Way of Escape (29 page)

The serious woman handed the cards back to the man and actually smiled at Russ. In perfect British English she said, “Seems you have been telling the truth. Mr. Prakash here has come to collect you.”

“Coll…collect me?” Russ's eyebrows raised.

The woman grinned and nodded and swept him by with her hand as Prakash took him by the elbow to guide him through. Russ had only seconds to grab up his baggage.

“You come with me,” Siddhu said resolutely, and in a very adamant tone continued, “You are lucky, very, very lucky the baron called us and told us you were attempting to come to EW or otherwise you would be on your way to an Israeli jail. They are not nice. You do not want to go to Israeli jails. Now you come with me and you do just what I say or the soldiers will be on you in a heartbeat.”

“Uhh…I take it you're Mr. Singh Siddhu Prakash?”

“No, I am Siddhu Singh Prakash. Do not talk too much. Be quick.” They sped through the airport terminal and out into the warm sun. Siddhu did not release his elbow once. At the curb, the Indian man raised a hand to signal to a far-away Mercedes. Within minutes the car was in front of them and a small Arab man leaped from the driver's seat. He literally threw Russ's suitcase into the trunk before opening the back door.

“In,” ordered Siddhu Singh Prakash. Russ slid in; the Arab man slammed the door shut and jumped in the driver's side. Off they went, in and out of traffic and onto a highway.

Siddhu motioned toward the Arab man, “Russell Snow, you are meeting Taqi Nabil-Nasiri d'Din.” The driver nodded without diverting his eyes from the road.

Smiling, Russ said, “Your name is longer than you are.”

“Ha!” laughed Siddhu and translated for the driver who roared with laughter and responded with several sentences. Siddhu said to Russ, “He believes you are correct. He says your name, although very long, is not as long as you are tall.”

“Right,” said Russ and felt the atmosphere become instantly much friendlier.

“You may as well relax, Russ Snow-from-Night-Sky, it is a long journey to Haifa.”

Siddhu settled back into his seat. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? We will stop along the way, perhaps at a cafe` near the water and get food and something to drink.”

“Thank you, yes, the food on the plane was awful.”

Siddhu said something to Taqi, probably translating this last sentence because Taqi laughed as he nodded in agreement. Turning to Russ again, Siddhu repeated, “Relax, Mr. Snow. Enjoy the ride.”

Yusef ordered the pilot of the helicopter to land as close to the bodies as he could get. After several minutes of circling, the pilot managed to get the machine settled onto the sandstone area at the top of the slope mere feet from the edge of the encampment. Several tents bent almost to collapse in the backwash of the rotors.

The Bedouin men, silent and brutal, had surrounded the bodies. Each man bristled with guns. Yusef told the pilot to keep the rotors moving. For one brief second, he wondered whether his decision to kill the three hajis was a good one, but then he again considered the fact that if those men had reached the village, they'd have instantly become invisible. Only by the grace of Allah did he have the opportunity he did.

He signaled his squad of soldiers. Also heavily armed, they jumped from the helicopter and set up a perimeter. Commander Yusef, pistols in his belt, walked through the perimeter and flanked by his two top security agents, walked toward the Bedouin men.

One of those men stepped forward. “Allah shall strike you dead for killing hajis. It is enough, we now have blood war, you and two tribes of the desert.”

Twenty meters from the man, Commander Yusef stopped. His entire body felt the prickle of guns aimed at him. Many guns. “One of the hajis is a wanted man, a man who steals Arab women. He is the one we came for.”

“No haji steals women. You are mistaken. It was a bad mistake.” The man growled.

“Haji Habib Mansur. He is one of those three dead men. I want his body.” Yusef stepped forward and all of the Bedouin guns cocked. With an imperious shout, Yusef declared, “We can slaughter your entire village in one sweep of the helicopter's machine guns. Will you go that far to protect the body of a criminal?”

“You want the body of Haji Mansur?” asked the man. “No. You have done enough in killing him.”

It was clear that this could turn into a very ugly standoff. Yusef glanced around at his lieutenant and inquired in a low voice, “Did we bring the camera?”

“Yessir. Shall I get it?”

Yusef nodded, then looked directly back at the Bedouin man, standing proudly in front of his tribesmen. Yusef shouted, “We can take photos. To prove it is Mansur.”

