Guardian (13 page)

“Kharija sent an assassin to kill ­people who knew me. Killed them on US soil. But not just kill. He had them butchered. Their legs were amputated like he wanted to do to me. This same assassin, in addition to killing seven innocent ­people, recently threatened someone close to me.”

“How close?”

“My daughter.”

“This assassin you speak of was recently apprehended, no? Glenn informed me, as I am sure you are aware. He can no longer reach your daughter.”

“True, but Kharija is still out there, which means the threat remains. He can always send another assassin. I only have one daughter.”

“I sympathize. Thankfully, all my children are grown and have children of their own. I take it yours is still quite young.”

Mike thought about it a moment, doing the math in his head. “Yeah. Young.”

“I see. That explains why you are here, Mike, but not why Kharija is willing to kill to get your attention.”

Mike took a deep breath, wondering how to explain it. “Are you a religious woman, Kitra?”

“Yes.”

“So you believe in the supernatural?”

“I have to.” Kitra leaned forward. “You are not going to tell me a tall tale, are you?”

Mike sighed. “Depends on what your definition of a tall tale is.”

“Come on, Mike.”

“Okay, how much do you know about what happened in Basra?”

“A terrorist attack. Horrible stuff, a dirty bomb. Or was it a biological attack. I keep forgetting based on the conflicting reports I've received. Travel in southeast Iraq and Kuwait is still heavily restricted as a result. Your country insists it is hunting the terrorists responsible. Interesting, though, no evidence an actual bomb went off has ever been presented.”

“That's not what happened.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“A few weeks ago at that construction site where you grabbed Haddad, a tomb was discovered while digging trenches for new sewer lines. Only it wasn't a tomb. It was a kind of ancient containment vessel. A prison. And when a sewer pipe accidentally fell in and broke the lid, what was inside escaped.”

“Some kind of toxin?”

“We thought so at first. Whoever was exposed to it went nuts. The construction workers at the site all killed each other in this primal-­like rage. Nasty stuff, Kitra. Heads smashed in with wrenches. Guys stabbed in the neck with screwdrivers.”

“Good Lord.”

“And what's worse, the last guy standing after everyone else was dead, when he realized there was no one left to kill, turned the weapon on himself.”

“They killed themselves?”

“One slashed his own wrists. Another sliced open his own throat. And so on and so on.”

“Why?”

“Because the thing in that prison caused anyone within a certain radius to kill until they died. If there was no one else, they ended their own lives.”

“That is incredible.”

“Yeah, well that thing at the construction site made it to Basra.”

Kitra straightened up. “You said you thought it was a toxin at first. But it was not. What else would cause ­people to devolve into such madness?”

Mike rubbed his mouth and wished he had a shot of Johnnie Walker. “What if I were to tell you that the containment vessel was actually a prison designed to hold an ancient being?”

Kitra laughed. “Oh Mike, you had me there for a second. The supernatural. ­People going crazy and killing each other. Not a neurotoxin. But an ancient being? Really good stuff. Now tell me what it actually was.”

“A fallen angel who rebelled against God with Satan and his legions. As punishment, he was stripped of his light and separated from God and imprisoned under the creature he detested most: humans.”

Kitra's face slackened. Her smile shrunk to a tight horizontal slit. She started to say something when a knock came at the door.

“Who is it?” Mike asked.

“Room ser­vice, sir.”

“Give me a second, Kitra.” Mike rose and walked to the door. A short man in a hotel uniform stood on the other side with a rolling cart and food under silver lids. “I'll take it from here.”

“I can wheel it in for you, sir.”

Mike removed a twenty dollar bill. “No need. Sorry, didn't have time to exchange currency.”

“No problem at all, sir.”

Mike handed over the cash, pulled the cart in and shut the door. He pushed it to the dresser, grabbed his burger, and carried it back to the chair. He sat down and put the cheese on the bun, lifted the burger and took a bite. As he chewed, he noticed Kitra staring at him, dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” Mike said around his food. “I'm starving.”

“You expect me to believe all that nonsense?”

Mike swallowed. “Glenn reacted the same way.”

“Glenn has heard this?”

Mike nodded and took another bite.

“And he has not locked you away?”

“He wants me to finish this Kharija business first.”

Kitra shook her head. “You Americans.”

“I'm not lying.”

