air and filled them in on the next few attacks planned, and the
local political situation. The two men’s eyes glazed over. Ali dived further
into the situation. Finally, Laith raised his hand.
“We
also wanted your opinion on something.”
“Please,”
Ali said, suppressing a smirk and preparing himself for a grandiose idea that
he’d have to shoot down.
“You
know the great Dr. Khan?” Mohammad asked.
“Of
course, who doesn’t?”
“Well
we have been in correspondence with him,” said Mohammad.
“Really?”
Ali said and leaned forward. He never imagined these two to be that competent.
“Yes.
We may have convinced him to finally come out and help us.”
“Come
out?” Ali said. “The ISI watches him like a hawk. How can he come out? And even
if he did, the Americans and the Israelis would have him killed in a
heartbeat.”
“You
think too small,” Mohammad said. “To risk-averse. We have good word that he’ll
soon be with us, and that when he is, we’ll finally have what we always
wanted.”
“Is
that so?” Ali said. This still seemed ludicrous to him. “And what amazing
nuclear facility will he be working at?” He leaned back. He did not like these
two, and he especially hated their foreign accents. It only proved that they
didn’t care for the local situation and would forever be grasping at magical
solutions to mundane problems.
His
comment shut the two of them up, but after a few glances they seemed to regain
their composure.
“You
think too small,” Laith said, shaking his head. “The doctor will soon be
helping us. And then we shall be unstoppable.”
“Well,
I must,” Ali said. “What did you say to him that brought him on board?”
“We
explained how he could help the cause.”
“And
what did he say?” Ali asked.
“At
first he claimed we had no cause. But we think our last letter convinced him.”
“Why?”
Ali asked.
“We
told him to think of the bigger picture.”
“Ah,
ingenious,” Ali said, wondering how long before he could kick them out of his
office. He wanted to drink some chai. Then he wanted to talk to the local
leaders about money for some water.
“It
is,” said Laith. “We want to draft one more letter, though.”
“And
you want me to?” Ali said, not hiding his annoyance.
“Yes.
We need you. You can tell him some stories of the ground and help convince him
about our cause.”
“All
right. I will,” Ali said.
When
the two men left he shook his head and wondered what letter he could possibly
write to someone as smart as the good Dr. Khan. He would finish it later.
And
as he walked out of the building, he felt a prickle on his skin. He looked up
at the sky. The distant sound of an jet engine hummed. Just like any other day.
As he watched the motorcade with Laith and Mohammad leave, he suddenly knew
what was going on.
A
few other men were milling about, and Ali yelled: “Missile!”
Most
of the men stared at him like they thought he was mad. But Ali knew what the
drill was and ran to the rocks a few hundred meters from the building. He dove
into them as the sky was filled with a horrid swooshing sound. And in the
middle of his dive Ali felt himself twisted in the air, a warm shocking push,
as his world went black.
Dr.
Khan leaned back on his window ledge when a loud series of horns, odd even for
Karachi, forced his eyes over to the street. He was on the outskirts of the
city, and the tree lined streets here were filled with hawkers of all wares.
Outside his house, in two black cars, were a handful of men in aviator glasses
and gray suits. They occasionally glanced up at him and nodded.
They
were there, according to the Pakistani government, for his protection. But he
also knew that they were there in place of his prison bars. Protection, in Dr.
Khan’s life, had always meant less freedom. He sighed as he lit up a cigarette.
He had started ever since stooges in his government and the American government
collaborated to make his life a living hell.
In
his other hand he held a crumpled piece of paper. He knew its contents by
heart. And he knew no one else could ever read it. Using his matches, he set it
on fire, opened the window and watched as the paper turned to ashes and smoke.
The
men in suits glanced at him, but they didn’t seem to react. The air outside was
cool and refreshing, and Dr. Khan admonished himself for picking up the
disgusting habit of tobacco. But he couldn’t stop from inhaling another hit of
nicotine.
And
what was he going to do about the request in the letter? He could feel his
intestines crawl up to his heart, and his heart pushed blood to his brain, and
he felt overwhelmed. He took in another drag. The sun was setting fast, and
swallows came out in the relief to pick at the insects rising in turn for
relief. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He stared at the men. They
would see him the moment he left. Or was there another way?
Dr.
Khan threw out his cigarette and pondered his choices.
Soon
dinner would be ready and he would go downstairs and eat with his wife and her
relatives. He didn’t mind them, really, their deferential respect towards him
always allowed him some room to breathe. But none of them would be willing to
help him with this. In fact, it would be better if they didn’t know about this
at all.
But
the boy who brought him the letter. He would be able to help, wouldn’t he? How
to reach out to him, though?
His
wife’s voice sounded off the marble floors and Dr. Khan slowly made his way
down the stairs and to the dinner table where everyone stared at him. He raised
his hand and everyone dived in to eat. He chewed his food, not tasting the
lamb, though the clove curry spices that hit his nose made him wonder why not.
No, his thoughts were with the letter he’d just burned. The more he dwelt on it
the more it seemed that these people in front of him were strangers.
His
wife placed her hand on his wrist, a concerned look on her face. He forced a
smile to tell her that he was all right. But inside he was annoyed. He just
wanted to lay with his thoughts, the letter, and the emotions it stirred up
inside him.
This
thought made him immediately feel bad and he placed his other hand in his wife’s
and smiled again, staring into her big brown eyes. She had, after all, been the
one to stand behind him. Especially when he had been arrested, forced to live
in a house, never to see the light of day. He tilted his head at her. She
nodded and went back to eating. He returned his eyes to his own plate, feeling
that if he concentrated on the food in front of him no one else would notice
his cogitation, and perhaps he could even forget the damn letter.
It
didn’t work. He focused on each grain of rice embedded in the pilaf. A piece of
clove. And still the letter’s contents wouldn’t leave his mind be. He pushed
his food aside, half-finished and left the table. He could feel everyone’s eyes
piercing his back. He walked around the corner and opened the bathroom door,
shutting it loudly. He could hear a few murmurs from the dinner table. It
didn’t matter. The sweat on his forehead, and the feeling of a vice on his
heart. He had to leave. There was no other choice. He headed to the servants’
room. There was still one who stayed after dinner.
The
servant, Karim, looked at him like he didn’t care for the intrusion.
“Can
I help you?”
Dr.
Khan stopped to take in this servant. The newest of the lot, and the most
rebellious. Normally the doctor’s wife would have said something, but even she
seemed to know better. There was something about Karim that didn’t seem to
brook authority, and whatever had led him to become a servant, it didn’t seem
strong enough to make him a loyal dog.
“I
know this is your dinner time, but I wanted to talk to you,” Dr. Khan said. He
tried to keep his eyes on Karim’s almost black eyes. He failed and his eyes
darted to the scar that ran across Karim’s dark forehead, denting the nose,
then across the lower jaw and touching off his neck.
Karim
put down his plate of food and pointed at his bed. It was a small room, with a
jail-like window, a three-legged stool that Karim was sitting on, and an army
cot with a blanket on it. The whole room stunk of dirty feet and a hint of
perfume. Dr. Khan knew the house rules didn’t allow the servants to have any
guests of their own, but Karim seemed impervious to such rules. That it was s
woman Karim was violating the rules for, made the doctor like him.
Dr.
Khan sat down, the cot creaking to greet him. He stared at his hands because
staring at Karim’s eyes, those incisive things, would make his inner turmoil
worse.
“Well?”
Karim said, casting a glance at his unfinished plate.
“You
know the young boy who came by the front door today?” Dr. Khan said. He could
smell the perfume rises off the sheets. He suppressed a smile. And for the
first time in hours he truly relaxed.
“Abdullah?
The one with the message for you?” Karim said.
“Yes,”
Dr. Khan replied. He took a second to hold Karim’s stare, but those
vacant-yet-sharp black eyes forced him to look elsewhere. He settled for the
wall behind Karim. Paint peeling, and a cockroach running into a crack. What
was it about Karim’s eyes that seemed so scary? After all he, Dr. Khan, had
dined with plenty of military men with time in and around Kashmir. Men who had
fought battles at twenty thousand feet. What was it about Karim’s eyes that
seemed harder?
“What
about him?” asked Karim.
The
doctor wasn’t certain what to ask. Instead, happy to not think about the
message, he was thinking that Karim, even with the suited men outside, was the
kind of person to take a slight and murder an entire family. The doctor had
heard stories like that and thought it possible. Not with the kind of servants
he’d had before. But with Karim… “He’s a street child, isn’t he?”
Karim
stood up a little taller. “So am I.”
“You’re
no longer a child.”
Karim
half-grinned, showcasing his browned teeth.
Dr.
Khan let out a sigh of relief. For a second he thought his last sentence went
too far. “Do you know him well?”
“I
knew him before I had this job. He’s smart…” Karim trailed off. Something about
his demeanor suddenly seemed unconfident.
“I
know he is.” The doctor had only talked to the boy a handful of times, but it
was easy to see his intelligence. Dr. Khan had seen that in a smart remark that
had all the suited men laughing at him. That was a few weeks ago. Little by
little he had let the young boy buy things for him. Abdullah always knew how to
evade the men in suits, and that was also something Dr. Khan liked.
“And
you want to talk about Abdullah, why?” Karim asked. His face had contorted into
a snarl.
The
doctor was confused for a second before he realized what Karim was insinuating.
“No.
No,” Dr. Khan said. “I am not like that.”
Karim
nodded, but his face remained hard.
“Do
you know how he got the message he gave me?”
Karim
shook his head. “I can ask him, if you want.”
The
doctor paused to think. Would including Karim in his scheme be foolish? Perhaps
the hard man only saw him as a way to get money. Perhaps the first chance he
got he would stick his master and take his wallet. But the doctor knew he was
going to have to risk it. He picked up the blanket and smelled it. “A woman of
yours?”
Karim
clenched his jaw.
“I
don’t mean anything. I also think having a woman is important. The greatest
thing in the world.”
“What
I do is my business,” Karim said.
“Of
course it is. And if you don’t want to talk, fine. But I just want to make sure
I understand a little about you.”
“Why?
You pay me to wait and serve you. What do you care what I do?” Karim said.
The
doctor glanced at the door. He got up, checked the hallway, and shut it. He
stood in front of Karim. He could see the young man’s fists balling up.
“I
too have a secret,” Dr. Khan said. “That’s what the message was about.”
Karim’s
forehead furrowed, his head tilted like he was confused, then his face lit up
and he grinned. “Oh?”
“Can
you help me keep them?”
Karim
leaned back and smiled. A waft of an unbrushed tongue hit the doctor and made
him hold his breath. Dr. Khan had not thought it possible to see the young
man’s face and eyes go soft, but they did.
“I
will tell no one,” Karim said and pointed at his blankets. “The servant girl
from across the street comes in at night. I leave my window open and she comes
in almost every night.”
Dr.
Khan smiled. “It’s good to have a woman,” he repeated.
“Yes.
And secrets,” Karim said, holding up his finger. “Nothing is more important
than being able to share secrets with someone.”
Dr.
Khan nodded his head, though he was in no mood to share what was in the
message. “I need to leave. And I need to do it without any one else knowing.
