Do I really need it? Is there any possibility the husband will return?
She stood, dropped her head and ran her hand through her short, brown hair. He’s a man of habit. He never comes home during the day. But, on the other hand, he has broken all his usual patterns. Now staying out for days at a time, showing up at random in the middle of the day.
“You wanted me, Mrs. Mary Beth?” Abiba asked.
Mary Beth looked at her hulking frame in the doorway. I don’t need a gun. I have Abiba. “We’re doing an extraction. Contact Jackie’s House. Tell them we’re bringing in a woman and two teenaged children. Tell them it’s a priority one and the husband is violent with her and threatened her … their lives.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Abiba turned back to her desk.
“And one more thing.” Mary Beth shoved the drawer shut. “I need for you to go with me.”
The dark-gray Land Rover that Ted nicknamed The Batmobile was covered in dust. It hadn’t moved since Catrina disappeared four months earlier. Catrina had the gray beast built for her by the same company that builds presidential limousines. It would take an anti-tank missile to stop it.
Mary Beth pushed the button on the fob and the engine roared to life, a second push and the doors unlocked.
She opened the rear hatch and checked her supplies. The first aid kit, pillows, and blankets rested in plastic bins. Jane’s kids were twelve and fifteen. No need for the teddy bears. She gulped and took a deep breath, then opened the secret compartment in the floor.
A sawed-off shotgun sat in the green velvet covered compartment along with a bandolier and two boxes of shells. Catrina never went anywhere unprepared.
Mary Beth shuddered and closed the compartment. What if I get stopped by the police? That gun’s illegal. I could get arrested.
She shut the back hatch and opened the driver’s door as Abiba arrived.
“I’ve never been on an extraction before.” Abiba slid her considerable bulk into the passenger seat and the Batmobile settled onto its springs. “What do I have to do?”
Mary Beth checked the rear-view mirrors and put the SUV into reverse. The bumper camera showed her nothing was behind her. “Hopefully nothing. I’m praying the husband doesn’t show up. If he does, you may have to intimidate him a little.”
“I never fought a person before …”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mary Beth looked at Abiba from the corner of her eye. “Who, in their right mind, is going to mess with you?”
They took the I-90 floating bridge across Lake Washington and I-405 north towards Redmond.
“When we get there, get the kids into the car. I’ve already made all the arrangements. They should each have one bag packed. I’ll get Jane, then we get the hell out of Dodge.”
Abiba stared off towards Mount Rainier and hummed quietly to herself. “Yes, Mrs. I just hope you are right.”
Traffic wasn’t bad and in forty-five minutes they pulled into the massive apartment complex.
“With a car park this size, you’d think we could find a …” Abiba said. A strange look came across her face. “I know this place. I’ve seen it in a dream.”
They drove the massive lot a couple of times before Mary Beth double parked in frustration. “We’re not going to be here long. We’ll be gone before a tow truck can get here.”
Mary Beth led Abiba to apartment number 1601. Jane answered on the first nock.
“Mary Beth. Oh, Abiba, you came, too.” She held her position in the door. “I think I’ve made a mistake. I don’t think we should leave.”
Mary Beth took a half-step back and her eyes widened. “You what? What’s happened?”
“It’s the kids. They don’t want to go. They don’t believe me about their dad. They don’t think there’s any danger.”
“Do you want to let us in?” Mary Beth asked. “We’ll attract attention standing out here.”
Jane stepped aside, and they entered a picture-perfect apartment. No speck of dust would dare settle into this antiseptic environment.
“Where are the kids?” Mary Beth asked.
“Amed is in Amira’s room. They both refuse to pack.”
“Let me talk to them,” the big black woman said.
“Are you packed?”
“Yes.” Jane turned and lifted her one suitcase.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We don’t have much time. Your husband could come back at any moment, and we don’t want a confrontation.” Mary Beth picked up the suitcase. “We’re going to get the kids packed and get out of here. If they won’t pack for themselves, then you grab a couple of bags and pack for them. We have to move fast.”
Mary Beth followed Abiba to Amira’s room. She found her friend standing in the doorway with the two young people sitting on the bed.
“We’re not leaving,” the girl said. “We’re not leaving our friends. Amed is on the football team. He can’t miss practice.”
“You don’t understand, child.” Abiba’s calm voice seemed to float across the room.
She took two steps and was beside the bed. She got down on one knee and held the girl’s hand. “Your father is a good man, but he’s done some bad things. He hit your mother.” Abiba pointed to the bruises on Jane’s cheek. “Look at her face; she deserves better than that. We don’t know if he will do it again, if he will hit you, or worse, but we’re not going to wait around and find out.”
“Who the fuck are you anyway?” Amed shouted.
“Amed. Language!” Jane jumped in.
