The General and the Elephant Clock of Al-Jazari (33 page)

“What’s wrong, what’s going on?” Kim tried to pull back, but John grabbed his arm, jerked him up close. Eli was holding his broken arm close against his chest, the bruises standing out in stark relief against his pale face.

“Get to the Jeeps, now. Don’t stop, don’t look back.” He ran with them until they were close to the vehicles. Jackson took them from him, one in each hand, piled them roughly into the back seat. Jen was already there, panting, and John spun around. “Jackson, go. The airport. Lock the doors and don’t let them out of the vehicle until you see the transport.”

“General Mitchel, get in the vehicle.”

“Negative. Go, Jackson.” Kim was trying to climb over Eli and get out the back of the Jeep, tears running down his face. “Kim, no.” Eli was holding him back. “I need to go to Gabriel. Please, Kim.”

John heard the first screams then, the happy shrieks of the children turning to fear, and Jackson slammed the door shut on Kim, climbed in the front seat, and gunned the engine. John turned and ran.

They were surrounded, Abdullah holding his cello in front of him, Daniel at his back, and Gabriel, his arms spread, big chest open wide, standing in front of them, protecting the boys. Bahktar had found a few more men, and they had their weapons up and trained. He was screaming in Gabriel’s face, punching his finger into his chest, then he reached out and backhanded Gabriel across the face. The mothers were pulling the children away, the kites still filling the sky. John looked around for something, a weapon, a rock, anything. Gabriel reached out, quick as a snake, and grabbed Bahktar by the throat. The weapons came up then, all of them pointing at Gabriel’s heart.

Every bit of rage and frustration, the anger and fear and pain of the last few months was burning in Gabriel’s dark face. He had both hands around Bahktar’s throat now, squeezing, shaking him, his teeth in a rictus snarl of fury. “Do you think I would let you touch him again? I have seen more than enough from you, Ali Bahktar, for too long now. You want him? You come through me to get to him.”

A white van came careening wildly across the sand pit, scattering camels and Bedu, and Mr. Aziz swung open the door, knocking one of the men down. Sam jumped down from the passenger seat and, with his big fist, laid two men down before John could draw breath. The boy had a right cross! Abdullah took advantage of the chaos to swing his cello wildly into the fighters, and Daniel kicked out for one of the weapons leveled at Gabriel’s chest. Then Wylie was there, driving the second Jeep as close as he could get through the crowd. John grabbed Daniel, who was settling in for a little payback, swinging his plaster cast into every bearded head he could find. Bahktar’s men were scattering. “Get in the vehicle, now!” He grabbed Sam. “Get Abdullah in the vehicle. Leave the cello if you have to!” Gabriel had not moved, his hands around Bahktar’s throat, squeezing harder and harder.

John put his hand on Gabriel’s chest, over his heart, felt the rocking of his breath, the strong beating heart of the man he loved the most in the world. “Time to go home,” he said, and Gabriel threw Bahktar away from him, grabbed John’s hand, and ran.

Wylie punched the gas pedal, and they careened down the highway toward the airport. There was no sound inside the Jeep other than ragged breathing. John reached over the seat and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “You are the best fucking aide a retired general ever had, and I mean, ever, Sam Brightman.” And Sam put his face down in his hands and choked down a sob.

Daniel slung an arm over his shoulder. “Holy shit, Sam, what’s Himself gonna say when we tell him you saved the day?” They were piled all over each other, and Daniel had ended up in Sam’s lap. “Jesus, Brightman, you got a gun in that pocket, or you just happy to see me?”

T
HEY
got to the airport without killing anyone. John spotted the first Jeep, surrounded by black vehicles, heavy sedans with black windows and bulletproof glass, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. He was halfway out the door, Gabriel holding on to him, when he saw Greg Mortimer. Oh, thank God, they were from the embassy. The crew piled out of the vehicles, and Jen ran to Sam, slugged him and then let him pick her up like she was a little doll. John walked over to Greg, shook his hand. “I owe you a debt, my friend, that I may never be able to repay. You can call on me anytime.”

Greg smiled at Gabriel. “I just wanted to be here to see the Horse-Lord’s face when the transpo gets here. You’re gonna love this, John.”

“Yeah?” They heard the low rhythmic thump, then, the sound of a big helicopter’s rotors. Gabriel had trained him to understand this was the primal erotic sound in the universe. A Sikorsky Super Stallion came into view, flying low, a CH-53 with the logo of the Black Stallions on the nose. Gabriel started laughing, walked toward the bird with his arms spread, his big chest wide open, no vest, his heart open to a bullet, or a knife. One of the pilots climbed down from the bird after they touched down, ran across the tarmac and jumped into his arms. Not a knife, John thought, or a bullet. The biggest heart, open to the beautiful world.

