Bully Pulpit by Warren Murphy

Author:Warren Murphy [Warren Murphy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Chiun (Fictitious character) --Fiction., Williams, Remo (Fictitious character) --Fiction.
ISBN: 9781035999941
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Chapter Thirteen

“This is not how this was supposed to work!” Achmed spoke loudly into the microphone plugged into his ten-year-old desktop computer. The power cable had just been taped back together after one of the wandering goats had decided to snack on it, delivering what proved to be a convenient method for quick-roasting goats, and also teaching the ya Homaar operatives a lesson about keeping your wires bundled and protected.

The voice coming through the dual cube speakers had an after-echo which annoyed Achmed to no end because he didn’t realize his microphone was in front of his speakers. Every sound that came out went back into the microphone and was carried through the system again, causing everything to repeat. “The deal was for free bombs,” said a decidedly female voice. “We give them to you, and you blow them up where you said you would, when we told you to.”

Achmed spoke slowly, carefully, and more loudly than necessary directly into the microphone. “But the bombs, they are too—” he struggled for the word ‘volatile’ before deciding on “—explodey. They are killing our members.”

An echoing giggle came from the speakers. “They’re suicide bombers, right?” she said. “They’re supposed to die.”

“Yes, but they’re supposed to be sending a message with their death!” Achmed sputtered. He raised his hands in frustration. In the back of the cave they used as a headquarters, Akbar was finishing up his portion of electrocuted goat. He looked up from his meal and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “You get what you pay for.”

“We did tell you that you were expected to adhere to a tight schedule,” the woman warned. “If your men are incapable of telling time then your problems will only continue. You still have over a hundred of the vests undetonated.”

Achmed took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of goat manure. Along the rock ledge against which his computer station was positioned, a rat nosed its way along, dislodging pebbles as it foraged for something to eat and leaving a trail of droppings in its passing.

“It is not that we are not grateful,” Achmed replied. “But if we can’t budge our schedules even the slightest, then why teach our men how to use the detonator?”

More giggles poured out of the speakers. “Those aren’t detonators, baby,” she laughed. “Those are confidence props. Hand-held courage. The magic feather that lets the elephant fly.”

“Elephant fly?” Akbar asked from the back of the cave. He wiped goat grease from his chin, boggling at how Americans could have become such a world superpower and yet be so insane as to believe in flying elephants. Or did they actually have flying elephants? Who knew what kinds of things the scientists in American laboratories could put together?

“It’s easier to get someone to blow themselves up if they believe they’re the ones pressing the button,” she said. “But make no mistake, Mister Achmed, each of those bombs will blow up when we told you they would. So if you have any kind of statement you want to make, I’d start using recruits with more punctuality.

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