“I will confer,” said the man and stepped back into the crowd of men. After about five minutes, the man stepped forward again. “If you allow us to take our chiefs back to the tents so they will not be cursed by your camera. We take them immediately.”

“You do that. Take them. Leave the body of Mansur,” Yusef agreed.

Several Bedouin men slipped away from the group and quickly retrieved two bodies. They were gone so quickly that Yusef did not even have time to photograph their movements. The man in front motioned to Yusef to come forward. “Only you,” he said firmly. “No one else.”

Commander Yusef took the camera from his lieutenant. Slowly he made his way through the phalanx of Bedouin tribesmen who parted only inches from his path. He could smell their clothing, feel the heat of their skin as he passed.

Mansur's body in its bloody brown abba lay face down, which meant Yusef had to roll it over for the face to be seen by the cameras. Mansur's blood, still flowing from the half-dozen wounds, smeared his hands. At least one of the heavy machine-gun bullets had pierced the side of the face. Still, Yusef had no doubt, from the many photos he'd seen of Habib Mansur, that this was the man and the man was surely dead. The late afternoon shadow of the canyon wall meant he had to open the camera lens. He held the camera steady and snapped ten photos. It was a digital camera. It wouldn't take much to improve the quality of the photos once he had them back on the computer. The old warrior smirked. He'd done it. He'd stopped one of the prime movers of the EW.

Which brought up the issue of the women. He walked back through the Bedouin soldiers, stopping in front of the leader. “There were two, maybe three women with the haji. Women he stole from the compound of Sheikh Sultan i-Shibl.”

The leader of the Bedouins had no expression at all on his face. “Do not ask us about women. You cannot keep your women at home, that is not our problem. Go now before we kill all of you.”

“You fire on us and the helicopter wipes out this entire encampment. Completely. Nothing left,” threatened Yusef, although he knew that actually, the powerful rifles the Bedouin carried were quite adequate to penetrate the side of the helicopter and disable it.

Perhaps the leader of the Bedouins was also aware of this because he did not stand down. Instead, he looked directly into Yusef's eyes, challenging him. “Search our camp if you will, we do not have your women. They were sent away long before we came to this camp. High on the desert in the middle of the sandstorm. Taken away by a jeep, may Allah protect them. Go find them yourself. That is all.”

“Where on the high desert?” demanded Yusef.

The leader shrugged. “How should I know? The wind makes the stars dance, the sand swim. The night was very dark. Tell me, how can I describe where a map does not go?” He grinned and snarled, “You will leave now. Immediately.”

For one long moment, Yusef considered fulfilling his threat to wipe out the village once they were airborne. He could land again to search every tent. But what would that gain him? An incident that could be taken to a higher court? No, it wasn't worth the effort. Chances were, since Haji Mansur was walking with two other hajis in broad daylight, unafraid of being seen, and not riding in a vehicle with the women, that the Bedouin leader was telling at least a partial truth. The women had been picked up last night. That explained how two soft, spoiled women could have disappeared so completely. Those women could never have made it this far, walking or on a camel. Of course, the man was lying about not knowing where. No nomadic Bedouin would ever say he did not know precisely where on the desert an event in his life happened. The man may have been in a complete blinding sandstorm, but he knew exactly where the sandstorm hit him and where he had holed up to wait it out. These nomads had not stopped, they had continued; thus last night's sandstorm was a mere ruffle in the sand to them and not a moment during that time did they lose their way. Yes, thought Yusef, the caravan was met by a jeep probably only a few miles from the compound and the swirling sand hid them and their tracks from the satellite surveillance cameras.

Yusef smiled. He had done enough. Let Tidewater deal with it from here because for certain, the women were already outside of Saudi by now. He spun on his heels and signaled to his lieutenant and the squadron to follow him back to the helicopter.

Moments later, high in the air above the deeply shadowed great wadi, he could just barely make out the Bedouin men carrying Mansur's body to the camp. Far to the west, Yusef saw the beginnings of a very nice sunset. It had been a good day, all told. It would please him, in a way, to give this over to Marion Tidewater. With a swift turn, the helicopter sped away toward the military city and Yusef's headquarters.

