Sworn Enemies, Secret Lovers

by Eve Rabi

  When Shaida reaches over and takes Wyatt from me, I resist, but she pries away my hands and takes my baby. As she walks away with Wyatt, Reed and Leeanne have to hold me back as I try to run after her.

  About ten minutes later, Bygone walks in and whispers excitedly in Reed’s ear.

  Reed nods then says, “They made it out. I’ll leave in fifteen minutes.” His voice is somber.

  Leeanne casts her eyes heavenward. “Thank you, God,” she murmurs.

  It’s no relief to me. All I can think about is that my baby’s gone. Gone.

  Reed’s asking me a question, but numbness prevents me from answering. Once again, I turn and stare vacantly at the wall. When Leeanne tries to hold my hand, I shrug her off.

  Reed gets up and tries to hold me, but I slap his hand away and turn my back to him.

  With a slight nod, he walks slowly towards the door. I refuse to look at him. But when he gets to the door, I spin around to look at him, to watch him leave my life. He stops walking and turns for probably one last look.

  But I’m not looking at Reed – I’m looking at Omar standing behind Reed, my eyes the size of saucers.

  What is Omar doing here, in my room, at a time like this? Does he know anything?

  Reed follows my gaze and jerks back at the sight of Omar and about seven of his men.

  Omar looks at me, his eyes hooded. “You sent your baby away?”

  I stand frozen. How could he know?

  Omar whips out his sword and walks over to me and my heart falls to my ankles.

  He grabs me into a headlock and places the sword in front of my throat. Terror prevents me from screaming.

  “Wait!” Reed shouts. “It was me. I did it! I sent the baby away. It was me!”

  “Omar!” Mahmood yells, clearly distraught at his leader’s actions. “What are you doing? Why, Omar, why? C’mon man …”

  Omar glares at Reed, his nostrils flaring. “You …you traitor to your people?”

  Reed says nothing.

  “You go! You bring back baby, she live. In one hour. Only one hour.”

  Reed nods vigorously. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it!”

  Omar shoves me away from him and storms out of my room, his lips a thin line.

  Gasping with terror at what just happened, I lean against a chair for support. For a few moments, nobody moves.

  Then Reed hurries up to me. “You okay?”

  I nod.

  “I’m bringing him back, Megan.”

  “No!” I cry. “Don’t!”

  “Megan, I’m bringing him back!”

  “Not a good idea,” Mahmood whispers. “He will kill you.”

  Ignoring Mahmood, Reed grabs his jacket and rushes out of the room.

  “Reed don’t! Just keep him safe!” I shout, but he’s gone.

  Leeanne paces as she chews on her nails. “How did he find out?” Her voice is high and shrill.

  I shake my head.

  “Shaida?” Leeanne asks. “Bygone?”

  I continue shaking my head.

  “Who could possibly have told him?” she mutters.

  Everyone who knows Omar knows that he is Saddam’s disciple and he is ruthless, so they would know that Reed and I, and anyone helping us cross him, would be instantly killed.

  Five minutes later, to everyone’s horror, Omar summons me to the ward, where, guarded by two of his men with AK-47s, I sit on a chair and watch the clock.

  A lesson for all – betray Omar and this will be your fate too.

  2:05 p.m. Leeanne plays feverishly with her prayer beads while Darla walks around in circles, saying nothing. Around me, everyone in the bunker talks in hushed tones, their eyes flitting between me and the clock. Almost everyone sports worried looks.

  Mahmood brings me a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” I murmur as I sip on it. Could be my last drink.

  2:30 p.m. What would I do if I were Reed? I shake my head, deciding not to play that game. I never want to be in that position.

  “He’s not coming back,” Darla whispers.

  “How do you know that?” Leeanne snaps.

  Darla shrugs. “He’s got the baby, he’s got his freedom. He’s home free. Huh?”

  “You don’t know Reed well enough to say that,” Leeanne snaps. But Leeanne doesn’t sound that convinced to me.

  “Mff! He probably knows he’s going to get it from Omar when he gets back, and he’s not that stupid to come back with the baby.”

  Mahmood glares at Darla. “Can you just SHUT up?”