“My name is Abiba Iskander. This is my boss, Mary Beth Henderson. We both have been in this situation. Mrs. Henderson’s husband beat her and her children. My husband and mother-in-law wanted to have my daughter circumcised.”
“Circumcised?” the girl asked.
“Yes. Female circumcision. The shaman cuts out her clitoris with a sharp stick. That way she will have no sexual desires and will never cheat on her husband.”
Amira pulled her knees together. Her face went white. “Mom? Do people really do that?”
Jane sat on the bed next to the girl. “Yes, sweetie. Unfortunately, they do. In some tribes in Africa it’s common practice.”
“Yuk.” Amira leaned close to her mother and Jane put her arm around her.
“Listen, you two. We don’t have much time.” Mary Beth picked up the duffle bag on the floor and tossed it to Amed. “We have to get going. We don’t know when your father will be back.”
“I’m not going anywhere. He’s never been bad to me.” Amed crossed his arms.
“Mom?” the girl looked at her mother with pleading eyes.
“Honey, both of you, listen. You know I work in the emergency room. I see this all the time. Women being brought in who have been severely injured by their husbands.” She got up off the bed and took both of Amira’s hands to pull her up. “I work with these people. As often as not, we see the same women come in again and again. Too many times, their last trip is to the morgue. We can’t wait around for that to happen to us.”
“But, Mom, he’s never hit me.”
“He never hit me either, until today, but he’s been increasingly cruel. How do you feel when he calls you a whore? When he says he’ll abandon you if you get pregnant? He’s even threatened to kill you if you get pregnant.”
Amed tossed the duffle bag aside. “That’s too bad, but she’s a girl. He’s never been like that to me.”
“Amed.” Mary Beth sat on the bed next to him and looked in his eyes. “You’re in even greater danger. Did you know that almost every man who killed his spouse came from a family where there was abuse?” She stopped to let that sink in.
“I know you’re only twelve but look ahead if you can. Someday, you’re going to meet a girl and get married. You’ll have children and settle into a normal life. Do you want her to live in terror? Do you want your kids to be afraid of your touch? That’s the kind of thing that happens to boys who grow up in an abusive home. We have to get you out of here
now to break the cycle.”
Amira picked up her duffle and, without a word, started packing it.
Amed glared at Mary Beth. She picked up his duffle off the bed and offered it to him.
He bit his lip and looked at her a moment, then took the bag.
“That’s great. Jane is there anything else you need?”
Jane shook her head. “No. I’ve thought about this for months, and I know what we need. And by the way, my name isn’t Jane.”
“I know, Jennifer.” Mary Beth smiled at her. “We’re investigators. We know all about you and all about your husband.”
“I don’t think you know all about my husband.” She looked into Mary Beth’s soul. “He has friends. He meets with them. They seem dangerous. I can’t prove anything, but my intuition tells me that they’re up to something horrible.”
They all froze when the door slammed shut. “I’m home, everybody,” Sam shouted.
“Oh my God.” Jennifer’s hands went to her face. The children froze.
“Get everything together. We need to walk out of here as a group.” Mary Beth grabbed Amira’s bag. “Let’s go.”
Mary Beth led, followed by Janice, Amira and Amed, then Abiba.
“What’s this?” Samir looked stunned. “Who are you? Where are you going?”
“I’m Mary Beth Henderson.” She flashed her badge at him. “This is Abiba Iskander. We’re licensed private investigators. We’re taking your family to a safe place.”
“A safe place …” Sam’s eyebrows knit together, and his mouth dropped open. “Like hell. You’re not taking them anyplace. They are my family. I say where they go.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Hussaini.” Mary Beth’s heartbeat took off like a drag racer. “They’ve asked for our help. They live in fear of you. We’re taking them to a safe place. I suggest you consult a lawyer.”
“Lawyer, hell!” Samir reached for his wife’s arm.
From out of nowhere, Abiba’s huge hand clapped over his wrist. “You do as Mrs. Henderson says, mate.”
“Let go of me.” Samir wrestled his hand free and looked up at the huge woman.
She was at least six inches taller and outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds.
Samir moved towards his children. “Amed, Amira, go to your rooms.”
Abiba formed a wall between the man and his offspring. “I suggest you back off and leave us alone. If you persist in trying to interfere, it will be the biggest cockup of your life.”
Mary Beth’s eyes widened. Abiba was the kindest, gentlest person she’d ever met. Was she really threatening violence? Isn’t that what she brought her for?
Samir’s face turned red and his breathing sped up.
Jennifer grabbed Amed’s hand and dragged him out the door. Mary Beth hustled Amira along while Abiba stood in the door, facing Samir until the family was clear.
Samir dashed around Abiba in a swift move and grabbed Amed.
“Abiba! Sit on him,” Mary Beth screeched.
Abiba grabbed Samir by the shoulders, spun him around, and threw him on the couch.
