Dead Six (56 page)

“That’s . . . awful, I said hesitantly. “I didn’t know.”

“Four years later I was conscripted into the Women’s Auxiliary of the People’s Liberation Army. I was wounded in the Third Battle of Shanghai later that year. Our forces were in complete disarray after Shanghai was destroyed by a nuclear weapon. A corrupt officer sold me and a dozen other women to a band of human traffickers from South China in exchange for the equivalent of five thousand dollars. I spent the next two years in hell before I was rescued by Exodus. Like the children you met this morning, I immediately volunteered. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I realized that I know everything about you, Michael,” she said, casting me a sidelong glance, “and you know nothing about me. I can tell that bothers you. I will arrange for you to return to America if you wish. But will you please tell me why?”

My expression hardened as I carefully chose my words. “They told me I was doing a great thing, that I was serving my country. We went over there for that reason. For many of us, it was a second chance, an offer of redemption. They sent us on missions that were so dangerous it was a joke. Many of my friends died in the process. We never quit. Not a single one of my teammates asked to go home.”

“Until you contacted me,” Ling injected.

“It wasn’t about me anymore. It was about Sarah. And I saw the writing on the wall. I didn’t trust the people I worked for. I was worried they’d leave us hanging if things went south.” I shook my head bitterly. “I hate it when I’m right.”

Ling gave me a faint smile. “Michael, I could tell that the night you and your friends met me in Zubara. I knew right away it was about her.”

“We went over there trying to do the right thing. No matter what they asked of us, we did it. We accomplished the impossible. I did terrible things, killed so many people, because they told me it was necessary. They told me I was protecting my country. And what did we get for it? They turned us over to the people we’d been fighting and left us all to die. Their brilliant plan didn’t work the way they thought it would, so they made a deal with the enemy because suddenly we were inconvenient.”

“And who is ‘they’?” Ling asked.

“They’re called Majestic, but it’s just a name. I don’t know if it really means anything. I was given a lot of information by my boss before he died, and even with all that, I don’t really understand everything that was going on. There are too many layers to know who’s really pulling the strings, you know? But I do have one name. Gordon Willis. He was the guy that recruited me. He’s the one that sold us out. He’s the reason Sarah’s dead.”

Ling gave me a hard look for a few seconds. “I see,” she said at last. “It is as I thought. I could see it in your eyes when you found me this morning.”

“See what?”

“The hatred, the anger, the desire for revenge. I know these things very well. These are the things that motivated me to join Exodus in the beginning. I volunteered with the idea that I would eventually track down the PLA officer that sold me and my comrades to the slavers. I fantasized about that often when I began my training. And when I was done with that corrupt officer, I was going to go after the Communist Party running dogs that took me away from my parents.” Ling actually chuckled, as if telling a silly story about her petulant youth.

“I take it that didn’t work out?”

“Of course it didn’t. I don’t know the name of the officer that was responsible for what happened to me, even if he survived the war. Exodus doesn’t have the capability to overthrow the Communist government of North China. And operations aren’t planned around the angry wishes of eighteen-year-old new recruits. People who join Exodus only to seek revenge don’t last very long.”

“Ling, I see where you’re going with this, but I don’t—”

“
Do
you now?” Ling said sharply, interrupting me. “I told you all this because I want you to know that I understand how you feel. I know too well the bitter taste of betrayal, the frustration of being powerless to change a vile injustice. I understand the desire to avenge your dead comrades and bring justice to those responsible, probably better than you do. I’m not trying to talk you out of doing what you think you need to do.”

I said nothing. Now I was just confused.

Ling smiled. “Surprised? Exodus’s reason for being is to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to avenge those that the world has forgotten, and speak for those who have been silenced. Look around you. The world teeters on the brink of the abyss; civilization dangles by a thread. On every corner of the earth there is oppression, injustice, slavery, and tyranny. In far too many places freedom is being stamped out under a jackboot. In other places, people are slaughtered wholesale for being the wrong race or religion. Meanwhile the so-called
civilized world
blithely ignores these horrors so long as they don’t interrupt the latest reality-television program.”

