MJ-12: Shadows

37

Christmas in Damascus was a surprisingly genial affair, Danny thought, given the numerous religions all vying for attention in the city. It seemed the Muslims had ceded the past few weeks to their Christian neighbors, allowing both tasteful manger displays and garish plastic Santas to be proudly shown off in homes and storefronts. There were even strings of electric Christmas lights here and there, and as Danny walked down Al Hamra Street, he stopped short when he spied an evergreen in someone’s window. Fake, undoubtedly, but still.

“I can’t believe he’s finally seeing us,” Miles Copeland said excitedly as they made their way toward Syria’s Parliament building. “I’m hoping we can maybe jumpstart something good here.”

Danny just shook his head sadly and walked on, Maggie and Frank bringing up the rear and, as usual, keeping an eye out for trouble. “Miles, Syria just had its third coup of the year. This whole thing has gotten way out of control.”

Copeland frowned but let the matter drop. They were on their way to see Colonel Adib al-Shishakli, the new leader of Syria. Last week, al-Shishakli had officially deposed his fellow Syrian Army officer, the Soviet-backed Sami al-Hinnawi, the one who had deposed — and killed — Husni al-Za’im over the summer.

Za’im had been America’s man, of course, while al-Hinnawi had definitely been in the Soviets’ pocket. But nobody knew where al-Shishakli stood yet — and that was on Copeland and Stephen Meade, who had been trying desperately to regain a foothold in Syrian politics after Za’im’s death. Their failure had them on a short leash in Washington, though they’d managed to buy a little bit of time as construction began on the Trans-Arabian Pipeline within Syria. If nothing else, al-Hinnawi hadn’t canceled it, and no doubt Copeland would try to impress upon al-Shishakli the importance of honoring Syria’s agreements.

Normally — if anything could be called normal in Syria anymore — Copeland, Meade, and/or Keeley would be the ones going to see the new strongman. Al-Shishakli, however, seemed to have other ideas, not to mention a keen grasp of who was doing what in Damascus.

The invitation for an audience was specifically addressed to Copeland… as well as Danny, Frank, and Maggie. That in and of itself was highly disconcerting and had prompted a furious round of cables between Damascus and Foggy Bottom before they were finally given the green light to accept.

Danny had been in Damascus for six weeks now, looking desperately for whatever had crept onto the edges of his Enhanced perceptions back in the spring. Normally, when Danny sensed a Variant, that person stood out in his mind like a beacon, giving him an unerring sense of his or her nature as well as a general direction to follow. That was how he’d been able to find so many Variants back in the States — they’d get a few odd reports in the papers, then Danny would go to whatever city it was, close his eyes, and home in on the signal, so to speak.

The signal in Damascus was directionless and sporadic.

He’d spent the first week just walking the streets, playing tourist, even hauling a camera around for show. He’d stop in cafés and restaurants to sit and concentrate, extending his senses over as wide an area as he could — and he could manage a hundred miles, give or take, when he put enough brain power into it. There was nothing.

Then one evening, while enjoying dinner at the Copelands’ house, a tiny flicker had appeared. He’d bolted upright and practically fled the house, running about the nighttime streets like an idiot — but he couldn’t pin it down at all. And after an hour, it was gone.

That sporadic sense came and went over the course of the next several weeks, popping up here and there, anywhere from three times a day to a week apart. Danny would go haring off in a direction but would ultimately lose the trail. He started fastidiously noting times and dates, cabling Mountain Home to see if there was any corresponding change in the vortex. There wasn’t.

Finally, two weeks before, there had been a massive flare-up, and Danny had finally caught a bead on the Variant in question — and it was a Variant. For a few brief minutes, that flickering sense had bloomed to life as a fully formed Variant, and Danny had dashed toward the center of Damascus as fast as he could — at first by taxi, then by foot when traffic jammed up.

Then the Variant had disappeared completely, as if winking out of existence entirely. It had been like nothing he’d ever sensed. That was when he’d called Frank and Maggie to come join him. There was definitely something going on.

Immediately after Frank and Maggie had arrived, al-Shishakli deposed al-Hinnawi — something Danny swore had to be related. Somehow. The three of them scoured Damascus for a full week, tracking down every single person who’d been arrested or “disappeared” since al-Shishakli had taken power. To be fair, there weren’t that many such people. It seemed Syrians were pretty happy to be rid of al-Hinnawi, and there wasn’t much dissent.

Then again, Danny figured if his own country had just had its third coup in a year, he’d be keeping his head down too.

