Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 (46 page)

 
          
In
reply he drew her to him and hugged her as if he would never let go.

Dubai
,
United Arab Emirates

THAT SAME DAY

 
          
The
pallbearers were all in uniform, and they carried the wooden coffin with
military precision down the street about a mile to the military cemetery. The
coffin was open, the body of the UAE commando in full dress uniform, draped
with the flag of both the UAE and of the emirate of Dubai, and piled high with
flowers atop the flags. Along the way, mourners stopped and bowed their heads.
Some touched their fingers to their lips and held them up to the passing
coffin; a few even touched the coffin itself, or the shoulder of one of the
bearers.

 
          
The
procession was led by Riza Behrouzi, acting as representative of the Emir
himself, but custom dictated that she walk behind the air forces commander, the
highest-ranking military man in the procession, and be with the commando’s wife
and family. The commando’s wife walked straight, her head uplifted, her chin
strong, as did her three children; again, per custom, the commando’s mother
cried openly and loudly, announcing the heroic death of her son to every
stranger she encountered on her way to the grave site.

 
          
Behrouzi
didn’t notice at first, but soon she realized that the air forces commander was
whispering excitedly to one of his aides. Riza looked up and, to her
astonishment, saw two rows of U.S. Marines on the side of the road leading into
the cemetery—and there, standing in the center of the road in front of the
cemetery gates, was Hal Briggs himself, dressed in his Air Force class-A
uniform, wearing his Rangers beret. He and his Marines wore side arms in
ceremonial white web belts—it was highly illegal for foreigners to carry
weapons in the emirate of Dubai, even U.S. soldiers—and the Marines also
carried ceremonial swords at carry-arms. Riza immediately realized that the eight
Marines present were the ones that had been rescued from the Iranian prison in
Chah Bahar!

 
          
The
procession stopped several yards from Briggs, unsure whether or not to
continue, not knowing if these armed Americans might be a threat. The air
forces commander looked as if he were going to explode with indignation and
anger for interrupting their procession in this manner, but before he could do
or say anything, Briggs commanded,
“Detail,
render arms”—the Marines lowered their swords, spinning the hilts so they
gleamed in the sunlight— “hu!” and the Marines raised their sword hilts to
their chins, the blades angled above them toward the casket. Briggs saluted the
coffin, held it for a long moment, lowered it, then ordered,
“'Detail,
ready” —they lowered their
swords again, spinning them as they extended them again—“hu!” and they placed
them again pointing up in front of their shoulders at carry-arms position. On a
final command from Briggs, the detail sheathed their swords and returned to
attention.

 
          
The
air forces commander from Dubai could stand this interruption no longer, and he
stormed over to Briggs, stood just a few inches in front of his face, and began
to scream epithets at him in Arabic and English. Briggs just stood there at
attention, eyes caged, face completely impassive. “I order you, whoever you
are, to stand aside and let us pass!” the air forces commander spat in English,
“and then I will see to it that you are removed from this country in
disgrace!”

           
“Yes,
sir,
” Briggs said. He saluted and moved to step aside...

 
          
.
. . but Riza Behrouzi caught his arm. “You and your men will accompany us to
the grave site, Major Briggs,” she said. “It is so ordered.”

 
          
“Briggs?
This
is Major Harold Briggs, the one
who led the expedition into Iran, the one who got our men
killed?”
the colonel said in Arabic. “This incompetent ass dares
bring his men to this holy place?”

 
          
“It
is a great honor to have them here, Colonel,” Behrouzi said. She motioned to
the Marines on the side of the road. “These are the men that were rescued by
our soldier’s heroism. They have come to pay their respects to their comrade.”

 
          
“They
have done so, then,” the colonel said. “Now get them out of my sight
immediately! ”

 
          
“Sir,
I have one last request. ..,” Briggs said.

 
          
“You
will remain silent! ”

 
          
“I
will hear it, Colonel,” Behrouzi said. “It is an order.” The dead commando’s
mother had a look of sheer horror on her face at the sight of a woman, even
such a high-ranking woman as Behrouzi, raising her voice to a military officer.
“What is your request, Major?”

 
          
“Thank
you, ma’am,” Briggs said. By way of reply, he raised his voice and said,
“Detail,
take positions of honor,
hu.”
And at that, the Marines stepped
forward to the casket direcdy beside each pallbearer, close enough to touch the
casket but not so close as to block their way.

 
          
“What
is this ... no,
no,
I forbid it!” the
air forces commander retorted.

 
          
But
at that same moment, one of the UAE pallbearers looked into the eyes of the
Marine next to him, nodded, and allowed the Marine to take his position. The
Marine put the casket of the dead commando on his shoulders; the UAE pallbearer
touched his fingers to his lips, touched the
Dubai
flag, and stepped away, taking a position
beside the American at attention.

 
          
“This
is strictly forbidden! This is not permitted! This is an insult!” But one by
one, the Marines were allowed to take the UAE pallbearers’ places, until the
casket was completely borne by armed U.S. Marines.

 
          
“It
appears as if your men have decided that their dead should be carried to his
final resting place on the shoulders of American Marines,” Behrouzi said in
Arabic. “It is not your position or mine to argue.” The dead commando’s mother
was still wailing away, more from fear, protest, and confusion now than sorrow,
but a stern glance from Behrouzi and a defeated look from the colonel silenced
her outrage. “Major Briggs, take your place at the head of the procession as
commander of the detail of honor.”

