The 56th Man (43 page)

Ari had just donned his sports jacket again.
He slipped it off and handed it over. "Please don't wrinkle--"

"Dressing kind of fancy for all this, aren't
you?"

"I don't know where we're going. It could be
a fashionable restaurant."

"A fashionable restaurant in Richmond!"
Carrington ground the jacket between his hands, checked the
pockets, and gave it back. "Can't be too careful."

Ari looked at the wrinkled lump. When he put
it back on, he was woefully disheveled.

"Now, what's that number?" He punched it in
as Ari spoke. Almost immediately, a woman's voice came on.

"Sylvester."

"This is Ari Ciminon's friend. The one you're
going to meet tonight."

"Where is he?" asked the woman.

"Right here. Shout something for the
lady."

"Everything is going according to plan," Ari
shouted.

"You heard?"

"Yes," said the woman.

"I'm going to give you directions instead of
relaying them through Ari here. Got a pen and paper?"

"Yes."

"You know the town of Cumberland?"

"On Route 60?"

"Yeah."

"That's almost fifty miles away!"

"You got a problem with distance, Deputy
Sylvester?"

"No, no. All right, take 60 to
Cumberland…"

"Just before you get there, you'll see a sign
for Bear Creek Lake Park. Or Bear Lake Creek Park. I always get
that name mixed up."

"I know where it is. Isn't that--"

"Follow the signs until you reach the park
entrance. The road forks. Go right, towards Cumberland State
Forest. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Keep going about a mile--hey, is Bret Mason
still picking his nose?"

There was a pause at the other end. "I'm not
at liberty to discuss our personnel," said the woman.

"Good girl," said Carrington.

Good girl
,
thought Ari.

"Keep going until you see a sign for
Arrowhead Lake. Turn right on the dirt road and keep going to the
end. There's a small parking area and a suspension footbridge.
You'll see us there."

"All right."

"You got all that down?"

"I think so..."

"Make sure you
know
so. You don't sound very confident for a
Federal Agent." The detective chuckled. "Actually, you sound
exactly like a Fed."

He disconnected. Glancing at Ari's trousers,
he said, "Pull up your pants legs."

Ari did so, exposing his tall beige
socks.

"Higher."

Ari brought the cuffs up past his calves.

"Okay, you're not strapped. You're not wired.
You're not LoJacked. Guess we're ready to go."

Once they were past the town of Midlothian
the road opened up. At the same time, they were closed in by
darkness. It was almost midnight. There were very few cars on the
road. They passed the small intersection of Flat Rock without
seeing anyone.

After openly admiring the Lexus, Ari fell
silent, letting Carrington concentrate on the road. He thought the
detective was going to drive the whole distance without saying a
word, until he said, "I envy you."

"How so?"

"A cop in Iraq. That's real power, or it was
until we got there. I hate those mealy-mouthed Europeans and their
crappy system. I visited England and saw a bobby getting mugged at
King's Cross. Not a police firearm in sight. It was disgusting. But
in Iraq, if you didn't shoot the bad guy on sight, you knew he
would get his due in prison. I mean, I don't know a lot about it,
but from what I can tell, the law really meant something."

"Yes..."

"You don't know how much the average
cop here would like to crack a few skulls. Nothing fatal, just a
concussion here and there. But we whip out a stick and
wham
, a lawsuit."

"I seem to recall a fellow named Rodney
King," said Ari.

"Who deserved every lick he took. Sure,
things get out of hand, sometimes. But we've got the best system in
the world. It's just gone wimpy, that's all. I hate to see it. Now,
that guy who took out those badasses at the Chinese deli, he was
from the old school. Shoot first and fuck the questions."
Carrington cocked his eyes toward the passenger side. "Come on, own
up. You were the triggerman, weren't you? I won't tell anyone.
Hell, I'll stop right here and kiss your ass. You don't see
anything like that anymore. It's Old Testament."

Ari did not speak for a few moments, then
observed: "You have many trees here."

"Aw, fuck the trees. Virginia's one big
woodshed. Should have named it fucking Treeville."

"The nearest we have to something like this
is in the Zagros."

