The Godless One (41 page)

"Your loss." Uday turned back to Ari.
"My father launched an investigation, but no one knows better than
you how to cover your tracks. I only found out just before the war.
Omar Pachachi told me that he had uncovered evidence that you were
the one helping the traitor."

Omar
, Ari thought.
Should've killed him.
But how long had he known? From the very beginning?

"By then, things had been arranged and
I didn't worry about it."

"The bombs in my cellar," Ari said
flatly.

"Oh? Who told you? No matter, I was
going to kill you because of that bitch trick you played. One more
reason made no difference." And then the evil Uday, the Uday men
and women had seen in closed rooms, in the Palace of Dreams, slid
out the side of his eyes. "I can see now that it paid off, even
though you survived. Killing your boy, dismembering your wife...the
death is in your eyes."

"Hey, Abu Jasim!" Ari called out.
"Before you drop me off, what about we chop off a few of this
assholes fingers? Maybe his pecker, too? But that hasn't been of
much use to you since the assassination attempt, from what I
hear."

Uday possessed as much self-control as
Ari. He leaned back with a smile. "And now, since I have been so
forthcoming, how is it you found out about me? Who told you? One of
my idiot employees?"

Speaking of
idiots…
.

"A few things. Your boys came back and
stole the cars."

For the first time since his capture,
Uday was nonplussed. He looked down at his handcuffs. "Stupid
fuckers."

"Indeed. Do you employ anyone above the
moron level?" Ari again glanced at his watch. Five minutes left?
"How close are we?" he asked Abu Jasim.

"Six, seven minutes, if I don't see any
cops."

"Then there was the Lamborghini..." Ari
continued to Uday.

Uday frowned. "It
wasn't
that
big
of a mistake..."

"And the fact that I knew from the day
the Americans announced you were dead that you were
alive."

"How's that?" Uday asked with a smarmy
grin. "Who told you?"

He really wants names. He
thinks he'll get out of this and he'll get his revenge. He has no
clue
.

"Remember, just before the invasion,
when the Americans were firing their Tomahawks left and right,
trying to decapitate the government?"

"I remember, of course." Uday exposed
his prominent buckteeth. "Fifty shots, and they didn't kill
anyone."

"Over a hundred killed. But you're
right, no one in the government was scratched." Ari adjusted his
sore back. "I was given a folder of names. Certain people of
influence wanted their official files to be altered, or even
completely destroyed. These were naysayers who had no faith in the
Boss's ability to hold off the American Army."

Now Uday was truly
nonplussed.

"One of those who wanted their files
altered was yourself. Do you remember that, too?"

"Camel dung," said Uday. "That order
wasn't for you."

"But it ended up with me,
just like that order for the German girl. I had access to the files
at the SSO Security Office in Hai Al Tashriya and in the Imperial
Palace. I was ordered to replace your dental records. I presume
what I was given belonged to your latest
fatid
. Well...I didn't use them. I
found a set of interesting X-rays at a veterinarian. So while I was
removing all records concerning myself, I planted in your file the
X-rayed dentures of a sick jackass."

Ahmad braced against the dashboard as
Abu Jasim roared with laughter.

"Naturally, when it was announced that
they had used the X-rays to identify you, I knew they were lying.
Just as they were lying when they later said the DNA
matched."

Uday sat stupidly.

"I was advised by a young friend that
this area is literally surrounded by military bases. Maybe the
authorities were keeping an eye on you, to keep you on the straight
and narrow. I hope they were merely incompetent instead of...but
excuse me, I'm pressed for time." Ari took out a cell phone and
pressed the preprogrammed number. When the ring was answered, he
said: "Are the guest accommodations ready? Please be prepared." He
hung up.

"There, as you have proven, the
Americans brought me here. You don't think they'll be pleased, do
you?"

"And what a precious asset you must be,
selling out old enemies while pretending they are threats to the
New Iraq. I wonder what would happen if you went back home, now..."
Ari saw lights from a gas station at the western edge of
Cumberland. "Stop here."

"It's closed!" Abu Jasim protested,
slowing parallel to the station.

"No, I see someone inside."

As they pulled into the lot, Ari
withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his coat pocket..

"Ahmad, go inside and see if they have
pistachio ice cream."

"Any size?" the young man asked,
turning in his seat and giving Ari a puzzled look.

"Whatever size."

"I thought we were in a hurry." Ahmad's
eyes were wide, but exhausted. They perfectly resembled the awful,
aching stares in cities and towns and villages across Iraq; of
frightened people peeking through cracks in doors, around street
corners, through tank slits; eyes averted from authority, gaping
with wild fear at the sky, worn out by trepidation; eyes constantly
darting like skulkers in the night. Here was Ahmad, a good boy from
Chicago, evincing all the dread of his ancestors in one bleak look.
No, he was not adapting. He was, as the young man himself had felt
from the beginning, being corrupted by the insanity of the land of
fear.

"Buy something for yourself and your
uncle, too" Ari sighed. "Take five minutes. More, if you have
to."

"And him?" Ahmad nodded at the
prisoner.

Ari leaned forward and sniffed Uday's
breath. "I don't think they have any Dimple here. But they have MD
20/20, Ripple, Thunderbird…I hear all of those are excellent
vintages."

Ahmad hesitated, glanced at his uncle,
who shrugged. "As I said, the Colonel's ways are mysterious. Save
yourself a headache and do as he asks."

The young man began to remove his ski
mask.

"No!" Abu Jasim said. "Keep it
on!"

"They'll think I'm coming to rob
them!"

"They'll think you're trying to stay
warm. Now go!"

Ahmad got out and rushed inside the
shop.

