Andrew Kaplan - Scorpion Winter

“The Hashid are all lying khaneeth queers,” the soldier in the front passenger seat said. “Sooner or later they would have betrayed us.”

“Of course,” Colonel al-Zuhrahi snapped. “We expected no less. But we will put it out that they have agreed to join the Bakil, just to see who or what crawls out from under the rocks.” He turned to Scorpion. “You are not Hashidi. Your Arabic is of the Peninsula,” he said, meaning Arabia.

Scorpion nodded. “Of the Mutayr.”

“You are of AQAP? Who sent you?”

“You know who sent me, sayyid, ” Scorpion said, his eyes boring into al-Zuhrahi, suggesting it was Qasim bin Jameel, the leader of AQAP. “It was to protect you. If I hadn’t risked my life, you would be with the virgins even now.”

“So you say,” Colonel al-Zuhrahi said.

Scorpion nodded again, his eyes scanning the road ahead. They were approaching the checkpoint. Hashid tribesmen with rifles were in and around a pickup truck parked across the middle of the road as a roadblock. They must have been alerted, Scorpion thought.

“Don’t stop,” Colonel al-Zuhrahi ordered.

The Humvee raced directly at the pickup. As soon as the Hashid realized it wasn’t going to stop, they started shooting at it as it came toward them. At the last second the Humvee swerved around the pickup, bullets pinging off the metal and nicking the bulletproof glass. The Humvee was armored. That hadn’t been part of the intel, Scorpion thought, as they raced out of the town and down the road toward Sana’a. The soldier in the passenger seat leaned out the window and fired his M-4 rifle back at the checkpoint to slow them down. Looking back, Scorpion saw the tribesmen jumping into the pickup.

Abruptly, the Humvee slewed to a stop. The soldier with the M-4 jumped out and placed a small IED in the middle of the road. He got back into the Humvee and they drove on. Scorpion looked back as the pickup approached that place in the road. The soldier pressed his cell phone and the IED exploded, sending the pickup flying and in flames. They drove on.

For several minutes no one spoke, then Colonel al-Zuhrahi turned toward Scorpion. “If you indeed saved me, you will be rewarded. But first we’ll check you out with Qasim when we get back to Sana’a. If you are not who you say, better for you not to have been born.”

Scorpion nodded. He spotted an outcrop of rock ahead and looked around quickly. There was no one following them. The desert stretched empty in every direction to the distant barren hills.

“If you doubt me, sayyid, stop the Humvee here,” he said, indicating the rocks, his hand slipping unobtrusively down to his calf, where his Glock was holstered. “Those Hashidi dogs know now I am not one of them. Let me out and leave me. I’ll be dead within the hour.”

“Pull over there,” Colonel al-Zuhrahi ordered, gesturing toward the rocks. “We won’t wait till Sana’a. Let’s find out now.”

As the Humvee rolled to a stop, Scorpion whipped out the Glock and fired twice, killing the driver with a shot in the head and the soldier through the back of the front seat. He pointed the gun at Colonel al-Zuhrahi.

“El’ churmuzh! ” he said. Get out! He motioned to the colonel with the gun. Al-Zuhrahi got slowly out of the Humvee. Scorpion followed, shoving him toward the outcropping of rocks to a spot where they were no longer visible from the road.

He looked around once again. There was only desert. He didn’t have much time. The Hashidi would be coming any moment now. He fired a bullet into the colonel’s knee. Al-Zuhrahi screamed and fell on his side. Scorpion bent over, put the muzzle of the gun against the other knee and fired again. Al-Zuhrahi moaned. Scorpion pulled the colonel’s jambiya knife from his belt and took it out of its sheath.

“What is this? Who are you?” al-Zuhrahi asked.

“Do you remember the American, McElroy? The one whose skin they undressed?”

“I had nothing to do with it. That was bin Jameel! You know how they are!” al-Zuhrahi said.

“And what you are, sayyid.”

Al-Zuhrahi looked angrily at Scorpion from where he lay curled on the ground.

“There was no cyanide, was there?” he asked.

“Only paranoia.”

“What did I smell?”

“I ground some almonds and put it in the coffee. From so little a thing is a conspiracy made.”

“I’m hurt, you son of a donkey,” al-Zuhrahi gasped. “What is this about?”

“You’re the director of the CSO, aren’t you?”

“Why ask if you know?”

“I was in the room just now. I heard you myself, Colonel. So whose side are you on? The government? The Bakil? Al Qaeda? All three? Or maybe just yourself?”

“As is everyone,” al-Zuhrahi said. “Why are you doing this?” he groaned.

“There was another American. Peterman. You tracked someone to a meeting with him, didn’t you?”

“Umka sharmota,” al-Zuhrahi growled, cursing Scorpion’s mother for a whore.

“Who’d you track?”

“Someone from Jebel Nuqum. I don’t know who.”

“Who was it?”

“If you are going to kill me, do it. I know nothing,” al-Zuhrahi said.

Scorpion kicked his knee. Al-Zuhrahi screamed.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was it someone new?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Scorpion kicked his knee again.

“Was it?”

“Of course someone new,” al-Zuhrahi snapped. “Another American. That was of immediate interest.”

Ramis, Scorpion thought.

“You had someone put the Trojan horse software on Peterman’s laptop. Then after the ambush in Ma’rib failed, you had him killed.”

“So you say.”

“How did you know Peterman was CIA? His laptop?”

“You’ll never know,” al-Zuhrahi said grimly. The realization that he was not going to survive had hit him. His expression was set.

“It was your men who killed him, wasn’t it?” Scorpion said. “One last thing. What do you know about Scorpion?”

“A jinn. A name to frighten children. He doesn’t exist.”

“You knew Peterman had met with Scorpion?” Scorpion said, kicking al-Zuhrahi’s knee again, causing him to gasp in agony.

“We knew it was on his laptop! That’s all, inshallah!”

“This Scorpion, what does he look like?” Scorpion said, putting the Glock back in his calf holster and taking the prosthesis with the bad teeth out of his mouth. He took out a packet of makeup remover wipes and began removing the dark skin coloring from his face.

“I don’t know,” al-Zuhrahi said, staring wide-eyed as Scorpion wiped the makeup off. There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, Scorpion thought excitedly. Al-Zuhrahi didn’t know what Scorpion looked like. His identity was safe.

He finished removing the color from his face and hands and put the used wipes and prosthesis in his pocket. Then he moved behind al-Zuhrahi and knelt on his knees. After knocking al-Zuhrahi’s shaal off, he pulled his head up by his hair, the jambiya knife in his other hand. The steel blade gleamed in the sun.

“Wait,” al-Zuhrahi said desperately. From his voice, it was clear he knew he was about to die. “Who are you doing this for?”

“Myself,” Scorpion said.

“What are you talking about? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I had to be sure of that. But there’s something else.” Scorpion hesitated. He had never put it into words before. In a way, the fact that he was telling someone who was about to die made being honest imperative. “When someone on your team is lost, even if you didn’t know him or even if you couldn’t stand him, you can’t just let it go. It’s why men seek Allah. Because things need to be made right.”

“I don’t understand.”