by C. J. Miller
“Go with them,” he said, nodding toward the women and children moving down the stairs. He handed Laila the little girl in his arms. “Be strong. They need a leader,” he said in English.
A fire alarm shrieked through the building. Adrenaline shooting through his veins, Harris peered into the stairwell. He smelled smoke.
“Stop! Stop!” He flew down the stairs, getting ahead of the first person on the steps. Sending them back to the third floor was dangerous. They needed to vacate the building. Where was the fire?
Bright orange-and-red flames fanned into the stairwell from the first floor. He tried to recall the layout of the aquarium. If this stairwell wasn’t an option, where was the next closest exit?
The second floor was their best option. If they had to break a window and jump, they’d survive it. He ached to think about the scared children and determination renewed inside him. He wouldn’t allow anyone to be hurt. They would make it out safely, or he would die trying.
Harris yanked open the door to the second floor and looked around. Though the alarms were shrieking, he didn’t see flames ahead. “Come on!” He held the door as everyone raced through. This time, Harris counted heads. Thirty-three, including him. Thirty-three people would make it out of this building alive.
The lights flickered, and they were plunged into darkness. How could he be sure he hadn’t lost anyone? He yelled over the sound of the children crying. “I want everyone to hold hands and stay together. We’re getting out of here.”
As each person passed him, he counted them again, touching their bodies as they passed him. With all accounted for, he ran to the front of the human chain. Laila was leading them, speaking reassuring words over the shrill of the alarm.
“I can’t see anything,” she said to him in English, panic shaking under her words.
“Doesn’t matter. I know how to get out.” A lie. But he needed everyone to stay calm and levelheaded. Running his hand along the tanks, he prayed another door would appear. He remembered one on the far side of the third floor and hoped the layout was the same for the second. They crept along the hallway, the children’s crying drowned out by the alarms. Where was that door? The smell of smoke was filling the air, an indication their oxygen was being consumed by the fire. He had to find the exit.
His hand hit metal. He slid his hand down to a long bar along the door. He shoved it and the door swung open. “We’re at the stairwell. I’ll hold the door. Laila is leading you down the stairs. We’re almost there. One flight and we’ll be outside. Do not let go of each other’s hands.”
God help him if a child was lost. He would never stop looking for him or her.
Harris located the edge of the step. “Laila, I’ll stay here and help everyone get started down the stairs. Go down and open the door to the outside. The sunlight will help.”
Laila lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it, and then she was gone. Less than twenty seconds later, light flooded the stairwell.
Everyone moved faster when they could see the stairs. They broke into the sunshine and Harris counted. Thirty-three people. Scared, shaken but alive. Relief flooded over him. Now he had to decide what to do next.
They needed to get away from this area. Another bomb could explode, buildings could collapse or snipers could be waiting to shoot. He didn’t know what or who they were dealing with, and until he did, he was proceeding with extreme caution.
Al-Adel was inside the country, and that gave him a strong suspicion of who was responsible. But accusations and anger would wait until everyone was safe.
Then Al-Adel would pay. He’d endangered someone Harris cared about. He wouldn’t be allowed to hurt Laila again.
Chapter 9
After the explosion, the scene in the cultural district of Doha was chaos. The streets were knotted with wrecked cars. People were running, screaming and crying. Harris scanned for a safe place, somewhere away from the explosion.
Where had the bomb gone off? The face of the aquarium building was blown away, and the surrounding buildings and those across the street were damaged. Glass and concrete littered the ground.
The sounds of sirens filled the air, though Harris didn’t see police or ambulances on the street.
“Do we have any injuries?” he asked, turning to the group.
Laila appeared okay, squatting on the ground next to the children and hugging them, whispering words of comfort.
Some of the children were wailing, and the sounds of screaming filled his ears. He tried to block it out and take stock of the medical status of the people around him. Then he could go back and help on the scene. Search-and-rescue missions would deploy after the police organized, and many people would need to be taken to nearby hospitals. Harris prayed the death toll had been small, or better, but more unlikely, zero.
“I think everyone’s injuries are survivable. Cuts and scratches and terror,” Laila said.
No one was bleeding profusely, and it was a good sign that everyone was walking.
Harris took out his cell phone and tried to dial the emir’s compound to ask them to send help. He could relay the situation to the emir’s switchboard operator and request assistance. The main operator would know the right people to contact. If he used his satellite phone, and no one else could get a signal on their cell phones, it would raise questions why he was carrying a satellite phone.
“Does anyone have a phone?” Harris asked. Cell service circuits were likely flooded, and others would have problems getting a connection.
Several people nodded.
“I want you to walk down this street as quickly as possible.” He pointed along the sidewalk. “There could be another bomb. Or these buildings could collapse. Keep walking and trying to call the compound to give them your exact location. Traffic will be snarled for hours,” Harris said. “You might have to walk for a few miles for a pickup.”
Seeing the worn and scared faces of Laila’s family, Harris looked around. The children couldn’t walk for miles and carrying them would be difficult. Next door to the aquarium was a gift shop selling tourist items. “Give me a minute.”