I was taken aback. Ling was one of the most reserved people I’d ever met.

“For six hundred years,” she continued, “Exodus has stood alone against the darkness. For six hundred years, we’ve fought for the dignity and the freedom of the individual. For generations we’ve fought, and died, for the idea that every human life has value, and that the individual is as important as the kingdom or the state. We fight for the idea that every person is accountable for his actions, no matter how powerful or exalted he may be.”

My God,
I thought.
The woman is a fanatic.

Ling straightened her hair and blushed slightly. “I apologize, Michael. I get carried away on occasion. I am very passionate about this, I’m afraid.”

“I can, uh, see that,” I managed.
Crazy,
I didn’t add.

“I do have a point,” Ling said, obviously a little embarrassed. “As I said, I’m not trying to talk you out of doing what you think you must do. My whole life is dedicated to bringing vengeance to the corrupt and the wicked. I am in no position to lecture you about doing the very same thing in your own way.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you bring me out here?”

“Really, Michael, I just wanted to talk to you. You obviously had something on your mind.”

“So . . . you’ll help me go home, then?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “It might take a little time, but we will find you a safe way to return to the United States, if that’s what you really want. We’ll be sorry to lose you, but I’m not going to stand in your way.” Ling’s expression hardened. “I do have some advice for you. There’s a very fine line between avenging those who have been wronged and seeking revenge for your own gratification. It’s easy to stray from one side to the other. Once you start down that path, it becomes harder and harder to turn around. There’s no telling where it will lead you, and you may not like where you end up. You may find yourself digging your own grave in addition to your enemy’s. Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, looking out over the ocean. “But I don’t have anything to lose. They took everything from me. My life, my friends . . . Sarah. What else can I do?”

“Would Sarah have wanted you to make this choice?”

Ling stared at me for a few seconds. I really didn’t have an answer to that. The question made me uncomfortable. After a moment, Ling’s expression softened. I could almost see the gears turning behind her dark eyes, but as usual she gave no indication of what she was thinking. I was taken by complete surprise when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Walk with God, Michael,” she said. “And please be careful.” She let go of my hand, stood up, and turned away. She paused after a few steps and looked over her shoulder. “It will take me a few days, maybe a bit longer, to make the preparations. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

Ling then walked away without looking back.

Chapter 23:
The Heist

LORENZO

June 15

Countdown to D-Day.

The radio was on in the background. Just as I had expected, General Al Sabah’s true colors were showing. All of Zubara’s major industries had been nationalized, and if you didn’t like it, too bad, please line up against that wall and wait your turn. The brain drain of the upper-class fleeing was already starting to affect the running of the country. People who had cheered the general’s rise to power a few short months ago were cursing now as their property was confiscated. The university had been closed down, the remains turned over to the craziest mullah he could find. The Zoob was toast.

People never learn. It made me kind of melancholy. I had liked this city. But it didn’t matter, we’d be leaving for our meeting in Saudi Arabia shortly, and I didn’t plan on ever coming back. I’d had some good times here. Shaking my head, I went back to work comparing three different shades of brown contact lenses so that I could match Falah perfectly.
Good times?
I was just being stupid. Carl shouted for me from the garage.

“What do you think?” he asked proudly when I came down the stairs. He was gesturing at the massive black car that filled the entire space. “No more of that pussy van. This is
class
.” It was a Mercedes-Benz 600 luxury car, built in 1968. When I had explained the plan to Carl, he had been very specific about what kind of vehicle we would need. “six point three liter V8, single overhead cam, Bosch
mechanical
fuel injection, hydraulic suspension, sweet mother of God, it has hydraulic windows and trunk lid.”

“You’re starting to sound like Reaper,” I said.

