Edge of the Heat 6

by Ladew, Lisa

  Thinking about her uncle and father hurt, they must be worried sick about her. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t convinced anyone to come save her yet. She and JT had already been here for five, possibly six days and as much as she didn’t want to, she was losing her faith that anyone was coming. And if they were coming, couldn’t they hurry? If it were possible for a person to die of misery, she was afraid that was where she was heading.

  She could barely feel her chest and arms and her legs were numb and on fire at the same time. How could that be? She knew she was getting weaker and weaker. Today she didn’t feel hungry, but just yesterday she had felt like she was going to die if she didn’t get any food. Speaking of food, Dani smelled the heavy, fragrant odor of soup somewhere in the compound they were in, even through the heavy hood she wore. Someone was making soup or eating soup. Saliva squirted into her mouth at the thought. Maybe she was still hungry after all.

  Dani heard some noise outside of the room they were in, if you could call this dirt-covered floor; muddy, crumbling walls; and dirty canvas roof and door coverings a room. She heard two men talking. She tried to care. She knew that JT would care. He still thought they could escape. Every time he was awake she could hear him subtly moving his body and testing his ropes. Sometimes he even stood up and moved around. Right now he was sleeping. She could hear his even deep breathing occasional groaning. She didn’t know where they had hit him when they had last been caught talking but she knew they had hit him. She heard the grunt and the laughter, heard his sharp intake of breath and determination not to scream. Then they had hit him again and he had screamed. Fresh tears squirted out of her eyes as she thought of it. He was tied and hooded. And they had hit him with something heavy, probably a gun. Cowards! Dani chanted again in her mind.

  Dani considered herself a patriot, but knowing so much more of the history of these lands than most people, she felt a bit more compassion for the people in the Middle East who were fighting what they thought was a good fight than most people did. But not anymore. That compassion had died with the heavy thud of metal against flesh.

  She had waited, terrified, tongue held between her teeth to keep her from screaming, for their attention and their blows to land on her. But they hadn’t. The men had seemed satisfied with hurting JT. She wished she could take it back. She would’ve told him to be quiet – don’t talk. But she couldn’t take it back and now he was hurting even more. The thought burrowed into her heart like some horrible worm.

  ***

  The truck bounced and jolted along the desert floor. No roads led to the middle of the desert. Sara lay in the back of the truck pretending to sleep, bags and equipment piled on top of her. She was still surprised how easy it was for her to take over Tira’s role and get in and out of the house without anyone noticing that she wasn’t Tira. It had been no hiccups, no mistakes, no issues, and no beatings. She had finished Tira’s chores quickly and retired to Tira’s room until called to start loading the truck.

  Voices speaking in Arabic drifted through the open window of the cab of the truck to where she lay. She only caught every second or third word, but what they were discussing was clear. Killing. Videotaping. Sara’s stomach turned at the light and joking manner the words and tone conveyed. Killing was no big deal to these men. Sara strained to hear as much as possible. She could not afford a single misstep when time was this tight.

  The old truck finally bounced to a stop. Sara peered out the tiny window, trying to see something, anything. She waited for the other three women to get out of the back and then she pulled her bags with her and slid to the ground. Keeping her eyes averted she picked up three bags of food and one of laundry and marched quickly towards the dusty, crumbling, front wall of the fort. As she walked, her eyes swept left and right, taking in the desert, the mountains around, and the lack of visible guards. Were they cocky? They didn’t think anyone would find them? Or were the guards well-hidden? She saw no possible hiding places close by. Her eyes scanned the mountainsides for the tell-tale glint of sunlight on sniper sights. Again, she saw nothing. In her mind, she upped her odds of escaping with the two Americans to 90%.

  Sara recalled the map that Tira had written for her into her mind. She walked in the front door pushing aside the heavy piece of canvas and immediately ran into a bulky man with a machine gun slung over his back. She dropped her eyes and whispered ‘excuse me’ in Arabic and tried to push past him. He grabbed her elbow and grunted. Sara’s breath caught in her throat. Was she really to be discovered this soon?

