Agents Under Fire

by Dana Marton

  She wished the U.S. embassy was calling. Or would consider helping her a little more enthusiastically than they’d been doing. But for some reason their records were all messed up, indicating that Kenneth had entered the country as part of some commando team. Kenneth William Hatch, millionaire businessman with serious political aspirations. Ha! He wore Hugo Boss suits and Armani loafers. She couldn’t even picture him in army fatigues and combat boots.

  But the embassy had washed its hands, referring her to the Army who brought in these private security commando teams on contract. The army wouldn’t give her the time of day, of course. Classified information and all that. The locals were even less helpful.

  She squinted against the sun as she looked around with a sinking heart, searching in vain for the cab that’d brought her over from the hotel.

  Better not loiter around or the police chief might change his mind and call her back. She hurried down the street in the direction of her hotel, a dozen blocks from here. Caught a number of angry glares from passersby. Even the old beggar sitting in the dirt frowned at her.

  She looked at her long-sleeved dress that covered her arms to her wrists and her legs to her shoes. She couldn’t imagine anyone finding fault with that.

  A group of older men carried on an intense conversation a couple of yards ahead, wearing long traditional robes and uniform round hats. The street narrowed at the spot where they stood, barely leaving her room to pass.

  They shot her looks of disapproval as she approached. She kept her eyes downcast.

  “Whore,” one called out as she reached them.

  She walked faster.

  “American whore spy.” A hand reached out and yanked her hair, hard.

  She scrambled to pull her scarf tighter around her head, but her fingers touched nothing but hair. No scarf. She spun around, but couldn’t see the flimsy material behind her. It must have slipped off as she’d been fleeing the police station, in those winding hallways inside.

  The men shouted at her in Arabic. Some shook their fists.

  For about half a second she pretended she could handle them, that she wasn’t intimidated and everything was fine. Then she ran.

  Her heart beat in her throat. Panic squeezed her lungs. She didn’t dare glance back until she reached the end of the block. The old men had given up pursuit and stood at a distance, arguing with each other.

  Relief filled her to her toes. She drew a shaky breath and pushed forward, eager to put as much distance between herself and the men as possible.

  The streets grew narrower and narrower. Houses butted up against each other, tall adobe walls loomed above. Should have reached the main street by now. She slowed after a while, trying to identify a point of reference, but nothing looked familiar. Instead of the colorful shops the cab had passed on its way to the police station, drab houses lined the street.

  She must have taken a wrong turn and entered a residential area somehow. None of the residents appreciated a foreign intruder, which they made clear by shooting her hostile looks as she passed by. Tension seeped back into her muscles as she kept on walking.

  The maze seemed endless, following no logic, the heat trapped in the narrow passageways, the temperature brutal. As endless minutes ticked by, she could no longer pretend she wasn’t hopelessly lost.

  Maybe she should turn around.

  She looked back. Six or seven men followed a hundred feet behind her. Not the same ones who’d taken exception to her uncovered head outside the police station. She took the next turn to let them walk by, but they turned after her. She hurried forward, turned again. They kept coming, watching her. She swallowed hard.

  Her latest pursuers were young thugs, the grins they exchanged predatory and dark. They advanced on her with menacing speed, their intent clear.

  * * *

  Jake Tekla watched the disturbing procession from the top of a mud brick wall.

  The woman’s near waist-length, golden hair fluttered behind her as she ran. Surreal, really, a princess from a fairytale who obviously shouldn’t have left her palace.

  The police chief didn’t seem to care for her. They’d come in unexpectedly while Jake had been searching the man’s files for any connection to U.S. Congressman Wharton. He’d barely jumped into that infernally hot metal cabinet in time.

  He’d been in the chief’s office twice this week, had the bars rigged on the window. He’d gone through what the man had and found nothing useful. No need to go back a third time tomorrow. Better search the mercenary commando headquarters on the outside of town instead. If Wharton had any dealings with anyone here, it would be someone with power.

  The chase on the street below drew Jake’s thoughts from the congressman.

  The woman’s long skirt tangled between her feet as she ran, slowing her down. What in hell was she thinking running around in a backwoods little town like this, all alone? Might as well wave a red cloth at a bullfight.

  Allison Myers, heiress to a business empire. Clueless about how to survive outside her protected little bubble back at home, from the looks of it.

  Rapunzel, Rapunzel, hide your hair, he wanted to shout at her, but she needed so much more than his advice.

  He looked ahead where the street took another sharp turn, then rushed forward, keeping low on top of the wall. Then he waited until she progressed out of sight of the men and was passing right below him.

  “Hold your hands up,” he called down to her.

  She shrieked as she looked up at him wide-eyed.

  “No time for that.” The men would be rounding the corner any second. “Give me your hands.”

  The fact that he spoke English and looked American must have tipped the scale in his favor because she did reach her arms to him. He grabbed her hands and yanked her up, dropping her on the other side of the wall in the same motion. Then, just as the men came around the corner, he thumped down next to her into the abandoned courtyard.