Carl shook his head at my apparent lack of appreciation for automotive excellence. “No soft electronics, genius. I’ve worked this baby over. She’s cherry. I don’t know where Hosani found her, but damn.” He whistled.

“Maybe he bought it off Fidel Castro?”

Reaper was in the backseat, bolting Starfish down. Our testing yesterday out in the boondocks had shown it was ready to go. He chimed in. “Pol Pot, Kim Jong Il, and Ceaucescu drove one of these, too. Idi Amin, Ferdinand Marcos, all the real bad asses. This is the ultimate dictator dope-ride.”

“Don’t forget Elvis Presley,” I added. “And the Popemobile.”

“See,” Carl insisted. “Those guys
know
class.” He turned back to the car sadly. “Too bad we’ve got to trash her.”

“Every mission has casualties. We’re sacrificing her for the greater good.” I put my arm over his shoulder. “Dude, we live through this and I’ll buy you
two
.”

Carl patted the hood fondly. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Lorenzo.”

LORENZO

East of Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

June 18

Phase Three begins.

The palace compound rose out of the bleak desert like some ancient monument. It was the only human habitation for miles, with nothing but sand stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see. It had once been an oasis and was now a self-contained miniature city. Isolation was the complex’s first layer of defense. There was no way to sneak in. If you wanted to get through those walls, you needed an invitation.

Behind the walls lived a staff numbering in the hundreds, and only a select few of them were ever allowed to leave. Every inch of the interior was constantly monitored. The security here was so unbelievably tight that only once a year were outsiders allowed into the inner sanctum.

The temperature outside was so bad that the window glass of the limousine was scorching hot to the touch, but the overburdened air conditioner kept me semi-comfortable in my traditional robes and additional fake fat padding. Starfish was sitting on the floor next to my legs, black and ominous. “Reaper, is this thing going to give me cancer?”

“Probably not. Now back to quizzing. Third wife’s name and birthday?” Reaper spoke from the front seat. He looked much different with his hair in a neat ponytail and wearing a suit. Both he and Carl were sporting the black-sunglasses bodyguard look.

“Sufi. August twentieth, 1985,” I answered, switching back to Arabic. I tugged on the fake beard that had been weaved into the real one I’d grown out over the last two months and dyed gray. “She is a shrill little harpy, who will give a man no rest.”

“What do you think about football?” Carl asked.

I checked the glued on latex attachment on my nose. It itched horribly but looked perfect. “It is a pathetic distraction that takes our young men away from more important pursuits, such as jihad or reading the scriptures,” I replied, knowing that my tone and inflection was a perfect match to the hours of recorded tapes of Falah’s conversations. Then in my own voice in English, “But I think Al-Nasiffia will take the regional championships.”

“Quit screwing around, you need to be in character.” The palace was growing larger through the window. We were close now. The walls were forty feet tall and thick enough to withstand anything short of 105mm direct fire. FLIR cameras swiveled downward to examine us. The massive front gate hydraulically opened as we neared.

I cleared my mind. For the next few minutes, I needed to think and act as if I were Ali bin Ahmed Al Falah, terrorist scumbag. We passed through the tunnel in the wall and entered the Garden of freaking Eden. A paradise waited inside the walls. It had trees, orchards, a lake with spiraling fountains, and behind that was the palace itself. The small model in our hideout had not done the thing justice. It was
huge
.

But I wasn’t here for the palace. I was after what was
under
it.

My trained eye picked up the multitude of cameras and guard posts watching us. We stopped at the base of the palace, and I prepared myself as my “bodyguards” exited and opened my door. Carl extended a hand and helped me out. The heat was like a blast furnace.

I was in character now.

A hulking brute of a man approached, with four rifle-armed guards trailing behind him. He looked awkward in a suit. “Ali bin Ahmed Al Falah, my name is Hassan, and I am the director of security for Prince Abdul.”

“What happened to Adar?” I asked suspiciously. “He was in charge of security the last time I was here.”