“How did you discover it was a . . .” Kitra looked disgusted to even ask. “ . . . a fallen angel?”

“Well, you see, it was possessing bodies.”

“Like a demon?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Kitra rubbed her forehead. “And how in the world did that cause the violence?”

“When it invaded a body, it had to defeat the person's soul. While it fought, it caused disorder to break out around it. I don't know the mechanics of it but it had something to do with everything within a certain proximity being out of balance due to the battle between it and the soul. Once it defeated the soul, order returned.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“It told me.”

“It told you.” Kitra laughed again, almost hysterically. “Of course it did.”

“Honestly, it did. Long story short, it hopped from one body to another until it ended up on an Iraqi oiler. You can guess what happened on that ship. But the crew wised up quickly and tried to scuttle their vessel with it trapped onboard.”

“You are speaking of the
al-­Phirosh
?”

“You heard about that?”

“I heard a US Navy ship rescued the crew.”

“And guess what happened on the Navy ship.”

“And you were there.”

“I was there.” Mike swallowed his last bite. “Rather than scuttle the ship, the captain chose to abandon it. To keep the angel from escaping again, he took away every possible body it could jump into. I remained onboard and distracted it until the entire crew made it off. No more crew, no more bodies to possess.”

“Except yours.”

“Yes, but here's the kicker. The fallen angel finally saw why God favored man over the angels.”

“And that was?”

“Because I committed a selfless act. I was willing to sacrifice myself to save the crew. It regretted its inability to trust God and remain loyal. It saw the error of its ways and gave up.”

“This is completely unbelievable, especially that last part.”

“Yeah, but it's all true. I changed the monster's heart from evil to good.”
I don't care what they think,
Mike thought,
that's what I'm telling ­people.

“You have told me an entertaining bit of fiction but you still have not answered why Kharija wants you so badly.”

“Because I came face-­to-­face with the angel. I have been marked, so to speak.”
And the mark is not a curse.

“You have been marked, so what?”

“Kharija claims there are other angelic prisons out there. He wants to use me like a divining rod to find them.”

“Kharija believes this nonsense as well?” Kitra rubbed her face with both hands. “This is insane.”

“Yep, but it's happening.” Mike leaned his elbows on his knees. “I wish this shit was all in my head, but it isn't. I've learned heaven and hell are pretty damn real places. Angels exist. And there are bigger things going on out there than just nations and terror groups playing games. There are things in the shadows, and one of them is manipulating Kharija.”

“Now there is someone controlling Kharija? Who?”

“I don't know yet. Whoever it is has his wife and daughter. He is doing all this to save them.”

“Glenn did not mention that. Where are you getting this information?”

Mike rubbed his mouth, suddenly embarrassed.
An angel told me
. Better to keep some things to himself for now. “It's complicated.”

“I wish I could believe you, Mike. I really do. But you are insane, and I regret letting you come here. Out of respect to you and Glenn, I will put you on a plane as soon as possible and you can return to the US. However, I cannot let you pursue Kharija with these delusions dominating your mind.”

Mike smiled. Hearing Kitra's reaction actually amused him. Who wouldn't respond the same way? Glenn had practically said the same thing, in so many words. But he couldn't leave Tel Aviv. And at the same time, he didn't want to disregard Kitra's wishes on her own turf.

So convince her.
Convert her
. “There's someone in Israel who can corroborate what I've told you.”

“Oh, really. And who might that be?”

“You still have that guy who survived the fight with Kharija?”

“Abu Umar? Yes, he has been moved from Haifa to Tel Aviv.”

“What has he told you?”

“Not much.”

“Has he earned your trust?”

“I would not go that far. He wants Kharija dead, and Kharija wanted you, so I figured his goal was the same as ours in the short term. Might as well keep him for further information.”

“But he didn't tell you any more about his group?”

“Only that Kharija was once a member but had betrayed them, and that is why he went to Haifa to kill him.”

“Well, Joseph, that group Abu is a part of is an order called the Guardians of the Prison. Guess what prison they used to guard before something escaped? And I'll give you a hint: it didn't have watchtowers and razor-­wire fences.”

“Bullshit.”

“When Kharija snagged me, he acted like he was still a happy contributing member of that group. He told me about the angel marking me. He told me he wanted to find other angelic prisons to guard them, too.”

