The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (21 page)

Lance pressed his right forefinger into the earphone to increase the seal against the skin around his ear, which improved the sound quality. The conversation he was listening to was taking place on the outskirts of Baghdad 1,986 miles away from where he sat at his listening station in Augsburg.

A commander was excoriating a subordinate in the same manner a farmer might berate and then beat a dog that had failed to protect the flock from a coyote. Lance tried like heck to concentrate on the conversation, to pick up on any between-the-lines elements that might tell a deeper tale. The commander screamed on and on about the road south from Umm Qasr. Lance didn’t need to glance up at the map pinned to the wall above the long bank of recording equipment. He had the entire region memorized.

He jotted down on his log the particulars of the conversation. The commander’s dialect placed his hometown in the vicinity of Tikrit north of Baghdad. Therefore, he was most likely a member of the extended Hussein family. No surprise he treated his underlings likes dogs.

In his previous stints at the base, Lance’s listening ears had been aimed at Eastern Europe and the disintegrating Soviet Union. Since Saddam’s march into Kuwait City on August 2
^nd
, resources had been repositioned to the Fertile Crescent.

Lance still thought it slightly humorous that he had learned both Russian and Arabic at DLI. Seibel had suggested he “double up” in his short time in Monterey. Because he learned both languages simultaneously, they often overlapped in his mind. Even though they were significantly different in their phonic and tonal origins and qualities, the languages did have some common characteristics. Mesopotamian Arabic made its way up into the “stans” just as Russian had crept down into Southwest Asia. Each had been carried by winds of colonial expansion, and of course, human brutality.

Since August, Arabic had taken preeminence. After returning to Augsburg from the gig in Jeddah, Lance found himself a hot commodity. He was immediately tasked with spending every available hour listening in on transmissions as the radio operators brought new frequencies and transmissions online. In the two weeks he’d been back in Germany, he had put in 16 to 18-hour days eavesdropping. His only day off had been a 26-hour overnight trip to a top-secret facility in the Balkans where he spent a little over an hour with his new friend Hassan al-Bakr and then three hours with Seibel and Fuchs reviewing the Jeddah operation. The meeting with al-Bakr in an undisclosed location three days ago still occupied his mind, kept getting in the way of his undivided attention on his interception and translation duties. He knew the session with the prisoner was yet another test engineered by Seibel. Part of the learning process; no surprise there.

Lance received nothing but utter and unabashed respect from al-Bakr when he walked into the interview room. He had been told in advance by the Arab assassin’s interrogators to expect to be spit upon and cursed at in the most profane manner. Al-Bakr’s left wrist was chained to the floor. No reason to chain the right, of course. First of all, there was no wrist and second, the elbow was shattered with tendons and ligaments ripped and torn. He couldn’t see the man’s legs because of the table, but the damaged right knee was down there somewhere.

He was greeted instead with a smile. The first thing al-Bakr did was painfully raise his bandaged right stump and break into outright laughter. “You really did a number on me.” Al-Bakr blurted out in English while trying to stand. His arm was in a sling, but had not been set in a cast as it should have been. All part of the breaking process, of course.

“That was something.” Lance spoke in Arabic and sat in the chair across the table from his new friend. “Got caught up in the moment I think.”

“Surely you did. I was sure I had you with my blade and then a moment later, my skull nearly crushed and my hand gone – poof.” Al-Bakr used his left hand and opened all his fingers to make the international poof sign. The chain rattled as he raised the hand slightly. “You were too fast, I think maybe too young and strong for me. I guess I’m getting old.”

“I just reacted. No conscious thought or planning. I suppose I didn’t like nearly having a knife in my chest. So I don’t think I’ll apologize.” They let the moment hang there, just looking at each other.

“Of course not.” Al-Bakr broke the silence. “Why are you here my young friend? Hopefully not to join these dogs in their amateur torture games.” Lance thought about that for a moment and envisioned al-Bakr torturing others in an expert and extremely brutal manner. He imagined how a professional butcher like al-Bakr viewed with disdain the unprofessional manner in which his interrogation had been conducted.

“Actually, they did bring me here to ask you a few questions.” Lance added.

“So the information they are getting from me through other means has been deemed unreliable?”

Lance sat back and took in al-Bakr as a whole, at least from the waist up. He had watched from behind a small two-way mirror a few minutes earlier as two interrogators worked together to question the detainee. One of them had stepped behind al-Bakr and pulled his hair, snapping his head back. They had not struck him in the few minutes Lance watched. But looking at al-Bakr now, he could see multiple wounds that had been administered in the two weeks since he was captured in Jeddah. The right side of his face was swollen and bruised. A small gash above his right eye was fresh enough not to have scabbed over. Bruises around his neck indicated trauma. His one remaining pinky finger had been broken and not set. All this on top of the damage Lance had inflicted in Jeddah. Basically, the Arab assassin was a mess. But he wasn’t broken; far from it.

“From what I hear, they haven’t extracted much from you at all.” Lance answered after some delay. He had spoken with Fuchs for a few minutes in the next room. But the conversation was short, hesitant. Felt to Lance like Fuchs only told him what he was supposed to; as if from a script. The rest was up to him once he entered the room. Another in Seibel’s endless tests.

“I have provided names, locations, phone numbers.” Al-Bakr added.

