Dead Six

out their cell phones. Some idiot’s first inclination was to use his camera phone to take a picture of the carnage.

I got shakily to my feet. The cafe we’d been standing next to was a mess. Tables overturned, awning broken and hanging at a bizarre angle. One of the waiters was down, a giant chunk of hurled glass embedded in his throat, gurgling and thrashing on the sidewalk. Jill grabbed my thobe and hauled herself to her feet. Her facial scarf was dangling down her chest as she looked about in bewilderment, a stream of blood trickling from her nose.

“Got to keep going,” I ordered. I put my hand on her shoulder and propelled her in the correct direction.

“Okay. Okay.” Snapping back to reality, Jill realized her face was exposed and pulled the scarf back into place. We walked briskly down the street, part of a herd of humanity trying to get away from the terror. I guided her into an alley. Already I could hear the first sirens.

The alley was dark and cool. I got us behind a loading dock. “Hold your arms out,” I ordered. Jill was confused but did exactly as I ordered. I ran my hands down the insides of her arms, then through her voluminous robes, patting her down, looking for blood. I’d seen people bleed out from shrapnel wounds to arteries without even knowing they’d been hit. Torso clear, legs clear. No blood except the superficial amount on her face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m . . . I’m fine. All those people . . .”

“Dead,” I responded as I took my radio earpiece out of my shirt. “Nothing you can do about it. Hang on! Carl, come in, Carl!”

“What was that?” he bellowed in my ear.

“Suicide bomber. We’re moving back toward Ensun and the Gamal Parkway on foot. Once we’re clear of the responders, I’ll call for pickup.”

“Stay low and watch your back,” Carl ordered.

“You, too.” I pulled the earpiece out. “We’ve got to keep moving. This place is going to be swarming with security forces fast, and we don’t want to get picked up for questioning.” Jill nodded quickly. Her head was still in the game. Good. I took a handkerchief out of my vest and roughly wiped the blood from under her nose. “Keep your head down and keep up with me.”

We went out the other side of the alley and started walking. The streets were full of workers now as people flooded out of their respective buildings to see what was going on. A pillar of black smoke rose into the air behind us.

The war had just arrived in Al Khor.

We were back in the apartment within an hour of the bombing.

My crew sat around our kitchen table. There was a white leaflet in the center. These things had been posted all over Ash Shamal within minutes of the explosion. I’d had Carl pull over and pick one up from one of the little kids that were passing them out on every single corner in the neighborhood.

The leaflet told all about how over twenty innocent students, most of them from this very district, were peacefully protesting in front of the interior ministry and had been massacred by the emir’s personal guard. Apparently there had been another attack by the Zionist murderers, this one against the emir’s own family, and he was still too emasculated to root them out; rather, he reacted in a heavy-handed and inept way against the innocent students of Ash Shamal’s madrassa. Zubara needed the strong leadership of General Mubarak Al Sabah to get us through these tough times, not the Jew-loving emir . . . so on and so forth.

“That’s such bullshit,” Jill spat as Reaper finished translating it for her. “That’s not what happened at all.”

“Reality never matters,” I muttered. “Just feelings. Get the masses riled up enough and you can do anything. Propaganda doesn’t have to be true—it just has to feel true to enough stupid people. Make them feel picked on, then fill them full of hope about how you’ll change stuff. Works every time.”

“I so hate this place.” Jill put her head down on the table. “Have you got any more of that ibuprofen? My head’s killing me,” she muttered through her arm. Shockwaves tend to have that effect on people. Reaper got her the bottle.

Carl glanced at me. “The bomb, how big?”

“At least twenty pounds. I was too far away to get a good look, but I’m guessing it was packed in nails or something from the mess it made.”

“Good thing you weren’t close enough to get a good look or we wouldn’t be talking right now. These guys ain’t fucking around,” Carl responded. He’d been at the receiving end of a bombing during a job involving the Tamil Tigers several years back. That one had been wrapped in industrial staples. My friend still had one embedded in his back. It occasionally set off metal detectors. Carl didn’t like bombs, unless he was the one setting them.

I sighed. This was it. If the country was moving into a full-blown revolution, then Dead Six was sure to bail. It was now or never. I glanced over at Jill. It was time to put her out there and see who tried to kill her. She still had her head down. She’d had a really tough day. Shit.

“How’re you doing, Jill?” Reaper asked, a real note of concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she lied. She slowly raised her head and moved her long hair out of her eyes, neatly tucking the stray strands behind her ear. She was remarkably composed, all things considered. “I’ve just never seen anything like that before. It was terrible, absolutely terrible.”

“It’s probably going to get worse,” I added, “before we can get you out of here safely.” Lies.

“So what do we do now, chief?” Reaper asked hesitantly.

I didn’t know what to do. My one option sucked. Even the hardened killer, Carl, didn’t like it, and Reaper would probably openly revolt. I have to figure out how to play—then my phone buzzed. It was from another unknown number. I flipped it open.

“Hello, my friend,” Jalal Hosani greeted me. “I do not have much time.”

I covered the speaker and mouthed Hosani to the others. Jill looked round, still confused. She was still in the dark about everything related to this job, and I intended to keep it that way. “What’ve you got?”

“I have some information about those friends you’ve been seeking to reunite with. I’m happy to say that they’re still in town. I will need you to meet me the day after tomorrow. I will call you that morning with the location.”

“Thank you, my friend.” I said. “And how appreciative will I need to be for you doing this favor for me?”

“Do you remember how appreciative you were of the favor I did for you in Dubai? I believe that five times that should suffice.”

I had paid him a hundred thousand American dollars for what he’d done for me that time, and that had been outrageous. So now Jalal was asking for half a million. “You’ve got to be kidding . . .” Reaper and Carl looked with mild curiosity. I took a pen and wrote $500 K on the bottom of the leaflet.

“Holy shit,” Reaper said.

“Be cheaper just to beat it out of him,” Carl suggested.

“Believe it or not, there are other people who would be even more appreciative of this information. But we are such old friends that I thought you should have the first opportunity. And also, I do believe that I will be going on a vacation shortly after, as the climate around here has gotten a little warm for my tastes, so I would like physical appreciation, rather than digital.”

He wanted half a million in cash. “Physical?” I responded slowly, looking to Reaper, who thought about it for a second, then nodded in the affirmative. “Okay. But two days is short notice—are you cool if it is European appreciation?” Reaper hurried from the room.

“English, Euro, or other?”

“You picky bastard. Well, mostly British, God save the Queen, and some Continental, because I do love all those pretty colors, you know how it goes. And for this much love, it had better be damn worth it.”

“Such a sense of humor! You are a good friend. I will be in touch.” He sounded happy, and he should be.

I put the phone away. “Greedy, conniving son of a bitch.”

“What just happened?” Jill asked.