Terminal Justice (23 page)

Life was neither simple nor predictable. He himself was a complex stew of intellect, desire, motivation, and emotion. He felt no remorse when the evil leeches of the world died, even if they died at his bidding. There were men who deserved death and for whom A.J. wouldn’t waste a second thought. There were people like Mahli and Mukatu who killed the brave and noble Dr. Rhodes in the middle of the work to which she had so unselfishly dedicated herself. Adding insult to that act was the sinking of the
Sea Maid
. Mahli and men like him deserved to be planted in the ground where they belonged—their dead bodies fertilizing the earth. But the innocent were another matter. They deserved life, a reasonable life that A.J. struggled to provide. Now, because of his
decision, a family mourned a lost loved one, a father, a husband, a brother, a son. It was not for Booth that he mourned, but for his family.

This knowledge caused A.J.’s adrenaline to kick in. Sleep was out of the question. He paced back and forth between his bed and the small desk at which he had been sitting. He had been pent-up too long. He missed the physical release of jogging, racquetball, and working out. It was the inability to exercise as he wished that bothered him most about traveling in difficult lands.

Stripping his shirt off, A.J. lowered himself to the floor and began doing push-ups, lowering and raising himself time after time in a slow steady rhythm. At first his muscles protested the strain, but soon they were loose, and he was feeling the exhilaration of his power. With each push-up, he withdrew further and further into himself. His eyes were fixed on a tiny spot on the dirty green carpet between his hands. Soon he saw nothing but that spot, heard nothing but the beating of his heart, and felt nothing but the stretching of his muscles. One push-up was followed by another. He didn’t count. The number of push-ups didn’t matter, only the mind-numbing work, only the searing muscular heat to be conquered. This would clear his mind. This would ease his tension. This would allow him to face one more day and to do those things that no one else in the world was willing to do.

The late afternoon sun reflected off the tinted, double-pane windows of Mahli’s seaside manor, leaving the interior protected from the unrelenting and stagnant August heat, a heat the locals called
tangambili
, a Somali word that meant “two sails.” It is said that during the hot months a boatman needed two sails to catch enough breeze to move forward. Mahli stood by the window gazing introspectively out at the rolling surf. Behind him, seated at a large dining-room table, was his brother, Mukatu, who unlike Mahli was still eating. Before him was spread an array of fruits, lamb, and sweet bread.

“What do you see out that window, brother?” Mukatu asked, his mouth full of meat.

Mahli turned for a moment and regarded his brother. They were as close as any brothers had ever been, but they were so different. Mukatu lived for the moment, for the present enjoyment or thrill, but Mahli lived for what the future held—the future he would help mold.

“I see the past and the future.”

“You see all that in the waves? You are a wise man.”

“I was thinking about our country’s past,” Mahli said, returning his attention to the rolling, blue Indian Ocean. “The ancient Egyptians call this the Land of Punt, and they sailed here in their ancient vessels and returned home with incense and myrrh to use in their temples. Then came the Phoenician traders, followed by the Greeks and Romans. Then Arabs and Persians joined the parade. The Arabs took our resources for their homes and gave us Islam for our souls. The Portuguese came and conquered until they gave way to the Italians who built the triumphal arches, but they too left in defeat. Then the British arrived, but they left three decades ago. Somalia always comes back to Somalis. Allah gave us this land, barren as it is, and no matter who takes it, it returns to us.”

“You are indeed a philosopher, my dear brother,” Mukatu said as he reached across the table and took a large pinch of leaves from a bowl and placed them in his mouth. “There is no doubt that Allah gave you the brains of our clan. Care for some kat?”

Mahli again turned to his brother and watched him chew the mind-altering plant. He knew the cathinone in the leaves would soon make his brother feel relaxed and blissful. This was good, he thought, because his brother would be easier to control. “No thank you. I prefer to leave my mind the way it is. You do know that kat is addictive, don’t you?”

“As you have told me many times, brother, but as Father always said, ‘Kat is not a luxury; it is a necessity.’ ”

Nodding his understanding, Mahli turned again to his pondering. His father had been right. The hardship of living in Somalia required a release. There was so little water, so little farmland, so little education, so few resources. Somalia was always the last to receive what every other country took for granted. The nomads still wandered the wilderness as they always had, despite the efforts of the Marxist government of President Mohammed Said Barre, who tried to settle the nomads into farming communities. But the nomadic life was too deeply rooted in their genes to surrender to a more anchored existence.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?
Mahli thought to himself. Change was difficult to make. Change, real and abiding change, could not be legislated. That had been tried many times, but always to no avail. Camel herders still herded their camels as their great-grandparents did; children still learned the Koran from their long, wooden prayer boards; famine still came; drought still came; and the desert still advanced. Some change had occurred. Somali families knew how to hide from Ethiopian military aircraft. They learned that during their two-year war with Ethiopia in 1977 and 1978. It was that war that had taken Mahli’s father, and since they lost, also stole a good deal of Somali pride. During that war men learned to use more than knives to defend themselves; they learned to fire Russian-made weapons at their enemy. Ironically, they fought Russian-led troops from Cuba. They graduated to missile launchers and artillery, which came from the United States. But those were small changes. The heart of the people remained the same.