"So what was it like, being a cop in Iraq?
You must've been somebody, with the U.S. Government so hot for you
and all. How many bad guys did you plug?"

Ari watched the trees in the headlights for a
quarter of a mile. He wished it was day. It must be a lovely
sight.

"Detective Sergeant, have you ever
heard of
al-Amn
al-Khas
?"

"No. Should I have?"

"No, I guess not." Ari watched some house
lights float by like glowing buoys. A farmstead on a hill?

"So?"

"They were only an organization of clerks. I
was one of them."

Carrington seemed to fall into a sulk. If he
was hoping for a bit of international cop-bonding, he was sorely
disappointed.

They had both taken a turn at sparking
conversations, but neither had chosen a topic the other was
interested in discussing. The grim hum of the engine and background
hiss of tires on tarmac filled the car like white noise. Carrington
switched on the radio. The dial was set on a classic rock station.
They listened to one minute of 'With Or Without You', the song
spliced with static. They were already at the limit of the
station's transmitter. Rather than scan for a clearer signal, the
detective turned the radio off.

"I'm not in the mood and it's not your type
of music," he said.

"True," said Ari.

"I guess you like that sitar-woozy
stuff."

"I think you're referring to Indian music.
Which I happen to like. There are a lot of similarities between
Indian and Arabic music."

"I wouldn't know," said Carrington drearily,
then perked up. "But you've heard of the big names here, I'm sure.
How about the Eagles?"

"No. Have you heard of Nancy Ajram? Very
big."

"Uh...no.

“
She's Lebanese. Very recent, extremely
popular. You would call her a superstar. My boys are very keen
on…”

“
Hey, you okay? It's just music. Okay,
how about Bob Dylan. You've got to know him."

"I'm afraid not."

"What are you, a bunch of savages? The
whole world knows Bob Dylan. He did a concert in Bangladesh.
Or
for
Bangladesh. You know,
to get money for typhoon victims or flood victims or some
mega-disaster like that. Come on, think. 'Dust in the Wind', 'Here
Comes the Sun', the theme from Titanic..."

"No. None of those sound familiar."

"I thought music was supposed to be
universal," Carrington groused in philosophical disappointment.

"On the contrary," said Ari, a little
pedantically. "Music and humor are the two least universal forms of
culture."

"You don't think Eddie Murphy's funny?
Everybody thinks Eddie Murphy's funny." The detective waited in
vain for an answer. "I guess that big yapping silence means you
never heard of Eddie Murphy."

"I
have
heard of one of your comedians. Do you know someone named
Jerry Lewis?"

Carrington nearly swerved off the road.

"So instead of an Arab asshole I've got a
French asshole here."

"I don't understand," said Ari.

"Forget it. Jesus, is that it? Jerry Lewis is
it? That's all we have in common?"

"If there was time, I'm sure we could find
more," Ari sighed.

"Yeah, like the Beatles and the Rolling
Stones."

"Oh yes, I know them."

"Great, the Brits. I guess they've got
everyone by the balls."

"Tea and football," Ari agreed.

"You mean soccer." Carrington sought out a
mental vision of his high school geography teacher. "The Brits
pretty much laid out Iraq the way it is now, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Us too."

"I admire the Queen, though," Ari
continued.

"She's Mick Jagger in drag," said
Carrington.

Ari chuckled.

“
Hey, we got it! Music and humor!”
Carrington paused. "So this agency you worked for, Om Kas
Whatever...they're all clerks? They must be clerking for somebody.
I mean, you don't just have clerks with nothing attached. We've got
bank clerks, Wal-Mart clerks, 7/11 clerks..."

"I worked for the government."

"Okay, a government clerk. We've got IRS
clerks, DMV clerks, CIA clerks..."

"I handled files."

"A file clerk. I understand that. I can see
why our government would be interested in someone like that. You
know, someone who filed all the dirt. That could be real
national-interest stuff. But what happened at the Chinese
store...that was no clerk."

"That wasn't me," Ari repeated.

"And this isn't my sore ass," Carrington
said, shifting in his seat.

