Cold Snap (47 page)

"So I see."

"You don't like getting shot at?"

"I don't like getting laughed at. As you
indicated, the man up there is a professional. Perhaps a Syrian or
Egyptian. Even an Iraqi. Saddam had an elite corps of snipers."

"You don't want to talk to him, then?"

Ghaith sighed. "The bullhorn, then."

Turgeson spoke into his radio and a corporal
ran up with a bullhorn. Ghaith took it and the corporal began
telling him how to use it. Pressing the speaker button, Ghaith
shouted, "Testing! Testing!"

"Jesus!" Newell shouted, dropping the
mayonnaise envelope and clamping his hands over his ears.

Turgeson tapped Ghaith on the shoulder and
pointed at the apartment building.

After being captured at the madrassa, Ghaith
had been taken directly to FOB Volturno (aka Dreamland), not far
from Fallujah. The base commander heard out the lieutenant's story
of how Ghaith had saved the students with an uncertain eye.

"Do we really want a man who killed three men
in a closed room as one of our translators?" he said when the
lieutenant had finished. "I know they were insurgents, but that
still displays a certain expertise that...well, it might not be
desirable, especially seeing there will be moments when my men have
their backs to him."

Ghaith had smiled benignly. "Perhaps you
would call General Saleh. He can vouch for my junk."

The commander and lieutenant stared at
him.

But the call was put in, because the
Americans were still hoping to place a suitably strong
Iraqi-cum-empty suit-cum-dupe in charge of the recalcitrant Sunni
city, and Saleh was the current designee. The general vouched for
Ghaith in heroic terms, while not once employing Ghaith's real
name. Ghaith had managed this sleight-of-hand when the commander
put the general on speaker chat.

"General Saleh!" Ghaith called out. "This is
Omar al-Jaffal! The Americans want to confirm my bona fides."

General Saleh, recognizing his voice,
immediately fell into line.

Thus Abu Karim Ghaith Ibrahim, who wanted
nothing more than to slay Yanks by the score, found himself working
for them—planning the entire time to use this new leverage to save
his wife and son.

Rising up slowly over the barrier, Ghaith
raised the bullhorn.

"Abn balla't aleora!"

He ducked quickly, seeing as he had told the
sniper his mother sucked dicks. The response was gratifyingly
prompt. The FMJ bullet from the Tabuk ricocheted off the wheel
barrow on top of the barrier.

"What did you tell him?" Turgeson asked,
though he had expected no better answer from the sniper.

"I greeted him in the local patois."

"Yeah? Well greet him again. Maybe we can
pinpoint the bastard and take him out."

After prudently shifting position, Ghaith
popped up and said:

"Bedi fawit eyri bi tizik!"

He ducked just before the shot.

"Anyone see him?" Turgeson asked.

"He must be standing at the back of one of
those rooms so we can't spot the flash," said Newell, peering
through a chink in the barrier. "If we wait 'til night, we'd see
the room he's hiding in light up."

"He could switch rooms. He could be doing it
now. And we can't sit here all day. We have to keep pace with Golf
Company." Turgeson looked back towards the alley where the Humvee
was parked. "The captain must be talking to the FO. God, I hate
using Arty. Can't anyone shake loose some air—" He stopped when he
heard a familiar drone overhead. "There's Slayer..."

Slayer was an Air Force C-130 that
crisscrossed over the city, bringing its Gatling guns and 105mm
howitzer to bear on targets of opportunity or whenever a fire
mission was called for from the ground.

"We could move up while she plasters the
building..."

Ghaith had seen Slayer at work too many times
to be pleased by the idea. Scooting a ways down the barrier, he
again raised the bullhorn.

"Hey, Juba! Zobi be ommock!"

This time, the responsive shot was followed
by a fusillade from several buildings.

"RPG!" someone shouted and everyone behind
the barrier fell flat. The explosion jarred their teeth. The wheel
barrel flew up and crashed on the street behind them.

"What did you say?" Newell asked Ghaith,
their noses almost touching as they lay prone.

"I insulted his mother." Ghaith pressed down
as a stream of machine gun bullets came wickedly close.

"Yeah, well it looks like half the city knows
this guy's mother."