  Her hand stole inside her sleeve, her fingertips straining for the knife under her arm. If this is how it was going to be, then so be it. Her fingers touched the cold metal. In her head, her odds dropped down to 50%, maybe 40. The man pulled her close and grimaced at her. Maybe he was trying to smile. She could see flakes of food in his teeth. His dirty hair hung in his face and his beard smelled like rotting animals. Sara gritted her teeth under her veil and grasped the handle of the knife under her left armpit. She was just about to pull it loose and bury it in the man’s collarbone when he snaked an arm behind her and squeezed her ass, then let her go with a laugh.

  Sara stumbled 5 steps away from the man quickly, then pushed her arm back out of her sleeve and shakily walked on with her eyes low, hiding the murder in them. The big man laughed and laughed. I hope you enjoyed that big boy, because that’s the last ass you’ll ever grab. I promise you that, Sara thought.

  She ran into the room that Tira had said she must go to first. There was already a soup pot hung over a wasting fire in the room. She laid her bags down and set to work at once feeding the fire. Quickly, she pulled the meats and dried vegetables out of her bag and threw them into the soup, not bothering to stir it, but hoping the smell would announce that she was doing her job.

  She spied the water bucket in the corner and ran to it, grabbing it up and leaving the room quickly. She had a short walk back to the truck, past the big man with the gun and the rotting beard. He laughed again but did not try to touch her this time.

  She pulled the large plastic containers of water out of the back of the truck and filled her bucket. Time to find the prisoners.

  She turned left, then right, then right again, and left one more time to the far south end of the compound. She found the room where the prisoners were being held, but walked past it, her heart beating heavy. She had heard men talking inside, but not with deadly intent. JT and Daniela had to be safe until she found an exit. Had to. Heading back to the front door would mean almost certain mission failure, even with the tricks she had up her sleeve.

  Tira had thought there was an exit this way, but she wasn’t sure. Sara glanced into rooms as she passed them if she could, but most seemed quiet and empty. If she found an outside wall maybe they could just scale it and push under the canvas roof, then drop to the ground. That was a last resort though. The man and woman who would be with her might be unable to climb any walls.

  Sara smelled the air. The latrine pit must be close by. The stench of human waste grew stronger with each step she took. That was good. Tira had drawn the bathroom area along an outside wall. She ran into no people. Tira had said this end of the compound was mostly empty. She had said there were 50 to 60 NIB troops out here most days, but the sleeping quarters and mission rooms were all at the north end, away from the latrine.

  And then she found it. The latrine doorway loomed on her right. She pushed past quickly, barely registering it. Her eyes were focused on what had to be an outside wall because of the brighter light leaking in around the canvas roof. She switched the water pail to her other hand and quickened her pace. She did not want to be caught past the latrine. She would not be able to explain why she was here and would have no choice but to kill whoever caught her.

  A dull panel ten yards past the latrine seemed to be a dead end. Sara approached it, trailing her hand along the wall, her eyes searching desperately for holes or weaknesses. But when she reached the dead end she realized that the corridor didn�
��t just stop. There was a smaller turn to the left. She followed it almost on tiptoe, because the corridor was so small here that she barely had room to move, and was immediately rewarded by another left turn and then canvas covering what appeared to be a dead end but wasn’t. This had to be the way outside. The air on the other side of the canvas was hot and stifling – desert air. She pushed gingerly at the canvas covering and felt chicken wire or fence on the other side. Sara reached inside her sleeve and pulled out one of her knives. She cut a small slice in the fabric and looked out. Yes it was chicken wire and it appeared to be molded into the wall of the fort. Still, they could get out this way. If she had to she would cut it. Her mind recalled an image of the tiny toolkit stuffed in the small of her back. Yes, there were wire cutters in there. As her mind contemplated that, her gut pulled at her. Booby-trap, it said. Sara pushed her face gingerly at the slice in the canvas, trying to see outside of the fencing. She didn’t see anything that looked like it needed further review but the niggling fear in her gut wouldn’t go away. She made a note of it and turned around, done here for now.