Abdullah seems to know how to avoid them. I think he can help.”
“That
boy has the magic touch. He can sneak in and out of anyplace without a
problem.”
“Will
he be able to get me out without someone noticing?” the doctor asked.
“You
will be hard. But we can manage.”
The
doctor wasn’t certain how the poor young man in front of him was so confident,
but he liked it and didn’t want to burst the elated feeling that gave him.
“And
where do you want to go?” Karim asked.
“I
want to get out of the country.”
Karim
chuckled, then looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. “Out of the country?
This will not be easy. You know this?”
“I’ll
pay,” said the doctor. “But it must be done right away and no one—“
“I
know. No one must know.”
“Right,”
Dr. Khan said. Now that doubt had crept across Karim’s face he felt like his
hopes were crashing. “This can be done, right?”
“It
can.”
“You
ever done something like this?” the doctor asked.
Karim’s
eyes glanced around the room. “Yes. On the border to Afghanistan. But that’s
easy if you want to be in Afghanistan.”
So
the young man was fighter on top of being a street kid. Dr. Khan could feel his
throat tightening. “And further than that?”
“It
can be done. I will talk to Abdullah tomorrow about getting you out of the
house. Then—“
“No.
Tonight. Get him tonight. I want to be gone as soon as possible.”
“Okay,
okay,” Karim said, smiling. “It will happen.”
The
doctor stared at Karim for another half second before he turned to the door.
“Let me know if you need anything from me.”
“I
will,” Karim said, his smile almost too nice now.
As
Dr. Khan made it up the stairs to his room, he saw that his hands were shaking.
How foolish could he have been to place his trust in someone like Karim? The
young man was a street kid. He would turn the doctor in, or kill him for his
money the moment he had a chance. But the doctor knew he had to take the risk.
His stomach rumbled and he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. It was a gift from
decades ago during his time in Germany. He had barely touched it, but tonight
he needed something. He made sure his door was locked before he took a sip.
The
doctor awoke, lurching up and staring at darkness. His heart was beating fast
and he wasn’t certain why. After a few seconds he made out a from beside his
bed.
“You’re
awake,” Karim said.
It
took a few seconds for Dr. Khan to remember what he had talked about with the
young man only a few hours ago. He rubbed his eyes, picked them with his
fingers and rubbed the crust between them. That helped to calm him down. He was
Dr. Khan. The great doctor, and he knew what he had to do. And even though his
bed called him, made him want to sleep and forget this ever happened, he pulled
his feet out of bed and waited for Karim to say something.
When
nothing was said. When in fact all he could hear was Karim breathing, he
wondered if Karim had in fact woken him up. Or was he just sitting here
watching the doctor sleep? If so, with such a tough young man, the doctor felt
that perhaps he had made a mistake. But as the young man’s chai-infused breath
infiltrated the doctor’s olfactory senses and made him feel warm, he decided
that the young man was here to help.
“Did
you find Abdullah?” asked the doctor.
“I
did,” said Karim.
“I’ll
be meeting with him now?”
“We
leave now. Pack what you need and let’s go.”
That
jolted the doctor hard. He instinctively looked to see if his wife was in bed,
but they had stopped sleeping in the same room ever since she claimed that he
snored ten years ago.
“Wait,”
the doctor said. He had, in fact, packed. But that had been when this wasn’t a
reality. He walked to his dresser in the dark and pulled out the bag. He tried
to remember what was in it. He put on a fresh change of clothes, then his
shoes. He made sure his wallet was full and in his pocket.
Karim
grabbed his hand. “We have to go now.”
Before
he could protest, the young man had pulled him out to the hallway. They went
down the steps so fast that the doctor felt sure that they would fall and be
found out. But the young man was sure footed, and even though the doctor
tripped twice, and pushed on the young man’s back, he didn’t fall.
Dr.
Khan found himself in Karim’s room. The window was open, and Dr. Khan felt
certain that there was someone on the bed. The smell of saffron was strong. He
didn’t say anything when that form stirred. Karim pushed him to the window.
The
doctor pulled himself up and over the window and into a small section of the
garden he’d never seen before. There was a high wall with glass scattered in
the cement on top. Karim, now beside him pointed at the wall. “I hope you can
climb,” whispered the young man.
Karim
looked around. There were no windows facing this part of the house. He wondered
how big of a security threat that was. He walked over to the wall and looked at
Karim. Now that he had to climb it, it seemed impossible.
Karim
grinned, a garlic smell now spewed from his mouth. Dr. Khan wondered how it
changed so quickly. But before he could think of that, Karim got down on all
fours and indicated that the doctor should climb on his back. At the same time
Karim handed him a piece of cloth. He indicated to the doctor to wrap his hands
in it. The doctor did so and stood up on Karim’s back. It was less stable than
he thought and he fell down. The second time he secured his balance with the
wall and reached up over the wall. Even with the cloth to protect his hands, he
could feel the glass pushing into his skin.
And
he used all his might to pull himself up. But his muscles weren’t used to this
sort of exertion. He pulled himself high enough that his chin rested on the
top, and he could see the small street that greeted him. For some reason it
didn’t seem familiar.
He
felt a push on his ass and he used it to pull himself over. He could hear his
pants ripping on the glass shards. Some screeched past his skin. But when he
fell, feet then ass, on the other side, there was a momentary pang of relief.
That was soon replaced when Karim didn’t come over.
Lying
there on his back, he stared at the cloud cover and wondered why he was doing
this now. He could sense the freedom that leaving the house afforded him. The
air was almost lighter. It was as if he knew the men in suits could no longer
touch him.
But
the longer it took for Karim to come over—where was he?—the lighter the air
felt until the doctor couldn’t breath any more. And then the warnings the ISI
and their men in suits gave him tickled his brain and increased in volume until
they were yells in the silence of the night. He thought about the warnings they
had given him. That in fact there were trained American and Israeli assassins
in the streets who were after him. And now he had given up protection, for
what? To trust a street kid who may well have still been a terrorist?
He
could feel his chest tighten.
“Doctor?”
The
doctor opened his eyes. “Where were you?” he asked. He felt helpless. He knew
that trusting Karim with his life was foolish. But what else could he do?
“Sorry,
I heard some noise inside the house and I had to make sure no one suspected you
were gone. Not until later.”
“Where
to now?” the doctor asked as he got up and brushed himself. There was a white
korean van near them on the street that Karim pointed at.
“In there,” Karim said and handed him a
passport.”
The
doctor looked inside. There was a picture of him. Again his mind started to
run, and his chest tightened. How could a street child get such good forgeries?
In so short a notice? It could very well be that Karim was working for the
Americans or someone else…
“I’m
not a normal street kid, but I work for no one but myself… and you,” Karim
said, patting the doctor on the back.
The
doctor decided to believe that. They drove in the van for a few minutes, pulling
further and further away from the city. Dr. Khan wanted to ask Karim what the
plan was, but with his thoughts in such a jumble, he didn’t.
Arriving
in at a corrugated tin shack by the side of the highway, Karim hid the van in
plastic siding then pointed to a car. The air out here was clean, crisp, and
crickets chirped in the distance. Dr. Khan felt better about trusting Karim.
Then
the young man opened the trunk.
“No,”
said the doctor, he hated closed spaces.
“You
have to,” Karim said. “There will be checkpoints up. You have to get inside.”
The
doctor felt like peeing, but in the end he decided that there was no choice and
climbed in. The trunk shut tight, inches from his face. He looked for an air
hole, or a crack, but couldn’t find anything. The car started up and started to
toss and turn through a bumpy road. What bumpy road? They were next to a
highway.
Dr.
Khan’s heart started to race. The darkness of the trunk seeped into his mind.
He never wanted to be back at home as badly as he did now. He pushed at the
trunk and yelled. The trunk wouldn’t budge. This was a mistake, and he could
feel it through his bones. He yelled again.
In
response loud music was turned on. Dr. Khan knew that Karim wasn’t what he
pretended to be. How he wished he was with the men in suits. He could smell
something sweet in the trunk, and realized that it was blood. He kicked again
and his whole world, nothing but black, fell in on him.
To tide you over, I have pasted the start of the novel (nope, not the final edited one). Enjoy it:
The
man walked to the street and looked down at the cafe, rustling awake in the
morning sun. He could feel his muscles wrapped tight around his bones. And he
could smell coffee in the air. But this was no time to think of his one
addiction. He nodded at the young man beside him. The young man, Abdul, was
sweating, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Don’t
worry. I’m going to be here with you the whole way,” said the man. He stroked a
scar on his jawline. It went deep. Old wounds from a war on the other side of
these desert sands. In the mornings his jaw bone would hurt like nothing else.
He
walked first, to scout the cafe, which was now filled with Western tourists. No
one seemed alert. All had that vapid look the man had come to associate with
the hated Westerners. He scowled at a handful of women with skirts on.
As
he walked past, he pulled his cellphone out. “Abdul, it’s clear. Get a coffee
and do it.”
He
didn’t look over his back. When he turned a corner he jumped into the passenger
seat of the car. The street here was busier. That gave them more cover. Horns
honked, and the pollution wafted into his head. He waited. A few minutes later
Abdul came around the corner. He smiled. Abdul jumped into the back.
The
man pulled out a remote control. He had done this hundreds of times, and it
never got any easier. He handed it to Abdul.
“Your
turn,” said the man. “When I say so, press the button.”
The
young man nodded and grabbed the remote, a little too easily for the man’s
tastes.
The
car drove forward and the cafe came into view. The man saw some kids playing
soccer in front of the cafe.
“Not
yet,” he said. He placed a hand on the driver’s forearm. “When he presses the button
you move away slowly, like there’s nothing wrong. Got it? No driving fast.”
The
man watched as the cafe owner drove away the kids with a broom. He noticed the
red skin of a tourist who seemed to see him.
“Now.”
The
flash and corresponding shock wave traveled through the man, and he felt the
warmth of the explosion. Then the car alarms and screams. Smoke and mangled
debris was all that remained of the cafe. They drove slowly around the corner.
A few streets over people were going about their business. None of them seemed
to know what was going on only a few blocks away. Near a pile of garbage Abdul
threw the remote.
Soon
they were on a highway out of the city. They stopped when they finally came to
a mountain side house. It was their safe house. The government didn’t have much
control out here.
But
the man knew that his day wasn’t over. There was a meeting with some of the
local tribal leaders in the evening. But first he was gong to have to talk to
his bosses.
He
told Abdul to relax and drink some water.
He
walked into his office and saw his two bosses. The head of Al Qaeda in Magreb,
and the liaison from Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. The man didn’t much like either
of them. They were too grand, and never liked to hear about the minutiae of the
local political movement. But they brought in recruits and money, so the man
didn’t have a choice.
“Please
to sit down,” said the man. “Drinks?”
The
two men shook their heads. The liaison was a tall and lanky man. He claimed to
have fought the infidels in Afghanistan. But the man didn’t believe that since
the lanky man, Mohammad looked too good, with skin too smooth to have seen a
battle. The man in charge of the Maghreb, Laith, was a short and stout man. He
had blue eyes and red hair, though he was born in the sands of Algeria.
