Guardian (16 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­Five

“C
an you hear me, Kharija?”

Kharija swallowed a mouthful of saliva. The voice spoke in accented Arabic. Feminine. Older.

“Who is it?” he managed to say.

“Kitra Shamar. Have you heard of me?”

All was black, but Kharija found a memory of Shamar. Old surveillance photos taken several years ago. Mossad's great field agent in northern Iraq, stirring up unrest among the Kurds.. A very deadly woman.

“Yes, I know who you are.”

“And you understand you are now in our care. You have been taken to a hospital in Tel Aviv. Your wounds are being treated as best the doctors can.”

Wounds,
Kharija thought.
Nassir's signature, more like it.

He tried to block the memories of Nassir's blade and the delight in his face as he cut and carved and sewed. And how he held up each severed and flayed piece for him to see. Until he carved out his eyes.

My eyes,
he thought, wishing he could weep.
My Malika and Rasha.

“Kill me,” Kharija said.

Kitra cleared her throat. “The doctors said you could live—­”

“He murdered my wife and daughter and left me a deformed eunuch. If you have an ounce of mercy in you, give me a proper death instead of this embarrassment of a life.”

“Nassir Fahd did in fact do this to you?”

“Yes.”

Kharija heard a pen scribbling across paper.

“For whatever it may be worth, I am sorry for your loss.”

Kharija swallowed hard but said nothing.

“I want to help you, Kharija.”

“Kill me, then.”

“You deserve to die, but I need some questions answered first.”

“What could I possibly help you with?”

“Where is Nassir Fahd?”

“I do not know.”

“Where did he capture you?”

“Tel Aviv.”

“Where did he take you?”

“I do not know.”

“Why did Nassir use you?”

“Because I had detailed knowledge of the order and the prison we guarded. He possesses a vast knowledge of dark things, but he had failed to penetrate high enough in the order to learn the location of the prison in Iraq.”

“The prisons are real?”

“The one in Iraq was. Nassir believes there are others, as does the order. No one has ever found one, though.”

“And Nassir wants to use Caldwell to find one?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To open it.”

Silence. Then, “Does Nassir want to use this prison as a way to decimate Israel?”

Kharija swallowed dryly. “Water, please.”

“Sorry. Of course.”

He felt the tip of a straw on his lips a moment later. He sucked the cold water. It soothed his throat.

“Thank you.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No. You have given me good drugs.”

Kitra chuckled. “We do our best.”

“Nassir said this region is meant to burn.”

“To burn?”

“His words. He did not elaborate and he did not specifically indicate Israel by name.”

“Nassir wants to kill millions of ­people, then, no matter who they are?”

“Nassir is a living nightmare. And I do not just say that because of what he has done to me.” Kharija pointed to his chest with his stump. “He also said he can read what my tattoos say. What they said before he sliced them away.”

“You cannot?”

“None in the order can. It is from before our time. Either we never knew or it was forgotten long ago.”

“Did he translate it for you?”

“No.”

“Then he is probably full of shit.”

“No, Nassir does not lie. He just withholds what he does not want you to know. It is part of what makes him frightening.”

“I have one more question for you, Kharija.”

“Then you will kill me.”

“Yes.”

“Ask then.”

Kitra cleared her throat. “How did Nassir capture you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.”

“You are lying.”

“Humor me, then.”

Kharija paused a moment as he remembered the black cloud filled with flies and locusts. Even though he was numb from the neck down, he shivered.

“A demon.”

“A demon?”

“I do not know how. Perhaps he is a wizard of some kind, able to conjure a demon. Regardless, he sent one for me. And it succeeded.”

“Describe it.”

“You saw it, did you not? I can hear it in your voice.”

“Describe it, please.”

Kharija paused, wondering under what circumstances Kitra had encountered it. “Like a black cloud, constantly changing in shape and size. Like billowing smoke that does not rise. Instead, it folds in on itself. It expands and contracts. And within it, swarms of flies and locusts.”

Kitra said nothing in reply. Kharija heard her breathing slowly, heavily.

“When did you see it?” Kharija asked.

Still no reply.

Kharija started to ask again but froze. It dawned on him finally, cutting through the haze induced by the painkillers.

“It took Caldwell.” Kharija coughed. “It seems I succeeded as bait this time.”

Kitra's knees popped as she stood. “I will leave you for now to be with your thoughts and any final memories you wish to relive. I will be back in thirty minutes to grant your request.”

Her footsteps moved away and a door creaked open.

“If you do not find him soon,” Kharija said, “you will have your own memories to consult.”

Kitra's footfalls faded. Kharija sighed and thought about Malika and Rasha.

K
itra opened the door and peered in. Abu sat up in bed, the television on the news.

“Is that all you watch?”

“It is the only interesting thing on. It appears the Governor of California is leading in the US Presidential race.”

“Wonderful.” Kitra walked in and shut the door behind her. “Anything else?”

“An oil tanker was hijacked off the coast of Somalia.”

“Shocking.”

“I do not think you came to talk about the news.”

“No, I did not.” Kitra took a seat across from Abu's bed. She looked at her prisoner, wondering why she liked him. Maybe it was because they were both field operators. Maybe it was because Abu was a doorway into a new world she was just starting to peek through. Or maybe it was because they had the same goal now; stopping Nassir Fahd.

“What is it then? You look glum.”

“Nassir has captured the American.”

Abu's eyes widened. “How could he have been captured?”

Kitra paused, realizing she was going to sound similar to how Mike sounded when telling his tall tale. Yet it was not such a tall tale, was it? “Nassir employed some unorthodox tactics.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Nassir sent a demon.”

Abu said nothing. Kitra looked up and saw him staring at her, lips tight, jaw pulsing as his teeth ground together. Yeah, she had felt pretty much the same way when Mike had told his story.

