Midnight Sun

MIDNIGHT SUN
A novel by
Basil Sands
 
 
©2012, Basil Sands
 
www.basilsands.com


DEDICATION
 
To my wife
and
my sons
without whom
there is no story


Chapter
1
SouthwesternPunjab,Pakistan
November4th
“Aliaga, howlongwillthemeetingbetoday?” Kharzaifidgetedashespoke,lookingoutthewindowatthedustylandscapethatpassedthemby.
AliturnedinthefrontpassengerseatandglaredatKharzaioverthetopedgeofhismirroredsunglasses.
“AlGul,yourweddingplanswillbeasscheduled.” AliusedthecovernameKharzaiwasknownbyamongtheTalibanand allied organizations. “Theoldmanmadethatveryclear.”
“Howdidyouknowthat’swhatIwasthinking?”
“Because that girl istheonlythingyouhavebeentalkingaboutforaweek.”
“I’vetalkedaboutmorethanLeilathisweek.”
“No.” Alishookhishead. “No,youhavenot.”
“Ididtoo.” Kharzailookedindignant. “ItoldyouweneededtoresupplytheammocacheatBahawalpur.”
“Thatwasbusiness.Imean,otherthanbusiness,youhavenotbroughtupanyothersubjectbutthisgirlyouwantsobad.Ifyouweresohorny,youshouldhavejustgottenaprostitute.Hell,getayoungboytotakearoundasyourpupil…atleastyouwon’thavetoworryaboutmakingmorekidsthatway.”
“YouArabsaresick."
"Arabs?YouPersianshavenoroomtospeak.What'shisname...” Alitappedhistempletodrawupthememory. “IrajMirza,thepoet,diddlingboyswasallhewroteabout.”
“ApparentlyIdonotreadthesamepoetsasyou,” Kharzaisaid."Thatstuffneverhappenedinmyfamily.Ourfathersmadeusironchastitybeltswithrazorbladesaroundourbungholes."
"What?"
"Yeah,theyhadaholeforustolet out waste, butbladesaroundtherimofthehole toprotectusfromanywrong-waytraffic.Itwashellonthefurniture,butanymanwhothoughthecouldentermeormycousin'sbackdoorwould'veenjoyedasecondcircumcision."
Alichuckled."Youareastrangeman,SeirimAlGul. Verystrangeindeed."
"All right,timetogetserious,"barkedthe driver.Kharzai'sfacereflectedbackathimintherearviewmirror.Thedriver'seyeswereshieldedbysilveredaviatorsunglassesaswell."Wearehere."
Thecolumnofvehiclespulledintoaclusterofsingle-storymud-brickhousesandanimalpensthatplayedatbeingavillage.Childrenscuttledbetweenthehousesinsomesortofgame,andaherdofgoatslookedupatthevehicleswiththeblankstareofbestialcuriosity.Beforethevehiclescametoacompletestop,aclusteroflaughingboyssurroundedthem,chatteringallatoncelike a gangofmonkeys,  wideexpressionsofinnocentjoyontheirfaces,ignorantofthecoldviolenceembodiedinthesemen to whomtheyclamoredforattention.Aliandtheotherspushedtheboysoutoftheway,projectingacruelterroristpersona.  Someoftheboyscoweredandshrankback. OthersignoredthemeanmenandhomedindirectlyonKharzai.
Inspiteofhisreputationasacold-bloodedkiller—SeirimAlGulliterallymeansHairyDemon—Kharzailovedandwaslovedbychildren.Hetrottedintothemobofboysandwiththetoeofhisshoe,snatchedasoccerballfromoneofthem,startinganinstantgameofkeepaway.  Boyschasedhim,trippingovereachother,laughingatKharzai'ssillyfacesastheytriedinvaintogettheballback.
Leilacameoutofanearbyhouseandstoodattheedgeoftheplayarea.Thelooseendofacleanwhitedupattadrapedaroundhershouldersandheadflutteredinthewarmbreeze.Thesunlightsetherunblemishedfaceaglowlikeagoddess.Likeamangaartist'sdreamofbeauty,largealmondeyespeeredathimfrombeneaththefringeofherdupatta,poolsofdeepbrownthatdrewhimin.Herbrightorangeloose-fittingshalwarkameezmadehimthinkofsunriseandfreshfruit.ThebaggyPakistaniclothingwasnotnearlyasformlessastheinfamousburka,andwhilebeingmodestbywesternstandardsallowedhervividfemininitytoremainapparentasshemoved.Aroundherneckhungathingoldchainwithaheart-shapedpendantKharzaihadmadefromatwistedbraidofgoldwire.His mouth stretched withahugesmileand he winkedather,flashingbrightwhiteteeththroughhisthickblackbeard.Shegiggledinresponse.
“AlGul,” oneofthemenfromtheconvoycalledfromthedoorofahouse.
Hekickedtheballovertheheadsoftheboys,sendingthemonachaseasitbouncedintoagoatpen.AfewofthemfollowedbehindKharzailikeagaggleofgoslingsashejoggedtowardthehouse.Themanatthedoorsnarledattheboys,stoppingthemshortinfear.
"Goplay,"Kharzaisaidwithaswooshofhishandasheenteredthehouse.Theyranoff.HeglancedovertoLeilaasshewalkedintooneoftheotherhouses.Ajoltofnerveswriggledthroughhisbellyasthedoorclosedbehindhim.HemusedhowfunnyitwasthatalGwahari'sdaughtercouldmakehimfeelsogiddy,especiallyinlightofthefactthathewasgoingtokillthemanwithintheweek.Thenadifferentthoughthithim:Hewasgoingtokillhisfiancée’sfather.
Whatifshedoesn'tlikemeafter?
ButthenherememberedthatalthoughshecouldneversayitaloudtoanyonebutKharzai,whomshe,liketheothers,onlyknewasSeirimAlGul,shehatedherfatherandeverythinghestoodfor.HewasacompanionofmenlikeOsamabinLadinandImanalZawahiri,massmurdererswhocontrolledthepopulationwithterror.Onthedayheproposedtoher,Leilaconfided to Kharzaithatshehatedthejihad.Shehatedthewarandthefightingandthekillingandwantedtorunawayfromeverything.ShewantedtomovetoAustraliaortheUnitedStatesandmakeanewlifewhereshecouldbefreefromthefearthatalwayssurroundedherhome.
Whenheaskedhowshecouldtrusthimwithsuchwordswhenhewasafighterlikeherfather'smen,shetoldhimthathewasdifferent.Hewasnotjustanothercrazyjihadist.Somethingsethimapart,butshecouldnotputherfingeronit.Theywouldmarry,thendisappearandlivehappilyeverafter.
KharzaienteredthehouseandwasledtotheroomwherealGwaharisatonacarpet,hiswarchiefsinacirclearoundasmalltable.
"AlGul." Hisvoicecameinagravellyrumble."Myson-in-law,pleasesit.Joinusfortea."
Kharzaisatontheflooracrossfromtheolderman.AlGwaharididnotlookthepartofaterroristwarlord.HelackedtheevilsneerofbinLadin and thedull-eyedmaskofalZawahiri.Hisgrandfatherlyappearancehadworkedinhisfavortoacquirealliances,butthosewhocrossed him soonlearnedthatitwasaruse.Thekind-lookingoldmanhadnoqualmsinordering,andoverseeing,thewholesalemassacreofvillagesthatrefusedhisdemands.HehadpersonallyexecutedtwoISIagentsandKharzai’sCIAcontact—luckily, thelatterdiedwithoutrevealingKharzai'sduplicity.AlGwaharistilltrustedhim,asfarasheknew.
