Chapter 5

“One of the good things about the fusion battery is that we don’t have to stop for gas,” Oscar said driving the white Mercedes over the rough terrain. While the Mercedes was a well engineered car, it wasn’t designed for roads that were this rough, and it was definitely taking a beating.

“Yes, but if you’re not careful we’ll have to have this car repaired somewhere,” Georgia replied grabbing at the dashboard when the car lurched for what seemed like the millionth time.

Pointing to another Mercedes parked by a house in the distance, Oscar said, “We’re not the only ones with a car out here.”

“I can see that. The real question is if they actually drive it anywhere,” Georgia said as the car slipped off a rock and skewed sideways. She hit her shoulder on the door and glared over at Oscar as if blaming him for her discomfort.

“Sorry. Western Pakistan isn’t known for having well kept roads,” Oscar said. A huge hole opened in front of them and he swerved to miss it. He swore, “Gee whiz that was close.”

“Gee Whiz?” she asked with a snort at the juvenile expression. It sounded like something from the old Batman series on television.

“What do you want me to say? Snarkle?” Oscar asked with a grin.

“I’d much prefer Ni,” Georgia answered making reference to the knights of an old comedy movie.

“Ni it is,” Oscar said.

“We are not going to be able to drive all the way to Afghanistan in this car,” Georgia said. She felt like someone had been hitting her kidneys.

“I plan on trading the car for camels in the town up ahead,” Oscar said hitting a bump that nearly twisted the steering wheel out of his hands.

“Camels?” Georgia asked. She wasn’t sure how she felt about riding a camel for a couple hundred miles. A horse was one thing, but a camel was a totally different kind of beast. She wondered if Oscar knew how many camels a Mercedes was worth. That thought was followed by a number of less pleasant thoughts. She frowned and then said, “I thought this area was filled with terrorists. Will we be safe traveling by camel?”

“Yes,” Oscar said.

“What about the terrorists?”

Oscar was silent for a moment and then pointed up the road at a grizzly sight. A dozen bodies were lying on the ground; their weapons lying on the ground beside them. He said, “There has been a little fighting up here.”

“Why?” Georgia asked staring at the bodies. She glanced over at Oscar wondering if he knew what was happening. She still wasn’t used to his ability to know things without learning them.

“Well, word of Allah’s message has reached here. The locals have decided to believe that Allah no longer wants Jihad by the Sword. They’ve stopped providing the kind of support to the terrorists that was common in the past. It is one thing to support a group that is doing the work of God and quite another to support a group that is defying God. The foreign terrorists take issue with that and have been trying to force the locals to their world view. The terrorists are losing,” Oscar said driving around the bodies. He wasn’t sure which side of the conflict the bodies belonged to. If they were locals, then the terrorists would have left them there as a message to the locals. If they were terrorists, then the locals would have left them there because of their opposition to the will of Allah.

“How bad is it?” Georgia asked.

“Pretty bad. Entire villages have been destroyed,” Oscar answered concentrating on the road. He knew that the road was going to get even worse before they hit town.

For the past month and a half, they had been stopping at an average of two Mosques a day. The message was always the same. Allah wanted Jihad by the Sword to end. The reactions to the delivery of the message became ever more polarized. In some cases there would be great rejoicing, while in others there was a growing current of anger. Georgia said, “I’m not sure what I think of that. I would have assumed that they would be happy that their God is sending them a message.”

“That’s the politics of religion,” he said. Even simple messages became convoluted when men with ambition decided to interpret them.

“Ugly.”

“When we stop, would you mind getting on the Satellite Phone and calling your sister?”

“My sister? Why?” Georgia asked turning immediately to find the phone in the backseat.

“I’d like it if she could arrange for a Russian Truck to be waiting for us when we get to our old training grounds,” Oscar answered.

While digging around in the backseat for the satellite phone, the car hit another bump and Georgia hit her butt on the ceiling. It earned her a snort of laughter from Oscar. His snort earned him a slight whack to the back of his head. She growled and said, “I’ll make sure to request that it has a good suspension. I’ll also ask her to load it with real food. I’m sick of MREs.”