He spoke quickly to the three employees in the store who appeared unsure what to do. Their phones weren’t working. The store had a few small shopping carts. He left the store with the employees and the carts.
“Put the children in these so they don’t have to walk or be carried. You’ll get farther this way,” Harris said. Seeing the terror on the children’s faces, Harris strove for something to distract them. “This is a great adventure. You get to ride through the streets in these carts. And when you get home, ice cream and cake for everyone!”
The children were calming down, and the group began moving down the street.
Harris waited a few moments and then turned in the direction of the bombing. He had studied Al-Adel’s work. The man’s terror attacks were usually confined to a small area, although often more than one explosion detonated. Was this orchestrated by the Holy Light Brotherhood?
“What are you doing?” Laila asked, taking his arm.
Harris stared at her. “Why didn’t you go with your family?”
“And leave you here alone?” Laila asked.
He didn’t want Laila in the thick of this. An attempt had been made on her life in America, and he didn’t know if she had been one of the targets of the bombing here. “You need to be somewhere safe.”
She gripped his arm harder. “I am safest with you.”
Another explosion boomed through the air. Harris grabbed Laila and shielded her with his body, pulling them to the ground. Was that sound a building collapsing from the damage or another bomb? Harris guessed another bomb. Laila was shaking in his arms. Harris waited for the noise around him to die down and concentrated on listening for the rat-tat-tat of gunshots or for another flash of light or blast of a bomb.
His protective instincts roared louder. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Laila. “I’m going to help where I can.”
He
r eyes widened with fear. “What if there is another bomb—”
He had some basic first-aid training, and he’d been a marine. Dealing with difficult situations had been part of his training. “There might be another one. There’s no time to wait for help.”
“I can help, too,” Laila said, lifting her chin.
“You aren’t trained for this,” he said.
“No, but I’m capable and smart. I will be useful. Don’t treat me like a crystal vase.”
Laila wouldn’t back down. She wouldn’t leave the scene, not when her countrymen needed help. Arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere. He’d seen her strength many times before. She might sometimes act like a shrinking violet in front of her brother or other males, but she had an iron core. “You’re stubborn when you want something.”
“So are you,” Laila said, giving him a small smile.
Ambulances were arriving on the scene, and injured people converged on the first responders. They wouldn’t have enough equipment and staff to triage every case, and the most dire would be treated first.
“Oh, no,” Laila said, her voice a whisper. She pressed her hand against her head. “Harris, we were supposed to meet Aisha and Mikhail in the dining area. Do you think the bomb was meant for them? Do you think they got out of the building?”
It would be a huge coincidence if a bomb had gone off near the place where the emir and Aisha were scheduled to be, and Laila and her extended family weren’t the targets. Harris didn’t believe in coincidences, large or small. “We’ll look for his car first and see what we can find out.” No point in being reckless and running into an unstable building if no one was inside.
If Al-Adel was working with Mikhail, why try to kill him? Had their relationship soured? Or was Al-Adel attempting to force the emir’s hand in a show of strength and dominance? Based on what Harris knew of Mikhail, he wouldn’t respond well to being coerced or forced. What was the purpose of the bombing?
Laila bit her lip. “Maybe he and Aisha hadn’t arrived yet.”
Possible. “Let’s hope they are safe and sound elsewhere.”
They maneuvered through the crowds, some fleeing the area, others staring, looking unsure what to do next or where to go.
“I don’t see his driver on the main road. Could be parked around the back,” Harris said.
The stability of nearby buildings was in question, and he and Laila could spend the afternoon searching for the emir. Harris decided to change his tactic. “Let’s find a policeman on the scene. They’ll have radios and can get a message to everyone who can help. We can tell them the emir and his fiancée were scheduled to be at the aquarium this afternoon, and their whereabouts are unknown.” If the police were not already aware of the matter from the emir’s private security, the information would light a fire under them.
Harris again took Laila’s arm. They couldn’t risk being separated in the mounting confusion. More people were arriving on the scene to assist. Harris spotted a police officer rushing toward one of the buildings. Harris stopped him, and though he looked irritated at the interruption, he listened.
“The emir was scheduled to visit this area today. We’re trying to confirm he is safe,” Harris said.
His eyes wide, the officer pulled his radio from his belt. He would take their information seriously and act upon it. It took a few moments for the line to clear, and then he sent the message he needed to confirm the safety and whereabouts of the emir. “We’ll find him,” the officer said to Harris and then brushed past them in the direction he’d been headed.
Laila threw up her hands, worry plain on her face. “We still don’t know anything. What if he’s hurt somewhere?”
“It’s likely Mikhail’s private security knows where he is.” Harris hoped, for Laila and her family’s sake, it was true.
“Unless the security team with him was hurt or killed by the explosion.”
If Mikhail was working with the Holy Light Brotherhood and they had planned this attack, this was a taste of more to come. Even so Harris tried to reassure Laila. At the moment, Mikhail wasn’t a traitor and a liar. He was her brother. “If Mikhail was in that building, we’ll see every search-and-rescue person in this city converge on the aquarium. They will make contact with the emir’s staff and track him down. The best we can do is offer our assistance to this effort. Do you know how far it is to the nearest hospital?” Harris asked.
