by Ann Heathman
Arianna lay there in a drug induced fog, listening to the steady beeping of machines around her and felt a dull ache in her left arm.
“Arianna, are you awake?” Kathryn prodded. “You’re in recovery.”
She opened her bleary eyes to find her mother, Lisa, and Raul, standing by her bedside.
“How do you feel?” Kathryn asked.
Arianna rolled her head back and forth, not speaking.
“The doctor should be in to talk to you pretty soon.”
“Harold and Kevin?” Arianna mumbled. “Are they okay?”
Raul stepped forward. “Harold just got out of surgery. He had a bullet wound to the right side of his head, but he had deflected the bullet with his hand, so the damage to his head was mitigated. He’s going to need several months of physical therapy, but long term, he’ll be okay. Kevin had two wounds to the chest. One shattered a rib, and the other went clean through. Both bullets missed any vital organs. He got damn lucky. They both were damn lucky.”
Arianna reached out and took his hand. “You saved our lives. We would have been dead if you hadn’t been there. But Georgia. This is all my fault. It’s that documentary….” She began to cry.
Lisa squeezed her other hand. “Don’t even say that. It’s the fault of the person who tried to kill you. You didn’t do anything wrong. They’re the evil ones.”
Arianna looked back at Raul. “Zach?” she asked, hoping he would say he’d heard from Zach.
Raul shook his head and stood there with a stoic look on his face.
The surgeon approached her bed. “How are you feeling, Ms. Garrett?
“Okay,” she feebly answered. “Just some pain in my arm.”
“You were lucky, young lady. This bullet missed the bone and any major arteries. Your arm will be sore, but you should have full use of it in about a month. I’m actually going to be able to release you to go home. Don’t get the wound wet until the stitches come out and change the dressing every day. Contact a doctor if you see any signs of infection. Rest, and don’t overuse the arm until it’s healed.”
Arianna nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.” That was good news. She wanted to go home. She also wanted to see Zach, who, unfortunately, wouldn’t be there.
“Some people investigating your case want to talk to you before you go. Do you feel up to speaking with them?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, let them come in, and thank you again, Doctor.”
She looked up to see Agent Walters approaching her bed. “Ms. Garrett,” he said, “I’m so sorry about what happened. I was afraid of this. You’re lucky your bodyguard was right behind this guy and not in the room with you, or this might not have worked out so well.”
There was that L word again… lucky. She didn’t feel lucky despite the fact she had survived a very close brush with death.
“Who was the guy who tried to kill us?”
“His name is Gulfam Mossi. He’s from Iran, living here in the US on an expired student visa. We found out he attends the local mosque, but we don’t think he’s a part of any organized group. We’re still checking on any possible connections he has with known groups. I suspect, Ms. Garrett, the airing of your documentary set him off, but we’ll never know since he’s dead.”
Walters turned to Raul. “The police are going to need you to fill out some paperwork, but once that’s done, you’re free to go. No charges will be filed against you of course, since you were just doing your job. Good work, son. You saved their lives.”
Raul nodded his thank you.
Walters turned back toward Arianna. “I hope this is the end of things. I’d still like to talk to your friend when he returns… like to take a look at that phone and check out those other messages if we could. In the meantime, be safe, and get well soon.”
The nurse approached the bed and began unhooking IV’s and monitors. “Excuse me, folks,” she said, “if you want to wait out in the lobby, she’ll be ready to leave shortly.”
“We’ll see you soon,” Kathryn said, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“All your things are packed and ready to go,” Lisa added, hugging her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Raul didn’t budge however. “Arianna, I’ll be right outside the curtain here if you need anything.”
She didn’t even think to complain. She had been upset with Zach for insisting she have a bodyguard, but that decision turned out to be a life saver.
“Thank you. See you in a couple minutes.”
ARIANNA WAS startled awake when she felt the slight bump of the landing gear touch down on the runway. “Mmmm,” she moaned. “My arm. Mom, can you get me one of my pain pills and a glass of water?”
