“But I do,” Nassir said. “Americans, British, Spanish, Irish, they’re all the same to me.”
Justin stepped forward, moving closer to Nassir.
“It’s funny that your disgust for Brits didn’t stop you from studying at Oxford and definitely isn’t stopping you from enjoying the best cars of the Kingdom.” Justin pointed to the Land Rover.
Nassir was unfazed. “A+ on doing your homework and looking into my background. They taught you well at your secret service, whichever it is.”
Justin craned his head toward Ali.
“He’s not a fool.” Ali spread his palms, grinning wildly. “A hothead maybe, but definitely not a fool.”
Justin shook his head.
Nassir’s nostrils expanded and his chest rose up as he drew in a long breath. “I don’t hate the Brits, but I can’t stand it when they bend over for the CIA. Europe is as guilty as the Americans, those bloody oil thieves, for the mess in the Middle East.”
Justin stared into Nassir’s eyes. “I don’t like politics either,” Justin said after a tense pause. “We’re here to interrogate the high-value detainee.”
Justin had given Ali a cover story about a man captured in Sudan, who could be in possession of important intelligence. If pressed for answers, anything Ali revealed would not put in danger their true operation.
“Listen to him. He even talks like a CIA op.” Nassir snorted, handing his RPG-7 to Omar and opening the driver’s door.
Omar took both weapons to the back of the Land Rover.
“Will you use ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ to extract information from the detainee?” Nassir asked sarcastically.
“I was told the source is very eager to talk to us. Plus, we don’t torture people,” Justin replied.
Nassir groaned. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all that before.”
Justin and Ali took the second row of seats in the Land Rover, a newer model than what Justin was used to seeing navigating the Sahara Desert. He admired the tan trim of the doors and felt a bit of regret when resting his sandy boots on the new floor mats. He was able to breathe easier now since the air conditioner was going at full blast. Nassir got behind the wheel and Omar took the front passenger seat. Carrie sat in the third row behind Justin.
“I see business is going well,” Justin said, his hands gesturing around the cabin.
“I’m not complaining,” Ali replied. “The wars in Libya and Syria have created new markets.”
Nassir released the hand brake and put the car in reverse.
“Cold water?” Ali offered Justin and Carrie two glass bottles Omar had fetched from a cooler in the car’s trunk.
Carrie nodded politely and took a bottle but did not drink from it.
“Thanks,” Justin said. He removed the cap and emptied the half-liter bottle in a long gulp. Then he began digging in his knapsack.
Ali noticed Justin’s weapon resting on his lap. “C8 carbine?”
“C8 carbine,” Justin replied. “Very reliable, yet compact. Short barrel, adjustable stock. I removed the carrying handle and attached an HK launcher.” Justin slid his right hand over the Heckler & Koch 40mm grenade launcher.
Ali tried to hide his admiration for the shining carbine. “Eh, nothing beats my old Russian friend.” He knocked on the wood stock of his AK-47. “Mud, sand, gravel. Still fires straight, right between the enemy’s eyes.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How did you get your C8 to Egypt?”
“Diplomatic pouch.”
The vehicle dipped into a shallow pit and Nasser bore down on the gas pedal. The Land Rover roared, jolted out of the hole and began rolling over a hard-packed trail.
“This is for you.” Justin finally found what he was rummaging for in his knapsack. “You still smoke these, right?” He handed Ali an elegantly carved humidor with brass edges.
The gunman weighed the chest-shaped wooden box in his hand before lifting the hinged lid and discovering a row of thick cigars. “Man, you have a good memory.” Ali’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he picked up one of the CAO eXtreme cigars.
Omar, attentive to the flow of the conversation, produced a lighter.
Ali chewed off the end of one of the cigars, spit it out of the window and lit the cigar. He puffed a couple of times and groaned in pure pleasure. “Oh, I missed you baby.”
“I have to warn you: smoking causes cancer,” Justin said.
“Ha. Men like us don’t live long enough so slow diseases can eat us up. We die fast, by taking a bullet right in our head.” Ali tapped his forehead with his right index finger.
Justin nodded.
“How long has it been since we last met?” Ali asked
“Three years. Nigeria. Port Harcourt.”
“Yes, yes, now I remember. The aid workers.”
“Yeah, that crazy affair.”
“It was a bloody mess. Sometimes I wonder what goes through those people’s minds when they accept jobs in war zones. Kidnappers don’t care if you’re in their country to feed the poor and help the sick. To them, you’re a goat waiting to be gutted. If not me, then someone else, they think. Plus, for the huge salaries these ‘volunteers’ collect, Africa can pay ten locals to do the same job and even better.”
“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.