The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (25 page)

While there was no shortage of sand, wind, lung-coating fine particle dust and sun
–
endless frigging sun
–
in the vast Arabian Desert, there was a serious scarcity of US military Arab linguists. So it was that Corporal Priest arrived with other supplies and reinforcements in early December.

The Corporal had gone through an amazing transformation in the previous two months. He sported a sparse, shaggy beard, a deep tan and dark, almost black eyes. Seibel had taken Lance to a cosmetic specialist a month prior. He entered as a somewhat tan Anglo with dark brown hair and came out two days later deeply, darkly tanned with black hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and even pubic hair. His finger and toe nails had been dyed three shades darker. His teeth seven shades yellower and therefore darker. The contacts adhered to his pupils were basically permanent until they were removed surgically. Lance appeared to all the world to be an Arab.

The transformation involved significant weight loss as well. He had seen for himself in Jeddah and trips out to the surrounding towns how the desert sapped excess body weight from those who lived in this arid climate. He dropped from 178 to 159 pounds and felt more cheetah than lion. He retained muscle, but dropped all excess fat.

Also required from this transformation was adherence to the tenets to Islam. Lance took on this role with gusto. He had learned during his Arabic language training that words and their meanings were deeply tied to Islam. He took this cue and integrated all aspects of the religion into his daily life, through diet, exercise and prayer. He was on his knees before Allah five times each day. A darkened bruise at the top of his forehead was evidence of his devout life. He went entire days and weeks without speaking English. To fully understand the words of the Quran, they must be read and lived in Arabic.

He told anyone who asked and anyone who ordered him to shave his beard that it was necessary to form stronger relationships with the Saudis and Iraqis when allied forces eventually moved over the border.

The company’s captain, Reese, a hard ass from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, wasn’t satisfied with Lance’s answer and wanted the beard gone
pronto
. He wouldn’t have anyone in his outfit looking like a slob. Lance was very respectful but was also very insistent on keeping the beard. If the Captain had any problems, he could call General Hardwick at Centcom who had personally signed Corporal Priest’s deployment papers. This was of course a bluff, but Lance loved saying it to officers who had nothing better to do than ride a poor corporal’s ass when there were much bigger issues facing US forces in this “godforsaken desert.”

In his endless hours of Arabic language studies over the past couple of years, a deep understanding of the desert and Islam and the interconnections of these two was a continuing theme. Lance had come to this land as much a Muslim as anything else. Hell, he knew more about the religion than he did any other. Raised Mormon and moved to the buckle of the Bible Belt in Texas and then Oklahoma, he had been exposed to Christian beliefs his whole life. Islam offered a different communion with God.

It wasn’t hard though to see the cultural strife between US Army personnel and local Saudis. There was conditional respect for neighbors from the Arab hosts; and general, sometimes overt, disdain shown by the US visitors. “Towel heads” and “camel jockies” were common colloquialisms used by the “Ugly Americans.” Lance stayed quiet and continued to soak it all in. Walking among the locals in Hafar al-Batin, a tiny village along Highway 85 where the squads, platoons, companies and battalions comprising the 24
^th
Infantry Division had built camp, he absorbed the language, the culture of the desert. Lance mingled with locals whenever possible, making friends daily and pissing off commanding officers something fierce. He pissed off many others as he stayed in character.

A few days after arriving, he was climbing into his bunk after praying when he was approached by a small group of soldiers wanting to know just “what the hell he was doing here?” Was he American or a heebie jeebie? Lance played it cool and told the three testosterone junkies that America was a coat of many colors stitched together in one big cape that covered everyone in warmth and comfort.

They laughed and stepped in close for a little “rastlin” with the newbie. The other soldiers in the barracks sat up on their bunks to watch the show, expecting to see a little ass-kickin. Lance was still in his thawb while his new friends were down to pants and t-shirts. The closest guy swung for Lance’s gut with a hard right. He was more than a little surprised when he hit nothing but solid mass in Lance’s midsection. The shot stung, but Lance didn’t show it. He smiled at the blow and gave each a look and a moment to let them think about this.

His Arab accent disappeared, replaced by a smooth Oklahoma drawl, “Boys, do you really wanna dance?” His smile was even smoother.

The private second-class in the middle began to wind up for a punch. Preacher exploded with three straight and sharp blows. Each started from his toes, of course.

First to the one in the middle’s throat, second to the groin of the guy who’d just punched him, and lastly, a shot right below the sternum for the ringleader on the right. Three simple blows, delivered silently with blazing speed and yes, decisiveness. Delivered with such force that all three went down to knees and then on their sides. Each stunned and unable to make a sound. Lance thought his Brazilian Copoeira and Jiu Jitsu instructor at a special academy he attended for five long weeks outside Rio de Janeiro would have been pleased with the speed, brevity and effectiveness of the moves.

He bent down on his knee to ask the private who had punched him if he was okay. He told them all he hated to resort to violence but hoped they understood he didn’t come all this way to take a beating from his fellow Americans. He was here to give Saddam and his buddies a good
whoopin
, not his fellow Americans.

A few other soldiers came over to help the three up. They had expected more entertainment and a different outcome. But each had been given the same message about their new bunkmate.
Don’t
.

