The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [114]
Where did all this leave him? Jack Jr. wondered. He was still a kid, after all, even though he denied it and as a matter of law he was a grown man. Did a grown man stop growing? Stop wondering and asking questions? Stop seeking after information-or, as he thought of it, truth?
But once you had truth, what in hell did you do with it? He didn't know that one yet. Maybe it was just one more thing to learn. Surely he had the same drive to learn as his father, else why was he watching this program instead of some mindless sitcom? Maybe he'd buy a book on Stalin and Hitler. Historians were always digging into old records. Problem was, then they applied their own personal ideas to what they found. He probably really needed a shrink to look things over. They had their ideological prejudices, too, but at least there was a patina of professionalism to their thought processes. It annoyed Junior that he went to sleep every night with thoughts unresolved and truths unfound. But that, he figured, was the whole point to this thing called life.
They were all praying. All quietly. Abdullah was murmuring through the words of his Koran. Mustafa was running through the same book in the sanctity of his own mind-not all of it, of course, just the parts that supported his mission for the coming day. To be brave, to remember their Holy Mission, to accomplish it without mercy. Mercy was Allah's business.
What if we survive? he asked himself, and was surprised at the thought. They had a plan for this, of course. They'd drive back west and try to find their way back to Mexico, and then fly back home-to be welcomed with great rejoicing by their other comrades. In truth, he didn't expect this to happen, but hope was something no man sets completely aside, and however Paradise might beckon, life on earth was all that he actually knew.
That thought startled him, too. Did he just express doubt in his Faith? No, not that. Not that, exactly. Just a random thought. There is no God but Allah and Mohammed is His messenger, he chanted in his own mind, expressing the Shahada, which was the very foundation of Islam. No, he couldn't deny his Faith now. His Faith had brought him across the world, to the very location of his martyrdom. His Faith had raised and nurtured his life, through childhood, through the anger of his father, into the very home of the infidels who spat upon Islam and nurtured the Israelis, there to affirm his Faith with his life. And his death, probably. Almost certainly, unless Allah Himself desired otherwise. Because all things in life were written by Allah's Own Hand
The alarm went off just before six. Brian knocked on his brother's door.
"Wake up, G-man. We're wasting sunlight."
"Is that a fact?" Dominic observed from the far end of the corridor.
"Beat ya, Aldo!" Which was a first.
"Then let's get it done, Enzo," Brian responded, and together they headed outside. An hour and a quarter later, they were back and at the breakfast table.
"It's a good day to be alive," Brian observed with his first sip of coffee.
"The Marine Corps must brainwash your ass, bro," Dominic observed, with a sip of his own.
"No, the endorphins just kick in. That's how the human body lies to itself."
"You grow out of it," Alexander told them. "All ready for your little field exercise?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major," Brian replied with a smile. "We get to whack Michelle for lunch."
"Only if you can track her without being spotted."
"It would be easier in the woods, you know. I'm trained in that particular skill."
"Brian, what do you think we've been doing here?" Pete inquired gently.
"Oh, is that what it is?"
"First get new shoes," Dominic advised.
"Yeah, I know. These are just about dead." The canvas uppers were separating from the rubber bottoms, and the bottoms were pretty shot, too. He hated doing it. He'd put a lot of miles in his running shoes, and a man can be sentimental about such things, which was frequently a matter of annoyance to his spouse.
"We'll hit the mall