"Thankyou,sir.Iamflatteredyouwouldinvitemein."Kharzai bowed hishead,hisgazefocusedonthefloorinagestureofhumility.
"No,itisIwhoamflatteredthatafamouswarriorofAllahlikeyouwouldmarrymydaughter."
"Ilookforwardtobeingyourson-in-law."
"Theceremonybeginstomorrow, and therestoftheguestswillbeherebymorning,"alGwaharisaid."Thenextfourdaysandnightswillbeforcelebration,butnowthereisworktobedone."
"ThenIwillnotwasteyourtime,sir."
AlimotionedtoKharzai."AlGul,bringinthecaseofsurveillanceinformationweleftinthecar.Afterthat,youmaygotothemosqueandbeginyourpurificationwhilewediscussthemissionschedule."
"Thankyou,Aliaga."
Kharzaisteppedoutthedoorandbackintothebrightsunlight.Theboyshadgivenupontheirsoccergameandsatontheshadedsideofthehouseplayingwithmarblesinthedirt.Leilaapproached holdingatrayofcupsandapotofsteamingtea.Herheadbowedinmodesty,sheturnedhereyesuptohimandsmiledwhenhelookedbackather,addinganexaggeratedswishtoherhipsasshedrewnear.
"Threemoredays,mylove. Onlythreedaysandwewillbeone,"hesaid.
Shetwistedherfaceintopout."Idon'tknow.IthinkImightchangemymind."
Kharzairaisedaneyebrowandforcedhisfaceintoaseriousexpression,"Ifyouchangeyourmindnow,I’llstrapona shaheed vestandthrowmyselfintoatrain."
"ThenIwillhavetomarryyou.You'retoocutetoblowyourselfup!"
Theylaughed.Heheldthedooropenandshewalkedintothehouse.Theireyeslocked as she passed,likemagnetsunabletoresisteachother.Thedoorclosedbehindher,breakingthebond.Hewalkedtothecar,practicallyfloatingabovetheground,openedthetrunk,andretrievedasuitcaseoffilesandphotos.MostoftheimageswerealreadyinthehandsoftheCIAandISI,andcounter-opswerealreadyworkingondefensivemeasures.
Asheliftedtheheavycase,hiscellphonebleepedwith an incomingtextmessage.Kharzaisetthecaseonthelipoftheopentrunkandpulledthephonefromhispantspocket.Hethumbedthetextmessagebuttonandreadthewordsonthescreen.
Impactimminent...DUCK!
Abrighthissscreechedinthedistance,growinglouderfast.Hisheartleapedintohisthroatandhestartedforthehouse.Heopenedhismouth,shoutingfortheboystorun,butthewordswere shred in midair, hisbreath torn from his lungs asthehouseeruptedwithanearth-shatteringroar.Theforceoftheexplosionthrewhimbackandoverthecar, and he landed inthedirtwithabrain-rattlingimpact.Hewilledhis stalled lungstoexpandand suck inair,thenpushedhimselfontohisfeetandstumbledforward.
Wherethehousehadstoodwasaheap of shatteredbricksandsplinteredwood.Cloudsofdustslowlysettledovertherubble.Terrifiedvillagerspeekedfrominsidetheirhomes,lookingfirstatthedestructionthenuptothesky,prayingmorebombswerenotontheway.Dazed,Kharzaistumbledintotheruinssearching,prayingthatshehadsteppedoutthebackdoor,orbysomemiraclehadbeenprotected.Hefroze,hiseyeslockedonapieceofbrightorangelinenthatglowedinsharpcontrasttotheshatteredbrickandcharredwood.Hemovedtowarditandsawherstockingedfoottwistedbeneathalargemassofcrumbledstone.Hestartedtoreachdown,todigherout.Aglimmerofgoldsparkledtwometersaway—her necklace.He stepped toward it and reacheddowntopickitup,handstrembling,tearswellingupinhiseyes.Ashepulledonit,astonerolledaside, revealing strandsoflongbrownhairthatwaveredinabreezethatkickeduplowtotheground. He glanced back at her foot and instantly realized that Leila's hair and necklace were entirely too far from her feet. His stomach lurched and he struggled to force himself to a place of detached calm. Hepulledafoldingknifefromhispocketandcutthe hairasclosetothesourceashecould,refusingtheurgetodigherbodyout,notwantingtosee her face,onlymomentsbeforefulloflifeandbeauty,nowmangledindeath. He would only hold on to thememoryofthelivingwomanheloved. He tiedthelockofhairintoaknotaroundthegoldchainandpushed them intohispocket.
***
KharzaiwalkedintoaLahorecoffeehouse,theacridsmelloftobaccosmokeandstrongcoffeestinginghisnostrilsashecrossedthemostlyemptyroomtoatableinthefarcorner.A deeply tanned CaucasianmanlookedupfromthetableandacknowledgedKharzai'sapproach.Hestartedtorise,butKharzai'sexpressionadvisedhimtostayseated.
"Youweresupposedtowaitformysignal, Michael,"Kharzaigrowled.
"Wehad the house onsatellite,” Michael said, “andknewwewouldonlyhaveonechance."
Kharzaigrabbedhimbythecollarandwrenchedhimupfromthechair.
“Wegaveyouawarningmessage,” Michael sputtered.
“Youkilledabunchofkids!” ViolencepunctuatedKharzai'svoice.
The CIA man'sfacetwistedinexpectationofgettinghit.Kharzaidroppedhimbackintothechair.
“BlametheTaliban,notme!” Michael straightenedhiscollar,lookingnervouslyaround. “They’retheoneswhohideamongcivilians!”
“Youcouldhavewaiteduntilmysignal.”
Themanrosetohisfeet. “AlGwahariwouldhaveslippedawayagain. Itwasworth...”
Kharzairammedhisfiststraightintotheman'snose.Bloodsprayed across the man's white shirt and he stumbledbackwards,knockingthetableoverandfallingtothefloor.
"Youkilledmywife,youbastard!"
Themanrosetohiskneesandtouchedhisface.Hewincedandlookeddowninhorrorasbloodcontinuedtopulsefromhisnoseandspreadoverhishands.
"Jesus! You brokemynose!"
"You’reluckyyoustillhavetesticles,yousonofabitch.” Kharzaipickedupanapkinfromthetableandwipedthebloodfromhisknuckles. “TellyourbossthatI’m out."
"Youcan’tquit.” Michael said in a liquid,nasal voice."You’reintoodeep—they won’tletyougo."
Kharzaistareddownathiminabarelycontrolledrage.
"TellthemIamdead. And ifanyonecomestofindme,theywillbetoo."


Chapter2
MidtownAnchorage
Thursday, June16th
1 p.m.
LonnieJohnsonmadeasoundlikeahiccup that got interrupted halfway up her throat.Hereyesbulged,thennarrowedtotightslits,andshestrainedbackinherchair,screwingupherface.Achubbydark-skinnedgirlbehindtheregisterlookedupandsaidsomethinginSpanishtoateenagecookatthegrillnexttoher.HeturnedtowardsLonnie, eyes wide, a concerned look on his face.
Her husband,Marcus,swallowed a mouthful of beans and rice. “Areyouall right,honey?”
“Dios,” mutteredthegrillcook. “Youchokin’, lady?ShouldIcall911?”
Sheshookherhead,butdidn'tsayanything. The half-dozen customers intherestaurantstaredather.Shereleasedthetensionwithawhooshofairandopenedhereyeswide.
“I’mfine. Mybaby'sjustdoingspinninghookkicksinresponsetothesalsa.”
“Idon’teverwanttogetpregnant,” the girlbehindthecounter said with a noticeable Mexican accent.
