Cold Snap (26 page)

"Monticello?"

"You know, the big house up in
Charlottesville." The young man's frown became a scowl. "He had
hundreds of slaves."

"I would have thought he did. He fought for
the right to keep slaves, correct?"

"Did he? I didn't know he was as bad as all
that. You've heard about Sally Hemmings, right?"

Ari shook his head.

"That was one of his house slaves, became his
mistress. She had children by him."

"That must have disturbed Varina."

"Who?"

"I believe that was his wife's name. I gather
you don't think of him as a great hero?"

The young man snorted.

"I gather that is because you are black?"

"Just like you, sort of."

"Me?" Ari looked at his hand. He took some
pride in the belief that a substantial quart of Assyrian blood ran
through his veins. Admittedly, his hands did not look all that
Assyrian.

"But Arabs still have slaves, don't they?"
asked the young man with snotty objectivity. He leaned sideways, as
though glancing at a chained servant.

Ari drew himself up. "My distant ancestors
only enslaved enemies defeated in battle. And those were the lucky
ones who did not have their heads chopped off."

The young man's face dropped. "Listen, sir,
if you want a book about Thomas Jefferson, you'll have to go down
the aisle here. I've got to go stock something."

"Thomas Jefferson? No, not him. He's on your
citizenship exam. I was speaking of the great hero, Jefferson—"

But the young man had already eluded Ari,
scooting out of sight behind a row of black and gold polo shirts.
Glancing at his watch, Ari decided there was no time for further
pursuit.

He felt a little foolish jogging up Broad
Street in his Vittorio St. Angelo, but he did not want to risk
missing Ben when he got off work.

He need not have worried. Ben was waiting for
him next to the lumber yard. Shivering in a thin jacket, he smiled
and stretched out an ungloved hand.

"Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Are you annoyed?"

"No. It's just...unexpected." He paused. "But
I've been wanting to ask you...was that really Uday Hussein you had
me take up to the Iraqi embassy in Washington? He kept insisting he
was just an innocent so-and-so."

"A 'so-and-so' he most certainly was," Ari
asserted.

"I didn't hear anything in the news about
it," Ben continued. "And our government declared him dead after
that shootout in Mosul. So it was natural for me to wonder..."

"He was a crime against humanity," Ari nodded
sagely. "You must be freezing."

"We can go down to the Village for a cup of
coffee. It's only a couple blocks away, on Grace."

Ari looked at his watch.

"You're in a hurry?"

"I'm afraid so." Ari hesitated. "I believe
you have a phrase, 'tear into me'."

"You don't have to worry about me on that
score," Ben half-laughed, half-shivered.

"I'm thinking about your wife. She would tear
into me if she knew what I was about to propose to you. And this
time, we won't be accompanied by a Deputy U.S. Marshal."

Ben visibly suppressed a wisp of interest.
"You know, in spite of what you saw back there..." he nodded at the
store "...it's not a bad job."

"I would never suggest that it was." Ari
scanned the parking lot. "Did you know that woman?"

"No. Why?"

"She seemed very intent on making an
impression on you, personally."

"Hang around at the paint desk and you'll see
a lot more of that," Ben laughed. "When it comes to interior
decorating, everyone's an expert. And the definition of an expert
is someone who argues with other experts."

"Ah," said Ari. True, anyone even remotely
familiar with the recent history of the Middle East might dart Ari
a second glance. I thought Nasser died way back when....

"I was just saying I wouldn't want to do
anything that might end up on a police blotter," Ben continued.
"Lowe's would can me if I got arrested."

"No police," said Ari, taking a deep breath.
"But I would be remiss if I didn't add that this could be very
dangerous."

To Ari's surprise, Ben looked relieved. He
seemed more concerned with besmirching his record than in getting
killed. But perhaps he had not caught the full import of
'dangerous'.

"When I say there might be danger involved, I
mean—"

"OK, you guessed the truth: this is a crappy,
dull job and I'm at it six days a week, at least until Spring comes
and I can go outside to the Garden Department. I've had two
exciting moments since I came back from the Sandbox: seeing my wife
again, and getting sucker-punched by the late Sid Overstreet, on
your behalf. Quite honestly, sir, I'm glad you showed up. I was
getting ready to drink a gallon of Cremnitz white."