“But he betrayed the group.”

“Because someone kidnapped his family. Which means he doesn't want to find them to guard them. Whoever's controlling him wants to open them.”

“And duplicate what happened in Basra?”

Mike shrugged. “Do you want to wait and find out?”

Kitra stood. “Come.”

“Where to?”

“We are going to have a chat with Abu.”

 

Chapter Twenty-­One

G
lenn opened the metal door to find the mystery man handcuffed to a chair in an otherwise empty room. Two fluorescent lights lit the space in shades of flickering white. The concrete block walls, painted gray, sweated.

The man's head hung. Soft snores flowed out every few seconds. His feet were bare.

Glenn closed the door, walked over to him and grabbed his shoulder and shook him until his head rose. The man blinked a few times and then his eyes settled on Glenn. They were dark and unafraid.

“What's your name?” Glenn said in Arabic.

The man smirked and looked away.

Glenn balled his right hand into a fist, hauled back and punched the man's already broken nose. He grunted as blood burst and then poured from both nostrils. Glenn grabbed his throat and pushed his head back. With his right, he pulled down on the man's chin until his mouth opened. Blood from the nose filled his mouth.

Once the mouth was full, Glenn slammed the man's mouth shut and pinched his nose until he swallowed. Then he let go and backed up as the man started coughing and spitting what blood didn't go down.

After a few seconds of retching, Glenn moved forward, hauled back and punched down into the man's testicles. The man screamed through clenched teeth, followed by more coughing, and then vomited the blood he'd just swallowed. It spilled from his mouth all over his chest and lap.

Glenn took a step back and surveyed his work. The mystery man looked liked he'd been through twelve hours of torture. Blood gushing from his nose. Blood dripping from his mouth and chin. Bloody vomit covering his shirt and pants. Blood forming little ponds on the floor around the chair. Beautiful.

The man groaned and wheezed. Glenn pulled a digital camera from his jacket pocket and snapped a few shots of his new friend.

“What's your name?”

“Mayyat.” He spit more blood on the floor. “Mayyat Sadat.”

“Hey, your first and last names kind of rhyme, asshole.” Another flash from the camera. “Your mother had a sense of humor.”

Mayyat spat a tooth into the pond on the floor in response.

“Where's Kharija, Mayyat?”

Mayyat didn't reply. Glenn's fist shot down and connected with Mayyat's testicles again. This time, instead of screaming, he moaned through grinding teeth. Veins bulged from the sides of his neck.

“It's only been two minutes, Mayyat. Just so you know, I can make you choke on your own blood while punching your nuts all day and all night. Unless you like it, I'd start talking.”

“Just give me a moment-­”

“A moment? Mayyat, time is not on your side. You killed seven Americans on our soil. If you think there's a fair hearing in your future, think again. There isn't even an orange jumpsuit in a secret prison for you somewhere. And fuck rendition. I won't let anyone else have the pleasure of hurting you on my behalf. All you can count on is death. Whether it's fast and painless or slow and painful is up to you. Where's Kharija, Mayyat?”

“Tel Aviv.”

“Where in Tel Aviv?”

“I do not know.”

Glenn cocked his fist, ready for another round with the testicles, when Mayyat screamed in English, “I do not know!”

“Bullshit.” Glenn's fist was still cocked. “Tell me where.”

“I am not lying. I do not know. I never know exactly where he is. He said he was in Tel Aviv. That is all he told me. You know he is experienced in intelligence. Why would he tell me his specific whereabouts if there was a risk of me being captured?”

Glenn paused a moment, thinking. The son of a bitch had a point. By the tone of Mayyat's voice and his facial expressions, Glenn could also tell he wasn't lying. Dead end. He wondered if he should throw some of Mike's supernatural bullshit at Mayyat. Maybe pump a little info to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Are you a guardian like Kharija?”

The man's eyes narrowed and stared at Glenn.

“Yes, I know all about them,” Glenn said. “Are you?”

“Do you see me covered in tattoos?” Mayyat spat more blood. “No. Kharija recruited me as an operative when he worked Iraqi intelligence. He later tried to bring me into the order but I refused.”

“Why?”

“There was better pay as a free agent.”

“But you still work for him.”

“From time to time. He contacted me after Basra. Wanted me to maintain surveillance in and around site R91 in case Caldwell ever returned. He did and we captured him.”