Laila thought for a moment. “There’s one a few miles from here.”
No one had taken charge of the scene yet. Groups were working independently, doing what they’d been trained to do. Harris tasked himself. “We need to check these cars for bodies or trapped civilians.”
He looked around for a piece of cement he could carry in his hand. If he had to smash glass to get someone out of a car, that’s what he would do.
They walked through the cracked and crowded streets. People were trickling out of nearby buildings, some looking wounded and others dazed. They were staring at their phones in confusion as if they would somehow contain the answers of what had happened and what to do.
“The national emergency response team will arrive soon,” Laila said, biting her bottom lip.
“It’ll be okay. We were lucky,” Harris said, trying to assuage some of her fears. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. He’d sworn to protect her, and he took that vow to heart.
“Or unlucky that the explosion happened in the first place,” Laila said.
Most of the cars along the streets were empty. Some were mangled into nearby cars and poles, but the occupants had escaped.
In a blue sedan, the hood smoking, the driver was hunched over the wheel. Harris pulled the door handle. Locked. He tapped on the glass. The man didn’t move. Harris’s heart fell. He looked for the rising and falling of his chest. Due to the position of the body, Harris couldn’t see if he’d survived the wreck.
“Is he alive?” Laila asked, trepidation shaking her voice.
She shouldn’t be here. Harris had seen gruesome and terrible situations. He was callused to them when he needed to be. This was new to Laila. “I’ll check.” He wouldn’t suggest again she leave the scene. First, she wouldn’t, and second, he didn’t want her wandering the streets without protection. Fear could bring out the worst in people—violence, looting and anger. If she was recognized as the emir’s sister, it could be even worse. “Why don’t you go to the gift shop and grab some bags, fill them with bottles of water and whatever supplies you can find, and give them to people who need them? We’ll explain to the store owners later and make reparations.” He could watch her go to the gift shop and make sure she wasn’t hassled.
She lifted her chin. “I will not leave you. I can help. Don’t tell me to leave again, and I won’t tell you the same.”
Strength. She showed it again and again. Why had he underestimated her? “We’ve got to get into the car. Give me your head scarf.”
Without hesitation, Laila removed it and handed it to him. He wrapped it around his arm. Using the piece of cement in his hand, he slammed it into the passenger side door. After two strikes, the glass broke, and Harris cleared away the shards. He reached inside and unlocked the doors.
Racing to the driver’s side, he opened the door and felt for a pulse. It was erratic and light. “He’s alive,” Harris said. “He needs medical attention.” If the man had a spine injury, he shouldn’t be moved.
Harris waved over an EMT, who jogged to the car. “I have a man who’s unconscious, but alive.”
Laila was telling the man he would be okay. She stepped away so the EMT could get closer.
The EMT assessed him. “We need to get him to the ambulance. I think he’s bleeding somewhere, but in this position I can’t tell. Can you help me get him out of the car and carry him?”
Harris, Laila and the EMT worked the man out of the car, taking care not to jostle him any more than was necessary. No stretchers were available and the three of them carried him to the ambulance for further
treatment.
For the next five hours, Harris and Laila, along with other volunteer civilians and medical professionals, assisted the search, rescue and treatment effort.
It seemed the number of people who needed help was endless. The police took control of the scene and searched for more bombs and other threats. Volunteers who had vehicles transported people to the nearby hospital. Roads were closed to everyone except emergency vehicles and the volunteer transporters of the injured. A tent had been set up on the site with emergency medical equipment, and was staffed to treat the walking wounded and those with less serious injuries.
The search and rescue teams were asking civilians without the proper equipment to vacate the scene. They were methodically looking for survivors and couldn’t risk more injuries.
Reporters had arrived, and Harris stayed out of their view. His face couldn’t be on the news where he could be recognized and identified by someone who knew him.
Exhausted, grimy and thirsty, Harris and Laila sat on the curb three blocks from ground zero. Though the sounds of horns and emergency sirens followed them, they were alone. Laila handed him the bottle of water she was drinking. “I can’t believe this happened.”
Blood, sweat and dirt were smeared on their clothing. As many as they had tried to help, more waited. As time passed, the more likely those who were found would be dead. It was a reality that haunted him. At this moment he would give anything to hear his family’s voices. They had been involved in desperate situations during their careers. He could communicate what he was feeling without saying much at all.
“My brother might have some information from the news,” Harris said. His brother, meaning his CIA contact, Tyler.
Tyler answered after one ring. “Intel is going nuts here trying to get information on the bombing. Are you okay?” Tyler said.
“I’m fine. We were in the aquarium in Doha when the bomb exploded.”
“When you’re clear to talk, we’ll need a report from you. The news media is speculating that the Holy Light Brotherhood is responsible for this tragedy. We have reports that the emir is secure, though he might have gone underground until his security can confirm it’s safe for him to appear in public. We’ve also heard whispers that some groups in Qamsar are blaming America for the bombing.”