“Itoldyounottoeatthespicygreenstuff,” Marcus wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Betweenthatandallthekimchiyoukeepputtingdown,you’regoingtoburnaholeinyourstomach.”
“Thekimchiisgenetic.IamKorean;therefore,Ieatkimchi.” Lonnie pulled herstraightblackhairbehindherheadandsecured the ponytailwithascrunchie. “AndasfarasIcantell,whoevermakesthissalsamusthavesomeKoreanbloodinthem,too.Ilovethisstuff.”
“Yeah,well,babydoesnot.”
“Thelittleonebettergetusedtoit,” Lonniereplied. “TacoKingiswhatIcrave.”
TacoKingwasrealMexicancuisine,madebyrealMexicanimmigrants,notlikethebigchainrestaurantsorfast-foodgarbageendorsedbyaChihuahua.Withastylesomewherebetweenfastfoodandfullservice,howeveronedefinedit,thefoodwasamazing.LonnieJohnson,eightmonthspregnant,couldnotgetenoughofit.ThefactthatAnchoragehadtwoofthem,aswellasseveralgoodKoreanrestaurants,madetheirstayinthebigcitytolerable.NeithershenorMarcusparticularlyenjoyedstayinginAnchorageforanylengthoftime.ThecityofnearlyhalfamillionfeltlikeanovercrowdedmetropolisincomparisontotheirhometownofFairbanksthreehundred and sixtymilestothenorth,populationfiftythousand. And since Taco King had a store in Fairbanks Lonnie’s cravings could easily be satisfied at home.
Marcusstuffedhalfasoftcorntortillafilledwithlengua—broiledbeeftongue—into hismouth.Aspotofsourcreamstucktothecornerofhislip,brightwhiteincontrasttohismilk-chocolatebrownskin.Hespokewhilethefoodwasstillinhismouth.
“Ifyou’redonetorturingyourself,weneedtohurryupandgetgoing.Theirflightlandsinaboutthirtyminutes.”
Lonniestretchedherbackasshestood,herdistendedbellybulging underaloose-fittingbluecottonshirtthatflaredoutinpleatsbeneathherswollenbreasts.
“Itlookslikeabasketballinhershirt,” theyoungmanbehindthegrillmutteredinSpanish.
“Itfeelslikeabowlingball,” Lonniereplied in the same language.
Thegirl stared, shook her head andrepeatedher previous statement. “Ineverwanttogetpregnant.”
Marcus'sforestgreenF250CrewCabpickuptrucksatinthesun-drenchedparkinglot,absorbingdirectradiation.Reflectedheatwaveswiggledintheairabovethehood.Ithadbeenanunusuallyhotsummersofar—at least,fromanAlaskanperspective.Temperatures had hoverednearoraboveeightydegreesfortwostraightweeks,anditwasonlythesixteenthofJune.Solstice,summer’sofficialstartandthelongestdayoftheyearwithnearlytwentyhoursofsunlight,wasstillfivedaysaway.
Marcus heldhiswife’sarmandcarriedherpurseastheywalkedtothetruck. Two decades intheMarineCorpsandhestillknewhowtobetender.Lonnielovedit.Shewasawomanwhocouldtake care ofherselfanddidnotparticularlygoforthehelplessmaidenactsomewomenputon.Morethan ten years asanAlaskaStateTrooperhadmadeherconfidentinownabilities.Butsheneverrefusedherhusbandwhenhewantedtoplaythegentleman,especiallyasherpregnancyprogressedtowardthefinalstages.
Whenheopenedthepassengerdoor,awaveofheatassaultedthemasifhe’dopenedanoven.
"Holdonasecond,baby,"Marcussaid. “Letsomeoftheheatoutbeforeyougetin."
LonniewaitedasMarcuscrossedtothedriver’ssideandopenedhisdoor.A draftblewthroughtheinteriorofthetruck, and shesmiledastheairbrushedacrossherface.Hejoggedbackaroundandhelpedherupasshegraspedthehandleabovetheseatinsideandclimbedintothecab.  ShestretchedtheseatbeltaroundherbellyasMarcusreturnedto his side.
Lonniewatchedhimsettleintohisownseat."You'rekindacute,youknow,"shesaid."Wannabreedwithme?”
“Uh,” hesaid, “lookslikewe’vealreadydonethat.”
“Well . . .” Hervoicecameinaflirtatiouslilt. “Idon’thavetoworryaboutgettingpregnantthen,doI?”
Hegrinnedandshookhisheadashestartedthetruck.TheydroveacrossAnchoragetoTedStevensInternationalAirport.Marcusfoundanopenstallintheparkinggaragebigenoughforhistruckandslippedintothespace.Theywalkedintothebuildingandrodetheescalatortothepassengerreceivingarea.Accordingtothebankofflat-panelmonitorsonthewall,flight142fromChicagohadarrivedfiveminutesearlier.
They waited atthepoint above the escalators whereall the passengersfromthemajorairlinesexit. Acrowdoftired-lookingtravelersappearedinthedistanceattheendofthelongconcourseontheothersideoftheTSAgate. Manywalkedwithzombie-likeexpressionsafterthetwelve-hour-plusflightsthathadcarriedthemtoAlaska.Marcushadn'tseenhisfriendinmorethanfifteenyearsandwasn'tsureifhe'd even be able to recognize him.Hescannedtheseaofpeoplethatmovedpast,butsawnoonefamiliar.ThenafacepoppedbrieflyintoviewandcaughtMarcus’sattention.Theforty-somethingmanwastallandhandsome,withtannedskinandlightbrownhairpepperedwithenoughstrandsofwhitetogivehimaprofessoriallook,orthatofaretiredSpecial Forcesoperative.Steel-grayeyespeeredfromaboveaslightlycrookednose.Hisleftcheekwasscarredwith the one identifier that confirmed his friend without a doubt—the L-shapedknotof puckered fleshputthere when the man was captured and tortured byaSomaliwarlordin'93.
MikeFarrissawMarcusamomentlater.Hesmiledandputhishandontheelbowofastunningauburn-hairedwomannexttohim.Mikesaidsomethingtothewoman,thentheystrodethroughthegate, the wheels of their carry-onbagsclackingrhythmicallyovertheseamsofthetiledfloor.
HeandMarcushadspentalotoftimetogetherwhileservingintheMarines,violentdaysintheearlypartoftheirspecialoperationscareers.Thelasttimetheyhadseeneachotherwasthedayafter they hadkilled a former colleague who'dbecomeamercenaryforhireintheBosnianconflict.Shortlyafterthatmission,MarineReserveCaptainMikeFarrisreturnedtoseminaryinCaliforniawherehewastrainingtobecomeapastor,andMarcuscontinuedtwelvemoreyearsasaspecialoperationswarrior.TheirmutualfriendPaulHogan,whohadbeenFarris’ssergeantforseveralyears,putthemincontactshortlyafterMike’sfirstwifeandchildwerekilledinadrive-byshootingoutsidehisOhiochurch.NowservingasthechaplainfortheOhioValleyFBIregionalofficeandnewlyremarried,Farriswasstartinglifeoverforthethirdtime.
“Mike!”
“Mojo!” MikecalledMarcusbythenicknamehe'dbeengiveninthespecopscommunity,derivedbysimplyusingtheinitialsofhisfullname,MarcusOrlandoJohnson.
Thetwomenembracedwith a loudback-slappingman-hug.
“Dude,” Marcussaid, “it’sbeentoolong.”
“Waytoolong,bro,” saidMike. “AndyoumustbeLonnie. “Hereachedouthishandingreeting.
