We travelled in jeep-type Russian vehicles, and we beat the Disciples there, as planned. We had a dusty ride across dry and hilly country and got there at just before 8.00 a.m. Our intelligence report said the Disciples would be there at 10.00.

  We came into the village quietly. Most of the villagers just watched us open-eyed, but a few came running to greet us when they had determined we were Moslems. Most of us wore djellabas, including myself. Sherif wanted me to don my well-known El Hakim garb for this encounter, apparently so my old troops would immediately recognize me. He seemed to consider it a great accomplishment on his part to have captured El Hakim and caused my defection.

  Adan and I spent almost an hour rounding villagers up and sending them to their homes. Adan took very little interest in this foolishness to save lives, but Sherif had ordered it. Sherif had an image to maintain, and Adan did not.

  The Erbil Disciples came at 9.47, over a hill to the south of the village. We were by then stationed all around the small open center of the village, in hiding. Adan watched me like a hawk every minute. All our vehicles has been well hidden, and we now were on foot around the square, behind windows and doors. A few men were stationed on rooftops. As we waited tensely, the Disciples came in two jeeps, firing their guns to terrorize the village. As they drove into the square, I saw Xavier Wolfe standing in one vehicle, and Halfin in the other. One of the assimilated officers from north of Erbil was riding with Wolfe.

  But Wolfe was no dummy. He had seen that there were no people on the streets, and now he got the same view of the square. He halted his vehicle just at the far side of the square, and Halfin’s car came skidding up beside his.

  They had not come far enough into the square for a good ambush. I turned to Adan, who was in the same building across the square with me. He stood tensely watching Wolfe as Wolfe scanned the empty square with his hard eyes.

  ‘Damn!’ Adan muttered, uncertain what to do. He had been the officer who was to give the order to begin firing.

  I turned and walked over to him, my Star .45 in hand. There were two other men in the store building with us. They had ordinary sniper rifles, and Adan held a Chinese 68 assault rifle.

  As I approached Adan, he glanced briefly at me, and then turned back to the Disciples across the square. They were his primary concern at the moment. That was the way I wanted it. I walked up to him, held the .45 up to his chest, and spoke to him.

  ‘This is for the other day in the interrogation room,’ I said to him.

  He looked at the muzzle of the Star just in time to see it explode in the room. He was punched off his feet, his eyes going wide fast. He hit the floor on his side, and the 68 rattled off a couple of rapid shots at the wall, ringing in our ears.

  ‘Yes,’ I said to him, ‘you were right about me, you bastard.’

  The other two men—one a sergeant—whirled towards us. I already had turned my Star towards the closest one, the sergeant. I saw the look of anger begin in his face, and fired a second time. He jumped backwards and hit on his back, crimson spreading along his djellaba over the heart.

  The last man in the room with me dropped his gun quickly, and raised his hands. Across the square, the Disciples had heard the shots and were getting out of the jeeps, to use them for cover, under Halfin’s and Wolfe’s orders.

  I motioned for the Moslem guerrilla to step outside with me, and he preceded me out. The soldiers from Erbil across the way watched us come out, and then I heard it begin, over there.

  ‘El Hakim!’

  ‘The Major! It is him!’

  Halfin saw me, and his face was somber. Wolfe grinned slightly when I appeared on the square in my djellaba and kaffiyeh, looking, I am sure, like a desert bandit.

  ‘All right, men!’ Wolfe yelled. ‘You see your traitor! What do you intend to do about him?’

  There was a moment of hesitation over there, when the Disciples seemed unable to make an offensive move against me. Then one jumped on to the hood of a jeep and aimed his M-1 in my direction, and another couple of men raised their weapons to fire, too. Around me, the Moslems I had come with were also out on my side of the square now, looking towards me curiously. They, too, were trying to figure out what had happened inside the store, and why the Moslem with me was disarmed.

  ‘Wait!’ I yelled towards the Disciples.

  The three Disciples lowered their weapons, and Wolfe got an ugly look on his face. He raised his own M-3 towards me. ‘Wait, Rainey? What for?’

  But Halfin stopped him. Turning his own M-3 on Wolfe, I heard him distinctly say, ‘Stop, Major Wolfe!’

