We came across the car wreck not long afterwards. There was only one vehicle still there, a farmer’s truck. It hadn’t been moved because it was lying on its roof in the middle of the road. There was fruit or something cooking on the tarmac. Several wicker baskets had been lined up at the roadside. No one about. It was a sad sight. Carl said, “Down,” again, but while I hunkered low, I still kept looking.
“Is anyone hurt? I don’t see anyone. We ought to help—”
Another quarter mile on, we passed a house, a little one-story shack. Sheltering beside a broken wall, an oldish man, wrapped in robes, looked out at us. He had a dazed expression.
A companion lay upon the ground beside him. They were obviously the crash’s victims. Nouri pulled the window down and called a blessing as we passed.
“Could have stopped,” I said.
“Could not,” said Carl.
“Those guys—”
“Aye. Very bad for ’em, no doubt. And likely they’re as innocent as newborn lambs, the pair of ’em. Likely they are. Or else they’re not. And either way, still doesnae stop somebody else coming along, hiding the other side o’ yon brick wall. Dinnae talk or we kill you. Or putting a bomb in that wrecked-up truck, just for the moment we glide by. Eh now?”
“OK,” I said. Then, a little later, “I’m not used to war.”
“No. You told us that.”
Chapter 4
Everywhere Is Somewhere
The dust got in. The dust got into everything.
Fine, fine sand. The finest sand you could imagine.
I’d stop to pee and bring it back, tucked in my boots or folded in my shirt and then, once it was in the truck, it seemed to spread. I’d crunch it in my teeth, dig it out my ears. It gathered in my hair and in my nostrils. It wasn’t as if we were driving into dunes or anything like that; the countryside was rocky, barren, but at times there were patches of scrub, even trees. But the dust and the sand were the biggest thing. Months later, I’d still be finding it among my clothes, or trampled into odd parts of my flat.
The journey was hypnotic. I drifted off, even while I jolted this way and that.
Carl said, “Look sharp.”
I sat up, scared.
“What? What now?”
We were passing by a few low, square-built houses, electric cables strung on poles between them. Dry, dun-colored hills rose in the background. People looked up from the roadside as we passed. There was no question of blending in, no question of Dayling’s “stealth” plan.
“See?” said Nouri. “Up ahead?”
“I thought this place was in the desert somewhere. Like, miles from anywhere.”
“This is the oldest country in the world,” he said. “Here, everywhere is somewhere.”
“Aye,” said Carl. “And we’re nearly there.”
Chapter 5
Thirty-four Potential Sites
“You must watch for scorpions, my friend.” Nouri had a long stick and was happily flipping over stones with it, inspecting the dimpled bits of earth they left. “Also snakes. There are snakes to be very afraid of: the saw-scale viper, the horned viper” (he pronounced it “hornèd” like some old English poem), “also the cobra. And the giant centipede. And . . . ah.” He gazed around. “Wolves. Hyenas. In rare cases, lions, tigers. We have both, you see. Then too there are bears, which must be very much avoided . . .”
“Are you winding me up?”
“Not at all, my friend. These are great dangers. You must be aware.”
“And isn’t it better not to stir them up, if they’re there?”
He flicked the stick, raising a plume of dirt. “Let us know our enemies, know their positions. A snake bite or a scorpion sting—”
“You’re wearing tennis shoes.”
“Ah yes. I will admit. Not the best choice.” He leaned upon his stick. “The city of Assur is more than four thousand years old, a great historic monument. It has outlasted the Sumerians, the Assyrians, and the Persians. With luck it will outlast us, as well. The Americans placed troops here to defend it from destruction in the war. It would be a bad place to die, I think . . .”
“No doubt.” Dust blew, scouring my face in a hot blast. The low, eroded mounds seemed not so much ruinous as still under construction, as if the builders had just gone for a siesta. I didn’t blame them, either. My back was soaked in sweat; the heat and dust brought tears to my eyes, and I could hardly see.
I took a handkerchief and mopped my face. I pulled the reader from my pocket, switched it on, set the levels. Almost immediately the lights began to dance.
“So, my friend. Where to?”