“You’re incredible in more than one way. That info is nice to know.”
The Blackberry buzzed. Hunter, looking at it, frowned. He punched a few buttons and replaced it in the holster at his hip.
Marwa watched with trepidation.
“The soonest he can get here is Wednesday evening,” Hunter said. “There’s a storm coming. I knew that, but you’re such a distraction, I forgot and can’t think straight.”
She smiled. “I don’t want to return to the apartment.”
“I don’t want you going back, either. I’ll take you home with me. I have enough room for two. Tomorrow, we’ll buy you some clothes on the base.”
“Duncan, I don’t know what to say. I’m so relieved, but I’m still frightened. I’m worried they might do something to you.”
He raised his water glass. “It’ll be OK. Here’s to tomorrow.” Still stunned, she copied the gesture.
“Tomorrow,” he said, touching glasses. They sipped without blinking, staring at each other.
Two hours after they entered the Red Parrot, Marwa and Duncan stepped outside into a freshening breeze that brought the hint of snow. Marwa’s hair and shawl rustled in the wind. Her nipples hardened at the sudden temperature change. Duncan appreciated the sight but also felt embarrassed for her. He hurried her into the Rolls, away from the eyes on the car and the stunning brunette in the white dress.
“To the base, James.”
The driver was momentarily confused and then got it. “Your building, Sir?”
“Yes, Sir. Number seven.”
The drive to the main gate of the Naval War College was slow and uneventful. Duncan and Marwa held hands. He talked about the school and some of the landmarks. They saw the original war college structure from the 1800s and the huge new education building.
James stopped in front of Building 7. Duncan got out and helped Marwa out, then he handed the driver a folded $50 bill and said, “Thanks again for a great ride.”
He offered Marwa his hand, and they walked into the building and then to the elevator. Neither spoke as they rode to the third floor.
The doors opened, and Duncan said, “It’s all the way at the other end.” He led the way.
He flashed an old brass key to unlock the door and allowed her to step inside first. The door closed behind her, and she turned to Duncan. Marwa looked like a frightened, bewildered, and an amazingly beautiful bird.
“This is home for a couple days,” he said. “Let me show you around. Here’s the living room, kitchen, and in there is the bedroom. That’s the bathroom and closet. I need to get you some clothes. I have some long-sleeved T-shirts and sweatshirts and sweatpants that will work until we buy something for you tomorrow. I even have a new toothbrush. How’s that?”
She clutched her purse, lowered her head, and cried. He took the purse from her hands and wrapped his arms around her. She slowly put her arms around him and sobbed. The faint scent of cinnamon enveloped him as he held her.
When she composed herself, she released her grip, and he reciprocated.
“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, removing her wrap and tossing it and the purse on the table in the tiny dining area.
“I’ll get you something a little more comfortable,” Duncan said. “I’ll put the clothes on the bed.”
“Thank you.”
He watched her walk into his bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom. He had difficult believing the events of the evening.
Several minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom wearing a yellow Corvette Racing jersey that gave her ample bosom plenty of room. Black sweatpants disappeared under the shirt, and elastic cuffs profiled her thin, bare feet. Hunter changed into a similar ensemble and stood looking out the picture window when the bedroom door opened. He turned as Marwa padded into the room.
“That shirt will think it has died and gone to heaven,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to be funny. Will that work? It isn’t too…?”
“No. This is wonderful. You may not get this back. It’s very comfortable.”
“It’s yours. Can I get you something to drink? We have….”
“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.” She paused, looking for the right words, as she sat on the end of the sofa. “I’ve never been in a room with a man before, like this. It’s very strange and yet very liberating. With you, I feel safe. Muslim men would….”
“I think any man would thank his lucky stars to be where I am right now. I’ve often said I’m the luckiest guy I know. When I first saw you watching us play racquetball, I wondered about you. There was something about you.”
“There was something about you, too. When I saw you for the first time in the racquetball court, I refused to believe you were a monster. I couldn’t believe you were evil, and someone was very afraid of you.”
Hunter walked in from the kitchen carrying a glass of orange juice. He sat across from her in the chair. “I guess I’m just a lovable old fuzzball.”
She smiled, which warmed him.
“What have you been doing while I was in class?”
“During the last three weeks, I read constantly. I was very concerned that the apartment was under surveillance, but I was afraid to look for the cameras. I went to the library and spent hours reading. I found an amazing book called Understanding Muhammad by Ali Sina. I also read 23 Years by Ali Dashti. I looked for anyone who wanted to expose Islam for what it is.”
“That must’ve been an eye-opening experience.”
“Duncan, this….” She spread her arms and rotated her hands. “…and what you have done for me has been an eye-opening experience. Last Sunday, I went to a church near the library and sat in the back to watch. I was astounded to see a woman leading the service. The paper they gave me said she was a pastor. I thought America was the greatest country in the world if women could lead religious services.”
“We can be pretty progressive in some ways. Not all agree, but we seem to get along with each other well enough.”
