by Susan Stoker
Dude commented, “He’s being very careful to keep his identity a secret.”
“There’s no way to tell what he looks like from this angle,” Abe agreed.
Slade ground his teeth together and clenched his fists at his side. He didn’t give a shit about Fourati at the moment. All his attention was on Dakota. She looked at the face of the man sitting in front of her, her back ramrod straight, and didn’t move a muscle. Someone in the background was speaking, probably in Arabic, but Slade didn’t hear any of it. He tried to figure out what Dakota was thinking instead.
She looked scared…and pissed. Seeing how angry she was made him relax a fraction. If she was upset, then she wasn’t broken…yet.
“Where’s Caroline?” Wolf asked no one in particular as the video continued. The camera didn’t waver, as if it was on a tripod or some other sturdy surface.
Slade had no idea what a traditional Tunisian wedding ceremony was like, but when someone off camera began to speak in English, he figured it wasn’t this.
“Do you, Anoushka, take Aziz Fourati as your husband? Do you promise to obey and follow his every command? Will you defend him over all others, even give your life for him and the cause of Ansar Al-Shari’a?”
“Yes,” Dakota said immediately.
Slade frowned. Why had she agreed so easily? What had Fourati done to her to make her so compliant?
The voice off camera continued. “Do you promise your womb to the Ansar al-Shari’a cause? Will you freely and willingly take your husband’s sacred fluid into your body to create the next supreme ruler?”
“Yes,” Dakota said again.
Slade saw her flinch this time, but she kept eye contact with the man in front of her.
“Aziz, the woman in front of you is now yours to do with what you want. Yours to punish, yours to praise, yours to worship. She will give the cause their next leader and we will praise this day for years to come. This is the beginning of Ansar al-Shari’a’s reign of supremacy. So it shall be.”
The man sitting in front of Dakota bowed his head, then kneeled on the floor in front of Dakota. He did something they couldn’t see because of the angle of the camera, and Slade wanted to reach through the computer screen and snatch Dakota away from him when her lip curled in disgust at whatever he was doing.
The voice off camera then began to speak in Arabic once more. The man Dakota had apparently just married moved sideways out of range without once turning his face to the camera.
The person speaking in the background went silent and the camera zoomed in on Dakota. She glanced to her left, winced again, then looked back at the camera. Then she began to speak. Her voice was flat and had no intonation whatsoever. It was obvious she was reading something held up in front of her, off camera, word for word.
My name is Anoushka Fourati. My husband, Aziz Fourati, is the leader, chosen by God, of Ansar al-Shari’a. I am honored to have been chosen to carry his offspring, the future of our movement. God willing, this child will be born to all of us in due haste. In the meantime, carry on the fight. Do not let the heathens of this country lead you astray. Our time is coming. We need more soldiers. I am willing to die for my husband, for my God, and for Ansar al-Shari’a. Are you? Will you ascend to heaven to be with our God, or will you spend the rest of eternity in the pits of hell with the other citizens of this country who don’t believe? Stay tuned for more instructions. Long live Aziz Fourati.
Dakota remained seated, her legs apart, her hands gripping the arms of the chair she was sitting in. Her face blank of all emotion. The last thing Slade saw before the screen went blank was Dakota’s eyes looking off to the left of the camera once more, her head nodding once.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” Wolf exclaimed. “Where’s Ice? Did we just watch Cutter’s woman marry that asshole Fourati? Tex, you better have something,” he finished in a cold, hard voice.
“I’m sending a copy of the video to all of you now,” Tex answered.
“And?” Slade asked. “Where are they? Did you trace the feed?”
“It’s untraceable,” Tex said reluctantly. “They’ve got a really good tech person.”
“Tex, you’re a really fucking good tech person,” Cookie said. “I can’t believe you can’t get a lead on this guy.”
“Tex,” Slade said softly with desperation in his tone. “We’ve got nothing. No tracker. Fourati made sure of that. We don’t even have a picture of this guy. All we know is that he’s blond and American. We need more. You have to find him.”
“I’m trying,” Tex told his old friend. “Swear to Christ, I’m trying.”
“She just married him,” Slade whispered. “He’s going to rape her. I don’t know how he’s controlling her, but if we don’t get there, fucking soon, he’s going to hurt the woman I love. She won’t be the same if he gets his hands on her.”
“I don’t have a definitive trace,” Tex said, all business, “but I do know it’s coming from your area. The signal is bouncing around like crazy, but it’s pinging off all local towers and servers. He’s not far. One, he didn’t have time to get that far away, and two, he has to have an inside connection to you guys. He wouldn’t have known about the trackers if he didn’t.”
Relieved now that Tex seemed to have his head back in the game, Slade sat back and listened as he spoke with Wolf and the rest of the guys.
“He’d need to use local power to be able to broadcast. The kind of thing he’s doing can’t be done with a simple modem. The camera set up they have is more sophisticated than a simple cell phone and broadcasting via Facebook Live. And wherever they are, it’s not in the middle of nowhere,” Tex said, talking more to himself than anyone else.
“The room they were in was concrete,” Cookie added.
“And what about her clothes? Those aren’t exactly found in the local Walmart. Maybe they were special ordered,” Abe suggested.
