Kurt followed suit, and the two of them walked right into the main staging area without receiving a second glance. They began to get their bearings, trying not to look conspicuous.
Kurt spotted the row of yellow drums. Only a dozen of perhaps sixty remained.
He pointed, and the two of them moved that way. As they closed in, someone began to shout at them in Arabic.
Kurt turned and saw the bearded man named Sabah standing by the row of trucks. Kurt recognized some of the words, something about lazy workers.
Sabah pointed and shouted again and waved his hands in earnest. He seemed to be indicating an idle forklift.
Kurt raised a hand in acknowledgment and began walking toward it.
“I think he wants us to drive it.”
Joe followed him. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?”
“I’ve seen it done once or twice,” Kurt said. “How hard could it be?”
Joe cringed but followed Kurt to the gray-and-orange forklift. He stood by as Kurt climbed on the four-wheeled machine and tried to familiarize himself with the controls.
Sabah began shouting again.
“You better at least start the engine,” Joe whispered.
Kurt found the key and twisted it, the motor rumbled to life.
“Climb on,” he said.
Joe scrambled up onto the side of the forklift and held fast something like a fireman on the ladder trucks of old.
Kurt found the clutch and the gearshift. The rig had three gears: low, high and reverse. Kurt pressed the clutch down, forced the shift into low and added some gas.
Nothing happened.
“We’re not moving,” Joe whispered.
“I realize that.”
Kurt let out the clutch a little more and pressed the accelerator a little harder. The engine revved, the gears meshed and the big machine lurched forward like a driver’s ed car in the hands of a three-time dropout.
“Easy,” Joe said.
“I thought that was easy,” Kurt replied.
Sabah waved impatiently, pointing them toward the stack of yellow drums, each of which sat on its own pallet.
Kurt turned that way. Up ahead one of the other forklifts was raising a pallet that held one of the yellow drums. As it lifted the load, a second workman lashed it to the apron with a metal cable. Apparently no one wanted to spill the contents of these barrels.
The forklift reversed and headed off with the worker still hanging on to the front.
“That’s your job,” Kurt said.
“Great.”
“You’d better find us a cable.”
Joe discovered one hooke
d to the forklift’s roof guard. He disconnected it and hopped down to the desert floor.