“But nothing of real use. Just periphery. Second and third-rate players.” Lance replied.

“So what do you want to ask me?” The smile grew again on al-Bakr’s face.

“I’m only interested in one thing.” Lance smiled and continued to lean back in his chair.

“Shall I guess what that is?”

“Please do.”

“My bet would be that you are interested in al-Ghamdi activities in Kuwait.”

“Close,” Lance leaned forward and put his elbows on the metal table. “I’m interested in your activities in Kuwait.”

“But I work-,” he stopped for a moment to correct the statement. “Worked for al-Ghamdi. All of my efforts have been to assist in the growth of business, security and relationships for my employer.”

“Come on. I only got to see a handful of files and your work went way beyond al-Ghamdi. I’ll go as far as saying al-Ghamdi was your cover, your puppet.”

“Please do not disrespect such a man. He is surely with Allah now.” And with that, Lance had his unexpected opening.

“Oh, like ‘please don’t spray my brains all over my car.’ That kind of disrespect?”

“I was merely saving him from my fate. I knew that he would not do well in a situation such as this,” he waved around the room for effect; the chain rattled. “He would not last long here. He was strong, but in business and negotiations, not in this way.”

“So what you did was humane. What about the other two gentlemen in that car? Do you think they appreciated your act of humanity?”

Al-Bakr let that thought run through his mind for a moment. It was clear to Lance that this killer had not given one moment to the memory of the other two men he executed at extremely close range. So close that their blood had spattered his face. “They were good men. Men I hired and trusted and they would surely appreciate my concern for them.”

Lance’s smile widened. “Man. You’re quite a friend.”

“To those who earn my trust.” Al-Bakr replied.

“Great. So let’s get back to Kuwait. Do you think you are going to find it in yourself to tell us a little more about what we need to know.”

“I have told you what you need to know. All of it.” The Saudi sat back to signify his act of sharing, his openness. “Everything.”

“You know what, I’m no good at this interrogation stuff. I don’t really know why they brought me here. As if seeing me might put fear in you, right?” Lance sat back.

“Maybe something like that. Maybe to remind me of this,” he held up his stump. The act of moving the arm caused him significant pain. “As if I need reminding.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it. Sitting here, I think the reason I’m here is to let me see a dead man. Talk to a dead man, breath the same air as a dead man. I think I’m really here for my benefit. It’s part of my education, my learning.”

Al-Bakr rubbed his beard for a moment. The act of doing it with his left hand obviously still foreign to the assassin. “Interesting. Not a bad hypothesis. I know I’m a dead man. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I won’t leave here no matter what they say or promise me in exchange for more information.”

“Right.” Lance nodded his head in agreement. “Dead is dead, whether today or tomorrow or next year. When you accept it, you come to peace, right?”

“Exactly. It is peaceful. As if nothing can touch me.” And with that, Lance pounced on the opening al-Bakr exposed a minute earlier.

“Until Izrail comes for you, heh?” Lance sent up a trial balloon.

“Ah, yes. The Day of Judgment is not far away for me. I am ready.”

“For the fires of hell, right?”

“No, no. Paradise. I will surely be shown into Paradise by the angels.” The assassin smiled.

“What the-? Are you serious?” Lance’s procerus went to work tugging his eyebrows together.

“Of course.”

Lance played up incredulous. “You’re the definition of an evildoer. Your personal angel has recorded what, 40, 50 deaths by your hand. You are a murderer, torturer, adulterer. Your sins against Allah are almost countless.”

“Disbelievers. Infidels. Their deaths were just, ordained. I did Allah’s will.” Al-Bakr was dismissive to a fault.

“Jeez. You don’t believe any of that. I don’t think you believe in heaven or hell or even Allah. You’ve never cracked open a Quran, except maybe to pull out some papers to wipe your nose. Nothing you’ve done indicates any actions within the pillars of faith. Come on.” Lance sat forward and put his arms on the table to bring himself just a foot or so from al-Bakr.

The effect of Lance’s comments was immediate and obvious. Al-Bakr had never been spoken to in this way. Had never been disrespected in such a blasphemous manner. He went from ice cold to boiling behind his eyes. Lance saw it and knew he had a wedge.

“Do not blaspheme me or God.” Al-Bakr sputtered.

“Me blaspheme you? Hell, I’m a better Muslim than you and I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Infidel! Demon.” Al-Bakr gave away a weak spot. Lance didn’t hesitate to advance the conversation and take advantage of this momentary weakness. He, unlike his adversary, knew every word of the Quran.

“Yes, you are. An infidel. A disbeliever in the scriptures. Your life is a sin and when Izrail comes for you in a matter of days, your soul will be ripped from you and cast into hell for all eternity. I have no doubt about that my friend.”

Al-Bakr struggled at the chains, tore at his handcuffs in an effort to rise. He kicked at the chair he sat in, but it was bolted to the floor and didn’t budge. The pain he felt in his right knee and right arm stump were evident, but he was possessed. He slammed his damaged right arm on the table. The pain was excruciating but he had lost control.

Lance was a little baffled by this display. Surely the interrogators had tried this ploy with their pseudo-Islamic captive. Lance stayed right where he was as al-Bakr struggled and screamed and breathed fire in his direction. Exasperated, the assassin collapsed back into the chair. He pulled his right arm to his chest and brought up his left arm to cradle it.