driving you home. I’ll drop you off, pick up some food and come back
for a planning session.”
Rick grumbled but he knew it was the best he was going to
get. They had all lived through much worse than this without any cosseting and
he didn’t want to start now but he knew better than to argue. At least he was still
going to baby-sit the shipment, which at the moment was his biggest concern.
This was the largest shipment yet. Everything else had been
sent via ship in locked and sealed containers. Rick had flown to Iraq when they
arrived, matched the code number he had with the one on the seal and taken
delivery.
“You know,” he told Mike, as they maneuvered through
traffic, “all the other transfers were so easy I think I just felt too secure.”
Mike honked at a car trying to cut in front of him. “How
so?”
“Greg always showed up with the trucks to convoy the stuff.
I unlocked the seal on the container, we offloaded into the trucks, checking
them off on both my copy and his off the manifest and off we went.” He shifted
uncomfortably in the seat. “When we got to the warehouse we checked them all
again. And with the guard situation, I’d have thought stealing from the
warehouse would be impossible.”
“So now you’re saying you think Greg is in on it?”
Rick shrugged, the slight movement tugging at his aching
muscles. “I wouldn’t like to think so. I’d rather believe some of the locals
have figured out a way to get around him.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“But?” Mike prodded. “I can tell there’s a ‘but’.”
“I just have this gut feeling. Call it uneasiness. Something
big is in the wind and it’s gonna mean trouble for us. And I can’t get a handle
on where Greg stands in all of it.”
Mike wheeled the truck around a corner and slowed down as
they came to Rick’s house. “We can’t call off the shipment. Grainger Caldwell
will hang our asses out to dry if we do.”
“That’s why I want to make sure I hand-carry it myself. And
with you and Ed along, we should be able to get a sense of what’s going on. Get
a good read on Greg Jordan.”
“Let’s hope so.” He pulled into the driveway and put the truck
in Park. “Let me help you get inside.”
“I’m fine,” Rick snapped, fumbling with his seat belt. “I
made it to the LZ in Afghanistan with a broken arm and a bullet graze on my
collarbone.”
Mike had come around to open the door. “You also were ten
years younger. Now shut up and behave.”
Rick grumbled all the way up the steps and into the house
but he sank onto the big couch in the living room with a grateful sigh.
“Don’t try anything stupid while I get us some food.”
Rick gave his head a tiny shake. It was about all the
movement the headache would allow. “I think I might just take your advice after
all and hang out on this couch while you’re gone.”
“Thank god. Just stay put until I get back. After you’ve got
some food in your stomach you should take your pain pills. Try to catch a few
winks while I’m gone.”
“We’ll see.”
But his eyes were already closing when Mike let himself out
the door.
Neither of them had paid much attention to the gardener
busily clipping the hedges at the house across the street.
* * * * *
Zarife al-Dulami had spent ten years building an identity
for himself in the United States. Long before the invasion of Iraq and the fall
of Saddam Hussein he had his marching orders. Once upon a time his family had
been in power, ruling their section of Iraq with an iron hand. They had power,
wealth, stature. Control.
But the devil Saddam, who only supported his own people,
coveted what they had and stripped them of everything. Zarife’s father,
however, was smarter than them all. Slowly he began to accumulate resources
again, hiding his wealth and hoarding it until the day his family could return
to honor and glory.
He sent his son to America with very definite, explicit
orders.
“In the United
for a planning session.”
Rick grumbled but he knew it was the best he was going to
get. They had all lived through much worse than this without any cosseting and
he didn’t want to start now but he knew better than to argue. At least he was still
going to baby-sit the shipment, which at the moment was his biggest concern.
This was the largest shipment yet. Everything else had been
sent via ship in locked and sealed containers. Rick had flown to Iraq when they
arrived, matched the code number he had with the one on the seal and taken
delivery.
“You know,” he told Mike, as they maneuvered through
traffic, “all the other transfers were so easy I think I just felt too secure.”
Mike honked at a car trying to cut in front of him. “How
so?”
“Greg always showed up with the trucks to convoy the stuff.
I unlocked the seal on the container, we offloaded into the trucks, checking
them off on both my copy and his off the manifest and off we went.” He shifted
uncomfortably in the seat. “When we got to the warehouse we checked them all
again. And with the guard situation, I’d have thought stealing from the
warehouse would be impossible.”
“So now you’re saying you think Greg is in on it?”
Rick shrugged, the slight movement tugging at his aching
muscles. “I wouldn’t like to think so. I’d rather believe some of the locals
have figured out a way to get around him.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“But?” Mike prodded. “I can tell there’s a ‘but’.”
“I just have this gut feeling. Call it uneasiness. Something
big is in the wind and it’s gonna mean trouble for us. And I can’t get a handle
on where Greg stands in all of it.”
Mike wheeled the truck around a corner and slowed down as
they came to Rick’s house. “We can’t call off the shipment. Grainger Caldwell
will hang our asses out to dry if we do.”
“That’s why I want to make sure I hand-carry it myself. And
with you and Ed along, we should be able to get a sense of what’s going on. Get
a good read on Greg Jordan.”
“Let’s hope so.” He pulled into the driveway and put the truck
in Park. “Let me help you get inside.”
“I’m fine,” Rick snapped, fumbling with his seat belt. “I
made it to the LZ in Afghanistan with a broken arm and a bullet graze on my
collarbone.”
Mike had come around to open the door. “You also were ten
years younger. Now shut up and behave.”
Rick grumbled all the way up the steps and into the house
but he sank onto the big couch in the living room with a grateful sigh.
“Don’t try anything stupid while I get us some food.”
Rick gave his head a tiny shake. It was about all the
movement the headache would allow. “I think I might just take your advice after
all and hang out on this couch while you’re gone.”
“Thank god. Just stay put until I get back. After you’ve got
some food in your stomach you should take your pain pills. Try to catch a few
winks while I’m gone.”
“We’ll see.”
But his eyes were already closing when Mike let himself out
the door.
Neither of them had paid much attention to the gardener
busily clipping the hedges at the house across the street.
* * * * *
Zarife al-Dulami had spent ten years building an identity
for himself in the United States. Long before the invasion of Iraq and the fall
of Saddam Hussein he had his marching orders. Once upon a time his family had
been in power, ruling their section of Iraq with an iron hand. They had power,
wealth, stature. Control.
But the devil Saddam, who only supported his own people,
coveted what they had and stripped them of everything. Zarife’s father,
however, was smarter than them all. Slowly he began to accumulate resources
again, hiding his wealth and hoarding it until the day his family could return
to honor and glory.
He sent his son to America with very definite, explicit
orders.
“In the United
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