knew who got the bombs, the chain of supply, and so on." She picked a sandwich off my plate and began eating. "We should turn Abdul over to the military, ASAP. He probably possesses knowledge the Army will find relevant. Technical details about his bombs, for instance. That knowledge is always useful to the disposal units. The sooner the better."
She had been here, and she would know, so I nodded. I put aside the plate, and she accompanied me back to the suite. When we entered, I noted that Bian had positioned Abdul's sandwich about five inches beyond his reach. The man was contorted like a pretzel as he strained to reach it. He looked very annoyed.
I said to Mr. Almiri, "The Central Intelligence Agency thanks you for your cooperation."
He ignored the stupid sandwich for a moment, looked up, and offered me a broad, ingratiating smile.
I informed Mr. Almiri, "About that witness protection offer, after a lot of thought, I've decided on your final destination."
"Ah . . . well, sir, I am certain you will choose well. Abdul can be happy in even a cold place."
"I promised it will be warm. That promise I'll keep." He looked at me expectantly, and I let the shoe drop. "You're going to Abu Ghraib, Mr. Almiri. We're turning you over to the American military. You'll cooperate with them, or we'll tell the entire prison yard that you ratted out your fellow jihadis. Do you understand?"
Abdul looked like a guy on the verge of an orgasm being told to pull it out. "But, sir . . . you were promising Abdul--"
"I lied."
I thought he was going to cry.
I looked him in the eyes. "An hour ago, Mr. Almiri, I was at the American medical facility. Dozens of horribly wounded women and children were being rushed in, the result of a bombing. This might've been from one of your devices, or the handiwork of one of your students. Fry in hell."
I walked out.
Bian followed, and quietly closed the door behind her.
I headed straight to the lounge, removed my boots, stretched out on the comfortable sofa, and within three seconds was deeply asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The alarm went off at 2:30 p.m. and I awoke from my nap. I walked to the rear of the plane, back to the master suite, where Bian was asleep on the big bed, and I awoke her as well.
We both used the bathrooms to dash cold water on our faces and brush our teeth, and then we reconvened in the galley. We brewed a large pot of coffee, poured peanuts and trail mix into a large bowl, and then moved to the conference room, where we settled in to await the arrival of Phyllis and Adolf Waterbury.
The few hours of sleep seemed to agree with Bian, and her mood had brightened--albiet still a little coolish toward moi. We chewed the fat awhile, the kind of shallow, aimless conversation people have who are just becoming acquainted--or who are working on becoming less acquainted--before she changed the subject and mentioned, "I liked the way you handled Abdul Almiri."
I nodded.
She said, "So you saw the consequences of a street bombing at the field hospital?"
"I did."
"What was your impression?"
"What would anybody think?"
"I don't care about anybody. What do you think?"
I put down my coffee and answered her. "These people are savages. They're not making war, they're mass-murdering innocents under the guise of a cause."
"That's it? Nothing deeper?"
"Tell me what I'm supposed to think."
She sipped from her coffee and stared at me a moment. She said, "You can't imagine how many of those things I witnessed during my tour. As an MP, we were often the first responders. I have dreams about it still."
"Dreams or memories?"
"They mix together."
"Tell me about one."
"It . . . it was my first. They all leave an impression, of course. But that first one . . ." She took a long sip from her coffee. "This was before bombings became the tactic du jour. I was in my humvee going to visit one of our roadblocks, and the ops center called on the radio and told me to divert immediately to a neighborhood in Sadr City, the big Shiite slum in the northeastern part of Baghdad. So I directed my driver to the street."
I nodded.
"It was only ten minutes away . . . and we came around the corner, and we turned onto the street, and I . . . Understand, Sean, the ops center had given me no warning--and a blown-up