TICK TOCK (EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Book 1)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Amira was gasping for breath, her eyes wide as I crushed her with my weight. I think she tried to speak, but I was stone deaf. Her lips moved and I saw blood pouring from a deep cut on her cheek, scorch marks across her clothes, and her hands were painted crimson as she pointed.

  I turned my head, the movement sending a shocking pain through me.

  And I saw Clay.

  Together we’d shielded Amira from most of the blast: but I was wearing a bomb suit—and he wasn’t.

  Clay was lying on the ground, coated in blood. So much blood all around him. His eyes blinking rapidly, his hands clamped around the top of his thigh. And the rest of his leg was 30 meters away, still in the denim jeans he’d been wearing that morning.

  As if in slow motion, I saw Smith running toward us, shouting something.

  I gave him a signal to say that the main charge was safe. He kept running toward us, skidding in Clay’s blood as he knelt over him.

  He was saying something, but Clay’s eyes were closing.

  Police and paramedics followed Smith, and I remember thinking how red Clay’s blood was, and how much of it was coating the pavement outside the Disney store in Times Square.

  The giant windows were shattered, lethal shards of glass lying everywhere. Mickey Mouse blown sky high.

  But Amira was alive.

  And I was alive.

  Clay was … I didn’t know.

  Amira

  WHEN I SAW the flash of light, I thought that was it. Death had come for me at last. Death had finally won.

  A blow hit me solidly in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs, and heat scorched me as I was flung backwards.

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t make my lungs work.

  And I waited. Waiting for that moment when my soul would leave my body. And for a moment, I think it did. I felt weightless, light as air, and without pain.

  I spiralled upwards, calm and at peace, happy. The thin thread that bound me to my battered body would break soon, and I’d be free forever.

  Amira, you have to wake up now.

  Karam?

  Then a feeling like I’d fallen from a great height as I slammed back to earth.

  I gasped as someone drove a red hot branding iron into my side. The scream caught in my throat, or maybe I screamed and couldn’t hear it. My ears were ringing and my whole body was being squeezed, suffocated.

  Suddenly, the weight left me, and only then I realized that James was kneeling over me. He’d taken off his helmet and he was saying something. It seemed important, but I couldn’t understand him.

  Then he clamped his hands against my side, hurting me so badly. I screamed and screamed and screamed … and then I was gone, floating in blackness, floating, floating…

  SOMEONE STABBED THE back of my hand and I woke up to see an IV line attached to a bag of fluids.

  I was in an ambulance, strapped to a gurney, and a paramedic was pressing white hot knives into my side.

  No, that wasn’t right.

  Her lips were moving, and her eyes kept darting to mine, but I didn’t see cruelty in them, only compassion. I think she was helping me, trying to tell me something, but my brain wasn’t working and I was underwater, her voice coming from far away, so far away. I tried to focus on her mouth. It was forming shapes and her eyebrows went up. Ah, a question. What was she asking me?

  I tried to speak but my throat was dry and my tongue too big for my mouth. I mumbled incoherently, but that seemed to please her. She smiled reassuringly and I tried to smile back, but my lips wouldn’t make the shape. I had an important question to ask her, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

  Something cool and soothing flowed through my veins taking the pain with it. That felt nice. But I had to remember … something I had to remember…

  THE NEXT TIME I woke up, pain blasted through my entire body and I groaned.

  “That’s it, Amira. Wake up now. You’re doing great. That’s it, open your eyes. I’m Dr. Walden. Do you know where you are?”

  My head was pounding and my eyelids felt heavy, but I managed to peel them open, squinting at the bright lights. My eyes focussed slowly on the person standing in front of me.

  This man’s eyes were the wrong colour—they were brown, not blue like a lake.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “Hospital?” I croaked.

  “Yes, that’s good. Do you remember what happened to you?”

  Tears pooled in my eyes.

  “Bomb.”

  He spoke to someone standing behind me.

  “Recall seems unaffected.”

  “James? Where?” I mumbled. “Clay?”

  And then Smith moved into view beside me.

  “Hey, there. You scared the shit out of us, but you’re doing okay. You’re in hospital. You have a punctured lung and you’ve, um, got a cut on your cheek, so there’ll be a small scar, a few burns—it got pretty hot out there.” He cleared his throat. “James is fine, caught some frag in his hand, but he’s okay. He’s being debriefed now.”

  James. Eyes like a summer morning.

  “He saved my life,” I wheezed.

  Smith squeezed my hand gently.

  “I know. He saved a lot of people. Guy’s a hero. Don’t tell him I said that,” and he chuckled softly.

  “Clay?”

  I opened my eyes again when he didn’t reply.

  “Clay?”

  “Well, I won’t lie to you—he’s not doing so great. He lost a lot of blood. He’s in surgery now.”

  Oh no.

  Tears weighed me down, pulling me under.

  “Sleep now, Amira.”

  So I did.

  James

  WHEN I OPENED the door to Amira’s hospital room, she screamed so loudly, I nearly dropped to the floor, looking around for the danger, reaching for a weapon I didn’t have. And then I realized that she was screaming at me.

