The Oracle Year(109)

“This won’t work. I can’t hear anything. Can we do it in the helicopter?”

Jerry thought for a moment.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good. Bring the camera guy inside.”

“What about Mr. Fontaine?”

Will had forgotten about the station’s anchor. He looked now and saw him standing slightly off to one side, anxiously awaiting what he thought was his golden ticket—mediating some sort of conversation between the Oracle and T?r?kul. Crandall Fontaine flashed Will a broad smile.

“We don’t need him, I’m sorry. There’s not much room in there, anyway.”

“I’ll let him know, sir.”

Will thought he detected a little satisfaction in Jerry’s tone.

Moments later, Will was back in the helicopter, sitting opposite a cameraman with a monitor next to him displaying a grainy, poorly lit image of the rock-strewn floor of a dry desert canyon. It was night in Qandustan, and outside the circle of light shown in the monitor, the canyon faded quickly into inky blackness. Members of the U.S. Special Forces team who had presumably captured T?r?kul patrolled the canyon, looking in every direction at once.

Leigh sat with Grunfeld on the other side of the helicopter, along with Jerry and the Coach. The rest of the Coach’s men had been forced to leave the aircraft—no room.

The scene on the monitor shifted as the camera panned quickly to one side. It stabilized, bringing into focus a dark-skinned man wearing desert camouflage gear and a head wrap. The man’s arms were extended before him, tied at the wrists by plastic quick-tie restraints. Two huge Special Forces soldiers covered him, rifles held at the ready. Will studied the prisoner, who could only be T?r?kul. He stood straight, unbowed, unafraid, almost curious. Will wondered what Leuchten had told him about what was happening.

As if responding to Will’s thought, Anthony Leuchten stepped into the frame. He looked thoroughly miserable—hot, filthy, with some sort of rash covering most of the diminished pouch of fat on his neck.

“Is the Oracle online?” Will heard him say. “We’re too exposed out here. This is taking too long.”

Will took a deep breath and motioned to the cameraman.

“Turn it on,” he said.

The cameraman flipped a switch on the side of his camera, and a red light blinked on.

“Mr. Leuchten,” Will said. “Nice to see you again.”

“Mr. Dando,” Leuchten responded, his tone clipped and short. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. What about T?r?kul? What did you tell him?”

“I told him that the Oracle wanted to speak to him, that he was not under arrest, that he would be released as soon as the conversation was complete, and that whatever you tell him has nothing to do with the U.S. government in any way.”

“Of course you did,” Will said. “That’s all I need from you, then. Tell your men to cut him loose and step back. I want him free when he speaks to me.”

“Impossible,” Leuchten said flatly. “We can let him go once we’re done.”

Will raised an eyebrow.

“Tony, doesn’t the fact that your boss set this whole thing up, just because I asked him to, suggest that I’m the one calling the goddamn shots? Get the restraints off him. Now.”

Leuchten’s mouth clenched, but he turned and gave the order. Without a word, one of the Special Forces soldiers sliced through the plastic cuffs and stepped back. T?r?kul immediately began to massage his wrists, but his eyes stayed focused on the camera.

“All right,” Will said. “Does he speak English?”

“No,” Leuchten said. “But one of our men can translate.”

“Good. The rest of you, get back.”

Leuchten and all the soldiers but the translator stepped out of the circle of light, fading back into the darkness.

Will watched T?r?kul for a moment, who seemed content to wait and see what happened next.

“Do you know who I am?” Will asked.

He realized how much of what was about to happen hinged on T?r?kul’s answer to that question.

“Yes,” came the translation. “The Oracle is known to me.”

Will released the breath he’d been holding, a big, relieved sigh.

“How?” Will asked.

“The leaders of my faith have spoken about you for some time.”

“All good things, I hope?” Will said, and instantly asked himself what the hell he was thinking.

Upon hearing the translation, T?r?kul gave Will a blank look.

“No. No good things.”

Will considered this and decided it didn’t matter.

“Will you listen to what I have to say?” he asked.

“Everywhere I look, guns are pointed at me. What choice do I have? But I will tell you what I told your companion—even now the Sword of God is being prepared to fly. Say what you like. Every moment brings me closer to victory.”

“But you were told you would be released.”

T?r?kul gestured at the translator and spoke, his face cold.

“These soldiers storm my camp in the dark of night, kill three of my men,” he said.

Will winced.

“They tell me,” T?r?kul continued, “that the famous infidel prophet wishes a word with me, after which I will be set free.”