“Keep your hands off of me, bitch.” Samir tried to get up.
Abiba dropped her bulk on top of him, and he exhaled a great breath.
“You can’t do this.” He squirmed and tried unsuccessfully to break free.
“You stay where you are, mate. This’ll only take a minute.”
Mary Beth opened the tailgate and got the bags settled while the family climbed in the car. By the time Mary Beth slid into the driver’s seat, Abiba jumped up and ran for the car.
“Let’s get out of here.” Mary Beth put the SUV in gear and pealed out of the lot. “I learned a big lesson today.”
“What’s that, Mrs. Mary Beth?”
“I thought about bringing my gun, then I knew that we had the shotgun in the car but didn’t take it. I remember something Ted told me: It’s better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them.” Her heart still raced, and her breath came in short gasps.
Abiba reached over and patted her hand.
“You did what you needed to do. I’m knackered. Let’s get these lovely people to Jackie’s House and go home.”
Chapter 20
“NO!” Assad al Allah, the Lion of God, kicked the table, sending it and its contents flying.
The men in the safe house cowered. They’d never seen their leader in such a foul mood.
“I will not let it happen.” Assad’s fist clinched, and his eyes bulged. “I want to kill them all. Every last one of the infidels.”
“But Assad.” A small man with bright eyes stepped up to his leader. “Does not the Quran teach us that we are to convert the unbelievers? We are to kill only those who do not choose the way of God.”
“No. Never. Not Now.” Assad spat on the floor. “They have gone too far. I wish death to them all.”
“We have opened a secure chat line with Syria, Assad,” the tall, thin man said and got up from the computer workstation. They had a virtual private network that even the U.S. intelligence agencies couldn’t penetrate.
Assad visibly shook as he attempted to get back under control.
“Why? What has happened?” the small man asked.
“It is nothing. We have a mission to complete.” Assad sat at the workstation and typed on the keyboard:
He received an immediate reply.
Assad typed:
He took a deep breath. He was under control now. He had to concentrate on this conversation. It would change the world.
Characters appeared on his screen.
Assad smiled. This was one of his proudest achievements.
Assad shook his head slowly.
He felt a glow of joy fill his insides as he pictured getting rid of the pesky American.
There was a long pause.
<???>
Assad leaned back in his chair and accepted the cup of tea from his subordinate. He would repay the Great Satan for their mistreatment of him and all his kind.
****
President Jackson Ford did not run for the office to sit underground with a group of military advisers and plan World War III. The Marine Corps helicopter ride across the Potomac River didn’t do his aching head any good. He hadn’t slept in two days. It would do him a world of good to snap a couple of generals’ heads off.
The President looked around the room. Mahogany paneling went halfway up the walls, the upper half of the walls were painted white. The long table in the center of the room was dark mahogany to match the wainscoting. He closed his eyes and listened. The buzz of side conversations filled his ears.
He waited for the meeting to start, rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment tried to forget that he was in the underground The National Military Command Center, commonly called the War Ro
om, located under the Pentagon and its parking lots in sub-urban Arlington County, Virginia. The president resented that his Secretary of Defense had an elevator in his office that brought him down to this level. Why did he get it so easy?
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s call this meeting to order.” This was the SecDef’s territory. The President was just an honored guest. “We’re getting power back up in some parts of the West Coast power grid. Most of the sewage plants are back on-line. Now I want answers. Was this an act of war? Of intentional sabotage?”
CIA Director, Rebecca Wilson, a tall gray-haired woman, leaned back in her chair. “Mr. Secretary, our analyst believe that this could only have been caused by an outside entity. This catastrophe was not the result of system errors or mechanical malfunction. So, yes, the answer is it was an act of war.”
“Okay, Becky, but who’s the attacker?” the President asked.
“Our best theory is that it came from Iran.” The CIA director bounced her heel on the floor under the table. “Since we decertified the non-nuclear pact with them and imposed new sanctions, they’ve been in a feisty mood. They have the capability to do this. They want to hurt us, cripple us so they can deal with the weak Brits and French. They know the Ruskies will be on their side.”
The President stared at her for a moment. “But do we have one hundred percent rock solid evidence they’re the perpetrators?”
“We’re still working on that, sir. We have boots on the ground in Tehran running down leads.”
“Let’s not jump the gun, sir.” The Secretary of State cleared his throat. “Our sources say that North Korea most likely perpetrated this event.”
“What do you have?” The President’s head throbbed.
“Everyone knows that Kim Jong Un lost face when you backed him down on developing nuclear weapons. He’s dying to strike back. They’ve been working on this capability for years. He even bragged they could take down our power grid.”
Lots of theories but no evidence. What to do?
“Hiram, what’s your opinion?” The SecDef asked the Director of National Intelligence. Who did it?”
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