  The hysterical noise shut off as suddenly as it had begun and she gasped, her hand flying to her injured cheek.

  “Oh … it’s you.”

  Not the words I’d been hoping to hear, but it was a start.

  Rubbing my bruised knee, I stood up cautiously.

  “How are you?” I asked carefully, keeping my distance.

  Her face crumpled, and I saw her fight to hold back the tears.

  “Everything is an illusion!” she cried out.

  Her words were confusing. Smith hadn’t said anything about a traumatic brain injury, although that was always a possibility after being caught in a bomb blast.

  “What do you mean?”

  I edged closer, but she turned her head to stare at the wall.

  “The idea that anything will be okay. Ever.”

  I stayed silent, weighing her words, and finally she turned to look at me.

  “I’ll never be able to relax, to turn it off. My mind, my body—I have all these memories trapped inside—and it’s like I’ll … explode … from having them all inside me.” She closed her eyes. “I dream that I’m exploding.”

  I sat down on the chair next to her and cautiously reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold and limp but she didn’t pull away.

  “I know.”

  She grimaced.

  “That’s it? You know? No words of wisdom for me, James?”

  Her voice was sharp, knives aimed at me. I flinched.

  “I wish I did.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I don’t know what I’m saying. Half the time I don’t know what I’m thinking. Oh, you’re hurt!”

  The white of my sling blended in with the t-shirt that Smith had found for me.

  “They had to dig out a few bits of metal, but I’m okay. They don’t think there’s any nerve damage. I’ll have to wait for the swelling to go down to be sure.” I shrugged uneasily. “I’m okay.”

  She bit her lip as tears leaked from her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily.

  “They sa
y I’ll be scarred,” she announced quickly, her dark eyes darting to mine and away again. “They got a plastic surgeon to sew up my face, but…”

  The bandage on her cheek was stark against her pale caramel skin, and bruises covered her face, neck and arms.

  Smith told me what they’d done to her. Just thinking about how she’d been violated, sent waves of anger rushing through me with enough adrenaline so that I shuddered with rage. Evil bastards. Soulless monsters. I wanted to kill them. I wanted to stand in front of them and watch as the blood drained from their bodies.

  But my anger wasn’t what Amira needed right now. I wasn’t even sure I could do anything to help her, everything she was going through, but I had to try.

  Because I cared. About her. And through all the craziness and pain and madness, the thought of saving her, of seeing her again, of seeing her smile, maybe even relaxed and happy after we’d made love…

  But it was stupid to think of that.

  I’d take what I could get, even if was just shadows.

  “The doc says you’ll be okay…”

  She didn’t answer for the longest time, and it was torture to sit there and wait for her to speak, and even then she didn’t give me an answer.

  “Do you think everything happens for a reason?”

  “What? Like … Fate?”

  “I don’t know, James,” she said, her voice distant. “Maybe everything does happen for a reason—God’s purpose for us all, Inshallah.”

  My response was immediate and dismissive.

  “You think a fanatic like Umar happens for a reason? You think Clay lost his leg because it was God’s purpose?”

  She frowned. Maybe it was the anger in my voice, or maybe just the volume.

  My voice shook.

  “You think you were raped for a reason?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Yes, they raped me for a reason—to shame me, to belittle me; to show me that I was nothing, less than human. To show that they had all the power and I had none. There were lots of reasons.” She paused. “The question is: was that God’s purpose for me?”

  I gaped at her.

  “Amira! You can’t think…”

  “Because it delayed them,” she said quietly. “What they did to me … took time. And in that time, you came for me. You found me and saved all those people—hundreds, maybe thousands of people.” She cocked her head on one side. “Their vanity, their need to reduce me to nothing—that led to their failure, do you see?”

  I swallowed hard. Was this what she needed? To believe that her rape had been for a higher purpose? The thought sickened me, and bile rose in my throat, choking me.

  “I believe,” I said slowly, “that they were evil bastards—and they’re the ones who deserve to die.”

  “We all die one day,” she said tiredly, turning away and staring at the wall.

  “Amira, there were mums with kids in that Disney store, did you know that? Smith’s people were able to get them away from the windows and to safety in time.”

  She gave a small smile.

  “You see? God’s purpose. You saved them, James. You saved me. I haven’t thanked you. What you did was incredibly brave.” Then she frowned. “But … Clay. How is he?”

  “He’ll live,” I said bleakly. “Minus one leg. They’re talking about more operations…”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Yeah,” I said, softening my voice. “He asked after you.”

  “What did he say?”

  I turned away, the words like acid on my tongue.

  “He said to tell you, ‘Have faith.’ That’s what he said.”

  Amira smiled.

  I’d never had much faith, but now I had none. Clay’s words tasted foul as I said them, but she’d asked me, and I promised myself that I’d tell her the truth if she did ask.

  I didn’t know what to say to her, I just knew that I didn’t want to leave her. Smith had told me that she still needed to be debriefed and he’d be by to do that soon.