“Yeah,” Tex nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do a search for online orders of traditional Tunisian clothing.”
“The camera equipment isn’t shit either,” Wolf noted. “The video almost sounded and looked professional.”
“Got it,” Tex said. “I’ll look for purchases of video stuff too. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Slade said. “We have to get lucky.”
“Tex, we’re going to review the footage. See if anything stands out. Can you take out the voices and see if there’s any background noise that will help point us to their location? Vehicles, boats, planes, fucking birds, anything,” Wolf said.
“Will do,” Tex agreed. “I’ll see if I can pick up anyone else talking behind the scenes as well. Sometimes people whisper behind the camera, thinking they can’t be heard. I’ll also see if I can pinpoint who else was watching the feed. Maybe some of his recruits have information and we can backtrack to Fourati through them. Later.”
Slade clicked off the phone.
Wolf immediately sat on the couch with his laptop. “You guys remember when Ice gave us a huge hint as to where she was being held when the asshole who took her filmed a beating he gave her? She might’ve talked to Dakota and it’s possible she did the same.”
“Yeah, Caroline talked about gulls and boats, which led us to look near the coast. Dakota is smart, she could’ve done that too,” Dude said softly.
The men gathered around the laptop, eager to watch and listen to the video again to see what clues they could find in Dakota’s speech. At this point, it was all they had to go on.
Thirty minutes later, and twenty-two replays of the footage, Slade couldn’t take it any longer. He’d been holding on to his composure by the skin of his teeth, but if he heard his Dakota call herself Anoushka Fourati one more time, he was gonna fucking lose it.
He pushed up from the couch and paced in agitation. “There’s nothing there. She was reading word for word from a script. She was too scared to say anything outside of whatever he wrote down for her,” Slade said in frustration, resisting
the urge to punch the wall…barely.
“There has to be something. Did you see how she looked to the left immediately before she spoke and again before the tape cut off? Who or what was she looking at?” Dude asked.
“She could’ve been looking at one of Fourati’s flunkies who was holding a gun on her, making sure he approved of her speech,” Abe said with a shrug.
“Or she could’ve just been desperate to look anywhere but at the camera,” Cookie suggested.
Slade tuned the men out. Wolf started the video for the twenty-third time. Slade knew the man was as desperate as he was to find something, anything. His wife was out there somewhere, just as Dakota was. At least Slade had seen with his own eyes that Dakota was physically okay for the moment. Wolf didn’t even have that. They didn’t even know for sure that Caroline was still alive. With every minute that passed, the women seemed to be slipping away.
Slade stood behind the couch and stared at the computer screen over the heads of the other SEALs. He couldn’t quite hear what Dakota was saying, but it didn’t matter because he had her fucking speech memorized by now anyway.
For a moment, something registered in his mind as he watched her, but the fleeting thought was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
He tilted his head and concentrated on the computer screen harder.
Dakota sat with her back ramrod straight in the chair. The beige shawl draped over her forehead rustled in a small breeze in whatever room she was in. He could see a faint blue mark on her head, the beginnings of a bruise. Fucker put his hands on her. Hurt her. He’ll pay for that along with everything else.
Dakota’s hands were in constant motion as she spoke, as if the hand gestures would help get her point across to the fuckers who were watching. It was odd. Slade hadn’t noticed that she used her hands when she’d talked to him over the last few days. She was more likely to clasp her hands together when she told him something important, not wave them around distractedly.
That was it.
“Start it over,” Slade ordered.
“But—” Wolf began to protest.
“I said, start it over,” Slade repeated. “And turn off the fucking sound.”
Without another word, Wolf did as Slade requested. The video began to play once more and Slade concentrated on Dakota’s hand movements, staring at her with intense concentration.
“What are we looking for?” Dude asked into the now silent room.
“I don’t know for sure,” Slade said when the video finished. “It’s just a hunch. Again, Wolf.”
The other SEAL did as Slade asked and started the video over again.
Slade narrowed his eyes. He was missing something. But what?”
“Holy fuck,” Cookie whispered. He turned to Slade. “Does Dakota know sign language?”
Slade shrugged. “I have no idea. Fuck, I don’t know much about her at all. Don’t know where she grew up, how old she was when she lost her virginity, what foods she doesn’t like and what she does, if she—”
“I’m pretty sure she’s signing,” Cookie interrupted before Slade could go off on a tangent. “We’ve only had a couple of classes with Cooper, but I would swear what Dakota is doing with her hands looks an awful lot like Kiera and Coop when they’re signing to each other.”
“Holy shit, I think you’re right,” Slade said, wishing fervently they’d had time to have Cooper give them more classes in sign language now.
The five men turned back to the screen and watched with intense concentration.
“Fuck me,” Wolf breathed. “She is. She’s talking to us with her hands, not words.”
Slade pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hurt.”
“I need Coop’s number.”
“On it,” the commander said immediately. “What’s up?”
“I’m watching a video of my woman, who just married fucking Aziz Fourati, and she sent me a message, but I need someone who knows sign language to tell me what the fuck she’s saying.”
