“Have you thought about what I suggested yesterday?” I asked.
He looked up, playing coy. “About the missiles?”
I nodded. “Yes. Remember, I am new to this, but I want to do anything in my power to help the cause. I do not mean to pry, but I believe our warriors could use the weapons.”
“Ah, my young friend, I appreciate such enthusiasm,” Falah laughed. “Of course, surface-to-air missiles would be incredibly valuable in the jihad against the American barbarians murdering our brothers.”
I smiled. It was incredibly difficult to not ram my thumbs through the old man’s eye sockets and wrench his miserable skull from his shoulders. It was even more difficult to pretend to be his buddy. The man I was playing a friendly game with was responsible for blowing up churches, businesses, and schools. I had no problem with killing, but I tried to keep my killing limited to scum like Al Falah. “Yes, of course.”
Falah made his move. We had been playing chess together several times a week for months now. Occasionally he got one right. He leaned back and gestured proudly at what he had done. I barely noticed. “Ha. Get out of that.”
“Hmm . . .” I made a big show of puzzling over his latest strategy. Inside I was praying that he was going to go for my offer of a meeting with the fictional arms dealers. The entire thing was totally fabricated. If he was stupid and greedy enough that he went for the deal, then it enabled me to end his pathetic life early and utilize his resources for Phase Two. I moved a pawn to enable him to beat me more easily. “Your turn.”
“They will return soon, correct? I’ve thought about what you’ve told me about these businessmen you met, Khalid,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Tell them that I am willing to meet to discuss their offer. If it is as reasonable as you say, I will arrange the purchase.”
“Most excellent, sir,” I replied. You’ll be dead in a couple weeks, asshole. “I will contact them immediately.”
Falah gave me a devilish grin as he moved his queen. “Checkmate!”
“Indeed.”
Chapter 3:
The Zoob
VALENTINE
Fort Saradia National Historical Site
Confederated Gulf Emirate of Zubara
February 5
I didn’t know what time it was locally when we arrived at our destination. I knew it was the middle of a moonless night. Our plane had landed at Zubara’s only international airport but had taxied away from where the commercial airliners would offload passengers. Instead, our plane stopped at the far end of the airport, where the private and charter jets landed.
From there we were herded into a large, unmarked white bus. The bus’s windows were so darkly tinted that you couldn’t see out. The cargo from the plane was off-loaded onto the bus and a pair of trucks. The entire caravan was leaving the airport through a back gate within a half hour of the plane touching down. Compared to the seemingly endless flight from the United States, everything happened remarkably fast once we hit the ground.
I wasn’t able to see anything of the city as we passed through it. The brief glimpse I got between the stairs of the jet and the door of the bus had told me little. It was cooler out than I thought it’d be, probably in the sixties. The air smelled of dust, burning natural gas, car exhaust, and an inadequate sewer system. It reminded me of Mexico.
The drive from the airport was long, but as near as I could tell, it was because we were winding our way around a cluttered city. I assumed the driver, who was one more of Colonel Hunter’s security men, was taking a roundabout route to wherever it was we were going. It was the better part of an hour before the bus came to a stop. We all stood up in the aisle, clutching our backpacks, waiting for the line to begin moving, as Hunter’s security guys tried to hustle us along. Tailor and I were two of the last ones off.
Stepping out into the cool night air, I took in my surroundings. We were in some kind of large compound surrounded by twenty-foot walls. The walls were made of stone, and looked old. Inside the walls were five large buildings, all of which looked new, plus a few old buildings off to one side.
“This some kind of fort?” Tailor asked.
“Looks like it,” I replied. “Those buildings are new, though. So are those lights,” I said, noting the new amber streetlights in the compound. “Looks like it’s been improved over the years.”
“This is Fort Saradia,” Sarah said from behind me. I turned around quickly when she spoke, a little bit startled. Tailor looked at me funny and cracked a smile but didn’t say anything.
“You know about this place, don’t you?” Tailor asked.
“We got briefed before you guys. This place was a fort for the British in the nineteenth century. It was expanded over the years. The Zubarans used it as a small army depot for a long time. That’s why half the wall looks new. They closed it down about twenty years ago. I guess they were going to turn it into a university or something, but that didn’t pan out, either. Now it’s a protected site.”
“And that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Tailor asked. “Because no one will come poking around, and those walls mean people can’t see in.”
“Pretty much,” Sarah said.
“We can’t spend all of our time here,” I mused. “If we keep going in and out of the same place all the time we’ll get spotted eventually.”
“Nah, I bet this is just a staging area,” Tailor suggested. “We probably won’t spend much time here.”
“You guys won’t, but I will,” Sarah said, grabbing her duffel bag as one of the security men tossed it onto the pavement. “All of my equipment is set up here.”
“See? Like I said, it’s a staging area,” Tailor repeated. “A command center.”
“There’s my bag,” I said. My large GI duffel bag had been dropped onto the pavement. I stepped forward and slung it. “So . . . where do we go now?” I asked. Tailor and Sarah just shrugged. Looking around, I could see that everyone else was just as puzzled as we were. A couple of the buildings looked like dormitories or barracks, but none of us knew what to do now.
The small cluster of security types standing around was no help. They’d hardly acknowledge us, much less tell us anything. Four of them were carrying carbines, too, so none of us got too pushy. All they would tell us was that Colonel Hunter would be along to brief us again. I wondered why they felt it necessary to have the briefing outside in the parking lot instead of in a building or something. I was tired, and so was everyone else. After a few minutes, I set my duffel bag down and sat next to it. Others did the same. A few minutes after that, the bus backed out of the large gate it had come in and departed, leaving us to sit on the ground.
Probably twenty minutes later, a white Toyota Land Cruiser came rolling up from the interior of the compound. It stopped a short distance from where we were all sitting. The doors opened. From the passenger’s side, Colonel Hunter climbed out and strode toward us, flanked by yet another security guy. Most of us stood up as he approached.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Zoob,” he said, raising his voice so all of us could hear. If you don’t know already, we’re currently at Fort Saradia, a few miles outside of the city. This will be our base of operations for the time being. Over there,” he said, pointing to our right, “is the dormitory. Each of you has been assigned a room there. Your name is on the door of your room. The doors aren’t locked. Grab your gear, find your room, and get some rack time. We’ll be getting you up for more briefings in a few hours. Any questions?”