Dr. Taleghani drummed his fingers on his desktop for a moment, then removed his reading glasses and looked up from Gordon’s file. “When I talked to Dr. Hussein, I wasn’t aware you were an American.”
Gordon returned the statement with a steady gaze.
Taleghani nodded and pursed his lips. “Dr. Hussein says you gave quite a good account of yourself when those bandits attempted to ambush his party coming back from the Kebira Crater. There have been other attacks, as well, I understand.” He fixed his gaze on Gordon. “I can’t imagine what you must feel having to kill that many men.”
“It’s called recoil.”
Taleghani’s eyebrows arched. “Are you just trying to sound cold-blooded?”
“Stating a fact, Doctor.”
“You feel nothing about them?”
“Doctor, empathizing or identifying with someone who is trying to kill someone I am protecting changes nothing except my reaction time.”
“Still, they are human beings.”
“Who were prepared to kill Dr. Hussein and his party, including myself.” He shrugged and held out a hand. “Doctor, I accept that everyone had a mom, once laughed at Mickey Mouse cartoons, had pimples, needs love, toyed with religion, and wants a better life. Everyone also has choices.”
“And if the choice is between killing you or seeing a child go hungry?” demanded the archeologist.
Gordon lowered his hand. “It’s still a choice.”
After a pause, Taleghani said, “Dr. Hussein recommends you very highly.”
“A live client on his way home to retirement is a bodyguard’s best reference.”
The archeologist glanced down at a record form, and back up at Gordon. “You fought in Iran—for the American Allies.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Orders.” Gordon smiled. “I’m an American. I was in the United States Army. The Army was ordered in to support the Septemberist Student Movement.”
“You were a sniper.”
“I also peeled potatoes, cleaned grease traps, and picked up cigarette butts.”
“The point is, you killed Arabs during your tour of duty.”
“Persians, too, Doctor.”
Taleghani frowned. “Did you kill many?”
“Not as many as the Iranians and the Arabs killed,” responded Gordon. “Forgive me for being blunt, Doctor, but does this conversation have a point?”
Despite the archeologist’s dark complexion, a touch of redness came to his cheeks. “I thought you should know, Mr. Redcliff, I fought on the other side in that war. I opposed American intervention in Iran’s—”
“I don’t care,” Gordon interrupted. “That war is done. As I understand it, Doctor, the job you want me for is to keep you safe on an expedition. If you also want to argue past American foreign policy you’ll need to take on extra help. It is not an interest of mine.”
The archeologist appeared to be having a debate with himself. Gordon waited with no discernable expression of emotion until the man’s internal conversation came to an end. At last Dr. Taleghani said, “Your Arabic is excellent.”
“So is yours.”
Taleghani’s eyebrows went up. “Your manners are atrocious!”
Gordon cracked a brief smile. “I am, after all, an American.”
The archeologist laughed against a desire to remain very severe, which made the laugh louder. “Very well, Mr. Redcliff,” he said as he got his laughter under control. “Very well, tell me this: How long did it take you to learn Arabic?”
“Why?”
“Indulge me, please.”
Gordon shrugged and thought. “Once I got to Kuwait and among people speaking the language, one or two days to get around on my own. In two weeks I was working with Iraqi regulars without an interpreter and without getting any unintentional giggles. I eventually bought a grammar and speller and taught myself to read and write the language.”
“You also worked with the Septemberists, training their snipers. You must speak Farsi.”
“Yes, and Spanish, German, French, English, eleven Native American languages, and all four dialects spoken by your excavation crew at the site. I can get around in Japanese and Mandarin, but I’m not fluent.”
“It is curious the American army didn’t make you a translator or put you in intelligence.”
“It was tried, Doctor.” He thought a moment then shrugged. It had been difficult enough getting the US Army to understand that an eighteen-year-old warrior needed to do war, and that war to a mind that young and angry had nothing to do with talking, listening, or interpreting.
“Are there any religious sensitivities of which I should be aware?” asked the archeologist.
“I believe in whatever the fellow holding the gun on me believes.”
Taleghani’s eyebrows arched. “Rather cynical of you, isn’t it?”
“Doctor, in a world where worshiping the same god by the same name but wearing the wrong hat gets people killed every hour, it’s simply a matter of survival.”
“And if no one has a gun on you?” pressed Taleghani.
“Then that’s my business. It requires no special icons, equipment, times, foods, clothing, prohibitions, or holidays.”
Taleghani pursed his lips and looked expectantly at Gordon. “Very well. What would you need from me?”
“The biggest mistake, Doctor, is keeping me in the dark. Make sure I know what’s going on with as much detail and warning as possible. Don’t play tricks on me. Fooling me is no great accomplishment and it can get you killed. If you want to leave your protection behind, just tell me and I’ll leave you a body bag and start sending around my résumé. Don’t give me any stupid orders, and don’t do anything stupid yourself. If you can manage that, I might be able to keep your party alive.”
“God willing,” gently admonished the archeologist with a smile.
Gordon smiled back. “Doctor, if you find Allah is working for your enemies, this is something you need to warn me about in advance.” He held his head back. “Isn’t it time you told me about the expedition?”
“Frankly, Mr. Redcliff, I’m still making up my mind if I can trust you.”
“I can help. If you’re looking for a buddy, a cheering section, or a fellow believer in the sanctity or greater glory of whatever, I will be a big disappointment. If you want to walk through Hell and have a good chance of coming out the other side with nothing worse than a singed mustache, you may find me useful.”
The archeologist glanced down at his papers and said, “I once took an oath to kill every American in the world.”
“By yourself?”
“No.” The archeologist laughed and shook his head. “No, of course not. It was as part of an imaginary pan-Islamic effort to cure the world of its sins. I was fourteen.”
Gordon grinned. “Then we’re even, Doctor. When his father was arrested for drunk driving in Santa Fe, Bobby Two Crows and I swore to kill every white man in the world.”
“I’m hardly white.”
“You’re white as snow to two ten-year-olds in the pueblo who used the blame, fear, and hate they lived in every day to define the universe.” For a moment Gordon remembered when they came to take Bobby away to El Rito for torching a liquor store in Bernalillo. By the time Bobby got out of El Rito, Gordon was in the Army. By the time Gordon got out of the Army, Bobby Two Crows had been dead seven years from a drug overdose.
Gordon raised his gaze and looked at Dr. Taleghani. The archeologist returned Gordon’s gaze for a moment, then nodded. Gordon raised an eyebrow, cocked his head toward the T-span, and the archeologist nodded a second time and commanded those at the work tables, “Get back to work. And let this be a lesson to all of you.” Dr. Taleghani weathered the confused looks as he led the way from the tent. As they left, Gordon could hear someone tuning in a Tel-Aviv station playing Shantel golden oldies.