“Tell Joe that he can marry your niece, in Bahrain at your wedding feast.”
“What?” Lowering the phone, Muhammad stared at the plastic. Surely he’d misheard. “That does nothing to redeem your honor, or mine. She must die. I will do it discreetly, of course, to avoid police interference.”
“Of course, she must die. What do you think I am? A mutazilite? In America though, they have wicked customs. They think marriage takes away the dishonor of promiscuity. I saw it on their pornographic channel, Hallmark movies, The Magic of Ordinary Days.” Abdullah cleared his throat. “An accident I assure you. I do not usually watch such things.”
Muhammad blinked, his eyelids dry in the desert air. Could Abdullah truly mean this?
With a cough, Abdullah began speaking faster. “Joe will agree to come to Bahrain because he thinks marriage will save the girl he has a love crush on. I will kidnap him from there and then you can kill Mariam. Also, bring your betrothed for me to marry.”
There went all the money he’d laid out for a wedding, and he’d have to find a new woman, likely one who wasn’t half as beautiful as Alma. Muhammad kicked the playground’s edge. His niece had brought shame on the entire family, but at least Abdullah had agreed to stop the police report.
Toe throbbing, Muhammad turned back to his Jaguar. “Very well.”
CHAPTER 18
Friday, October 7th, 7:19 a.m.
Outside, the sun rose over office buildings. Indented carpet showed the trail Joe had worn making phone calls to the embassy, every women’s prison in Riyadh, and state department officials. Joe grabbed his boss’s arm. “Brian, you’ve got to do something. Kay’s an American citizen.”
Twenty minutes after his arrest, a CIA representative had gotten him out of the Riyadh jail. As for Kay, he’d not received a single lead. Where was she? Even now the jail could be releasing her to Muhammad.
Brian shoved his hand off. “The girl’s an idiot. It’s not my fault she came here on a Saudi passport with no proof of her American citizenship.”
“I’ve been calling the embassy every ten minutes. No one’s answering.” Joe held his phone up again. No missed calls. No texts. Where was Kay?
“Because they don’t open until eight a.m.” Brian slapped his coffee on the ringed coffee stain and slammed himself on his office chair.
“She might be dead by eight a.m. I tried all the women’s prisons. No one would even confirm her location, let alone release her to me.” Joe yanked open another webpage on his phone. What if he called Kay’s state senator? A senator might be able to do something.
“You went to a Saudi jail and asked them to release a Saudi woman to an American man?” Brian raised his hand so fast his coffee splashed, brown liquid spilling over white pages “Did you sleep through all our sensitivity training classes?”
“The jail could release her to Muhammad any moment. He’s going to kill her.” Joe hit the embassy phone number again as he paced down the carpet.
“She shouldn’t have traveled on a Saudi passport, or left her U.S. one at home. Also—”
Da Da Da Daa. Joe’s cell phone sprung to life. A blocked number. Kay? The embassy? Whipping away from his boss, Joe clicked Accept. “Hello.”
“This is Muhammad Al-Khatani.”
“Muhammad! Don’t kill your niece. She’s not actually your niece. She’s an American traveling on your niece’s passport for school research.” Joe spoke so fast the words slurred together. Where was Muhammad? He needed a trace on Muhammad’s phone. If he stayed next to Muhammad, then the man wouldn’t have an opportunity to kill Kay. Joe gestured to his boss. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled trace phone call on the man’s coffee stained papers.
Brian glared at him.
“Enough with the lies. I know why you are trying to cover for my niece. You have a crush on her.”
“I’ll call the cops if you try to honor-kill her. You’ll spend three years in jail.” Joe felt his voice rise. Where was Muhammad? Should he stand outside the women’s jail waiting for him? Which jail had the police taken Kay to?
“If you don’t want my niece to die, then you will marry her this evening, in Bahrain.”
Muhammad’s plan involved Kay not dying. “Yes.” Joe grabbed for his car keys.
“What did you just agree to?” Brian hissed from a pace away.
“Meet me at the Grand Hotel, Bahrain Bay, off King Faisal highway. Be there before midnight or Mariam dies.”