The platoon gathered around. Lance immediately fell back into his Arabian-English accent and proceeded to tell them all a few stories about the desert and camels and Bedouin women. He told how he had come to America from Jeddah as a teenager and worked as a busboy and dishwasher in restaurants in Fort Worth while finishing high school. His uncle, who owned several convenience stores had paid to bring him over to give him a shot at the American dream. Lance made up the stories there on the spot. But man, these fellas enjoyed them. His telling of his first time cruising Camp Bowie Boulevard in Fort Worth to pick up chicks on a Friday night had them all laughing hysterically. They made him retell the story again at lights-out when everyone had returned from patrol.

Corporal Priest was told he was to be at the disposal of Captain Reese 24/7. When Reese didn’t need him around, he could do whatever he wanted. But when the Captain called, he better come running. Reese had been frustrated for weeks not able to adequately communicate with Arab unit commanders.

Lance accompanied Captain Reese and other leaders, including a mash-up of Majors, Colonels and the occasional General, on visits with their Arab counterparts. They came to trust Lance, or Amjad, as he called himself in Muslim company, for his translation skills. He not only capably imparted the spoken words, but their deeper meanings. For some reason, he was able to see things, details others couldn’t. And because he was always reverential with Arabs, they shared more details.

During one particular excursion 25 miles north toward the Kuwait border, Lance asked that the motorcade stop so he could talk with a small band of Bedouins camped out a hundred yards off the road. Major Elles allowed it and ordered the drivers to pull over. No one liked the idea much because they would be out in the open, but damn, you could see in all directions for miles. Sentries were sent to the front and rear as Lance, Captain Reese and Major Elles, accompanied by a few badass Rangers, trekked across the sand to the Bedouins.

Lance, dressed in his flowing robe-like thawb, led the expedition and approached several men seated in an open tent having a spot of afternoon tea. “
As-salaamu 'alaykum,” Lance had his right hand raised and his left hand over his heart as he stopped about 15 feet from the tent.

“Peace be with you.” The Arabic reply came from a haggard man with a long grey beard.

“May I speak with you on this fine day?” Lance bowed as he spoke. The Army contingent standing behind him stayed back a respectful 20 feet as Lance had asked.

“Yes. Please join us for tea.” The haggard one was obviously the leader of the nomadic band of travelers numbering 30 humans, a dozen or so camels and several dozen goats.

“Thank you. Can my leaders join us?” Lance motioned to Reese and Elles.

“Yes. Please.” The desert man stood up and motioned the four other Bedouins sitting around the teapot to make room.

Reese stopped and whispered in Lance’s ear as he passed. “Five minutes. We need to meet the Saudis in half an hour.”

“Sir,” Lance bowed his head as Reese walked by.

Reese and Elles greeted the group with a round of “Peace be with you,” just about the only Arabic they’d learned.

Lance joined them and introduced the Captain and Major to the Bedouins. Their host responded most respectfully. “Welcome, welcome to our traveling home. I am Ramses al-Anfar. We are desert people. Goat traders and goat milk, of course.” Lance translated.

“We are very pleased to meet you and gracious for your hospitality,” Lance spoke to Ramses and smiled to the four other men seated beside him. “We are guests in your land. Here to protect Arabia from invasion.”

“We have encountered many military men in recent days. Allah help us from war and keep us all from death.”

“Yes. Allah protect us all.” Lance’s response elicited a chorus of “Allah Akbar’s” from the tribesmen. Lance turned to Reese and Elles. They too bowed their heads in respect.

Reese and Elles accepted the pungent tea offered by the Bedouins and drank to their discontent. Lance accepted the small cup that hadn’t been washed in years and drank on cue. “Wonderful, wonderful,” he said and smiled to all. They smiled in satisfaction.

“We have just a few minutes before we must depart, but wanted to know if you can share any knowledge with us,” Lance kept the smile on.

“What knowledge can we impart?” Ramses raised his hands to signify his humble place in this world.

“You know the desert better than any. What can you tell us of the lands to the north? Who will we meet if we leave the road and travel across the sands?” Lance pointed northwest.

“Only Bedouins like us.” Ramses followed Lance’s gesture northwest. “Nomads, wonderers. People of the sand.”

“Anyone else traveling through recently?”

“Always strangers, but yes, there were our brothers from the north, from the old city just the other day.” Ramses added.

“The old city?”

“Baghdad.”

Lance kept the smile. “All the way down from Baghdad? Why would they be out in the desert so far from home?”

“They told us they were searching for friends. Friends lost in the sand.” Ramses let his eyebrows raise slightly with this last part.

“Friends? So far away from home? That seems strange. They must have been very lost. Allah protect them.” Lance replied with some questioning in his voice.

“Their story was not convincing, but their search was a serious matter.” The Bedouin nodded his head.

Lance let the conspiratorial notion of the Arab’s statement pervade his own response. “So they were searchers, but maybe they sought more than knowledge of their friends. Maybe they sought knowledge, like us?”

“Perhaps.” Ramses again raised his hands in submission, a humble man of Allah.

“Perhaps they were seeking information about anyone you had encountered?” Lance raised his eyebrows now.

“Everyone seeks knowledge.” At this Lance smiled and laughed. He turned to Reese and Elles.

“Our friends here came across a scout patrol the other day.”