Easy Day for the Dead (20 page)

Cat sat in the backseat and spoke Arabic to the cabbie. Alex forgot about the mission as he flashed back to an evening with Cat in the backseat of a limousine in Paris. The chauffeur drove through Paris while he and Cat made love. Now Alex sat close to her in the taxi. Cat scooted away from him. Alex scooted closer. She moved away until there was no more space left. Her back pressed against the taxi. Alex closed the gap between them. She had nowhere to go except out, and the taxi had already picked up speed. The snowflakes became bigger and came down en masse.

“Do you remember Paris?” he asked.

“I'm trying to forget,” Cat answered.

“I can't forget.”

His face moved closer to hers.

“You can't do that here,” Cat said.

Alex noticed that she didn't pull away.

“I can kiss you here.”

“It's illegal.”

“Not in Lebanon.”

“It's illegal.”

“You already said that. It's not true.”

“They'll arrest you.”

“I can kiss you in Tripoli.” His eyes feasted slowly from her eyes to her lips and down to her hips. “I can kiss you in Beirut.”

“Oh, no, you can't kiss me in Beirut!” she said, breathing heavily. “Not in a taxicab in broad daylight.” She ran out of breath and had to inhale.

His gaze returned to her lips. “Then I'll kiss you in Tripoli.”

Cat hurriedly opened her plastic box, put a Lebanese pickle in her mouth, and closed the box. The Lebanese pickle was smaller and smoother than American pickles. Alex took the pickle out of her mouth. She grabbed the pickle and put it back in her mouth. Alex pulled it out again.

“If you kiss me, I'll scream.” She put the pickle in her mouth.

“You can scream easier without this in your mouth.” He took the pickle and kissed her. Soon she closed her eyes and he closed his. Cat wrapped her arms around him. Alex felt the world disappear as he immersed himself in rediscovering her lips. The breath through her nose raced in and out, blowing warm against his face. Alex pulled away from Cat for a moment and opened his eyes. The rear windows were fogging.

She opened her eyes. “I can't breathe.”

“Stop breathing.” The rate of her breathing picked up speed, faster than the beating of the windshield wipers. She sounded like she was about to hyperventilate. He kissed her and closed his eyes. He couldn't hear her breathing, so he started to pull away, but she pulled him back in.

Alex stopped kissing her and took a bite of the Lebanese pickle in his hand. It had a mellow taste. Cat breathed calmly, and he gave her a bite. He finished chewing and swallowed. After she swallowed, she kissed him. He tasted vinegar, salt, and sugar on her lips and tongue.

“It's so hot in here, I'm burning up,” Cat whispered.

Alex put the last piece of pickle in his mouth and transferred it to hers. He unzipped Cat's jacket and helped her out of it. Starting to feel hot himself, Alex took off his own jacket.

The driver stopped the cab. Alex looked around. They had reached the destination near the apartment.
Bad timing.
“Can you drive in a circle around town?” Alex asked the driver.

“Circle town?” the driver asked.

Alex finished chewing the pickle, swallowed, leaned forward, and gestured in a circle with his hand. “Can you drive in a circle around town?”

“Go Beirut?” the driver asked.

“If you say so,” Alex answered.

“What?”

“Yes. Go to Beirut. Please.”

“Beirut,” the driver confirmed.

“Yes, Beirut.” Alex placed an advance of forty thousand Lebanese pounds on the console next to the driver's seat. Then Alex moved the rearview mirror so the driver couldn't see the backseat.

The driver appeared puzzled for a moment. He took the money, shifted into gear, and drove south. The snow came down harder and heavier.

A
lex and Cat returned to the apartment, where they found Pancho alone. Minutes later, John and Leila returned with some groceries. Although John wasn't a conversationalist, he was talking—and laughing that freakish laugh of his. Leila was laughing, too. Alex smiled. Maybe his matchmaking was working.

“What kind of wheels you get?” Pancho asked.

“A black Hummer H2 with seven seats and a white van,” John replied. “I took out the dome lights so we can slip in and out of the vehicles without getting lit up.”

“Sweet.”