Kathryn fished into her bag and pulled out the medication. Arianna swallowed the meds and lay back, waiting for their effects to kick in.
A limo had been sent to take the group to Zach’s house. Once the luggage was transferred, they were off to Zach’s estate. “It feels good to be going home,” Arianna said. “I wish I could have talked to Kevin before I left.”
“His parents were with him,” Raul said, “and Marjorie was with Harold. She seemed optimistic about his recovery. He was awake and recognized her right away.”
They arrived at the mansion and were greeted by Camilla and her parents, Rafael and Muriel. Right away, Arianna could see Zach had gotten his brooding good looks from his handsome Puerto Rican father. His American mother was stunningly beautiful and oozed class out of every pore of her body.
“Oh, my gosh,” Arianna blushed. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, “but this isn’t how I hoped to meet Zach’s parents.”
Muriel stepped forward and gave her a hug, careful not to press on her wound. “We are so happy to meet you. Zach has said many nice things about you. He didn’t lie. You’re a beautiful woman.”
She had no idea he’d ever said anything to his parents about her, but it delighted her to know he had. “I’m a mess right now, I’m afraid, but thank you. And this is my mother, Kathryn.”
Everyone exchanged greetings.
“We look forward to talking more later,” Muriel said, “but now, you need to go rest.
Pilar stepped forward and greeted her with a gentle hug. “Welcome home, Arianna. I have your room ready for you. Are you hungry?”
“A bit. Just something light maybe. ”
“Okay, everyone,” Muriel said, “you all can talk later. Arianna needs to rest now. Camilla, why don’t you show Kathryn to her accommodations, so she can freshen up? I’ll help Arianna get settled.”
With Raul holding her arm on one side, and Rafael on the other, they escorted Arianna up the stairs to her room. Muriel fluffed her pillow and invited her to lie down and rest. “I’ve put your pain medication here on the bedside table in case you need it. Anything you need before I go?” she asked.
She shook her head. She liked Zach’s mother already. Quite a sweet, caring lady. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Very well,” she said, exiting the room.
Arianna looked over at the empty spot in the bed beside her. Yes, there was something she needed, but he wasn’t here.
When Clare joined the team for breakfast, she received a frosty reception. She so regretted her behavior of the night before. All attempts to talk to Zach met with failure and finally, Eric asked to speak to her in his office. She knew this couldn’t be good, but she was more worried about what Zach had to say, than anything out of Eric’s mouth.
“Have a seat,” the COS said. “Let me get right to the point. I heard you got a little drunk last night.”
“No, not drunk. Well maybe a little tipsy, but not drunk.” She sat back and nonchalantly studied her fingernails. “You said to stand down and relax, so I did. Is there a problem?”
Eric grimaced and exhaled deeply. “Ah, I’m afraid so. I don’t know how to say this except to be direct. You’re off the team, Clare. Your replacement is flying in this afternoon.”
She jumpe
d out of her chair. “What! You’re pulling me off this op just because I was a little tipsy. Everyone was tipsy. You can’t do this.”
“It’s not my idea, frankly. Zach requested you be dropped. He didn’t say, but I get the idea that something besides being a little tipsy happened. Seems he doesn’t think you’re emotionally stable enough to handle the action on this operation.”
Her heart sank. “No, this can’t be happening. I need to talk to him. I have to change his mind.”
“Not much chance of that. He’s adamant he wants you dropped from this mission. I don’t know what happened, but he determined you have become too unreliable for duty. You know very well, when you’ve been discredited like that, you’re burned. You need to pack your bags and catch a flight out of here.” He stood indicating the conversation was over.
She stormed out of his office just in time to see the group leaving for the training hangar. She rushed up to Zach and grabbed his arm. “Zach, please. We need to talk. I just spoke to Eric. I’m so sorry about last night. I screwed up. It won’t happen again. Please, give me another chance.”
