“Nevertheless, I find it difficult to believe that you would leave your self-indulgent lifestyle behind, simply to take revenge on an enemy of our people.”
Though he was wearying of his brother’s venom, Saeed chose to answer honestly. “The truth of the matter is that this man is a direct threat to my personal interests. For some years now, I have been trading in art treasures recovered from a site near Al Hillah on behalf of our government in order to raise hard currency during the economic embargo.”
“But the embargo has ended, as also has the influence of the dictator and his agents.”
Saeed pretended not to notice the veiled insult. “True, but the demand for these antiquities remains. As you have pointed out, I enjoy my decadent lifestyle and this is how I support it. But the man we have been discussing works for a department of the United Nations dedicated to shutting down my operation. That’s why I want him dead.”
Farid smiled knowingly. “Now at last you have said something I can believe. But if you know his identity, why do you not simply kill him yourself?”
“As events have demonstrated, he is not an easy man to kill. I doubt that I could do it alone and my former comrades in the service have been scattered. I imagine many are dead or imprisoned. Moreover, my information indicates that he may be traveling to Hillah to look for the site near the ruins of Babylon. You could pass there freely with your men, whereas I might draw unwelcome attention from those who dwell there.”
Farid stroked his chin thoughtfully. Saeed now saw that much of what he had mistaken for a disguise was in fact his brother’s true appearance. The Shiite activist and sometimes resistance leader appeared unnaturally aged and haggard. Nevertheless, underneath a crust of desert-parched skin, his younger brother’s eyes burned with the zeal of a true mujahideen. After several silent seconds, Farid faced him once more. “Very well. I will do your dirty work, brother. However, I must ask something of you, as well.”
“I expected no less. I would be honored to contribute to your cause—”
”Your evilly acquired profits do not interest me. Rather, I wish to offer you the chance to acquit yourself of the reproach you have heaped upon our family and your own name. I want you to return with me. Stand with the warriors of God as we send this American devil back to Shaitan.”
Saeed shifted nervously. “I would gladly do as you ask, but surely your men would refuse to join company with me.” The argument, while probably true, was not his primary reason for demurring; there was no reason to burden his brother with the details.
Farid however would not be sidetracked. “They will do as I instruct. The question is, will you?”
For a moment, all Saeed could think about was the desert, and the growing certainty that he would die there, in that awful hell to which he had vowed never to return. But if Kismet was not stopped, all that he had built would crumble anyway. When he finally gave his answer, he almost could not believe what he was saying. “I will go with you, my brother. We will fight together. Death to our enemies and the enemies of God!”
Another nine hours of sleep, aided by a cocktail of pain relievers and sedatives, wiped away most of the lingering effects of his brush with heat exhaustion, but Kismet reckoned it would be weeks before the bruises faded and the aches subsided. When he arose from his sleeping bag to dress, he found he could barely bend his joints in order to pull on his battered boots.
He made his way through the complex, following the route that had previously led him to Colonel Buttrick’s office, but when he arrived, he found only the unpleasant Major Harp seated at the commander’s desk. The officer regarded him with a look reserved for encounters with animal excrement.
“What do you want?”
“I need to speak with Colonel Buttrick.”
Harp scowled. “He’s not here. In fact, thanks to you, he’s been sent home — relieved of his command.”
The major’s words were like a fist to his gut. “That’s crazy. What happened out there wasn’t his fault.”
“No shit. But you aren’t in the army any more, so they can’t take action against the person who is responsible.”
Although he sensed it would be futile, Kismet spoke in his own defense. “I know this is a hard concept for you to grasp, but have you considered that maybe you should be mad at the person we were trying to catch. You know, the bad guy?”
“Lt. Col. Buttrick failed yesterday, Kismet. He failed to apprehend or destroy the enemy, and he failed to bring all his boys home. But in my opinion, his biggest mistake was letting you talk him into going out on that fool’s errand.” Harp stood and leaned over the desk so that he was face to face with Kismet. “Now I know that you aren’t here to ask me for any foolish favors, right?”
“I don’t suppose so.” Kismet sighed and turned away. At the threshold however, he paused and looked back. “Could I at least use your phone?”
“Only if you’re calling your travel agent.”
The phone in this case was a secure military satellite server, which allowed for voice-to-voice transfers, as well as broadband Internet capability. It was a generation ahead of the handset Aziz had employed. When Kismet placed his call, the clarity of the signal was outstanding; he might have been in the same room as the person who answered. Except it wasn’t a person.
“Thank you for calling the International Red Cross and Red Crescent. To continue in English, press ‘one’ now….”
Kismet patiently navigated the computerized system of menus until he eventually reached a living breathing person. After identifying himself, both by name and as a representative of UNESCO, he launched into his carefully rehearsed story. “I was hoping that you could help me contact one of your relief volunteers, a female doctor. She helped me out of a rather sticky situation recently and I wanted to thank her personally, but I’m having trouble tracking her down. Her last name is ‘Gault’ but I’m not certain of the spelling or nationality, and I don’t have a first name.”
“Bitte.” He could hear the sound of the young woman on the other end tapping the keyboard of her computer. “Let me look at our directory. There is a Doctor Rebecca Gault of Belgium.” She spelled both names. “She regularly works with our international relief missions. Where did you say you met her?”
Kismet recognized the trap. Doubtless the woman was looking at a list of Rebecca Gault’s activities, and would volunteer no more information unless he gave the right answer. He took a blind guess. “Afghanistan.”
“Oh, so it was a very recent encounter. She’s only just returned. Would you like me to page her?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“She’s presently here at the headquarters. If you’ll hold a moment, I can page her.”
“Sure.” As soon as he heard the click of his transfer, he hung up. He had his answer.
Chiron was crestfallen by Kismet’s announcement that there would be no further military cooperation. “Then all is lost.”
His reaction seemed disproportionate to the setback. “We could hire a local driver to get us as far as the UN facility. But frankly, I’m not sure we should go on. We’ll be unarmed and unsupported. If something goes wrong — if we have a breakdown or get attacked — we’ll be on our own.”
“Nick, we must get to Babylon. The answers are there.”
Kismet remained skeptical. “I still think this is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Chiron smiled. “But you forget, we do not have to find something buried four thousand years ago. They have already done that. When you know that the needle really is in the haystack, all you need to do is search patiently.”