John approached Alex and quietly asked, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Alex answered.

John led Alex into his bedroom and closed the door. John rarely beat around the bush and this time was no different. “So you and Leila . . .”

“The road is clear, my friend,” Alex said.

“That's what she said, but I wanted to hear it from you.” John smiled and walked out the door.

“You're welcome,” Alex said aloud in the empty room.

Later, the Outcasts ate a late lunch and cleaned up. Next, Alex
spread a map out on the floor, briefed them, and discussed the mission. After their discussion, they took the white van an hour and a half east to the Al Assi River, near the city of Hermel. There they checked out the river and its location. The Outcasts drove south of Hermel and examined the cold blue river near its source. The river was wide, deep, and fast enough to use rubber rafts.

Cat drove farther south and passed posters of Hezbollah's leader, Hassan Nasrallah, displayed on walls and in windows. Mounted to houses and shops, green and yellow Hezbollah flags flapped in the wind. There were posters of people Alex didn't recognize. “Who are the pictures on the posters?” Alex asked.

“Hezbollah martyrs,” Cat answered.

The Outcasts continued to Baalbek to do some filming so if later someone became curious, they would have something to show for their visit. During the Roman period, part of the Roman Empire included the city of Baalbek, which was called Heliopolis. In 1984, the city's ruins became a World Heritage Site. Now it was home to thousands of Hezbollah supporters.

Cat parked near the temple complex ruins. The Outcasts passed two Hezbollah militia in their green uniforms. The militiamen gabbed with each other while smoking cigarettes.

A street vendor carrying his goods in bags on his shoulders approached the Outcasts waving his green and yellow flags. “You like Hezbollah flag, sir? Many people buy Hezbollah flag.”

“I don't think so,” Alex said in German and waved him off.

“I don't understand.” The vendor turned to Cat and Leila and pushed forward a green and yellow magnet. “You like Hezbollah refrigerator magnet?”

Leila pushed it away and Cat said something in Arabic.

The man frowned. Next he showed John a yellow T-shirt designed with green Arabic writing and a green AK-47 over a green globe. “One-size-fits-all Hezbollah T-shirt.”

John ignored him.

The vendor turned to Pancho and pulled out a baseball cap with a picture of two smiling men: Hezbollah's leader, Hassan Nasrallah, and the previous Iranian president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. “Would you like Lebanese baseball hat?”

Pancho smiled. “Would you like to
besa mi juevos
?”

The vendor responded with a puzzled grin. Alex smiled. He'd heard the Spanish version of “kiss my nuts” more than once.

John punched Pancho in the shoulder.

The Outcasts passed the vendor and proceeded to the site of the temples and their ruins. At the entrance, a man collected admission. “How much?” Alex asked.

“Twelve thousand Lebanese pounds each,” the man said in broken English.

Alex started to pay the man, but Cat stopped Alex. “Don't pay that,” she said. “Twelve thousand is too much.” She haggled with the man in Arabic until he agreed to two thousand Lebanese pounds each.

Alex paid.

Inside the site, John and Leila filmed the remains of the Temple of Jupiter, with its six seventy-five-foot-high Corinthian pillars standing atop twenty-seven enormous limestone blocks.

Next they examined the Temple of Bacchus. Although the Temple of Jupiter was taller, much of the Temple of Bacchus remained intact, and Alex still felt like he was the size of an ant as they hiked up thirty stairs to the entrance of a hundred-foot-high building. Nineteen unfluted Corinthian columns supported an entablature carved with bulls and lions. Inside, nature reclaimed the floor—weeds poked up through uneven ground covered with broken columns and scattered rubble. On the ceiling were scenes of a god with a cornucopia, a god with a hammer, and one with arrows. The Outcasts passed smaller columns and hiked up another flight of stairs to the dark worship room.

After filming the temple complex, they packed up, then drove
along a road southeast until they reached a private hospital. “This is the hospital here,” Alex said. “Leila, you'll park here tomorrow night.”

“Yes.”