CHAPTER 12: THE VALUE OF WOMEN

The blindfold meant Russ lost track of time. It had been put on him as they entered the outskirts of Haifa. He'd sensed sharp twists in the road, felt the Mercedes slow, and heard the traffic get heavier. Before too long, there came the heavy, rich smell of an outgoing tide, of wharfing, oiled timbers, the hoooot of a big ship entering a harbor. Then the Mercedes parked and he was led into a building. As they walked along what seemed to be a hallway, he could hear children's voices, some women—most likely their moms—talking in several different languages and finally the whoosh of big doors opening and closing and silence.

His blindfold came off. In front of him, filling the room, was a giant black and white table, at the head of which stood an elegant black woman in a prim red suit. Although Russ noticed the dark Israeli woman seated to her right, his eyes were held tight by the black eyes of the woman in the red suit. Siddhu pulled him into a seat and sat next to him.

“Welcome to Emigrant Women. Let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Halima Legesse and this,” she motioned toward the Israeli woman, “is Dr. Rachel Bar-Fischer from the Israeli Drug Treatment Centre.” Dr. Legesse leaned onto her knuckles and with emphasis said, “You are very lucky, Mr. Snow, that we were made aware of your arrival.”

“Mr. Prakash told me that,” Russ nodded.

“He was right. You could be languishing in jail as we speak.” Dr. Legesse sat down. “What to do with you? We have discussed this for most of the day. Baron Hermelin wants us to trust you, but keep a close eye on you. Siddhu, here, wants you locked away for a month or so.”

“As a precaution,” said Siddhu.

Dr. Legesse nodded toward Siddhu, “He could be right. I may be the boss of Emigrant Women, but I'm no dictator.” She chuckled, “This is a group of chiefs without any Indians. Thus I've decided that a compromise would be in the best interest of everyone. After all, if you do have the computer skills Carl-Joran says you do, then we want to make use of them. But if you offer a threat, as Siddhu warns, we want to keep you under control. I've asked Dr. Bar-Fischer to let you occupy a room in her drug treatment center. Yes, it is a lockup. I will have Siddhu bring you here during the day and he can watch over your shoulder as you learn our computer system. That won't take much of your time. Our system is about as antiquated as you can find.”

“That could be my first job,” said Russ with enthusiasm, “to update your system. Put some firewalls up. You really need them.”

“I wouldn't know what a computer firewall was if it popped up and said hello!” Shaking her head, Dr. Legesse stood again, “More likely, your first assignment will be to monitor reports coming in. They are the most important. Mind you, this is all dependent on your excellent behavior and total compliance with all our rules. So, we shall see.” She nodded to Siddhu who rose to his feet and pulled Russ to his. “Make no mistake, Mr. Snow, you are on probation. Understood?”

“Yes ma'am,” he curtly replied.

Dr. Legesse smiled at him. It was not a warm smile, but an obligatory one. “You probably could use a hot meal and a hot shower. Siddhu, you and Rachel get him settled at the treatment center.” She started out the door. Siddhu put the blindfold over Russ's eyes and they went back the way they'd come.

Russ was aware that only he and Siddhu got into the Mercedes. He heard Taqi talking to Siddhu as they drove through the twisting streets and uphill. Steeply uphill, up and up until Russ's ears popped. The odors wafting in through the vent changed dramatically from ocean to dry, cold desert. When the car pulled to a stop, Siddhu got out first and, as Russ climbed out, Siddhu pulled off his blindfold.

“You might as well see where you're going,” he said, “because once you are in this place, there is no way out.”

During the drive, evening had set in. Lights were coming on. They had stopped in a large parking area in front of a two-story stucco building surrounded by high, barbed wire, electrified fencing. Beyond the fence was rocky desert. It occurred to Russ that the place could be a prison and he wondered why a drug treatment center would have such heavy security. Dr. Rachel Bar-Fischer's little car came zipping through the big gate and parked next to the Mercedes. Taqi opened her door for her.

She immediately walked to what looked like the front door, painted a violently bright blue. The men, except Taqi, followed. She held it open for Siddhu and Russ, and then led them down a long hallway. “Room ten,” she told Siddhu and within moments, Russ was deposited into what would be his space. Dr. Bar-Fischer told him, “You have a toilet in the room, the bath is down the hall, and the cafeteria is all the way along the hall and to your right. I've told the cook to set out some supper for you. Just ring when you're ready to go eat and an orderly will take you along. Okay?”