Their activity must’ve prompted al-Shishakli’s invitation. Frank had spent months in Damascus and was well known to al-Shishakli, and even Danny and Maggie were known quantities, though to a lesser extent. Maybe the new boss just wanted to set some ground rules. Or maybe it was something else.

The Parliament building — long a hub of politicking and gathering at seemingly all hours — was largely deserted now, except for the Syrian Army soldiers staked out surrounding it. Since the coup, al-Shishakli had been busy consolidating power and meeting with various legislators from an office in the building, and given Syria’s instability, the heavy army presence wasn’t surprising.

Copeland led the way to the checkpoint, speaking in rapid-fire Arabic. After producing their diplomatic passports, they were allowed inside the perimeter. There was a second checkpoint at the doors of the building, and there they were escorted by four armed soldiers up into the highest recesses of the building. Finally, they were frisked in a small office before being led into an opulent meeting room.

“Za’im used to hold court in here,” Frank whispered. “Interesting.”

Adib al-Shishakli was sitting at the end of a long table, a stack of papers on either side of him. A few other military officers were helping him file paperwork, while another pair of armed soldiers covered the other door out of the room. Their presence was announced, and al-Shishakli looked up and gave a tired smile.

“Mr. Copeland,” the new Syrian leader said. “We meet again.”

Copeland smiled and walked over, his hand extended. “Indeed we do, sir. I’m pleased to see you again.”

Al-Shishakli didn’t get up and didn’t shake Copeland’s hand. “Please, all of you, sit. I have tea coming.”

Danny took a chair on al-Shishakli’s left side, with Maggie next to him, while Copeland and Frank sat across. A valet came in with an ornate silver tea set, and there was silence as the tea was poured. Danny shifted in his chair nervously — he was no diplomat and was probably the least important person in the room.

Or so everyone else thought.

“You are different, Mr. Wallace,” al-Shishakli said without preamble. It was a casual statement with no accusation or questioning.

“Sir?”

Al-Shishakli smiled briefly. “That was unfair, but it has been a rare thing to have ‘one up’ on you Americans, as you say. I suppose I should explain.”

Danny cleared his throat. “Perhaps Mr. Copeland and all other nonessential personnel should leave the room?”

The Syrian seemed to consider this a moment, then spoke in rapid-fire Arabic. Immediately, all of al-Shishakli’s aides packed up and walked off, along with all but two of the guards. “Mr. Copeland, I apologize, but it seems as though this matter should be discussed privately. If you’ll excuse us?”

Copeland looked from al-Shishakli to Danny, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide. Then, without a word, he simply rose and walked out of the room. One of the guards closed the door behind him.

“Now, Mr. Wallace, you are different. You and Mr. Lodge and Miss Dubinsky here,” al-Shishakli said.

Danny looked to Frank, who simply shrugged in disbelief, and to Maggie, who leaned over and whispered in his ear. “He’s calm. Confident,” she said.

After taking a sip of tea to calm his nerves and find the right words, Danny said, “Without confirming or denying anything, sir, I’m curious as to what makes you believe so.”

Al-Shishakli slowly rose from his chair and began walking aimlessly around the room. “As you likely know, I have a ward — a young Bedouin boy. He has been with me for nearly a year and a half now. His father asked me to look after him because of his particular needs. He has an odd affliction, and I sought to gain the support of his father’s tribe for the struggles to come. He has been… more of a problem than I believed, but also a surprising asset.”

“And how can a boy be an asset?” Maggie asked, almost rhetorically.

“He is different, like you. In fact, it is through the thing that makes him different that we discovered your own unique place in the world,” al-Shishakli said.

Variant. Danny took another sip of tea. “And so you used his affliction, as you say, to your benefit.”

“I confess, we tried,” al-Shishakli said. “His father believed him to have the soul of a djinn, one of the ancient spirits that haunt the deserts. He would… leave his body behind and travel to the soul of others. Once inside them, he would assert control, pushing the other soul out for a time.”

Frank sat up and put his tea down. “Za’im. When Za’im got weird… that was your boy.”

Al-Shishakli nodded. “Sami and I backed Husni in his takeover because we felt the President and Parliament were failing the people of Syria, keeping us from asserting our rightful place in this region. But then Husni allied himself too closely with Mr. Copeland and you Americans, and Sami and I feared we would simply become puppets in your Cold War.”

Danny nodded. “And so you had the boy supplant Za’im, forcing him to act more and more erratically.”

“Well, we simply wanted him to act in Syria’s best interests,” al-Shishakli said, shaking his head sadly. “But the boy is still, at heart, just a child. All of Za’im’s excesses were simply the whims of a youngster, a boy’s idea of what leadership should be.”

“And so al-Hinnawi took over and shot Za’im.”

