The 56th Man (10 page)

He then pumped up the inflatable mattress and
pillow that he had gotten from the sports department. Hopefully, it
would prove more resistant to the cat's whimsical bladder. He would
bring out his new blanket at bedtime.

The cat greeted him in the kitchen, as though
it knew Ari had gone to additional expense on its behalf.

"Sphinx," Ari said before knocking it off the
counter. The cat began to run away, but stopped when it heard Ari
pop open a can of Special Kitty. "That's your new name. Get used to
it."

He put several scoops of Mixed Grill into a
plastic dish decorated with paw prints. Sphinx came forward, its
tail whisking the air. Ari knew dogs well, certain types of dogs,
but they had been handled by men whose training was every bit as
specialized as that of the dogs in their care. Of cats he knew next
to nothing. He had no idea if he was giving Sphinx too little or
too much. His first inclination was to give nothing at all. Pushing
his cart through the Wal-Mart pet department, he was left to wonder
if any of these American pets earned their keep. With so many
varieties of pet food available, would any cat feel inclined to
expend energy on a mouse?

"And I have something else for you," he told
Sphinx.

After setting the dish on the floor, he
pulled out a kitty litter box. He'd had a bit of luck at the store.
A woman had spotted him putting the box and cat food in his cart,
and then a bag of cedar shavings on top. She asked him if he had a
hamster.

"What's that?" Ari asked.

"Something like a rat."

"Certainly not!"

"Then I think this is what you want..." And
she had directed him to the kitty litter.

Ari filled the kitty litter box and took it
to the downstairs bathroom. Returning to the kitchen, he swept the
cat away from the dish, carried it to the bathroom, and dropped it
in the fresh litter.

"This is your toilet. You will use it. You
will not--"

Sphinx fled.

Ari had seen the slip of paper on his kitchen
table when he first entered, a receipt from Ted's lawn service,
stamped PAID. It confirmed what he already suspected, but he
doubted 'Fred' was the same person who had come in through the back
door last night. Fred was advertising the fact that he had been in
the house.

Ari learned the meaning of the implied
message when he went upstairs to switch on his computer. A flash
drive had been inserted in the USB port at the back of the
screen.

'Time to get to work,' could not have been
spoken more plainly.

The folder on the flash drive was full of jpg
files--over a hundred of them. He clicked on the first one and his
image viewer opened automatically.

Ari put aside the bag of Fritos he had
brought with him and turned the mouse wheel, bringing up the second
digital photo, then the next. At the sixth picture he stopped.

“
Ah, Abu Yaqoub…. When did you start
playing with sharp objects?”

There was no need to zoom in, but he did.

No mistake.

He paused to consider his next move.
According to his new job description, he should immediately shoot
off an email. But when the opportunity presented itself--and God
knew he had plenty of empty hours on his hands--the wise course was
to sit back and calculate. What would be the consequences if he
sent the email? If he didn't? Who benefited, who lost?

But in this case, the ramifications were
plain and simple. Nor was this a time to make outrageous demands of
his employer, on only his third day in the franchise. He sat up,
opened a second window, and logged on to his email account. He had
only to type in the letter 'u' for the complete address to drop
down in the address box.

He wrote:

'Picture No. 6, third from right. Abu Khalid
Yusuf al-Kayid. Mid-thirties. No distinguishing marks. Arab. Thief.
Part of the mass release of 2002. The last I knew of him, he had
apparently come up in the world. He had moved to Kadhimiya, near
the Shrine of Imam Musa al-Kadhim. Used to be a safe neighborhood
until you kindly improved it. Work history unknown, but has
obviously acquired a new job skill.'

Ari paused. This last was a bit of editorial
sarcasm that exceeded the parameters set out for him. He decided to
leave it. His employers having little sense of humor, they would
undoubtedly ascribe it to an ineradicable cultural deviation. He
continued:

'Religious affiliation: cannot recall.
Probably none. He did not do this out of conviction. No doubt was
paid by parties unknown. He would also make a first-class alassa.
He would rat out anyone--I believe that's the phrase. Cannot recall
details about his family, but this kunya should give you a clue. He
was known to associate with Feisel al-Amiri, a well-known
businessman (I believe you would call him a 'fence') near the gold
market. Yusuf was not known to be particularly dangerous before. As
you can see, that has changed. Just as Kadhimiya has changed.'