  She gasped for air, staring at him pink-cheeked and wide-eyed. Probably considering whether or not to run from him.

  “Jake Tekla. We’re staying at the same hotel,” he said once the young thugs had passed outside and wouldn’t hear him. He extended his hand.

  She watched him with a wary look on her face. “I don’t remember you.”

  She wasn’t supposed to. He’d been keeping a low profile. “Travel writer,” he gave her his cover story. “When I’m not out discovering the sights, I’m in my room on my laptop.” He couldn’t exactly tell her about being an undercover agent on a special mission for the FBI.

  “Sights?”

  “Ancient temple ruins. And the foothills have some spectacular caves.”

  She flashed him a doubtful look.

  She had perfect ruby pouty lips and the complexion of a china doll. Her aristocratic features were delicate and perfectly symmetric, the kind of beauty you’d see in magazines, and even there only after a lot of airbrushing. She had an air of fragility and vulnerability about her, except for her blue eyes that showed clear strength. The combination made an intriguing package.

  According to the hotel records he’d tapped into, she’d arrived a week ago. If she made it another week here, it would be a miracle. She stood out like a fifty-carat diamond among river rocks.

  He didn’t have time to look out for her. “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing in Lahedeh, but you shouldn’t stay here. Free advice: go home.”

  He had to figure out what U.S. Congressman Richard Wharton had done that was so terrible that he’d let himself be blackmailed over it. An assignment that kept Jake plenty busy, leaving him precious little time to baby sit beauties in peril.

  But instead of begging for his protection, she lifted her chin as she stepped back, her voice all business as she said, “Thank you for your help. I’ll be returning to the hotel now.”

  She glided more than walked toward the courtyard’s door to the street, but only progressed a few steps before the door began to open. He grabbed after her and dr
agged her in the opposite direction, toward the house, burst through the door with his gun ready, into an empty kitchen.

  He closed the door behind them, leaving only a narrow gap and signaled to her to stay put and stay quiet.

  A dozen men filed into the courtyard. Not the ones who’d been chasing her. These men were heavily armed.

  “What is it?” she asked behind him in an urgent whisper.

