The Aden Effect (27 page)

After a slight bend in the road Mutahar's home came into view atop a hill in the distance. Golzari had to admit that Stark had been correct. This was no simple house. It was a palace with gleaming walls of adobe and coral, and a well-guarded one, at that. A series of one-story arches accentuated the front of the main three-story building, with a three-story arch in the middle. As the embassy SUV came closer, Golzari could see that these weren't simple arches, they were
iwans
—soaring vaulted doorways that opened into a central atrium. Above the middle arch rose a tower two stories taller than the rest of the house. At each corner of the tower was a minaret-like structure that stretched another sixty feet or so into the desert sky. Intricate latticework adorned the edges of every wall and window opening. A large rose-patterned medallion of stained glass glowed above the central arch. The sections on either side of the tower extended backward in graceful curves.

A thick two-story wall with inset guard posts protected the entire complex fifty yards out from the palace, enclosing some smaller single-story buildings within its confines as well. Armed guards patrolled a barbed-wire fence two hundred yards farther out.

Golzari couldn't distinguish the plants at this distance, but the grounds inside the inner wall were green with lush gardens and extensive grasslands. He stopped the car.

“What are you doing?” Stark said.

“I'm waiting for information. No bullshit, Stark. Who the hell is this guy?”

“I told you, a friend. I had dinner with him the day you followed me. He's a member of the ruling family.”

Gunnery Sergeant Willis' story about Stark saving the life of a member of the ruling family popped into Golzari's mind. He also knew, based on the report Posh Robert had let him see in London, that Abdi Mohammed Asha's khat had arrived in Boston on a ship owned by a member of the ruling family. Stark had friends in high places, all right. And maybe, just maybe, this Visigoth had stumbled onto or was part of something important.

Golzari had to agree that Stark was safe inside the estate. He was a guest in a well-protected enclosure, and Arab hospitality was legendary in this region of the world.

“Let's go, Golzari. And remember, I can still defend myself. Three Somalis in Scotland could attest to that if they were still alive,” Stark snapped. “With your mighty protection added in,” he added sarcastically, “I'm invincible.”

Something else clicked in Golzari's mind. “Wait. Three Somalis from Birmingham?”

“Yeah, at least one was. How did you know that?”

“From a source who was apparently referring to you. I just now made the connection. Do you know anything about them or why they attacked you?”

“Not specifically. But I've been in this region before. It might have been a hit.”

“Ordered by the pirates? Why you?”

“There's a top Ali Baba. Some people refer to him as a pirate king, but that's probably not an accurate interpretation. I thought a lot about it on the helicopter ride back to Sana'a. The attack the other night wasn't on the supply ships—it went directly after the
Kirkwall
. Why mess with an armed ship when there are other unprotected boats out there ripe for the taking? The pirates haven't bothered any of Maddox's boats since he started using armed guard ships.”

“What was different?”

“Nothing, except that I was on it. I figure they were after me, just like in Scotland. Which means someone knew I was going to be on that ship at that time and got word to the pirates.”

“We've got a leak, then. It could be someone in the embassy, in Maddox's company, or the Yemenis.”

“You're right. It's going to take some time to pin down, though.”

Golzari had an idea. “You don't want me to protect you, and I don't want to protect you, right?” he said.

“Brilliant observation.”

“And you're safe with your friend Mutahar?”

“Of course.”

“All right. I'm dropping you off and coming back tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” Stark asked.

“Sightseeing,” said Golzari.

“The ambassador won't like it if she finds out we split up.”

“Does she have to find out?”

“Not unless something happens to one of us,” noted Stark.

“Then let's make certain nothing does, shall we?”

“It's a deal.”

Faisal al-Yemeni was the first person off the
Suleiman
after it tied up at the pier. Still smelling of sweat and diesel fumes, he wore the long white cotton shirt and baggy brown pants torn at the knees that he had worn for the entire voyage. The money he had made from piracy—not to mention his family's wealth—would have purchased fine clothes, but Faisal eschewed such luxuries. Money spent on frivolous clothing or fancy cars was money he could not use for more important things.

“Welcome back!” Ahmed al-Ghaydah said, dropping his arms as soon as he realized his embrace was not being returned. “Asha al-Antoci is here at the hotel, Faisal.”

“Take me there.”

The hotel was only a short drive from the pier. Asha wasn't there when Faisal entered the eighth-floor room, so he showered and put on one of the spare sets of clothing he kept at the hotel. The arrangement worked well. He and those who worked for him always paid the hotel in cash so there was no way to trace them. Every member of the concierge staff was paid well to notify them if any questions were asked about them.

When Asha returned from an Internet café half an hour later, he found Faisal on the balcony, staring at the ocean.

Faisal embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “It has been too long, Abdi Mohammed.”

“It is good to be here. Hu put me in a cesspool of a city that was as cold as the Americans' hearts.”

“Does your return mean that Hu is ready for you?”

“You don't know? Ahmed al-Ghaydah didn't tell you?” Both men looked at al-Ghaydah, who sat on one of the room's double beds chewing khat like a sheep. He raised his shoulders and shrugged.

Asha and Faisal exchanged looks of disgust. Faisal closed the door to the balcony so that al-Ghaydah couldn't hear them, and the men caught up on events that had transpired since Asha had been spirited away to the United States.

“So neither of our attacks worked,” Asha said when he had finished telling Faisal of the foiled attack in Sana'a.

