Part 28 (2/2)

”I'd like to believe we'll surprise him,” Morgan said soberly, ”but optimism where he's concerned is never a good idea.”

70.

They were flying at 37,000 feet. Judd gazed down, seeing only a sea of white clouds, the earth invisible beneath. In the cabin, Eva, Bosa, and Morgan were at work on their laptops.

Judd called his friend Bash Badawi in Was.h.i.+ngton. It was the middle of the night there, but Bash was at work.

”Bridgeman's locked down Catapult,” Bash complained. ”He's suspicious we're helping you. He's riding Gloria's tail like she's a surfboard. Everything has to go through him until you and Eva are brought in, and that includes all a.s.signments, queries, and information searches. He's got us by the nuts. I can't help you, buddy. If I did, he'd be able to somehow backtrack to where you are.”

”Terrific.” Judd fought discouragement.

”But I've got some good news,” Bash continued. ”Tucker's hemorrhaging has stopped, and there are signs he's regaining consciousness. For the first time, doctors are sounding somewhat optimistic.”

Smiling, Judd said good-bye and told Eva about Tucker.

As she listened, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ”Thank G.o.d.” But then she sighed and pointed at the e-mail displayed on the laptop screen in front of her. ”I didn't hear back from my cuneiform expert, so I e-mailed her a.s.sistant. He says she's in Death Valley investigating pictographs and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. As a personal favor, he's going to try to find someone else to get started on the cuneiform right away, but we shouldn't expect much. As he says, some cuneiform is more difficult to translate than others.”

The tap-tap of keyboards being worked on filled the cabin.

Crossing his arms, Judd thought about the situation in Iraq. Langley always had players in the field there, and right now they would be focused on the country's politics. Iraq was a critical player in the Persian Gulf, and the region was an area of enormous national interest to the United States. The problem was, Prime Minister al-Lami's coalition was fragmented and only erratically able to control the ministries, the military, and the security forces. The government's logistical and planning abilities were limited, too, making it incapable of any serious national defense. Still, it was in the best interests of the United States that al-Lami be reelected instead of a s.h.i.+te extremist like Tabrizi. Al-Lami's quasi-democratic regime might be short on stability and long on thuggery, and it might be unduly interfered with by the Iranians, but at least it formed the basis of a state that could evolve in a better direction.

The CIA station in Baghdad would have in-depth dossiers on everyone who was connected to the election, including Tabrizi's would-be kingmaker, al-Sabah. The problem was, by now the station also had Bridgeman's orders to capture Eva and him. There was no way he could get around that.

He cursed under his breath.

Checking the time, he saw it was almost noon in Baghdad. He dialed Hilu Wahid. Hilu owned a tour guide business-his male relatives did most of the guiding, and his wife ran the office. A top translator, he also worked for the U.S. Emba.s.sy, where he sometimes acted as unofficial go-between with Iraqi politicians, businesspeople, tribal leaders, and the media.

Hilu was connected, a fixer who moved in many circles.

After five rings, a brisk voice answered. ”A-salaamu aleek.u.m.”

”Masa'ah alkhier, Hilu. It's your old friend Judd Ryder.”

Hilu was instantly alert. ”Didn't I put you on a plane back to Was.h.i.+ngton a couple of days ago, or am I hallucinating?”

”I couldn't stay away. I'll be in Baghdad in a couple of hours.”

”I'd say welcome back, but I can hear in your voice you want something. You are a scamp, Judd. Hold on.” There was a pause. ”All right, I've got my reading gla.s.ses and a pad of paper. Talk.”

”Tell me about Siraj al-Sabah.”

Judd heard a sudden intake of breath.

”That dog,” Hilu growled. ”He has a mountain of ambition but a black heart. He thinks he can get anything by spreading money like manure. Al-Sabah and Tabrizi sometimes act as if Iran is somehow a better, purer country than Iraq because its ayatollahs say religion and government are the same. 'Islam is politics'-that's what they say.” He muttered something under his breath. ”Our s.h.i.+te imams are different. They say religion shouldn't bother with day-to-day government. There are other differences, too. Iranians speak Farsi, and we speak Arabic. They're Persians, and we're Arabs. In the old days, Iraqi fathers wouldn't give their daughters in marriage to Persians-it was considered shameful. We are not Iran, and I don't want to be. Iran wants to swallow us whole, but we're not going to let them do it!” Hilu's hard, angry breathing sounded in Judd's ear. ”Is that enough background for you?”

”That's helpful, but what about al-Sabah's family? Where does he come from? Where did he get so much money?”

”Okay, okay. There's someone you need to meet when you get here. He works for al-Sabah and knows him personally. He'll give you an earful. He wants to leave al-Sabah's organization, but there are only two ways he says you can get out-you die in the field, or he has you killed.”

”Good. Can you arrange it?”

”Of course. He's my cousin.”

They said good-bye, and Judd slid his cell phone into his pocket. He had been so focused that he had not noticed someone had pulled the shades down on the jet's windows. Morgan was dozing in his chair, his gaunt head lying to the side, his beak of a nose in grand profile against the seat's pale leather back. Bosa's and Eva's eyes were closed, and they appeared to be sleeping, too. In the c.o.c.kpit, Jack and George took a tray of sandwiches from Doug and exchanged some banter.

As Doug left, they slammed the door shut.

”Fly boys.” Doug shook his head. ”I'm going to lie down, too. Don't bother me unless there's blood on the floor.”

As Doug headed aft, all of them opened their eyes and peered at Judd.

”What did your Iraqi friend say?” Eva asked.

Judd repeated the information from Hilu.

A couple of minutes later, Judd's cell phone buzzed. He answered quickly. ”Yes?”

”It's Hilu, my friend. All is arranged. My cousin's name is Mahmoud Issa.” He related the address. ”He'll meet you at four P.M. I'll try to be there, too. He says to be careful. Very careful.”

71.

Baghdad, Iraq Judd peered down at Baghdad International Airport. Ten miles west of the city, it was an island of concrete and steel in the dun-colored desert. As the jet circled toward landing, he could see a couple of jets taxiing, a few helicopters waiting, and four planes parked at the terminal.

As he looked around, a black cloud erupted in northeast Baghdad, then another billowed up in the downtown area. More bombings.

”Iraq's a dangerous place these days,” Eva commented.

”Worse than ever,” he told her. ”Businesspeople and tourists are reluctant to come here. Now there are big empty s.p.a.ces at the airport again where nothing is going on.”

”It used to be an international hub,” Morgan remembered. ”Flying into Baghdad wasn't like flying into Frankfurt, but it was pretty d.a.m.n impressive.”

Bosa said nothing, just shook his head.

It was almost three o'clock. Judd and Bosa had a little more than an hour to get to the meeting with Mahmoud Issa. The rendezvous was in downtown Baghdad, and if the traffic were bad, they would not make it in time. Eva and Morgan were going to SIL headquarters to watch for al-Sabah. It, too, was in downtown Baghdad.

As the jet descended, Judd spotted two black SUVs parked together next to a chain-link fence skirting the airport's private section. Jack had called ahead and rented two Ford Explorer SUVs, both armored of course and both black, because black was a favored color in Baghdad to warn of power. The rental agency had taped keys under the driver's side back fenders.

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