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Rapp did fall asleep. He had no idea when he had dozed off, or for how long, but it was enough to recharge his battery. He checked in with Ridley at the appointed hour, and then, not wanting to lose his nerve, he left the hotel and proceeded directly to Maarad Street a few blocks away. The vendors were manning their tents, selling all kinds of produce and food. Rapp worked his way up and down both sides of the street, speaking English and playing down his French when he had to speak it. He continued to play the role of the dolt. Almost to a man, people shunned him as soon as he asked about Colonel Sayyed. There was one man, though, who had opened up. He was selling electronics, small radios, tape players, and two-way radios like Rapp's Motorola.
Rapp stepped into his small tent and said hello. There was a polite exchange and then Rapp asked him, "Do you know anything about the two Americans who were picked up a few days ago?"
The man pointed to two radios and loudly asked Rapp, "Which one do you like better?" And then in a much quieter voice he said, "Yes, I know of the Americans." He then stuck out his hand for cash.
Rapp peeled off seven one-hundred-dollar bills. The man pocketed the bills and picked up a small alarm clock radio. He began to explain its various features. In between lauding the various components he lowered his voice and said, "There is a rumor that the Americans are being held in the basement of an old building on the west side of Martyrs' Square."
Before Rapp could ask another question the man was stuffing the alarm clock in a bag and sending him off. That was when Rapp noticed the two guys with stern faces and distinctive bulges under their jackets. He went straight back to the hotel. He wanted to pass on this nugget of information before he was picked up. As he reached the street that the hotel was on, he turned left, which was the wrong way. He took two steps, and then, acting as if he'd just realized his mistake, he turned left again and saw the two men halfway down the block just standing there, staring at him. Rapp kept moving so as to not let them know that he was onto them. It was not lost on him that the two men following him had made no effort to conceal their interest.
Rapp hustled up the next block, and when he entered the hotel he noticed a new manager behind the desk, who gave him a very unpleasant look. Rapp supposed the man thought someone might blow up the hotel just because of h
is presence. As he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor he realized you could hardly blame the guy. He was like some saloonkeeper in one of those old western movies where the troublemakers were all gunning for the new sheriff.
When got up to the room he sat on the edge of the bed and collected his thoughts, trying to prioritize the various bits and pieces. The vendor was the only real highlight, and even that might be worthless. Was it a wild rumor or was it fact? Rapp knew that unless he had a chance to talk to the man he would never be able to figure it out. The two men trailing him had him worried. Were they on their way up to his room right now, preparing to kick his door down and drag him off?
Rapp thumbed the transmit button and said, "Curly, this is Moe, over." The Three Stooges monikers was Ridley's idea.
"I'm here, Moe, what's up?"
"I just got back from the market. Two guys tailed me back to the hotel."
"Not a surprise. How was the market?"
"Pretty much treated me like a leper ... just like you said."
"Yeah ... bad part of town. They haven't seen a gringo around there in some time. I'm sure you were a big hit."
"I did pick up one piece of information." Rapp paused, trying to figure out the best way to pass it along without giving too much away on an open channel. "Remember last night ... when our Armenian friend talked to us about the manpower issue."
There was a slight delay and then, "Yep ... I remember."
"He referenced a local standoff ... a land grab ... kind of a standoff at the OK Corral."
"I'm with you."
"There was one vendor ... cagey fellow. Told me on one side of the corral, the guys are keeping some things in the basement."
"I think I copy. Can you give me more on the source?"
"He sold electronics. Boom boxes, small radios, clocks, that kind of stuff."
Ridley asked for a description of the man and his stall and Rapp gave it to him. Then Ridley said. "I'll pass this on to the American and see what he's heard. Anything else?"
"No," Rapp said as he crossed over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The two men who had followed him had taken up positions directly across the street. "Those guys I mentioned have decided to camp out in front of the hotel."
"Not a surprise. You sure you still want to do this?"
Rapp had just been asking himself the same question. But like his high-school lacrosse coach used to say, you can't score unless you shoot. "I'm fine," Rapp said into the small radio. "If I don't check in at noon, you'll know I'm either dead or in the middle of negotiations."
"Let's hope it's the latter."
"Roger that. Over and out." Rapp took off his khaki sport coat and went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He patted the drops of water with a towel and looked at himself in the dusty, cracked mirror. Rapp eyed his fractured reflection; his thick head of black hair, the beginnings of a beard, his bronzed olive skin and his eyes so dark that they were almost black. He could walk among the enemy without getting so much as a suspicious glance, but that would all change if he didn't do something. Very carefully he patted his hair and then, using his index finger, he probed little deeper. He could barely feel the small section of metal. Ridley had taken a flexible fourteen-inch bandsaw blade and cut it down to a neat little three-inch piece. An eighth of an inch thick and only a half inch wide, the black metal section was then threaded into his dark head of black hair.
Rapp played Ridley's words over again in his head. "We know from debriefings that these things follow a certain pattern. It usually starts with a whack across the back of the head, but not always. You're then tossed in either the backseat or the trunk, taken somewhere and stripped naked, and then moved one or two more times. There's a good chance you'll never be in the same building as them. Then again ... they might be two doors down and you'll never know they're there unless you get free."
Rapp stared at his reflection and questioned his sanity. "Are you fucking nuts?" Rapp couldn't remember if he'd ever talked to himself out loud like this in the mirror. Maybe drunk, but never sober. It all flashed before him in that moment. He could slip out the back door and find his way back to the other side of town. Like Ridley had told him last night, "If you get cold feet, no one will judge you." Except for himself, of course. Rapp did not want to live the rest of his life that way. This wasn't like making a mistake in the heat of battle. This would be making a conscious decision to run from the field of battle. And not just to run, but to desert two of his fellow soldiers and leave them for dead. Rapp knew himself well enough to understand that a failure of this magnitude would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He pushed himself away from the mirror before he lost the courage. He checked the window again. They were still down there and had possibly been joined by another guy who was standing at the far end of the block. Rapp looked over at his gun, which was on the night table. It had been suggested that, to complete his performance, he should leave the gun in the room, but he didn't like that idea. He'd rather walk out of the hotel buck-naked than leave the gun. He could explain it away as a precaution. Everyone else in this town walked around with a gun, so why shouldn't he? The radio was the only other thing to decide on. He chose to bring it with him. If he didn't get picked up right away, he might need to call Ridley with an update. As a precaution, he changed the channel and turned it off.