“Pleasuretomeetyou,Mike,” shesaid,takinghishand. “Marcushasbeentalkingnon-stopaboutthisreunion.” She turnedtowardtheotherwoman. “Iamguessingyou'retheluckybride?”
“Ah,no,” Mikesaidwithadismissivegesture. “ThisisjustsomebabeIpickedupontheplane.”
“Mike!” Sheslappedhimontheshoulder. “You’dbetterintroducemeright.OrI'lljustleaveyououtinthemountains.”
“Ow,” Mikerubbedhisshoulder. “Youslapashardasyoukick.”
“That’swhatyougetformarryinganFBIagent.”
“Marcus,Lonnie,meettheformerMissHildegardRottbruck,nowknownasMrs.HildeFarris.” Hewrappedhisarmaroundherwaist. “Don’tworry—she onlybeatsmelikethatinpublic.Inprivate,she’susuallyquitesweet.”
Hildesmiledandgreetedthem. “Nicetomeetyouboth,” shesaid. “MikeandPaultalkaboutyouallthetime,Mr.Johnson.”
“Please,noneedforformality.It’sapleasuretomeetyouaswell.” Marcuspointedwithhisthumbinthedirectionthecrowdwasmoving. “We’dbettergetyourluggagebeforetheyputitbackontheplane.”
Thefourofthemrodetheescalatordowntothebaggagearea.LonniestayedwithMikeandHildeastheycollectedtheirbags.Marcuswentouttogetthetruck.Acrowdmilledaroundtheluggagecarousel,somelesspatientlythanothers.  Standingoutfromthemixofgray-hairedtouristgroups,uniformedsoldiers,andmodestlydressedlocals,acontingentofTexans,identifiedbytheirLonghornlogojacketsandbrashaccents,blockedhalfoftheconveyor belt whileeveryoneelse'sbagspassedby.Thisinspiteoftheyellowmarkerlineandsignsthatstatedtostaybackuntilyourownbagswereready.OneoftheAlaskanmenshoutedwithacommandingvoice,orderingthewholegrouptostepback. SeveraloftheTexanwomenshothimanevilglare,buthisvoicewassostrongandtheirritatedglareoftherestofthecrowdsodirectthattheentireTexaspartytooktwohugestepsback.
“Ican'tstandrudepeople,” hemuttered.
Miketurnedtohim. “YousoundlikeaNavyChiefIonceknew.”
“Weallsoundalike,” themansaid.HeglancedupatMike,whostoodseveralinchestaller,thenasked, “Wheredidyouserve?”
“ForceRecon,"Mikereplied.
“Afreakin'jarhead.”
“Yeah,you?”
“SpecialBoatTeam,SeniorChiefPettyOfficer.”
“Coronado?"
“Yeah,Team12.”
“Whendidyouretire?”
“Calleditacareerinoh-sixafterthreetoursinsouthernIraq,"saidthechief."Howaboutyou?”
“Ileftfull-timeserviceinninety-four.ButretiredfromtheCorpsasareservistthesameyearyoudid,"Mikesaid,"Wereyouwiththeteamsintheearlynineties?”
“Sure.Why?”
“Iwasafrequentflierwithyourguysbackthen.”
“Youshittingme?”
"FirstForceRecon,” Mike said. “'89to'94.”
HildenudgedMike. “Honey,ourbagsarecoming.”
“Holyshit,” saidthechief. “Smallfreakin'world,ain'tit?Imight'adrivenyourgod-damnedboatthen,devildog.”
Mikeheldouthishandtoshake.
“MikeFarris.”
“JimWalters.” Theretired seniorchieftookhishand. “Pleasuretomakeyouracquaintance.Youpartofthisgroup?” WaltersjammedathumbattheTexans.
“No,thankGod.I'mupherewithmywifeforourhoneymoon.”
“Where’reyoufrom?”
“Ohio.We'reupherefortwoweeks.Afriendofminefrombackinrecon, Marcus Johnson,istakingusona'photohunt'ofDenali.”
“MojoJohnson?”


“Youknowhim?” Mikesteppedforwardandpulledhisbagsofftheconveyor.
“MeandMojoweretheonlytwoAlaskans in the big green machine Iknewbackthen.IdrovehisassallovertheIraqicoastandriversystem.”
Walterssteppeduptothebeltandgrabbedacouple of bags.
“Hey,ifyouevergetouttotheMatsuValley,lookmeup.” HedroppedoneofhisbagsandhandedMikeabusinesscard. “Wecanshoottheshitoversomebeer.”
“Willdo, Chief,” Mikesaid. “Pleasuremeetingyou.”
MikeandHildefollowedLonnieoutthedoorstowardthesidewalk,pullingtheirwheeledbags.Lonniepointedouttheirtruckandwaved,signalingMarcustopulltothecurb.Inlessthantwentyseconds,theyloadedupandpulledoutoftheterminal,turningontoInternationalAirportRoad.Afewmileslater,theyexitedtoMinnesotaBoulevardandfolloweditintodowntownAnchorage,wheretheyhadroomsbookedattheluxuriousHotelCaptainCook.
TheCaptainCook,Anchorage'sfirstandforemostluxuryhotel,hadoriginallyopenedinthelatesixties.Unlikethesterilelookofnationalchainhotels,theCaptainCooktoutedold-fashionedelegancewithdarkteakpanelingandburnishedbrassaccents.Interspersedbetweenclassyshopsthatsoldeverythingfromexpensivefurcoatstohand-carvedwalrustuskscrimshawart,muralsofthehotel’snamesake,CaptainJamesCook,illustratedhislifeontheseas.
Hildescannedthecrowdawaitingcheck-in. Manyofthemshehadseenattheairport,includinganumberoftheTexans.Shefrozeinhertracks,alookofsurpriseonherface.
“Whatisit?” Mikeasked.
“That'sToniaRoberts,” Hildereplied,noddingtowardablackwomanhalfwayacrosstheroom.Thewoman,hairpulledbackinatightbun,wasdressedinadarkbluepantsuitthatseemedhalfasizetoosmall.
“HaveImether?”
“Idon'tthinkso.She'sSecretService,PresidentialSecurity.”
Toniawastalkingwithatall,serious-lookingmandressedinablacksuit.HildecalledoutandwavedherhandtoTonia,whoturnedatthesoundofhername,hermouthgaped open withanastonishedsmile.ShebrokeoffherconversationandwalkedtowardHilde.
“Whatintheworldareyoudoinghere?” Toniasaid.
“I'monmyhoneymoon.Iwaswonderingthesameaboutyou.Don'ttellmethebigguyiscominguphere.”
“Asamatteroffact...” Toniatrailedoff,hereyesscanningMikeandtheothers.
“Tonia,letmeintroducemyhusband,MikeFarris.”
“You'reMikeFarris?” Toniaraised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “Thehappenin’ chaplain?Supermanwithapriestcollar.”
“Idon’tknowaboutallthat.Itwasjustabadguywhoneededsomeattitudecorrection.”
“Yeah,” Tonia said with attitude, “abadguywithabigbomb.Yournameiseverywhereinfederallawenforcementcircles.”
Hildejumpedin,deflectingtheconversation.Mikedidn’tliketotalkabouttheincidentinOhiothathadintroducedthem more than a year ago,andhadalsocostthelifeofhisfirstwifeandonlychild.SheintroducedMarcusandLonnie.
“Lonnieisastatetrooper.We'reallprettymuchinthesamelineofwork.”
TonialookedatLonnie'sprotrudingbelly.
“Theybetternothaveyououtonpatrolnow.Pleasetellmeyou'renotbreakingupbarfightswithapackageinthemaillikethat.”