Bahrain, a five-hour drive or an hour and a half plane ride. Joe glanced at the clock, 7:25 a.m. He’d meet Kay in Bahrain, get her on a flight to Cairo using her Saudi passport, then she could work with the U.S. embassy in Egypt to clear up the U.S. passport difficulty and arrange her passage to the States.
What about the Bahrain exit visa? No Saudi woman was permitted to travel without the signature and a copy of the photo ID of her mahram, closest male relative. He could use the marriage certificate to sign Kay’s exit visa himself and get her out of the country to Cairo. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Muhammad said. The line went dead.
“What did you say yes to?” Brian brought his thin eyebrows down.
“I need the day off work. I’m headed to Bahrain.” Joe yanked his jacket off the office chair.
“Why?” Brian tucked his chin down, voice accusing.
“To save a U.S. citizen. Isn’t that the CIA’s job?” Joe shoved his arms into the jacket. Okay, so perhaps he should have used a more respectful tone with the boss, the big boss who was chief of station. But he was in the right here.
“Would this U.S. citizen be one Kay Bianchi a.k.a. Mariam Al-Khatani?” Brian stood to his full height.
“Yeah.” Joe grabbed the handle of his laptop backpack. “I’ll need half a dozen Special Forces as backup. Abdullah will be in Bahrain for Muhammad’s wedding, so we could collect some valuable intelligence by making a roster of wedding guests.”
Brian smacked his black leather dress shoe down on top of the backpack. “No. You are not going to Bahrain for whatever crazy scheme your intelligence asset has put you up to. With your level security clearance, you’re a valuable asset. If Abdullah captures you and tortures you, we lose hundreds of personnel to your loose lips.”
“I’ve been trained to resist torture. Besides, Muhammad passed our internal review. He wouldn’t work with terrorists.”
“You’re too valuable.” Brian clamped his hand down on his desk. “If you go, you won’t have a job waiting for you when you come back.”
“Then I don’t have a job waiting for me when I come back.” He walked to the door. A tiny sliver of his brain wondered desperately if the job thing was a real threat. He’d find out after he saved Kay.
“Ok, fine.” Brian stood. “We can talk about options.”
“Yes?”
“I need to clear it by a couple people first though.” Brian walked past him, out the SCIF door. He gestured for Joe to follow.
Joe walked into the darkened hallway. Muhammad would have had to tell Abdullah about Kay to break the betrothal. Abdullah didn’t know he was CIA though, so the man wouldn’t plan a trap. Still, given Muhammad’s murderous intentions toward Kay, he’d like backup.
Brian turned left and hit numbers on a wall keypad. The door to the central interrogation room swung open. Only darkness greeted them. “Can’t use my cell in the SCIF. Can you flip the light switch? I’ll contact the special ops commander.”
Moving into the darkness, Joe fumbled for a light switch. The solid metal wall felt cold to the touch, no whisper of noise penetrating this soundproof barrier. The sliver of light from the doorway ended long before reaching the other wall. He flicked up the light switch.
With a bam, the door slammed shut.
Joe whipped around. He grabbed the door handle.
A video panel above the door lighted up. Brian’s smug voice carried over the intercom. “You’re spending twenty-four hours in lockdown until you abandon this insane notion about Bahrain and Kay Bianc
hi.”
Joe slammed his shoulder against the door. No give. “Kay’s going to die,” he shouted up into the intercom.
On the video, Brian shrugged, moving the blue twill shirt that he’d rolled up to his elbows. “Not my problem or yours. I’ll not have this mission compromised.”
“This is unlawful imprisonment. Lack of habeas corpus!”
“Wartime measures. The Patriot Act.” Brian turned. He looked back over the shoulder of his starched dress shirt. “Besides, it’s only until tomorrow.”
Kay would be dead by midnight today.
Friday, October 7th, 8:05 a.m.
The metal jail door swung open revealing Kay’s “uncle.” His shadow fell across her in this tiny interrogation room.
Kay struggled against the handcuffs that secured her arms to the table. “Don’t release me to this man. He’ll kill me!” Her scream thudded against the thick walls, the vibrations dying in the soundproofing. The black-shrouded jail warden stood unmoving.