“Sounds good to me,” Oscar said rubbing the back of his neck. He knew that he shouldn’t have laughed at her, but it had been funny.

“When are we going to stop?”

Oscar didn’t answer while maneuvering around a large rock. Once past the obstacle, he answered, “When the tire goes out.”

“When will that be?” Georgia asked looking over at him.

A thumping noise arose from the rear of the car at the same time Oscar answered, “Now.”

“Oh great.”

“Put on your burka. We’re going to have company while I change the tire,” Oscar said opening the door.

“Do you even know how to change a tire?” Georgia asked while looking around to see if she could spot anyone. There wasn’t anything to see.

“I’m not sure, but I know you’ll tell me exactly what to do,” Oscar answered giving her a great big grin and a wink.

“That’s right buster,” Georgia said putting on her burka. Once it was on, she added, “I know some creative things you can do to yourself with the tire iron.”

“Grumpy.”

“You wear this garbage bag and try not to be grumpy,” Georgia said struggling to open the door of the car.

“Have I told you that you have gorgeous eyes?” Oscar asked.

“You say that every time that I put on the burka.”

“Repetition does not make it any less true,” Oscar said. He stepped out of the car and said, “By the Gods and Goddesses, this is pretty country.”

Georgia finally got the door open and exited the car. Standing there for a moment to appreciate the view, she noticed some birds taking off from a nearby rock formation. She said, “It looks like your visitor will be here soon.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Oscar said going to the back of the car. He opened the trunk and looked at the mess in the back. The rough road had shaken things up in the back of the car. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s going to take forever to get the jack out of the back. The spare is under all of the MREs.”

Georgia moved to where she could watch Oscar and see the approach to the car from the distant rocks. Sitting down, she said, “That’ll just provide me with more entertainment.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said pulling out three bottles of water. He tossed one to Georgia when he got her attention. He put one in the crook of his arm and opened the other. He took a long drink from it, finishing nearly a third of it.

Georgia followed suit, but watched the approach of a young man over the water bottle. She guessed his age at around fourteen or fifteen. He carried the AK-47 with practiced ease. His age and ease with the weapon disturbed her; no one his age should be that familiar with a gun.

Without turning around, Oscar said, “Hello, young man. Pull up a rock and rest for a spell. Would you care for some water?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders in answer to the question and asked, “Are you him?”

Turning slowly, Oscar held out the unopened bottle of water for the young man to take. In a soft voice, he answered, “It depends on who you mean.”

“The Prophet who has come to deliver the word of Allah to us,” the young man answered while accepting the bottle of water. He was curious what American bottled water tasted like and would have tried it even if he hadn’t been thirsty.

“In that case, I guess the answer is yes,” Oscar said.

The young man nodded his head and unscrewed the plastic top from the bottle. He took a small sip and said, “Plastic.”

“What?” Oscar asked.

“The water tastes like plastic. I guess that is appropriate for American Water. They say that the streets used to be paved with gold, but now they are made of plastic,” the young man answered.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but the roads are paved with asphalt,” Oscar answered. He reached in the trunk and pulled out a box of MREs. He put the box a couple of feet behind the rear of the car leaving room to work in the trunk. He turned around and bent over the open trunk.

“What is asphalt?”

“It is a by-product of oil distillation,” Oscar answered grabbing a couple of the loose MREs and putting them into an open box.

“That makes sense. Oil used to be gold,” the young man answered looking at the car. Tilting his head as if puzzled, he asked, “Did you drive this all the way from America?”

“No. There’s an ocean in the way,” Oscar answered setting the box next to the one he had put on the ground previously.

“Oh,” the young man said. He didn’t know much about oceans other than they were large bodies of water. He watched Oscar pull the tire out of the trunk of the car. He had never seen anyone change the tire on a car.

While Oscar used the jack to raise the wheel off the ground, Georgia asked, “What is your name?”