*****
“Gentlemen, let us step out onto the terrace for some coffee and dates.”
They had finished dinner, Cameron, Ripley, Allen, General Fahd his second son Ali and the nephew, and a few of the retainers from the long trip out of Jordan. And it had been a long day. Cameron pushed back from the table as all the others did.
Fahd led them from the large dining room through the public living room and out a side door of the house, into the garden that surrounded the large villa in the center of the western row of houses in the compound. They were inside the wall of that house of course, but still the garden was big enough and full of plants and exotic trees, all watered daily by an unseen drip system. Everything was lush and in the dark still detectably green, and gave the place a cool feeling and a pleasant smell, welcome at any time compared to the harsh desert just outside the walls.
Outside it was cool, already dropping through the mid-60s by Cameron’s estimation. It would be cold tonight, probably high 40s. They reached what would have been the back yard at an American house, found a paved terrace surrounded by shrubs and covered with a series of carpets, and Fahd asked them all to sit. They did, in a small circle around a brazier that was in the middle of the carpets. Above them the sky was an infinite dome of a blue so dark it was nearly black, but not quite. Out of the dome the stars burned hard, bright, and cold in a way that they only can when there is virtually no man-made ambient light nearby. The house was big enough that the lights of the city of Ha’il to the south and ease were entirely shaded by its bulk. It was like being out in the woods in New Mexico, a million miles from anywhere, the last 10 men on earth around a fire that gave palpable heat but no light at all. It was stirring deep down, a primal feeling called up by instincts imprinted by a million years of evolution. Cameron shifted his weight and settled his legs Indian-style and looked about the circle. The starlight cast pale shadows here and there.
Fahd signaled one of the house men, and he came forward to the brazier and began to make coffee. As he worked, Fahd said “So Paul, what shall you do tomorrow?”
“Well, I think we should plan to move on Fahd,” Cameron said. “There are all those guys on their way to the US. We’ve had a long day discussing things, but there was not much to learn from your nephew, pity he didn’t know any of those other kids. And it looks like the whole group was pretty good about keeping their names quiet. Not much help at all. More to the point, not much else we can do here in Saudi Arabia. I think we can do more at home, working with our people there. They’ll likely be able to figure this out from all the cell phone numbers, and the…umm, people that got swept up in various places as we’ve moved from Paris to here. What do you think?”
“You are right of course,” the General replied. “We’ll be safe enough here. With what little I have learned I can alert the local authorities tomorrow. The compound will be looked after, and with the Air Police at Dhahran alerted as well I can return there in a few days and get back to my duties. We’ll have to be careful for a while, but I think as your government works on the information that they have, and if this is shared with our Services here, I think the danger will be put to rest relatively soon. ”
“Agreed, but I am sorry we were unable to do more.”
“Nonsense, Paul. Your people have been very helpful, and of course your Air Force has been generous to loan you to me for a week…has it been a week? All things considered we are in much better shape than we were when I flew to Paris. No, I think we’ve made excellent progress, and I am grateful that you could come. And of course, now I have your cell phone number on speed dial my friend.”
Cameron blushed a little. “It was my pleasure, and quite an adventure for men of our advanced age.” He glanced at Allen and Ripley to either side and noted the grins in the faint starlight. “Besides, these two savages have had a real education on the merits of Arab hospitality. Allow me to express our thanks for your generosity and that of your family and retainers. It has been an interesting and….educational week.”
“It is the least we can do. Now, let us have some coffee. Majid, where are those dates…ah, please pass them around to our guests…”
They ate dates and drank coffee and told stories for another hour or so, it was getting on toward midnight when all the coffee things had been cleared away and the conversation reached one of those awkward pauses that signaled a good time to call it a night. Fahd suggested they turn in, and the three Americans all gave a muffled sigh of relief. Despite all the caffeine they were tired. The group took their leave at the Villa’s gate, a solid metal affair with metal scrollwork welded to both outer and inner surfaces. “We shall see you all sometime after breakfast,” Fahd said, “but take your time in the morning. There is no hurry, and we will make a plan for your flights when you’ve had a long sleep with nothing to concern you for tomorrow’s agenda. Until then, good night Gentlemen.”
The sons and nephews and the retainers said their goodnights and melted off into the darkness toward their beds, the boys to the third villa on the Western side and the retainers toward the last one on the East side next to the mosque. The Americans entered their own enclosure and closed the gate, wordlessly climbed the stairs to the second floor. On the landing Cameron bid them good night and without waiting for acknowledgment he was into his bedroom and the door closed, leaving the other two there in the hallway.
“A long day,” Ripley said, an eyebrow raised.
“It was,” Allen caught the gesture. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing very specific, just a feeling is all. You?”
“The same. Unfinished business, a lot of loose ends. Like we’ve missed something.” Allen paused. “What would you look for, if you were looking for this bunch of guys the kid said he met out in the desert?”
Ripley considered for a moment. “Arabs are not big, usually, but they’re usually pretty soft from what I’ve seen. Hmm, maybe if this group is dangerous at all they’d stick out by looking fitter than your average group of young Arab men. Like, if they’re doing any training that’s any good, you know? They’d be wiry, thinner through face and neck, less belly than the average guy you see in a thob maybe. Shoulders broader, waists narrower, they’d move softer. If the training is really good, maybe for their leaders, they’d have…the look. Like guys you see, you know, around Bragg or Lemoore, or Coronado, or in bars where guys like us hang out. The eyes give us away, usually. They’d be uglier than average, too, like you for instance.”