“This is not a funny joke, Kitra.”

“I wish it were a joke but it is not.”

“Nassir is just a man. How could he control a demon?”

“Do you think I have an answer?”

“How did this demon come to capture him?”

Kitra told him. When he mentioned Kharija's condition upon finding him, his eyes perked up. Then they dulled when he learned his enemy was still alive. As she described the demon and what he had done, Abu's mouth slackened until it hung open.

“When I came to,” Kitra said, “he was gone. One of my men said the demon took him and disappeared in a shadow in a corner of the room.”

“Disappeared?”

Kitra blew on his fingers and expanded them and said, “Poof.”

“This is very bad.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you place a GPS tracker on him?”

Kitra nodded. “No readings.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I do not know.” Kitra exhaled and sat back and rubbed her eyes. “We cannot even nuke Damascus because we are not sure Nassir is there. We are—­”

“Powerless.”

“Something like that.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I have a favor to ask and grant at the same time.”

“And what does that mean?”

Kitra hesitated a moment, unsure if she wanted to go this route. But then she decided it was the easiest and she needed easy right now. “I need you to kill Kharija for me.”

“W
hat a mess you have become,” Abu said. He beheld Kharija's skinned form and could scarcely believe what he saw. “If only you had remained loyal.”

Kharija stirred in the bed. The movement startled Abu, and he leaned back reflexively, half expecting Kharija to reach for him. To grab him and pull him toward those sewn eyes. But he did not.

“Abu?” Kharija's voice was weak and seemed to barely escape his lips.

“Yes.”

Kharija managed a weak smile. “God has a sense of humor, no?”

“How is this funny?”

“Kitra has sent you to grant my request, has she not?”

Abu looked away. “She said nothing of your request.”

“Yet you came.”

“Yes.”

“And what are the chances we would end up in the same hospital? It seems this is our destiny.”

Abu did not like the way this tasted. “Kitra said a demon captured you.”

“Do you believe her?”

Abu fingered the tattoo on his sternum. “With what we know of the world, how can I not?”

“Still, seeing is believing.”

“And I now believe the rumors about Nassir.”

“Yes, they are true.” Kharija coughed again. “But I did not know the scope of his power until the end.”

“He is not human, is he?”

“I do not know what he is.” Another cough. “A monster seems to describe him best.”

Abu stood silent, unsure how to proceed.

“He killed my family.” Kharija coughed and spat on a towel next to his face. “He lied to me the entire time.”

I wish I could say I am surprised,
Abu thought, but said nothing.

“I always thought if I just did what he wanted, I would see them again. I am a fool.”

Abu closed his eyes. Part of him sympathized with Kharija. The other part, though, wanted to inflict even greater pain for the damage he had caused the order. For the Brothers he had killed, whether directly or indirectly. He also knew, though, it was easy for him to hold the high ground of loyalty. For Abu, all he had was the order. His Brothers were his only family. He could not imagine what his actions might have been if he were Kharija and his family had been taken. He knew what he would do for his Brothers. But what would he do for blood?

“Abu?”

He opened his eyes. “Yes.”

“Finish me off.”

Abu had dreamt of nothing else since Kharija had shot him. But now, looking at the dying man, and knowing what he had lost, he took no pleasure in it.

“Please,” Kharija said around gasps for air.

Abu moved and grabbed Kharija's shoulders and sat him up. He moaned as Abu slid his knee onto the bed behind him and took his head in his hands. He cupped one hand under Kharija's chin and braced the other against the back of his skull.

“Abu?”

“Yes.”

“Tell our Brothers I am sorry.”

Abu twisted and Kharija's neck snapped in one clean jerk. He eased the dead man back down onto the bed and fixed the sheet and blanket. Then he said a quick prayer over the body.

G
lenn set the phone down in its cradle.

You stupid son of a bitch,
he thought, and stood. He picked up the bottle of Tums on the end of the desk and shook a tablet into his mouth. He chewed it and walked to his window and gazed out at the setting sun.

Kitra had just finished filling him in on the latest. Christ, what the hell was happening? None of it made sense. Yet a career Mossad agent, a woman more skeptical than Glenn could ever hope to be, had just told him a demon had abducted Mike on behalf of Nassir Fahd. Crazy.

No, it wasn't crazy. It was batshit fucking nuts. Yet Glenn found himself swallowing it. Because nothing was normal anymore.

“Shit.”

He walked back to his desk, opened the top left drawer and bypassed the Kettle One and instead pulled out a bottle of Bushmills and a glass. He filled it to the top and swallowed half. It burned all the way down.

You should have never let him leave,
he told himself.

The phone on his desk rang. Glenn considered not answering it but then thought better of it. He had other responsibilities to worry about, not just Mike.

“Deputy Director Cheatum,” he said.

“Deputy, it's Steve Ogden.”

Not now. “Hey, Steve. What can I do for you?”

“You can give me Mike Caldwell.”

Shit.
“He's still out of pocket right now.”

“I know. Heard he was in Israel. When do you expect him back?”

Note to self: Steve has good sources.
“Sorry, but like I said before, it could be a few weeks. Let me know if you've got something else I can help you with later down the line.”

“Let me know when he's in town again, Glenn.”

Before Glenn could ask another question, Steve hung up. Glenn followed suit and went back to his glass of Bushmills. He polished it off and refilled it and took another mouthful, thinking about Basra and what Nassir might be planning to use Mike for. He saw a lot of dead bodies.

“Don't let them use you, Mike.” Glenn swallowed another mouthful. “Kill yourself before they do. Save the world and get Steve off my fucking back.”

K
itra hung up her phone and looked up when the door squeaked. Abu stood there a moment later, eyes empty and vacant. He had carried it out.