  He pulled back to her, his mind running all the options. “Not our lucky day. Of all the houses in town, looks like we’re stuck in one being used by the local resistance.”

  ~~~***~~~

  Chapter Two

  Panic drew Allison’s stomach into a hard ball. Her lungs constricted. Her brain cells screamed a single word: run!

  Resistance around here meant armed men who hated Americans. Not something she’d expected in the middle of town.

  According to her research, what pockets of resistance remained in the region were holed up in the mountains. Obviously not.

  Jake Tekla grabbed her hand without ceremony and dragged her across the kitchen, around the cast-iron cooking stove and past the crowded shelves. Part of her wanted to run right along with him; another part wanted to stay as far away as possible.

  How did she know he was a good guy? He could just as easily be a kidnapper. As the only child of a leading industrialist, she’d grown up with that threat hanging over her head.

  She yanked her hand out of his, to be on the safe side, giving herself a better chance to escape him if necessary. Her focus on him and not on her feet, she stumbled over a burlap bag of rice. He caught her before she could crash to the floor and held her in place.

  “You have to decide whether you trust me or not. Now. If you don’t, our paths part right here.” His sharp gaze roved her face, his masculine lips drawn into a flat, no-nonsense line.

  Her heart beat in her ears. She’d known him for all of five minutes. Then again, her choices at the moment were him or the local resistance. “Okay.”

  “You’re going to handle whatever comes your way. Instead of operating from a stance of fear, do what has to be done.” He grabbed her hand again and dragged her after him as he burst through the kitchen’s back door, deeper into the house.

  “Are you American?” She tried her best to keep up and not trip over anything. “I’m looking for someone. Kenneth Hatch. He came here on business.”

  Not many Americans hung out in Lahedeh, and the few who did seemed to be staying at her hotel. She’d been asking around the dining room every evening about Kenneth, without success. Maybe Jake had seen him.

  If they were going to be shot by the resistance in the next few minutes, she would have at least liked to know that Kenneth was still here somewhere, alive and well.

  “Never heard of the guy.”

  They reached a narrow set of adobe stairs and ran up. Dashed through two rooms, up another set of stairs, then found themselves in a rooftop living area with carpets and cushions on the ground, a canvas stretched above for shade. A couple of abandoned water pipes waited in the middle.

  He picked a black scarf off the clothesline at the edge of the roof and handed it to her. “Cover your head.”

  She did the best she could, shoving her mass of hair underneath the fabric, not quite succeeding.

  “Here.” He reached for the soft material and tucked her escaping tendrils under it, twisting the scarf around so he could tie the corners into a knot that held everything in place. The back of his fingers brushed against her cheek and he stilled for a moment as they stood inches from each other.

  Awareness flooded her, edging out panic for a second, as she stared into his eyes, the color of chocolate truffles.

  He stood nearly a foot taller than she, lean and wide-shouldered. His stance and everything about him radiated strength and competence. Her gaze dipped to his masculine lips and strong jaw. “What do we do now?”

  He let her go and scanned the deserted rooftops around them.

  “Now we run,” he said in a low tone as she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs behind them.

  They crossed over to the next roof by vaulting over a waist-high wall that separated the two houses. She followed without trouble, grateful—for the first time in her life—for all those ballet lessons her mother had forced on her years ago. At least she had good balance.

  Since the houses were built into each other, they had a clear path to wherever they wanted to go, but they had little cover. They hopped over to the next roof where two young girls played on a faded carpet in the shade of the wall, gesturing as they sang what sounded like a counting song. The girls looked more curious than alarmed, staring with mouths agape at the strangers.

  Their mother yelled up from below, probably wanting to know why their song had suddenly stopped.

  At the same time, a neighbor popped up to his roof, carrying a prayer carpet rolled up under his arm. He hadn’t seen Jake and Allison yet. He kept looking in the opposite direction, toward Mecca.

  They couldn’t go forward that way. And they definitely couldn’t go back. They only had one way to go: down. The fifteen-foot drop to a courtyard that looked identical to the one they’d fled didn’t look encouraging.

  “I’ll catch you,” Jake whispered. And then he vaulted.

  He landed on his feet, as perfectly balanced as any dancer, stayed in a crouch and scanned the area. His hand hovered behind his back where she could make out a lump under his shirt. He had a weapon.

  Before she had a chance to process that, he stood in a fluid motion and held out his arms.

  This could be a really bad idea. But if she got caught on the roof… They still cut off your hand here if they thought you were a thief. If she was found in someone’s rooftop living room, there’d be consequences. And even if she could convince them that she hadn’t been trying to break in… If someone caught her here and turned her in, the police chief might think he’d been right about her being a spy.

  She swallowed hard, flexed her knees then stepped off the ledge. The little girls gave a delighted giggle behind her. Good to know someone was having fun here.

  Whoosh.

  Her breath got stuck in her lungs.

  Then strong arms caught her, held her safe. She looked up into dark chocolate truffle eyes that held a fair dose of amusement.

  “See? With a little trust, everything gets a lot easier.” He set her on her feet, but didn’t grab her hand this time. Instead, he let her follow on her own as they raced across the courtyard and out to the street.

  Within two turns, he led her to the main thoroughfare and flagged down a cab. They were at the hotel in twenty minutes.

  Everything had happened so fast—her horrible interview with the police, being lost and pursued, then the improbable rescue—her head spun. Her frayed nerves buzzed, while he looked as if nothing had happened. If anything, he seemed energized by all the breakneck craziness.

  A travel writer. Some grand adventurer made for action and excitement. Not the type she normally gravitated to. She liked dependable men, like Kenneth. His disappearance didn’t make any sense.

  But as distressing as Jake Tekla was with his wild ways, rogue smile and chocolate eyes, he had saved her life, and for that she owed him her gratitude.

  “Allison Myers,” she introduced herself at last, and this time did shake his hand. “Thank you for the rescue.” If he hadn’t moved as fast and well as he had… “Are you sure you’re a writer and not an athlete?” she joked-slash-complimented him with a smile, trusting him a lot more now that they were back at the hotel.

  “I did play a little football.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.

  She didn’t recall seeing his face on TV. “Which team?”

  “High school, actually,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Looked like I was going to make it to Notre Dame, but Coach Wilson took off in the middle of senior year and the team fell apart. I’m afraid we weren’t too impressive right when it counted the most.”


  The casual conversation relaxed her a little more. “Could I invite you for a cup of coffee?”

  They were standing in front of the hotel’s restaurant.

  “I really appreciate that you helped me and brought me back here.” She pulled back as a couple of men passed them, the same ones who’d approached her at dinner the day before.

  A woman traveling alone definitely drew all the wrong kind of attention here. She’d shot them down then, and stood ready to do it again if they kept bugging her, but they looked at Jake and gave her wide berth.

  Nothing about his expression or body language was threatening, but he did have a formidable quality she found difficult to define. A certain hardness, a toughness at his core that set him apart from the others, even as he opened the restaurant door for her and escorted her in.

  Kenneth was never formidable. He’d attended a slew of master seminars on how to exude all positive vibes and exuberance, the kind of attitude that would draw others to him and smooth his way in business. Kenneth made a point of being steady and predictable.

  He wanted people to know what they could expect from him. She gave thanks to God for that. With Jake Tekla, she had a feeling a person would never know what to expect next. He looked exactly like the sort of man who would do improbable things on a whim.

  She’d never understood people like that. Not that she had to understand him. They were just having a cup of coffee. She was here for Kenneth.

  * * *

  Kenneth Hatch had disappeared in an area Jake’s team was investigating for suspicious activity. Jake could have pretended that he’d accepted Allison’s invitation because of that, but he didn’t. Oddly, he found her company likable.

  She hadn’t whined once, yet, had rolled with the punches. Not what he’d expected from a spoiled little rich girl. Figuring her out promised a few minutes of entertainment in an otherwise fairly routine day.

  He liked it when he could combine business and pleasure.