The General and the Elephant Clock of Al-Jazari (29 page)

“And you would be willing to let Juan go out on the streets of Carthage with groups of Salafist thugs looking for American faces?”

“Juan is fifteen,” Gabriel said. “Kim is twenty-three. I know exactly what I was doing when I was twenty-three. I know what you were doing. Do you think he is capable of so much less than you or I?”

“I am sure he is going to think us both into the ground in a few more years. But for now, he had zero experience. None.”

“And he is going to get this experience how?”

“The same way we did. Training.”

Gabriel stared at him, arms crossed. “Army training. Really.”

“Fucking hell.” John picked up the stupid SpongeBob speaker and threw it against the wall. It didn’t even crack, just bounced and lay on the carpet looking at him with that goofy yellow smile. It was all John could do not to stomp it to pieces with his boot.

“One hour,” Gabriel said, “then you and me and Wylie and Jackson go find them, and I will be happy to lay a trail of destruction through the streets of Carthage to get them back. Okay?” He opened his arms, held them out until John stepped closer, let Gabriel wrap him up close to his heart. “Deal? Now let’s take a swim and settle down.”

“Agreed,” John said. “Unless you want to try and tranquilize me again.” The pool was safe, they could take some of the boys to work off their excess adrenalin. “We have enough suits?”

“We have mine and yours,” Gabriel said. “Eli is working to restore balance to the Force, but I bet Daniel might like a swim.”

“Daniel’s got a plaster cast on his hand. Dr. Shakir didn’t have any fiberglass.”

“Thank God, or Kim would have taken all the fiberglass casting material in Tunis to make an elephant clock!”

“Sam might like a swim.”

They heard a sound like a wounded buffalo coming from the living room of the suite. Gabriel kept his hand on the door. “Five bucks says it’s Sam, watching Jen get her hair cut off.”

“I don’t think I’ll take that bet,” John said. They walked out to the kitchen. Jen was sitting on a stool with a towel wrapped around her neck. Kim was cutting her hair short, a couple of inches long, and it turned the straggly ponytail into bouncy curls the color of her ginger freckles. He’d cut the hair around her face first, and John thought she looked cute as a button, and about twelve years old.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said. “You’re not supposed to make me look like a cute little girl. You’re supposed to make me look invisible. Who’s invisible? Dirty kids with runny noses and lice in their hair.”

“And?” Kim trimmed around her tiny ear.

“Don’t cut it. Shave it off!”

He reared back like she’d kicked him. “Excuse me?”

“Shave it off like they do to the kids with head lice. I’ll get some dirt on my face. Nobody will look at me. Nobody will see me.”

Kim looked pained, and John could see that his picture of their disguise had been a cute Korean-Arab mom in a silk hijab with a curly-headed urchin skipping by her side, like a couple of escapees from a Broadway production of Annie.

John grinned at him, and Kim gave him a dirty look that caused John to laugh out loud. “You asked for it, kiddo.” It was all he could do not to grab them both and lock them in a closet. He could feel his heart beating a hundred times a minute, the adrenalin coursing through his blood stream. Fucking hell.

“Fine,” Kim said. “I’ll do it.”

Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe,” he said.

Sam took himself off to the next room so he wouldn’t have to watch.

Mr. Aziz was working in one of the bedrooms with Eli and one of the housekeepers. They had unrolled pieces of Tyvek the size of a twin bed. Mr. Aziz was cutting and Eli was painting, looking from a picture pulled up on one of the laptops to the paper. He was working on a phoenix, painting the tail feathers flaming red. Kim had drawn the outlines. “How’s it going? You need a break?”

Eli shook his head. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever done! I mean, is this wild or what?”

Mr. Aziz actually seemed in a good mood. “Yes, I agree,” he said, in his formal English. “This is very much fun.” He turned a fond look toward Eli. “We are going to start cutting the silk for the tails very soon.” He studied John for a moment. “This is a very interesting idea, General Mitchel. I hope it has the outcome we are all, Tunisians and Americans, hoping for.”

“I think it will,” John said. “If the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise. That’s an old saying where I came from.”