“How
can I help you?” the man said, sitting back in his chair.
“How
did the operation go, Ali?” Laith asked, his eyes gleaming.
“Let’s
see,” Ali said, massaging his jaw bone again. It was always aggravated when
these two came here. He switched on the TV and turned to the news channel.
There was the cafe, with emergency services pulling people out of the rubble.
Laith
and Mohammad giggled with glee. Ali forced a smile, though he didn’t like the
way these two men seemed to love the sight of destruction. It only served to
highlight how much they hadn’t done anything on the ground. How they hadn’t had
actual blood on their hands and clothes and how that blood hadn’t infiltrated
their dreams.
“It
says ten dead, twenty injured, good job,” Mohammad said.
“Thank
Abdul,” Ali said. “He was the one who carried it out. His first.”
“He’s
a soldier,” Laith said.
Ali
didn’t say anything. It was also the desk men who would dismiss a soldier’s
job. “What do you two want?”
“Just
wanted a discussion of where your team was going. The next few missions,” Laith
said.
Ali
let out some air and filled them in on the next few attacks planned, and the
local political situation. The two men’s eyes glazed over. Ali dived further
into the situation. Finally, Laith raised his hand.
“We
also wanted your opinion on something.”
“Please,”
Ali said, suppressing a smirk and preparing himself for a grandiose idea that
he’d have to shoot down.
“You
know the great Dr. Khan?” Mohammad asked.
“Of
course, who doesn’t?”
“Well
we have been in correspondence with him,” said Mohammad.
“Really?”
Ali said and leaned forward. He never imagined these two to be that competent.
“Yes.
We may have convinced him to finally come out and help us.”
“Come
out?” Ali said. “The ISI watches him like a hawk. How can he come out? And even
if he did, the Americans and the Israelis would have him killed in a
heartbeat.”
“You
think too small,” Mohammad said. “To risk-averse. We have good word that he’ll
soon be with us, and that when he is, we’ll finally have what we always
wanted.”
“Is
that so?” Ali said. This still seemed ludicrous to him. “And what amazing
nuclear facility will he be working at?” He leaned back. He did not like these
two, and he especially hated their foreign accents. It only proved that they
didn’t care for the local situation and would forever be grasping at magical
solutions to mundane problems.
His
comment shut the two of them up, but after a few glances they seemed to regain
their composure.
“You
think too small,” Laith said, shaking his head. “The doctor will soon be
helping us. And then we shall be unstoppable.”
“Well,
I must,” Ali said. “What did you say to him that brought him on board?”
“We
explained how he could help the cause.”
“And
what did he say?” Ali asked.
“At
first he claimed we had no cause. But we think our last letter convinced him.”
“Why?”
Ali asked.
“We
told him to think of the bigger picture.”
“Ah,
ingenious,” Ali said, wondering how long before he could kick them out of his
office. He wanted to drink some chai. Then he wanted to talk to the local
leaders about money for some water.
“It
is,” said Laith. “We want to draft one more letter, though.”
“And
you want me to?” Ali said, not hiding his annoyance.
“Yes.
We need you. You can tell him some stories of the ground and help convince him
about our cause.”
“All
right. I will,” Ali said.
When
the two men left he shook his head and wondered what letter he could possibly
write to someone as smart as the good Dr. Khan. He would finish it later.
And
as he walked out of the building, he felt a prickle on his skin. He looked up
at the sky. The distant sound of an jet engine hummed. Just like any other day.
As he watched the motorcade with Laith and Mohammad leave, he suddenly knew
what was going on.
A
few other men were milling about, and Ali yelled: “Missile!”
Most
of the men stared at him like they thought he was mad. But Ali knew what the
drill was and ran to the rocks a few hundred meters from the building. He dove
into them as the sky was filled with a horrid swooshing sound. And in the
middle of his dive Ali felt himself twisted in the air, a warm shocking push,
as his world went black.
Dr.
Khan leaned back on his window ledge when a loud series of horns, odd even for
Karachi, forced his eyes over to the street. He was on the outskirts of the
city, and the tree lined streets here were filled with hawkers of all wares.
Outside his house, in two black cars, were a handful of men in aviator glasses
and gray suits. They occasionally glanced up at him and nodded.
They
were there, according to the Pakistani government, for his protection. But he
also knew that they were there in place of his prison bars. Protection, in Dr.
Khan’s life, had always meant less freedom. He sighed as he lit up a cigarette.
He had started ever since stooges in his government and the American government
collaborated to make his life a living hell.
In
his other hand he held a crumpled piece of paper. He knew its contents by
heart. And he knew no one else could ever read it. Using his matches, he set it
on fire, opened the window and watched as the paper turned to ashes and smoke.
The
men in suits glanced at him, but they didn’t seem to react. The air outside was
cool and refreshing, and Dr. Khan admonished himself for picking up the
disgusting habit of tobacco. But he couldn’t stop from inhaling another hit of
nicotine.
And
what was he going to do about the request in the letter? He could feel his
intestines crawl up to his heart, and his heart pushed blood to his brain, and
he felt overwhelmed. He took in another drag. The sun was setting fast, and
swallows came out in the relief to pick at the insects rising in turn for
relief. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He stared at the men. They
would see him the moment he left. Or was there another way?
Dr.
Khan threw out his cigarette and pondered his choices.
Soon
dinner would be ready and he would go downstairs and eat with his wife and her
relatives. He didn’t mind them, really, their deferential respect towards him
always allowed him some room to breathe. But none of them would be willing to
help him with this. In fact, it would be better if they didn’t know about this
at all.
But
the boy who brought him the letter. He would be able to help, wouldn’t he? How
to reach out to him, though?
His
wife’s voice sounded off the marble floors and Dr. Khan slowly made his way
down the stairs and to the dinner table where everyone stared at him. He raised
his hand and everyone dived in to eat. He chewed his food, not tasting the
lamb, though the clove curry spices that hit his nose made him wonder why not.
No, his thoughts were with the letter he’d just burned. The more he dwelt on it
the more it seemed that these people in front of him were strangers.
His
wife placed her hand on his wrist, a concerned look on her face. He forced a
smile to tell her that he was all right. But inside he was annoyed. He just
wanted to lay with his thoughts, the letter, and the emotions it stirred up
inside him.
This
thought made him immediately feel bad and he placed his other hand in his wife’s
and smiled again, staring into her big brown eyes. She had, after all, been the
one to stand behind him. Especially when he had been arrested, forced to live
in a house, never to see the light of day. He tilted his head at her. She
nodded and went back to eating. He returned his eyes to his own plate, feeling
that if he concentrated on the food in front of him no one else would notice
his cogitation, and perhaps he could even forget the damn letter.
It
didn’t work. He focused on each grain of rice embedded in the pilaf. A piece of
clove. And still the letter’s contents wouldn’t leave his mind be. He pushed
his food aside, half-finished and left the table. He could feel everyone’s eyes
piercing his back. He walked around the corner and opened the bathroom door,
shutting it loudly. He could hear a few murmurs from the dinner table. It
didn’t matter. The sweat on his forehead, and the feeling of a vice on his
heart. He had to leave. There was no other choice. He headed to the servants’
room. There was still one who stayed after dinner.
The
servant, Karim, looked at him like he didn’t care for the intrusion.
“Can
I help you?”
Dr.
Khan stopped to take in this servant. The newest of the lot, and the most
rebellious. Normally the doctor’s wife would have said something, but even she
seemed to know better. There was something about Karim that didn’t seem to
brook authority, and whatever had led him to become a servant, it didn’t seem
strong enough to make him a loyal dog.
“I
know this is your dinner time, but I wanted to talk to you,” Dr. Khan said. He
tried to keep his eyes on Karim’s almost black eyes. He failed and his eyes
darted to the scar that ran across Karim’s dark forehead, denting the nose,
then across the lower jaw and touching off his neck.
Karim
put down his plate of food and pointed at his bed. It was a small room, with a
jail-like window, a three-legged stool that Karim was sitting on, and an army
cot with a blanket on it. The whole room stunk of dirty feet and a hint of
perfume. Dr. Khan knew the house rules didn’t allow the servants to have any
guests of their own, but Karim seemed impervious to such rules. That it was s
woman Karim was violating the rules for, made the doctor like him.
Dr.
Khan sat down, the cot creaking to greet him. He stared at his hands because
staring at Karim’s eyes, those incisive things, would make his inner turmoil
worse.
“Well?”
Karim said, casting a glance at his unfinished plate.
“You
know the young boy who came by the front door today?” Dr. Khan said. He could
smell the perfume rises off the sheets. He suppressed a smile. And for the
first time in hours he truly relaxed.
“Abdullah?
The one with the message for you?” Karim said.
“Yes,”
Dr. Khan replied. He took a second to hold Karim’s stare, but those
vacant-yet-sharp black eyes forced him to look elsewhere. He settled for the
wall behind Karim. Paint peeling, and a cockroach running into a crack. What
was it about Karim’s eyes that seemed so scary? After all he, Dr. Khan, had
dined with plenty of military men with time in and around Kashmir. Men who had
fought battles at twenty thousand feet. What was it about Karim’s eyes that
seemed harder?
“What
about him?” asked Karim.
The
doctor wasn’t certain what to ask. Instead, happy to not think about the
message, he was thinking that Karim, even with the suited men outside, was the
kind of person to take a slight and murder an entire family. The doctor had
heard stories like that and thought it possible. Not with the kind of servants
he’d had before. But with Karim… “He’s a street child, isn’t he?”
Karim
stood up a little taller. “So am I.”
“You’re
no longer a child.”
Karim
half-grinned, showcasing his browned teeth.
Dr.
Khan let out a sigh of relief. For a second he thought his last sentence went
too far. “Do you know him well?”
“I
knew him before I had this job. He’s smart…” Karim trailed off. Something about
his demeanor suddenly seemed unconfident.
“I
know he is.” The doctor had only talked to the boy a handful of times, but it
was easy to see his intelligence. Dr. Khan had seen that in a smart remark that
had all the suited men laughing at him. That was a few weeks ago. Little by
little he had let the young boy buy things for him. Abdullah always knew how to
evade the men in suits, and that was also something Dr. Khan liked.
“And
you want to talk about Abdullah, why?” Karim asked. His face had contorted into
a snarl.
The
doctor was confused for a second before he realized what Karim was insinuating.
“No.
No,” Dr. Khan said. “I am not like that.”
Karim
nodded, but his face remained hard.
“Do
you know how he got the message he gave me?”
Karim
shook his head. “I can ask him, if you want.”
The
doctor paused to think. Would including Karim in his scheme be foolish? Perhaps
the hard man only saw him as a way to get money. Perhaps the first chance he
got he would stick his master and take his wallet. But the doctor knew he was
going to have to risk it. He picked up the blanket and smelled it. “A woman of
yours?”
Karim
clenched his jaw.
“I
don’t mean anything. I also think having a woman is important. The greatest
thing in the world.”
“What
I do is my business,” Karim said.