“I sat there and thought, ‘I can no longer live like this.’ I began to gain courage to convert from Islam. If I had said that a year ago, I would probably be in jail or dead. That imam would’ve had someone execute me. Women who commit the crime of wanting to make independent decisions concerning their lives are murdered all around the world. My life is in danger and will stay that way if anyone finds out I want to leave Islam.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you. That’s a promise.”
“That’s what Islam does to you. When you’re in it, your life is nothing. You live in fear. I think once you leave it, you’re in hell, because you’re constantly afraid of losing your life.”
“What’s keeping you from leaving Islam?”
“I don’t know how to go about it. I want to leave, but I want to remain anonymous. I don’t want to be killed just because I’m brave enough to tell the truth. I don’t want to lose my life, because I don’t believe in that evil religion anymore.”
“Marwa, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. If you want to leave Islam, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you can live your life without fear, the way you want. We’re going to start doing that by getting you out of here as soon as this storm passes.”
“Do you really think you can do that?”
“I can. I’ll need some help, but I have some very special friends who can make it happen. You’ll have to trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
The shift in atmosphere was palpable. Marwa began to look like a little girl who struggled to budge a heavy gate only to find a whole new world hidden behind it.
Duncan felt lost for words. Standing, he said, “Come look at this view. Out there is Narragansett Bay, and that’s the Claiborne Pell Bridge in the fog. I’m sorry, actually, that’s snow. I’m glad I have this room. The view is spectacular.”
“That’s beautiful. I think America is filled with wonders.”
He nodded. “It is. You have no idea. One of these days, I’ll show you many, many wonders. Ah, it’s my turn to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
When Duncan returned, Marwa was still in front of the picture window. He walked up beside her and took her hand. Their fingers slowly intertwined.
She leaned against him. “I’m ready to be free of Islam.” Duncan was taken aback. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means I don’t want to be treated like a slave any longer. I was my father’s property, then my husband’s. I want to be free, to live without fear. I want to be treated like a woman, a lady, like you treated me tonight. That’s what I want. I don’t want to return to that life. I want a new life and a new beginning.”
Marwa turned toward him. “I want to thank you for saving my life.” She buried her head against his chest for a few moments. He held her until she relaxed her grip and slowly looked up at him.
“I want you to make love to me, Duncan Hunter.” She placed her head against his chest, her heart pounding.
He took her in his arms. She trembled slightly as she reached up to kiss him, then stopped.
“Duncan, I know nothing about making love. I’m….”
He scooped her into his arms, desperately trying to find romantic words. “Marwa, I think you know how it should be. I’ll bet you’re a fast learner.”
She realized all she knew how to do was bend over and let someone poke her. Her arms went around his neck. “I’m afraid but very excited. I want you very much. Oh, Duncan, you’re so good to me.”
“Now you know what I’ve felt since I first saw you. You’re the sexiest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. I’ll try my best not to disappoint you.”
“How could I know disappointment? I know nothing! I don’t even know how to kiss.” Her flash of exasperation was laced with worry and embarrassment.
He walked into the bedroom and stopped at the side of the bed. Duncan looked at her and gently set her down until her feet touched the floor. Her breasts slid down his chest.
Trying to diffuse her concerns, he asked, “You don’t know how to kiss? Why, Ms. Kamal, that may be a little problem.”
“I don’t. I’m not sure what is to be accomplished with French kissing and the tongue.”
“Let’s start with a kiss, Ms. Kamal. I’d like you to open your mouth a little and stick out your tongue a bit. Like that. Now close your eyes.”
He looked at the slightly trembling woman as he bent down to kiss her. She anticipated his touching her lips when his tongue barely touched hers and shot electricity through her body. Warmth filled the void between her legs. She felt him growing firm, and her eyes flew open, as she moved against him. “Good, yes?” he asked.
“Very good. Oh, yes.” Her breathing deepened, and she pressed her breasts against him, feeling his erection again as their lips touched, and he flicked her tongue. She loosened her mouth, inviting more, and her apprehension melted away.
She pulled back, nearly breathless, their foreheads and upper lips touching. She explored his mouth with her tongue.
His lips locked hers when he inhaled, taking wind from her lungs as air raced through her nose.
She nearly collapsed into his arms when they parted. “I think I’m a very bad learner,” she whispered. “Can...can the Grinch come get me next week?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
1800 March 11, 2003
Al-Azzam Islamic Center
Eight inches of snow nearly prevented Nizar Mohammad from meeting Imam Abdul. Snow fell at Boston Logan Airport so fast the snow-removal equipment couldn’t keep a single runway cleared enough for the airport to remain open. At 1800, the FAA officially closed the airport until the weather system passed. Traffic was diverted as far west as Chicago and Detroit, which were inexplicably spared most of the storm’s wrath. With another two feet expected over the coming forty-eight hours, the Boston Airport Authority sent all nonessential personnel home, while plows and snow throwers removed tons of snow from runways, taxiways, and parking aprons.
What should have been a thirty-minute drive from the airport to the mosque took two hours. Nizar almost ran out of gas. By the time he shuffled into the mosque, he missed prayers and found Imam Abdul nearly apoplectic.
“Where’s the whore?” he demanded. “She’s supposed to be here. What happened to her?”