“My grandmother always used to say, ‘Enough is as good as a feast,’” Eli said. “She grew up during the Dust Bowl. Said you never forget being hungry.”

Mr. Aziz looked thoughtful. “I never thought of anyone in America as being hungry.”

“The Great Depression happened around the same time as the Dust Bowl. That’s what we called it when agriculture on the plains collapsed because of poor land management. We’ve learned to take care of our land better now. But in every culture there are hungry people, people without homes or resources, people who live on the margins. My nephew Kim, he’s a photographer. He’s been taking pictures of these people.”

“Why these people?” Mr. Aziz asked.

“Because he wants us to see them.”

G
ABRIEL
came up out of the water, his dark hair slick as a seal, and climbed the steps out of the pool. John floated on his back, watched his long legs, the dark hair on his chest still as thick and lush as it had been when he was a baby pilot, twenty-five years before. Gabriel ran the towel over his head, then tied it around his waist. He stood on the edge of the pool, looking down at John, smiling at him. He could never get enough of it, he thought, floating, looking up at Gabriel. All the light, all the heat, all the sun, all the wind, the stars, the moon, everything beautiful and real and everlasting rested in Gabriel’s dark eyes. And those eyes were smiling down at him, full of love, and the promise of the rest of their lives.

The wardroom gathered before dinner to go over plans for tomorrow. Their suite was starting to look like a bomb had gone off. He thought about the faces of the housekeepers when they finally opened the doors and came in. Well, Painter could foot the bill and it would give him something to bitch about. Jen had been grinning since Kim shaved her head, running her knuckles over her nobbly skull. John actually thought her little face looked cute, all big eyes and freckles, without the distraction of the tangled ponytail, but the rest of the men in the room were avoiding looking at her, pained glances and then finding anything else, the carpet, the wall, to study. She was wearing a dirty white robe with a tee shirt underneath and sneakers. They were going to slip out when the rest of the crew gathered downstairs.

“Okay, here’s how we do it,” John said. “Everybody has a buddy and everybody has a person to watch. We back each other up in case of a problem. Wylie and Jackson will have their radios. They’re bringing a couple of those big-ass tanks from the embassy, that’s how we’re getting to the airport. Everybody, make sure your phones work and are charged, and if they don’t work, let Jen see them and she’ll check the programing. Emergency call is ‘Death Star.’ Anybody hears ‘Death Star’ over a phone or walkie-talkie, you immediately find your buddy and get to the vehicles.

“Okay, Sam and Jen, you’re team one and Jackson is your backup. Eli and Daniel, team two and I’m your backup. Kim and Abdullah, you’re three, and the Horse-Lord is your backup. This watching works both ways. If I get snatched, you guys are responsible to tell Wylie. He’s coordinating and watching for a group of Salafist bullies who don’t know how to clean their weapons.”

Kim raised his hand. “Problem. Me and Eli are going to be with the director. Abdullah is going to set up somewhere and play the cello, right?”

“I can stick near Abdullah,” Daniel said, and “you and Eli can watch each other’s butts.”

“Okay,” John said. “That sounds good. I’m backup for Kim and Eli, and Gabriel has Daniel and Abdullah. Don’t carry anything you can easily replace at a Walmart. If it doesn’t fit in a backpack, you can ask General Painter to reimburse you when we get home. It’s just stuff. Let’s not give away the game over stuff. Okay, so by 1200 the party is in full swing and the kids are eating ice cream and watching the elephant clock. Eli has brought balance back to the Force and the powers of good reign in Carthage. You are in the Jeeps with your buddy by 1200, no exceptions. We go to the airport, we get on the plane. Everybody, carry your passports next to your body. Touching skin, okay? Not just in a pocket. What else?”

“What do we do if we see Bahktar or his guys?”