Zach stopped and pulled her hand off his arm. “Clare, we’re about to sail into enemy waters to install a secret transmitter in a country teeming with radicals who, if they caught us, would take our heads off and not give it a second thought. I can’t risk taking someone as emotionally unstable as you into that situation. If shit happens, I need level-headed people around me, and that’s not you. You’re out.”
“You’re killing my career.”
Zach stared at her. “No. You killed your career.” He turned and left.
Once you’re burned, your career is over. She should never have let her emotions get the better of her, but it was done now. She stood there in stunned silence, as devastation slowly turned to anger. She had such hopes for developing a relationship with him and now look what happened. Damn! That bastard!
As she stood there in a quandary, her eyes wandered overhead and spotted a surveillance camera in the front of the room. She spun around and saw another one mounted at the rear of the room. Yes, of course. The video on those cameras might be the answer to her problem.
“Oh, Angela,” she said to the deputy COS, who was over by the coffee machine. “I think I need your help.”
“Sure. How can I help?” she asked with a smile.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS later, as darkness moved in, a US warship, visible to radar in Tripoli slowed down to under four knots long enough to allow the team of operation Red Herring to disembark. A low-profile speed boat towed the dry submersible as close to the Libyan shore as possible. When they were two miles offshore, the team along with new comm’s operator, Noreen, slipped quietly into the sub.
The sub took them to within a few hundred feet of the beach where they disembarked once more and moved toward the shore. Everyone except for Q and A. Their job was to hold a defensive position by the submerged boat to ensure an escape route for the team.
Zach was in the lead, and he silently swam forward, surveilling the surroundings, looking for anyone about. The only thing he saw was a white van sitting alongside the road and a driver who seemed to be fixing a flat tire. This guy was an undercover CIA agent who had met them as planned. Seeing no one else around, Zach signaled the team forward. Noreen joined him followed by Tony and Juan, carrying the Red Herring transmitter. Without speaking, they hurried across the sand and entered the van which sped off toward the city along the coastal highway.
“Good to see you, guys,” the driver said as he drove them into the city. “I’m Jamal. I’ll be staying with Noreen and posing as her husband. ”
Noreen had been introduced, but Zach and his team remained mum regarding their identities. They preferred being anonymous. No names given. They came and went, and it was as if they never existed.
“So far so good,” Tony said, watching out the rear window, his weapon ready should they encounter any bad guys. They had orders to act with extreme prejudice should the enemy present itself. No way did they want to be taken prisoners in this hostile environment.
While in route to the city, the team changed into civilian clothing. Once more they would be hiding in plain sight. Zach couldn’t help but notice Noreen’s pudgy body as she changed into the Hijab and long gown Libyan women wore, and he chuckled inwardly at the difference between her body and Clare’s. The difference between the two was stark in other ways, also. Noreen was mentally tough as nails, and he felt quite confident she could hold her own if they got into a dicey situation.
Once in the city, the van drove around the back of an apartment building where the device was to be housed. The plan was for Noreen and Jamal to live in the apartment as a couple, providing a cover for Noreen while she monitored transmissions.
When they came to a stop, Zach signaled the men to wrap the transmitter in a carpet. “Jamal and Noreen, you go first. Tony and Juan, follow them with the transmitter, and I’ll bring up the rear.”
“Got it,” Jamal said. “The apartment is on the top floor of this five-story building. Better reception there.”
“Shit!” Juan said. “Glad I been working out.” He hoisted his end of the device on his shoulder.
“Let’s do this,” Tony said, picking up the other end.
It was late at night, and no one appeared to be out. The team moved quietly up the staircase to the apartment so as not to attract any attention. Once inside, they opened the cylinder, and Noreen wasted no time activating the transmitter. She pulled out a small antenna and placed it in the north window of the apartment. Operation Red Herring had officially launched.
