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The Syrian backed away to what he saw as a safe distance. “You’re an American. I know the accent. I watch American television. Do you likeFriends? It’s very funny. And Rachel is very beautiful.”
Rapp raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t actually considered the fact that the man spoke English. The filth, smell, and unhinged chatter made it easy to ignore his educational background.
“Yeah,” Maslick responded hesitantly. “Good show.”
Kadir approached and held out a hand, which Maslick enveloped in his own.
“It is very good to meet you, Joe! You are a very big man. The Americans eat well. But you have no cuisine of your own. Do you like Thai food?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“I do, too. Maybe I can make some before I die. The ingredients are hard to get, though. Because Syrians like their own food and because of the war. No Thai people live here. We had a restaurant in Damascus. But that was before the war. It was said that they served beer there, too, but only in the back room. Where the government officials ate. It would not be for…” The Syrian’s voice faded, and his gaze wandered to the back of the building. “What is that?”
“A Russian transport,” Maslick said. “A Ural-4320.”
Kadir began to back away. “It’s how they took me there. How they took all of us. They put us in the back. And they killed us in the desert. I’m the only one who came back.” He turned to Rapp. “You tricked me! You’re one of them! You won’t put me in there! I won’t let you!”
He lunged in Rapp’s direction, but Maslick grabbed him by the back of the neck. Despite a fair amount of flailing, he had no hope of freeing himself.
“Kadir!” Rapp shouted, grabbing the struggling man by the shoulders. “We talked about this. You’re not going to be in the back. You’re going to be driving. It’s how we’re going to get through the gate. This is why Allah brought you back, remember? To destroy His enemies.”
He calmed, sagging for a moment, and then suddenly straightening with pride. Maslick loosened his grip and the Syrian started toward the truck, stripping off the clothing Rapp had given him.
“Interesting guy,” Maslick said as Kadir picked up a chunk of concrete and began attacking the vehicle with it. “Should I stop him?”
Rapp shook his head. “We’re not actually going to be using that truck. It’s just for training.”
“And him? What’s his story?”
“He’s going to give us an assist.”
“Doing what?”
“The thing we’re here to do.”
“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?”
“For this one, yeah.”
“I don’t mean to be skeptical, boss, but he doesn’t look all that reliable.”
“Sorry to hear you say that because he’s the lead on the op. A completely unique skill set.”
“Really?”
Kadir exhausted himself and was now bent forward, gasping for air with his hands on his knees.
“Yup,” Rapp confirmed. “Don’t let anything happen to him. And if you run into a problem, make sure he’s not captured. He knows too much.”
“So, when you say make sure he’s not captured…”
“I mean under no circumstances is he to be captured.”
“Got it.”
The Syrian’s head was only inches from the truck’s front tire, and he began sniffing loudly. “Penetrating oil. You’re using penetrating oil.”
“Uh, yeah,” Maslick responded. “I’m seeing what works in case we get in trouble with the lug nuts during the operation. They tell me we have to take off wheels.”