 
          
Briggs
saluted again, then stepped over in front of Behrouzi and the dead man’s
family, in a position to the left and one pace behind the air forces commander.
Before he did so, he turned to the dead commando’s family, bowed his head, and
rendered a salute. “On behalf of my men and their families, madam, thank you
for your sacrifice. God bless you and your country,” Briggs said in a low
voice, then once again saluted and bowed his head. His words, understood or
not, were accepted by the widow, and his salute was returned proudly by the
dead man’s eldest son.

 
          
The
procession continued, to the astonishment of the onlookers, into the cemetery,
where no non-Muslim had ever before set foot, and the ceremony continued in
peace.

 
          
“That
was a very beautiful thing you did today, Leopard,” Behrouzi said that evening.
She had invited him to dinner at her quarters at Mina Jebel Ali air base in
Dubai. “Thank you. It was a thing no Dubai soldier will soon forget.”

           
“I tried to get permission to attend
the funeral, but no one would return my calls,” Briggs said. “I finally decided
just to do it, just show up. I’m sorry if it embarrassed the colonel.”

 
          
“He
is one of those hard-liners who believe in nothing but religious and ethnic
purity,” Behrouzi said. “They are not just in places like Iran or Saudi Arabia.
He may squawk to the Emir all he wants— the soldiers support what you did, and
the Emir loves all his troops.” She gave him a satisfied smile, and added,
“Again, you see, when you know something is right and you take the initiative,
you can succeed.”

 
          
“I
don’t feel as if we’re succeeding at all, Riza,” Briggs said. “The Iranians
still have Colonel White, and now they’ve declared martial law and are trying
to seal off the Persian Gulf. Most of America hardly knows what’s going on out
here. They know oil prices are skyrocketing and Iran has been shooting off a
few missiles at shadows, but no one in my country realizes how close we are to
a global crisis. Hell, half of America couldn’t find Dubai, the United Arab
Emirates, the Gulf of Oman, or the Strait of Hormuz on a map, even though half
their oil passes through those places every day! ”

 
          
“You
are beginning to sound like a tired, bitter old soldier, like the ones that sit
out in the marketplace every day smoking their hookah pipes, fingering their
worry beads, making up stories about fantasy exploits in batde, and complaining
about everything and everybody, especially know-nothing civilians,” Behrouzi
said with a heart-churning laugh. “We chose this life, Hal Briggs. Being a
soldier means being a servant to the state, a servant of the people. Our
training and experiences give us knowledge of the world that is foreign to our
own people, and it can be frustrating. Do not give in to your frustrations. You
have learned to fight well—you must learn how to live—and love—well, too.”

 
          
Briggs
smiled and nodded at Riza. He looked at the untouched beer on the table. Where
Riza had found any alcoholic beverage, much less his favorite beer, here in the
heart of Muslim Arabia, he had no idea. “I’ve got to be going ...”

 
          
“The
briefing is not until twenty hundred,” Behrouzi said. “We have time.”

 
          
“I
should see to my troops.”

 
          
“You
have trained them, counseled them, and fed them today— let them enjoy a little
rest, too,” Behrouzi said. “We start all over again tomorrow night. Tonight
belongs to the living, to
us
—at least
for the next forty-five minutes.” She rose, took his hands, and helped him to
his feet. “For the next forty-five minutes, I am yours to do as you wish,
Leopard,” Behrouzi said. She untied a pale yellow silk scarf from around her
neck, letting it fall beside her breasts, and she followed his gaze as his eyes
explored her body. “I am
your
prisoner.”

 
          
Behrouzi
turned her back to Hal Briggs, then removed her blouse, keeping the silk scarf
across her neck. She then felt Briggs’s strong hands on her shoulders,
massaging her shoulders, then her arms, then her breasts from behind. He
slipped her brassiere off her shoulders, lightly touching her naked breasts,
barely touching the skin. The almost imperceptible touch of a finger against her
erect nipples was so exquisite that it made her gasp. Still from behind, he
removed her boots, then her slacks and underwear, and he gently touched her
skin, softly exploring every inch of her body.

 
          
The
room was cold, but his fingers felt as if they were on fire. He did not squeeze
her, just continued touching her here and there. It was like some sort of
exotic torture technique—she longed, then ached, then begged to be grasped. But
he didn’t stop. His fingers gently touched her buttocks, then her neck, then
imperceptibly her nipples. She reached behind her, grasping for him and finding
him erect and quite hard. “Stop this torture, Leopard,” she breathed. She
reached up and looped her hands behind his neck, stretching her lean body up
and pressing her buttocks into his groin. “Take me, Leopard,
now,
please.”

 
          
Briggs
ran his fingers up along her sides, gently around her breasts, then down her
arms to her hands. Goose pimples leapt across her brown skin, and she gasped in
excitement. Kissing her neck, he clasped her hands in his, brought them down
her back near his groin again . . . then, the scarf was pulled away from her
shoulders and, before she knew it, her hands were secured behind her back with
the scarf. “Yes,” she breathed. “I am yours now, Leopard ...”

 
          
“Turn,”
he ordered.

 
          
She
slowly turned to face him, her face aching from her longing, her lips parted
from her labored breathing. Riza Behrouzi was thin, but her arm and shoulder
muscles were thick and heavily defined; her breasts were small, round, firm
globes over a smoothly muscled chest; her stomach was flat; her buttocks were
round and thin; and her legs were strong and powerfully muscled. She had an
athlete’s body, but it obviously had not been shaped in a gym or spa with
weights or fancy machines—it had been chiseled out in the harsh highlands and
deserts of the Middle East, exercised by carrying guns and cameras, and
hardened by numerous confrontations with soldiers and interrogators and
informants of many nationalities. Like his, her body was a weapon—but, at least
not for the next few precious minutes, it was not going to be used to kill or
to spy.