“Sahib, the infidel didn’t bring her home. He picked her up, but they drove an old white car on the navy base. Mohammad followed the old car to Fall River, but she wasn’t in it when it stopped. Also, her car was still at the apartment.”
“She must report what she learned!”
“Yes, Sahib. She must still be on the Navy base, getting information from the infidel.” Nizar was crushed that Imam Abdul sent Marwa to consort with the infidel. He had never seen another Muslima like her. She had fantastic eyes, and she moved and spoke differently. She stirred feelings in him that were anathema to Islam. He would treat her better than she would ever be treated by her family or former husband. If she gave him a chance, she would see he could provide a good living for her as a TSA agent. He worried the infidel would do something bad to her.
“We will wait another day,” the imam said. “I will make some calls to see if she’s still on the navy base. You must remove everything from that apartment—all traces, understand?”
“Yes, Sahib.”
“Go, and close the door.”
Nizar, turning to leave, saw snow falling more heavily than when he arrived. Exhaling loudly, he resigned himself to driving for hours in a snowstorm to remove the audio-visual equipment installed in Marwa’s bedroom. His spirits picked up at the thought of seeing a video of her changing clothes. He would be able to see her naked. Thoughts of seeing the nude runaway from Jordan motivated him to hurry, and he flew out the double doors into the blizzard.
Abdul had a bad feeling about Marwa and muttered in Arabic, as he rummaged through the stacks and pamphlets on his desk until he found Jebriel’s emergency number. Reaching across the stacks, he picked up the old rotary AT&T Model 500 telephone, set it before him, and looked over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses to dial the number.
After two rings, he hung up and redialed. Jebriel answered on the eighth ring, as briefed, but he didn’t speak.
In English, Abdul said, “I need you.” The line went dead two seconds later.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
1930 March 12, 2003
Building 7 Newport Naval Station
Twenty-three inches of snow fell from the slow-moving snowstorm that blanketed the East Coast from Washington, DC, to Bangor, Maine. The President of the War College canceled classes for the first part of the week. A blanket e-mail announced classes would resume on Thursday, the thirteenth.
Boston Logan and Providence Theodore Francis Green Airports were closed, as were Quonset and Newport State Regional Airports. Greg Lynche couldn’t take off from Easton, Maryland, and he couldn’t land in Newport, until the storm passed and the runways were cleared. The soonest anyone expected to be able to fly was late Thursday. Still, Lynche and Hunter were busy.
Lynche slogged across a heavily plowed and sanded Interstate 495 to meet his old counterpart at his old place, who called the deputy director at the National Counterterrorism Center. He was very intrigued and looked forward to meeting the woman who had been sent to gather information about Hunter and McGee. If someone was watching a SEAL and a civilian, why wouldn’t they have all the Special Operations forces attending the War College under surveillance? She could be very valuable.
Lynche relayed the information Marwa provided Duncan. The NCTC deputy expressed his unhappiness with the TSA in Boston and considered Ms. Kamal a “catch” if she provided her bona fides and passed a comprehensive polygraph. If she could run the gauntlet of interviews and polygraphs, the NCTC wanted and needed a sorelymissed resource in the arsenal of counterterrorism weapons—a fully functional, competent, trustworthy Arabic speaker and interpre
ter. She could also be effective as an interrogator.
If approved, Marwa Kamal would effectively disappear into the black hole of the DOJ’s Witness Protection Program. She would receive a new identity with authentic documentation. By the end of the day, the NCTC deputy created a job for her as a senior analyst in Middle East affairs at the CIA’s NCTC.
After three days of snow and a war raging and coalition forces staging for an Iraqi invasion slated for the coming week, Agency men wanted their potential new resource in the pipe and processed as quickly as possible. When Lynche told the deputy NCTC he’d bring Marwa from Newport as soon as the weather cleared, the deputy said he’d dispatch a detail to pick her up and immediately jet her to Washington, DC.
The deputy NCTC buzzed his secretary. “I’d like the senior FBI agent to come to my office at her earliest convenience.” He picked up the handset of the STU, dialed the Office of Intelligence and Analysis chief at the Department of Homeland Security, and briefed him on the situation regarding Nizar Mohammad, a supervisory TSA agent.
After hanging up with the DHS, he heard a hard knock on the door, and the FBI agent was announced.
“Ms. Storm,” the deputy said, “I hope you might be interested in the activity at a Boston mosque. They’ve been surveilling Special Operations Forces attending the War College in Rhode Island. One of their spies just left the dark side and is more than willing to talk to us.”
*
Massachusetts State Police reported finding several abandoned vehicles along the stretch of I-195 after snowplows made some headway against the record snowfall that shut down the interstate. Snowplow drivers were careful to plow around areas that appeared to be stranded vehicles. The state police followed them, stopping at each large hump in the snow to determine if anyone still remained in their vehicle.
After several hours of checking over thirty abandoned vehicles without finding anyone inside, Corporal Mike Knox, Massachusetts State Police, quietly hoped he wouldn’t find anyone in the last car. His feet were so cold they cramped, and his arms ached from digging into packed, frozen snow.
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