CHAPTER 24
Fallujah
“The fat man, Malik gave me very little before he… left.” Zafir pressed the cell phone to his ear with his good hand. “I fear our meeting upset him more than he was able to bear. The boy, on the other hand, proved to be a treasure of knowledge,”
The Bedouin sat on a sun-bleached wooden chair in the scant shade of a cafe awning. He sipped chai from a chipped ceramic mug as he spoke. Dressed in dark aviator shades, loose cotton shirt, and black slacks, he looked like any one of the hundred other Iraqi men milling around the streets in the war-torn country. All of these men had seen violence-but few relished it as much as Zafir.
“I knew you would be… how shall we put it?… persuasive…” Zafir could hear the sheikh’s smile in his words.
“I am humbled by your confidence.”
“The board is set and the pieces are ready to move into place,” Farooq said. “I am anxious to open our game… unless, of course, you have information that dictates I should do otherwise.”
Zafir fell silent as a platoon of American soldiers-they called themselves Peacekeepers-walked in formation down the dusty street, less than two meters in front of him. They eyed him warily because of his cell phone. Insurgents used cell phones to set off IEDs and holding one in front of an American was a good way to get shot. His throat tightened and he lay the phone down on the bench beside him without a word to Farooq. He took a long, slow breath and forced a smile, waving happily to the passing squad. On the outside he was a picture of calm, a docile lamb wanting nothing more than to comply with the American liberators. Inside, his stomach roiled, aching to cut the throat of the fair-haired boy who brought up the rear. The sheikh’s plan calmed him. The boy and thousands of his kind would die soon enough. In time, even the women of the west-the ones who survived-would find themselves behind the burqa. It was the unquestionable will of Allah.
Only when the American patrol had disappeared around the corner a half a block away did he retrieve the phone. The sheikh was accustomed to such delays and the two resumed where they’d left off.
“Allah willing,” Zafir said, “I am prepared to begin my part.” He knew better than to speak openly on a cell phone. The Americans even listened to each other. Though the chance of them picking up his conversations was slim, it was not impossible.
“You’ve thought it through?” The sheikh was calm, his voice deadpan.
“I have.”
“Then of course you have my blessing,” Farooq said, with an air of finality that surprised even Zafir. There was no going back. Zafir caught a hint of newfound respect in his master’s words-and it caused his chest to swell with pride.
“There is a small problem,” Zafir said. “The boy I spoke with today has been in contact with those who wish to stop your game.”
“From the West?”
Zafir gave an affirmative grunt. “There is one player in particular who bears watching. He may try and visit you. Perhaps I should return-”
“You know that would not be wise.” Farooq chuckled. “We are on a strict timetable now. You have already made your testament. You have everything you need to begin your journey-including more of my trust than I reserve for any other living soul. My friend, I fear the next time we meet will be in the bosom of Allah.”
“Allah willing,” the Bedouin said. “But for now, let me tell you all I know of a man named Jericho…”
After he finished the phone call, Zafir sighed. His master now acted as a friend. It was more than he had dreamed could ever take place. But even as he spoke of fulfilling his destiny in the United States, his satisfaction wilted, dragged down by nagging thoughts of the American whore. She would pay for what she had done. Zafir consoled himself with the fact that he would be the one to exact that payment very, very soon.
CHAPTER 25
Fort Worth
“So,” Carrie Navarro said, popping her hands against the thighs of faded jeans and leaning back in the soft cushions of the leather sofa. “Here we are again. Think it’s worth another go?”
“If you’re ready,” Dr. Soto said, smiling serenely.
“I’ll never be ready,” Navarro scoffed, pushing a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. “But I trust you, Doc. If you say I need to watch myself go through this again, then I’ll do it. Some hajji bastard’s not gonna get the better of me.”
“Very well,” Soto said. “Close your eyes and relax. Let your mind wander freely. I’m going to count to ten…”
“Where are you now?” Soto asked a minute later.
“Some shithole outside Baquba.” Navarro’s eyelids twitched.
“Carrie, I’m still detecting a lot of anger from you,” Soto said. “I need you to detach-”
Eyelids closed but fluttering heavily, Navarro laughed at that. “I love you, Doc, but that’s not gonna happen. Let someone yank out a toenail and come around every few hours and rape you… then see how much you can detach…”
“Okay, Carrie,” Soto said. “Calm down, sweetheart. If this is too difficult for you, we should wait until a better time-”
“There’s never gonna be a good time to go through that kind of hell, Dr. Soto,” Navarro whispered. Tears pressed between dark, clenched lashes. “I said I trust you and I do. Besides, I’ve got more to worry about that just myself here.” She clutched her knees until her knuckles turned white. “So, let’s do this thing…”
Chibernat Village, Iraq
The duct tape used to cover Carrie Navarro’s eyes was crooked, revealing the tiniest swath of light along the frayed bottom edge. She awoke to find herself facedown, hands drawn together and bound cruelly behind her back. Shoulder blades pinned together like a trussed bird, her entire body was one raw bruise. Her head was on fire and her feet felt as if they’d been beaten with a pipe. She tried to move her aching jaw but found it impossible because of a thick cloth gag that held her mouth in an agonizing half-open position. A swollen tongue did little to salve her cracked lips.
Wincing from the shooting pain in her head, she rolled up on one side enough to peer around the concrete cell through the narrow slit in the tape. The rough tile floor was awash in blood and urine. The sudden realization that the odor around her was the smell of her own filth sent her stomach reeling. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but judging from her cramped muscles, she assumed it had been a while.
The squealing metal creak of a heavy door caused her to catch her breath. She pressed her cheek back to the cool stickiness of the floor, watching heavy black boots approach across the tile. A bucket of icy water drove a scream from her lungs.
“Good,” someone chuckled in accented English. It was a man’s voice, full of contempt. “You are awake.” Another bucket of frigid water followed.
Carrie cringed in shock, wriggling away until her back hit a wall. She tried to scream, but with the cruel gag could muster only a pitiful gurgle. She peered through the gap in the tape as the black boots approached her again. A bronze hand, little more than a claw, missing all but a thumb and forefinger, reached toward her face.
“I will now untie you,” the voice said. “Clean yourself at once.” He might as well have been giving commands to a dog.
He removed the gag first, then without warning he ripped the tape from Carrie’s eyes, yanking out her eyebrows and most of her lashes in the process.
