by Amy Jarecki
“Camile has grown too insolent.” Jadaa stepped in, folding her arms with a critical eye. “And I think this one will please the caliph more.”
Olivia kept her face impassive while her stomach lurched. The caliph? Would she finally have her chance to meet al-Umari face-to-face?
The commander stroked his fingers down his beard. “And you do not think this one will be difficult? She has fire in her eyes.”
“But the caliph likes a challenge. I say her fire is maturity.”
“I don’t see the fear.”
Olivia clasped her hands under her chin. “Could someone please tell me what’s going on? If the pair of you have any questions, I am more than willing to explain, especially if it will buy me a ticket home.” She pointed to the cell phone on the desk. “Translation app?”
Jadaa boxed Olivia’s ear. “Sh.”
Shuffling back, Olivia held her fists tighter.
Then the commander stepped in and squeezed her chin, flipping up her top lip and looking at her teeth like she was a bloody mule.
Olivia couldn’t mask the shot of anger making her eyes twitch.
He patted her cheek and laughed. “You have learned self-control. I like that in a woman, even if you are the spawn of the infidel.” He turned to Jadaa. “This one will be difficult, but I will show her photograph to the caliph. He may change his mind about the other.”
“He will like this one. Mark me.” Jadaa shouldered in and arranged Olivia’s veil, then pinched her cheeks. “Smile,” she said in Arabic, grinning and pointing to her mouth.
The man held up a camera. Olivia complied, wishing she would have had a decent night’s sleep and a bit of makeup. She’d put on a swimming suit and strut down the catwalk if it meant she’d have a chance at al-Umari.
The flash nearly blinded her.
“Ensure that she understands her place,” the officer said as he strode to the door.
“She will be ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the WC, Olivia washed her hands at the communal basin, taking note of the cameras placed in every corner. They had cameras everywhere, but in the loo? What did she expect after the humiliation of Jadaa’s pressure washer? Her skin was still raw, though her bruised ribs had started to heal.
All but one girl had finished brushing their hair and their teeth and going through female pre-bedtime rituals. Olivia pretended to dawdle.
Behind her, a toilet flushed and Mathilde Petit came out of the stall. At the basin, the girl whose face had graced the monitors in the ICE sit room lathered her hands, using the foot pump to make the water spray.
“I remember you. I saw you on the news.” Olivia lowered her brush, looking at the girl in the mirror. “They said you were kidnapped by Taaha Khan.”
Mathilde glanced up, wildly shaking the water from her fingers. Her eyes grew round with fear. “I was on the news?”
“Oui. I was in Lyon at the time…ah…doing work study.” Olivia looked over her shoulder to double check that they were alone. “Where is Taaha now?”
Anguish filled her eyes as her lips trembled. “T-they killed him.”
“What?”
“Right before my eyes.” A tear dribbled down Mathilde’s cheek and she swiped it away. “We can’t talk about it. The cameras!”
“Sh,” Olivia cooed. Pulling the teen into an embrace, she whispered in her ear, “They can’t hear what we’re saying if we keep our voices down. You need to get it out, sweetheart… Where did they kill him? In France?”
Mathilde’s entire body trembled and her breathing sped. “Non. Right after we arrived. It was a-aw-fuuul.”
“Did you come here willingly?”
“At first. Taaha told me he wanted me to meet his family. Said we would only be gone for a few days, so I slipped away without telling anyone. I-I thought he loved me.”
“But he brought you here instead?”
“He betrayed me.” She nodded, clinging to Olivia, practically hyperventilating. “B-but they still shot him as soon as he stepped out of the car. A-and other men have been killed, too. I-I wasn’t the only one.”
Olivia ran her hand over the girl’s hair while she kept it together. They’d tried to kill Logan. Surely they hadn’t been successful. Had they? Was the microchip in her head working? Did ICE know her location? Did the compound have some sort of radio frequency scrambling in place?