“Of
course it is. And if you don’t want to talk, fine. But I just want to make sure
I understand a little about you.”
“Why?
You pay me to wait and serve you. What do you care what I do?” Karim said.
The
doctor glanced at the door. He got up, checked the hallway, and shut it. He
stood in front of Karim. He could see the young man’s fists balling up.
“I
too have a secret,” Dr. Khan said. “That’s what the message was about.”
Karim’s
forehead furrowed, his head tilted like he was confused, then his face lit up
and he grinned. “Oh?”
“Can
you help me keep them?”
Karim
leaned back and smiled. A waft of an unbrushed tongue hit the doctor and made
him hold his breath. Dr. Khan had not thought it possible to see the young
man’s face and eyes go soft, but they did.
“I
will tell no one,” Karim said and pointed at his blankets. “The servant girl
from across the street comes in at night. I leave my window open and she comes
in almost every night.”
Dr.
Khan smiled. “It’s good to have a woman,” he repeated.
“Yes.
And secrets,” Karim said, holding up his finger. “Nothing is more important
than being able to share secrets with someone.”
Dr.
Khan nodded his head, though he was in no mood to share what was in the
message. “I need to leave. And I need to do it without any one else knowing.
Abdullah seems to know how to avoid them. I think he can help.”
“That
boy has the magic touch. He can sneak in and out of anyplace without a
problem.”
“Will
he be able to get me out without someone noticing?” the doctor asked.
“You
will be hard. But we can manage.”
The
doctor wasn’t certain how the poor young man in front of him was so confident,
but he liked it and didn’t want to burst the elated feeling that gave him.
“And
where do you want to go?” Karim asked.
“I
want to get out of the country.”
Karim
chuckled, then looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. “Out of the country?
This will not be easy. You know this?”
“I’ll
pay,” said the doctor. “But it must be done right away and no one—“
“I
know. No one must know.”
“Right,”
Dr. Khan said. Now that doubt had crept across Karim’s face he felt like his
hopes were crashing. “This can be done, right?”
“It
can.”
“You
ever done something like this?” the doctor asked.
Karim’s
eyes glanced around the room. “Yes. On the border to Afghanistan. But that’s
easy if you want to be in Afghanistan.”
So
the young man was fighter on top of being a street kid. Dr. Khan could feel his
throat tightening. “And further than that?”
“It
can be done. I will talk to Abdullah tomorrow about getting you out of the
house. Then—“
“No.
Tonight. Get him tonight. I want to be gone as soon as possible.”
“Okay,
okay,” Karim said, smiling. “It will happen.”
The
doctor stared at Karim for another half second before he turned to the door.
“Let me know if you need anything from me.”
“I
will,” Karim said, his smile almost too nice now.
As
Dr. Khan made it up the stairs to his room, he saw that his hands were shaking.
How foolish could he have been to place his trust in someone like Karim? The
young man was a street kid. He would turn the doctor in, or kill him for his
money the moment he had a chance. But the doctor knew he had to take the risk.
His stomach rumbled and he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. It was a gift from
decades ago during his time in Germany. He had barely touched it, but tonight
he needed something. He made sure his door was locked before he took a sip.
The
doctor awoke, lurching up and staring at darkness. His heart was beating fast
and he wasn’t certain why. After a few seconds he made out a from beside his
bed.
“You’re
awake,” Karim said.
It
took a few seconds for Dr. Khan to remember what he had talked about with the
young man only a few hours ago. He rubbed his eyes, picked them with his
fingers and rubbed the crust between them. That helped to calm him down. He was
Dr. Khan. The great doctor, and he knew what he had to do. And even though his
bed called him, made him want to sleep and forget this ever happened, he pulled
his feet out of bed and waited for Karim to say something.
When
nothing was said. When in fact all he could hear was Karim breathing, he
wondered if Karim had in fact woken him up. Or was he just sitting here
watching the doctor sleep? If so, with such a tough young man, the doctor felt
that perhaps he had made a mistake. But as the young man’s chai-infused breath
infiltrated the doctor’s olfactory senses and made him feel warm, he decided
that the young man was here to help.
“Did
you find Abdullah?” asked the doctor.
“I
did,” said Karim.
“I’ll
be meeting with him now?”
“We
leave now. Pack what you need and let’s go.”
That
jolted the doctor hard. He instinctively looked to see if his wife was in bed,
but they had stopped sleeping in the same room ever since she claimed that he
snored ten years ago.
“Wait,”
the doctor said. He had, in fact, packed. But that had been when this wasn’t a
reality. He walked to his dresser in the dark and pulled out the bag. He tried
to remember what was in it. He put on a fresh change of clothes, then his
shoes. He made sure his wallet was full and in his pocket.
Karim
grabbed his hand. “We have to go now.”
Before
he could protest, the young man had pulled him out to the hallway. They went
down the steps so fast that the doctor felt sure that they would fall and be
found out. But the young man was sure footed, and even though the doctor
tripped twice, and pushed on the young man’s back, he didn’t fall.
Dr.
Khan found himself in Karim’s room. The window was open, and Dr. Khan felt
certain that there was someone on the bed. The smell of saffron was strong. He
didn’t say anything when that form stirred. Karim pushed him to the window.
The
doctor pulled himself up and over the window and into a small section of the
garden he’d never seen before. There was a high wall with glass scattered in
the cement on top. Karim, now beside him pointed at the wall. “I hope you can
climb,” whispered the young man.
Karim
looked around. There were no windows facing this part of the house. He wondered
how big of a security threat that was. He walked over to the wall and looked at
Karim. Now that he had to climb it, it seemed impossible.
Karim
grinned, a garlic smell now spewed from his mouth. Dr. Khan wondered how it
changed so quickly. But before he could think of that, Karim got down on all
fours and indicated that the doctor should climb on his back. At the same time
Karim handed him a piece of cloth. He indicated to the doctor to wrap his hands
in it. The doctor did so and stood up on Karim’s back. It was less stable than
he thought and he fell down. The second time he secured his balance with the
wall and reached up over the wall. Even with the cloth to protect his hands, he
could feel the glass pushing into his skin.
And
he used all his might to pull himself up. But his muscles weren’t used to this
sort of exertion. He pulled himself high enough that his chin rested on the
top, and he could see the small street that greeted him. For some reason it
didn’t seem familiar.
He
felt a push on his ass and he used it to pull himself over. He could hear his
pants ripping on the glass shards. Some screeched past his skin. But when he
fell, feet then ass, on the other side, there was a momentary pang of relief.
That was soon replaced when Karim didn’t come over.
Lying
there on his back, he stared at the cloud cover and wondered why he was doing
this now. He could sense the freedom that leaving the house afforded him. The
air was almost lighter. It was as if he knew the men in suits could no longer
touch him.
But
the longer it took for Karim to come over—where was he?—the lighter the air
felt until the doctor couldn’t breath any more. And then the warnings the ISI
and their men in suits gave him tickled his brain and increased in volume until
they were yells in the silence of the night. He thought about the warnings they
had given him. That in fact there were trained American and Israeli assassins
in the streets who were after him. And now he had given up protection, for
what? To trust a street kid who may well have still been a terrorist?
He
could feel his chest tighten.
“Doctor?”
The
doctor opened his eyes. “Where were you?” he asked. He felt helpless. He knew
that trusting Karim with his life was foolish. But what else could he do?
“Sorry,
I heard some noise inside the house and I had to make sure no one suspected you
were gone. Not until later.”
“Where
to now?” the doctor asked as he got up and brushed himself. There was a white
korean van near them on the street that Karim pointed at.
“In there,” Karim said and handed him a
passport.”
The
doctor looked inside. There was a picture of him. Again his mind started to
run, and his chest tightened. How could a street child get such good forgeries?
In so short a notice? It could very well be that Karim was working for the
Americans or someone else…
“I’m
not a normal street kid, but I work for no one but myself… and you,” Karim
said, patting the doctor on the back.
The
doctor decided to believe that. They drove in the van for a few minutes, pulling
further and further away from the city. Dr. Khan wanted to ask Karim what the
plan was, but with his thoughts in such a jumble, he didn’t.
Arriving
in at a corrugated tin shack by the side of the highway, Karim hid the van in
plastic siding then pointed to a car. The air out here was clean, crisp, and
crickets chirped in the distance. Dr. Khan felt better about trusting Karim.
Then
the young man opened the trunk.
“No,”
said the doctor, he hated closed spaces.
“You
have to,” Karim said. “There will be checkpoints up. You have to get inside.”
The
doctor felt like peeing, but in the end he decided that there was no choice and
climbed in. The trunk shut tight, inches from his face. He looked for an air
hole, or a crack, but couldn’t find anything. The car started up and started to
toss and turn through a bumpy road. What bumpy road? They were next to a
highway.
Dr.
Khan’s heart started to race. The darkness of the trunk seeped into his mind.
He never wanted to be back at home as badly as he did now. He pushed at the
trunk and yelled. The trunk wouldn’t budge. This was a mistake, and he could
feel it through his bones. He yelled again.
In
response loud music was turned on. Dr. Khan knew that Karim wasn’t what he
pretended to be. How he wished he was with the men in suits. He could smell
something sweet in the trunk, and realized that it was blood. He kicked again
and his whole world, nothing but black, fell in on him.
September 23, 2013
An interesting article
If you've read my book, The Struggle Trilogy, you will have noticed the prevalence of Iranians. They were prevalent in Iraq. Here's an article. Enjoy!
September 21, 2013
Review for The Struggle Trilogy
Just wanted to let my readers know that there's a review for The Struggle Trilogy out here. Thanks to Kira for reading and putting out the review!
The next book is still brewing (editing), but we will have it out on pre-order on select channels to be announced here. If need be I'll post more initial draft chapters up here.
Cheers all, and hope those in the Northern latitudes are enjoying as much of this warmth as they can, while they can.
The next book is still brewing (editing), but we will have it out on pre-order on select channels to be announced here. If need be I'll post more initial draft chapters up here.
Cheers all, and hope those in the Northern latitudes are enjoying as much of this warmth as they can, while they can.
August 26, 2013
August 23, 2013
More Audio giveaways!
To all my readers out there; there will be another audio book giveaway. Post in the comments or email me.
Rebel
Satan's Plea
Tree of Freedom
When Gods Fail 2
Rebel
Satan's Plea
Tree of Freedom
When Gods Fail 2
August 10, 2013
Informed readers want to know.
Working on a new novel. This one has some spy overtones (made more relevant with Snowden's recent revelations). So please, enjoy it! Remember, this is an initial draft and hasn't gone through the requisite proper edits!
“Don’t worry. I’m going to be here with you the whole way,” said the man. He stroked a scar on his jawline. It went deep. Old wounds from a war on the other side of these desert sands. In the mornings his jaw bone would hurt like nothing else.
He walked first, to scout the cafe, which was now filled with Western tourists. No one seemed alert. All had that vapid look the man had come to associate with the hated Westerners. He scowled at a handful of women with skirts on.
As he walked past, he pulled his cellphone out. “Abdul, it’s clear. Get a coffee and do it.”