Lonnielaughed. “No,ofcoursenot.I'malieutenant,anyway,somostofmyworkisbehindadesk.”
“Good,” Toniaturned toward Marcus. “Andpleasetellmethisstudmuffinstandingnexttoyouisjustafriend,whoissingleandlooking.Tellmehe’snotyourhusband.”
Marcusgrinnedsheepishlyandheldupthehandwithhisweddingring. “Spokenfor,ma’am.”
“Damn,” Tonia said. “AreallAlaskanmenlikethese?Ifso,Imayneedtoextendmystay.”
“Mikehereisjustaplainoldmid-westerner,” Marcus motioned to his friend.
“But,” Lonnieinterjected, “they’rebothretiredMarines.”
“Ooh,” Tonia said. “I'mgonnastarthangingaroundtheMarinebarracksat8th&Ithen.Imean,damn,girls.”
Mikeblushed. “Wecomewithalotofbaggagethough.”
“Ifyou'redoneflirtingwithourhusbands,” Hildesaid, “youdidn'tanswertheoriginalquestion.Areyouuphereforbusinessorpleasure?”
“Iwishitweren’t so,butwe'reworking.”
“Youmeanthebossiscominghere?”
“Yep.”
Allfourofthemlookedimpressed.
“What prompted this visit?” Lonnie asked.
“Ibetit'sfortheAlaskaGas-Pipelineopeningceremony,” Marcus said.
“Doubledamn,” Tonia said, “ahottieandsmarttoboot.Girl,you'dbettertakecareofthisman,'causeIamshopping.” ShewinkedatLonnie,thenreturnedtoHilde'squestion. “Bigguyiscomingupfortheeventnextweek.Afewotherinternationalbigleaguersarejoiningtoo.”
“Wow.Howdidwenotknowaboutthis?” Mike asked.
“Well,honey,” Hilde said, “we’ve been intheprocessofgettingmarriedforthepastfewmonths.Thattakesprecedenceoveranysignificantworldwidenews.”
“Gotchathere,Mike,” Lonnie said. “Woman'sgotherprioritiesstraight.Ithinkwe'regoingtogetalongjustfine,Hilde.”
ThemanToniahadbeentalkingtostrodeover. “Weneedtogetmoving.”
“Warner,thisisMikeFarris,” shesaid,pointingtoMike.
Warnerlookedathimsilently.Hewasthetypeofpersonwhoseemedtoseeeverything,butsaid little.Hewasnotparticularlymuscular,anddefinitelymilitarybeforetheSecretService. He carriedhimselfwithahumblewarrior'sconfidencethatcouldmakeaweakermanmeltinself-doubtjustlookingathim.
“OutstandingjobinOhio,sir,” Warnersaid. “Sorrywecan'ttalkmuch,butwe'vegotworktodo.”
“Understood,” Mikesaid.
“Okay, Mr.Roboto,” Tonia said withashakeofherhead. “Sorry,Hilde,I'vegottogetbacktoestablishingadefensibleperimeterandsurveyingpotentialvulnerabilities.”
Warnerturnedhisexpressionlessfacetowardher. “Weneedtofinishthesector.”
“Let'sgettogetherfordrinkslater,” Hildesaid.
“Yougotit,” Tonia replied. “I'lltrytofindanotherdate,though.Lurchhereonlydrinksgunoil.”
Warnercrunchedhiseyebrows.
“Idon'tdrinkgunoil,” hemutteredastheywalkedaway.
Theycheckedin,thengotintotheelevator.
“I’vemadeseveno’clockreservationsattheCrow’sNestrestaurantonthetopfloorofthehotel.” Marcussaidastheyascended. “Untilthen,getsomerestinyourroomtoworkoutthejetlag.”
Lonniesuddenlywincedandpressedahandonherbelly.
“Youokay?” Hilde asked.
“Yeah.” Shetookadeepbreathandletitoutwithawhoosh. “LittleMarcusisjusttryingtotunnelhiswayoutthroughmybellybutton.”
“Whydoyoualwaysgivethechildmynamewhenithurtsyou?”
“BecauseIloveyou,baby,” sherepliedastheyexitedtheelevator.
“Okay,hereweare,” Marcus said. “Seeyouguys upstairsatdinner.”
Fromtheirroomonthenineteenthfloor,theywereabletoseealmosttheentirecityofAnchorage,aswellasthesurroundingChugach Mountains.ToanAlaskan,itwasparforthecourse.ButforacouplefromOhio,especiallyHilde,whohadneverbeenwestoftheMississippi,itwasbreathtaking.
HildepickedupabrochurefromthenightstandthatlistedsomefactsaboutthecityofAnchorage.TheentiretyofthecityrestsattheedgeofacompacttriangleoflowlandattheendofCookInlet.TheChugach Mountainstotheeast and thesaltwaterofKnikArmandTurnagainArm,northernlimitsofthePacificOcean,flankthecity,formingthesidesofthetriangle.TheKnikArmisamostlyflat,calminletfedfromthemouthoftheMatanuskaRiver.Turnagain,ontheotherhand,isabeautifulmountainousfjordthatsportssomeofthehighesttidesintheworldandishometopodsofbelugawhalesandothercreatures.ItgotitsnamefromWilliamBlighofHMSBountyfame,whowasayoungofficeronCook’sship.TaskedwithfindingtheNorthwestPassage,hefoundhimselfturnedaroundyetagainattheendofthebodyofwater,hencethename.ThecityofAnchorageitself,foundedas a railroaddepot village in1914,eventuallygrewtobecomethehomeofnearlyhalfamillionresidents.Itwasdevastatedbya9.2magnitudeearthquakein1964,thesecond-largestearthquakeinthehistoryoftheworld,butquicklyandfullyrecoveredandtoday,AnchorageishometofiftypercentofAlaska’spopulation.
“Interestinghistory,” Mikesaid.
Hildefoldedthepamphletandplaceditbackonthenightstand.
“Ilovethisview,” shesaid,staringoutthewindowatthemountains.
“Metoo.”
Sheturnedandsawthathewasstaringather.
“Mr.Farris,” shesaidwithacoyswishofherhip, “areyoubeingflirtatious?”
“Yes,ma’am. Dinnerisn’t fortwomorehours.”
Shesaunteredovertothebed. “Thenlet’shavedessertfirst.”


Chapter3
LakeHoodFloatPlanePort
Anchorage
Friday,June17th
9 a.m.
“Toobadyoucan’tcomewithus,Lonnie,” Hildesaid. “Itwouldbenicetohaveanothergirlalong.”
“SomethingtellsmelittleMarcuswillmakeanycampingadventureprettymiserableforme,” LonniesaidasshewatchedMarcusloadthebagsintotheplane.
“Yeah,” Marcus said. “Idon'tthinktheplanecancarryallofthefoodshe'dneedtobringalongforthetwoofthem.”
“Anyway,” Lonniesaid,lookingsidewaysathim, “I'vebeenwhereyouaregoing.You'llloveit.  It’sbeautiful.Butwhileyou'reenjoyingthatwonderofcreation,I'vegotaweddingtoattendhereintown.SoIwon'tbelonely.”
“Hopefullywecanspendsometimetogetherafterwegetback,” Hildesaid. “YouseemlikesomeoneIcantalkto.MostotherwomenshyawayfrommeoncetheyfindoutwhatIdoforaliving.”
“Iknowwhatyoumean,sister,” Lonniesaid. “UntilMarcuscamebacktosaveme,Icouldhardlygetadinnerdate or have a girls night out without someone being afraidI'dbustthemforsomething.”
Hildelookedattheaircraftbeforethem,tookadeepbreath,andletoutanervoussigh. “Ican'tbelieveyoutalkedmeintogoingupinaboatplane.”