More needed to be done. Somalia could no longer remain the doormat for other countries. Somalia had to learn to stand on its own. But rival clans, lack of education, and lack of resources had kept the country mired in the past.
I will change that
, Mahli thought.
I will bring a new day, not only for Somalia but for all of East Africa
.

“May I ask a question, brother?” Mukatu asked.

“You just did,” Mahli replied with a grin.

Mukatu giggled, and Mahli could see the kat was already working on Mukatu’s mind, dropping its mist of euphoria on every brain cell. “You’re right. Now may I ask another question?” Mahli started to tell him that he had once again asked a question, but thought better of it. It was clearly a joke with no end.

“Certainly.”

“Why sink the ship?” Mukatu asked, shoving more kat into his mouth. “It makes no sense to sink a ship filled with food.”

It was a sensible question, but the answer might not seem sensible to Mukatu, whose mind was still alert but definitely clouded.

“It seems confusing, doesn’t it?” Mahli said as he strolled from the window to the table. “The answer is in our goal. We wish to change our corner of the world. But change is difficult. That is what I was thinking a moment ago. Change must be forced. The world looks at us as unloved and ignorant stepchildren; as backward people who don’t know enough to take care of ourselves. They don’t think that we can feed our own or educate our children. We seem stupid and impotent to them. Some of our own people think that way too. But we will change all that, you and I.” Mahli began to pace around the table, his hands folded behind him, his head bowed in thought like one of his professors in college. “We provided food not only to our own people but to Ethiopians. The world sees this, and they think that at last someone is in control. The Ethiopians see that we help them of our own free will and with no strings attached. We ask for nothing in return—at first.”

“Do you really think Ethiopia will join the alliance?”

“Yes. The world thinks we are a vicious and ungrateful people who turn weapons on those who lend us help. Mohammed Farah Aidid saw to that when he killed Pakistani and American soldiers when they brought food and medicine.”

“You’ve not had any problem with killing,” Mukatu said firmly.

“You do not understand, brother. Perhaps you chew too much kat,” Mahli said. “Death is required to make these noble changes.
The difference between Aidid and me is that I see to it that those deaths are not attributed to me. The world follows heroes, not monsters.”

“So if the world knew …”

“It won’t,” Mahli snapped. “This plan will work as long as each of us does his job and we don’t make any mistakes.”

“I haven’t made any mistakes,” Mukatu said defensively.

“No, you haven’t, and if you will let me do the planning, you won’t make any in the future either.” Mahli softened his tone. “There’s a great deal in this for you, my brother. A great deal of power and a great deal of money.”

“Here’s to power and money,” Mukatu said with a broad, leaf-stained grin.

Mahli picked up a glass of water, raised it in a toast, and said, “To
our
power and money.”

“What are they doing now?” Aden asked as he lay on his back in the dried grass under an acacia tree.

“They’re toasting their soon-to-be-success,” Roger said, stretching his back. “I wish I had thought to bring a tripod for this dish; I’m getting tired of holding it. At least I thought far enough ahead to pack it in the car.”

“You’ve been holding it on and off for hours,” Aden said wearily. “Don’t you think you have listened enough?”

Roger laid the parabolic listening dish down and switched off the electronics. “For now. But I still don’t know their next move.”

“Did they admit to downing the ship?” Aden was incredulous.

“That they did,” Roger said. “And they don’t feel the least bit of remorse. It’s all part of their plan.”

“Plan? What plan?”

Roger explained everything that he just heard through the advanced listening device.

“Unbelievable,” Aden said. “I doubt it will work. There are too many variables, too many personalities to consider. He’ll never be
able to convince Ethiopia to be part of an alliance. Our country has never been on good terms with them. The whole idea is absurd.”

“The most effective ideas in the world are absurd. That’s why they work; no one has ever thought of them. Besides, it doesn’t matter if the plan is possible or not. Mahli thinks it is, and he’s killed to make his dream a reality. That makes the validity of the plan secondary, don’t you agree?”

Aden sat silently for a moment then said, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Review your history, Aden,” Roger said, sitting up and twisting his head around to loosen the muscles in his neck. “If you were to outline Hitler’s plan on paper it would be laughable, but he pulled it off. If, in the thirties, you asked if Japan might attempt to conquer China and surrounding regions as well as to attack the United States, you would dismiss the whole concept. But it happened. Think of the most vicious dictators in the world. Did they arrive at their power because they were geniuses? No, but they believed they were. That’s all it takes. Mahli and his no-good brother are no different. His plan may not be feasible, but I’m betting that he’s willing to kill an awful lot of people to prove that it is.”

“Your point is well taken,” Aden acquiesced. “So what do we do now?”

“Wait. Listen some more. I’ll report back to my people later, but until then we wait for opportunity to come knocking.”

“What will opportunity look like?” Aden asked seriously.

“I have no idea, but I’ll recognize it when I see it. No doubt about that. And when I do … that’s when I act.”

“I feel that I should tell someone in my government.”

“What government? The last vestiges of corporate leadership fell twelve months ago when this famine started.” Roger was animated. “You’ll tell no one. This is something I can take care of, something I will take care of.” Having said that, Roger rolled over on his stomach, picked up the listening dish, and aimed it at Mahli’s compound again.