“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
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?”