“Jen, they might be there. I mean, it is a public celebration of sorts. And they certainly are not the only group of radicals in Tunis. Just pay attention. The danger will come if any of you are individually targeted. If they can get you off by yourself, you’re in more danger of being snatched.” He looked at their faces. They weren’t going to like the next bit. “Okay, so what happens if someone gets arrested? I know it’s not probable, and there are no valid reasons for it, but Eli and Daniel were beat up and thrown in jail for holding a copy of a page of a book that’s eight hundred years old. Something happens, the rest of you get to the vehicles and get on the plane. Sam, Daniel, you make sure everyone possible gets on the plane and gets to Sigonella. The XO and I will stay here and bring up any stragglers. General Painter should be making some calls so they know you’re coming. They probably won’t let you out of secure quarters on base, but just eat some spaghetti and make the best of it.”

Glum faces now. “Men, I am very proud of the way you have handled yourself during this mission. Every one of you has stepped up and contributed to the team. I would take this crew on a mission anytime, anywhere. And Eli and Daniel, you two have been outstanding, strength under fire. I am so proud of you. I don’t think I have ever been a part of a mission where we will leave behind so much grace and good feeling. Part of that is your willingness to take the hand extended to you by the Director, your willingness to forgive. You are the best of America, boys. And part of it is the whole team not being willing to settle. You wanted to do the
most
you could do, not the least, and I think tomorrow you will put your hand out and touch the history of this land. Now, Mr. Aziz tells me his staff has prepared a traditional meal for us! Go easy with the food. First man who pukes on the plane has to ride back to headquarters with General Painter when he picks us up at the airport.”

Abdullah gathered his sheet music. He’d set up his cello downstairs for the afternoon concert for the staff. It had been very well received. John and Gabriel had attended, dressed formally, and watched the housekeepers weep at the beauty of the music, and the brave front desk clerk fall in love with Abdullah’s dark eyes. Who could help falling in love with Abdullah? His talent and beauty, the swelling heart that seemed to rise into the air from his cello, his happy smile. He was full of joy, a great gift to the world, as his father had told John he was so many years ago. John had kept Omar’s letter, the one he gave the boy in Kuwait, begging John to save his son’s life.

John, my friend. I must beg your help for my son. The women, they will be safe, but the Iraqis are taking the sons of men like myself, leaving them in shallow graves in the desert. It’s a very old technique in war, is it not? It means something different to me today. Please, John, get him out of Kuwait and to safety. He is the very best of me. Do not worry about me. I am an old man, but my son is filled with beauty and light, John, and the world needs his light. Omar.

He’d given Abdullah the letter, sent him out to find his friend. And Omar had climbed behind the walls of his basement and waited for the soldiers, or death. Abdullah had walked thirty miles in the desert, hiding from the Iraqi army, until he found General Mitchel. He’d been eight. John had given him water and soup, then he’d found Gabriel. The two of them flew into Al-Jahra and brought Omar back to his son. By the time they’d found him, the guards had been working on him for twelve hours. The old man still felt the pain from arthritis where the bones were broken during his beating. John had tried to talk him into moving to Albuquerque, where the arthritis wouldn’t hurt as much as damp and chilly Cambridge, but Omar did not want to leave his library. And every time John looked at Abdullah’s happy smile, at his beauty and grace, heard him play his cello, he remembered the face of that small boy.

He didn’t look very happy now, setting his sheet music on the stand downstairs in the restaurant so he could play for them, for their dinner. Kim walked over to him, stood next to him while Abdullah fussed with the cello. When Kim was tired of being ignored, he nudged Abdullah with a knee, then nudged him harder, until Abdullah grabbed his wrist and pulled Kim down into his lap. He buried his face in Kim’s neck, arms tight around him. Kim touched his hair, ran his hands over his face, and even from across the room John could see Kim saying, “I love you.”

John turned away to give them some privacy, and because watching his boys always brought a lump to his throat. He couldn’t help them through this. Kim needed to go, needed to stick his toes in the pool he’d been staring at for so long, and Jen needed to go, to protect the people who had trusted her. Abdullah was going to feel sick until Kim was out of danger and off the streets of Carthage. Kim wanted to do this kind of work, was feeling bored with photography and wanted to save the world, but would he feel the same way about the risk when he could see what it was doing to Abdullah?