Juan Gómez-Jurado - Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

He tried to think of something, anything, he could say to make the two men leave him alone. But the horrible pain in his nose and his hand screamed at him that such words did not exist.

With his free hand, Nazim removed the watch from Orville’s wrist and gave it to the other man.

‘Hey… Jaeger LeCoultre. Only the best, isn’t that right? How much does the government pay you for being a rat? I’m sure it’s a lot. Enough to buy twenty-thousand-dollar watches.’

The man threw the watch to the kitchen floor and started stomping as if his life depended on it, but all he managed to do was scratch the face, which made his theatrical gesture lose all its impact.

‘I only go after criminals,’ Orville said. ‘You don’t have a monopoly on Allah’s message.’

‘Don’t you dare say His Name again,’ said the short one, spitting in Orville’s face.

Orville’s upper lip began to shake, but he was no coward. He suddenly realised that he was about to die, so he spoke with as much dignity as possible. ‘ Omak zanya feeh erd [4] ’ he said, looking straight into the man’s face and trying not to stutter. Anger flashed in the man’s eyes. It was clear that the two men had thought they could break Orville and would watch him begging for his life. They didn’t expect him to be brave.

‘You’re going to cry like a girl,’ the older man said.

His arm went up and came down hard, driving the second skewer into Orville’s right hand. Orville couldn’t help himself and let out a scream that belied his daring of a few moments before. A spray of blood landed in his open mouth and he began to choke, coughing in spasms that wracked his body with pain as his hands jerked away from the skewers that pinned them to the wooden table.

Slowly the coughing lessened and the man’s words came true as two large teardrops rolled down Orville’s cheeks onto the table. It seemed to be all that the man needed to free Orville from his torture. He raised a new kitchen utensil: a long knife.

‘It’s all over, koondeh- ’

A shot went off, echoing from the metal skillets that hung on the wall, and the man fell to the floor. His partner didn’t even turn around to see where the shot had come from. He leapt over the kitchen counter, scratching the expensive finish with his belt buckle, and landed on his hands. A second shot splintered part of the door frame a foot and a half above his head as Nazim disappeared.

Orville, his face smashed, his palms run through and bleeding like some strange parody of the crucifixion, was barely able to turn to see who had saved him from certain death. It was a thin blond man of about thirty, dressed in jeans and what looked like a priest’s dog collar.

‘Great pose, Orville,’ the priest said as he ran past him in pursuit of the second terrorist. He hid behind the door frame and then suddenly leaned out, holding the pistol with both hands. The only thing in front of him was an empty room with an open window.

The priest came back into the kitchen. Orville would have rubbed his eyes with amazement had his hands not been pinned to the table.

‘I don’t know who you are, but thank you. See what you can do to let me loose, please.’

With his damaged nose, it sounded like ‘led be looze, bleaze’.

‘Grit your teeth. This is going to hurt,’ the priest said, pulling on the skewer in his right hand. Although he tried to draw it straight out, Orville still screamed in pain. ‘You know, you’re not easy to find.’

Orville interrupted him by raising his hand. The wound on it was clearly visible. Gritting his teeth again, Orville rolled to his left and pulled the second skewer out himself. This time he didn’t scream.

‘Can you walk?’ asked the priest, helping him to stand.

‘Is the Pope Polish?’

‘Not any more. My car is close by. Any idea where your guest has gone?’

‘How the fuck should I know?’ Orville said, grabbing a roll of kitchen towels next to the window and wrapping his hands in thick layers of paper, like giant wads of candy floss, which slowly began to turn pink from the blood.

‘Leave that and get away from the window. I’ll bandage you up in the car. I thought you were an expert on terrorists.’

‘And I suppose you’re from the CIA? Here I was thinking I’d got lucky.’

‘Well, more or less. My name’s Albert and I’m an ISL [5].’

‘A link? Who with? The Vatican?’

Albert didn’t answer. Agents of the Holy Alliance never acknowledged their affiliation with the group.

‘Forget it, then,’ Orville said, fighting back the pain. ‘Look, nobody’s going to help us here. I doubt if anyone even heard the shots. The nearest neighbours are half a mile away. Do you have a cell phone?’

‘Not a good idea. If the police show up, they’ll take you to hospital and then they’ll want to question you. The CIA will arrive in your room half an hour later with a bunch of flowers.’

‘So you know how to handle that thing?’ Orville said, pointing at the gun.

‘Not really. I hate guns. You’re lucky I hit the guy with the knife, and not you.’

‘Well, you’d better start liking them,’ Orville said, lifting his candy-floss hands and signalling the gun. ‘What kind of agent are you?’

‘I’ve only had basic training,’ Albert said, looking baleful. ‘My thing is computers.’

‘Well, that’s just great! I’m beginning to feel dizzy,’ Orville said, on the verge of fainting. The only that kept him from hitting the floor was Albert’s arm.

‘Do you think you can make it to the car, Orville?’

Orville nodded, but wasn’t too sure.

‘How many of them are there?’ Albert asked.

‘The only one left is the one you scared off. But he’ll be waiting for us in the garden.’

Albert took a brief look out of the window but he couldn’t see anything in the dark.

‘Let’s go, then. Down the hill, close to the wall… he could be anywhere.’

OUTSKIRTS OF WASHINGTON, DC

Saturday, 15 July 2006. 1:03 a.m.

Nazim was very scared.

He had imagined the scene of his martyrdom many times. Abstract nightmares in which he’d die in a great ball of fire, something huge that would be televised all over the world. Kharouf’s death turned out to be an absurd anticlimax, leaving Nazim confused and frightened.

He had run off into the garden, afraid that the police would show up at any minute. For a moment he was tempted by the main gate, which was still half open. The sound of crickets and cicadas filled the night with promises and life, and for a moment Nazim hesitated.

No. I’ve dedicated my life to the glory of Allah and the salvation of my loved ones. What will happen to my family if I run away now, if I grow soft?

So Nazim didn’t go out of the gate. He remained in the shadows, behind a row of badly neglected snapdragons that still displayed some yellowish blooms. Attempting to ease the tension in his body, he switched the pistol from hand to hand.

I’m in good shape. I jumped over the kitchen counter. The bullet that was coming for me missed me by a mile. One is a priest and the other is wounded. I’m more than a match for them. All I have to do is watch the path to the gate. If I hear police cars, I’ll go over the wall. It’s high but I can do it. There’s a place on the right that looks a little lower. It’s a shame that Kharouf isn’t here. He was a genius at opening doors. The gate to the estate only took him fifteen seconds. I wonder if he’s already with Allah. I’m going to miss him. He’d want me to stay and finish Watson off. He’d already be dead if Kharouf hadn’t waited so long, but nothing made him angrier than someone who betrayed his own brothers. I don’t know how it would help the jihad if I died tonight without taking the koondeh down first. No. I can’t think like that. I have to concentrate on what matters. The empire in which I was born is destined to fall. And I will help it to do so with my blood. Even though I wish it were not today.