  “Can you just SHUT up?” Darla mimics.

  2:55 p.m. Everyone stops what they are doing and watches the clock, like they would a solar eclipse or something. The place is so silent; we can hear the clock ticking.

  I start to think about Stall and how they cut his throat in front of me, and my breathing comes out in spurts. Please God, let them shoot me. It’s a quicker death. Please let me feel no pain. Please God keep my baby safe. Keep Reed …

  Omar walks over and sits across from me, looking every inch the devil he is.

  As the final minutes tick by, I keep my eyes averted. I’m no longer afraid. Perhaps because shock and numbness take over.

  3 p.m. Reed is not here.

  Through my numbness, and even though I told Reed not to return, disappointment cloaks me. But I don’t hold it against him. He’s doing the right thing, I tell myself. He’s putting our baby first. That’s how it ought to be.

  Omar stands up and shouts out instructions to Fiaz. With a smile Fiaz almost curtseys, then slowly unsheathes his sword.

  “Wait!” Mahmood walks over to Omar and gesticulates wildly – like he’s pleading my case. Clearly he’s not winning, because Omar shakes his head from side to side.

  Leeanne gets on her knees and prays.

  Then Reed bursts through the door with Wyatt in his hands. “Wait! Wait!” he shouts.

  A murmur runs through the crowd at the sight of Reed carrying Wyatt.

  “Why?” I say to Reed as he approaches me with our baby.

  “I can’t do it, okay? I just can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Megan. I’m sorry!”

  Not knowing what to do or say, I take my precious baby from him and clutch him helplessly to me.

  Omar watches the two of us with eyes like granite. “Kill him,” he says.

  “What?!” I scream. “No! No! Please!”

  But my pleas fall on deaf ears. One of the men positions himself behind Reed, grabs his arms, and hooks them behind Reed’s back while the other knees Reed in the stomach and punches him repeatedly in the face.

  Leeanne and I scream at the sight of Reed being beaten up. All I can do is watch helplessly as they drag Reed away. Omar and Mahmood follow Reed.

  Shaking, Leeanne and I cling to each other while the men in the ward mutter under their breath about it being wrong. One of them gives me some water, while another takes little Wyatt from me.

  “One of you told, so don’t act so innocent and upset!” Leeanne snarls at the men. “Which of you told? Are you happy now? Huh? Huh?”

  I scan the men’s faces for signs of guilt. Could it be Imtiaz? Maybe it was Bygone? Who can we trust now?

  Then I see her – leaning against the entrance to my door, a smug smile on her face.

  “Darla!” I gasp. “You? You told? No!”

  She gives a nonchalant shrug.

  “Noooo!” Leeanne cries. “Not you, Darla!”

  “Why?” I demand. “Why Darla? He was trying to save our baby!”

  She calmly inspects her nails. “Riyaard is my man and I have his back.”

  “But Reed, he kept your SECRET, DAAAARLA!” I shout. “He never TOLD!”

  Again she lifts and drops her shoulders.

  “They’re gonna kill him,” Leeanne says.

  “Not my problem,” Darla flings and saunters away.

  I lose it. “You BITCH! You fucking sonofa … you WHORE! Fucking –”

  “Whateva!” With an even smugger smil
e, she saunters away.

  I have to really fight the urge to grab a blunt object and smash it against her evil skull.

  As if she’s reading my mind, Leeanne holds me back. “Leave her, Megan. Don’t provoke her any further. She’ll hurt you.”

  Betrayed, not by an Iraqi militant whose aim is to kill every American in sight, but by another POW. Another American POW.

  Breathless, I wear out the carpet in my room with my pacing. “You have to find out what they did to Reed, Leeanne. You have to.”

  With a nod, she sticks her neck out of my room, scouts around, then creeps out.

  Fifteen agonizing minutes later, she returns.

  “What? What did you ...?”

  “He’s in the dungeon. Hurt, but he’s alive.”

  Thank you, God!

  “How … how bad is he, Leeanne?”

  When she won’t meet my eyes, I just know his injuries must be severe. I start to shake.