God, this op was going to kill her. Somehow, she had to find a way to contact ICE. And where the hell were they? She’d been there for three days. Didn’t they know they needed to move fast? The longer they waited, the greater the chances that something really, really bad would happen.
Shit…and the numbers. They have no idea there are fifty-two hostages here.
She cupped Mathilde’s cheek with her palm, searching for something consoling to say. “We have to stay strong. Too many girls have gone missing not to draw suspicion. Someone has to be looking for us.”
“You know this is ISIS,” Mathilde hissed. “We’re somewhere deep in Syria. No one can get to us. They’re going to kill us all!”
“Be strong and do what you have to do to stay alive.” If only Olivia could tell the girl a rescue mission was underway. “We all need to stand together to ensure they don’t—”
“What are you doing?” Camile stepped inside. “You’re not allowed to talk about ISIS. I’m going to report you both. Two points to me.”
How long had the dunghill queen been listening in?
Mathilde cowered, grasping Olivia’s arm. “Non!”
“Excuse me?” Olivia threw back her shoulders. “Why would you do that?”
The bitch sauntered forward. “I’m the favorite. If you’re not on my side, then you’re expendable.”
“Who told you that?”
“Jadaa.” Camile’s chin twitched up.
“Do you speak Arabic?” Olivia asked while Mathilde continued to cower.
The queen rolled her eyes. “She has a translation app.”
“All right. I get that you’re the golden girl around here. But still, why would you want to rat us out? This isn’t paradise. We’re all being forced against our will.”
“But if we obey the rules, we will be rewarded. I’ll receive two points if I tell Jadaa you were talking about ISIS.”
“And what will those points get you in the end? A bowl of sweetened dates?”
“A ticket out of here.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Camile turned on her heel. “You talk too much, and you will end up in the pit.”
Mathilde followed the queen, pleading for mercy, obviously buying into the queen’s line of tripe.
Olivia drew in a few deep breaths before she followed. She’d forgotten how shallow teenagers could be…and how gullible.
With a resolute sigh, she returned to the bunk room. But once inside, rage pulsed through her veins.
Gabby was lying on her side, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Hushed sobs sniffled through her nose as she rocked.
Mina sat on the edge of the bed, tears shining on her cheeks.
“What happened?” Olivia asked in a whisper.
Camile dashed through the maze of bedrolls. “You are not to speak!” she whisper-shouted while the other French girls gathered behind her.
A German bird thrust her finger at the cameras. “Zum schweigen bringen.” The teenagers behind her all looked on with wide eyes, moving their fingers to their lips indicating silence.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Olivia frowned and held up her palm. “Don’t you care about Gabby?” she said in the most pointed whisper she could manage. “She’s one of us, for chrissake. Stop this nonsense, go back to bed and pretend like nothing has happened.”
Olivia glanced to the guards. They were watchful, but hadn’t done anything to intervene, most likely because Olivia hadn’t let Camile ride roughshod. As the tension in the air dissipated and the hostages returned to their mats, Olivia moved in beside
Mina to get a better look at Gabby. Christ, the side of her face was turning purple. Blood had seeped onto the mat under the girl’s hips. “Point to where you’re hurt.”
Gabby closed her eyes and shook her head.
Olivia reached for the hem of Gabby’s abaya. “I’m going to have a look.”
Mina grasped her arm. “No.”
“Don’t stop me!” Olivia hissed.
Peering beneath the cloth, Olivia pursed her lips against her revulsion—against her urge to take immediate retaliatory action. Gabby not only had been beaten, she’d been savagely raped. Blood trickled from her anus and there was a stream coming from her vagina as well. Bruises peppered her legs.
“He wasn’t happy with me,” Gabby whispered through suppressed sobs. “Jadaa will throw me in the pit for certain.”
Jesus Christ. The girl needed medical attention and she was worried about the pit? Olivia lowered the hem and gently smoothed it down. Her first priority was to care for this poor lass. “Do you think anything might be broken?”