“It looks like we have contact,” she said.
“I pre-paid the rent here for five months, so there’s no reason for anyone to come into the apartment,” Jamal informed her. “But Noreen, look here. There is a self-destruct mechanism which you need to set every time you leave in case someone enters the apartment. It will blow the transmitter, taking off the whole upper part of the building.”
“We gotta move,” Tony said. It was dangerous to be on target too long.
“Hold up,” Zach said, who’d been monitoring the street below. “We have an unknown checking out the van. Jamal you go down first. We’ll follow behind and provide back up.”
Everyone moved to the door. “Good, luck,” Zach said, nodding at Noreen as he passed by. “Gentlemen, let’s move out.”
Jamal led the way down the stairs and proceeded out the backdoor and over to the van, while Zach and the team lay back in the shadows.
“I see you,” the man said in Arabic. “I see you in the top floor window. What did you carry up there?”
“A new carpet for my wife,” Jamal said with a smile.
“No, not a carpet. It looked too heavy, and I see an antenna in the window.” Jamal looked nervously around.
Zach’s Arabic wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to hear this man was on to them. He screwed a silencer onto his weapon, took aim, and dropped the man where he stood. Everyone rushed out to the parking lot, and Tony and Juan hoisted the dead body into the back of the van.
“Shit,” Zach said. “I knew things were going too smoothly. Roll him up in that other carpet in case we get stopped.” They piled into the van and sped down the highway.
Off in the distance they could see a building burning and heard sounds of random gunfire.
“What’s that?” Tony asked.
“I think that is an oil terminal burning,” Jamal replied. “After Qaddafi died, several militia groups rose up. Libya Dawn is a loose coalition of militias, many of them working with Islamic extremists. They’re quite violent and definitely hate Americans.”
Jamal kept his speed slow and steady so as not to attract attention. He hoped to get out of the city before they ran into any of the roving militia groups. “Last week, gunmen assassinated one of Libya’s most prominent newspaper editors. This might be why they are out protesting tonight. One does not know. This goes on all the time in this country. So much so
, most people don’t even go out at night. Too dangerous. Some idiot in DC needs his head examined to put any of our people in the middle of this.”
“Roger that,” Juan said, as he kept watch out the rear of the van. “You said the operative word… our people. See, we’re not really our people. That’s why they hired us, a group of private contractors. We take all the risk so the ‘powers that be’ can safely sit back and get all the glory.”
“You are quite brave,” Jamal replied. “I’m anxious for this mission to be over, so Noreen and I can make our way safely out of this country.”
As they turned the corner they came upon a group of men gathering up ahead. Everyone’s nerves sprang to full attention.
Jamal slowed the van. “There’s no way to go around them. We have to go through them. Sit tight, and look relaxed. Let me do the talking.” As he attempted to edge the van through the crowd, some of the locals began pounding on its side. One man holding a rifle stepped in front of the vehicle, blocking its way.
Jamal rolled down his window. “What’s happening?” he asked in Arabic.
“Where are you going?” another man asked, approaching the side of the van.
“Home,” Jamal answered. “We have just returned from the protest at the newspaper office. We are with Libya Dawn.”
The man looked around the van at Zach who was sitting in the front seat and Tony and Juan sitting on the rolled up body of the dead man in the back of the van.
In Arabic, Zach repeated the word, “Libya Dawn.”
Tony and Juan nodded. Dressed in civilian clothes and with their dark Hispanic looks, they hoped to pass as someone indigenous to the area, otherwise they were in serious trouble.
Another man was arguing with the man blocking the van. It didn’t look like he wanted to let them pass. Zach could see sweat rolling down Jamal’s cheek. Things didn’t look good. They were surrounded, and there were too many of them to fight their way out of there. He opened his door and stepped out of the van, brandishing his AK-47. Pointing it toward the night sky, he fired off several shots while shouting in Arabic, “Libya Dawn. Libya Dawn.”