Sign, SEAL, Deliver

by Rogenna Brewer

  She wanted out of the uniform.

  1735 Thursday

  PENTAGON-NAVY ANNEX

  Washington, D.C.

  ZACH AND THE ADMIRAL stood on the window side of the two-way mirror in a small room off the debriefing room. Michelle sat at a table with a crack team of psychiatrists and intelligence officers who specialized in dealing with hostage situations and post-traumatic stress disorder.

  She was being more than a little uncooperative. She refused to talk about her ordeal.

  There was a speaker into their alcove, but it was turned off. Zach wished the admiral would turn it on—he had the clearance to sit in if he wanted to—but maybe the man was just as afraid as Zach about what he might hear.

  The two of them studied Michelle in silence.

  She would shake her head. Spit out a few reluctant words. Then go back to avoiding eye contact by staring out the window.

  “They need a woman in there,” Zach said, cradling his arm, which was in a sling. “Someone she can trust.”

  “We’ve sent for Dr. Trahern,” the admiral said. “She should be here any minute. How’s the arm?”

  “Better.”

  He’d been looked at and released. The sling was to force him to rest his injured arm. And the antibiotics were to stave off infection.

  In the other room the senior psychiatrist stood and exited. A second later the door to their cubby opened.

  “Judd.” The admiral extended his hand to the Captain Moore. “How’s it going in there.”

  “That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, Mitch.” The man looked pointedly at Zach.

  “Go ahead,” the admiral said without dismissing Zach.

  “Michelle needs friends and family support to get her through this. We’re not making much progress in there. But I’m going to go ahead and release her to your custody so you can take her home.”

  “How soon?”

  “Today if you’d like. I’m ordering her into the care of Dr. Trahern. Sloan is experienced with post-traumatic stress disorder. She’s had great success with EMDR—eye movement desensitization and reprocessing.” He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it to the admiral. “Prescription for sleeping pills if Michelle needs them. She expressed some paranoia concerning the Norplant. We were able to remove it this morning. But last night she seemed pretty upset about it.”

  “Are you talking about some kind of deprogramming?” Zach’s concern overrode his caution.

  “Something like that. But nothing as unabashed, I assure you. Michelle can decide for herself after talking to Dr. Trahern.”

  “Of course,” the admiral agreed.

  The psychiatrist glanced toward the other room. “It looks like they’re wrapping things up in there. Zach, they’re probably ready for you now.”

  “Me?”

  “Standard operating procedure.” He held open the outer door and Zach went inside.

  “Lieutenant Dann, walk us through your escape again,” one of the Intel officers requested.

  She looked to Zach for strength, then recounted her story for the hundredth time.

  “I heard the click of the chambered round. Then the discharge. Ali shot Ihassan, point blank.” The whiny little man had fallen to the dirt floor and breathed his last.

  A soft gurgle. That was it.

  A fraction of a second in real time.

  Then everything went quiet and the dead man lay still, his glassy-eyed stare on the ceiling.

  She closed her eyes to shut out the image.

  “Where were you while all this was taking place?” the Intel officer asked.

  “Kneeling on the floor with my hands tied behind my back.”

  “You didn’t shoot Ihassan Mukhtar?”

  “How could I? I was unarmed.”

  “What about Ali Ra’id?” He consulted the sheet of paper in front of him. “Ra’id is also known as Agent Hassan Rakin?”

  “I’ve told you, I didn’t kill either of them.”

  “I see—”

  “Lighten up.” Zach straightened from where he leaned against the door. “Can’t you see she’s been through enough? I don’t know what you’re driving at, but Michelle sure as hell wasn’t in on the plot to annihilate the al Mukhtar. Agent McKenna and his cohorts couldn’t just kill her out right. They had to make it look like the al Mukhtar were responsible so they could draw the U.S. into the conflict. McKenna knew it was a long shot that the admiral would let his grief override his reason so he threw me into the mix.”