She shook her head. “I can walk.”
Olivia crawled toward Gabby’s head and kneeled. “Let me have a look at your eyes.”
The girl’s pupils were dilated. She probably had a concussion, and God knew what other internal damage there might be. Yes, Olivia knew this sort of thing would happen and worse, but that didn’t make the horror of it any easier to bear.
Making a snap decision, Olivia dashed for the WC.
One of the guards brandished her AK47 and blocked the door.
Olivia pointed toward Gabby. “I need a cloth, ice and antiseptic. Can you get that for me?”
The guard shoved her in the gut with the gun. “Back inside,” she said in Arabic, clearly not understanding anything Olivia had requested.
Olivia moved the butt of the gun aside, careful not to use too much force. Grabbing her stomach with one hand, she doubled over and pointed to the loo. “I will, but I need to use the toilet.”
After a hesitant glare, the guard gave a single nod.
Once inside the WC, Olivia grabbed a towel and doused it, then wrung it out. She tightly wrapped a dry towel around the outside and stuffed it under her abaya. Regarding her profile in the mirror, she held her arms across her midsection making the bundle appear as small as possible. Then she didn’t look at the guard as she hastened back to the bunk room.
But this time, Olivia went straight to her bedroll and lay down…until they cut the lights. Only then did she slide over to Gabby’s side. “I tried to get some ice and antiseptic, but those savages understand nothing.”
Gabby drew in a stuttered breath.
Silently, Olivia cleansed the weeping girl’s wounds with the damp cloth, then folded the dry one and applied it between Gabby’s legs. She then rolled the wet cloth, keeping the clean side out, and applied it to her head.
“Rest now.” She placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder “I wish I could do more.”
When Olivia slid back to her bedroll, she swore she would act, and soon. Camile didn’t need to tell her she was on thin ice, and no one needed to tell her she wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she ended up in the pit. That’s why she didn’t take out the guard in the hall. That’s why she didn’t get in Camile’s face.
Soon, ladies. Soon this nightmare will be over for us all.
***
The quarters outside Manbij were rough at best. Typical of an area wracked by civil war. No running water, sleeping on a threadbare Persian rug that looked like it was made in the nineteenth century. Logan didn’t complain. Neither did Mike. They had a job to do. They were professionals.
The rundown, old house was a good cover, though. It used to be the home of a goat herder before the war, and was surrounded by a cinderblock wall.
Satellite communication had been spotty. The little bit of equipment they’d brought along was even spottier. Logan thought the charges the Navy had supplied for the Kahlil op were crap. What he wouldn’t give for that kind of technology now.
ICE was promising a drop of equipment, but Logan was in enemy territory. The place was rife with anti-aircraft guns and radar. Getting anything inside without drawing attention was going to take a miracle. The good news was that assets, including aircraft carriers and Logan’s old USS Washington, were cruising for the Mediterranean. But things weren’t happening fast enough. And they still didn’t know what they were dealing with inside the compound.
For the past day, Logan had been working under the awning at the back of the house, trying to get an old drone to work. He’d found it in pieces in Mike’s crate of tricks—a casualty of another op. The batteries were finally charged and Logan had dug up a USB cable to connect the CPU. Once that was done, he downloaded the operating system onto his laptop.
The motor was shot and had to be rewound. He superglued a broken propeller and, now with a spit shine, it was ready for a trial run. “What kind of range does this thing have?” he asked.
Mike scratched his head. “A mile tops.”
“What about night vision?”
“Och, you’d best put in an order with R & D. They’re working on a beetle drone with thermal imaging, have you seen it?”
“Yeah, the problem is it’s not here—and when I was at ICE a few weeks ago, the prototype wasn’t ready.” Logan flipped the switch while all four props whirred to life. “Well, here goes.” Once he had the drone airborne, he used the screen to maneuver.
