“I hear you,” Justin said.
“You still race cars?”
“You still breathe air?”
Ali grinned. “When it’s not a blazing hell like today. Did you ever make it to supercars?”
“Your memory is flawless too.”
“That’s because you never stopped blubbering about your dream cars: Mercedes-Benz this, Ferrari that. Even if I saw those cars in person when drivers fire up their engines, I don’t think they’d be as loud as you were.”
“Well, things have changed. I realized the only way I can ever afford to own a decent Merc would be to move here and work with you.”
Ali nodded. “You’d fit in like a glove.”
“I race occasionally at speed festivals or car shows. My girl doesn’t really like it. She thinks it’s too dangerous.”
Ali’s eyes met Carrie’s in the rearview mirror.
“He’s not talking about me,” Carrie said. “And I don’t think racing is dangerous. I’ve found it’s always the driver, never the car.”
“Do you think
this
is dangerous?” Ali pointed at her and Justin.
“As dangerous as you let it be.” Carrie’s eyes scanned Ali’s and Nassir’s faces. “Know who to deal with and to whom never to turn your back.”
Ali nodded in silence.
Nassir’s left eyebrow arched and the left corner of his lip twitched as if he were not expecting such a reply. His eyes lingered a few more seconds in the rearview mirror before he returned his gaze to the road.
Justin noticed the second Land Rover was following them at about three hundred feet so he asked, “Why are they staying so far behind?”
“Safety,” Ali replied. “We’ve had a few Israeli air strikes on convoys smuggling long-range rockets, FROGs and such for Hamas. IAF comes down with F-16s, combat choppers, the works.”
“Wasn’t that in the east, by the Red Sea?” Carrie asked. “And those were larger convoys.”
“Yes, but the Zionists’ dirty fingers reach everywhere. We’re just being careful, even though we don’t deal in rockets.”
“Small weapons only?” Justin asked.
“That’s what rebels prefer these days. We’re simply trying to satisfy the market and keep our customers happy,” Ali replied with a grin.
While they’re killing innocent women and children,
Carrie wanted to scream. Instead, she locked her lips and looked away. A stretch of black jagged ridges was rising up on the horizon to their left. Rolling red sand dunes extended as far as her eye could see.
“How come Egyptians refuse to land their choppers in this area?” she asked without making eye contact with anyone.
“Landmines, mainly,” Ali replied. “Some places are riddled with landmines left behind from old wars between Libya and Egypt and the Toyota War between Libya and Chad. We know where the dead zones are and we stay away. Then there’s pride. Local tribes like to feel in control of their land even when they’re not.”
“Borders are simply straight lines in the desert, hacked in the Sahara by colonialists to divide their loot,” Nassir said. “People cross them when they feel like it, and no one can do anything to stop them, neither Egypt nor Libya.”
“Speaking of Libya, did you hear about the suicide bombs last night in Tripoli?” Carrie asked.
“We did,” Ali replied.
Justin waited for a few seconds but no one seemed willing to talk about it.
“Who do you think did it?” he asked.
“Eh, that’s hard to tell,” Ali said. “Qaddafi’s loyalists maybe. Unhappy Islamic groups since they lost in the last elections. In any case, it was a blow both to the West and to the new Prime Minister. After all, they were mostly American hotels.”
Justin looked in the rearview mirror, catching a glance of Nassir’s face. The man looked like he was deep in his thoughts, his wary eyes suggesting he had strong feelings about the matter.
“What do you think, Nassir?” Justin asked.
Nassir examined Justin’s eyes before opening his mouth. “You really want my opinion?”
“Sure, if you have one.”
“Those bombs are a warning to infidels in Libya that the country is not for sale.” Nassir spoke slowly, with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “America armed the rebels and bombed Colonel Qaddafi, kicking him out. Then they installed a new government in place, with this new Prime Minister, who is a little more than a puppet. After the civil war ended, Libya turned into a magnet for all American companies, at each other’s throats over Libya’s oil. Those bombs are a reminder that Libya is still a Muslim country, regardless of the sellout Prime Minister.”
Justin nodded. “I see.”