"I hear sirens," Abu Jasim observed,
adjusting the heat.

"But no more explosions," said Ari.
"Sound carries far out here. The fight might be over."

"All the more reason to get back
quick."

"Yes," said Ari, staring up at the
ceiling. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and jumped into Uday's
face. He had only a brief glimpse of Uday's startled expression
before his fist caught him in the eye. His wrath was like a juicy
plum into which he had long lusted to sink his teeth, tear off the
flesh and crush the pit. He could taste Uday's fear, the pain in
his already-sore and abraded knuckles like hot spice that removed
the sweetness and prepared the next course. He was eating Uday
Hussein with his fists, even as Uday tried to dodge away, not
pleading, because he knew it would do no good, but crying out in
pain and terror, succumbing unwillingly to his
punishment.

The frenzy did not last long. Ari
simply didn't have enough energy left in him to inflict a sustained
beating. He fell back on his bench with a kind of controlled sob.
Tears of pain and satisfaction streaked his cheeks.

At first alarmed and fearful when Ari
jumped up, Abu Jasim quickly fell into the role of complacent, and
then amused, observer. Not even looking at Uday, he noted the
mingled blood on Ari's hands. "What a mess, but at least you didn't
kill him."

Breathing hard, Ari did not respond. He
stared at his victim, curled up on the bench, whimpering. He looked
like any other tormented prisoner, although by Abu Ghraib standards
the beating had been minimal. Had his old wounds toughened him, or
made him more susceptible to pain? It was a wonder that someone who
had been shot so many times, had experienced the full wrath of an
outraged populace, had not changed his stripes. Had bitterness been
added to Uday's sadism? Had there been no moment of
redemption?

"I'm going to have to get Ahmad," said
Abu Jasim with disgust. "I can see him through the window. He's
watching TV. You aren't going to shoot him while I'm gone, are
you?"

Ari, still winded, shook his head. Abu
Jasim stepped out.

Ari felt the great weight of having
evil helpless before him. That he had absorbed some of this evil
himself did not concern him, at least not at the moment. Remorse
was something one took at one’s leisure, if at all. In Ari’s case,
repentance could take a practical form. He did not like the idea
that someone might take pity on this weeping creature. Any doctor
attending his wounds would see the multitude of old scars and the
overlay of new bruises and conclude this was man tortured beyond
endurance to this very day. That was why American jurists were so
keen against police brutality. They wanted their criminals to be
clean, unblemished—virgins fit for sacrifice. Uday Hussein,
privileged, pampered, his every sick whim indulged in by a host of
fearful servants, showed all the signs of a man fully deserving
refugee status. And yet…he had not changed. The murder of the
Zewails provided evidence enough of that. It was as if his
life-source was the taking of life. Deprive him of his right to
torture prisoners to death, and he would be reduced, an incomplete
human.

"Poor Uday, you’re just
another victim of the environment," Ari said sympathetically as he
unsheathed the Ka-Bar he had retrieved from Frank Drebin’s body.
"Or is it possible you
are
the environment?"

Uday peeked out from behind his hands
and saw Ari approaching. "What are you doing?"

"I’m going to cut your eyes
out."

"No!" Uday shrieked and bound his fists
tightly over his face. "You can’t do that!"

"Why not? It’s just like Abu Ghraib.
Not a witness in sight." He took hold of one of Uday’s wrists and
pulled. "Come on, I’m sure you know the routine. It’s an old
tradition! Goes back all the way to Sargon of Akkad. If you don’t
lower your hands, I’ll have to cut them off to get to your
peepers."

Uday thrust his bound feet in Ari’s
direction, trying to kick him away. He bellowed for
help.

"Oh, I have to gag you, too? How very
difficult you’re making this…"

The driver door opened. Seeing Ari
wielding the knife, Abu Jasim coughed up a bit of local color that
had clung to his limited vocabulary. In cheery English, he said,
"Waz happenin?"

"I want to cut out his eyes and he
won't let me," said Ari petulantly.

"Pig," said Abu Jasim, without
indicating which one of them he meant.

The passenger door opened and Ahmad
hopped inside. "They had pistachio, but only in half-pint—" He
stopped when he turned in his seat and saw what was happening.
Seeing blood on both men, he immediately assumed the worst, threw
down the paper bag from the shop, and bolted.

"Retrieve your nephew, will you? I'll
need him in a minute."

"You said you weren't going to kill
him."

"I said I wasn't going
to
shoot
him."
Ari gave Abu Jasim a significant glance and curt shake of his head.
Uday, his eyes still covered, did not see.

"Then do what you must," Abu Jasim
nodded, backing out of the van.

"Close your door, and Ahmad's, too."
When this was done, Ari produced a dramatic sigh of relief. "Ah,
alone again."

"No, no!" Uday cried.

Ari nicked the back of Uday’s hand with
the blade, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Ah! Don't!"

"Then take away those hands. Let me see
those big brown eyes of yours. They're your father's eyes. The same
eyes that bugged out when they hanged him."

"Wait! Wait! There's money!"

"After all of your crimes, there's not
enough money on earth—"

"Half of the state treasury! I know
where it is."

"I think of my beautiful wife, who you
fully intended to blow up, and I say, 'Fuck you and your
money.'"

"It's in an overseas account! Over
three billion dinars!"

"That doesn't sound like half of the
Treasury to me," Ari observed. He could hear Abu Jasim and Ahmad
arguing outside the van and hoped they didn't catch the attention
of the gas station proprietor.

"The Americans found most of it.
They're all crooks. That's all they really wanted when they brought
me here. But they missed this account."

"Did they, now? I didn't think they
would be so negligent when it came to money."