"I'm going to find Sufia. I'll go alone. Jibriil is looking for me, so if he finds me, I don't want to hold you up."
His dad shook his head. "I have to come with you. I can't let you out of my sight."
"What good is this if you come? He catches you, he'll kill you. He'll know what's going on."
"Then why are we even here? What's the point?"
"Just…I didn't think about that. But you can't…I want Sufia out of this. That's all."
"Then tell me what she looks like. I'll go find her."
"I can't take that chance. You don't know her. I have to be the one to ask her. It's complicated."
Dad looked at Warfaa. Both nodded one time. Warfaa stepped over to Adem and took him by the arm. "Back in the truck."
Adem snatched his arm free. "What are you talking about?"
"You have to stay here. You can't go in there alone, and we've got work to do."
Warfaa took Adem's arm again, pulled him towards the Rover. Adem tried to snatch it back again but Warfaa had a better grip. Adem said, "No!" Then louder and louder. Then he planted his feet, tried to loosen the grip with his free hand. Went limp. Went spastic. Shouting, crying. On the ground. Warfaa leaned over and slapped him on the face. Again and again until Adem got it together. Warfaa helped him to his feet, then to the back of the Rover. Helped him inside. Closed the door.
Dad opened the opposite door, leaned inside. "Listen, okay? Listen to me. I can't let you go. I came all this way because of this shit you pulled. I'm not going to let you die here. You're going home."
Adem stared straight ahead, sniffing.
"If I can find your girl, I will, I promise. But if not, we've got to leave. We have to get Jibriil and leave."
No response.
"For fuck's sake, boy, I'm willing to die for you! That white cop with me is willing to die for you! Jibriil killed his woman, and he's still here for you."
Adem swallowed hard. Turned his head away.
"I've got to go." Dad grabbed his shoulder, gave it a squeeze. Adem stared out the opposite window, sniffing.
Dad closed the door. Blinked away tears. Swallowed anger. Warfaa told the driver to watch Adem, and to drive the hell out of there if anyone got too close, especially the soldiers. Drive for the border, clear across the desert, and get the kid on a plane. The other men huddled, talked it out.
"You and Ray." Dad lifted his chin at Warfaa. "Go find Jibriil. He won't know you like he does me. And Ray, cover your face or something. You're target practice here. Dawit and I will go talk to some women, see if they know Sufia. As soon as you get Jibriil, call us and we're done. That's all there is to it. Back to the truck."
Dawit spit on the ground, licked his teeth, and said, "Shouldn't we pray first?"
Warfaa turned to Adem's dad. His decision.
He said, "No."
And started walking into town.
*
Warfaa let Bleeker use his headscarf to cover his face. Helped him fashion it the way the soldiers wore it. Eyes only. Then they split from Mustafa and Dawit and made their way through the streets like they belonged there. Burned out buildings, people in the streets covered in dust, as if they'd been digging in the ruins, trying to rescue their belongings. Some stalls were still open, some storefronts intact but worse for wear.
Adem had given them a general direction to follow, but once in the streets they lost their sense of direction-the sights and smells and random pops of gunfire overwhelming, especially contrasted against the deep blue sky. Above, a painting. Below, a morgue.
Warfaa led them through streets, then through alleys, trying to keep out of sight. They came across a news crew at one point, surprised they were in the city. BBC, it looked like. Doing hit and run spot pieces, avoiding the boys with guns. All Bleeker had heard led him to believe the capital was a wasteland, but hey, look, life all over. They either chose not to leave, couldn't leave, or showed up to see for themselves. But they were the exceptions. No reason to ask himself "Why Minneapolis?" anymore. After living through something that did this sort of damage to the city, of course they'd want someplace cold. Someplace serene. Frozen in place.
Warfaa rounded the next corner, then whiplashed into Bleeker, stepping on his feet. Seethed, "Get back! Get back!" Bleeker retreated, flat against the wall. Warfaa too.
"Soldiers. Ten or more. Backtrack."
Down the alley again, not even getting to the end before hearing the unafraid, barking laughter of more teenage soldiers. Shit. Looking right at them. A handful. Two in full camo garb with their faces covered by the trademark red-and-white checkered scarf. Another shirtless. The others in everyday shirts you could pick up at Wal Mart back home. They stopped, stared.
Warfaa spoke up. Something about Jibriil. And "prisoner". So much easier to understand the language in New Pheasant Run when he asked them to repeat it and they peppered sentences with English phrases.
One of the covered faces waved his hand towards Bleeker. "But he's got a gun."
Of course. He knew that phrase. The one time it would've been better not to…
Warfaa said something else. Bleeker was guessing at this point. What would make the most sense? It's not loaded. He's Mr. Mohammed's prisoner. The gun is just a disguise.
Or something.
The soldiers weren't looking anymore convinced. The shirtless one lifted his rifle to his shoulder.
Right before he fired, he said something in Somali that Bleeker thought sounded an awful lot like, "Bullshit."
TWENTY-SIX
Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Twenty-five. Adem climbed out of the Rover.
"Where are you going? You're staying here."
Adem shut the door. "I'm going to find Sufia."
"No, wait." His cousin had been sprawled across the front seat, barely awake. Now he scrambled, got his rifle, climbed out and wobbled, fell down.
Adem thought about taking a gun, but then decided it didn't matter. They knew who he was around here. Why not flaunt it? He started towards the city. Then his cousin began shouting at his back, "Stop! Stop, don't! I'll shoot you! I fucking will!"
Adem turned. Smiling. Yeah, the guy really had his rifle ready. "Why would you shoot me? You know that my father flew from America to get me. A really long way. And you helped rescue me! So why would you be stupid enough to shoot me? What are you thinking?"
"I'll shoot you in the leg. Then you won't go anywhere."
Adem stopped, started back towards his cousin. "Which knee? The left here? The right? Which one is my stronger knee? And how will you stop the bleeding? Can you guarantee I won't bleed out? How will you explain it?"
Adem's cousin did not respond. He was shaking a little, the rifle barrel wavering. He wasn't going to kill anyone. But Adem could tell that he was dying to pop off a shot. A nick. Maybe a toe. Anything. No joy in doing it to Adem, but he'd come all this way.
Adem said, "Are you coming?"
"What?"
"You've got to come with me. You have to keep an eye on me, make sure I don't do anything stupid. Better than sitting here all day."
The rifle dropped a couple of inches, enough for Adem to see both the man's eyes. "I'm not going in there."
"I guess you don't have to. But I am. Better if you do."
This guy, he was really afraid. Would he have been if Dad had chosen him over Dawit? Was there some reason he hadn't? Did they know he wasn't up to it?
The cousin-Adem didn't know the name of his own cousin. "What's your name?"
"You don't know?"
"I've known you for a day and I don't know. Tell me."
"Chi. I'm Chi."
Adem smiled. It meant God. "Well, look at us, God and the First Man. Absolutely. We're more than family."
"You're one of them." Louder. Stressed.
Adem's brow tightened. "One of who?"
"One of the soldiers. The kids with the guns. You work for them. This is all some, some sort of, ah, it's a trick." He raised the rifle, settled it against his shoulder. "That's what I'll tell them, too. You tried to escape. Tried calling for help."