‘A moment,’ Aaron said to the nurses.
His words were almost quiet in the desert wind, but they were deep enough to cause every one of the nurses to look at him and back away. The phalanx of armed guards accompanying Aaron ushered the nurses away, beyond the canvass shields as Aaron approached the gurney and looked down at the wounded militant.
‘Where did they go?’ he demanded, his Arabic broken and accented but easily understandable.
The militant looked up at Aaron, confusion in his eyes.
‘My brothers and sisters of the resistance will already be in Paradise,’ he seethed, ‘a place of greater glory that you will never know.’
‘If it’s the place where terrorists and the murderers of innocent Americans go after they die, the only reason I’d travel there is to destroy it,’ Aaron rumbled back. ‘Last chance: where did they go, the Americans who were with you?’
The militants smiled through his pain, gritted white teeth bright against his dark skin, and he shook his head. Aaron regarded the man for a moment and then he reached down and with one hand wrenched the bone protruding from the militant’s shattered thigh.
A wretched, keening scream echoed out across the desert above the rumbling wind and the militant writhed against his restraints as Aaron twisted and shoved the bone. Aaron heard the weeping of the horrified nurses nearby competing with the injured militant’s agonised screams.
He released the damaged bone and the militant sagged onto the gurney, his chest heaving and sobs of pain spilling like poison from his mouth onto the hot air.
‘There are many drugs here,’ Aaron rumbled softly. ‘I can keep you alive for many hours, and if you do not tell me what I need to know, I will have you buried alive in these deserts. It will take the animals a long time to kill you, the birds of prey to peck out your eyes, the rodents to scour the flesh from your face. Likewise, you could also be released without harm and nobody would know any the wiser.’
The militant stared up helplessly at Aaron through eyes swimming with torment, and he shook his head as beads of sweat spilled to dampen his hair.
‘Never,’ he rasped.
Aaron reached out for the ragged chunk of bone once more, when from behind him one of his men spoke.
‘We have them,’ he said. ‘Communications channel intercept, they’re heading for Al Qatif seaport.’
Aaron saw the grief twisting the militant’s features as he realized that his courage and fortitude had all been for nothing. Aaron smiled down at him.
‘Bury him in the desert, far from here,’ he ordered his men.
‘Murderer!’ the militant spat at Aaron. ‘This is what you truly are!’
‘I’m doing you a favour,’ Aaron replied as he turned to leave. ‘What could you possibly be afraid of, when paradise is awaiting you?’
XXII
The diplomatic vehicle slid to a halt alongside a vast jetty that extended out into the pristine waters, the sparkling azure ocean in sharp contrast to the flaring golden sands of Saudi Arabia.
Doug Jarvis had worked fast, Ethan’s vanquish call sign accessing a DIA safe house used by overseas operatives to eavesdrop on Iranian communications and monitor the flow of Iranian — backed militia moving in and out of Iraq. Ethan and his companions had been spirited out of Damman’s dangerous streets within an hour of their arrival by a tired looking, middle aged agent going by the name of Jones — easy to remember Ethan guessed, and the less real names used, the better.
‘You’re going to need to stay off the radar,’ Jones reported as he handed Ethan a series of documents including passports, visas and some currency that had obviously been cobbled together with extreme rapidity. ‘They’re not gonna last long but they should get you through customs and out of the Kingdom, then far enough away before anybody raises the alarm.’
Ethan took the documents as Jones handed similar papers to Amber, Stanley and Lopez.
‘The ship you’re boarding is called Huron and is bound for India,’ Jones added. ‘Your next contact is aboard. The ship is also calling into Abu Dhabi to pick up cargo. Disembark in India and get the hell back to America while you still can.’
Ethan climbed out of the vehicle, closely followed by Lopez, Stanley and Amber. As soon as they closed their doors the vehicle moved off, swinging sharply around to accelerate away back down the dock. Ethan turned and observed a series of non — descript cargo vessels, none of them particularly large but all laden with the standard shipping containers seen on most major merchant vessels. He spotted across the stern of one particularly dirty — looking ship the name Huron and immediately began walking toward it.
‘I need to talk to Doug again,’ Ethan said to Lopez as they walked. ‘Getting us here must have cost him dearly, given his non official status with the DIA.’
‘It’s the least he can do,’ Lopez said. ‘He’s not the one dodging bullets again.’
‘Amber seems to think that Huck Seavers might be willing to strike a deal with her father,’ Ethan suggested.
‘They’re not compatible,’ Lopez pointed out. ‘Stanley is the philanthropist, Huck the capitalist businessman. Any alliance they tried to form would be broken within days as soon as the cost of development is measured up against the lack of profit that Stanley’s aiming for.’
Ethan looked up at the Huron, the ship’s hull stained and dirty, pockets of ugly brown rust around the anchor chain stays and railings.
‘Looks like the DIA’s budget has been severely cut,’ Lopez observed dryly.
‘If it gets us out of Saudi Arabia unobserved, it’s good enough for me,’ Ethan replied as he walked to the boarding ramp and began climbing toward the deck. ‘Let’s hope they’re planning to set sail this morning.’
As Ethan reached the deck an angry looking man with skin as dark as obsidian and wearing a set of grey overalls confronted him.
‘Warner?’ he asked, as though it was an accusation. ‘Captain Youssef Alem.’
‘Pleasure to meet you too,’ Ethan replied as he stepped aboard.
There was no handshake, no welcome from the captain as he gestured with a lazy jab of his thumb over his shoulder toward the bridge at the stern.
‘Your quarters are back there, B deck, port side. I’d appreciate it if you all stay out of the way, we have work to do.’
Ethan glanced across the deck to see various deckhands engaged in their duties, checking braces on the shipping containers and preparing to winch in the enormous anchor chains and jetty ties keeping the ship in place.
Lopez, Amber and Stanley joined him on the deck and watched the captain suspiciously before another man appeared from the bridge and hurried forward. Dressed in overalls not dissimilar to the captain’s, he extended his hand to Ethan.
‘Mike Willis, DIA,’ he announced himself with a smile, all bright eyed enthusiasm.
Ethan raised an eyebrow as he shook Willis’s hand. ‘You’re posted here?’
‘We have a small presence using trade vessels as a platform for discrete intelligence gathering. The ship’s crew’s appreciate the extra revenue in return for allowing us to come along for the ride.’
Ethan glanced at Captain Alem, who had returned to his work with his crew and showed very little interest at all in the new arrivals.
‘Call me clairvoyant, but I sense a reluctance,’ Ethan said.
‘They fear retaliation by Iran should signals equipment be detected and the ship boarded, although they are careful to stay inside international waters as instructed. Of course, their fear is easily surmounted by cash. I’ll show you to your quarters, such as they are.’