The streets and sidewalks of Mogadishu baked under the blast furnace of a sun. Peter Hayes, sweating through his thin cotton shirt and light khaki pants, worked his way through the teeming foot traffic to the streetside café. He was several minutes late for the meeting, something he disliked, but the impression of the American operation was one of lounginess and Hayes was ordered to maintain that image. His organization did not want others to understand their true capabilities.
The manager greeted Hayes at the entrance. "
Ahlan wa sahlan,"
he said, formally bowing to the American. His eyes flicked down to Peter's holster and his eyebrows briefly went up. It was reasonable, if technically illegal, to go out in town with a pistol over 9mm in size. Hayes preferred the weight and size of a .40 caliber. The manager was discreet with his observation.
"
Shukran,
" Hayes replied.
"Please allow me to take you to the other gentlemen," the manager said, still speaking Arabic.
Hayes nodded and let himself be led to a table under the colorful green and white awning. It was backed against on the outer wall of the café. They had a clear view of the street.
Gorov, the Russian, stood to greet Hayes, hand extended. Tawfiiq, still in his chair, nodded, tucking his chin to his chest for a full two seconds. Hayes nodded back to Tawfiiq before shaking hands with Gorov. Satisfied with the less-than-formal greetings, all three men sat awaiting the waiter.
Within moments,
shah hawaash
arrived with three cups. The café owners knew who the three men were and provided preferential service. Hayes was entirely certain his table was their waiter's sole responsibility. Ahmed stood, statue-still only feet away, ready to meet their every request. Hayes nodded politely to the waiter while Gorov and Tawfiiq flatly ignored the man.
"It is warm today," Tawfiiq said in English, sweat glistening on his forehead, "So please allow me to offer you refreshment." He snapped and Ahmed stepped forward, pouring the tea into beautiful porcelain cups for the men. He finished and stepped away. Hayes noticed Ahmed had poured for Gorov first.
The three sipped quietly. Several minutes of silence settled around the table. Hayes admired the intricate design on his cup.
"Let us begin," Gorov finally said in Arabic, "The Russian Black Sea Fleet is detaching the Moskva and the Smetlivyy from the 30
th
Surface Ship Division. They sail this Tuesday for ... "
Tawfiiq was laughing quietly in his cup.
"Yes, Tawfiiq? Perhaps my Arabic is so poor I have instead told a joke?" Gorov asked.
"No, no," Tawfiiq said with a wave of a hand, "Please continue. I find amusement in having a Russian and an American speak my language. I offer no offense."
Gorov's stare bored into Tawfiiq, his gaze locked for several seconds longer than necessary. Tawfiiq met his eyes without fear. Gorov continued at last. "The detachment will move to patrol waters by Somaliland and Puntland. We believe new, well-armed and well-organized groups are operating out of Bosaso," Gorov finished.
Tawfiiq smiled again and clapped his hands once, a distant pistol shot in the roar of the city life around them. "Of course, they are," he said, "And they will operate out of Assab. And Mombasa. And Daar es Salaam. And even Hadiboh. This is a scourge that will never be severed from the Earth."
Hayes leaned in. "I think," he began, "We won't do enough to stop everything but maybe saving some innocent people will make it worth it."
Gorov laughed loudly, drawing looks from nearby tables.
Tawfiiq merely smiled. "The money you are paid is what it is worth. You are American. Violence and revenue go hand-in-hand with your culture, much like Gorov's. Please do not pretend you are a humanitarian service here. Piracy is a Somali curse, not American, and I do not see a blue helmet on your head," he said.
Hayes had his response in hand and was ready to fire back when a jolt of electricity pulsed through the air. It felt as though a bolt of lightning were about to crash into the street. Gorov and Tawfiiq reacted too. Gorov's head cocked to the side, a frown forming on his face. Tawfiiq's jaw clenched as if he were about to receive a blow.
Time slowed. The heavy scent of spice filled the air.
Hayes glanced over Gorov's shoulder and saw the woman. She wore an elegant blue and green dirac dress and her long, jet black hair was uncovered. The mass of people normally crowding the sidewalks of Wadada Liido, a main street of the city, made way for her, gently deflected from her path. She passed the men's table as if floating on air. Her eyes, deep chocolate brown, rounded by green eye make-up, lashes long and full, appraised Hayes. Her skin, a black more rich than any tone Hayes had ever seen, did not glisten with sweat in the burning heat. She smiled at him, her straight white teeth flashing in the sun. Hayes felt the very air sucked out of his lungs. He could do nothing but stare, spellbound, for she was impossibly beautiful. There were no other sounds, no traffic, no shouting of merchants, no clatter of silverware on dishes, no chatter of patrons. Everything simply stopped until the woman passed.