“Floatplane,honey,” Mikesaid.
“It'sjustassafeasaregularplane,” Lonnie said. “Eitherway,it'safifty-fiftychance.”
“Oh,thathelps,” Hilde said. “Thanksalot.”
“That'swhatIdobest,” Lonnie said. “Instillconfidence.”
“Thisthinghasbeenaccidentfreesince1952,” Marcus said.
“1952?” Anervoussmilequiveredon Hilde’s lips. “Thisthingissixtyyearsold, built the year my parents were born, youcallitaBeaver,andyouwanttotakemeandMiketothetallestmountaininNorthAmericainit?”
“It'sperfectlysafe,” Marcuspatted the engine cowling. “I'vegotallthestateinspectioncertificates,ifyouwouldliketolookthemover.”
“Don'tworry,Hilde,” Lonnie said. “Itreallyissafe,probablysaferthandrivinganewcaronthehighway.Irideinitallthetime.”
“I'llgetin,butonlybecauseyousayso,Lonnie.”
“C'mon,honey,” Mikesaid. “It’saBeaver—you know,buckteeth,diligentdambuilder.”
“Safestofallanimals.” Marcuscompletedthepreflightinspectionandgavethemtheallcleartoloadup.
“Whydon’tyousitupfront,Hilde,” Mikesaid. “You’llbelesslikelytogetairsick.”
Sheclimbedintotheplane,surprisedtofindthatitwaslargerthanitappearedfromtheoutside.Asshebuckledin,Mikemotionedfromthebackseattotheradioheadsethangingonahookaboveher.
“You’llneedthatifyouwanttohearanythingotherthantheengine.”
Sheputontheheadsetandglancedout the windowasLonnieloosedthemooringlineandtossedittoMarcuswherehestoodonthepontoon.Hetieditoff, and theplanerockedasheclimbedintotheseatandstartedtheengine.The450horsepowerPrattandWhitneyenginerumbledtolifewithathroatyroar,drowningouteveryothersound.Marcuspulledawayfromthedockandtaxiedintothelake.Hildestiffened,pressinghershoulderbladesintotheseatastheplanerockedontheshallowswellscausedbyitsownwake.
“Youlooknervous,” Marcus’s voice soundedtinnyovertheheadphones. “Justrelax.It'ssmootherthantakingofffromtheland,andwaittillyouseethelanding.”
Sheacknowledgedhimwithanervoussmile,thenleanedback. Marcuspushedthethrottleforward and theengine'sroarincreasedtenfold,drowningouteveryothersensation.Herknucklesglowedbrightwhiteasshegrippedthearmrests.Thethirty-foot-longcraftglidedoverthewater. When Hildeopenedhereyes, she wassurprisedtodiscovertheywerealreadyseveralhundredfeetabovetheground.Sheglancedsidewaysoutthewindow,thenbacktowardMike.Hegrinnedatherandwinkedwithan “Itoldyouitwouldbefine” look.
ThecityofAnchoragedescendedbeneaththemastheyclimbedintotheclearbluesummersky.Withinmoments,shecouldseehundredsofmilesineverydirection.Hermouthgapedinwonderattheimmensityofthewildernessaroundher.Shehadflownfrequentlyaspartofherjob,butonlyaroundtheeasternhalfofthecountry,andneverinanythingsmallerthana727.Everytimeshehadbeenintheair,itfeltasthoughthegroundbeneathherwasapatchworkquiltofmulticoloredsquaresandrectanglesborderedbytrees,roads,andpowerlines.InAlaska,outsideofthefewsmallcitiesandtowns,therearenofarms,noborders,noboundaries,nosquaresorstraightlines.Eventheroadsmeanderlikewindingestuariesofasphaltandgravel.Shefoundherselfhavingtorethinkherperceptionofwhattheearthlookedlike.
Perpetuallyice-cappedmountainrangesandgray-greenscribblesofrivermarktheclosestthingtoboundaries,intertwiningandcaressingoneanothertoapointofbarelydiscernibledivision.ThewholeofAlaskaisonemassiveplacewithnoendandnolimitsasfarastheeyecansee.TimeseemedsuspendedasHildestaredinaweatthemagnificenceofthescenery.Aheadofthem,Mt.McKinley,astockywhitenubonthehorizonwhentheytookoff,roselikeawakinggiant.Herbreathcaughtinherchestatthesight.Thelate-morningsuncastitspowerfulbeamsagainsttheblue-and-whitesurfaceofthegreatmassofrockuntilitglowedasbrightasaterrestrial-boundsun.
ThetallestmountaininNorthAmerica,Mt.McKinleyisoftensaidtobesecond highest in the world, behind only Mt. Everest.Inreality,Denali, as it is known locally, is the tallest single mountain in the world, as it ascends directly from sea level to a full height of over 20,327 feet, whereas Everest's base starts on the Tibetan Plateau that is already 17,000 feet above sea level, the mountain only continuing another 12,000 feet to a total height of 29,029. Regardless of the semantics of the mountain's measurements, Hilde hadnoideawhatthatmeantinperspectiveuntilshewasinaplanetwomilesabovethegroundandsawthatthesummit of Denali wasstillthreemileshigher.Marcusdrovetheplanestraighttowardthemountainuntiltherewasnothingelsevisibleinthefrontwindscreen.
“Shouldn’twepulluporturnaway?” she asked.
“Afraidwe’regoingtohitit?” Marcusrepliedwithagrin.
“Well,itisgettingawfullyclose.”
“It’sstill forty milesaway,ma’am.” Marcusreassuredher.Hepointedtothenortheast. “Welandoverthere.”
Inthedistance,Hildemadeoutthebarelyvisibleshapeofaclearinginthedarkevergreenforest.Itlookedlikeaholeinthesurfaceoftheearth.
“Ithoughtyousaidwe’dlandonalake.”
“Thatisalake.”
Marcusbankedtheplanetowardtheclearinganddroppedtojustabovetreelevel.Hilde’sstomachtickledlikeshewasonarollercoaster.Sheclosedhereyesandagaingrippedthearmrests.Inareplayofthetakeoff,theskinonherknucklesstretchedtight,whitenedtothepoint where itlookedlikeherboneshadcomethrough.Whensheopenedhereyes,shesawthattherewasindeedalakebelowthem.Itwasmuchsmallerthantheonetheyhad used for takeoff, andtherewerenofloatplanedocksorsidewalks,orparkingareas—no signsofmodernlifeanywherearoundthem.
Marcusdippedthenosetoasteepangletowardthewater.Hilde’sheartjumped,catchinginherthroat.Shesqueezedhereyesshut,waitingfortheimpactandtryingtopushawayvisionsofherbodybeingsmashedtopiecesinawreckofDeHavilandBeaverdebris.
Suddenlytheplaneleveledandtheroaroftheenginesoftened.Shesensedthattheywerestillmoving,thenlaidbacklikeshewasbeinggentlyforcedinaLa-Z-Boyrecliner.Theengineshutoff.SheopenedhereyesandfoundthatsomehowMarcushadlandedtheplanewithoutherevenrealizingtheyhadtoucheddown.Theplanedriftedacrossthesurfaceofthewater,poweredbyinertiathatslidittowardanarrowbeachcomprisedofsmoothroundrocks,asecludedhideawayrimmedbymassivesprucetrees,spirespointedheavenward.
“Well,thisisit,” Marcussaid.
Hilderegardedtheirsurroundingsasifunsuretheywereactually stillonthesurfaceofthesameplanet. Marcustookoffhisheadsetandshedidthesame.Theplanedriftedtoahaltagainsttherockyshorelineandheclimbedout.