They passed a mileage sign. Cumberland, eight
miles.

They bypassed the entrance to Bear Creek Lake
State Park and followed Oak Hill Road to Cumberland State Forest.
The hi-beams struggled to carve a tunnel of light as they left the
macadam and forged onto a gravel road. Ari noted a sign hanging
from a post.

"Arrowhead Lake," he said.

"Yeah." Carrington did not turn off, but
continued straight.

The headlights picked out dust-covered bushes
on the roadside. Here and there startled eyes peered out from under
the trees before darting away into the underbrush.

"Don't fret," said Carrington, sensing Ari's
anxious gaze. "We'll be meeting your lady."

They came to a three-way intersection and
Carrington turned. A small wood sign announced Willis River Road.
This was less traveled than the other fire road, with more curves
and hills. After descending a sharp slope, they came to a plank
bridge that looked more suitable for hikers than motor vehicles.
Carrington took it without hesitation. The boards rattled
underneath the car. It was too dark to see how far they would drop
if the bridge failed.

“
Detective Sergeant, I think you're
guilty of abusing your very nice car."

"It's okay so long as I go slow," said
Carrington. "But you're right, it's mainly four-wheelers that
you'll see on these roads. Good ol' boys. Know the phrase?"

"I spent some time around American troops. I
believe many of them are 'good ol' boys'."

"I believe you're right. I better not catch
any of them back here spotlighting tonight."

"I'm not familiar with that phrase."

"A deer can't see when a spotlight hits. It
freezes. That's when the hunter shoots him. It's illegal."

"Interesting."

"Stick with me. You'll learn American."

"I don't think there'll be enough time for
that," Ari answered.

"What, they're shipping you back? Why didn't
you tell me?"

"I won't be going back to Iraq. I think my
handler might move me out of the Riggins house after this meeting.
She'll think it's no longer secure."

"To another state?"

"And with another name."

"Shit on that."

"Yes," said Ari.

A building loomed ahead.

"A black Baptist Church," said
Carrington.

"Black? I don't understand."

"Out here, the blacks go to their churches,
the whites go to theirs. Pretty much the same in the city,
too."

"I thought everything here was..."

"Integrated? Not when it comes to churches."
He grinned as he turned back onto a different forest lane. Jim
Birch Road. "Doesn't feel so much like a melting pot now, does
it?"

At this slow speed it was difficult to gauge
how far they had travelled. Ari estimated they had gone nearly two
miles from the church when they came to a turnaround.

"End of the road." Carrington pointed ahead.
"There's the bridge. Your lady friend will come in from that
side."

"Will you be going to her or will she be
coming to us?"

"Cm'on, even a desk cop can see the layout."
Carrington studied his watch. "She crosses, we talk. But first,
I'll need to see if she's wired."

"But that means--"

"Yeah. Enjoy the show." He pulled out his
gun. "This is just insurance. I won't say that I don't trust you,
but that's just not saying it."

"I don't think Ms. Sylvester will agree to
being strip-searched."

"Then the meeting will end before it begins,
and I'll be contacting the gentlemen of the press."

The SIG Sauer did not bother Ari, but a
powerful sorrow filled him. "Detective Sergeant, there's no need to
tell anyone about my presence. Or about..."

"Iceland?"

"Exactly."

"Who's there?" Carrington asked.
"Relatives?"

"My wife and son."

"Why aren't they here with you?"

"I believe your government feels it can
control me better if they remain at a distance."

"That's a pretty fucking big distance."

"As you say."

"Well...war is hell." He switched off his
ignition and doused the headlights. "We've still got some time. No
sense burning gas."

There was a rush of water, presumably from a
stream running under the footbridge. Ari thought of a canal thirty
kilometers outside Baghdad, of three prisoners, of Karim, hands
bound behind him, on his knees, looking up with hopeless vacancy at
his father. A man had held a gun on him then, too. He did not think
Carrington was trying to threaten or even impress him. But Ari was
of the belief that a man should never take out a gun solely for the
sake of insurance. His former leader had threatened Armageddon to
anyone who invaded his country, and his bluff had been called.