Mark knew he wasn’t — by any stretch of the imagination — a member of Belek’s inner circle; they’d only known each other for five months after all. In that time, though, he’d never betrayed Belek’s trust. More important, Belek had invited Mark and Daria to his home for dinner two months earlier. They’d broken bread with Belek and his family.
By doing so, Mark knew that he had at least been afforded the status of a respected ally. A request for help would not be taken lightly.
“Will this bring harm to my brother?” asked Belek.
“No. They want me. Once I’m gone, no one will care about the means by which I left. Only that I’m gone.”
“You speak of your government.”
“People in it.”
Belek nodded, then picked up his cell phone — an older flip model.
As Belek dialed, Mark felt a little dirty. When he’d first met Belek, he hadn’t known that he’d need to rely on the old Kyrgyz like this. But he hadn’t been playing narde every day just for fun either.
He’d been using friendship as a tool, as a way to recruit a potential asset. The truth was, he viewed almost everyone he met as a potential asset. It was a way of interacting with people that had become ingrained in him after twenty years with the CIA.
Still, despite it all, he genuinely liked Belek. And if he’d used the man, well, Belek had used him in return.
24
“John, baby. Listen to me. We’ve got to stop soon. He’s going to get a rash if we don’t change this diaper. It’s not fair to him.”
Having finally tired himself out from all the crying, Muhammad had fallen asleep in Jessica’s arms shortly after they’d pulled away from Decker’s house.
“I know.”
Decker’s phone had been ringing like crazy. All the calls had been from Holtz. Threatening. Bribing. Yelling. Decker had never picked up, but he’d listened to the messages.
Had Holtz really seen him when they’d been pulling away?
It had been dark out. He hoped there was still a chance he could persuade Holtz that Jessica had been the only one at the house.
But how to explain Muhammad’s screaming? Holtz had to have heard the child. And then there was the slashed tire…
Decker turned to Jessica. “Do you think you’d be strong enough to slash a tire?”
“John.”
“You’re pretty strong. The knife bounces off the rubber if you don’t stab hard enough, but I bet you could do it.”
“I’m serious. We have to get food and clean clothes for Muhammad. And diapers.”
Jessica spoke quietly because Muhammad was on her lap, asleep, his head resting on her chest. Her cheek was touching Muhammad’s hair. At first she’d seemed awkward around him, but once his tantrum had subsided, it was as though she’d always known him.
“I think he wears pull-ups.” Decker said after pausing to consider the matter.
“What?”
“They’re like diapers, but for older kids. I remember them from when I had to babysit my nephew a few years ago.”
“John.”
Damn, thought Decker. He didn’t want to lose his job. He had a pretty good gig going with CAIN. “We’ll stop soon.”
They were speeding east out of the city, toward Lake Issyk Kul. The farther he could get from Bishkek, the better, he figured. He planned to shack up in one of the lake resort towns for the night — Cholpon-Ata would do fine. Given the season, he knew there would be plenty of vacant hotel rooms.
His thoughts turned back to Holtz.
Bailing on the military flight home right when the business with Muhammad was going down — that must have been what tipped Holtz off. But how had Holtz known to come looking for him at the house?
Decker considered the fact that he was using a cell phone that had been supplied by CAIN. And a Ford Explorer that had been supplied by CAIN. And that Holtz was kind of anal about keeping track of his employees. It was entirely possible, maybe even likely, that Holtz had put a tracker on the car or the phone or both.
He glanced behind him in the rearview mirror. No one was behind them. “We’ll stop in Tokmok,” he said. He put a hand on her knee, trying to be reassuring. “It’s a big town. There’ll be places to buy supplies.”
“How long?”
“A half hour or so.”
“OK.”
And while they were there, they’d ditch the Explorer, thought Decker. He’d find someplace to park it and leave his phone in the dash compartment. From Tokmok they’d be able to hire a car to take them farther east.
25
“I’m telling you, this place is driving me crazy.”
Thirty-three-year-old Rad Saveljic spoke loudly into his cell phone.
“Did you hear back from Sunoco?” asked his fiancée.
“Have I told you about the monkeys?” asked Rad, ignoring her question.
“Ah, yeah. You told me about the monkeys.”
“Did I tell you they bite? One started following me last night.”
“Weird.”
“Really weird.”
The driver of the motorized three-wheeled rickshaw Rad was in cut off a guy riding a scooter. What the hell, he thought. Even in Elizabeth, New Jersey — his hometown — that would have been a risky move.
“What about Sunoco?” asked his fiancée.
“I talked with the New York office — they won’t do a phone interview.” Rad was a project manager for the oil company BP. But ever since BP had assigned him to India, he’d been looking for a new job. So he’d applied to Sunoco, hoping he’d be offered a position somewhere closer to home. He missed his fiancée, Mets games, decent cable TV, and his local hot dog stand. He supposed India was fine if you were an Indian, but he wasn’t.
“What, do they expect you to fly back to New York just for a first interview?”
“I don’t know what they expect. All they said was to contact them when I’m back in the States, so maybe something will come of it eventually. How was your day?”
“It’s just started. It’s morning here, remember? I figured I’d call before it got too late there.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I thought it was later. How was yesterday?”
As his fiancée chattered away, Rad watched in horror as his rickshaw driver passed within a foot of a cluster of women standing over hot vats of road tar. The smoky wood fires under the vats looked eerie in the shadows of the night. Nearby, two other women were digging out a pothole with a single shovel — one of the women gripped the shaft of the shovel, while the other held on to a rope tied to the shovel handle. By the side of the road, women were using hammers to break big rocks into little rocks. Two men who looked like supervisors were standing around doing nothing.
I gotta get out of here, Rad thought.
An orange Tata truck a few feet in front of him spewed a toxic black plume of exhaust into his face. The back of the truck had been painted with bloodred flowers and decorated with strings of shiny beads that were dancing maniacally all around. Everyone was honking their horns.
A few minutes later the rickshaw stopped in front of a three-story, turn-of-the-century British mansion that sat behind a tall wrought-iron fence. The driver announced that they had reached their destination.
“Listen,” said Rad, interrupting his fiancée. “I gotta go. They’re waiting for me inside. I’ll call you tomorrow.”