He didn’t look over his back. When he turned a corner he jumped into the passenger seat of the car. The street here was busier. That gave them more cover. Horns honked, and the pollution wafted into his head. He waited. A few minutes later Abdul came around the corner. He smiled. Abdul jumped into the back.
The man pulled out a remote control. He had done this hundreds of times, and it never got any easier. He handed it to Abdul.
“Your turn,” said the man. “When I say so, press the button.”
The young man nodded and grabbed the remote, a little too easily for the man’s tastes.
The car drove forward and the cafe came into view. The man saw some kids playing soccer in front of the cafe.
“Not yet,” he said. He placed a hand on the driver’s forearm. “When he presses the button you move away slowly, like there’s nothing wrong. Got it? No driving fast.”
The man watched as the cafe owner drove away the kids with a broom. He noticed the red skin of a tourist who seemed to see him.
“Now.”
The flash and corresponding shock wave traveled through the man, and he felt the warmth of the explosion. Then the car alarms and screams. Smoke and mangled debris was all that remained of the cafe. They drove slowly around the corner. A few streets over people were going about their business. None of them seemed to know what was going on only a few blocks away. Near a pile of garbage Abdul threw the remote.
Soon they were on a highway out of the city. They stopped when they finally came to a mountain side house. It was their safe house. The government didn’t have much control out here.
But the man knew that his day wasn’t over. There was a meeting with some of the local tribal leaders in the evening. But first he was gong to have to talk to his bosses.
He told Abdul to relax and drink some water.
He walked into his office and saw his two bosses. The head of Al Qaeda in Magreb, and the liaison from Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. The man didn’t much like either of them. They were too grand, and never liked to hear about the minutiae of the local political movement. But they brought in recruits and money, so the man didn’t have a choice.
“Please to sit down,” said the man. “Drinks?”
The two men shook their heads. The liaison was a tall and lanky man. He claimed to have fought the infidels in Afghanistan. But the man didn’t believe that since the lanky man, Mohammad looked too good, with skin too smooth to have seen a battle. The man in charge of the Maghreb, Laith, was a short and stout man. He had blue eyes and red hair, though he was born in the sands of Algeria.
“How can I help you?” the man said, sitting back in his chair.
“How did the operation go, Ali?” Laith asked, his eyes gleaming.
“Let’s see,” Ali said, massaging his jaw bone again. It was always aggravated when these two came here. He switched on the TV and turned to the news channel. There was the cafe, with emergency services pulling people out of the rubble.
Laith and Mohammad giggled with glee. Ali forced a smile, though he didn’t like the way these two men seemed to love the sight of destruction. It only served to highlight how much they hadn’t done anything on the ground. How they hadn’t had actual blood on their hands and clothes and how that blood hadn’t infiltrated their dreams.
“It says ten dead, twenty injured, good job,” Mohammad said.
“Thank Abdul,” Ali said. “He was the one who carried it out. His first.”
“He’s a soldier,” Laith said.
Ali didn’t say anything. It was also the desk men who would dismiss a soldier’s job. “What do you two want?”
“Just wanted a discussion of where your team was going. The next few missions,” Laith said.
Ali let out some air and filled them in on the next few attacks planned, and the local political situation. The two men’s eyes glazed over. Ali dived further into the situation. Finally, Laith raised his hand.
“We also wanted your opinion on something.”
“Please,” Ali said, suppressing a smirk and preparing himself for a grandiose idea that he’d have to shoot down.
“You know the great Dr. Khan?” Mohammad asked.
“Of course, who doesn’t?”
“Well we have been in correspondence with him,” said Mohammad.
“Really?” Ali said and leaned forward. He never imagined these two to be that competent.
“Yes. We may have convinced him to finally come out and help us.”
“Come out?” Ali said. “The ISI watches him like a hawk. How can he come out? And even if he did, the Americans and the Israelis would have him killed in a heartbeat.”
“You think too small,” Mohammad said. “To risk-averse. We have good word that he’ll soon be with us, and that when he is, we’ll finally have what we always wanted.”
“Is that so?” Ali said. This still seemed ludicrous to him. “And what amazing nuclear facility will he be working at?” He leaned back. He did not like these two, and he especially hated their foreign accents. It only proved that they didn’t care for the local situation and would forever be grasping at magical solutions to mundane problems.
His comment shut the two of them up, but after a few glances they seemed to regain their composure.
“You think too small,” Laith said, shaking his head. “The doctor will soon be helping us. And then we shall be unstoppable.”
“Well, I must,” Ali said. “What did you say to him that brought him on board?”
“We explained how he could help the cause.”
“And what did he say?” Ali asked.
“At first he claimed we had no cause. But we think our last letter convinced him.”
“Why?” Ali asked.
“We told him to think of the bigger picture.”
“Ah, ingenious,” Ali said, wondering how long before he could kick them out of his office. He wanted to drink some chai. Then he wanted to talk to the local leaders about money for some water.
“It is,” said Laith. “We want to draft one more letter, though.”
“And you want me to?” Ali said, not hiding his annoyance.
“Yes. We need you. You can tell him some stories of the ground and help convince him about our cause.”
“All right. I will,” Ali said.
When the two men left he shook his head and wondered what letter he could possibly write to someone as smart as the good Dr. Khan. He would finish it later.
And as he walked out of the building, he felt a prickle on his skin. He looked up at the sky. The distant sound of an jet engine hummed. Just like any other day. As he watched the motorcade with Laith and Mohammad leave, he suddenly knew what was going on.
A few other men were milling about, and Ali yelled: “Missile!”
Most of the men stared at him like they thought he was mad. But Ali knew what the drill was and ran to the rocks a few hundred meters from the building. He dove into them as the sky was filled with a horrid swooshing sound. And in the middle of his dive Ali felt himself twisted in the air, a warm shocking push, as his world went black.
“Spare some change?”
Justice broke out of the hedge of his thoughts and stared at the homeless man in front of him. The homeless man’s skin was covered with grime and he smelled like sulfuric mold. Justice didn’t normally give to the homeless; he knew that many of them were undercovers, but he fished his pockets for some change and handed it over.
“What’re the stocks looking like today?” asked the homeless man.
Justice, staring at the rooftops of midtown brought his attention back to the homeless man. Justice wondered when the last time he looked at a stock ticker was. “No idea, why?” said Justice.
“Just asking,” the homeless man asked, then hobbled away.
Justice wondered what made the homeless man want to live his life like this. He didn’t appear to be nuts. What about choosing another city to panhandle in? New York had to be high competition. Justice knew if he were homeless he would go and live in the forests, living off the land and not letting anyone disturb him. He inhaled and felt the exceptionally-warm-for-spring air warm him up.
He walked by a kiosk, shaking off the strings that pulled his eyes towards the cigarettes. That was a habit he’d rather not pick back up. Though with the kind of job he had, he wondered why he cared.
At the corner, a man handing out leaflets stared at a beautiful woman passing him by. Justice was next to him, and the man tapped him. Pointing at the ass and licking his lips he said: “Perfect, huh?”
Staring at the woman’s perfect, almost loud proportions made Justice think about his woman and her perfect flesh. “Ain’t nothing perfect,” Justice said.
The man let out a hyena-laugh. His long roped body bent back, and his white teeth lit up the sidewalk. “Ain’t that the truth.”
They clasped hands and Justice tried to keep up with a handshake that morphed into what seemed like finger wrestling. The man’s bright eyes forced a grin to spread on Justice’s face. There was something about the man’s ways that made Justice feel better about humanity. They embraced, and Justice walked on. Now his eyes cut across a street and to the shining tower that was the Freedom Tower going up. It was almost finished, and it filled Justice with an immense pride. This was the reason he had his current job: to stop something like 9-11 from ever happening again. And though it took a long time, there was finally an emblem for his fight. He walked on.
Buzzing the door, he stepped into a marbled lobby, slid his card through a slot and waited for the retina scan. Coworkers told him that studies had shown that the retina scans caused premature glaucoma. And so what was his attitude. The door buzzed open, and Justice stepped to the next door. Here he punched in a code.
“State your name,” a raspy computer voice said.
“Justice.”
It took a few seconds before the door opened and Justice walked through.
He remembered how he loved doing this when he first came to work, how it was an exciting feel to be in such a secure building.
Next he placed his palm on a touch screen and waited for it to scan. Another door slid open. Justice walked through that. Finally he walked by a desk where three security guards sat and talked to each other.
“Gentlemen,” Justice said.
“Justice,” they all said in unison. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad,” Justice said.
“ID,” they said. Justice handed them his ID, and each of them took several minutes holding it up to the light.
When they handed it back, they buzzed open a door and Justice walked through and to a wide open hallway. No one was around.
Justice’s wingtips echoed as he hurried down the hallway. He turned left, then finally came to a large door with a brass title that read: “Head Officer In Charge.”
Justice knocked.
“Come in,” the voice on the other side said. He entered and smiled at a redhead with a scar running down her face.
“Julie,” Justice said, trying to keep his eyes off her screaming cleavage, and glass eye that never followed the real one.
“Mr. Justice,” Julie replied, giving him a once over that he was by now used to.
“Drail in?”
“Hold on,” Julie said as she picked up the phone. “Mr. Drail? Yes, Justice. Yes.” She looked up from the phone. “Go in.”
Justice headed in as Julie muttered something on the phone. Walking into his boss’ office always gave Justice a head rush. The room smelled old-school, like cigars and wood. While the walls were covered in plaques and pictures of Drail shaking hands with various Presidents and other heads of state. Justice knew the power his boss had—and his boss’ bosses—but to come face to face with visual representations was always overwhelming. When Justice first walked into the office several years ago, he had hoped he would be able to collect a few pictures of him self alongside some head honchos. That hadn’t happened yet.
“Justice,” Drail said, his large hairy hand sweeping at the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
Justice sat down. When he hit a bump in his work, when he felt he wasn’t getting the promotions he wanted, he was ready to hate Drail. But he learned that he couldn’t help but like Drail. The large Greek looked dangerously Arab, though he would bristle at any such statement. Justice learned that on his first day of work when he assumed Drail spoke Arabic. Justice was lucky to keep his job then. Drail forgave faster than most. During those tough times when Justice was ready to quit, Drail kept him focused on the job.
“Drail, how’s it going?”
“It’s busy as usual,” said Drail, running his hand through his thick, black hair, that always seemed greased up. “How was your vacation?”
“Great,” Justice said, scratching his shoulder where his skin peeled from sun exposure. “Costa Rica hit the spot.”
“Nice women?”
“Went with my girlfriend,” Justice said. He wasn’t certain if he could call her that. Not after the fight they had. Not when in the wake of every silence between them his heart dropped. And as he thought of the possibility of losing his girlfriend, his heart sunk once more. But such topics he’d learned to keep away from work. And especially away from the likes of Drail, a former spec-ops officer.
“So… nice women?” Drail said, and laughed with his chin back before Justice had time to answer.
Justice smiled. “I’d say so.”
“You should stick to Miami. Best pussy anywhere in Latin America.”
“Next time,” Justice said. Though he’d developed a habit of leaving the country whenever he was on vacation.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you to come in early,” Drail said, and interlocked his fingers in front of his face. All his gold rings matched up in a perfect row. Justice wondered why he never got such rings.