"Got him!" Turgeson announced, pressing his
headset. "Bring up the AT4's!"

A minute later there was a lull. After making
sure the backblast area was clear, three men stood and fired at the
window Turgeson had shown them. Dust and mortar rained off the
apartment building, landing in a cloud at the base.

"Is the dozer here?" Turgeson shouted into
his radio.

The ground went wobbly as an armored D9 came
up from the next block. Turgeson signaled the driver to keep going,
fast. He didn't have to tell the men at the barrier to get out of
the way. Watching the angle of approach, Ghaith realized that the
D9 would crush the body of the translator once it barged through.
But he wasn't entirely convinced that the sniper was finished. He
ran to a covered doorway and pushed himself in among the Marines
huddling there. Included in the group was a prisoner, a Sunni
cleric. It was Dr. Ibrahim, the fanatic Ghaith had encountered in
the souk the day of the Blackwater slayings. He was flexcuffed. His
eyes blazed at Ghaith.

"Traitor," he said.

Ghaith shrugged, but did not speak. The
cleric might have recognized his voice.

So far as improvised roadblocks went, this
one was sturdy enough to stop an up-armored Humvee, but it was no
match for the 49-ton dozer. Furniture, garden ornaments,
cinderblocks and paving stones went flying. A few Marines followed,
using the dozer for cover. There was some desultory firing from the
surrounding rooftops, but no more sure-shots from the apartment
building. Several Iraqis attempting to dash to the next alley were
captured and Ghaith was called forward to translate. As he crossed
the line of the barrier, his eyes fell on the bloody smear of his
predecessor. Turgeson would not have allowed such a thing to happen
to one of his own dead. But while the Iraqi translator had been one
of the few, and perhaps one of the proud, he had certainly not been
a Marine.

The parking lot at Central Virginia Group lay
full and somnolent, as though the assembled vehicles were sharing
the sluggish digestion of their post-lunch owners. Driving slowly,
it took Abu Jasim and Ben nearly ten minutes to pass up and down
the rows, screening each vehicle for suspicious occupants. Ari had
given Ben the still taken from the Nineveh video—the three men
staring at the camera, the charred corpse on the ground next to
them.

"If you see any these men, call me
immediately."

"And if they're wearing ski masks?"

"That will speak for itself."

When they were satisfied no one was lurking
in the parking lot, Ari hopped out of the Sprinter and entered the
building. Abu Jasim and Ben parked as close to the two entrances as
they could get.

Ari had hoped for an inkling that security at
the insurance company had tightened. In light of last night's
events, Lawson should have alerted the guards to a possible
intrusion. But while the same two guards sat out front handing out
Visitor badges, they seemed as blind and fluffy as teddy bears. Ari
hastened down the hallway.

Ms. Cicada/Perch was blandly clacking away at
her keyboard.

"Is your master in?" he asked a little too
harshly.

"My what?"

Charging at the inner door, he flung it open
to find Lawson sipping at a straw sprouting out of a huge plastic
cup.

"Mmmm?" he said without removing his mouth
from the straw.

"I tried calling you but no one
answered."

"I had a meeting with some adjusters," Lawson
spoke around the straw. "Ms. Perch was at lunch. And shit, wouldn't
you know I'd forget to lock my office door."

"Where are those toy soldiers?"

Lawson pulled the straw out of his mouth.
"Please show some respect. Those aren't 'toys'. They're G.I. Joes.
I tossed them."

Ari let go with a sigh of relief, then
glanced around the office. "Have you received any packages in the
last month? Statuettes, plaques...complimentary gifts?"

"Considering my department shoots down frauds
and cheats, we don't receive much in the way of gifts." He twisted
his mouth in what Ari interpreted as a grin. "Speaking of gifts,
you've given me two once-in-a-lifetime experiences in a single
week. First A-Zed, then the motel. Really got my gonads humming. I
call them gifts because I survived, by the way. So you mind telling
me what this is all about?"

"I'm trying to avoid a third
once-in-a-lifetime," Ari said, not trying to be flippant.

"Bomb?" said Lawson.

"I think—"

Ari's phone rang. It was Ben.