  “He’s alive, Megan. That’s all that matters right now.”

  I stare at the floor. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

  “Megan, listen to me!”

  Slowly, I raise my eyes to meet hers.

  “You have to snap out of it. You have to figure out a way to help Reed and maybe prevent them from taking your baby, Megan.”

  “How, Leeanne, how?”

  She jerks her thumb towards the ward. “Mahmood. He’s your trump card. Win him over, Megan. He’s got muscle here and maybe you can … swing him around to see things your way. Get him on your side, make him your friend and just … I don’t know – take advantage of that freedom he talked about. You have to do it, Megan. Everything, Reed’s life, Wyatt’s safety, your safety – all rests on your shoulders, girl. You have to do it.”

  I nod my head, overwhelmed with everything.

  “Connect with him. Connect with your kidnapper, Megan, we’re always told. Connect with your jailor. Can you do that? Of course you can!”

  She’s right – everything rests on my weary shoulders now. What a burden I bear.

  She grabs my chin and looks me in the eye. “He’s your get-out-of-jail-card. Use it. Use him.”

  Feeling like I have the world on my shoulders, I sink slowly into a chair.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As can be expected, I’ve barely slept. But now, I stagger into the bathroom, splash some cold water on my face, and brush my hair till it … well, it’s never going to shine, so I throw the hairbrush aside.

  After a quick application of cheery-cherry lip balm I stole from Darla months ago, I straighten my shoulders and view myself in the mirror. Need more color to disguise my veil of dullness. Slipping on my brightest colored top, I ignore my head-scarf and make my way to the ward in search of my get-out-of-jail card.

  “Megan!”

  I swing around to look at Mahmood. Next to him is Satan, or Omar, as some people call him. Luckily, Mahmood spotted me before I did him.

  I flash him a saccharine smile. “Morning, Mahmood.”

  His blue eyes flit all over my face, probably wondering if I’m okay after what happened to Reed. “You okay, Megan?”

  “Yeah. But I need coffee. You want some?” My voice is supposed to be light, but to me it seems a tad shrill.

  “Eh …” he shakes his head, a look of relief on his face.

  He squints at me. “You look … different today.”

  Different. I’ll take it. Slowly, I tuck strands of hair behind my ears. “Oh, I … I’ve forgotten my headscarf.” I manage a demure smile. “Am I in trouble?”

  “Nah.” He waves dismissively. “Never seen you without it before and …” His look is one of appreciation.

  Faking a blush is hard when anger and fear and hatred coils tightly around my heart, but I manage it.

  Pleased, he smiles. Neither he nor I mention Reed.

  “Come, we want to show you something,” he says and ushers me forward. I don’t protest.

  They lead me to the back of the bunker, which is out of bounds to us prisoners. We stop outside a room that I’ve never been in. Mahmood punches a few buttons on a keypad on the door – 911911. How can I possibly forget that code? The door opens.

  Mahmood throws out his arms. “After you.”

  I take a step inside and gasp. “Holy cow! Holy fucking cow!”

  “Impressive huh?” Mahmood beams at my reaction.

  Under their scrutiny, I tiptoe around the room in awe. Impressive sight, alright. How could coalition forces have missed this cache of arms? Military issue weapons, heavy machinery guns, Uzi 9mm machine pistols, grenade launchers, AK-47s, pistols, night vision goggles, chemical suits, and a whole lot of other powerful weapons that can be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. Like these fuckers’ hands.

  There is also a good supply of vests on hangers for suicide bombers. Most chilling is the sight of empty jacket hangers. No wonder this side of the bunker is out of bounds.

  But what really catches my eye is the man seated at a table, pounding away at a laptop. A quick glance at his screen tells me that he is typing an email. The thought of the Internet so close to me sends a shiver of excitement through me.

  “There’s more,” Mahmood says. “This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “This iceberg must cost a fortune,” I whisper. “How do you …?”

  “All donated.”

  “Wow! Who donates this kind of assistance?”

  “Supporters with money and power throughout the world. They’ll give us anything we need for our jihad. You’ll be surprised who our benefactors are. Really surprised! What do you think?”