“I suppose. I thought I was going to Yemen to work at the embassy,” Justice replied. He thought about saying something to save his vacation days. He had a couple weeks worth coming up, but he wasn’t going to be able to use them up. And if he didn’t use them up they would be discarded in the next week. Perhaps they could be set aside. He decided not to say anything. His eyes shifted to a breast on the large Les Demoiselles replica behind Drail. It was something his boss enjoyed boasting about. He got the painting from a curator friend who claimed that it was impossible to tell the difference between it and the real deal hanging in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
“You were. But now there’s a change in plans. We need you elsewhere. And it’s a Tango-one mission. Just for you.” Drail raised his eyebrows as if waiting for Justice to start thanking him profusely.
Of course, Justice’s heart jumped and he felt a giddiness come over him. He had never been given a Tango-one mission before. It had been above his pay-grade. “Tango-one?”
“That’s right. Remember how I told you if you just stuck to your guns you would be rewarded. Well this is it. Your moment.”
“Thanks,” Justice said. He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to ask about the raise that came with such a job, but he didn’t know if it would sound unappreciative.
Drail picked up a piece of paper and stared at it, narrowing his eyes and curling his top lip upwards. “You know anything about a Dr. Khan?”
“The Pakistani?” Justice asked, shifting in his seat. The smell of cigars, strong, was making his nauseous. His chair, a hardened plastic reject from Sweden, wasn’t helping.
“That’s right.” Drail looked at him as if he wanted to hear more.
Justice wasn’t a fan of these moments where he was expected to recite all he knew. Reminded him too much of his times in school, teacher waiting with a ruler in hand as he stood in front of the class naming capitals on cue.
“Father of the Pakistani bomb. Helped numerous rogue states in their quest for nuclear weapons. Arrested and charged, though he never had anything more than house arrest. And even that was lifted a few years back. He can’t leave the country, if I remember correctly, but he’s free to go where ever he wants within Pakistan.”
“Damn horrid sentence if you ask me,” Drail says, shaking his head. “How anyone wants to live in those countries is beyond me.” He opened and shut his desk draw, staring as if something was really bothering him. “You’re missing one thing. He wasn’t free to go around. The Pakistani intel, ISI, followed him like a hawk. Nothing intrusive, just that they didn’t want any more crap on their faces.”
“Of course,” Justice said. “So what’s the problem?” He wanted to say something about Drail’s comment on Pakistan’s status as a country to live in, but knew better.
“Well, you know our relationship with those Paks is a little off. Especially with Geronimo and all.”
Justice nodded.
“And well, we were given a copy of a letter that Dr. Khan received a few weeks ago.” Drail adjusted the rings on his fingers. “A pretty bold letter to send to a man like that.” He shook his head.
“And?” Justice asked.
“He flew the coop a few days ago. ISI just told us, and gave us the letter, the bastards. Now we need to find him before things get out of hand.”
“And I’m the man to do so?”
“Well… There’ll be others, but you’ll be our head man in charge.”
“Who else?”
“Work alone.”
Justice shifted in his seat again. His rushed morning breakfast of coffee, cereal—no milk because he’d just returned from vacation—and more coffee had just been released from his stomach and was doing a number on his intestines. “Alone? Isn’t this mission kind of big for one man?”
“Some other agencies will be working on it, but don’t worry about them. We need to find Dr. Khan, and we need to do it as quickly as possible.” Drail leaned forward, placing his hands palm up on the desk. “I’m risking a lot by giving you this mission, Justice. You’ve got to show me results.”
Justice nodded. He could feel the gravity in Drail’s voice, but he still didn’t like the sound of this mission. It may have been a promotion and a once in a career chance, but something was amiss.
“We’re trying to get it done with as little fanfare as possible. The Pakis don’t want noise, and neither do we. If any terrorist groups get a wind of his escape, they’re going to piss themselves trying to find him.”
“And the letter?” Justice asked.
“The letter?” Drail cocked his head at him. “Oh yes, the letter. I’ll let you read it in the file. But first you have to let me know if you’re in.”
Justice hated this trait of Drail. He always loved holding information from Justice’s. Justice supposed that it came with the territory of being a boss: everyone above him since kindergarten enjoyed doing it. Still, it irked him. He stared at the breast’s brush strokes again.
Drail turned to see what Justice was looking at.
“So you like it, eh?” Drail asked. “You know it’s not real. Not that you.” Drail paused to make his point. “Would know the difference. Only a handful of people would know the difference. But unfortunately it’s not a real Picasso.” Drail turned back to Justice, his face expecting a reply.
Justice knew better than to point out he already knew about the painting, that in fact most people in this building knew about the painting. “That’s great. What a find.”
“That’s,” Drail said, tapping his temple. “What counts in this world. Those who can use their brains can make their dollar go a little further, you know?”
“True,” Justice said. He’d blown all his money this past vacation, so he was in no position to know the truth of any stretching of money.
“So what’s your answer?”
“Of course,” Justice said, shaking off the feeling that this was the wrong thing to do.
“Great,” Drial said and leaned back. “This will take your career far, trust me.”
“Good. There’s a promotion, right?”
Drail’s face turned as hard as stone. “Well you know about the budget cutbacks, don’t you?”
“I do,” Justice said. He knew this wasn’t the way to go with Drail, but why take on more work for nothing? “I just thought that this mission, Tango-one, was only for those with a higher pay-grade. So shouldn’t I be bumped up?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Drail said, waving his hand in the air. “That’s a matter of paperwork. And we can clear that up right away. The main point is that you have the ability to get this done. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Justice replied, then felt foolish for sounding so chirpy.
“Budget cut-backs, Justice. We all have to sacrifice, don’t we?”
“We do,” Justice said, feeling admonished. “I also have some vacation days. If they don’t get used up, they’re going to go to waste.”
“Justice. You can’t take time off,” Drail said, shaking his head like he was talking to a child.
“I know that,” Justice said. “I, I mean if you could, you know, let me keep them and use them for later.”
“Justice, you know the rules. If you don’t use them, you lose ‘em.”
“I know,” Justice said. “I haven’t had chances to use them.”
“You know the job, Justice.”
“Sacrifices?”
“That’s right. Sacrifices, Justice. You know that.”
Justice shifted in his seat. He did know that. He felt small, so he lowered his eyes.
“So what’s the budget?” Justice asked.
“That’s the fun part. Over two million,” Drail said. He picked up a think manila envelope and handed it over to him. “And all you need to know is in there.”
Justice held the extremely slight folder in his hand. He couldn’t remember a folder being smaller. He shifted through the contents. A printout of an email and a blurry photo of a man with a crooked jaw and twisted smile slipped out into his hands.
“This is it?” Justice asked, confused.
“Yep. That’s why the budget’s so big.”
“Can I request more information?”
“You could, but you won’t get much.”
“Even about him? His history?”
“Not really. He wasn’t a priority before this.”
Justice let out some air, though he tried not to be loud about it. “So no information on him?”
“That’s why your budget’s so big,” Drail said again, nodding like that was all that needed to be said.
“All right,” Justice said.
“We want results, of course,” Drail added.
Justice stared at the picture because he didn’t want to look at Drail at the moment. “So it’s the letter that got him to jump ship?”
“That’s what we think.”
Justice looked over the email. The sender’s email was number1alqueda@mail.com. “They sent him an email? I thought he was being watched like a hawk?”
“Well, he was. But they were sneaky.”
“Sneaky with this email name?”
“Well, the algorithms weren’t built to catch something like this.”
“Makes sense,” Justice said. “And we think he’s going to meet them on account of this letter?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And I’m to stop him no matter what from reaching them?”
“Well, if things are that bad. Yes. Stop him. But we’d rather you find him, and bring him to us alive, or call us and we’ll send someone else to pick him up.”
Justice could feel his blood flowing faster. This was an important mission, he thought. So what if he wasn’t getting a raise. He signed up to defend this nation and now he was being handed the most important mission of his life. No more being a cog in the intel machine, crouching on his hands and knees, sifting through sewage to find something that would get churned into a supercomputer. No, now he was finally doing something substantial. He smiled.
“I see you’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Drail asked with a grin. “That’s the spirit. I knew you would be up to the task. You’ll go far. I know you will.”
“Thanks,” Justice said, his chest swelling. “Well I’ll be off then. Need to get souped up on some gear.”
“Of course,” Drail said and stood up.
They shook hands.
“I’ll see you in a few?” Justice said.
“In a few. Give me updates whenever you can, and when crossing borders.”
“Got it,” Justice said and took one more look at the painting. It was a rather nice piece, though Justice was never one for modern art.
“Too bad you’re going to be busy,” Drail said.
“Why’s that?”
“Have a party in a few days. But you won’t be able to make it.”
Justice wasn’t certain if Drail was asking or telling. “Of course. What’s it for?”
“Oh, I got a raise. Been a tough few years of work, you know?”
“I know,” Justice said, feeling an odd feeling in his fists.
The phone rang and Drail picked it up. “Yeah? I’ve got my best on it.” Drail’s face hardened.
Justice felt himself perk up at the sound of “my best”. Surely that meant him?
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get him,” Drail said and looked up at Justice, covering the mouthpiece. “They’re pretty worried about him.”
Justice knew who they were. The heads at Washington. They were the most powerful men in the country. He grunted affirmatively.
“They want you to get him as soon as possible. They think there’s going to be a mushroom cloud in DC if you don’t get him.”
Justice wasn’t certain if Drail was kidding, but he seemed to be serious. If the mission was this important, why only him? When Drial nodded, Justice turned and walked out of the office. Julie, sitting on her desk with the phone to her ear ,winked at him as he walked out.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to be here with you the whole way,” said the man. He stroked a scar on his jawline. It went deep. Old wounds from a war on the other side of these desert sands. In the mornings his jaw bone would hurt like nothing else.
He walked first, to scout the cafe, which was now filled with Western tourists. No one seemed alert. All had that vapid look the man had come to associate with the hated Westerners. He scowled at a handful of women with skirts on.
As he walked past, he pulled his cellphone out. “Abdul, it’s clear. Get a coffee and do it.”
He didn’t look over his back. When he turned a corner he jumped into the passenger seat of the car. The street here was busier. That gave them more cover. Horns honked, and the pollution wafted into his head. He waited. A few minutes later Abdul came around the corner. He smiled. Abdul jumped into the back.
The man pulled out a remote control. He had done this hundreds of times, and it never got any easier. He handed it to Abdul.
“Your turn,” said the man. “When I say so, press the button.”
The young man nodded and grabbed the remote, a little too easily for the man’s tastes.
The car drove forward and the cafe came into view. The man saw some kids playing soccer in front of the cafe.
“Not yet,” he said. He placed a hand on the driver’s forearm. “When he presses the button you move away slowly, like there’s nothing wrong. Got it? No driving fast.”
The man watched as the cafe owner drove away the kids with a broom. He noticed the red skin of a tourist who seemed to see him.
“Now.”