  “Sit down, Lieutenant Prince,” the Intel officer ordered. “We’ll get to you. Now, Lieutenant Dann, how did you…escape Agent Rakin?”

  “I rolled onto my back and kicked Ali in the stomach, knocking him off his feet.” If he was going to kill her, too, she sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for him. At the time she’d had no idea Ali was a CIA agent. No idea McKenna was, for that matter, or that he’d wanted revenge against the tribe he held responsible for his brother’s death. She’d been fighting for her life.

  “He stood up,” she continued. “Uttered something I couldn’t understand. Then proceeded to gather all the weapons in the room.”

  “How many weapons?”

  “Were you armed at any time?”

  “No. Not then.”

  “When did you escape Ali?”

  The questions rained down on Michelle. The memories wouldn’t go away, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

  She’d pushed to her feet, determined to take him down with a head butt this time. Mindless of her plan, Ali had wrestled the rumpled blood chit from Ihassan’s hand and waved the bloodstained cloth at her.

  She’d stopped dead in her tracks.

  That was when it had hit her. He’d killed Ihassan because of her. Or at least that’s what she’d thought before she learned about McKenna. She’d never know the truth now.

  Ali had proceeded to rummage through the pockets of Ihassan’s robe. Found her ring, loaded all the valuables in the room onto his person and ordered her to put on the dead man’s robe. He’d given her something to cover her hair and face, then insisted she wear it.

  Michelle remembered the small chest-level hole in the black robe. There’d been another larger rip in back where the bullet had exited Ihassan’s body.

  Neither bound, nor free. She’d followed Ali.

  Under cover of a moonless night, they’d stepped over the lifeless body of another man to escape the bombed-out building that had been her last prison. It had been then that Ali had explained the situation in broken English she hadn’t even known he spoke.

  Against Ali’s wishes, and using her as a pawn, Ihassan had attempted to barter for the release of his deserter brother.

  He’d failed.

  When news had reached them Sadiq was dead, Ihassan had been furious, wanting to avenge his brother’s death by killing her on the spot. But Ali had always been in it for personal gain and couldn’t see the point.

  Her fate had balanced in the palm of a very greedy man.

  On the run, they’d shared a bit of crusty bread and goat cheese in an abandoned bunker south of Al Basrah, Iraq, and argued over the direction of travel.

  “Omar, my cousin, is a camel trader. He will meet us here tomorrow,” he’d insisted.

  Michelle had conceded, to a point, still unwilling to trust the man completely, even though he’d gotten them that far. Her gut told her that the U.S. had allies in Arabia and Kuwait.

  Either place was where she’d find sanctuary.

  “Devil president grant Ali boon?” he’d asked not for the first time. Pulling the rumpled bloodstained cloth from his pocket, he’d read and reread the blood chit.

  Ali had had a hard time believing anyone would reward him for the return of a mere woman. Not that he deserved one penny for the weeks of hell he’d put her through.

  “Ali, I’m sure you’ll get what you deserve.” That comment, like most of what she’d said, had gone right over his head. And she was
n’t even sure that had anything to do with the language barrier.

  The guy had been several apples short of a bushel. He’d held her captive for weeks without taking a course of action, then shot his partner on impulse when he’d realized there was profit to be gained by helping her.

  “I want my ring back.”

  He’d pretended not to understand her.

  “You’ll get your reward. But I want that ring. The person who gave it to me…he may be dead. It means a lot to me.”

  He’d shrugged. “The will of Allah.”

  “Allah wants me to have my ring back.”

  That night, Michelle had stayed awake hoping Ali would drift off so she could retrieve her ring. And equally important, arm herself.

  No such luck.

  When the sun had risen, the steady clang of a shepherd’s bell had come from the west. She’d searched the horizon and got her first sight of Omar the camel trader approaching on foot, a herd of camels and goats ambling along behind him.