  I look at Mahmood. He’s obviously a nut job to gain so much pleasure from something so sinister.

  “Unbelievable!” I gush.

  He smiles and looks at Omar. Omar nods slightly, also appearing pleased with my reaction.

  “Who are our benefactors?” I ask breathlessly. “Tell me! C’mon.”

  He cocks his head to one side. “All in good time, Zarina.” I’m taken aback by him calling me that. “Let’s go have some tea.”

  We make our way back to the ward where Omar leaves us.

  Connect with your jailor.

  “Tea sounds great, Mahmood.” As we walk, I turn to him, “Where you from?”

  He stops walking. “You don’t know?”

  “No,” I lie. “I hear your accent, so I’m thinking …” I cock my head to one side and try to be lighthearted. “Khazistan?”

  He bursts out laughing. First time I’ve heard him laugh.

  “What’s your real name?”

  He smiles. “What’s with all the questions? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s just so good to meet someone from my neck of the woods and …” I shrug.

  “True, it’s good to talk English to a woman. But Mahmood is my real name.”

  “Come now, you don’t want me to guess your real name, Mahmood. Might not be pleasant, you know.”

  His smile is condescending. “Guess,” he says. “Go on.” The fucker likes games, I see.

  “Mmm.” My eyes turn to slits. “Three guesses?”

  He nods vigorously and holds up three fingers.

  “If I get it right – I stroll out of here with … Omar’s head on a plate, complete with turban?”

  He laughs so loud, everybody gawks.

  “Sure,” he says. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

  “Ok … ay,” I say, appearing thoughtful. “Got some baking and brewing to do.”

  I slip into my room, shut the door, and sink to the floor. For a while, I sit with my head in my hands. Talking to Mahmood, pretending to be happy and lighthearted in front of him and Omar is like pretending you don’t have a toothache. But I’ve got to chip away at him. It’s the only way I can help Reed and save my baby.

  Reed! I shake my head hard to clear thoughts of him lying almost dead in the dungeon. Can’t afford to think about him right now.

 
Focus, Megan, focus.

  ***

  “And …?” Mahmood’s baby-blues are bright and expectant. “Quick, before Omar arrives.”

  I play. “Umm, Harold?”

  “Wrong!” He grins, a look of triumph on his face.

  “O … kay, I still have two more guesses, right?”

  “Right!”

  When Omar appears, Mahmood’s smile vanishes and the ramrod in his back appears. “Zarina, Omar thinks I … I …” He fidgets and fumbles, peaking my curiosity – what could make this guy suddenly so nervous? With his eyes on the table in front of him, he says, “What I’m trying to say, is like … Omar … he thinks I need a partner in my life.”

  And …

  He raises his eyes to meet mine. “You.” His last word is a whisper.

  Have you forgotten about Reed? I love Reed. I could never even think about another man right now, let alone you.

  I look at the floor, then at him, then at the floor again, and finally my eyes rest on him.

  He leans forward and says, “Omar is right, Megan. We could be perfect for each other. I’ll take care of you … make sure Wyatt stays with you and … I’ll make you happy, Megan. I swear.” His voice is pleading and his loneliness is tangible. He’s also calling me Megan, not Zarina, which tells me he’s nervous.

  Knowing I have to tread with more than just caution, I sit right back into my chair and rack my stupefied brain for something appropriate to say. “I … I eh, gee, this is unexpected, Mahmood.”

  He nods several times. “Megan, listen, think about it. It could really work. Just give it a chance, okay?”

  “Eh, sure … sure, Mahmood, I will think about it.” I manage to summon a smile from fuck knows where.

  Omar nudges him and he continues. “The resistance will give us one million dollars. American! That buys a lot in a country like Iraq.”

  “One million dollars?! From the resistance? Wow! Is that what you got?”

  He nods.

  “Why? I mean, why do they have to pay you, when you do this because of your intense beliefs in this … this jihad?” Bad idea to ask a question like this, but I can’t help it.

  “Gratitude, appreciation ... wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. They don’t give it to everyone, just us foreigners.”

  “Mmm, one million dollars sure is a lot of money. Sounds like bribery, though.”