“We’ve set up camp about a hundred miles east,” Ali said, eager to change the subject. “The prisoner is awaiting your arrival. Are you planning to take him with you back to Egypt?”
Justin held Ali’s eyes for a moment. “It depends on what he knows.”
“There are ten guards with him and they travelled in armored BMWs,” Ali said. “He must know a lot.”
“I hope so,” Justin said, “otherwise, with all due respect, we came to this scorching hellhole for nothing.”
“No offense taken. This may be hell, but it’s
my
hell. And I love it all.”
Chapter Five
Great Sand Sea, Sudan
May 14, 10:05 a.m. local time
After two hours of bouncing over the rough desert terrain, Carrie had had enough of the Sahara. She had seen more than her fair share of deserts during her two tours of duty in Afghanistan. She served with the Joint Task Force Two, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the Special Operations Forces, before joining the CIS. Carrie took to heart the motto of her unit:
Facta non verba.
Deeds, not words. Her hands were itching for some action, but they were still travelling to the meeting point.
A paranoid Nassir had insisted they steer away from the flat, sturdy trail, the common route for crossing the vast ocean of sand. The Land Rovers snaked around rocky cliffs and wandered around sandstone boulders, climbed over gravel dunes and descended into barren valleys. At some point, Carrie thought she could make out the tall ridges of Mountain Jebel Uweinat by the border with Egypt and Libya, but she was not certain whether it was real or simply a mirage.
Justin and Ali were absorbed in a deep discussion of the geopolitical state of affairs in North Africa after the Arab Spring. Nassir seldom threw in his two cents worth, mostly at the expense of “blood-thirsty infidels,” “scumbag Westerners,” and, of course, “the great Devil, America.” According to Nassir, America influenced everything and shaped everyone’s positions in politics. At times, Omar would jump in, usually with a rhetorical question or a not-so-subtle approval of Ali’s opinions.
“Hey, Carrie, what are you thinking about?” Justin asked.
“Are we there yet?”
Justin threw her a sideway glance.
“Five, maybe ten minutes,” Ali replied. “See that cliff there?” He pointed straight ahead to a tall black ridge jutting out of the sandy hills, about a hundred and fifty feet high. “There’s a clearing and a cave right behind it. That’s where we’ve camped.”
Carrie began scanning the sharp rocks for signs of gunmen’s positions. Machine gun muzzles, tips of RPGs, or even a glimpse of a turban flap would give away the men defending the sheikh’s hideout. She felt a certain amount of satisfaction mixed with a hint of concern. The perfect camouflage of Islamic militants and Ali’s men meant their trip to this God-forsaken land would prove to be worthwhile. A sheikh surrounding himself with well-trained fighters definitely held a high rank in the Islamic Fighting Alliance. So he was likely to have access to important and accurate information. But if things went haywire, fighting their way out of this place would be just about impossible.
“How many tribesmen do you have?” Carrie asked.
“Fifteen, including the three of us,” Ali replied. “Everything’s OK. You can trust us.”
Why do they keep repeating we can trust them?
Carrie wondered.
It’s like they think saying it over and over again will make us believe them.
Nassir steered slowly through a narrow pathway chiseled through the ridge. Steep, serrated rocks rose up on both sides. The rugged trail dropped considerably and the Land Rover crawled almost to a standstill because of uneven stones in the pathway.
What a perfect place for an ambush.
Her fingers automatically tightened around her rifle. She shifted in her seat and raised the gun toward the left side window, her forehead resting against the vibrating glass. The grayish brown sandstone wall stood less than three feet away. She looked up at a stretch of blue sky framed between the jagged peaks stabbing at the heavens, about sixty feet above their heads.
The Land Rover bounced over a deep crack in the ground. The rear end of the car swerved, almost scraping a couple of overhanging rocks spiking out of the wall. Carrie was able to see a wider view of the surroundings. She spotted the glint of an assault rifle and the banana-shaped magazine of an AK as two gunmen gave away their positions.
“Is this the only way in and out?” Carrie asked.
Nassir nodded slowly.
“Unless you’re a bird,” Ali said.
The trail widened into an oval clearing. Two black BMW Suburban vehicles parked at a V-shape angle had formed a checkpoint. Four black-clad gunmen toting AK assault rifles and RPK machine guns and standing to the sides of the Suburbans focused their complete attention on the approaching Land Rover.
