Greg Bear: Quantico

‘You have Yigal again,’ the translator said. ‘He’s arguing with somebody. They can’t communicate with the other trucks.’

Rebecca broke in. ‘There’s a truck up ahead. It can’t be one of the trucks we’re looking for. It’s a flatbed, no cargo-but it’s being stormed by a mob of armed men. The militia is concentrating fire on the truck and its driver.’

Grange spoke breathlessly from the minibus. ‘I think we’ve been compromised. They may be looking for the same trucks we’re looking for-’

The jamming became more intense and all the digital signals from the Meccan team dropped out.

‘That’s it,’ Dalrymple said. ‘Too much interference. Provisionals are pumping noise all over the valley.’

‘Somebody doesn’t trust us to get the job done,’ Periglas observed dryly.

Jane stared helplessly at the UAV video feeds of Mina, the mountains, and Mecca itself.

David Grange pinned Al-Husseini with his own body and asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

‘You told them we were coming and why we’re here, didn’t you?’

Al-Husseini, sweating profusely, stared up at Grange and shook his head. ‘We should get out of here. They are shooting even pilgrims.’

‘Yes, but there’s method in their madness. They’re looking for trucks-just like us. They don’t know which trucks, so they’re going to stop and shoot up every truck they find. Shooting up trucks at random won’t solve anything. It could make things worse. You were not supposed to tell anyone.’

Al-Husseini grimaced at the pressure on his chest. The noise around the minibus had concentrated ahead of them, outside the blown-out windshield and beyond the makeshift barriers of overturned cars and battered steel drums. Roughlooking soldiers had come in from the side streets to gloat over the destruction. Fouad popped up to look ahead. The truck’s driver, from what he could see, had been cut in half and his head was missing. His truck tires were shot-out and smoking.

‘There’s nothing, he was riding empty,’ Fouad said. Amir and Mahmud had positioned themselves by the doors, guns ready, in case soldiers tried to board. So far, they were being ignored. The damage to the minibus had been collateral.

Grange placed his hands expertly on Al-Husseini’s neck. The unkempt Saudi’s eyes began to protrude, but he did not put up a fight-not yet. He could hardly move.

‘Let’s talk, man to man,’ Grange said. ‘We’re here to save the Hajj. Bottom line; that’s the truth. We told you as much. Did you or someone you worked with…’

‘Who would believe you?’ Al-Husseini said. ‘All Americans hate Muslims. You feed the soldiers who are rioting in Mecca and Mina, killing pilgrims. They are your soldiers. You want all of Saudi Arabia for America. Kill me, that won’t change things.’

Grange let go of his throat. ‘Fuck it. We’re compromised,’ he said.

Fouad leaned over Al-Husseini. ‘Is that true?’

Al-Husseini stared up at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘To die in Mecca is a blessing,’ he said.

‘To save Mecca…would that not be a greater blessing?’

Al-Husseini was remarkably calm. ‘Jewish agents are in our city. You have brought infidels with you. It does not matter who eventually rules Mecca, you are not worthy of trust.’

Fouad rolled back and chuffed out his breath in disgust. ‘It is so,’ he murmured. ‘Who can deny it? But if we do not find these Jews, Mecca will die. That is also truth. It is not what we want, not what you want.’

Al-Husseini looked away.

‘Let’s hit the road,’ Grange said, eyes rolling. ‘Maybe Allah will guide us now.’

Rebecca tapped the side of her head. Jane Rowland was back in her ear. William and Fouad could hear her as well. Something was wrong with Grange’s earnode and gogs and he heard nothing.

‘-rerouting from low altitude. Still there, folks?’

‘I hear and obey, oh mighty one,’ Rebecca said. Then, to Al-Husseini and Grange, she added, ‘Allah appears to be female today. Sorry to disappoint, boys.’

‘We have a candidate vehicle,’ Jane said. ‘Five young men in a Volvo truck. They’re leaving the scene of some major fighting and they can’t talk to their other trucks. We’re setting up a connection now. Can you follow the street signs?’

Fouad had memorized a map of Mecca. ‘We can go wherever they are,’ he said. To Grange, he said, ‘The rest of you, leave the bus when it is clear.’ Amir and Mahmud looked distressed, but Fouad waved them on. ‘To die in Mecca is a blessing. We will all be together soon enough.’

Al-Husseini began to struggle. Amir and Mahmud helped Fouad restrain and gag him.

Fouad Al-Husam waited a few minutes for the others to make their way across the street and hide in the entries of nearby apartment buildings. He held his finger to his lips and inserted his thumb between the man’s cheek and the cloth gag.

‘I understand why you did what you did,’ he said softly. ‘No matter now that it was wrong. In your place, I might have done the same.’

Al-Husseini’s eyes were wild but Fouad stroked his matted, thinning hair with one hand. ‘I do not think anybody knows how we feel. You are like my father in many ways. If I take away your gag…will you be quiet?’

Al-Husseini nodded.

‘I will shoot you if you make a sound, understood?’ Fouad said.

Al-Husseini tossed his head, Does it matter?

‘Dignity matters. Timing matters. I know that you will do anything to stop us. And we truly are here to prevent an abomination. So…I can shoot you now, without dignity, trussed up like a sheep…’

Al-Husseini nodded slowly. He had been in bad situations before, Fouad suspected. Close to death, as well; though not so close as he was now.

Fouad loosened the gag.

‘This is awkward,’ Al-Husseini said, his voice low. ‘I have lost everything-my family is in the Netherlands, the Custodians of the Holy Mosques have fled, and I am guilty of many crimes. If you are to be my executioner-’

Fouad said, ‘We are not so far from the Mount of Mercy. You have done Hajj?’

Al-Husseini nodded. ‘My family has lived in Jeddah for many decades. I first went as deputy to an old Hajji when I was fourteen. I performed Hajj myself when I was a young man, just married. My wife went with me.’

‘I have not,’ Fouad said, and sat beside Al-Husseini, drawing up his legs. ‘This will not count, even if I die here.’

Al-Husseini regarded his killer with both wonder and growing alarm. ‘I have always asked others to die with dignity. Now…I am weak. Can you not let me return to my family? I will say nothing.’

‘My father would not have let you. And I cannot,’ Fouad said. Both were speaking Arabic now.

‘Forget our fathers and our history,’ Al-Husseini said, starting up. Fouad pushed him gently back. ‘This is no joke, no play-act!’

‘The world is sick,’ Fouad said. ‘Dignity is the only answer. Here, at the heart of the world…God is surely great and most merciful, God understands all and forgives…’

Al-Husseini’s lips moved in prayer but his eyes were searching for escape. There was no way around it, and no delaying. Fouad brought up his pistol and with one hand turned Al-Husseini’s head.

At the last the older man went limp and let loose his water and closed his eyes. Then he apologized and began praying earnestly. Fouad gave him a few more seconds.

‘Jesus,’ William said, cringing at the single shot coming from the windowless minibus. Amir looked at him with narrowed eyes. The streets were almost deserted now and none of the few stragglers seemed to notice his exclamation.

‘We’re three long blocks from the first truck,’ Rebecca said. ‘Jane says there’s an underground walkway nearby. Pilgrims are trying to get out of Mina as fast as possible.’