“I’m not going to kill her.” Muhammad directed a charming smile to the warden.
“I bet that’s what all murderers say. Before they kill you!” Kay twisted against the handcuffs. Metal dug into her skin.
The warden instered metal keys into the handcuffs and twisted. As the metal gave way, Kay leaped from the table.
Muhammad cinched his hand around her arm. That night he’d struck her flashed through her brain as he yanked her in front of him toward the main gate. She fought against him. The power of his grip bound her as securely as the handcuffs had.
Wordlessly, the warden swung open a metal gate that led out to the street. An SUV idled by a concrete sidewalk. Muhammad shoved her into the backseat.
Abdullah sat in the front seat and no one seemed to care that her hair was uncovered. She yanked against the door handle. The lock held fast. “I’m not marrying him!”
From the front seat, Abdullah snorted. “As if I’d ever marry that whore.”
“Of course not, niece. You are marrying Joe.” Muhammad slid the SUV into gear.
“What?” Kay froze, hand on Muhammad’s seat, halfway to grabbing for Abdullah’s shemagh to use as a noose or vaulting up and out the driver’s side door.
“I caught you kissing him.” Muhammad pushed his foot against the gas pedal.
Abdullah looked ready to pull a gun. Apparently the “not kill Mariam” promise was coming more from Muhammad than Abdullah.
Kay felt her eyes stretch. “Shotgun wedding style like some John Wayne movie?”
Ears turning red, Muhammad shrugged. “I do not watch evil Western movies.”
With a yank of his seatbelt strap, Abdullah jerked toward the backseat. His eyes shot judgment fire. “Yes, shotgun wedding.”
“Oh.” The band around Kay’s chest loosened as the panic receded. “May I have my phone back?” She needed to talk to Joe.
“Shut up and cover your naked hands.” Abdullah glared into the passenger mirror.
Kay glanced at her fingers. Naked?
Muhammad reached beneath his seat and threw a wad of black cloth at her. Abdullah turned his radio up higher. An Arabic news channel poured through the speaker.
Kay wedged the black cloth by the window. Using the cloth as a pillow, she stretched out on the bench seat and remembered all the sleep she hadn’t gotten last night.
Once they drove the five hours to Bahrain, she’d meet Joe, and he’d help her get to the embassy.
This would all turn out to be just a terrifying paragraph of her dissertation. As soon as she got her phone back, she’d research honor-killings in Saudi Arabia. If she couldn’t rescue Alma from marriage to that monster in the driver’s seat, she’d use her dissertation to bring international pressure against Saudi Arabia to end honor-killings and up the penalty for murder far above a wink and easily avoided three years in jail.
Also, how did you repay a guy for saving your life? Joe was a hero.
Friday, October 7th, 9:25 a.m.
Joe paced the eight by ten foot space. No windows. He ransacked the table drawer. No cell phone. No landline. The intercom above the door was black and a thousand different combinations of button pushing and hotwiring hadn’t gotten the thing to light up.
A noise crackled. “Hi, it’s Tracy.”
Joe whipped around. The video intercom on the wall lit.
Tracy’s graying hair crackled in and out as the picture shifted.
Joe leaped toward the receiver. “Tracy. We’ve got to save Kay. Can you open this door?” He yanked a chair toward the door, leveraging himself up to the height of the intercom.
“Look, Joe, I know it stinks.” Tracy nodded her chin, her earrings clapping softly against the laugh lines on her cheeks. “Brian sent me to talk to you. We are doing everything we can within legal channels.”
“As in nothing because Kay doesn’t have a U.S. passport?” His rising voice bounced off the tiny cell, the sound locked in these heavy walls. The door contained two sets of electronically activated bolts, secure enough to lock away terrorists.
“Well…” Tracy’s green-gray eyes revealed discomfort.
Exactly as he’d thought. “They’re going to kill her, Tracy.” He struck the intercom. “I told Muhammad she was an American, and he didn’t believe me.”
A sad smile tugged at Tracy’s mouth. She pushed hair behind her ear. “Her blood’s on Muhammad, not you.”
“I’ve got to save her.” He yelled the words into the intercom.