T
HEY
were in the Officer’s Club in Sigonella, and Jen was plastered, dancing on the bar with a baby chopper pilot. She was wearing a white tee shirt with BIG DICK scrawled across it in black magic marker. It had been a unanimous vote, while Jen shoved meatballs into her mouth. Sam had glowered quietly when one of the pilots had lovingly written the honor across her chest. John pulled Abdullah aside, assured him that his cello would be retrieved, the Director would keep it safe, but Abdullah had just hugged him. “It’s okay, Uncle John. I am so glad we’re out of there. Really, really glad. You just can’t imagine.”

John patted him on the back. “Yeah, buddy. I can imagine.” The phone buzzed in his pocket, and John read the text message from Mr. Aziz. Everyone was safe and all was well at the Regency, and the general was welcome to come back for a visit anytime!

Gabriel was hip deep in pilots, the younger guys wanting to get a look at one of the legends, to hear some of the war stories first hand. John could hear him cackling, the way he laughed when he was well on his way to the bottom of a long tall glass of tequila. Eli and Kim were in the corner, looking through the photos Kim had managed to snap of their beautiful kite project. John came over and joined them, looked at some of the pics, the bright colors of the kites against the blue sky, the children’s happy faces, Eli and the director smiling at each other. “I just want to say that you two are the most amazing kids. I think you are fucking brilliant, and I want both of you to finish school. Kim, you need your doctorate, pronto, in something, I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Eli, you’re going to be a great Islamic scholar one day, and I am so proud of you boys. Very, very proud. I just wanted to tell you.”

Kim put a tender arm around his shoulder. “Uncle John, you’re getting tanked! How many margaritas have you had?”

“I don’t know, Kim. I am going to bed soon, though. I’m tired. It’s been a long couple of days. Have I told you boys how proud I am of you?”

“Yes, Uncle John. You did.”

John heard the door open, then Jen laughing like a loon. “Daddy!” John looked up. The room was spinning just a bit, but he could see David Painter’s face as clear as a bell when he looked up at the bar and saw his baby girl dirty dancing, a young pilot’s hands crawling around her waist, shaved head and BIG DICK scrawled across her tee shirt. He closed his eyes.
God’s in his heaven
, he thought,
and all’s right with the world
.

T
HEY
dropped members of the wardroom as they headed for home, Wylie and Jackson on cleanup detail in Tunis, Jen and Sam waiting for papers in Italy, Daniel to go home and see his wife and baby. John suspected it wouldn’t last, though, all the quiet. Jennifer had extracted a promise of a berth so she could come learn Arabic with Kim and Eli in something she called
The General and the Horse-Lord’s Training Camp for Young Jedis.
“That’s what we’ve been calling it,” she said, watching his face. “Kim will explain everything.”

“I am very sure he will.”

Daniel said he might come by and see Hannibal before he went back to Algeria, and he’d waved them good-bye with a new fiberglass cast in neon green. Gabriel had given him a few minor suggestions on how to talk to his wife when he got home. “It’s okay on missions, but if your mother-in-law is in the house, you’ve got to stop saying fuck all the time. They don’t like it, and they give you this look like you just farted in public. No matter how pissed off you are, you can’t complain about the mother-in-law because she was home to help and you were not. And you need to act like it’s a big deal, all the shit she had to go through alone, like going to the doctor alone. Taking care of the baby alone. Even if it’s bullshit, you know? Just let her talk. And if she acts like she doesn’t give a shit what you’ve been doing, that’s just how it is when you’ve got babies. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel said. “Can I call you?”

Gabriel punched his number into Daniel’s phone so he’d be on speed-dial.

Kim called Billy when they were on the way in from the airport. “We’re ten minutes out. You got everything ready?” Then: “Roger that”—and John had to force himself not to grin at Gabriel. When they got to the house, Kim pushed John toward the door. “I’ll get the gear. You go in and see Billy.”

He opened the door, and Billy came bolting in from the kitchen and jumped into his arms. John looked at the living room over his shoulder. The hated U shaped couch was gone, and so were the stupid little round tables and rugs. He had a new brown couch, soft caramel colored leather, with a quilt over the arm and Navajo rugs on the walls and a sheepskin on the floor, right where his feet were going to rest. There was a lamp at either end, one for him and one for Gabriel, so they could read together in good light. The coffee table was made from a rough slab of juniper, and there was a pile of books waiting to be read. He wrapped his arms around Billy, hugged him, looked back at Kim. He was watching from the back of the car, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. John nodded at him, set Billy down, and went into the house. He sat down on his new couch, put his feet on the warm sheepskin rug, and turned on the light.

S
ARAH
B
LACK
writes short fiction and romance and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Sarah is a retired Naval Officer and lives in Boise, Idaho.

Visit her website at http://www.sarahblackwrites.com or contact her at [email protected].