“Yes,” replied Russ. “And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, we will see,” Siddhu answered him. “If I do not get terribly busy with the Kuwaiti case, I will come get you in the morning.”

“That's Milind, the Thai girl who's in prison?” Snow said and Siddhu shook his head, frustrated.

“You know a lot more than we care to have you know.”

Russ shrugged, “Both Tidewater of the Agency and Sadiq-Fath of the Iranian Security Forces are aware you're interested in saving her. I think it's a trap.”

“We think so too,” was Siddhu's reply and he motioned Russ into the tiny room. “Sleep well. Rest.”

The door closed and Russ looked around at his new quarters. Luckily, he'd packed a book because there was no TV, not even a radio, merely a cot, a toilet, and a porthole of a window. The view from the window was stunning. Russ could see the entire city of Haifa below him. They must be very high up on the cliffs. He watched the harbor lights come on. Across the bay, on the opposite cliff side, was an immense wooded area filled with magnificent buildings illuminated by spotlights. The top of one building had a brilliant gold dome. On the top of that cliff were a series of hotels.

He managed to get the window open a crack and in came soft Mediterranean breezes with incredibly exotic odors. Suddenly he felt exhausted to the bone. And hungry, and he needed a shower. He rang for the orderly and while waiting, pulled his toilet kit and a clean set of clothes from the big suitcase. He hoped he could stay awake long enough to both shower and eat.

“I…I really want to go to the toilet,” whispered Zhara, her voice breaking the silence of hours. Her mother ssshhed her. For some reason, at this, Tahireh began to laugh. It was not a funny ha-ha laugh. It was a gut-wrenching, sobbing laugh. Slowly, the tall model sat up. She and Zhara and Jani had lain flat, below the window level in the pitch-black dark for all this time. Tahireh's choking laughter filled the Cruiser. Zhara sat up, groaning.

“Please,” begged Zhara, “I gotta go!”

“Go,” said Tahireh between laughing sobs.

Jani tried to sit up and felt paralyzed in every muscle in her body. “Oh!” she moaned sharply, “I hurt. Oh, God, do we have any aspirin?”

Zhara pulled at her mother's shoulders, helping her.

“Look in the smaller duffel,” Tahireh offered. “I packed some. I'm sure.”

Once Jani was in an upright position, Zhara gave her mom a quick hug, then grabbed up a couple tissues and as quietly as possible, pushed the Cruiser door open which switched on the interior light, and slipped out. With effort, Jani turned first to rummage in the duffel for the aspirin. She found it, shook out two, and swallowed them with a swig of water from the canteen under her feet. Painfully, she swung her head around to look through the peephole of brush and trees. Tiny campfire lights could be seen like stars in the otherwise impenetrable darkness. She lowered her window to let the cold night air creep in. With it came muted sounds of bleating goats and keening voices. An occasional grunt of a camel carried across the water. The rustle of bushes signaled Zhara's duties finished. She climbed back in the Cruiser and took the canteen from her mother. The water tasted really good. It relieved the parched throat. She handed it to Tahireh who took it but put it in her lap.

The shock of what had happened was easing up. Jani, listening to Tahireh's laughing sobs, began to allow her own tears to flow. Her crying was in whimpers. The pain was too great for anything else. She was numb with fear and grief. He was dead. She'd watched him fall and be carried away. The man who was her savior was gone. Zhara, her face ruddy in the glow of the interior light, hugged her close. Her daughter smelled like donkeys.

A thump-thump-thump of small feet was felt before heard and a sharp rustle of brush against the Cruiser made all three women suck in breath and hold it. They stared to their left. A small, tousled black-haired head poked above the level of the driver's side window enough so that a pair of eyes, white surrounding black iris, peered curiously into the Cruiser. The little guy was one of the donkey boys. Seeing the women, he hissed and motioned for Tahireh to roll down her window, which she did.

“You must go now,” he said in Arabic. “My mother says it is time. No one will see you. It is between moving stars. Okay?”

Tahireh shook her head. “What do you mean, between moving stars?”