The flash and corresponding shock wave traveled through the man, and he felt the warmth of the explosion. Then the car alarms and screams. Smoke and mangled debris was all that remained of the cafe. They drove slowly around the corner. A few streets over people were going about their business. None of them seemed to know what was going on only a few blocks away. Near a pile of garbage Abdul threw the remote.
Soon they were on a highway out of the city. They stopped when they finally came to a mountain side house. It was their safe house. The government didn’t have much control out here.
But the man knew that his day wasn’t over. There was a meeting with some of the local tribal leaders in the evening. But first he was gong to have to talk to his bosses.
He told Abdul to relax and drink some water.
He walked into his office and saw his two bosses. The head of Al Qaeda in Magreb, and the liaison from Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. The man didn’t much like either of them. They were too grand, and never liked to hear about the minutiae of the local political movement. But they brought in recruits and money, so the man didn’t have a choice.
“Please to sit down,” said the man. “Drinks?”
The two men shook their heads. The liaison was a tall and lanky man. He claimed to have fought the infidels in Afghanistan. But the man didn’t believe that since the lanky man, Mohammad looked too good, with skin too smooth to have seen a battle. The man in charge of the Maghreb, Laith, was a short and stout man. He had blue eyes and red hair, though he was born in the sands of Algeria.
“How can I help you?” the man said, sitting back in his chair.
“How did the operation go, Ali?” Laith asked, his eyes gleaming.
“Let’s see,” Ali said, massaging his jaw bone again. It was always aggravated when these two came here. He switched on the TV and turned to the news channel. There was the cafe, with emergency services pulling people out of the rubble.
Laith and Mohammad giggled with glee. Ali forced a smile, though he didn’t like the way these two men seemed to love the sight of destruction. It only served to highlight how much they hadn’t done anything on the ground. How they hadn’t had actual blood on their hands and clothes and how that blood hadn’t infiltrated their dreams.
“It says ten dead, twenty injured, good job,” Mohammad said.
“Thank Abdul,” Ali said. “He was the one who carried it out. His first.”
“He’s a soldier,” Laith said.
Ali didn’t say anything. It was also the desk men who would dismiss a soldier’s job. “What do you two want?”
“Just wanted a discussion of where your team was going. The next few missions,” Laith said.
Ali let out some air and filled them in on the next few attacks planned, and the local political situation. The two men’s eyes glazed over. Ali dived further into the situation. Finally, Laith raised his hand.
“We also wanted your opinion on something.”
“Please,” Ali said, suppressing a smirk and preparing himself for a grandiose idea that he’d have to shoot down.
“You know the great Dr. Khan?” Mohammad asked.
“Of course, who doesn’t?”
“Well we have been in correspondence with him,” said Mohammad.
“Really?” Ali said and leaned forward. He never imagined these two to be that competent.
“Yes. We may have convinced him to finally come out and help us.”
“Come out?” Ali said. “The ISI watches him like a hawk. How can he come out? And even if he did, the Americans and the Israelis would have him killed in a heartbeat.”
“You think too small,” Mohammad said. “To risk-averse. We have good word that he’ll soon be with us, and that when he is, we’ll finally have what we always wanted.”
“Is that so?” Ali said. This still seemed ludicrous to him. “And what amazing nuclear facility will he be working at?” He leaned back. He did not like these two, and he especially hated their foreign accents. It only proved that they didn’t care for the local situation and would forever be grasping at magical solutions to mundane problems.
His comment shut the two of them up, but after a few glances they seemed to regain their composure.
“You think too small,” Laith said, shaking his head. “The doctor will soon be helping us. And then we shall be unstoppable.”
“Well, I must,” Ali said. “What did you say to him that brought him on board?”
“We explained how he could help the cause.”
“And what did he say?” Ali asked.
“At first he claimed we had no cause. But we think our last letter convinced him.”
“Why?” Ali asked.
“We told him to think of the bigger picture.”
“Ah, ingenious,” Ali said, wondering how long before he could kick them out of his office. He wanted to drink some chai. Then he wanted to talk to the local leaders about money for some water.
“It is,” said Laith. “We want to draft one more letter, though.”
“And you want me to?” Ali said, not hiding his annoyance.
“Yes. We need you. You can tell him some stories of the ground and help convince him about our cause.”
“All right. I will,” Ali said.
When the two men left he shook his head and wondered what letter he could possibly write to someone as smart as the good Dr. Khan. He would finish it later.
And as he walked out of the building, he felt a prickle on his skin. He looked up at the sky. The distant sound of an jet engine hummed. Just like any other day. As he watched the motorcade with Laith and Mohammad leave, he suddenly knew what was going on.
A few other men were milling about, and Ali yelled: “Missile!”
Most of the men stared at him like they thought he was mad. But Ali knew what the drill was and ran to the rocks a few hundred meters from the building. He dove into them as the sky was filled with a horrid swooshing sound. And in the middle of his dive Ali felt himself twisted in the air, a warm shocking push, as his world went black.
“Spare some change?”
Justice broke out of the hedge of his thoughts and stared at the homeless man in front of him. The homeless man’s skin was covered with grime and he smelled like sulfuric mold. Justice didn’t normally give to the homeless; he knew that many of them were undercovers, but he fished his pockets for some change and handed it over.
“What’re the stocks looking like today?” asked the homeless man.
Justice, staring at the rooftops of midtown brought his attention back to the homeless man. Justice wondered when the last time he looked at a stock ticker was. “No idea, why?” said Justice.
“Just asking,” the homeless man asked, then hobbled away.
Justice wondered what made the homeless man want to live his life like this. He didn’t appear to be nuts. What about choosing another city to panhandle in? New York had to be high competition. Justice knew if he were homeless he would go and live in the forests, living off the land and not letting anyone disturb him. He inhaled and felt the exceptionally-warm-for-spring air warm him up.
He walked by a kiosk, shaking off the strings that pulled his eyes towards the cigarettes. That was a habit he’d rather not pick back up. Though with the kind of job he had, he wondered why he cared.
At the corner, a man handing out leaflets stared at a beautiful woman passing him by. Justice was next to him, and the man tapped him. Pointing at the ass and licking his lips he said: “Perfect, huh?”
Staring at the woman’s perfect, almost loud proportions made Justice think about his woman and her perfect flesh. “Ain’t nothing perfect,” Justice said.
The man let out a hyena-laugh. His long roped body bent back, and his white teeth lit up the sidewalk. “Ain’t that the truth.”
They clasped hands and Justice tried to keep up with a handshake that morphed into what seemed like finger wrestling. The man’s bright eyes forced a grin to spread on Justice’s face. There was something about the man’s ways that made Justice feel better about humanity. They embraced, and Justice walked on. Now his eyes cut across a street and to the shining tower that was the Freedom Tower going up. It was almost finished, and it filled Justice with an immense pride. This was the reason he had his current job: to stop something like 9-11 from ever happening again. And though it took a long time, there was finally an emblem for his fight. He walked on.
Buzzing the door, he stepped into a marbled lobby, slid his card through a slot and waited for the retina scan. Coworkers told him that studies had shown that the retina scans caused premature glaucoma. And so what was his attitude. The door buzzed open, and Justice stepped to the next door. Here he punched in a code.
“State your name,” a raspy computer voice said.
“Justice.”
It took a few seconds before the door opened and Justice walked through.
He remembered how he loved doing this when he first came to work, how it was an exciting feel to be in such a secure building.
Next he placed his palm on a touch screen and waited for it to scan. Another door slid open. Justice walked through that. Finally he walked by a desk where three security guards sat and talked to each other.
“Gentlemen,” Justice said.
“Justice,” they all said in unison. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad,” Justice said.
“ID,” they said. Justice handed them his ID, and each of them took several minutes holding it up to the light.
When they handed it back, they buzzed open a door and Justice walked through and to a wide open hallway. No one was around.
Justice’s wingtips echoed as he hurried down the hallway. He turned left, then finally came to a large door with a brass title that read: “Head Officer In Charge.”
Justice knocked.
“Come in,” the voice on the other side said. He entered and smiled at a redhead with a scar running down her face.
“Julie,” Justice said, trying to keep his eyes off her screaming cleavage, and glass eye that never followed the real one.
“Mr. Justice,” Julie replied, giving him a once over that he was by now used to.
“Drail in?”
“Hold on,” Julie said as she picked up the phone. “Mr. Drail? Yes, Justice. Yes.” She looked up from the phone. “Go in.”
Justice headed in as Julie muttered something on the phone. Walking into his boss’ office always gave Justice a head rush. The room smelled old-school, like cigars and wood. While the walls were covered in plaques and pictures of Drail shaking hands with various Presidents and other heads of state. Justice knew the power his boss had—and his boss’ bosses—but to come face to face with visual representations was always overwhelming. When Justice first walked into the office several years ago, he had hoped he would be able to collect a few pictures of him self alongside some head honchos. That hadn’t happened yet.
“Justice,” Drail said, his large hairy hand sweeping at the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
Justice sat down. When he hit a bump in his work, when he felt he wasn’t getting the promotions he wanted, he was ready to hate Drail. But he learned that he couldn’t help but like Drail. The large Greek looked dangerously Arab, though he would bristle at any such statement. Justice learned that on his first day of work when he assumed Drail spoke Arabic. Justice was lucky to keep his job then. Drail forgave faster than most. During those tough times when Justice was ready to quit, Drail kept him focused on the job.
“Drail, how’s it going?”
“It’s busy as usual,” said Drail, running his hand through his thick, black hair, that always seemed greased up. “How was your vacation?”
“Great,” Justice said, scratching his shoulder where his skin peeled from sun exposure. “Costa Rica hit the spot.”
“Nice women?”
“Went with my girlfriend,” Justice said. He wasn’t certain if he could call her that. Not after the fight they had. Not when in the wake of every silence between them his heart dropped. And as he thought of the possibility of losing his girlfriend, his heart sunk once more. But such topics he’d learned to keep away from work. And especially away from the likes of Drail, a former spec-ops officer.
“So… nice women?” Drail said, and laughed with his chin back before Justice had time to answer.
Justice smiled. “I’d say so.”
“You should stick to Miami. Best pussy anywhere in Latin America.”
“Next time,” Justice said. Though he’d developed a habit of leaving the country whenever he was on vacation.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you to come in early,” Drail said, and interlocked his fingers in front of his face. All his gold rings matched up in a perfect row. Justice wondered why he never got such rings.
“I suppose. I thought I was going to Yemen to work at the embassy,” Justice replied. He thought about saying something to save his vacation days. He had a couple weeks worth coming up, but he wasn’t going to be able to use them up. And if he didn’t use them up they would be discarded in the next week. Perhaps they could be set aside. He decided not to say anything. His eyes shifted to a breast on the large Les Demoiselles replica behind Drail. It was something his boss enjoyed boasting about. He got the painting from a curator friend who claimed that it was impossible to tell the difference between it and the real deal hanging in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
“You were. But now there’s a change in plans. We need you elsewhere. And it’s a Tango-one mission. Just for you.” Drail raised his eyebrows as if waiting for Justice to start thanking him profusely.