The cursor hovered over the Send button for
only a moment.

"So much for Abu Yaqoub," Ari murmured, and
clicked.

He returned to the images. As he scrolled
through the files, his face began to sag. The loss. The enormous
loss. Was it necessary? Inevitable? Even preferable?

He froze. Ghostly voices were calling to him
from down the hallway. That they were summoned by his own
imagination did not make them any less real.

EIGHT

Omar still believed the best
solution for the ills of the world verged on universal destruction.
Otherwise he wouldn't be here, with Ghaith, with these other
prisoners. His compatriots might have other motives--long-standing
grudges or basic religious hatred. They might be undergoing a gang
initiation, or be ignorant pawns of rival factions. They could be
here simply because they were being paid to be here. But Omar,
Ghaith sensed, was still a low-class blowhard. Circumstances
dictated that he must act upon his avowed convictions or be seen as
a coward. Someone in the Ministry had played Omar like a harp. Who
could that be? Anyone. In the current environment, it would be no
exaggeration to suspect
everyone
. That would explain why Ghaith had heard no hint of the power
shift in the Ministry. Conspiracy as a social movement. Americans
might dismiss it as a passing fad.

"There's no such thing as eidetic memory,"
Ghaith said.

"Always the scholar!" Omar complained mildly.
"I never could understand half of what you said."

"He didn't talk like that back in the truck,"
the policeman groused. He gave a little jump of horror when Ghaith
shot him an erotic purse of the lips.

"Never mind that," said Omar, who had not
seen the airline kiss. He nodded at the third guard. "Get it."

The guard shouldered his Kalashnikov and went
to the back of the truck. When he pulled out a long, curved blade
that shined in the headlights.

"Why Omar, you've been looting the Baghdad
Museum,” Ghaith snorted. “I thought that was you I saw on
television."

The ghost voices alerted him to the fact that
he had neglected a vital purchase during his morning spree. He had
seen nothing but wine, beer and some awful looking flavored fizzies
at the grocery stores he had visited. Even Wal-Mart was not
all-encompassing when it came to hard spirits. Using the online
Yellow Pages, Ari located the nearest liquor store. It was called
an 'ABC'. He found that droll, sounding as it did like a shop that
provided educational supplies for schoolchildren.

Within half an hour, he had returned with
three bottles of Jack Daniels. He lined them up on the floor next
to the computer desk and stared at them fondly, almost in wonder.
While standing in line at the liquor store, the clerk had asked him
if he was planning a party.

"Excuse me?" Ari had said.

"Your smile," the amiable clerk answered.
"It's like you're expecting company."

"I'm enjoying the freedom," Ari said. "Where
I come from, you would have lost your head for selling this."

The clerk's own smile faded and he quickly
checked Ari through.

He took up one bottle, broke the seal, and
wafted the opening back and forth under his nose. Then he poured
about two inches into an eight-ounce glass and took his first drink
since....

It had been a long time.

He tapped the mouse and the screensaver
(a realistic image of a fantastical poppy field that had never
existed, not on this planet) dropped away--revealing Digital Image
No. 33, a horrible scene that should not ever have existed
on
any
planet. He sipped at
his drink slowly. The warmth felt good. And it helped.

It helped so much that, nearly three
hours and five emails later, he had absorbed half of the first
bottle. He knew he was close to being drunk--perhaps
was
drunk. He was so unaccustomed to
alcohol that he found it difficult to gauge its impact, especially
after he had guzzled a good portion of it.

It had grown dark outside. He had earned his
keep for the day. He was about to call it quits when his wavering
eyes fell on Digital Image No. 56. He stared at it a long time.

He began an email, perused the opening
sentence for a minute or so, then deleted it, unsent. He began
another, and then another, with the same result.