  Ali had motioned for her to cover her face, then had gone to meet his cousin. With a scowl in his direction she’d complied.

  While the two men had exchanged pleasantries, Michelle had kept to the background. Once she had a ride she’d part company with Ali.

  Ali had waved the blood chit in the face of his cousin and pointed to the items lined up on the ground. The man had said nothing when Ali offered her survival vest and her boots as trade for two camels and safe passage to Iran.

  In his frustration, Ali had turned and paced off a few steps in her direction. “He will not trade!”

  “Offer him the ring,” Michelle had insisted.

  He’d looked at her as if she was a lunatic. Then his expression had changed to one of speculation.

  “Don’t you even think about it!”

  Ali had gone back to Omar, pistol drawn. “You will take us with you, old man.”

  Then Michelle had felt a surge of sheer desperation. “Ali!”

  He hadn’t even looked in her direction. So she’d picked up a large rock and marched toward him. “Ali!”

  That time he turned. And she’d clipped him in the jaw with the rock. He went out like a light.

  Clutching the rock, Michelle had stood over Ali. Then she’d darted a glance at the camel trader and kicked the weapons out of his reach. She hadn’t known what the old man would do, but he’d looked nonplussed by the situation.

  “Will you trade with me?” she’d asked him. She’d dug her knee into the small of Ali’s back. He’d grunted, but hadn’t come to. She’d checked his pulse, then ripped the cloth from her head and used it to truss him up before returning her attention to the camel trader. “You can have the automatic weapons.” She’d made a sweeping gesture.

  He’d shaken his head.

  “I have gold.” She’d pulled the ring from Ali’s pocket. “I need two camels.”

  He’d nodded. But hadn’t taken her ring.

  She’d dragged Ali to the nearest camel, and amazingly, the animal had kneeled.

  Omar had stood by patiently as Michelle hoisted Ali’s body across the animal’s back.

  After all, she couldn’t just leave him. He was a wanted man.

  Omar patted another camel on the rump and the beast ambled off. One by one the rest followed. When Ali’s camel rocked to its feet and headed off in the same direction, Michelle started to panic.

  “No, no!” she’d cried to halt the lumbering beast. She’d turned to Omar for assistance. “I’m not going with you to Iran. I’m going to cross the desert into Saudi Arabia.”

  He’d nodded in his accepting way, then cut a sturdy camel from the herd and led it over to her.

  She’d accepted the reins. “Ali—”

  “I will see that my cousin gets to Iran. He would not wish to go to Arabia where there is a Bedouin tribe or two that would just as soon cut off both of his hands as trade with him again.”

  “Well, that explains a lot.” Michelle had been too stunned by the fact that the camel trader had spoken at all to question his perfect English.

  “He is a thief. But he is family. You need not worry for my cousin’s sake.”

  Michelle had nodded and turned to look out over the desert. At least she had a ride. And her survival vest.

  She could cross into Arabia and approach Kuwait safely from the border. In a matter of days she could be home.

  “The Lion Prince of the Desert will help you.” Omar had bowed his head, then shuffled his feet after his herd.

  But it had all been a ruse.

  As Michelle told and retold her story to the officers present, the truth had started to become clear.

  Cousin Omar the camel trader, AKA Agent Omar Ferran, had killed Ali. All because of McKenna’s desperate attempt to take back control of a situation that had gotten away from him.

  Omar had sent her into the desert to die at the hands of the Bedouin. It hadn’t mattered which tribe killed her so long as she died looking like a brain-washed rogue warrior who’d joined the al Mukhtar and brought her father into the fray.

  But even that had gone wrong for McKenna.

  The al Mukhtar may have sought revenge for the deaths of Sadiq and Ihassan by trying to kill her, but the al Ra’id had sheltered her.

  According to her father, Navy SEALs had been dispatched to the area on a peace-keeping mission. And once the two Bedouin tribes learned they’d been manipulated by one man, already dead, there was little doubt they’d settle things in a truce.