“Joe, listen to me.” Tracy used a teacher voice, her demeanor as indulgent as if lecturing a child. “Kay entered Saudi on a fake passport for an illogical dissertation project. There was no way this was ending well. Her professor should have told her that.”
“Tracy. Unlock this door!” Joe’s shout bounced back and forth across the room. He had to go to Bahrain. Sure he’d have no backup. Sure if Abdullah had even one hint that Joe was CIA he’d be lining the hotel with AK-47s. He’d survived many a tight situation in Iraq though, and he had to save Kay.
“Ever heard of T.S.T.L?”
Joe shook his head. If Kay got honor-killed, he bore the blame. He never should have met her secretly. He knew Saudi culture. He knew what she risked.
“It’s a romance novel term. It means too stupid to live. And this Kay of yours is certainly one T.S.T.L. heroine.”
Joe stiffened.
“Call it the feeble-mindedness of my old age, but despite your crazy antics I’ve always felt a maternal instinct toward you. I don’t want to see you lose your job and emerge from jail ten years from now as a felon.” Tracy raised one hand, concern in her eyes as the lights where she stood reflected off her ring.
“Brian wouldn’t do that.”
Tracy brought her eyebrows down. “He’s threatened it before, and he has every legal right to. You’re endangering highly classified sources and methods by allowing yourself to risk capture. Brian can easily prosecute you for that.”
Jail time? Becoming a felon? Joe dropped to the chair at the interrogation table. The leather gave a sigh as it compacted beneath his weight. He swallowed. He had plans for the rest of his life, earning that position in Dubai, using his Arabic proficiency for fieldwork.
Sitting in jail didn’t figure into those plans.
Felons couldn’t even vote, let alone own a gun. He looked up at the intercom screen. “Surely Brian wouldn’t do that to a CIA officer attempting to protect a U.S. citizen?”
“I’ve worked for Brian before, five years ago in Dubai. He holds very long grudges.” Turning, Tracy walked down the hallway.
The screen’s light faded, plunging the only means of communication in this cell into locked darkness. The walls closed in around him in this interrogation cell from which he had no means of escape.
CHAPTER 19
Friday, Oct 7th, 11:38 p.m.
The rooms of the Grand Hotel in Bahrain Bay rose tall around her. Kay looked up at towering marble pillars. Outside the window, the sun set over palm trees, lus
h grass, and sparkling water.
“Look at my henna tattoos.” Alma spun, twirling her white dress. Reddish-brown swirls in an intricate design covered her wrists and forearms. “I caught a glimpse of your uncle from the shaded limousine. He is handsome, and young. I am happy my father chose such a liberal.”
Happy to marry the man who’d almost honor-killed her? “You can’t marry him.” Kay’s heart beat faster as she looked down at the white dress Alma’s aunt had forced her to don. The princess seams clung to her waist. The pearl encrusted skirt swished every time she moved, lending a vaguely fairy-tale feel to the fear pounding through her. How could she rescue Alma from marriage now? She couldn’t even rescue herself from an honor-killing. She needed Joe.
No sign of him. Her breath came irregularly. Muhammad had taken her phone. Outside these double doors stood long-bearded men who’d already denied her passage three times. She’d only shared one kiss with Joe.
Alma’s aunt bustled over. She rested her hands on her ample waist, jutting out her peach-colored silk dress. “You won’t be marrying Muhammad.” She glared above her spectacles, her pudgy cheeks bulging over her headscarf. “You’re marrying Abdullah El-Amin.”
“You jest.” Alma froze, henna-covered hand suspended mid-air.
“Your father made arrangements for the switch this morning. Much better match than with that liberal Al-Khatani anyway.” Alma’s aunt patted the Koran underneath her arm.
Alma collapsed into a padded chair, her expression dead.
Pushing back thoughts of the night in jail and narrowly avoided honor-killing, Kay laid her hand on Alma’s shoulder. “Saudi Arabia only acknowledges marriages with both parties’ consent. Say no. I’ll help you enroll at an university.” How much of a mess had she made for Joe at his job with all this? She owed him big time.
“Oh, I have to, all right.” Alma’s hand trembled on the polished armrest, her teeth clacking. Tears rolled down her painted cheeks.
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