“Toldyouitwouldbeanicelanding,” Marcussaidashesteppedontothepontoon.
Hejumpedtowardtherockswiththeropeinhishand,thesplashofhisfeetlandinginthewaterlikeaquotationmarkannouncingthebeginningofanewdialogue.Hewalkedtowardtheshorepullingtheplaneforwarduntilitstopped,thentiedtheropetoatree.MikeandHildeclimbedoutandjoinedhim.Theypiledthegearattheforest’sedgeandMarcusstartedsettingupcamp with Mike’shelp.Hilde,whohadonlysleptinatentonceinherlife,wastotallyunfamiliarwiththewholeconceptofrealcamping.Backyardsleepoversasatwelve-year-old GirlScoutseemedlikestayinginahotelbycomparison.Thepeaceandquietofthisplacelayonherlikeacomfortableblanket.Mosquitosquicklyfoundthem, and Marcustossedherabottleofbugdope.
“Putthisonyourexposedskin,” hesaid, “butnotonyourlipsoreyes.It’spureDEET. Workslikeacharm,butnotgoodtoeat.”
“Idon’twanttorubpoisononmyskin,” shesaid.
“Itwon’thurtyouunlessyouuseiteverydayformonthsatatime,” Marcussaid. “It’sdefinitelybetterthangettingeatenalivebythemogies. They’retheonlyevilscaronthisotherwisepicturesquescene.”
Assherubbedtheclearlotionontoherskin,shewasamazedathowthe “mogies”immediatelyseemedunwillingtolandonher.Thesilenceoftheforestgraduallybecameanentityofitsown.Windwhisperedbetweenthebranchesofthesprucetreesandclustersofwillowthatgrewalongtheedgesofthelake.Smallinsectsskimmedthewater as if inspecting itssurface.Agatheringofswallowsflittedoutfromatangleofwillowbranches,spinningandturningthendashingbackintothetreesasifplayingagameoftag,theirsonglikelaughteronthewarmafternoonair.Theairhadvitality.Itwasnotjustsomeunseennecessityhere.Itwasabeinginitsownright,clean,fresh,sweet.Herlungsfeltasiftheywerebeingfilledproperlyforthefirsttimeinherlife.Hildebreatheddeeplyandlettheundilutedpurityofitsoakintoherbloodstream.Shefeltthesensationthatsinceinfancy,shehadbeenonthevergeofdrowning,keptalivebyartificialmeansforthepastthirty-nineyearsandonlynowdiscoveredwhatoxygenreallyfeltlike.Shehadthefleetingthoughtthatitwasoriginalair,anuntouchedleftoverfromCreation,airthatGodhadreserved,keptinasecretstorehouse,unspoiled,holy.
HildegardFarrishadfoundheavenonearth.


Chapter4
Muldoon Neighborhood
AnchorageAlaska
Saturday,June18th
7:30 p.m.
“I’mnotdoin’ it.” SammyDavisJr.startedforthedoor. “Itoldyouahundredtimes,nohouses.”
Jimmysnorted. “Look,Babe,whydon’tyoujustadmitwhatyoudoandstoppretendingtobefreakin’ RobinHood.”
“Don’tcallmeBabe!Isaidno,andthat’sfinal.” Sammystormedout,lettingthedoorbangshutbehindhim.Hethrewthetruckdooropenandjumpedintohisbeat-upeightiesmodelpickup,joltingawaketheratty-hairedmuttsleepingontheseat.Thesuddenmovementelicitedatinklingsoundfromthemetaltagsonthedog'scollar,onewithhisveterinaryinfo,theotherwithhisnameinscribedinboldletters, “Deano.”  The frame rattled and the truckdoor’sbenthingessqueakedwhenheslammedit.Hegaveit a quickyanktomakesureitwouldstayshut.
“Jerk,” Sammygruntedasheturnedthekeyintheignition.Thedogcockedhishead,earsraised.  “Notyou, Deano.You’recool.Ijustwishmyotherfriendswerecoollikeyou.” Heturnedtheignitionagainandtheenginemadeasoundlikeanovertaxedcoffeegrinder thenwent silent.Onthethirdattempt,itfiredover.ThetapedeckinstantlystartedupwithSinatra’s “MyWay” asheslammedthetruckintogearandbackedout.  WhileAlaska’sSammyDavisJr.wascertainlynorelationtothefamoussingerofthepreviouscentury,unlikemostofhisheadbangerorhip-hopfriends,heandDeanolovedthemusicoftheRatPackasifitwere, in fact, theirown.
“IfhecallsmeBabeonemoretime,I’mgoingtopunchhiminthenose!” Sammyslammedthetruckintoreverseandquicklybackedup.Deanogrippedtheseatwithhispawstoavoidslidingtothefloorboardsasthetrucklurched. “Just ‘cuzIcriedinthatpigmovie,hethinksI’mawimp.Well,Iain’tgonnabreakintoahouseandhavesomelittlekidcryingforreal ‘cuzImadehimscaredforever,andIain’tgonnahavesomewifebein’ allupsetafterherweddingringgoesmissing.Noway—I’m justnotthatkindofguy.”
Heturnedthewheelabruptlywhenthetruckhittheroad,turningtowardsouthAnchorageandsendingDeanoslidingacrossthevinylbenchseat.Heflippedthegearleverintodriveandflooredthegas,spittinggravelfrombeneaththetiresasheshotdowntheroad.
“We’llseewho’sstupid.”
Thetruckbouncedoverarut,makingDeano’sheadbobasifnoddinginagreement.
“You’remyonlyrealfriend,boy.” Hereachedoverandrubbedthedog’shead. “Jimmy don’tknowI’vegotabigscorecoming,andhe’snotgoingtobepartofit.”
Deanorestedhishead on the seat by Sammy’sleg,lookingupathimwithwaterybrowneyes.Astheyroundedabend,Deanoslidcloser,hisheadlandingonSammy’slap.Sammyreacheddownandmassagedthedog’sneck.
“Homesgotamoralbarrieraroundthem.Churches,too, ‘cuzyoudon’twannamesswithGod’shouse.  I’mprettysureIain’tgoingtomakeittoheaven,butIdon’twanttototallyblowwhateverchanceIgotbyburglarizingGod’shouse.MyfolksareMessianicJews.” Thedoghadheardthestorybefore.Hiseyelidsfluttered,thenslidbackshut. “IwasbothBar-Mitzvah’dandbaptized,sothere’sachanceintheresomewhere.” He slowedtomakeaturnandcameintoviewoftheHillsideNazarene Church’ssteeple,itscrosshighlightedagainstthecrystal-bluesky. “Nowcarsisdifferent,ofcourse,ifsomeidiotleavesitunlocked,ornotlockedenough.” Helaughedathisownjoke. “Carsand mosques.”
AnewMuslimRetreatCenterandMosquenowstoodontheruralsouthsideofAnchorage,awayfrompryingeyes,andfarfromregularpolicepatrols.Thepreviousweek’snewssaidit’dbeenbuiltbecauseofasplitwiththecongregationfromtheonlyother mosqueinAnchorage.Onegroupwascalled “Sunny” or “Soomee” orsomething.Thenameoftheothergroupwaseasytoremember.TheywereShiites.HisfriendMartinhadmadeajokeaboutthename.Heraisedhisfoot,lookedatthebottomofhisshoe,curled uphisnose, and said, “Aww,man!IjuststeppedinsomeShiite!”