“Is the Rover bulletproof?” Carrie asked with a hint of nervousness in her voice as she looked at Justin. Her pulse was thrumming, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Relax.” Ali turned around to face Carrie. “They’re not going to shoot us. I’ve got my men on higher ground.” His hand made a circular gesture in the air. “Plus, the prisoner wants to talk to you.”
Justin nodded. At the same time, he flicked his carbine firing selector to automatic. He cocked the gun and held it firmly in his hands, the barrel slightly raised up, and pointed it to the windshield.
“I said relax.” Ali’s hand slid instinctively over his AK-47.
“I
am
relaxed,” Justin replied. “Have you forgotten?”
“I must have,” Ali mumbled. “Stop the car there,” he barked at Nassir and pointed to the right, about fifty feet away from the checkpoint.
* * *
Two of the black-clad gunmen marched toward the Land Rover while everyone was getting out of the vehicle.
“Where are your men?” Justin asked Ali.
“The guests insisted their guards wait here for you.” Ali stepped around a few rocks barricading any attempt to swerve around the checkpoint. “My men are at the back.”
Justin peered straight ahead and noticed the entrance to a small cave behind the two BMWs. It was next to a couple of green tents. Ali and Nassir proceeded to meet the guards, with Justin, Carrie, and Omar following a few steps back.
“The guns,” one of the guards said in Arabic, gesturing toward Justin and Carrie, “they have to give us their guns.”
Ali turned toward Justin, who kept cradling his carbine in his hands in a semi-alert position.
“We were summoned here for this meeting, and we’ve satisfied your chief’s request,” Justin replied in Arabic, speaking in a firm voice. “Our guns are for our protection. They guarantee we can also protect anything your chief may give us.”
The guard was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a short pointy beard. He peered at Justin and asked, “Are you Algerian?”
“No.” Justin reinforced his denial with a strong headshake. “And I’m not American either.”
Justin was told by more than one North African his language proficiency showed no traces of local dialects.
Maybe he is Algerian, or has friends who are Algerians. People typically explain what they don’t know with what they do.
The bearded guard kept staring at Justin.
“We don’t have all day.” Ali waved his hand impatiently.
The bearded guard flogged Ali with a vicious glare and clenched his teeth. The other guard muttered something in an Arabic dialect unknown to Justin. The bearded guard nodded.
“This way,” he ordered them gruffly. He raised his hand and gestured for Justin and Carrie to follow him.
Ali began to lead the way, but the second guard took two steps forward to block him.
“Your job’s done,” the bearded guard growled at Ali. “They’re ours now.”
Ali looked like he was pondering a reply for a brief moment but chose not to talk back to the guards. “We’ll wait at the tents,” he said to Justin and Carrie in English. “Don’t worry. My men are looking out for you.”
“Thanks. We’ll see you there.” Justin exchanged a quick glance with Carrie. Her tiny grin at the left corner of her lips confirmed his suspicions. They were all alone to fend for themselves.
The bearded guard led Justin and Carrie between the two BMWs. Justin’s eyes rapidly took in the details of the valley. Seven men in black and white robes huddled in front of the cave next to a Toyota truck. Two men were sitting by the tents to the right of the cave. A third BMW, identical to the first two forming the checkpoint, was parked about three hundred feet away from the cave and the tents. It was under the shade cast by the ridge and behind a tall dune, which separated it visually from the rest of the valley. They were led in that direction.
“Wait here,” the bearded guard ordered Justin and Carrie when they were a few steps away from the BMW.
He knocked on the front passenger door. The window was rolled down and a few hushed words were exchanged.
“Come here,” the bearded guard called the agents and opened the BMW’s rear door. Justin and Carrie approached the car slowly.
“Welcome,” a low, deep voice greeted them in English. “Take a seat.”
Justin recognized the sheikh’s voice. He was sitting in the front passenger’s seat and was alone. Carrie’s eyes checked the car for any signs of danger, wires sticking out, or anything else resembling a deathtrap.
“Care for a drink?” the sheikh asked politely after they got in and closed the doors.