Read Online The Godless One by J. Clayton Rogers - Free Book Online

existed, it was so rare as to verge on the
non-existent. And Ari’s memory could be woefully inconsistent. He
had tried to recall some of his favorite recipes, but the
ingredients were churned into nonsense in his mind and ghastly
messes on his plate.
    But he could not have forgotten the
faces of the men whose records he saw even had he wanted to. This
was part of the reason why he no longer made jokes about the
killers he was identifying. They had all merged into a single
expression: the tedium of death.
    He wondered how the Americans would
react if they found out that he had also occasionally worked in the
SSO’s Security Office in the Hai Al Tashriya district…right next to
the Director General’s Office. This organization was in charge of
producing ID’s for the entire SSO, including the prisons and the
security department. And this was where, just prior to the 2003
war, he had prudently removed all records and references to
himself.
    There were 231 pictures on this
particular Aegis. Many, snapped by U.S. troops, were of dead men
sprawled in ditches, on roads, in village courtyards, in bedrooms,
on mountainsides, in lavatories, in mosques, in apricot groves, in
lumber yards, in wheat fields, on rooftops, in basements, in
rivers, in forests and even in the Green Zone. These pictures were
useful because Ari could sometimes identify the bodies, which was
only a short step away from fingering those who might have wanted
the victims dead, which was only another short step away from
making them dead, too, either via Special Ops or American-hired
assassins.
    By noon Ari had only reached Digital
Image No. 48. He was able to email tentative ID’s on four Kurds
located in what must have been the Zagros Mountains. It was Ari’s
guess that they were losers in a high-stakes smuggling game. For
all he knew, these bodies could be in Iran. He wouldn’t put it past
the Americans to try and get more bang for the buck by sending him
images from beyond the agreed limit. He could not be certain of the
victims’ identities because they all had been beheaded and their
physiognomy was distorted.
    His back was tired. He did not feel
particularly hungry. He was determined not to drink. What was
left?
    He put on the jogging outfit he had
purchased from Sports Zone. His official budget was limited to
hand-to-mouth, but his cash flow had improved when he robbed the
Kayak Express of every nickel and dime (in both senses) in their
immediate possession. He had also relieved them of various
firearms, some of which were hidden in his gazebo, the rest of
which he had sent off with Abu Jasim to barter away up north, along
with the Express’s supply of drugs. Abu Jasim would return as soon
as Ari contacted him. With his share in the profits, he might begin
shopping for some proper clothes, perhaps even a bed.
    He was around ten minutes into his run
when he realized he had not looked at his watch when he left. This
did not put him out. He was more concerned with simply reaching his
destination. Timing the run would come when he proved he could
survive it. This began to seem doubtful by the time he reached
Belvedere. He was gasping so hard his spine banged his chest. He
could see his second wind just ahead, but every time he neared it
it spun away like a wraith of oxygen. Yet he stumbled onward,
drawing concerned glances from younger joggers, who accumulated in
growing numbers as he neared the floodwall. A girl sheathed in
spandex came up beside him, easily keeping pace as her blonde
ponytail bobbed around her shoulders.
    "You all right, sir?" she asked without
effort.
    He nodded even as he silently begged
her to carry him home. She shot ahead.
    How could he decay so quickly? It had
not been three weeks since he last ran this course. But the answer
was obvious. Too many Winstons, far too much JD and a general
lassitude that robbed him of all energy.
    Rana , he thought as he approached the Manchester Docks. Well,
wasn’t that what one did as death