“Yeah, like me. Like the guy that got taken down right under my nose outside the Embassy in Amman. He had the look, I pegged him in the airport. Like the guy the Colonel pegged in London when he got there, and that was a nice piece of work with a big piece of shit. And that scary fucker I looked for with Jones in Paris: that is a guy that needs to be dead in a bad way. Scary loose end, that one. He’s gonna be trouble later, for somebody for sure.
“Amen. What else?”
Allen was thinking hard. “Something. Someone. Somewhere…can’t remember where, it’s been a wicked week for travel. Is it really Sunday?”
Ripley chuckled and looked at his watch. “No, actually Monday, it’s about a quarter past midnight. But I know what you mean. I’ve got the same feeling all around.” A pause again. “Well, safe enough here, big wall, lots of gates and locked doors. Light in about 5 hours, maybe less. We’re all armed, the Colonel’s got one of the pistols, you and I each with an H&K to go with it. As long as World War Three doesn’t happen while we’re asleep, what can go wrong?”
Allen didn’t look satisfied, but they were both tired. “OK, I must be getting old. Well, see you in the morning. I uhh…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Sleep light, maybe, I don’t know.
“Sacktime, Allen. See you at breakfast.” Ripley slapped his new friend’s shoulder and in one motion spun on his heel, took 4 steps across the landing to the door
to his bedroom and was through it, locking it behind him. He walked straight to his duffel bag though, lifted out the pistol and checked again that it was locked and loaded, safety off but hammer down for a long double-action pull on the first shot. Dropped the magazine, checked it was full. Fumbled in the duffel bag and found the two spares, also full. He set them all on the nightstand. Reached into the duffel again and brought out the MP5. It was actually an MP5SD5, the suppressed version that significantly reduced the firing noise while using full-up, supersonic ammunition. Quiet, fast and efficient, with selectable single shot, 3-round burst, or full automatic fire. One of his personal favorites for indoor work where things were up close and personal, not so much a favorite for outdoor shooting if you were trying to kill someone at a distance greater than 100 meters. For that he preferred an M4 with a suppressor, but the H&K would do for anything likely to happen here. The SD version’s one serious drawback at any time was that the forestock contained the suppression chambers and tended to become very hot, very fast. He rummaged in the duffel and found the pair of gloves he expected: nobody gave you an MP5SD without the glove for the off hand, and anyone who knew his business and didn’t know who the shooter would be provided a glove for each hand. Somebody knew his business.
It took him 5 minutes to strip, inspect and reassemble the MP5, then he removed all the rounds from his 4 30-round magazines and reloaded each of them. Once that was done he stripped himself, brushed his teeth, and went to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was 1230 on Monday morning.
Across the hall Allen completed the same ritual at about the same time, except while he’d laid down in bed, he was fully clothed and he did not fall asleep. Instead he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to work out what it was that was bothering him, what he’d missed. After a bit of this he looked over at the bedside clock: 1245 in the morning. He wondered if he should take a sleeping pill. In the end training won out. A crusty old sergeant had once told him that soldiers, especially special ops soldiers, only grew old if they paid attention to instincts. Allen’s gut told him something wasn’t right. So he climbed out of bed. Grabbed the duffel with his weapons and ammunition. Found a watch cap in his own backpack and pulled it down over his ears. Shrugged into his black fleece jacket, pulled on his boots. He slipped out into the hall, and lugged the duffel up the stairs, past the maid’s quarters and out onto the roof.
It was dark, and quiet, and cold, low 50s at most and falling fast. He sniffed, the air was dry like it should be for the desert, but there was the faint smell of water and dampness and green from the villa gardens all around the compound. He looked down the lane toward the gate, which he could just see about 75 yards away in the starlight. Palm trees lining the lane cast faint shadows.
He took out the MP5 and laid it on the roof decking, rummaged in the duffel and produced the two pistols. He stuffed one in each pocket of the jacket. Felt around in the duffel some more and found what he was looking for. Picked up the long gun and removed the laser optical day sights from the top rail with the two thumb screws that attached it. Fastened the night sights to the rail and tightened the screws. He switched on the optics and lifted the gun to his shoulder.
A starlight scope is not like the infrared things in the movies, where everything is a varying shade of green, with the hot stuff bright green and the background a dark green-black. Instead the world is what it is, except brighter. The ambient light is amplified, and with starlight like on this night, in crystal clear air, low humidity, it was like looking at a daylight scene except in black and white. The palm trees were crisp and clear, their shadows dark against the lighter ground either side of the lane. The gate was there, the top of the wall. He panned the scope and the gun around the whole perimeter, looking at the wall and whatever he could see beyond. Nothing, all quiet, all as it should be on a Sunday night in Saudi Arabia.
He felt a little foolish, but on the other hand, that sergeant was a grizzled old veteran. He’d survived some bad stuff, Afghanistan in the Soviet time, out in the bush with the locals trying to gut you and the Russkies trying to kill you from hundreds of yards away with their sniper rifles. If it didn’t feel right, it wasn’t right was what he said in training. So Allen turned off his scope and put the MP5 on the roof decking against the wall facing the gate. He put the spare magazines there next to the gun, then opened the duffel’s zipper all the way and slipped his feet into it and covered his knees. Then he snuggled into the corner of the parapet wall, slipped on both gloves, pulled the watch cap down further over his ears and forehead. He was warm, and he relaxed and went to sleep around 0100 on Monday morning.