"You are certain you want to come?"

"And you're certain it isn't too
illegal?"

Ari shrugged. "I have been invited to meet an
unknown man in an unknown place. It is necessary, because I need to
find out how this man knows of my existence."

"Interesting..."

"There might be more than one...um...I assume
he is an adversary."

"You need a backup to face down his
backup."

"Precisely."

"And someone might start waving a gun
around."

"Possibly."

"I'll get my Mossberg and wave back. It'll be
real friendly."

"I would not want you to use your personal
armory," said Ari, elated by Ben's enthusiasm, and troubled by what
might come of it. "I will see to your arsenal. Can you lead me to
an isolated spot where we can prepare ourselves?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"There is a man in the middle of the field,"
said Ari into his cell phone. "I see no one else."

"When I hear the word 'field' I think of
'fields of fire'," came Ben's voice. "I don't think you should risk
it."

"Agreed," said Ari, stepping out of his
Scion. "You can see me?"

Ben had parked his old Datsun pickup fifty
yards up the park road, next to some tennis courts. Ari had given
him his latest cell phone number.

"Yes," said Ben. "I also see the perfect
ambuscade. Trees on two sides, underbrush, perfect cover. We aren't
dealing with the same people who were in Cumberland, are we?"

Ari had not filled Ben in on events at the
farm near Bear Creek Lake, where Uday Hussein's American minions,
as well as members of the ANO, had made a noisy last stand that the
authorities were hard-pressed to explain. Ben must have heard one
of those explanations on the news, and tied it in with the sudden
appearance of Saddam Hussein's eldest son on his doorstep.

"I sincerely hope this man is not from the
same group," said Ari.

"Which means you have a whole new set of
enemies," Ben rejoined. "For such a friendly guy, you seem to have
brassed off a lot of folks."

"It is a consequence of my unfortunate
situation."

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm walking into the field. Please keep an
eye on the treeline." Ari closed his phone and continued towards
the lone man facing him.

It was growing dark. Caution lights high up
on two radio towers bracketed the intervening dusk. The man had
chosen to meet at a little league baseball field at one corner of a
Chesterfield County park complex. It was too cold for sports. It
was too cold for much of anything except staying indoors and
watching TV, which Ari would be doing, if he had a TV.

His cell phone vibrated. He opened it.

"Don't do it," came Ben's plaintive
request.

"I am committed," Ari answered.

"As well you should be."

Ari hung up, thinking there was not enough
time to reconcile the various meanings of 'commit'.

Ari had instantly recognized Bruce Turner
from the Mackenzie party, who ranked very low on the list of men he
had expected to encounter. He played back the abusive phone call he
had received before talking to Rebecca, but that voice had been
condensed and then rarefied by the technological marvel of the cell
phone. It was also likely Turner had helped the process along by
lowering his voice.

"Keep on coming!" Turner shouted from the
pitcher's mound when Ari slowed his pace, cautiously checking the
treeline. "I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking."
When he noted Ari swiveling his head, he added, "I'm alone."

"I'm not reassured!" Ari yelled back at
him.

Turner shrugged. "I'm here to talk, not
shout."

The cell phone vibrated. Not caring if Turner
saw, he took it out.

"On your right, in the woods near the
bleachers..."

"I see nothing."

"I saw movement."

"I believe you," said Ari. He closed the
phone. If one was determined to walk into a trap, it was best to
get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Who are you talking to?"

"My guardian angel." This was what Americans
called their rooftop guards in Baghdad. He stopped at the base of
the pitcher's mound. "Mr. Turner, that was a very rude phone call
you made to me. I presume you got my number from Tracy Mackenzie.
May you eat snails in hell."

"Ouch." Turner kicked at the rubber at the
top of the mound, then glanced up at the backstop. "Can you imagine
throwing a baseball at a hundred miles an hour inside a 3X3
imaginary square?"

