He blinked, sucked in the dank, heavy air of the bayous, and was once again able to move his fingers and toes, his arms and legs. And that’s when he saw the crow. It was sitting on a branch of a nearby tree, which was dead, split down the middle by a lightning strike.

The crow regarded him with its beady black eyes, cocked its head, and, damn, if it didn’t look like it was smiling at him.

Later on, the crow spoke to him, a voice in his mind. Later still, the crow suggested he kill it. But it was far more than a suggestion. I’ll be more valuable to you dead than alive, it whispered. How can that be? he asked. And the crow had answered, You’ll see.

I don’t want to kill you.

I know, the crow said. Trust me.

With a heavy heart, he slit its throat with one quick slice of his pocketknife. And then, to his utter astonishment, he did see. He saw everything.

Chapter 20

20

“You are well and truly fucked.” Seiran el-Habib was grinning from ear to ear. “You can’t take me back to America, can you? No, no, no. And you’ve been here so long I’m thinking your transport out of here is gone. Am I right? And as for those surprises you promised me, I’m thinking they just dried up and blew away.”

“Now can I kill him?” Flix said.

“Not until we find out what’s going on,” Whitman said.

“But where are we going to go?” Charlie said. “He’s right. We can’t bring him back to the States.”

“And after what happened here,” el-Habib said, “you three are outlaws—fugitives from your own government. You are in no-man’s-land with nowhere to hide.”

Flix slammed him in the side again, and Whitman didn’t object. “Charlie, take the girl into the kitchen.”

Charlie raised one eyebrow. “And?”

“You know what and.”

He turned to Flix. “I want you to take a reading of the compound. Make sure we’re alone. See what happened to the dogs we ran into last time out. And Flix—for the love of God try to find someone who’s still alive and bring him back here. We need answers.”

Flix nodded and, with a last venomous look at the Saudi, vanished down a corridor. That left Whitman alone with Seiran el-Habib.

The Saudi, seeing the look on Whitman’s face, held up his hands, palms outward. “Don’t expect me to help you, pal. You fucked up my situation royally.”

Whitman pushed el-Habib into a chair, used phone wire to tie his ankles to the legs, his wrists behind his back. He grinned. “Well, now we have a start; you have a situation.”

Seiran el-Habib grimaced. “That’s the beginning and the end of it.”

Whitman cocked his head. “Are you even a Saudi?”

El-Habib’s mouth remained closed.