With a big shrug, the youngster replied, “I, myself, I don't know. My mother tells me the men order me to tell you that the men say it is how the helicopter found the camp. It is the only way, say the men. The caravan tracks from the compound were covered by the wind and sand, so you could not have been followed. The men talk about the moving stars that take pictures. They were warned a year ago about these moving stars. Your haji warned them. It is all fantastical to me, but maybe you understand?”

“Yes,” Tahireh responded. “I understand. Listen, little man, the haji was right. The moving stars do take pictures and they see everything. It is right to be careful when they are flying over. Thank you for being such a brave person and coming to us.”

Jani leaned forward. “Ask him about Habib.”

The boy hefted a bundle tied in roughly woven cloth through Tahireh's window. “Food for your journey,” he said softly and turned to leave.

“Boy! Boy!” Tahireh shouted after him. He stopped and laid fingers across his mouth in a motion for silence. She whispered loudly, “Our friend, Mansur, was he killed?”

The boy shrugged. “This was not for me to know. I saw the hajis shot down. I saw the men take the bodies to the tents of the old women, but no one has told me of their fates. I cannot believe they lived. The gunfire from the helicopter was terrible. I have heard the women wailing tonight.”

“The person who gave you this food, he didn't tell you anything?” Jani insisted.

“She. My mother. She said for me to hurry and to be very quiet and invisible. To stay in the grooves of sandstone. And to warn you of moving stars. I did all that.”

“Yes you did, young one,” Tahireh said. “What is your name that we may remember you and thank you with a prayer to Allah.”

“Khalil Mahmoudi, kind sister.”

“Khalil, you had better hurry back to your mother,” Tahireh ordered, “before she worries herself sick.”

“Good journey!” said the boy, “And be careful to cover yourself when the moving stars go over.” Pointing to the heavens, he disappeared into the brush. The faint rustle of his passing could be heard for a moment then was quickly drowned out by the humming of locusts and flutter of a night bird's wings.

Tahireh put the stopper in the canteen and opened the bundle and the aroma of saffron rice, taboleh, hot pita bread, and chunks of meat, probably goat, wafted through the car. They ate like starving creatures, but only enough to kill the pangs of hunger. They had to take the boy's warnings seriously. It was time to travel.

Each with a flashlight, they jumped from the Cruiser. As one movement, all three hurried to clean the brush and palm fronds from the netting and drag the netting off the vehicle. It was quickly folded and stuffed into the rear of the Cruiser.

Zhara stood in front of the car with a flashlight lighting the heavily occluded path toward the water's edge. Two faint rows of broken and crushed underbrush were the only sign of where Habib had driven the Cruiser in. Jani, taking the front passenger seat, held the gearshift in first gear as Tahireh, her foot firmly on the clutch, turned the starter and pulled out the throttle. A few coughs and the engine, cool now in the night air, roared to life. All the women took deep breaths of relief. The motor's noise scattered creatures all around, birds, insects, lizards. The Cruiser jumped forward as Tahireh released the clutch and Tahireh held it in check only long enough for Zhara to climb aboard. Turning the headlights on, Tahireh put in the clutch again. Jani held it in gear while Tahireh shifted to four-wheel drive. Stuttering at first, slowly, the Cruiser began to plow at a snail's pace through the brush. It took about ten minutes, ten very long minutes, for them to break into the open at the edge of the water. Wrenching the wheel, Tahireh managed to turn the vehicle so it did not continue forward into the oasis. Instead, at an uncomfortable tilt, they bumped their way past the brush and palm trees and onto the sandy beach area that led toward the opening of the canyon opposite from which they had entered yesterday afternoon.

Careful not to hit any goats or camels, they picked up speed and were soon onto a rocky trail that climbed steeply around the outside edge of the wadi and onto the desert. At the top of the rise, Tahireh stopped the Cruiser, leaving it in idle, and stepped out. Jani and Zhara watched her stare into the night sky. Both of them got out and looked up. The stars were diamonds, brilliant beyond counting.

“What are you doing?” asked Zhara.

“Following directions,” smiled Tahireh, “finding our map.”

“There's the North Star,” pointed Jani and Tahireh nodded, saying, “Yes, I know the way now.”