Acts of War

THIRTY

Ibrahim did not stop the van until he was ten miles within Syria. He wasn't sure whether the Turkish border patrol had followed him. He didn't hear them, but that didn't mean they weren't back there following the van's tracks. Even if the enemy were in pursuit, however, the Turks wouldn't dare come as far as Membij. It was the first sizable town on this side of the border, and even at this hour the unauthorized intrusion of foreigners would raise the citizens to resistance.

As it was, the arrival of the long, white van woke more than a few of the townspeople. They came to their windows and doors and gawked as the magnificent vehicle passed. Ibrahim didn't stop, but drove on to the south, past the town, wanting to attract as little attention as possible. His captives and the van weren't a Syrian trophy but a Kurdish prize. He intended to keep it that way.

Only when Ibrahim stopped, only when he looked down at Mahmoud, who was squatting protectively over the body of Hasan, did Ibrahim permit himself to cry for his fallen comrade. Mahmoud had already spoken a prayer, and now Ibrahim said his part from the Koran.

Kneeling and bowing his head low, Ibrahim offered softly, " 'He sends forth guardians who watch over you and carry away your souls without fail when death overtakes you. Then are all men restored to God, their true Lord.' "

And then Ibrahim's tear-filled eyes turned back to the man who had done this monstrous deed. The American was lying on his back on the floor of the van where Mahmoud had left him. His face was swollen where he had been beaten, but there was no sadness in his eyes. The accursed eyes were looking up, indignant and unmoved.

"Those eyes will not be defiant for very long," Ibrahim vowed. He reached for his knife. "I will cut them out, followed by his heart."

Mahmoud clasped a hand on his wrist. "Don't! Allah is watching us, judging us. Vengeance is not the best way now."

Ibrahim wrested his arm free. " 'Let evil be rewarded with like evil,' Mahmoud. The Koran knows best. The man must be punished."

"This man will submit to God's judgment soon enough," Mahmoud said. "We have other uses for him.

"What uses? We have hostages enough."

"There is much more to this van than we know. We need him to tell us of it."

Ibrahim spit on the floor. "He would sooner die. And I would sooner kill him, my brother."

"Someone will die for what happened to Hasan. But we are home now, my brother. We can radio the others. Tell them to seek out and strike down one of our enemies. This man must suffer by living. By watching his companions suffer. You saw how he broke before, when I threatened to cut the woman's fingers. Think of how much worse the days ahead can be for him."

Ibrahim continued to look back at Rodgers. The sight of him filled the Kurd with hate. "I would cut his eyes out just the same."

"In time," said Mahmoud. "But we're tired now, and in mourning. We're not thinking as clearly as we should. Let's contact the commander and have him decide how best to avenge the deaths of Hasan and Walid. Then we'll blindfold our prisoners, finish our journey, and rest. We've earned that much."

Ibrahim looked back at his brother, then at Rodgers. Reluctantly, he sheathed his knife.

For now.