Bobby slammed the drawer on his ammunition supply and closed the gun cabinet. He turned to leave then paused; his instincts told him that he may not get a chance to return. He glanced over his shoulder and eyed the AR10. The Colt LE901 was a custom built, heavy caliber tactical rifle that Bobby preferred when he needed some serious punch in the field. He cursed under his breath, snatched the rifle from the rack, and slung it over his shoulder.
He turned and trotted to his bedroom and threw open the closet door. At the top of his closet was his rucksack, now converted to the ubiquitous “bug-out bag.” He stopped at the gun cabinet once more, loaded up every AR10 magazine, then grabbed another box of 10MM ammunition and a box of .308 shells. “Better safe than sorry,” he mumbled.
Bobby laid the rifle across the passenger seat carefully then placed the BoB on top of it to prevent it from sliding into the floor board and out of reach. Back at the rear of the truck, he wrapped the cabling around the dish and slipped the base into the back of the Bronco. He frowned at the load; the dish was slightly too big to fit with the arm sticking out the front so he did what any technologically minded person would do. He rolled the dish onto its side and bent the arm up and out of the way then shoved the entire mess forward and slammed the tailgate.
“I have just the place to dump all this crap.” He slipped in behind the wheel and started the old diesel engine again. Bobby threw a dual rooster tail of dirt as he goosed the truck past his house and down the driveway. He had a few errands to run and he did not want to be late.
Karachi, Pakistan
MAMOON HAD BOTH Sameer and Balil trying to assemble the rack on the bottom floor of his building. The two men argued over which piece should go where and in which order. He stepped from his tiny office and yelled at the two, “Why do you bicker like old women? Read the instructions!”
Sameer shook the paper at him. “They are written in Chinese! How well do you read Chinese?”
Mamoon rolled his eyes and marched to the spot where the two men now fought. “Let me see them.” He pulled the instructions from him and flipped them over. “Ah, see. Here.”
“Oh, that is much better. This side is English. Do you read English?”
“As a matter of fact…” Mamoon pulled the sheet back and stared at it. “No.” He wadded the instructions and dropped them to the floor. “Just look at the picture and see that it looks like that.”
“That is what we are doing, oh wise and powerful one.” Balil gave a mock bow, his cigarette threatening to fall. “But the picture looks as though Tariq drew it.”
Mamoon studied his watch and bent to pick up the paper again. “They will be here in two hours. This must be complete or the material will be sitting on the floor.”
“This must be complete or…you think we do not know this?” Sameer threw his hands into the air. “I say, put it on the floor. We can roll it out and cut off what we need.”
“This floor? Have you seen the floor?” Mamoon asked. “Oh wait. No, you haven’t seen your own feet in how many years?”
Balil burst into laughter and Sameer sneered at him. He slapped at his thick middle. “This is muscle.”
“Table muscle,” Balil prodded. “Come now. We must finish this.” He handed Sameer the wrench and picked up another piece of angle iron.
“You two think you are being funny, but you are not.” Sameer rubbed his stomach again and pointed at Balil with the wrench. “You can be replaced with a mop.”
“You don’t know how to use a mop.” He nodded toward the pile of metal. “And you don’t know how to use a wrench either. Go. Tighten these bolts.”
“I’ll tighten your bolts.” Sameer continued to mutter under his breath while Balil tried to fit the different pieces to the monstrosity they were building.
Tariq ran into the room, his eyes wide. “They are here. They’re early!”
Mamoon came out of his office and stared at the mess that was the rack. “No…” he groaned as he walked past the two men. “You two keep working.” He maneuvered his way to the alley behind the shop and watched as the truck backed through the maze of trash cans and ruined furniture. Mamoon trotted up toward the vehicle, his hands waving in the air. “Wait! Stop! You are early. We do not have the rack completed yet.”
The driver slammed on the brakes and glared at Mamoon in the side mirror. “Look at this fool running up behind me like this.” He opened the door and twisted in his seat. “What are you saying?”
“You are too early. We do not have the rack constructed yet. We have no place to put the material.” Mamoon stopped and bent over, his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. “My men are attempting to put it together now, but they are lost with the instructions.”
The driver nodded. “Ah. I bet it is the oversized, blue metal frame that they sell in the southern market, yes?”
Mamoon nodded. “Yes. How did you know?”
“The instructions are foreign.” The driver turned to his partner and waved him out of the truck. “We will help your men put the rack together. This will be okay here, yes?”
“Yes, yes, the other shops are closed. The buildings are abandoned.” He waved them down the alley. “I thank you very much for your assistance with this.