Cat pulled into the hospital parking lot and circled it before returning to the road southeast. Finally, she slowed down in front of a rock quarry located on the same hill as the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. John pretended to film the rock quarry, but he was actually filming the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. His fellow Outcasts stood around him like they were viewing the quarry, but they were obstructing onlookers from seeing John while he filmed.

They finished their recon and had just loaded into the van when a vehicle came speeding into the parking lot and stopped in front of them. Two Hezbollah men in green uniforms approached the driver side and motioned for Cat to roll the window down.

She rolled down the window with her left hand and started the ignition with her right.

One of the men tilted his head in a way that made it look as if it were on crooked. He spoke Arabic to Cat.

“He's asking what we're doing here,” Cat said. With her foot on the brake, she shifted into low gear, ready to plow through the Hezbollah vehicle before shifting into drive and speeding away.

“We're a movie production crew,” Alex said.

Cat translated.

“Who are your stars?” Crooked Head asked.

“This is our main star.” Alex pointed to Pancho.

“Hi,” Pancho said, waving with a smile.

“Who is he?” Crooked Head asked.

“Pancho Bardem,” Alex said. “He was nominated for an Oscar two years ago.”

Crooked Head poked his head inside Cat's window and surveyed the interior before resting his eyes on Pancho. “Never heard of him.”

Pancho frowned and turned up his nose.

“He's well-known in Spain and Mexico,” Alex explained.

Pancho smiled, flashing what he thought was a killer grin.

“I've watched behind the scenes and this isn't enough people to make a movie,” Crooked Head said.

Alex allowed irritation to creep into his voice: “This is a documentary.”

“Where is your film equipment?”

Alex turned to John and Leila. “Show him.”

They reached down and unzipped their duffel bags.

Crooked Head watched intently.

John pulled out a camera and tripod, and Leila also took out a camera and tripod.

“What are your jobs?” Crooked Head asked.

Alex pointed to himself. “I'm the producer-director.” Then he pointed to Cat. “This is my assistant. Pancho is our host-narrator, and in the back are our two camera people.”

“You don't need two cameras for a documentary.”

“We don't do multiple takes,” Alex said impatiently. “That's why we shoot with two cameras. Our movie is honest—what you see is what it is. And I don't appreciate you insulting Pancho. You don't even know who Pancho Bardem is, and you try to act like you know how to make a documentary. Have you been living under a rock?!”

Cat's translation was only about half as long as what Alex said.

Alex's eyes burned into Cat. “Don't edit me. Tell him everything I said.”

The other Hezbollah guy pulled Crooked Head aside and spoke broken English: “You make movie here?”

“We filmed the temple ruins,” Alex said. “We heard the rock quarry is a good place to film so we came here, but there's nothing to film here.”

“Can I see?” the Hezbollah man asked politely. He was older and seemed to be the senior of the two.

“The film? Sure.” Alex turned to John. “Show him what we took of the temple ruins.”

John stepped out of the van and played back the recording on the camera's swing-out monitor. Crooked Head looked over Senior's shoulder.

Senior finished viewing the monitor and focused on Alex. “What you know about Hezbollah?”

“Just what I hear on the news,” Alex replied.

“The news is wrong. I tell you truth. Take my picture.”

Alex took a few moments, as if he were seriously thinking about it. He looked the soldier up and down before answering. “You have the hips of a younger George Clooney. Okay. Everybody, let's film what he has to say.”

The Outcasts unloaded from the van. John and Leila set up their cameras on the tripods with the sun to their backs and Senior, Crooked Head, and Pancho in front. Senior patted his hair.

“Are we filming?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, boss,” John said.

Leila nodded.

“Pancho,” Alex said.

Pancho, Senior, and Crooked Head exchanged greetings before Pancho asked Senior about Hezbollah.

Senior said something to Crooked Head in Arabic and he took a step back. Senior didn't want Crooked Head crowding him in the picture frame. “Hezbollah is political party in Lebanese government. We built hospital, radio station, television station, university, schools for children, and housing for poor people. Hezbollah is doctors, lawyers, teachers, students, farmers, and common people. . . .” He conveniently left out any mention of
terrorists
and went on to complain about Israel, the United States, and Europe. Eventually, he became tired of talking.