Desert Falcons

Mahfuj smiled slightly. If this big fool only knew what was in store, he thought.

“But hopefully,” Abdullah continued, “none of us will be hurt or injured again on this trip.”

“If it is the will of God,” Mahfuj said. He lowered his seat to the incline position and closed his eyes. “Perhaps I will try to rest. As you suggest.”

Abdullah grunted again. “I will wake you when we land.”

And I will give you a proper burial when the time comes, Mahfuj thought.

* * *

Camp Freedom, Unincorporated Clark County, Nevada

IN THE CONFINES of the small, dark room inside the far barracks of Camp Freedom, Fedor Androkovich watched as “radical cleric Ibrahim al Shabahb” typed a message to Hassan, one of the two young Muslim students the Yemeni sheikh had recruited on his website. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned close to him. He was not a radical cleric in Yemen, as the two young Muslim students believed, but an expatriate Iraqi, brought here after being a translator for the army during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Fedor’d had no trouble enticing him to drop off the Americans’ radar and resurface as “Pancho,” a Mexican member of the Russian’s little militia.

For the most part, Shabahb was kept out sight at the Autry ranch, surfacing only occasionally. For the most part he kept to himself, surfing the internet for who knew what when he wasn’t trying to recruit impressionable young Saudis to join the jihad. And the two that he had on the line now were the perfect pair. Young, impressionable, radicalized and filled with just enough fervor that they could be easily manipulated. Shabahb sent another instant message to one of them via the computer.

He grinned as the reply came back, glancing up at Androkovich for approval. “He says all is well.”

The Arab’s penchant for greasy, American food, an uncharacteristic fondness for beer, and an aversion to showering despite the substantial desert heat gave his corpulent body a rather pungent and repulsive odor. Several empty cans of beer sat atop an overflowing wastebasket along with the wrinkled papers from a fast-food joint.

He is not unlike one of the pigs these Muslims so despised, the Russian thought with some amusement. But he had endured far worse. He would make sure that the payoff, down the line, would be laced with the pleasant fragrances of women bathed in French perfume.

“They are set to arrive as planned?” he asked.

“But of course,” Shabahb said. “Have I not become a master fisherman?” He laughed. “What do you wish me to tell them?”

“Tell them to take a taxi to this hotel and to wait there until they are contacted.” He handed the Arab a card with the name of a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the Strip. “Reservations have already been made.”

Shabahb nodded and typed the message and clicked the mouse button to send it.

“Please, get me another can of that cold beer.” Shabahb gestured toward the small refrigerator. “All the work on this computer has given me a tremendous thirst. I feel like I’ve been marching in Baghdad.”

Androkovich grinned. He didn’t want the man to imbibe just yet. An inebriated cleric would be too prone to make a mistake, and that was something he couldn’t afford at this crucial juncture.

“In one minute, my friend. Let’s first make sure we have these two fish hooked and on the line.”

They sat in silence, the Arab glanced furtively at the refrigerator, and then back to the screen of the computer. “It takes some time, since the message is routed through so many servers.”

“I know. I set it up that way, remember?’

Shabahb grunted and licked his lips. “Please, I need a drink. I’ll get it myself.”

The Russian made a tsking sound and squeezed the Arab’s shoulder, increasing the pressure until the man grunted in pain. “Not till we’re sure.”

* * *

Understood. It is the will of God.

“Do you see?” Shabahb asked. “Is it not just as I predicted?”

Androkovich smiled and stepped over to the refrigerator. He pulled open the door and removed one of the frosty cans and set it on the desk next to the computer. As the Arab reached for it, the Russian placed his hand on top of the can and shook his head.

“First, give them the reassurance of the faithful.” He smiled, allowing a trace of malevolence to filter into the expression. “Tell them their service and loyalty will be rewarded in this life and the next.”

Shabahb snorted as his fingers danced over the keyboard.

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them that their faith and service would be rewarded with the customary number of virgins in paradise.” He laughed. “It will be enough to sway them. But for us, my friend, we know the value of a woman who has had plenty of practice in pleasing a man, do we not?”

Androkovich was not amused by the Arab’s attempt at camaraderie. “Make sure they’re hooked before you make jokes.”

Shabahb sent another message and received a confirmation. He pointed to the screen.

“See? They have replied. Now, may I please have my beer?”

Androkovich caught the Arab’s gaze and held it for a long five seconds, and then let a smile creep over his lips as he lifted his hand from the top of the beer can.

“Sure, my friend,” he said, deciding to ease up a little on the man. “Quench your thirst. Drink deep from the well.”

As he watched, Shabahb popped the tab on the can and guzzled the beer.

“Thanks, boss,” Shabahb said, pausing to exhale.

“Have another one, my friend.” He opened the door to the refrigerator, grabbed a can and tossed it to the Arab, then took out the burner cell phone he used for communications with Masoud. It was time to work on the newest wrinkle in the plan.

He stepped outside into the early-evening air and admired the majestic sweep of the mountains in the distance. He was going to miss this view. Perhaps, once this was over and the Saudis had paid him in full, he would settle near another mountain range, but definitely not in the desert, or the United States. Just as he was about to call Masoud’s number, Androkovich heard a clip-clopping of hooves. He turned and saw Eileen Autry atop her brown-and-white horse. She called out to him.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned as she rode up. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a tan blouse that clung tightly over the swell of her breasts. Her legs looked long and lean in blue jean pants, which were tucked into ornate, leather riding boots.

“I’ve been wanting to talk with you,” she said.

He disliked looking up to anyone, especially a woman, but he anticipated that the conversation would be shorter if she didn’t dismount.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Autry?” he asked.

“I know my brother hired you to maintain security,” she said, “but we don’t want our ranch turned into some armed camp.”

Androkovich raised an eyebrow and smiled.

This could be a problem, he thought, depending on what she had seen.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

The horse’s head twisted to the side, and the animal snorted. Eileen tugged the reins a bit. “I mean, you and your men didn’t have to have all those rifles earlier. The situation was touchy enough.”

The Russian nodded, but added, “Your brother wanted a show of force. Perhaps you’d better speak to him.”