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Authors: Bryce Adams
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consternation.
Ambrose turned in the doorway and said, “I’m nobody, John. We’re all nobodies. When I started looking into this stuff I was just bored.” He gave his bag a loving pat. “I’m not bored anymore. Are you going to tell anyone about this?”
Carlisle shook his head. “No. I get boredom. Don’t come here again.”
Ambrose nodded formally, then snuck back to his villa by hugging the riverside wall that separated the southern Green Zone from the banks of the Tigris. The final call to prayer blasted from a dozen mosques in the immediate vicinity alone, creating a tinny angels’ choir reminding him that he was a stranger in a strange land, a nobody with aspirations to personhood.
Once he’d gotten back to his villa he went into the bathroom and turned on the light. Then he sat naked and cross-legged on the floor, enjoying the only cool surface in the whole house. He poured out his tote bag and began comparing its contents with the map of “Two Rivers” warehouses he’d gotten from Carlisle. He looked at the addresses of warehouses 1 and 4, and then circled their locations with a red marker. Then he found the location of warehouse 20, the third location Sorcerer had bothered to list with an address, and did likewise. Then he looked at the map, which had in its margins a complete address list of the twenty warehouses that Two Rivers owned in Sadr City. All three of his warehouses were on there, as he’d suspected. Sorcerer had gotten his locations right.
He took his red pen and marked in the remaining seventeen warehouse locations across Sadr City.
When it was over, he reached for a cigarette. He made himself look away from the map, because he needed to make sure that he hadn’t concocted his own findings. Part of him assumed that he’d turn back and see nothing but a tessellated mess of red spots worthy of Jackson Pollack. It wasn’t the case.
He drew a cold bath, then made a call on his cell phone. He hadn’t been wrong. Malik needed to know what he’d found at once.
“Adam, I have it. Our warehouses were all owned by the same company, and now I have them all on a map. Get this: there’s barely any ‘code’ to his numbering system at all.”
“No kidding, that’s great,” Adam Malik responded cautiously, like a man out in public.
“Yeah, just listen: ‘Mr. S’ chose these warehouses because they all belonged to the same company, and you can guess whose. Now that the original tenants are gone, he and his allies have moved in. I marked up every location and they’re all in Sadr City; if you put a bullet in the center of Sadr City, warehouse 1 is located almost at 1 o’clock. Warehouse 4 is close to 3 o’clock. Warehouse 20 is close to 11 o’clock. See the pattern?”
Malik paused. Ambrose imagined him walking out of whatever throng of drinkers he’d been sucked into. Funny how the bastard had managed to keep a life while Ambrose had become a virtual shut-in. Malik whispered, “The numbering just goes clockwise.”
“You’ve fucking got it. Some of the sites don’t fit into the circle format, so it’s a toss-up for some numbers, but most of them do. But now the numbers really don’t matter; now I can find all of them, and sooner or later we’ll get ‘Mr. S’ himself,” Ambrose said quickly.
“No kidding, that’s great.”
“Motherfucker, stop playing social butterfly and call me back.”
“ Mister H , calm down. Get some sleep, or go out in public for a while. Just do whatever you’re not doing right now,” Malik said, in a voice meant for public consumption.
“Fuck you, Malik.”
“No kidding, that’s great. Talk to you soon.”
Ambrose dropped his cell phone and heard it crack on the tile floor. He’d go dig out the sim card later and buy a new disposable Nokia at the Green Zone shopping mall. Everything was disposable in Iraq.
He slid into the cool bathtub with half a cigarette left in his mouth. Ambrose finally realized he’d killed a man the
Ambrose turned in the doorway and said, “I’m nobody, John. We’re all nobodies. When I started looking into this stuff I was just bored.” He gave his bag a loving pat. “I’m not bored anymore. Are you going to tell anyone about this?”
Carlisle shook his head. “No. I get boredom. Don’t come here again.”
Ambrose nodded formally, then snuck back to his villa by hugging the riverside wall that separated the southern Green Zone from the banks of the Tigris. The final call to prayer blasted from a dozen mosques in the immediate vicinity alone, creating a tinny angels’ choir reminding him that he was a stranger in a strange land, a nobody with aspirations to personhood.
Once he’d gotten back to his villa he went into the bathroom and turned on the light. Then he sat naked and cross-legged on the floor, enjoying the only cool surface in the whole house. He poured out his tote bag and began comparing its contents with the map of “Two Rivers” warehouses he’d gotten from Carlisle. He looked at the addresses of warehouses 1 and 4, and then circled their locations with a red marker. Then he found the location of warehouse 20, the third location Sorcerer had bothered to list with an address, and did likewise. Then he looked at the map, which had in its margins a complete address list of the twenty warehouses that Two Rivers owned in Sadr City. All three of his warehouses were on there, as he’d suspected. Sorcerer had gotten his locations right.
He took his red pen and marked in the remaining seventeen warehouse locations across Sadr City.
When it was over, he reached for a cigarette. He made himself look away from the map, because he needed to make sure that he hadn’t concocted his own findings. Part of him assumed that he’d turn back and see nothing but a tessellated mess of red spots worthy of Jackson Pollack. It wasn’t the case.
He drew a cold bath, then made a call on his cell phone. He hadn’t been wrong. Malik needed to know what he’d found at once.
“Adam, I have it. Our warehouses were all owned by the same company, and now I have them all on a map. Get this: there’s barely any ‘code’ to his numbering system at all.”
“No kidding, that’s great,” Adam Malik responded cautiously, like a man out in public.
“Yeah, just listen: ‘Mr. S’ chose these warehouses because they all belonged to the same company, and you can guess whose. Now that the original tenants are gone, he and his allies have moved in. I marked up every location and they’re all in Sadr City; if you put a bullet in the center of Sadr City, warehouse 1 is located almost at 1 o’clock. Warehouse 4 is close to 3 o’clock. Warehouse 20 is close to 11 o’clock. See the pattern?”
Malik paused. Ambrose imagined him walking out of whatever throng of drinkers he’d been sucked into. Funny how the bastard had managed to keep a life while Ambrose had become a virtual shut-in. Malik whispered, “The numbering just goes clockwise.”
“You’ve fucking got it. Some of the sites don’t fit into the circle format, so it’s a toss-up for some numbers, but most of them do. But now the numbers really don’t matter; now I can find all of them, and sooner or later we’ll get ‘Mr. S’ himself,” Ambrose said quickly.
“No kidding, that’s great.”
“Motherfucker, stop playing social butterfly and call me back.”
“ Mister H , calm down. Get some sleep, or go out in public for a while. Just do whatever you’re not doing right now,” Malik said, in a voice meant for public consumption.
“Fuck you, Malik.”
“No kidding, that’s great. Talk to you soon.”
Ambrose dropped his cell phone and heard it crack on the tile floor. He’d go dig out the sim card later and buy a new disposable Nokia at the Green Zone shopping mall. Everything was disposable in Iraq.
He slid into the cool bathtub with half a cigarette left in his mouth. Ambrose finally realized he’d killed a man the
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