“The boy shot Za’im, using Sami’s hand.”

This hung in the air for several long moments before Maggie spoke up. “You couldn’t control him.”

Al-Shishakli sat down again, slumping in his chair. “The boy, he would move from Husni to Sami, using them to play off one another, like a great game. He would tell Copeland things with Za’im’s mouth, then court Karilov with Sami’s. And I realized, after a time, that his control over Sami was just as awful as before. So, we had to restrain him. I briefly succumbed to his power before he was finally subdued.”

Danny leaned forward. “So, what was it like? His power?”

The Syrian looked hard at Danny before answering. “I do not like to discuss it, but I will, so that you know. When he took over my body, my soul traveled… somewhere else. I could only see a barren white plain, with the souls of others wandering it. Back when the boy was still new and still listening to us, he would describe it as traveling the land of the dead. And he said that certain other souls would stand out while he was traveling. He identified them as you three, plus your Mr. Hooks and Miss Silverman.” Al-Shishakli smiled briefly at the stunned looks in the room. “We have our own intelligence agency, my friends. We know who comes and goes out of our own country. And the boy saw each of you at one point or another.”

And his presence would seem to be displaced when he was bopping around other bodies, Danny thought. That’s why I couldn’t find him! “So, where is this boy now?”

Al-Shishakli looked down at his hands. “He has been sedated. For two weeks now. We feed him through a tube. He wastes away, despite our best efforts. But if we let him awaken, he may take over my body, take over the country, do anything, really.”

Maggie actually looked taken aback, even a little sad — a rarity for her. “I’m sure you didn’t have a lot of great choices,” she said quietly.

“I have horrible choices now,” the Syrian snapped, looking up at her. “I am a soldier and I have seen death, but I cannot consign this boy to die, either slowly, the way he is now, or quickly. And yet here you are, all of you… people. I do not know what you are, what you can do, but I know you work for your government. And only a fool would not assume the Russians would have similar people they are using. And so, once again, Syria is a pawn, this time on a larger chessboard. It is disgusting.”

Another uncomfortable silence descended on the room until Danny, practically ready to jump out of his skin, spoke up again. “I’m sorry, sir. I really am. What would you like to do?”

Al-Shishakli idly shuffled a manila folder around the table in front of him. “I can tell you want him, Mr. Wallace. The boy. You want to take custody of him, to bring him into your… agency or program or whatever it is. Use him, as we tried to use him. This is madness. You cannot use someone with such power.”

“We have the means to subdue his power without harming him,” Danny said quickly, putting aside the concerns about the null-generators’ long-term health effects for the moment. “We can help him to understand his ability, use it responsibly if he can. If he can’t, we can at least keep him safe, away from others, where he can’t harm anyone. And we can learn from him. There’s a lot we’re still trying to figure out, but what you told us sounds a lot like what others have reported. Maybe we can figure out how all this happened, how we can bring it under control.”

Al-Shishakli shook his head sadly. “Control. You are always trying to control. But yes, I believe what you’re saying, and I believe you have a genuine concern for those like you, Mr. Wallace. So, I will allow you to take him — but with conditions.”

“Name it.”

“The United States must recognize the legitimacy of my government, but more importantly, I want assurances that Mr. Copeland is done trying to play kingmaker in my country. Send him somewhere else. Anywhere else. I don’t care.”

Frank smiled at this. “Can’t guarantee that, but we’ll certainly make your position crystal clear with the folks in Washington.”

Al-Shishakli nodded. “I also want your assurances that the boy will be well cared for, and not killed if at all possible.”

“Of course,” Danny said.

“Finally, I want you all out of the country tomorrow morning. And any of your kind… I do not want you to return. We know what to look for now, and I promise you, we will be looking. All of the nations here in your ‘Middle East’ have been colonies and puppets for too long. We do not need to be the puppets of people with your abilities as well.”

Danny looked at Maggie again, who raised an eyebrow at him. Might be bluffing on that last bit.

“Understood, sir,” Danny said. “Anything else?”

Al-Shishakli rose, and the Variants followed suit. “There is an ambulance outside. The boy is in it. Take him where you must tonight. Fly him out of the country tomorrow. That is all. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to see Mr. Copeland. If you do not wish me to tell your secrets to the world, I suggest you do as I say.”

Danny turned again to Maggie, who had both eyebrows raised. Not a bluff, that.

With a nod toward the new leader of Syria, Danny headed for the door, his fellow Variants behind him. The world had just gotten a whole lot stranger, and a lot more dangerous, he felt, with an independent state like Syria in on the Variant secret.

It wasn’t just about Americans and Russians anymore.