OASES

Chapter 4

"God, that guy's a prick," Flynn growled, feeling the burning anger flare again. "Kurtz should've been strangled at birth. Sitting there taking his crap all I could think of was ripping off his arm and beating him with the nasty end.

"But you know what, Sammy? I rose above it. I'm pasting a gold star next to the anger-management item on my virtues-are-me list."

Samhal had returned to their campsite late in the evening, a couple of hours after Flynn. The two men were drinking coffee, sitting in the sphere of blood-orange light spawned by the fire Flynn had built. Flynn had also set up their makeshift shelter –a tarpaulin supported by two poles and the roof-rack of the Humvee– and had been drinking coffee ever since, thinking, steaming.

The flames of the campfire had receded, the fire a pile of scarlet embers, by the time Samhal had arrived.

Flynn hadn't eaten. His gut was stuffed full of anger and frustration. And relating to Samhal what had transpired at Fort Apache had threatened indigestion. But Jiddah had put together a doggy-bag for him: rice and chicken stewed in pomegranate juice. Sammy had hung the pot over the embers and the wafting aroma had Flynn's appetite raging back.

"Yes, I am aware of Kurtz's phallic resemblance, Monty," Samhal answered, staring into the coffee cup resting in the circle of his crossed legs. "He was humiliated when you were promoted through the Legion ranks and became his section leader. The man is pleased to use us as doormats." He looked up at Flynn, said, "His self-esteem is low; he must step on others to elevate himself."

"Yeah. Or maybe his mother dropped him on his head when he was a kid, whatever." Flynn leaned back against his bedroll, gulped some coffee. "I just hope I can stomach his crap long enough for us to catch a break, stumble onto an opium or arms cache. Wha'd'ya think our chances are?"

Samhal pondered for a while, looking into the luminous coals for an answer. He flicked a twig into the fire pit. "This is difficult to predict. Afghanistan is a land of infinite mystery and ancient secrets; secrets of the gods, forged long before the fires of creation had begun to cool."

"We don't need to crack the secrets of the gods, Sammy. All we need is to get a line on somebody dealing with the Taliban," Flynn said casually, trying to pluck Samhal back to the money side of reality. "We'll set a hook and reel in some big fish, then get the hell out of this dust bin."

Flynn removed his supper pot from the fire, set it on a flat rock and tucked in. He said, "Mm mmm, magnifique! This is gourmet-quality. Sure beats our MREs. That Jiddah is one special lady, eh, Sammy?"

"Yes she is that, most definitely," Samhal nodded thoughtfully.

Flynn continued enjoying his meal but eyed his friend surreptitiously. Samhal was acting unusually reserved, serious. Flynn wasn't accustomed to this side of Samhal. He said, "Sammy, you haven't told me how the dinner party was. If this grub is any indication, it must have been something."

"It was pleasant in the extreme. Jiddah and Dahab have a most warm, most welcoming nature. They made me feel I was at home. And it has been too long since I have felt this." Samhal paused a moment. "I hope you are correct, Flynn. I enjoy a battle more than the next fellow. I am always prepared to fight the good fight. But simply for money?" He shook his head, made a face, "No, it has lost its appeal. I pray this job sees an end to pointless war for us."

"It will, Sammy. This contract should net each of us at least a hundred-and-fifty thousand. I'll be able to clear the balance owing on Oasis and we can begin running charters in the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, even the South Seas. It's our ticket to freedom... the dream."