“Hang on, I’m settin’ up a group call,” Hurt said, and the phone went silent.
Within a minute, the commander was back. “I’m here, and I have Coop and Kiera,” he said.
“I need your secure email,” Slade demanded of Cooper. The man might be retired, and spending his time with kids at the deaf school his girlfriend worked at rather than killing bad guys, but he hadn’t lost any of his edge, if the immediate acquiescence was any indication.
Slade gestured to Wolf, and the other man slid the laptop over. Slade punched in the email Cooper had given him. “I’m sending a video,” Slade told the soft-spoken woman and the retired SEAL. “Don’t bother with the sound. It’s irrelevant. She’s using sign language. I need you to tell me what Dakota is trying to tell us.”
“What happened, did—” Kiera started to ask, but was interrupted by Slade.
“I don’t have time to answer your questions, and I’m sorry I’m being so abrupt. But while you pull up the video, I can tell you that we’re dealing with a life-or-death situation. A terrorist kidnapped Caroline Steel. My woman was with her and was just forced to marry a really fuckin’ bad man, but we have no idea where they are. I can get them back if you help me figure out what she’s trying to tell me. Can you please help me?”
“Of course we will,” Kiera said immediately. “Cooper is bringing up the video now.”
The men in Wolf’s living room heard keys clicking through the phone speaker and they waited as Kiera and Cooper watched the film.
“Well?” Slade asked when an appropriate amount of time had gone by for the video to have played all the way through.
“I’m learning quickly, but I think this is outside my expertise. I’ll let Kiera take the lead on this one,” Cooper told the men.
“Holy crap,” Kiera breathed.
“What?”
“Wait, give me a second?” Kiera asked, sounding uncertain. “Let me watch it again to be sure. Some of the signs are slurred.”
“How can a hand signal be slurred?” Abe asked quietly.
“She’s not being precise with them. That’s one of the first things interpreters are taught. Signs should be crisp and unmistakable. Think of it as annunciating when you speak. She’s not annunciating because she’s trying to be sly and hide the signs in her wild gestures, they’re not clear,” Kiera explained.
“Deep breath, baby,” the men heard Cooper say quietly. “You can do this.”
After several moments went by, Kiera finally said, “It looks to me as if she’s spelling something in the beginning when she first starts speaking.”
“What?” Wolf blurted, his tone communicating how urgent the situation was.
“Z-A-K is what I think she’s signing in the first part. Three letters. She does it at least twice.”
No one said a word for a long moment, and Kiera continued. “I don’t know what she’s trying to tell you though, sorry.”
“Wait!” Cookie exclaimed, and sprang up from the couch and ran into the kitchen. He came back holding Benny’s cell phone. He typed in the code—all the guys had the same password on their phones for cases just such as this—and closed the keypad to reveal the last thing Benny had been looking at before being shot with the dart.
He showed the picture to the group.
“Yeah, we know someone named Zach,” Wolf told the woman on the other end of the line tersely. “What else?”
Slade clenched his teeth and tried to control the need to break something. He stared at the picture of Zach on Benny’s phone. The man had been pissed off at the practical joke that morning and had left. Had their actions put the man over the edge? Fuck.
Before he could continue beating himself up, Kiera began to speak again. “The rest of what I think she’s saying is confusing to me. It looks like she signed four things, other than Z-A-K, as far as I can tell. Three of them are the number eight, beach, and basement.”
“Eight men?” Wolf asked, focused now.
“A
number of a license plate or address?” Dude asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” Kiera said softly.
“They’re just talking it out, baby, they’re not asking you to tell them what she means behind her signs,” Cooper told Kiera quietly.
“Beach is easy. She’s somewhere near the ocean,” Cookie said.
“Which means shit, as half of San Diego is near the fucking ocean,” Abe grumbled.
“Yeah, but beach house narrows it down,” Dude countered.
“What else?” Slade asked Kiera, not hiding the impatience in his voice. He felt bad. Taking out his frustrations on Kiera, who was only trying to help, wasn’t cool, but he couldn’t stop it.
“There was basement,” Kiera reminded them.
“Which could mean they’re underground or under a building, not necessarily in a house,” Cookie pointed out.
“Or that they’re in a fucking basement,” Wolf bit out, his patience also obviously gone.
“The last sign I’m not a hundred percent sure about,” Kiera said reluctantly. “It doesn’t really make sense.”
“What?” Slade asked.
“Tornado.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Abe asked no one in particular.
“I know, it doesn’t make sense. But from what I can tell, she definitely made the sign for a tornado. But…” Kiera’s voice trailed off. Then she said, “Hang on a second.”
Slade impatiently waited for whatever Kiera was checking. Every second that went by grated on his nerves.
“I…I don’t know. But it looks to me like she made the letter C, then made the sign for tornado. She did it twice, and each time looked the same. I don’t think that C was an accident.”
“A tornado and the letter C? I don’t get it,” Wolf said, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “C for Caroline? C for coast? C for fucking come and get me? It could mean almost anything.”
Slade closed his eyes and tried to think. He vaguely heard the other men discussing what Dakota could’ve meant, but tuned them out. Tornado. C. C. Tornado. Beach, basement, eight and C.