  Suddenly, Amira’s door opened, but it wasn’t Smith. I didn’t know these people, but I had a shrewd idea who they were.

  “Ya aynee!”

  Amira’s face was blank for half a second and then a tentative smile grew wider as her eyes became glassy with tears.

  “Baba! Mama! Zada! How…? When…?”

  They crowded around her bed, talking in English, then rapid Arabic, then English again, words halting and broken as her mother and sister cried, and her father sat with his head bowed, tears running down his lined face, grasping one of her hands in his.

  I watched for a few seconds, then turned to leave. They were her family and I was … no one. But Amira called my name.

  “James!” and she looked at her parents. “This is James.”

  They gazed at me, puzzled and wary.

  “He saved my life.”

  Her father stood up slowly.

  “You? You’re the one.”

  I nodded.

  He held out his hand, shaking my good hand formally, then grasping it in both of his with a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice broken. “Thank you for saving my child.”

  I was uncomfortable with his thanks, and the way Amira’s mother and sister gazed at me, fresh tears on their cheeks.

  “You’re welcome,” I said stupidly. Bloody hell, could I be more ridiculous? “I’ll, er, see you later.”

  Amira didn’t even notice when I left.

  Amira

  IT WAS COMFORTING to have my family with me, but there were so many tears, so many truths to unpick from the myriad of lies I’d told them. They were hurt, angry, and so scared for me.

  I felt like I was carrying the weight of their sadness on top of my own.

  They were staying in a nearby hotel and visited every day. My parents seemed bewildered, unable to understand what I’d done and why. So they focused on my physical recovery, talking about when I’d go back to work, when I’d be in California again—anything that focused on the future.

  Zada was quiet, and I knew that she was upset and angry—she didn’t understand my choices at all. I saw her looking at me like she didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t blame her because I felt the same. I wasn’t the woman I’d been before Karam’s death, and I wasn’t the woman I’d been before I met Smith. But I didn’t know what this new version of Amira would be. And no one could tell me.

  As soon as I was able to, I went to see Clay.

  I thought he was asleep when I first saw him, and I took in the cage over the bed, keeping the sheets away from his injured leg. His eyes were covered with gauze, and I knew he had burns on his eyelids that they were treating. But then his sleepy voice made me look up.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Amira.”

  “Hey, girl!” His voice was weaker than I remembered it. “It’s good to see you. Well, not see you exactly. But thanks for coming.”

  I smiled and sat down next to him, taking his hand in mine.

  “It’s good to see you, too. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better. You?”

  “Yes, I’ve been better, too, but I’ll be okay.”

  We sat in silence, holding hands, with so much to say, and I didn’t know where to start.

  “You didn’t leave me,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “Ya amar, I’d never leave you. I told you that.”

  “What you did, what happened to you … I don’t even know how to…”

  “Don’t,” he said quietly. “I’d do it all over again. No regrets, Amira. I promise you. I have no regrets.”

  Tears began to trickle down my cheeks as he squeezed my hand.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” I hiccupped.

  “Nah, you need to thank that crazy Brit,” he said, forcing a smile. “He’s the one in love with you.”

  His words were a sudden drenching of ice water.

  “What? No!” I shook my head vehement
ly. “You’re wrong, Clay.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so. Give him a chance, Amira. He’s a good guy. Now, tell me about your sister. Is she single?”

  I gaped at him, my brain reeling.

  “Zada?”

  “Yeah, she sounded cute,” he grinned.

  “How do you even know her?”

  His expression became serious.

  “She came to see me. She wanted to, you know, thank me and all that. We got talking.” He smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So? Is she single?”

  “She’s too good for you,” I laughed.

  “Aw, don’t be jealous,” he teased.

  Suddenly, the door opened and James was standing there, a look of surprise on his face.

  “Hi,” he said quietly.

  “And there’s the man of the hour,” grinned Clay. “Good to see you, brother.”

  “I’d better go,” I said, standing up hurriedly. “I’ll see you later, Clay.”

  “I’ll count on it,” he said.

  James just watched me leave.

  I couldn’t think about him, I just couldn’t.

  I almost ran down the corridor to my room, determined to think of anything except him.

  Not that I had much time for introspection, and maybe that was deliberate.

  For one thing, I had to meet with Smith’s people every day, whoever he worked for—I never found out—they continued the debriefing. They extracted every tiny detail of information from me about who I’d seen at the camps, what had been said, what had been done and when, any names or places that had been mentioned, what we wore, what we ate, where we slept, the toilet and washing facilities, and numerous other details that seemed inconsequential to me. Then they’d asked me to describe the methods used for making the explosives and detonators, how they were stored, packed and transported.

  I had to describe Larson’s death several times, which was exhausting and horrific, until it occurred to me that they were testing me for any differences in my report that might mean I was lying. That hurt, and then it made me angry. I’d nearly died trying to be some sort of super-agent, when the reality was I was just me, poor and pathetic and a terrible undercover spy. And I knew, I knew that I was responsible for Larson’s death. If I’d been stronger or cleverer or more aware, I would have escaped, and then Larson would be alive.