“You should have been a flight engineer.” Mike stepped out from under the awning. “Can you take it higher?”
The thing was only about eight feet off the ground.
“I’ll give it a shot.” Logan pushed up on the controller stick and the drone began to ascend. A gust of wind came up and blew it westward. Logan countered with the right rocker.
“She’s not spinning fast enough.”
He brought it down and, after a few more tweaks, the second trial was a reasonable success. At least they’d be able to have a look at the compound without drawing attention, aside from the fact they’d have to do the flyby during daylight hours. Logan had wasted enough time. After he and Mike agreed on a plan, Alif drove them to the backside of a hill that overlooked the compound from a western vantage point. Logan checked his ICE watch. Olivia’s signal was the strongest it had been since leaving France. She was down there. Now, he needed to figure out where.
As a precaution, both Logan and Mike wore jihadi turbans as they climbed the distance toward the summit. Before they crested the hill, they dropped and leopard-crawled until the compound came into view.
“Looks oddly peaceful from here,” said Mike.
Logan pulled his binoculars out of his pack. “But it’s not. Check out the guards at ten and six.”
“And two—there’s a human leg showing beneath the canopy.”
Surrounded by razor wire, the compound was huge. A dirt airstrip ran along the north boundary, extending behind an enormous mansion that hadn’t looked like much from the satellite image.
“The buildings must be covered with anti-aircraft netting,” said Logan.
Mike held his set of binoculars to his eyes. “Aye, they’re trying to keep the place hidden for certain.”
The nearest building was in the worst shape, looking like a rundown warehouse. Logan pointed. “My guess is the girls are in there.”
“Is that a canopy of netting, or a rooftop?” asked Mike.
“Can’t tell from here.” Logan lowered his binoculars and backed down the hill until his head was clear. “Let’s just hope the thing stays aloft long enough for us to acquire intel. Are you ready?”
Mike patted his M4. “Let her rip.”
Logan flipped on the camera before the quad propellers spun, slowly taking the drone aloft. Once he had the drone high enough so the noise from the props couldn’t be heard, he pushed the joystick forward until it hovered on the edge of the compound and came into view.
“Picture looks good.” Mike watched the screen while Logan
maneuvered the drone.
Against the breeze to allay the electronic whirr, he steered it between the guards at six and ten.
“Damn,” Mike swore.
Logan glanced toward the screen. “What do you see?”
“Bugger all. The place is in the shadows. Can you move her south?”
“Roger that.” Logan shifted the joystick while trying to get a bit more height. “Do you see anyone?”
“Just two of the guards.”
Logan leaned in and took a glance at the screen. “The only way we’ll pick anything up is if someone moves below the mesh.”
“Take her higher. With a few good pictures we ought to be able get a better feel for the layout.”
“I’ll see if she’s got anything left.” While Logan watched the drone, something flashed. “Shit.” Lead dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“What?”
“She’s blown her engine. Dive bombing for a crash landing.”
Mike folded up the laptop and shoved it in the backpack. “Time to disappear, mate.”
A bullet hissed over Logan’s turban before he heard the shot. “Incoming!”
Together, they slid down the slope until it was safe enough to hop to their feet. Running to the truck, Logan rolled his finger through the air, signaling Alif to fire up the engine.
Logan took the middle then Mike jumped in on the passenger side. Alif gunned the motor, driving off as fast as the old truck could go, topping out at forty miles per hour.
It wasn’t long before al-Umari’s guards made chase. At the sound of approaching vehicles, Logan leaned forward to look out Alif’s side mirror. Through the dust, two motorcycles were closing in, shooters on the back.
“They’re gaining fast,” said Mike.
Logan drew his Glock and flipped off the safety.
“I can’t out run them!” Alif shouted.
Logan pointed to an intersection—dirt, but all the roads within miles were dirt. “Turn up there.”
Alif gaped. “What?”