  Wolfe glanced at him as if he were crazy. More of my people came out into the square now—the Moslems I had led there—to see what was going on. The remaining sergeant, down a couple of buildings from me, yelled over.

  ‘We were to ambush them, Major! Where is Major Adan?’

  ‘Major Adan is dead,’ I told him loudly.

  All the Moslems heard me, and most of the Disciples, I figured. A couple of the Moslems turned their guns on me. I now had guns aimed at me from both sides. Ironically, they were all men I had helped train.

  Wolfe was speaking to Halfin now. ‘Don’t listen to him! He’s the enemy now, remember?’

  ‘He was my friend,’ I heard Halfin respond. ‘Let him speak.’

  Wolfe seemed to waver for a moment, not knowing the temper of his men. In that moment, Halfin called over to me.

  ‘What is it, Rainey? Do you want to change sides again?’

  There was heavy sarcasm in his voice. I did not blame him. I knew how it had looked, at Tarabulus.

  ‘I never changed sides, Halfin!’ I yelled back. Some of the Moslems near me turned to me with hostility, and a couple more of them raised their guns towards me. ‘I just defended myself at Tarabulus. I was biding my time for an escape.’

  Wolfe laughed loudly from across the square. ‘A fine story, Rainey. But none of us believe it.’

  My Moslem sergeant believed it, though. He aimed a 68 at my chest. ‘You must die, Major,’ he hissed at me.

  One of my old-time Erbil Disciples saw the move, and drew a bead on the sergeant from across the square, and fired a rifle at him before he could kill me. The slug hit him in the side of the head, just in front of his left ear, and blew a big hole in its opposite side. He flung the 68 away from him and hit in the dirt on his side, jumping and jerking.

  ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘Let the end of all this begin here at Harim!’

  But a few other Disciples had fired now, too, and the Moslems around me were returning fire. They all forgot about me for the moment except for one fellow with a curved dagger, who came rushing at me to kill the traitor in his midst. I sidestepped the charge and the dagger ripped a hole in my djellaba as he just missed tearing my insides up. I pulled the trigger on the Star as he went past, and put a slug in his back. He fell face down and then scrabbled there like a beetle trying to turn itself.

  There was heavy gunfire in the square now, and Moslems and Christians were going down fast, because not many of them were behind any cover. Bullets raked the wall behind me, and chipped at the hard ground at my feet. Another Moslem tried for me, aiming a 68 in my direction, but he was hit with automatic fire from an M-3 just before he pulled the trigger. He went down hard, and the 68 went off and killed a Disciple who had run towards us from across the square.

  The Disciples were savage in their attack, even though outnumbered. I heard a couple of them yelling, ‘Save El Hakim!’ They had killed a number of Moslems before there had been any damaging return fire, and the odds had been greatly reduced. I took cover in a doorway, and only fired to defend myself. I had wanted it to end very differently, and did not have much heart for killing the Moslems I had brought there, even though it was clear none of them were interested in anything but killing Christians. ‘Hold your fire!’ I kept yelling, but it was too late.

  The Christian Disciples surprisingly turned the tables on the Moslems I had brought, despite savage in-fighting by the Moslems with swords and knives. Soon the Moslems were running for their vehicles, and about half of them got away in a disorderly retreat. In less than ten minutes, the square belonged to the Erbil people, and several of them came over to me and slapped my arm and shoulder and screamed their pleasure in having me back. Halfin came over and grinned that brilliant grin and extended his hand, and I took it in mine.

  ‘Glad to have you back, Rainey,’ was all he said.

  ‘Glad to be back,’ I grinned. The grin faded. ‘But I wish we could have started something here less violent and more diplomatic.’

  ‘Be patient, Rainey,’ he said. ‘The time will come. But I suspect Sherif will have to die first.’

  That was possible, I knew.

  Wolfe had forgotten me for a few minutes when the firing began, and used an M-3 to kill a lot of Moslems. He had urged the Disciples to follow the Moslems out of town in vehicles, but they were not interested. Most of them were too excited about my return to the unit.

  Wolfe came over now, his face grim again. He had a couple of the consolidation officers with him, and one of them was Said, the fellow who had never quite accepted my leadership. A few of their men were with them, and they formed a small party who obviously stood behind Wolfe.