“Not completely,” Faisal said, “but we had some success. We sank one of their well-armed mercenary ships and killed the Americans' military adviser. They fear us now even more than before, and they know that their navy cannot protect them. They will not stay here much longer. And then we will have won.”

“
Inshallah
, Faisal,
inshallah,
” Asha said. “But al-Amriki told Hu that the military adviser and others survived.”

“Al-Amriki! American pig! Why trust a man whose face I've never seen? It's foolish to think an American would help us, Asha. If it were not for Hu I would have nothing to do with him.”

“I know what he looks like,” Asha said.

“How do you know? Have you seen him, then?”

“Hu told me. When we were on his plane after leaving America. He wouldn't give al-Amriki's name, but he said that it disgusted him to have to work with a fat American barbarian with hideous red hair and a name like a color. He said the man holds a very powerful position and will help us reach our goal.”

“I'm surprised Hu said even that much. Perhaps he was misleading you,” Faisal offered.

Asha shrugged. Hu was a mystery to him. All Chinese were. Soon,
inshallah
, he would be back in Somalia among people he knew and understood. “Perhaps. But tell me more about how you sank the Americans' ship.”

“I used the new remote-controlled skiffs loaded with explosives. I tell you, Abdi, they are going to change the face of the Gulf. Everyone will fear us.”

“But you said your ship stayed a long distance away. Don't you have to be close to operate the boats?”

Faisal grinned. “Yes, but that is our secret weapon. We have a small helicopter that we keep in the Chinese compound on Socotra. The controller is in the helicopter. This was the first time we used it.”

“When did you develop this system?”

“Recently. The Chinese helped us. One of them told me that they like to test their products in various parts of the world. We are happy to help them do that. But what of the American agent you spoke of, Abdi, who followed you from America to London to Yemen? He stopped an attack that should have been successful. He is a threat to us all.”

“He recognized me,” Asha said. “He is indeed a threat.”

“You also recognized him,” said Faisal. “And so we will kill him when the opportunity arrives.” He opened the door into the hotel room and motioned Asha inside. “Come. We will eat. After that, I will return you here and leave for my father's home. I will be there for two days. He is having a big meeting and wants both of his loving sons there.” He slipped on a new pair of sandals and walked toward the door.

“I will go with you,” Ahmed al-Ghaydah said, rising from the bed. “I'm hungry.”

“You will go nowhere,” Asha admonished him. “You will stay here, out of trouble.”

“Yes, Ahmed,” Faisal agreed. “Stay here. My bag is there. Take it back to the office with you tomorrow. I will pick it up there when I return. Try not to do anything wrong.”

Ahmed pouted and stuck another wad of khat into his mouth.

After they were outside the room, Faisal turned to Asha and whispered, “Our business with Ahmed is almost done. We will draw lots tonight to see who has the honor of killing the fool.”

Bill Maddox was waiting for C. J. Sumner and her three Marine escorts at the Hadiboh airfield on Socotra.

She smiled and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks for your hospitality, Bill.”

“My pleasure, Madam Ambassador. Hop in. These two SUVs are the best rides on the entire island.”

The Ford Explorers left the airstrip and drove into the middle of the town, although such a small place hardly merited that title. Hadiboh was more a cluster of huts and superficial structures than a real town. A rundown building served as a primitive hospital. C. J. led the way inside and looked around for someone to give permission to speak with victims of the earthquake.

All twelve of the beds the old facility could accommodate were occupied. Mats had been placed around the beds for other patients. On the nearest slept a young girl who looked no older than ten. With no one she could identify as medical personnel in sight, C. J. knelt next to the girl, who awoke at her presence.

“Hello,” C. J. said in English. When the girl just looked at her she tried a greeting in Arabic. Still nothing.

“She does not understand Arabic,” a baritone voice behind her said in heavily accented English. “She does not understand it because what is spoken on the island is not Arabic but Socotri.” The owner of the baritone voice, a tired-looking man of perhaps forty, then said something to the little girl, who struggled to reply.

“She says that her family was killed. A neighbor found her and brought her to town.”

“Is she being treated?”

“The doctor is away treating victims elsewhere. These people were told to wait.”

C. J. brushed the dirty, sweaty hair away from the girl's face. “Can you find some clean water and a towel?” When these appeared she soaked the cloth and gently cleaned the little girl's face. The child smiled, and C. J. felt her heart melt. When she stood and looked around at the other patients, she saw that some were young and some were old, but all had the same look of despair. “I should have come here before,” she whispered, more to herself than to the others.

The group drove from the hospital to a spot outside the town where Maddox stopped the vehicles again and told everyone to get out. C. J. walked up to stand beside him. “This is the new development you told me about, Bill?”

“I'm afraid so, C. J.”

Before her stood a
paifang
, a smaller version of the Chinese archways she had seen in Washington's Chinatown and many other parts of the world. The
paifang
was clearly of recent construction. Its paint—shocking red, vibrant gold—was still pristine.

“When did the Chinese get here?”

“A small ship arrived offshore a couple of weeks ago bringing people and supplies. They're operating out of an old Soviet base down the road.”

“The Soviets really did have a base on Socotra? I thought that was just a rumor.”

“Connor could tell you more about it. The Soviets maintained an airfield near Qadub on the western side of the island during the Cold War. They used the base to refuel and resupply.”

“How many Chinese are here?”

“We figure about two hundred. They're mostly construction workers, as far as we can tell. They have easy access to any part of the island. It's only about seventy-five miles long and twenty miles wide.”