"I understand batters sometimes get hit."

"Accidents happen."

"On purpose."

"No, I'm saying shit happens." Turner came
down from the mound. "Of course, even the best throwers can
misjudge the Magnus effect. But enough baseball. We need to talk
about—"

Ari punched him in the jaw. When the man
collapsed, Ari dropped behind his body, using it as a shield as he
waited for a gunshot. His phone vibrated.

"What are you doing!" Ben said in a shocked
voice when Ari answered.

"I'm interrogating the suspect," said Ari.
Noting that Turner's eyes had rolled up, he amended, "I will be
interrogating the suspect in a few minutes."

"Why did you hit him? Did he threaten
you?"

"He got on my nerves. Do you see any more
movement in the trees?"

"A little bit. Watch yourself."

"That is my endeavor," said Ari, and hung up.
He was surprised the upstanding, almost gentlemanly Ben did not
raise more fuss over the assault. Perhaps, having recently been
sucker-punched himself, he took secret delight in seeing someone
else (presumably a lowlife) get the same treatment.

Ari patted Turner's coat, then pulled it up
to reach his trouser pockets.

He removed his wallet and flipped it open.
Keeping one eye on the woods, he studied the contents. The name and
address on Turner's driver's license seemed in order. Without
trying, or even meaning to, Turner's address and driver ID number
were permanently entered into his mental archives, to remain until
he died or when he could no longer remember how to tie his
shoelaces.

The same happened when he ran across a list
titled 'emergency phone numbers', two of which instantly drew his
scrutiny. That he would have Ethan Wareness's number wasn't
unusual. The two men had been coworkers. But why was he on the
'emergency' list? The second number that snagged his attention
posed a dilemma. If Ari called that number, it would be answered by
a young man with a girlish voice.

He began flipping through a thick
conglomeration of business cards. Frowning at one of them, he took
out his phone and called Ben.

"I forget...is AA a government agency or is
it an automobile association?"

"Neither. It's Alcoholics Anonymous. You know
what that is, don't you?"

"For people who want to drink
anonymously?"

"It's for people who have a problem with
drinking," Ben explained.

"How could someone have a problem with
drinking? You mean someone who is injured?" He looked over the
unconscious man for signs of a wound that might impede his
drinking, noted the bruise already showing on his jaw. "He might
have a problem, now."

"You didn't kill him...?"

"Not in the least." Ari propped open Turner's
eyelid to prove to himself he wasn't lying. "He is very healthy and
will soon be conscious."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Ari held another business card close to his
eye, struggling against the growing darkness. "What is 'Avon'?"

"It's a brand of cosmetics. You mean he's an
Avon Lady? Is he wearing a tutu?" There was a pause, then Ben
added, "I guess I have to withdraw that comment. They must have
Avon Guys by now, too."

Unenlightened, Ari flipped the card to the
back of the pile.

"Paper Moon Gentleman's Club..."

"'Gentlemen's clubs' are where men watch
naked women," said Ben flatly, unwilling to allow his voice to
betray interest.

"Really? You mean like American football
cheerleaders?"

"Not quite," said Ben over the phone.

Ari glanced down and found Turner staring at
him from the ground.

"Mr. Turner! I'm so glad you could rejoin me.
I was pleased to discover you weren't lying to me. You are, indeed,
weaponless."

"Killer!" Turner shouted.

"I have no intention of killing—" And then
Ari discovered his mistake. 'Killer' was not a noun. It was a name.
Ari estimated the pit bull terrier that came raging out of the
underbrush to be around sixty pounds of aggressive muscle with a
ton of snarling canines superadded.

"Masher!" Turner yelled.

Ari had his Glock out and was aiming it at
Killer. He still had the phone open in his other hand and could
hear Ben Torson yelling:

"You can't shoot dogs!"

Whyever not? Ari wondered before realizing
Ben had spoken in the plural. He shifted his gaze to another bull
terrier, also charging at a pant.

"Misery! Deep End! Kruger!"

Each time Turner shouted another vicious mutt
charged out of the woods. Killer was getting close.