“You sniped him, didn't you? You're the one who shot him in the shoulder.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

Mayyat nodded. “The operation was blown by one of Kharija's ­people. Haddad. One of his Brothers that he turned. It was never meant to happen that way. But I am sure you know things hardly ever go according to plans.”

Glenn smirked and lowered his fist. He'd penetrated Mayyat's firewall. The man had quit resisting altogether and opened up. He doubted any more coercion would be needed.

“What's so special about Caldwell?”

“I do not know, I am not part of the order. But it has something to do with the prison they guarded. And what was in it.”

“What was in it?”

Mayyat laughed and spit more blood. “A jinn, if you are to believe them.”

Glenn bit the inside of his cheek. “How do you know?”

“Kharija. He was very open about it. He betrayed the order and did not feel like maintaining their secrets anymore.”

“But he betrayed the order for a reason. Who has Kharija's family?”

Mayyat blinked at him.

“Yes, we know. Caldwell figured it out.”

“How?”

“How doesn't matter. Who's he taking his orders from?”

Mayyat hesitated a moment, staring at the floor. “Nassir Fahd.”

Fahd?
“That guy who follows the Syrian president around everywhere?”

“He is the president's personal advisor. What he recommends, the president does.”

Glenn shook his head. “That's not what I hear. I hear he's just an aide.”

“You hear wrong.”

“Look at me.”

Mayyat kept staring at the floor.

“Look at me.”

Mayyat's eye lifted to his. Glenn noticed the unease in them. “You're afraid of him, aren't you? Is Nassir Fahd a member of the order?”

“No.”

“Then why does he want Caldwell?”

“If you believe Kharija, it's to find more prisons. But again, I do not understand why or how Caldwell is special.”

“But you don't believe any of that.”

“Whatever it is, it is dangerous if Nassir is involved.”

“That's why you decided to work for Kharija, isn't it?”

Mayyat said nothing.

“He dropped Nassir's name and it scared you. Why?”

Mayyat spat again. “You hear things about Nassir. None of them good. And I have seen some of his work. The man's a butcher, to say the least.”

“And you were afraid he would find you if you refused.”

Mayyat shrugged. “When Nassir is involved, you either do the work or you hide. And I did not feel much like hiding.”

Glenn leaned against the wall and sighed. “So Nassir pushed Kharija's button, and Kharija pushed yours. All to get Caldwell so the man behind the Syrian president could find some supposed supernatural prisons.”

“That is the gist of it.”

“Do you think there's anything to all this prison nonsense?”

Mayyat laughed. “You know, I used to think it was all nonsense, especially when Kharija first told me. But I am not sure anymore.”

“Why?”

“When you are told to kill so many ­people, you like to think there is a reason for it. Something real, even if it is abstract, like a cause. I can accept that. But I cannot accept killing for something make-­believe. Nor do I believe someone like Nassir would go to such great lengths unless he knew the thing he desired existed. If you think about it, Nassir is willing to risk the future of his country in this endeavor. What does that tell you?”

Glenn chewed on that for a second before he said, “How did you get the intelligence on the ­people Caldwell had come in contact with? How did you learn their names and addresses?”

“Kharija provided the intelligence. I can only assume he had a source somewhere in one of your intelligence agencies. Or perhaps Nassir does. Although it was limited to those I killed. I had nothing else beyond Greengrass.”

“What about the heart you painted on Greengrass's wall in his blood?”

“I found a child's drawing of a heart in Caldwell's apartment. It was a reach, a backup plan, that I hoped would strike a personal chord within him if I failed to capture him at his apartment or the hotel. The confrontation with him at his apartment forced the backup plan to the forefront. I have no idea what it means to him.”

Thank God for small miracles,
Glenn thought. “Where's the drawing?”

“In the personal effects they took from me.”

Limited intel, then. And no further threat to Mike's daughter. But still not good on the whole.
There were too many dead Americans and Kharija was still free. Not to mention, there was a mole somewhere in the intelligence community who Glenn knew he needed to flush out.

“Are you going to kill me now?” Mayyat asked.

“No.” Glenn pushed off the wall. “Not yet. First, we're going to move you.”

“Ah. Any chance I can clean up and get some food?”

“We'll see.”