  ‘Well, Rainey,’ Wolfe said. ‘It seems you continue to survive.’

  The Disciples who had gathered around me gave Wolfe a hostile look. They remembered Wolfe’s suggestion that they kill me.

  ‘It seems so,’ I said.

  ‘I’m surprised as hell that Maltese didn’t kill you,’ he said frankly. His dark, hard eyes regarded me coldly. He was wearing fatigue clothing with a pistol on his belt and was holding the M-3 at his side. He looked dangerous as hell. If he wanted to, he could put that automatic gun into use in a hurry.

  ‘I am, too,’ I told him about Maltese.

  ‘Look, Rainey. I know it’s convenient as hell to jump from one side of this to the other.’ The Disciples near me glared at him. ‘But that causes us others trouble,’ he went on. ‘I’m running this outfit now, under orders of Karami and Bagir, And there’s no room for you in it.’

  ‘El Hakim is our leader!’ a man near me said loudly. Wolfe was talking to me in English, but most of them knew a smattering of it.

  Wolfe gave the fellow a blistering look. Several others muttered agreement with the first man’s remark. Halfin smiled slightly, watching Wolfe’s face. I guessed he already had Wolfe figured out, and did not like him.

  ‘Karami and Bagir,’ I replied to Wolfe, ‘don’t know the truth. I suggest we tell it to them, and let them decide who will lead the Erbil Disciples.’

  There was a loud exclamation of approval, by several Disciples. Halfin nodded. ‘That seems fair, Wolfe,’ he said.

  But Wolfe was quickly becoming very angry with this entire development. He raised the M-3 and pointed it at my stomach. ‘Damn you, Rainey. I could kill you very quickly, you know.’

  I had the Star in hand yet, and now several M-16’s near me raised slowly towards Wolfe’s chest. He saw how foolish a move he had made, and seemed uncertain what to do.

  ‘Look, Wolfe,’ I said. ‘If that’s the way you want it, I’ll oblige you. No weapons.’

  He slowly lowered the gun. His face revealed a dark something inside him that I had known was there, but had never seen before. I could tell, seeing it, that the stories about Wolfe’s tactics in Africa were true.

  Wolfe handed the M-3 off to the fellow Said, and began unstrapping his gunbelt. I turned to Halfin and gave him the Star .45. ‘That’s not a gift,’ I said to him, so that Wolfe could hear me. ‘I expect it back very shortly.’

  Halfin grinned slightly, acknowledging the jest. ‘But you need not do this, Rainey,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘I think I must,’ I said.

  The Disciples cleared the mangled and bloody dead from an area of the square, and then formed a large circle around Wolfe and me there, Wolfe, I knew, had had formal training in hand combat, and had earned, at one time, a brown belt in karate and aikido. I had had some of that, too, in Vietnam, but I had had to learn most of the important stuff the hard way—by trying to keep a Charlie from killing me.

  I did not have to verbalize that this was to the death. That was the only way Wolfe would have it. It was ironic, I thought, as he began circling me like a stalking tiger, that he had helped save my life in Jerusalem for a fee, and now he was trying to end it for the money Bagir paid him.

  That was the way it was with mercenaries.

  Wolfe landed the first blow. He came in low, his deadly hands out in front of him, and feinted with a karate chop. Then he came off his feet in a savage leap, and kicked out at my face and head, like a Thai boxer. His right foot, housed in a heavy army shoe, struck my left forearm first, as I tried to defend, and cracked hard against it and then shoved it aside as the shoe came on past and caught me in the jaw. My head was snapped backwards hard, and I thought surely he had broken my jaw, but later it turned out just to be bruised. I went down on my back, and before I could recover, Wolfe’s foot came again and kicked me in the side. It was a glancing blow, and did not fracture ribs, but it knocked the wind from me and left me gasping in pain.

  There were some muttered exclamations of dismay by the people loyal to me. Wolfe came and kicked out again, and this time I caught his foot solidly and then twisted hard with it. There was a loud snapping sound as I turned it, and an outcry from Wolfe as he hurtled over my head and thumped the ground on his face, his ankle broken.

