Kharrazi kicked up dirt while Hasan sat in silence, allowing his leader to vent, busily carving up the branch. He knew Kharrazi was mixing rationalization with grief. It was Kharrazi’s idea to come to America and now it had cost him his best friend’s life. Explaining his motive to Hasan was entirely unnecessary, but perhaps just what he needed.
Kharrazi glanced at the group of soldiers carrying Rashid’s body from the back of the van. Shovels could be heard plunging into the earth one after another, rhythmically excavating a final resting place for Rashid. Kharrazi was not a religious zealot. He ruled from the strength of his devoted Kurdish following. Thirty million people searching for a state to call their own. This is what drove Kharrazi-what was here on earth, not up in the sky. He would allow his soldiers to mourn however they saw fit, but he would not participate in any formal ceremony. Hasan knew that Kharrazi was unique in this manner and it seemed to allow him a freedom that a more spiritual person couldn’t afford without inviting contradictions.
Kharrazi looked away from the scene. “I allowed Rashid to act foolishly at times and I know it cost me a certain amount of respect from my men. But not you. You kept your mouth shut when I allowed such blunders. You were loyal and loyalty is what I need from someone in your position. When I return to the cabin I will announce you as the new captain of the American mission. You are now my eyes and my ears. I may allow you to make mistakes also, like Rashid, because you are loyal and deserve that right.”
Hasan felt his body quiver. Was he just now getting over the gun to his head, or was he absorbing the importance of Kharrazi’s words? “Sarock,” he said, “Rashid was killed, but not by an officer of the law.”
Without looking up from his whittling, Kharrazi said, “You make me proud, Hasan. I test the strength of your integrity with the notion of death, and yet you present me with the issue we need to discuss at once.” Kharrazi looked around the facility they’d been working on for almost a year. “We are safe here. Whatever Rashid did to deserve his fate, it will have no affect on our plans.”
Hasan nodded.
Kharrazi closed his eyes and said, “Did you get the license plate of the vehicle the Americans traveled in?”
“Yes. It was a rental.”
Kharrazi smiled. “Good. Speak with our local contact and get the name of the person who rented the car. I will give Rashid the only thing he would have asked me for.”
“What is that, Sarock?”
Defiantly, Kharrazi gripped the stick with his right hand and held it up to the deepening purple sky. It had taken the shape of a razor-sharp fork. “Revenge.”
Chapter 13
“I’m getting worse,” Nick said.
Dr. Morgan sat across from him in a tall, leather chair. He had no paper or notebook, no pencils to write with. Nick felt more comfortable knowing the psychiatrist wasn’t documenting his fall from mental stability.
Dr. Morgan folded his hands across his stomach. “Nick, your brother was kidnapped, there’s been an attempt on your life, and terrorists have decided to bomb the country until we withdraw our troops from Turkey.” He leaned forward. “Do you think it’s possible that these things have something to do with your worsening condition?”
Nick gave a reluctant shrug. He didn’t like hearing the events stated out loud, it sounded more dangerous that way.
Dr. Morgan continued, “Remember when we first spoke and I told you stressful situations could cause consequences? These headaches you’re suffering, the dizzy spells, these are all symptoms caused by stress. I promise that if you spent a month in Hawaii or, I don’t know, a cabin up in the mountains somewhere, you would find your headaches would subside. How are the breathing exercises going?”
“They work better on days that I’m not stepping over dead bodies.”
“My point exactly.”
Nick pointed out the window. “Doc, you don’t know what’s going on out there. How can you expect me to relax when terrorists are prowling the streets at night with missile launchers and canisters of plastic explosives?”
Dr. Morgan sighed. “If it wasn’t terrorists blowing up houses, it would be someone threatening to poison our water supply, or someone using chemical weapons. You’re looking at this situation as if it’s the final threat to our society that we will ever face. Long after you and I are gone, someone will be performing dastardly deeds on our culture. That will never end, and the sooner you realize that the better.”
Nick smiled. He could see the frustration on his shrinks face and was beginning to wonder who was affecting whom the most. He imaged Dr. Morgan fixing a drink and lighting up a cigarette the moment Nick left his office. Maybe glancing out the window for anyone suspicious.
“Doc, I see all of this deception played out by terrorists and generally we’ve come to expect it. It’s like playing a game of chess with an opponent who’s allowed to move any piece on the board in any direction they want, yet the FBI is restricted by law to move its pieces in only the direction the game allows.”
“It doesn’t seem fair does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“And what do you intend to do about that?” Dr. Morgan asked.
Nick looked out the window at nothing in particular. “I don’t know.”
“But it’s not going to be fair for terrorists is it?”
Nick shook his head. He was working on something, but nothing solid. Sometimes he just needed to let his mind float. That’s when his best ideas seemed to surface. “Whatever I do,” he said, “it’ll sure beat breathing exercises.”
Nick didn’t need to look over to know that Morgan was rolling his eyes.
“You’re still working toward getting out, aren’t you?” Morgan asked.
Nick knew precisely what he meant. He nodded. “Soon.”
Tommie Bracco woke to the low growl of his dog and instinctively rolled onto his stomach and reached under the pillow for his Glock. It was three-thirty in the morning and the German Shepherd stood still, glaring at an invisible sound from the front of the house, teeth exposed.
“Sheba,” Tommy whispered. “What is it?”
Sheba lifted her nose and sniffed in the direction of the open bedroom door. Tommy had won Sheba in a card game three years earlier and she proved to be a great asset. She was so protective of her owner that Tommy couldn’t play basketball in Sheba’s presence without her assaulting anyone trying to defend him. Unlike other dogs who would yelp at the first sign of an intruder, Sheba would lie in wait, a soft growl her only warning. She’d rather sink her teeth into the prowler than chase him away with a vicious bark- another quality Tommy loved about her.
Tommy eased out of bed wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a fierce stare. He crouched down next to Sheba and felt the hairs bristled on the back of her neck. He gave her a quick pat, then crept down the dark corridor with the Glock hanging by his side. Tommy didn’t have an alarm system, but his house sat strategically in the middle of a cul-de-sac-a built-in barrier for anyone who might try casing the place. The neighbors in the bedroom community all knew each other and any unfamiliar vehicles were immediately conspicuous. Tommy was the single guy who made it a point to know everyone and even help build a fence or pitch in with the yard work when he could. One Christmas Eve, Tommy dressed up as Santa and made a special trek through the neighborhood, treating all the kids to presents he’d purchased himself. To his neighbors, Tommy was golden, and that’s just the way he wanted it.
Now he heard the sound of a car engine idling. It seemed close, definitely within the cul-de-sac. He saw the dim shadow of headlights moving across his living room wall. He decided to slip through the kitchen and sneak out the back door. Sheba was at his side, anxiously lifting her legs in a mock trot. She wanted a piece of the action, but Tommy wasn’t sure he could control her. “Stay put, sweetheart,” he said, squeezing through the narrowly opened door. She gave a slight whine as the door clicked shut behind him.