Time accelerated to normal speed.
Gorov muttered something in guttural Russian and Hayes doubted it was suitable for polite company. The Russian's eyes flicked left and right and he looked uncomfortable, something Hayes had never seen before.
Tawfiiq said something under his breath as well. Hayes heard it but could not understand the phrase. Others around him spoke to each other rapidly and the conversations sounded urgent, the patrons upset. The waiter stepped to Tawfiiq's elbow. They spoke quietly to each other. The waiter stepped away and Tawfiiq considered the brief exchange. He finally smiled broadly at the other two men.
"What is this laughter?" Gorov demanded in Arabic, clearly shaken by the passing of the woman and confused that he was shaken.
Tawfii quivered with humor and received frowns from those around them. He took several minutes to calm down and breathe normally. His dark complexion was tinted red from his outburst and he struggled to find his composure.
"That which just passed us," he said, "was a djinn. Ahmed, our waiter, agrees."
Gorov barked a laugh and, waving his hand, dismissed the claim. Hayes' eyebrows furrowed.
"That is a new word to me," he said, "What is it?"
"It is nonsense," Gorov said, "It is myth, folklore from herdsmen who want to scare their children at night. It is nothing. Our host will not swear she was a djinn. He knows this is false."
"The djinn," Tawfiiq said, voice lowered, "are a truth of my land. They are strange creatures who exist both in the spiritual world and in ours. They have powers beyond the natural. I have never seen one before but I will swear until I die she who passed by is a djinn. They may grant your greatest desires with little limitation. They have powers we cannot understand. Your American culture calls them genies. And they ... are ... real."
Tawfiiq sat back, sobered. "You felt it as I did," he continued. He locked his attention on Gorov, eyes narrowing, "And I will not be called a liar."
"Okay," Hayes agreed, "This woman is a genie. I will accept this. But why do you laugh?"
Tawfiiq's face again broke into a generous smile. "Maybe it is your golden hair and handsomeness," he said, "She likes you."
--------
Hayes returned to the operations compound following the business lunch. Andrew Keyes, the radio intercept 'officer' positioned inside the communications room, leapt from his chair and hurried into the hall.
"Where were you today? Did you see anything strange? What did you see?" Keyes asked, firing off questions in short bursts.
Hayes shrugged and shook his head. "I saw and heard nothing unusual. Should I have?"
"Oh, man, you shoulda heard the radio traffic and cell phone chatter. A huge number of calls went out to both local police and the federal government. And you know folks around here don't want to call the government for anything. Whatever happened an hour ago, people were yelling for help."
"What'd they say?" Hayes asked.
"I heard reports of ghosts, supernatural animals, all kinds of shit. At least a dozen people called in sightings of an ifrit," here Keyes made a quote motion in the air with his fingers, "and I had to look that one up. It's a pissed-off genie, apparently. They burn things down with their rage. It's like they snap their fingers and, bang, fire. Sounds kinda like my ex-wife. Anyway, is there a full moon tonight? It was like some crazy Arabic Halloween is in the air out there. I've never seen it like this the way scanners were buzzing. And I've been in-country for almost half a year now."
Keyes scratched his head, shrugged. "Anyway, things got quieter the past few minutes," he continued, "Do you think we should set double-security overnight? The Sir is putting a boat in the water tomorrow and maybe someone's sniffing out the operation. I mean, do you feel like we need extra bodies on deck?"
Hayes shook his head, "I'm not in charge but I'll tell the Sir what you said. He may have an opinion. Probably he'll just shrug it off and leave it to superstition. He's grounded so it won't shake him at all."
They had been out on the water half the day. The afternoon was beautiful, with puffy cotton clouds floating by. The Indian Ocean had almost no chop today and the ship barely swayed in the water. They had good conditions for shooting if and when it would come to that. Hayes watched the petrels glide overhead, diving and climbing on the ocean breeze.
The call came from the Gunny, high above on the flying bridge. His command voice, becoming a former Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps, sir, aye-aye, sir, boomed from topside.
"Watercraft! Port quarter! Two clicks and closing!"