  CHAPTER TEN

  One week later

  DANN FAMILY ESTATE,

  Middleburg, VA

  THE ADMIRAL invited Zach to stay in the guest house. Celebrity-owned horse farms populated the affluent area the Danns called home for generations.

  Zach clicked on the TV and plopped down on the couch in the small two-bedroom cottage. Zach’s family had been frequent guests here, and he considered it his second home. In younger years their fathers had often been stationed together. He couldn’t remember a time when their families weren’t living close at hand. Or at least vacationing together.

  But there was something a bit uncomfortable about his stay on this occasion. Torn between sticking close to Michelle and getting as far away from her as physically possible, he pretty much kept to himself.

  Zach flipped aimlessly through hundreds of digital cable channels.

  They still hadn’t talked about that long-ago pregnancy. And Michelle was in no condition to talk to him about anything. She burst into tears at the slightest provocation these days. He simply wasn’t equipped to handle her outbursts. And his inability to help made him feel inadequate.

  But he was determined to be strong for her, to somehow see her through this.

  In the interim he’d come to realize a few things about himself. Like why he’d never pushed for a physical relationship after that first time. He’d been afraid of repeating the same mistakes. The tight constraints of the naval academy and then the pilot training that had followed had simply provided an excuse to be close, but not too close.

  But after one night of lovemaking in the Arabian Desert, Zach’s desire for Michelle was now stronger than ever. Coupled with anger, well, that just wasn’t a good combination. He didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or shake her out of her funk, until she was…what? The cool and composed fighter pilot he once knew. Or the hot and cold woman captivated by the desert.

  He could only wish he had the answers.

  Somewhere in between she’d find herself again. He just didn’t know where he’d stand once she did. And he only had three more days to find out.

  Zach flipped between a romantic comedy that ended in tragedy and the Sports Channel. His ten days of convalescent leave were almost over. He didn’t even wear the sling anymore. Once his arm was better he’d be off to BUD/S training, giving it the one hundred and ten percent he’d promised the admiral.

  He’d kept the lease on his studio apartment back in California. His car. His plane. Every
thing he owned was there. But his heart, no matter how bruised, would remain here. For the first time ever their lives were about to diverge.

  Being alone he could handle.

  Being idle was driving him crazy.

  Zach switched off the TV set.

  He’d been invited to the main house for dinner that evening and every evening since their arrival. He checked his watch. He’d been putting off his departure time so he wouldn’t have to make small talk with his godparents, but even small talk beat the hell out of sitting around. And there was always the chance that Michelle would decide to join them tonight.

  Zach headed out the door. A half hour later he sat at the dining-room table with his godparents. The person he most wanted to see was in her room, supposedly asleep.

  “I wish you’d make her come down to dinner, Mitch,” Augusta Dann said to her husband.

  “I’m not going to make her do anything. She’s been through enough already.”

  Zach sipped from his water glass, listening to the same dinner conversation they’d had for the past seven nights. He’d offer to coax her down to dinner. His godmother would bless him and his godfather would tell him to sit down.

  About the only time he spent with Michelle was driving her to and from Bethesda for her appointments with Dr. Trahern, her PTSD counselor.

  “How late is the library open?” They all turned at the unexpected sound of Michelle’s voice. She wore a sunny yellow sweater set and jeans several sizes too big. She wasn’t yet back to her normal weight, but she didn’t have that hollow look she’d once had. And all the visible signs of her captivity had healed.

  “I suspect it’s still open,” her father said. “Why?”

  “I just want to do some research.”

  “You could use the computer in my office,” the admiral suggested.

  “I don’t feel like using the computer. I’d rather find what I need in a book.”

  “I could drive you into town,” Zach offered before the opportunity slipped away. He stood, placing his napkin on his full plate.

  She declined his offer. “I’d like to drive myself.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, not knowing if Michelle’s wish to drive was progress or something else.