He stretched his aching back, glanced around,
saw that Sphinx had sprawled itself out on the camper mattress.

"It's just you and myself now, isn't it?"

Sphinx glanced at him through slit eyes, gave
a kind of feline, slightly venomous shrug, and resumed its nap.

Ari began a new email, one guaranteed
to displease his employer. It was not informative. Nor was it the
chatty plaint of a foreign soul stranded alone in a strange land.
It was demanding. It was overboard. It was, to some degree, the
liquor talking--but only a little. Even as he sent it (without
hesitation), he doubted the people on the other end would comply.
On the other hand, he wasn't asking this
gratis
. He had a very fat target for their scope.
He would be glad to put him in harm's way if (as he said in the
email: "and only if") his employer gave him what he
wanted.

Satisfied, he logged off, gave Sphinx a
brief, unwanted pat on the head, and took his bottle and glass
outside to the gazebo.

Beach Court ended on a small bluff above the
James River, but the Riggins property sloped all the way down to
the water's edge. Easing onto the gazebo's wooden bench, he leaned
his back against the railing and allowed what tension Jack Daniels
had neglected to drain from his limbs.

The darkness was not complete. Porch lights
from distant houses across the river were reflected in tiny broken
flecks on the water, while intermittent, tiny beams burst through
the trees from his neighbors to either side, one facing the James,
the other, Howie's, further up the hill.

Howie had told him the neighboring waterfront
property belonged to someone named Mackenzie. Ari had seen their
mailbox, at the entrance to a driveway that swept deep into the
woods behind Howie's yard before turning towards the river.

A series of splashes was followed by
plaintive honks. It sounded too deep-throated for a duck. He'd look
into it tomorrow. How much would a book on birds set him back?

The liquor, at least, was
inexpensive--and of high quality. As were the cigarettes, he
mentally saluted as he lit a Winston. No black market gouging here,
no furtive exchanges of too much for too little. And that was for
just a bit of extra food. Forget risking your neck for a pack of
extra-toxic DJ coffin nails at the Shorgia market or a bottle of
stomach reflux brewed in the marshes. America was a good place for
the simpler sins, although Ari found all the No Smoking signs
problematic. Next thing you knew, they'd be issuing
fatāwā
against the grand old weed.
Perhaps they had already begun.

A not-distant rumble marked the beginning of
the rapids Ari had seen from Lee Bridge on his arrival. A sound
that would probably recede from conscious awareness after a week or
so of living nearby. But Ari found that it somehow punctuated a
hollow ache around his heart. He had been too busy acclimating
himself to his new country to pay much attention to it. When the
busyness stopped, however, and unavoidable memories throbbed to the
forefront, all of his crimes and misjudgments came crowding up to
shout in his face. If only he had.... If only he had not....

A friend of his with a philosophical bent
once told him America's top export was the sense of personal
loneliness. They lured people into a corral of self-absorption, a
circle of screens and mirrors. It was every man for himself, but
with much of the danger removed. The problem with such exports was
that they did not always adapt to the new market, reducing it
instead to every-man-for-himself, but with the danger still
intact.

The friend with the philosophical bent was as
good as dead. Perhaps he had not been a friend. For all Ari knew,
he might have been his mortal enemy all along. It was hard to say,
anymore. So much certainty removed....

And now this old friend was just one more
ache in his chest, and the river emphasized the loss with the
rushing boom of its passing.

One thing for certain, though, Ari thought as
he looked back at the house. The sound was not nearly loud enough
to mask a sledgehammer pounding against a back door.

He was distracted by a bright flash
above the river. A moment later a loud
crack
echoed across the water and rippled down
the south bank. Howie had said kids stood on the tiny island and
lit off firecrackers. He had not said that they did it after dark.
From the perspective of his forty-odd years, Howie had transformed
young adults into children. Ari looked at his watch and was
unpleasantly surprised to find that it was already past 11. By
passing the time with Jack Daniels, he had lost an entire evening.
He tried to remember if he had fed Sphinx.