“It was a bustard hunting camp,” Nate explained. “The emirs flew their falcons and handlers from the UAE to Afghanistan for a hunting trip. The cargo planes brought the tents, soldiers, and vehicles. I found out later that when they struck the camp and left, the emirs left the SUVs and tents for the Taliban as payment. And they did this kind of thing two or three times a year.”
“Let me get this straight,” Haley said. “These rich Arabs flew private jets to Afghanistan just to hunt forty- pound birds? That must have cost them millions to stage a thing like that.”
“Absolutely,” Nate said. “And it’s why Nemecek schooled me. So I’d have an idea what we were getting into.”
“But why were you there?”
“I was there to be the bird handler,” Nate said. “I assumed when we saw the camp that our mission was to gift the peregrines to some king. As tribute, since the UAE were allies and things are done different over there. I could imagine some genius in the State Department finding out an influential emir was crazy for falcons, and having the brilliant idea of delivering rare North American peregrine falcons to him as a gift. Remember, this was a year and a half before 9/11 happened. This was after the Khobar Towers bombing but before the attack on the USS Cole in Yemen. Al-Qaeda was at war with us, but very few of us knew it. All I knew at the time was that in the Arab world we had both friends and enemies, but that nothing was clean-cut or predictable. Some of our friends bred future enemies, paid protection money to terrorists, and killed their own people. But it wasn’t my job to know which from which, or why we were over there delivering peregrine falcons to emirs. My job was to take care of the birds and show them when Nemecek gave the word.”
They were housed in an amazingly well-appointed tent on the edge of the camp. Servants appeared to bring them food and drink and to help secure the bird crates.
While they waited, Nemecek left the tent with the satellite phone and didn’t return for a half an hour. Nate fed the birds-they were hungry and disoriented and now of age to fly and hunt once they were released-and wondered who his boss was checking in with. But he didn’t ask, and Nemecek didn’t volunteer any information when he returned.
“We were invited to the largest tent that night for dinner,” Nate said. “We ate roasted goat and lobsters flown in from Maine. Our host was the prime minister of Dubai, named Mohammed bin Rashid Al Khartoum, and he was fat and jolly and a wonderful host. He spoke perfect UK English because he’d gone to school at the London School of Economics and later MIT. But his interest was in the peregrines, and Nemecek deferred to me on all the questions. It didn’t take long to figure out Nemecek knew this guy pretty well, and he was our contact. There were about twenty-five other guests that night. No women. After dinner they told hunting stories and laughed about things that had gone on during the day, how one of the emir’s falcons missed a bustard and smashed into the ground, that sort of thing. I could understand bits and pieces of the conversation, but it wasn’t unlike any hunting camp I’ve ever been to. They broke out the single-malt Scotch, although technically as devout Muslims they weren’t supposed to drink, and it went on late into the night. I know now it was a Who’s Who of UAE royals and underlings. Plus, there were some visiting guests in addition to us. All I remember about the guests was that several of the emirs really groveled around them, and I assumed they were locals. I guessed they were emissaries from the Taliban government, but it was only a guess.”
Nate said, “One of them was tall and handsome and the other older and very intense. Both had long beards in the Taliban style-one black, one gray. The older man wore glasses and talked a lot. He kept looking at us in a way that gave me the impression he was suspicious of our being there. The tall one just smiled the whole time, as if he was enduring the stories in a good-hearted way. He seemed serenely calm. They were never introduced to us. The storytelling went on for hours, and I was bushed. It was obvious Nemecek wanted to stay, and I didn’t care. I needed to feed the birds. As I said good night, the two other visitors got up and made all kinds of apologies about leaving as well. From what I could understand, they had a camp of their own a few miles away and it would take them a while to get back.”
Nate thanked his hosts and paused while two soldiers threw back the tent flap and let him out. The night was cool and dry and the stars brilliant. He paused outside and looked up, marveling at the upside-down constellations.
The two other visitors followed, and Nate stepped aside to let them pass. He nodded at them as they strode toward their car and driver. The driver, Nate noticed, eyed him coolly and thumbed the receiver of the AK-47 he had strapped across his chest. The older, intense man removed his steel-framed glasses and cleaned the lenses with his robe while the tall cool one paused next to Nate. Surprisingly, the tall man spoke in English for the first time that night.
“You’re from America,” the man said. “Do you watch the cowboy shows?”
Nate was confused. “The cowboy shows?”
“You know, what you call westerns. Cowboys and Indians.”
His tone was soothing, whispery, almost hard to hear. His eyes were dark and soulful, his features thin and angular.
“Like Gunsmoke?” Nate asked.
The man grinned and gently clapped his hands together. Nate thought the display oddly effeminate. “Gunsmoke,” the man said. “Marshal Matt Dillon. Miss Kitty. Doc. And that Festus, he makes me laugh. Do you remember the one where Festus went to San Francisco and thought they were trying to feed him a mermaid?”
Nate was flummoxed. He vaguely remembered it from when he was a boy. “I think so,” he said.
“That one makes me laugh,” the man said. “And the one where Marshal Dillon is trapped in the mine with the outlaw? Do you know that one?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Did you ever watch The Rifleman?” To illustrate his question, the tall man pretended he had a Winchester lever-action rifle and fanned his right hand as if firing and ejecting spent shells.
“I remember that one,” Nate said.
“Good show,” the tall man said, and grinned. “His son was named Mark.”
In the dark, the older man with glasses had reached their car. He coughed politely and insincerely. The tall man talking to Nate waved in his friend’s direction.
He said, “Maybe we can talk about westerns later. Before you go back to America.”
“Sure,” said Nate.
The tall man bowed with a nod and turned toward his car.
“So did you sell the falcons to this Mohammed guy?” Haley asked.
“I’ll get to that. Plus, half of them were named Mohammed. Our guy was Al Khartoum.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I just think of all those innocent birds from Montana sitting there in a crate halfway across the world. It kind of breaks my heart.”
Nate snorted. “I wasn’t crazy about the deal, either. I don’t mind killing bad guys I’ve never met. I didn’t lose a minute of sleep afterward. But those birds… it bothered me to leave them there, to be honest.”
“Anyway,” she said, a lilt in her voice to prompt him to continue.
“Anyway,” he said, “you’re focused on the falcons. That is the least significant part of this story.”
For the next two days, Nate took out each of the seven peregrines one by one to demonstrate their ability. The Arabs would gather on an escarpment under a temporary cover with binoculars and long-lens video cameras as Nate drove out farther into the desert. Nemecek stayed behind with the emirs to detail the strengths and abilities of each young bird, as well as the attributes and characteristics of peregrine falcons in general.
“The birds were magnificent,” Nate said wistfully. “It was almost as if they’d been born there, the way they took to the sky. There was no hesitation, and no lack of confidence in any of them. All of them were perfect aces- they performed as if they’d been bustard-hunting all their lives. Those little falcons would drop out of the sky at two hundred miles an hour and take out a bustard running full-bore across the desert that weighed four times as much.