Of course, Justice’s heart jumped and he felt a giddiness come over him. He had never been given a Tango-one mission before. It had been above his pay-grade. “Tango-one?”
“That’s right. Remember how I told you if you just stuck to your guns you would be rewarded. Well this is it. Your moment.”
“Thanks,” Justice said. He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to ask about the raise that came with such a job, but he didn’t know if it would sound unappreciative.
Drail picked up a piece of paper and stared at it, narrowing his eyes and curling his top lip upwards. “You know anything about a Dr. Khan?”
“The Pakistani?” Justice asked, shifting in his seat. The smell of cigars, strong, was making his nauseous. His chair, a hardened plastic reject from Sweden, wasn’t helping.
“That’s right.” Drail looked at him as if he wanted to hear more.
Justice wasn’t a fan of these moments where he was expected to recite all he knew. Reminded him too much of his times in school, teacher waiting with a ruler in hand as he stood in front of the class naming capitals on cue.
“Father of the Pakistani bomb. Helped numerous rogue states in their quest for nuclear weapons. Arrested and charged, though he never had anything more than house arrest. And even that was lifted a few years back. He can’t leave the country, if I remember correctly, but he’s free to go where ever he wants within Pakistan.”
“Damn horrid sentence if you ask me,” Drail says, shaking his head. “How anyone wants to live in those countries is beyond me.” He opened and shut his desk draw, staring as if something was really bothering him. “You’re missing one thing. He wasn’t free to go around. The Pakistani intel, ISI, followed him like a hawk. Nothing intrusive, just that they didn’t want any more crap on their faces.”
“Of course,” Justice said. “So what’s the problem?” He wanted to say something about Drail’s comment on Pakistan’s status as a country to live in, but knew better.
“Well, you know our relationship with those Paks is a little off. Especially with Geronimo and all.”
Justice nodded.
“And well, we were given a copy of a letter that Dr. Khan received a few weeks ago.” Drail adjusted the rings on his fingers. “A pretty bold letter to send to a man like that.” He shook his head.
“And?” Justice asked.
“He flew the coop a few days ago. ISI just told us, and gave us the letter, the bastards. Now we need to find him before things get out of hand.”
“And I’m the man to do so?”
“Well… There’ll be others, but you’ll be our head man in charge.”
“Who else?”
“Work alone.”
Justice shifted in his seat again. His rushed morning breakfast of coffee, cereal—no milk because he’d just returned from vacation—and more coffee had just been released from his stomach and was doing a number on his intestines. “Alone? Isn’t this mission kind of big for one man?”
“Some other agencies will be working on it, but don’t worry about them. We need to find Dr. Khan, and we need to do it as quickly as possible.” Drail leaned forward, placing his hands palm up on the desk. “I’m risking a lot by giving you this mission, Justice. You’ve got to show me results.”
Justice nodded. He could feel the gravity in Drail’s voice, but he still didn’t like the sound of this mission. It may have been a promotion and a once in a career chance, but something was amiss.
“We’re trying to get it done with as little fanfare as possible. The Pakis don’t want noise, and neither do we. If any terrorist groups get a wind of his escape, they’re going to piss themselves trying to find him.”
“And the letter?” Justice asked.
“The letter?” Drail cocked his head at him. “Oh yes, the letter. I’ll let you read it in the file. But first you have to let me know if you’re in.”
Justice hated this trait of Drail. He always loved holding information from Justice’s. Justice supposed that it came with the territory of being a boss: everyone above him since kindergarten enjoyed doing it. Still, it irked him. He stared at the breast’s brush strokes again.
Drail turned to see what Justice was looking at.
“So you like it, eh?” Drail asked. “You know it’s not real. Not that you.” Drail paused to make his point. “Would know the difference. Only a handful of people would know the difference. But unfortunately it’s not a real Picasso.” Drail turned back to Justice, his face expecting a reply.
Justice knew better than to point out he already knew about the painting, that in fact most people in this building knew about the painting. “That’s great. What a find.”
“That’s,” Drail said, tapping his temple. “What counts in this world. Those who can use their brains can make their dollar go a little further, you know?”
“True,” Justice said. He’d blown all his money this past vacation, so he was in no position to know the truth of any stretching of money.
“So what’s your answer?”
“Of course,” Justice said, shaking off the feeling that this was the wrong thing to do.
“Great,” Drial said and leaned back. “This will take your career far, trust me.”
“Good. There’s a promotion, right?”
Drail’s face turned as hard as stone. “Well you know about the budget cutbacks, don’t you?”
“I do,” Justice said. He knew this wasn’t the way to go with Drail, but why take on more work for nothing? “I just thought that this mission, Tango-one, was only for those with a higher pay-grade. So shouldn’t I be bumped up?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Drail said, waving his hand in the air. “That’s a matter of paperwork. And we can clear that up right away. The main point is that you have the ability to get this done. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Justice replied, then felt foolish for sounding so chirpy.
“Budget cut-backs, Justice. We all have to sacrifice, don’t we?”
“We do,” Justice said, feeling admonished. “I also have some vacation days. If they don’t get used up, they’re going to go to waste.”
“Justice. You can’t take time off,” Drail said, shaking his head like he was talking to a child.
“I know that,” Justice said. “I, I mean if you could, you know, let me keep them and use them for later.”
“Justice, you know the rules. If you don’t use them, you lose ‘em.”
“I know,” Justice said. “I haven’t had chances to use them.”
“You know the job, Justice.”
“Sacrifices?”
“That’s right. Sacrifices, Justice. You know that.”
Justice shifted in his seat. He did know that. He felt small, so he lowered his eyes.
“So what’s the budget?” Justice asked.
“That’s the fun part. Over two million,” Drail said. He picked up a think manila envelope and handed it over to him. “And all you need to know is in there.”
Justice held the extremely slight folder in his hand. He couldn’t remember a folder being smaller. He shifted through the contents. A printout of an email and a blurry photo of a man with a crooked jaw and twisted smile slipped out into his hands.
“This is it?” Justice asked, confused.
“Yep. That’s why the budget’s so big.”
“Can I request more information?”
“You could, but you won’t get much.”
“Even about him? His history?”
“Not really. He wasn’t a priority before this.”
Justice let out some air, though he tried not to be loud about it. “So no information on him?”
“That’s why your budget’s so big,” Drail said again, nodding like that was all that needed to be said.
“All right,” Justice said.
“We want results, of course,” Drail added.
Justice stared at the picture because he didn’t want to look at Drail at the moment. “So it’s the letter that got him to jump ship?”
“That’s what we think.”
Justice looked over the email. The sender’s email was number1alqueda@mail.com. “They sent him an email? I thought he was being watched like a hawk?”
“Well, he was. But they were sneaky.”
“Sneaky with this email name?”
“Well, the algorithms weren’t built to catch something like this.”
“Makes sense,” Justice said. “And we think he’s going to meet them on account of this letter?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And I’m to stop him no matter what from reaching them?”
“Well, if things are that bad. Yes. Stop him. But we’d rather you find him, and bring him to us alive, or call us and we’ll send someone else to pick him up.”
Justice could feel his blood flowing faster. This was an important mission, he thought. So what if he wasn’t getting a raise. He signed up to defend this nation and now he was being handed the most important mission of his life. No more being a cog in the intel machine, crouching on his hands and knees, sifting through sewage to find something that would get churned into a supercomputer. No, now he was finally doing something substantial. He smiled.
“I see you’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Drail asked with a grin. “That’s the spirit. I knew you would be up to the task. You’ll go far. I know you will.”
“Thanks,” Justice said, his chest swelling. “Well I’ll be off then. Need to get souped up on some gear.”
“Of course,” Drail said and stood up.
They shook hands.
“I’ll see you in a few?” Justice said.
“In a few. Give me updates whenever you can, and when crossing borders.”
“Got it,” Justice said and took one more look at the painting. It was a rather nice piece, though Justice was never one for modern art.
“Too bad you’re going to be busy,” Drail said.
“Why’s that?”
“Have a party in a few days. But you won’t be able to make it.”
Justice wasn’t certain if Drail was asking or telling. “Of course. What’s it for?”
“Oh, I got a raise. Been a tough few years of work, you know?”
“I know,” Justice said, feeling an odd feeling in his fists.
The phone rang and Drail picked it up. “Yeah? I’ve got my best on it.” Drail’s face hardened.
Justice felt himself perk up at the sound of “my best”. Surely that meant him?
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get him,” Drail said and looked up at Justice, covering the mouthpiece. “They’re pretty worried about him.”
Justice knew who they were. The heads at Washington. They were the most powerful men in the country. He grunted affirmatively.
“They want you to get him as soon as possible. They think there’s going to be a mushroom cloud in DC if you don’t get him.”
Justice wasn’t certain if Drail was kidding, but he seemed to be serious. If the mission was this important, why only him? When Drial nodded, Justice turned and walked out of the office. Julie, sitting on her desk with the phone to her ear ,winked at him as he walked out.
August 8, 2013
Good reads Giveaway!
Just so Everyone knows, I have a Goodreads giveaway for CityMuse. Check it out!
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Goodreads Book Giveaway
CityMuse
by Nelson Lowhim
Enter to win
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Goodreads Book Giveaway
CityMuse
by Nelson Lowhim
Giveaway ends September 08, 2013.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Enter to win
August 1, 2013
Hi all. Goodreads
Hi all, just wanted to add a link here, as I've fully updated my goodreads profile. So check it out, and review or discuss books there. I also have a discussion for current classic books (past 30 years or so). If you haven't heard of goodreads, it has a great recommendation engine, and is a great place to discuss books. Check it out!
July 29, 2013
Trilogy Celebration: When Gods Fail
With three books out in the Trilogy, I'm glad to announce a giveaway for the When Gods Fail ebook. It will be for a limited time only, so grab it while you can!
July 25, 2013
Audio giveaways!
I have limited (only a handful, unfortunately) giveaways for two audio books of mine. If you are interested, please email me at nlowhim (at) gmail (dot) com OR put your name, email and audiobook of choice in the comments section below. There are currently five coupons a story. And first come first serve.
The stories may be listened to in one sitting. Cabin Tale is about a boy and his grandfather in a cabin in the woods. Outside, bears are rearing to break in. The story is a beautiful one that looks at how generations deal with each other as well as with violence.
The Creatures Within is about a veteran dealing with PTSD. He sees this manifest itself in the form of creatures. It's dark, though not without some insight into something veterans deal with on a daily basis.
The links for the two audiobooks are below.
Once you email me, I'll send you back the instructions to redeem the coupon. Only one coupon per email, please.
Cabin Tale
The Creatures Within
The stories may be listened to in one sitting. Cabin Tale is about a boy and his grandfather in a cabin in the woods. Outside, bears are rearing to break in. The story is a beautiful one that looks at how generations deal with each other as well as with violence.
The Creatures Within is about a veteran dealing with PTSD. He sees this manifest itself in the form of creatures. It's dark, though not without some insight into something veterans deal with on a daily basis.
The links for the two audiobooks are below.
Once you email me, I'll send you back the instructions to redeem the coupon. Only one coupon per email, please.
Cabin Tale
The Creatures Within
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