Linda Darby 03 The First Lady's Second Man by David Bishop

Author:David Bishop [Bishop, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Calibre
Published: 2016-10-17T22:00:00+00:00

22

An hour after the sun ducked behind the tallest mountain while still oozing around its sides, Ryan saw a few tents among the trees in the distance. As they moved closer, and twilight dimmed further, the tents disappeared, then sometimes reappeared as the terrain and late shadows toyed with Ryan’s view. He imagined how similar this might be to the teepees of American Indian tribes whose ancestral grounds were in mountainous regions of America.

As night spread its dark arms, Ryan began to see new light, flickering light. Candles near where the tents had been visible. The sides of the mountain up from the low points were speckled with these lights, like stars scattered across the earth’s dark blanket. The dense canopy of trees shielded the camp from planes. Mossad had informed him that approximately one-hundred-thousand Turkmen lived on and near this mountain. Other Turkmen lived in the Latakia province that stretched beyond the mountain and down to the coastline. Smaller numbers lived near Aleppo and in central and southern Syria, some in Iraq and, to a lesser degree, elsewhere in the Middle East.

The Latakia province, Ryan estimated they entered sometime early today, was heavily populated by the Alawite faction of Shia.

The Turkmen were among the very first to take up arms against the Al-Assad Regime, and against ISIL forces.

As they came close to the outlying tents of the encampment, many women were cooking over open fires. Their talk included two words familiar to Ryan, plov and manti. Ryan had eaten plov, a fried mixture of mutton, carrots, and rice. Manti he wasn’t sure about. It might be the beef or chicken stuffed dumpling like items he saw frying on the cook fires. There were open baskets filled with a bread Ryan knew. The people in Turkey called it cörek, similar to naan in the Asian subcontinent and found retail in many American grocery stores.

Ryan’s stomach growled from hunger. He had some jerky left in his pack, but, for most of the day, the Turkmen hadn’t stopped to eat so Ryan followed their lead. Perhaps in anticipation of the meals being prepared near these tents.

As the influence of night grew, nearby hills came alive with flickering candles and the sparks from campfires. Ryan sat and ate with the leader and the other four with whom he had walked throughout the day. The women smiled, but said nothing. Other men nearby remained quiet while eating and watching Ryan.

The leader wiped a torn piece of bread across his lips. “Your mission here was for the Mossad, right?”

“Let’s just say, I’m here doing my own work.”

“Sure. We can say.” The leader pushed the used bread inside his mouth and chewed while repeating, “Sure. Sure. We can say. You will deliver a message for me, eh?”

“It would be my pleasure, but to whom?”

The leader smiled, but did not provide a specific answer. “I’d like a battery-operated player along with a DVD of the U.S. movie Fargo, and the television series by that name.”

“What?”

“Fargo. Certainly, you know—”

“Yes.

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