  I gathered my feet under me and rose groggily, and Wolfe got up more slowly. He could not stand on his left leg now. He hobbled around to his right, his face grim. I closed the distance, feinted a stiff-knuckled jab at his throat, and he stumbled off-balance in trying to defend. I came back the other way with a chop of my right backhand to his head, and it connected with a loud cracking noise over his jaw and ear, splitting the flesh and making him bleed along there. He fell on to his side, moaning, I went over to him, and before I could kick him in the face, he jammed his foot into my right shin.

  I yelled and fell beside him, and he was on me, with a surprising agility and strength. I had thought he was almost done. He piled on me now, hacking at me with his tough right hand. I blocked the blow before it could reach my throat. I rolled over on to him, punching my knee into his groin. He yelled a muffled yell and let his defenses down for a split-second. In that moment I swung a vicious chop at the bridge of his nose, and connected.

  There was another cracking sound, this one a sharp one, and Wolfe’s hard eyes saucered wide, and he stiffened all over. His right leg jerked fitfully, and then his left arm, and finally a raking shudder passed through him. Xavier Wolfe was dead, his eyes still staring unbelieving into the torrid sky.

  I rolled off him, and struggled slowly to my feet. I caught Halfin’s eye, near me, and he was very pleased. In the faces of the Disciples there was something new, and it was close to reverence, and I did not particularly like it.

  ‘Hail El Hakim!’ one of them began it.

  Then they were chanting it out, all of them, including Said the disbeliever and the other ones who had joined us at Erbil later.

  ‘Hail El Hakim! Hail El Hakim!’

  I walked in a small circle around the ring of their faces, my djellaba stained with the blood of Xavier Wolfe and Sherif Moslems, and I raised my right fist and clenched it as I strode past them.

  ‘Hail El Hakim!’ they echoed loudly. ‘Hail El Hakim!’

  Hearing that refrain pound on my ears, there was little doubt who was now the leader of the New Disciples in the north.

  Or the south.

  Or in Beirut.

  I had been taken back into the fold. And it no longer mattered whether Karami or Bagir wanted me.

  I was El Hakim.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE NEW DISCIPLES headquarters in Erbil bustled with activity.

  We had more men now than before the attack on El Abyad, and our ranks were still swelling. Also, there was news from the south that the organization there had had several recent successes against the Moslems. It was no longer a lop-sided fight.

  I had resumed my leadership at Erbil on a de facto basis. I called Karami in Beirut on the day after my return there at headquarters, and spoke to him for almost a half hour on the phone, explaining what had happened. He wanted to believe me, so he did. He intimated that it would be a different matter with Bagir, who was paying my checks, and suggested that, now that he was finally out of the hospital and walking with a cane, he should bring Bagir to Tarabulus to meet with me and discuss my future and that of the New Disciples. Sherif had left Tarabulus, so there was little chance of being ambushed by Moslems at such a secret meeting. I agreed to it.

  Sherif, in the meantime, had taken his troops to Amyun, to join another Sons of Islam group there and consolidate his forces, as I had done earlier. Sherif was learning from me.

  He was also beginning to hate me, it seemed. The news came to us that he now harangued his troops against me personally, calling me a traitor to the Moslem cause, a fellow who would do anything for a little extra money. We heard that his troops at Amyun had made an effigy of me, with djellaba and all, and burned it publicly in a square. He had vowed, it was said, to capture me a last time, and to kill me in an exquisitely slow way.

  Two days after my phone call to Karami, we met at Tarabulus with Bagir. It was all done with a great deal of cloak-and-dagger, since all three of us were now important political figures. Karami and Bagir flew there together, under guard of four personal bodyguards. I went with Halfin and two Disciples in a jeep, at night. We met in early morning at the local police commissioner’s office, which he vacated for us. He was a Christian and had taken a vow of secrecy.

  I had decided to push Bagir’s nose in it, because I did not care whether he kept me on his payroll. I intended to stay on in command of my people long enough to have it out with Sherif, no matter whether Bagir wanted it or not. Or President Jibril, for that matter. So I entered the police commissioner’s office a little late, wearing my desert garb and bandoliers and gun on my hip, and I walked in there as if I owned the place. Which I did. Halfin was right behind me, dressed similarly, and my two Disciples waited in the corridor, looking tough in their fatigue uniforms and automatic guns.

 

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