Christen
Friday, The Rainforest, North Sumatra
From her place on the log between Taro and Karl, Christen watched the dance of sunlight filtering through green leaves. She felt the oppressive heat, the weight of the humidity. She had been floating in perfection and coming back into her body–so to speak—made her hyper aware of the heaviness of the air as it pushed and pressed against her. The first thing she did once her vision cleared was search out Gator. He stood with a look on his face that she instantly recognized, this was the combat-ready face, the ready to go, ready to fight, ready to die look of her customers when she taxied them to their missions. It was the look T-Rex wore when she lifted up into the Syrian air, leaving him behind to face the onslaught.
She shifted to follow Gator’s line of sight. His focus was on the holy man. She turned to see what Blaze was doing. Did he sense a threat, too? Blaze and Gator seemed to go together like battle buddies. They seemed separate and apart from Daniel and the others.
Blaze seemed fine. There was no strain of muscle under his skin. Blaze turned to catch her eye, and she, in turn, tipped her head toward Gator. Maybe Blaze needed a heads-up that something wasn’t right.
Blaze made his way around the periphery to whisper in Gator’s ear.
The others in their party were coming to. Karl looked like he’d been sucking lemons. Something about his trance-journey must not have gone so well for him.
The guide moved into the clearing. “All is well? Come come. We will take a walk through the fire.”
The group stood and jostled hesitantly after him, pooling up like a school of fish – not a one of them wanted to take the lead. They came to a picturesque clearing just to the side and behind one of the houses. An ancient mound of craniums formed a macabre wall on the edge of the rainforest. In front of the wall was a long pit, filled with coals. Reds and oranges glowed from the embers. Flashes of yellow as a flame–here then there—gathered enough fuel to lick at the air, wavering with heat.
“You are little lady,” the guide said to her. “You show big manly men how this is done.”
Christen wasn’t interested. There was no way in this world she was going to walk through a pit of burning coals. He took her gently by the arm and lead her over to a place at the top of the fire pit. She was willing to walk over and give it a closer look, but that was about it. Christen could feel Gator swelling in size—as if he wasn’t a giant of a man already. She could feel his agitation. When the guide stopped, Christen had to hold back the laughter.
“Okay sure,” she said. “I’ll walk on your coals.” She plopped down on the ground and pulled off her boots and socks, rolled up her pants to the knees. Christen saw out of the corner of her eye as Gator sent a command to Johnna. A special forces trick of speaking without speaking. Johnna nodded and scurried over to her as Christen stood.
Johnna got to her side just before Christen took the first step, looked down and saw the truth. The ground was uneven. There was a slight hill of embers that hid the fact that there was a dirt path down the center of the pit. If you didn’t fall, you wouldn’t be burned. Johnna gave Christen a dramatic hug and good-luck, then stepped back.
Gator was outraged.
It was kind of comical.
The photographer lay on the ground where he was sure to get a shot that looked exactly like she was walking on coals. As she started across, Gator raced for the other end. Christen guessed it was to grab her up when her feet caught fire. When he saw the path, he leaned over and put his hands on his knees, panting.
Christen walked slowly, her eyes only half-opened, as if in a trance – the other men still hadn’t figured out the optical illusion. She wanted to see if any of them would pee themselves thinking they’d have to man up and do this. Karl, I’m thinking of you, asswipe. As she emerged from the other side. Gator shook his head at her and stood. She held up her hands like gymnast taking in the cheering crowds, turned, and waved, then dropped her hands and loped off to get her shoes and socks.
Johnna was next, and then the men. Having the women go first meant that they’d either have to participate or look like a wimp in front of the others.
Not a one of those who walked down the path gave any indication to the others that it was safe and painless. One guy, Nadir, even got up on his toes about midway through and started yelling “Yowch. Yowch. Ayah!” as he hopped and skipped all the way to the end. That stoked Taro but good. The last one to go, he was a quivering mass of jelly by the time he got to his turn. Christen thought he might start crying with relief when he saw the clear pathway.
Lunch was next, and it was light and refreshing with succulent fruits and salty foods to help them endure the heat. Gator stood at the periphery – feet set wide, his arms crossed over his chest, hawk-eyed as he watched, making sure they were secure. But he hadn’t caught her eye since she was on the fire walk. She wondered if she’d pissed him off.
A mother approached Gator with a crying baby and was talking to him, trying to hand him the infant. Gator, signaled the guide over. Christen scooted closer so she could hear what was going on.
“Mother wants her son to be a strong warrior. She asks you to bless the child.”
“What?” Gator’s brows drew together, his hands up, he took a step back as if to give himself some room to understand the situation.
“Bless the child. Take him from her hands and blow on his face to offer spirit of the warrior.”
Gator looked so utterly self-conscious and bashful. The villagers paused what they were doing to watch. They probably thought this was an honor for him, a distinction, but Gator turned pink with modest embarrassment. So damned cute.
The holy man came and put his hand on the mother’s shoulder. Christen could see that Gator couldn’t think of a way out of this scenario that wasn’t offensive. Gator smiled at the mother and gently gathered the baby. Tucking the infant into the crook of his arm, Gator rubbed the little guy’s tummy and talked to him with a melodic tone, his Cajun accent was thicker than usual, blending French and English words. The baby hushed and stared back at Gator. Then Gator lifted the baby and lay him over his massive shoulder. The baby wriggled over until he found a spot where he was pressed against Gator’s neck, and sucked on its fist as he shut his eyes. One huge hand covered the tiny bottom, keeping him in place.
The mother smiled widely, nodding and bowing her pleasure. When she scooted away, the holy man indicated a place on the bench. Gator swung his head and checked three-sixty before he sat down. The mother came back with a lunch plate for Gator and bowed as she handed it to him.