"A blue van just pulled into the lot. It
looks like the one from the motel."

Ari recited a license plate number.

"You...forget it. Hold on..."

"I remembered the plate, too," said Lawson
complacently. "And I ran it."

"Pardon?"

"Ran the plate number through DMV. We're
authorized to do that. The plate belongs to a Mazda hatchback,
owner's name Phillip Tichelmann. He reported it stolen three days
ago, when he first noticed the switch."

Ari had used the ploy himself on occasion. He
made a rueful face.

Ben came back on.

"That's the plate." Ben hesitated. "What do
you want me to do?"

"Did you see the driver?"

"There was a guy who might have been from the
picture, but he didn't have a beard."

"That would be Mohammed, a godless apostate,"
said Ari without a trace of hypocrisy. He again surveyed the room.
"No foreign packages?"

"Nor domestic." He flicked his intercom. "Ms.
Perch, have we received any packages today?"

"No, Mr. Lawson. I'm sorry that man—"

"Thank you." He lifted his finger from the
intercom. "I think we're covered."

Ari raised his phone. "Call Abu Jasim and let
him know about the van, but make no move yet."

"Right," said Ben, and rang off.

"You don't expect them to come charging in
here?" said Lawson, opening his drawer and taking out his
Beretta.

"It would be impractical," said Ari, moving
to the back of the office for a better view of the back door
surveillance monitor. "They haven't finished their mission. You
have armed guards at the front of the building."

"You want me to call them?"

"Not yet." Watching the screen, he said,
"These are the people we encountered at A-Zed."

"I sort of figured," said Lawson, bringing
his cane out from under his desk, as though intending to batter his
assailants.

"The police will be investigating A-Zed. They
will come perilously close to finding out about Ethan
Wareness."

"And then...his current employer." Lawson
raised his hand and gingerly pressed his brow. "I've had a headache
all morning."

"If there is too much...activity here—"

"Like another free-for-all," said Lawson.
"Yes, that would probably be the end of me."

"They'll know that Ethan, under your apparent
guidance—"

"I said I know." Lawson's face seemed to
disassemble. "But if we want to catch the bad guys, there's not
much else we can do. I'll call security. They can bring in the
police."

The blue van came into view of the
surveillance camera.

"Please be patient," said Ari, chary of
telling Lawson about the host of additional undesirable
consequences if the police were brought in. "I have arranged a
distraction."

"Really? I'm distracted already."

"If we could plant a GPS device on the
terrorists' van—"

"Anyone trying that would be spotted and
killed."

"Ben will talk to their driver, while Ahmad
plants—"

"Are you crazy? These people saw us just
yesterday. Are you praying for short-term memory loss?"

"There are other possibilities. Ahmad can
sneak up through the parked cars. He can be very sly when he wants
to be. And if they all leave the van—"

"They're not stopping."

The van had moved out of camera range.

"You were talking about Ben and Saddam
Hussein?" said Lawson lowly, as though the terrorists had sneaked
inside and were eavesdropping from the next room. "You brought them
with you?"

"They are in the parking lot," said Ari. "And
I assure you, Abu Jasim is not Saddam. It will be his nephew who
plants the device. He is much more lithe."

"You mean a smaller target. I've been meaning
to ask you about this Abu character. How did you meet him? Do you
know a lot of Arabs?"

"It is my privilege to know people from many
nations," said Ari, reaching down for his vibrating phone. "Yes,
Ben."

"I'm not believing this. The van parked and a
woman got out."

"Where is it parked?"

"Way over the other side of the lot. Listen,
Ari, it's the same woman from the paint department. The one you
said was following me."

"You have very good eyes," Ari observed.

"I'm a bird watcher. I keep a pair of
binoculars in my glove compartment."

"Providence assures the well-prepared," said
Ari. "I'll contact Abu Jasim."

Ari ended the call and hit the speed
dial.

"Let me talk to Ahmad," he said when Abu
Jasim answered.

"My father will hear about this," the young
man pouted over the phone when he came on.

"He approves of the warrior virtues," said
Ari. "This will enhance you in his eyes."

"Yeah? Well you didn't hear what he said when
I told him about my last trip down here. He said—"