munitions and artillery, and needed constant reminding that the most potent threats of modern warfare were not armed militants with an eye on martyrdom. Crawford, in particular, was a diehard battlefield minimalist who believed that a marine could survive with only a Bowie knife. It took a lot of convincing that sensible preventive measures were not intended to soften Crawford’s killing machine.
Even Crawford had learned the hard way that infectious disease should not be ignored. During a reconnaissance mission the previous summer, Crawford’s platoon had been patrolling Iraq’s southern desert, toting sixty to a hundred pounds of gear in scorching temperatures that reached 130deg Fahrenheit. Short on water rations, thanks to chronic logistical problems with contractors deploying Water Buffalo supply trucks, the troops had been forced to drink from untreated local water supplies that were teeming with harmful microorganisms. That led to widespread bouts of dysentery that practically debilitated the entire platoon. Naturally, Crawford wasn’t affected since he’d had plenty of bottled water for himself.
‘Stop worrying,’ Levin told himself. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants.
Suddenly Crawford’s growing frustration with the patient’s hopeless condition hit its crescendo. The colonel yelled bloody murder for a full minute, then kicked over a crate and stormed out from the tent.
‘Lunatic,’ Levin mumbled. ‘That guy is a walking pressure cooker.’ He made eye contact with the Kurd, who shrugged, set down the marker and notepad, then made his way outside. Levin looked down at his watch to see that it was now thirty seconds over the ten-minute mark.
He looked down at the test strip, fully expecting to see a pink stain that would indicate that Al-Zahrani tested positive for swine flu or avian flu. His anxiety kicked into overdrive when he saw a single blue strip.
Negative?
48
Reaching the top of the slope, Crawford caught his breath before summoning Staff Sergeant Richards from the cave entrance. ‘How much longer till it’s cleared?’
Richards pursed his lips. ‘Maybe a couple hours,’ he guessed. ‘I’m pushing the men as hard as I can. It’s too narrow in there to run a second line.’
‘Push harder,’ Crawford insisted. ‘I want to find out exactly what they brought into that cave,’ he reminded him.
‘I understand.’
Crawford looked over to Jason Yaeger, who was hauling buckets from the last man on the chain team and dumping them down the slope.
Richards picked up on the colonel’s preoccupation with Yaeger. ‘He was on his phone again,’ the staff sergeant told Crawford. ‘Didn’t seem to be talking to anyone … just fiddling around. And before that, I saw him go into the other tunnel. Disappeared for a good fifteen, twenty minutes.’
‘Nothing but trouble,’ Crawford said, shooting Yaeger a dirty look.
‘I heard he got up in your face in the tent.’
‘Certainly did. That boy has a problem with authority.’
With finesse, Richards asked, ‘Not to disrespect you, sir, but shouldn’t we be moving Al-Zahrani out of here? I mean, it’s not exactly safe—’
Crawford’s eyes drilled into him. ‘Don’t you worry, Richards. Everything is under control. I know you’re scared of the dark, but the sun will up before you know it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Yaeger had jumped off the line and was making his way over. ‘Just fucking dandy,’ Crawford moaned.
Staff Sergeant Richards wisely left the scene as Jason squared up with Crawford.
‘Hazo tells me you weren’t able to get anything out of Al-Zahrani,’ Jason said.
‘That’s right,’ Crawford confirmed. ‘Not that it’s any surprise. Doesn’t need to be deaf to keep his mouth shut.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Find anything interesting while you were poking around in there?’
‘Plenty,’ Jason replied with defiant eyes. ‘But something tells me it wouldn’t be news to you.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Call it instinct.’
Crawford stood his ground. ‘I call it a loaded accusation, Yaeger. And one should be very careful jumping to rash conclusions. Could get one in a world of trouble.’
‘I agree. Just like I’ve already concluded that you didn’t call for backup. Isn’t that right?’ He crossed his arms over his chest.
Crawford grinned smugly. ‘That’s my call to make, not yours,’ he reminded him. Except this time, he was sure to provide a plausible rationale: ‘As soon as that tunnel is clear, shouldn’t take long to pull those other ragheads out. Then we’ll be on our way. I’m guessing it might take another hour or so. About the same time it would take for a support platoon to get here. Besides, my men have been monitoring the airwaves and haven’t heard a peep.’
‘An
‘Call it instinct. And let’s face it, Yaeger,’ he said with forced diplomacy, ‘if there were miles of tunnel behind that rubble, Al-Zahrani wouldn’t have been heading for the front door. We’re close to extracting these sons of bitches and you know it. You’ve done your part, now let me do mine.’
Jason studied Crawford for a few seconds. Something wasn’t right. ‘One hour,’ he said.
Crawford nodded. ‘If we’re not done by then, you can make the call yourself. Call in the entire brigade for all I care.’
49
Frozen to the spot, Lance Corporal Jeremy Levin stared at the test strip for five seconds, then over to Fahim Al-Zahrani. If Al-Zahrani was infected by a biological contagion and it wasn’t influenza, identifying it might prove beyond the scope of his capabilities in the field. Back home, he’d refer this patient to an infectious-disease specialist, or the emergency room at Sinai-Grace Hospital. Here neither alternative was an option.
Suddenly, Al-Zahrani vomited all over himself, the tent instantly filling with a putrid smell. The two marines standing guard close to him immediately backed away.
‘Jesus, Doc,’ the first marine said. ‘What the hell’s wrong with this guy? It’s like he’s dying or something.’
The second marine cringed while craning his head to get a better look at what came up from Al-Zahrani’s stomach. ‘Not sure what he ate last, but there’s an awful lot of blood in there. That can’t be good.’
Overwhelmed, Levin didn’t respond. Could this really be happening?
‘Doc? You all right?’ the first marine asked.
‘I … I’m okay.’ But this was a complete lie. If such a high profile captive died under his watch, there’d be hell to pay.
‘Aren’t you going to give him some drugs or something?’
‘I already did.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m just not quite sure what’s wrong with him.’
‘Crawford probably poisoned him,’ the second marine said, deadly serious. ‘Doesn’t want those contractors to get paid.’
The second marine pointed his chin at the oozing wound on Al-Zahrani’s hand. ‘Hey, how about this: maybe he got bit by a snake? I’ve heard there’re some really nasty vipers in these mountains. I think I might have seen one of them squirming around when we were clearing the rubble.’
Levin gave the comment serious consideration. Native to Iraq were six species of highly venomous snakes - five in the Viperidae family, or ‘vipers’, and one in the Elapidae family, or ‘cobras’ - most of which were common in the deserts and grasslands. Iraq’s northern mountains, if his recollection was correct, were home to the Kurdistan vipers and Persian Horned vipers, both highly poisonous. But since most troops took precautions to not antagonize snakes, and given the fact that vipers had a tough time biting through combat boots, he’d had no practical experience in diagnosing or treating snake bites.
He mentally recollected facts from the acclimation training he’d received prior to his first deployment to Iraq. Viper venom was a haemotoxin - primary target: blood cells. When bitten, a patient would develop severe pain and