Gator ate one handed. His energy had shifted. The baby had soothed him. Whatever was riling him up after their meditation, had now eased its sharpness, and Gator looked like Gator again. A little smile playing across his lips as he took a bite of panini.
Christen tilted her head as she watched thinking, he looks like a dad. I wonder if he has kids. I bet he’s great with them if he does.
Johnna kicked Christen’s boot, “Stop gawking. Eat your lunch.”
***
The show that the village men put on after they ate was a wild display of ancient dance moves designed to develop endurance and strength. The young warriors in their loin cloths and brightly colored beads lined up and ran at the boulder, leaping it and landing in a sand pit that protected their legs and ankles. Christen itched to try it. The boulder was kind of high to get over without touching it like, a gymnastic vaulting horse, but she thought she could do it.
True to the guide’s earlier explanation, they had another photo op – again, it was contrived for excellent photos. The reality was, they’d pushed a platform up to the boulder and the men weren’t actually leaping the stone as much as they were jumping down into the sand pit. Christen demurred. That wasn’t any fun.
The hike out, following the festivities, found a whole lot less grumbling under the breath. The men were obviously tired, but they seemed to have had a good time. And they had delighted on seeing how brave and strong they looked in the images the photographer had scrolled through for them to review.
Christen saw this day for what it was. A shared experience where they’d felt a little fear, had a laugh, had an adventure, struggled together. It was the kind of thing that corporate boards liked to do to make a team cohesive before they sat down and hashed through a mutual issue. Negotiations were much more successful once you see each other as comrades and allies instead of stiff-shirted individuals fighting for personal goals. Now, Christen thought, these men would start opening up and sharing. Now, the quiet conversations would be of the most interest to the US government. And they were talking. Unlike earlier that day when everyone sort of grumped down the trail silently suffering.
The Daniel guy had taken point. Three men then Blaze. She was in the group with Gregor Zoric, and he was talking to the man from Saudi Arabia and the one from Qatar. They were aware that she was near, and they had switched to Arabic to exclude her from their conversation. Christen spoke Arabic. Not perfect Arabic, but she read the papers and listened to the news every day – if they spoke in metaphors she’d be lost, but if they were using basic language, she could follow along just fine. And it really didn’t matter either way. This was all getting sent back to Nutsbe and the US government, and they’d get it translated easily enough.
This spy stuff was boring.
Christen glanced back over the line of people. Johnna was walking near another group that included Karl, and Christen knew that she was there to pick up that conversation. Then a few more of their group walked with the other guard, Ralph, and somewhere at the back, where she couldn’t see him, Gator was the caboose. Christen felt antsy that she didn’t have him in sight. She hadn’t seen him since he’d handed off the baby to the grateful mother when the infant woke and was hungry.
Christen thought he looked sad when his baby fix was over.
The softy.
She smiled to herself as she walked along.
She only kept a light attention on the topic du jour. Qatar was not producing their own food. A closed border between the Saudi Arabia and Qatar was causing hardship for the Qatari people who needed access to food. That was problematic, it put pressures on at home. They talked about scuba gear and satellites and the use of helium…how dependent the modern world was on the supply.
They took a few steps in silence, then Nadir turned to Gregor. “The sanctions bill died in the US Senate committee, as we knew it would after we lost our leverage. I’m not sure how to work around this obstacle. But we’ll have to find a way.”
“Yes,” Gregor said. “A very surprising turn of events. If my instructions had been followed to the letter, all would have gone as planned. The persons who made the decisions to kidnap the young teacher from Maryland have been punished. Properly. Everyone has been reminded that they will act in concert with my wishes.” A few more silent steps, then under his breath, “I will think this through.” Louder, “I have the means of acquiring a new person to take the place as head of the Senate committee. If we all agree that that is the step that needs to be taken, my people can have the barrier removed from the stage. A new committee leader might then bring up the legislation for consideration once again. We could see how much pressure we can put in place. The Russian government has a deep file of kompromat to assist us.”
Kompromat was a Russian word, not Arabic. The whole conversation was cryptic as hell. At least to her. Gregor wasn’t a fabulous Arabic speaker - his verb conjugations and his noun pronunciations needed work. She was picking up a good fifty percent of what she thought he was saying. Happily, someone else was tasked with unraveling that puzzle of information. Other than recording that last bit of conversation, Christen couldn’t figure out why she was here. The other stuff about Qatar’s food problem and the pressures between the Qatari and Saudi border was reported in the newspapers; the information everyone who cared to know, knew.
The men walked along silently when suddenly Gregor said something that loosely translated to, “If we’re going to make this work, we’ll need a new Momo.”
That got her attention, but she tried to be a good spy and go along looking at her surroundings as if she couldn’t care less what they were saying.
He tapped the elbow of the Saudi guy. “Do you know someone who has a team to get the job done?”
“Properly?” Nadir added. “Momo’s activities failed three times in a row. He was not the professional he led us to believe he was.”
Well now the guy is supposed to be dead, so it was a little late to place blame, Christen thought. She wondered what country a name like Momo came from.
“I do. I’ll handle it,” the Saudi replied.
Christen wondered what job they needed filled that would be shared amongst the three. She wasn’t deeply curious. On the surface, this conversation was dull. Really, Christen couldn’t even conjure a scenario where any of this was relevant.
Lula was definitely wrong about asking her to think about a possible career change. Christen was a pilot, full stop. She’d leave this kind of day to people like Johnna and Lula.
The only bright spot in this whole crappity mission was that she’d met Gator.
Finally.