Sammylaughedsohardwhenheheardthat,hecouldneverforgetthename.Hehadnoideawhichgroupownedthismosque,nordidhecare.Theonlythingthatmatteredtohimwasthatthe mosquewasoutofthewayandinaveryquietlocationonthesouthendofthecityjustbeyondtheedgeofthewealthyneighborhoods.Itwasperfect.SammyhadseenpicturesoftheDomeoftheRockinJerusalem.Iftheyhadenoughmoneytobuildamosquewiththewholeroofcoveredingold,theyhadmorethanenoughtospare.
“AllofitstolenfromJewsandChristians,nodoubt,” hesaidashedrovedownSkylineDrivetowardtheretreatcenter. “Well,I’mjustgoingtotakebackwhatbelongstomypeopleanyway,right?LikeJimmysaid,it’slikebeingRobinHood.”
SammysmiledinthemirrorasheimaginedbeingthefamousEnglishbanditstealingbackwhatbelongedtotherightfulownersoftheland. But unlikeRobinHood,Sammyhadnointentionofsharingthestolenbootywithanyoneelse.Heneededtopayacoupleofdebts,andmaybehecouldgethimselfabettersetofwheelswiththeimaginedpilesofgoldandotheruntoldtreasureswithinthemosque.
Withsingle-mindeddeterminationfueledbyuttergreed,Sammypulledhistrucktothesideoftheroadneartheentrancetothemosque.Thegateattheendofthelongdrivewaystoodopen.Helookedupintothedustydirtparkinglotandsawnocars.Herolleddownthewindow,crankingthestiffhandleandswearinghisnextvehiclewouldhavepowerwindowsandlocks.
Birdschirpedinthetreesoutsidehistruckwindow. A bee flew into the cab and buzzed around Deano's head. The dog watched it, ears raised, alert and ready to snap at the tiny creature. The bee seemed to sense the animal's intention and zipped away, leaving a heavier silence in its absence. A squirrel chattered in a tree a few yards away, and a blue jay landed on a perch across the shallow ditch alongside the road. Sammyfeltthepeaceful sights and soundswerea message fromGod.HethoughtaboutashowhehadseenonCNNabouttheTalibanandhowtheymadelittlegirlswearsacksovertheirbodiestohidethemselvesfromdirtyoldmenwhomarriedtwelve-year-olds.
“Thesedirtybastardsdeservewhatthey got comingtothem,” hemutteredashistruckrolledupthelongdriveintotheparkinglot.AlowcloudofyellowdustsettledbacktothegroundbehindhimasSammyshutofftheengineandopenedthedoortogetout.Thedogglancedoverathimwithpleadingeyes.
“All rightboy,youcango,butcomerightbackandwaithere.Wemayhavetoleavefast.”
Thedoghoppedoutandtrotted intothewoodswhileSammyapproachedthebuilding.Arecentrainshowerhadwashedtheair.Eventhoughthebrighttwenty-four-hoursunhadinstantlydried the ground to a fine dust, the air itself still smelledfreshandclean.Hemovedwithcaution,earsstrainingtodetectthetell-talesoundofpeople. On the off chance that someonewasthere,andiftheycaughthimsnooping,hewouldsaythatheownedalandscapeandbuildingmaintenancecompanyandwasjustcheckingtoseeifthey'd like to hire hisservices.Heevenhadbusinesscardsandapadofinvoicescompletewithalogo,address,phonenumbers,andwebsitetoverifytheclaim.Those,ofcourse,alongwithalaptopcomputerandanice,newmetalcoffeethermos,hadbeenstolenfromalegitimatecontractorwhohadbeensokindastoleavehistruckunlocked.
Sammywenttothefrontdoorofthemosque. Thedooritselfmadehisheartleapwithexcitementatthepotentialtreasuresinside. It was an intricately carved and highly complicated series of geometric shapes and patterns with Arabic script overlaying portions of it. He touched the wood and whistled lightly, then leaned close andlistenedthroughtotheotherside.Allwassilent.Hegraspedthedoorhandleandtwistedit. The latch gave way with a soft click andhepusheditopen.Noalarmssounded,sohestepped into the building.Justinsidethedoorwasalongrackforshoes.Itwasempty.
Lookslikenobody’shome.


Theinsideofthemosquewasjustaselegantlydecoratedashehadexpected.Roundpillarslinedtheentryandthehallthatranperpendiculartoit.Largeceramictilesofturquoise,midnightblue,seagreen,andscarletredsonthefloorandsmallertilescoveringthewallscombinedtoformcomplexgeometricpatternsthat forced him to blinkrepeatedlytoadjusttothevisualconfusion.Goldleafsparkledalongthejoiningedgesofeachtile,randomlyilluminatedbysoftlightshiningthrougharchedstained-glasswindowssethighintheceiling.Asummerspentpanningforgoldwithhiscousinsasateen had taughthimwhatrealgoldlookedlike.Thiswastherealthing.Asmileofwonderspreadacrosshisface,awedbytheamountoftheyellowmetalinthewalls.
Sammy’sfootstepsechoedinthehall. As he walked through the building, his initial excitement started to abate, and then slowly evaporated. Forallitsbeauty,therewerenovisibletreasureshecouldcarryaway.Nogoldenobjectslikeonemightfindinachurchorcathedralorevenasynagogue.Nocrossesormenorahsorsilver-platedscrollhandles.Noofferingplatesorcommunioncupsorbottlesof kosherwine.Nostatues.Notevenanypaintings.Justwallsandfloorsdecoratedwiththinstripsofgoldleaf,notexactlyaneasythingtosteal.
Thetreasuremustbefurtherinside.They’vegottahavesomething.
Hemadehiswaydownthehalluntilhefoundtheopeningintothemainworshiparea.Thelargeopenspace, about fifty feet in diameter,consistedofmoreofthesametypeofwalldecorationswithneitherpewsnorchairs.ItwasemptyexceptforacoveringofPersianrugs. On a raisedplatformoppositetheentrancestoodasmallpodium,barelytwofeettall.Hecrossedthecenteroftheroom.Helookedunderthepodium,onlytofinditempty.
Whatthehell?Where’sthetreasure?
Frustrated,Sammystoodupandscannedthewalls,searchingforanotherdoororexitthatmightleadtoofficesorastorageroom.Behindtheplatform,almost invisibleamidstthegeometricpatterns,abrassdoorknobjuttedfromthewall.Sammysmiledtohimself.
Bingo!
Hewalkedovertoitandputhiseartothedoor.Nosound.Heturnedthehandle,pushedthedooropen,andpeekedintoanotherroom.Itwasabouttwelvefeetbytwelvefeetandlinedwithshelvescontainingstacksofblackleather-boundbooks.Arabicwriting—at least,hethoughtthesquigglylineswereArabic—was impressedingoldleafonthespines.
Howthehellisanybodysupposedtoreadthatscribbled-uplanguage?
Hemovedstacksofbooks,butfoundnothingelse.Attheendoftherowsofshelves,henoticedanotherdoor.Itwaspartiallyopen,andwhenhedrewcloser, hesawsunlightfromoutsidestreamingintoyetanotherroom.Hepushedthedooropen.Thelightcamefromasmall,rectangularfrosted-glasswindowaboutsevenfeetupontheendwall. Itmadehimthinkofagasstationbathroom.Hestaredat the blackplasticcratesstenciledwithpalegrayletters stacked below the window.
PROJECTILE – MORTAR – 60MMHIGHEXPLOSIVE
LOT35405100224EASL040812
Sammy’sheartstoppedandhisjawdroppedopenasherealizedwhathewas seeing.
“Holyshit,” hewhispered.  Awaveofterrorcrashedoverhimlikeaboltoflightningexplodingthroughhisnervoussystem.Ashiverrattledthroughhisbodyandhenearlywethispants.