  Sara strained her ears, listening for any steps coming down the corridor. She heard nothing. This was as good a place as any to do what needed to be done now. She snaked a hand behind her back and pulled out her satellite phone. She looked at the GPS coordinates and did some swift calculations. She entered the calculations into the touch screen on the satellite phone with a few simple instructions. The screen filled with a reply. Perfect, she thought as she stowed the satellite phone, sheathed the knife, and snuck back down the corridor.

  She had found an exit, now all she needed was to free the hostages. Do or die, she thought, the phrase calling Jerry into her mind. She blew his image a kiss and pushed it away. No distractions.

  Sara quickly but quietly passed the latrine again. She heard someone whistling inside. This bothered her. Had that man been in there the whole time or had he just entered and she hadn’t heard? No matter. She would deal with that when and if she had to. Her mind made plans for her next trip back this way. No mercy could be afforded.

  Swiftly, she walked to the room where the hostages were being held without encountering anyone else on the way. She pushed through the canvas and forced her eyes to the ground, taking on the subservient posture of Tira. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the lone guard, nodding off in a chair in the corner.

  She looked up at the hostages, tied to chairs against the back wall of the room and disgust filled her heart, squirting acid into her veins. No one deserved to be treated like this. She could already see that both the man and the woman looked gaunt and weak, as if they were starving. The man had a massive, purple bruise crawling up his neck starting somewhere under his shirt.

  Sara half-felt, half-saw the guard sit up, his eyes lazily crawling across her. She walked to Gunnery Sergeant Taylor first. His head had been rolled forward, his body straining against his ropes but as she approached he lifted his head and tried to sit up. She heard his throat and tongue click dryly. Slowly, carefully she reached out and rolled his hood up to his nose, revealing the beard that had had time to grow while he was in captivity. She could feel the eyes of the guard on her back and she didn’t like it.

  She brought the dipper up to Taylor’s mouth and watched him search for the water like an eager puppy dog. His lips were cracked and bleeding slightly. His tongue looked dry as the desert floor. While Sara spooned water into his mouth she examined the ropes tying his legs to the chair without moving her head. She couldn’t see the ropes around his hands but hoped they were similar. They would be easy to deal with. She let him drink, drink, and drink his fill and then moved on to Daniela Clarkson.

  Daniela pulled back from her at first making Sara glad she had positioned her body between the guard and Daniela. Daniela sensed something was off about her. Sara watched her closely, wondering what exactly she had noticed. A smell? Something in the way she moved? But when Sara chased her lips with the dipper, Daniela seemed to consider and then drank just as greedily as Jon Taylor had. Sara relaxed just a little.

  When both hostages had drank as much as they could take in, Sara gathered her bucket and left the room. She hurried back to the soup room, hoping she still had it to herself. She did. She reached behind her and pressed a button on her satellite phone three times, holding it for 3 seconds the last time. Then she set the timer on her watch. She had seven minutes before hell arrived. She stirred the soup and waited.

  Chapter 17

  Dani thought hard about what had just happened. It was relevant, somehow, she knew it. That had not been the same woman that had brought them water every other time. And there was something important about the new woman. Dani replayed the entire incident over in her head, trying to tease the important parts out of it.

  She had heard the heavy lift and fall of the canvas at the doorway. Then the splash of water in a bucket. Water! Dani’s every cell had cried out for water. She was dangerously close to dehydration and she knew it. The woman entered the room. In her mind Dani saw her: A slight woman, approximately her own height or shorter, covered from head to toe and carrying a silver metal pail. This was all imagination though - her mind filling in details she didn’t know - couldn’t possibly know behind this damn hood. Dani saw her crossing the dirt-covered floor and stopping in front of her. Dani had waited for her hood to be rolled up above her nose.

  But this time she had gone to JT first. That’s strange, Dani had thought. Every other time the woman had come to Dani first. In some insane way that had nothing to do with water, Dani had begun to look forward to her visits. The woman had a gentle spirit that Dani could feel even in this horrible situation. Dani thought it was the only kind spirit she had felt since in this place. Even JT didn’t count. Mostly what Dani felt from him was fear, rage, and frustration. The woman though, she was like a cool hand on a hot brow. Along with her water, she brought kindness and a reminder that the entire world was not insane. Dani knew she wasn’t working with the terrorists out of choice. She didn’t know how she knew that but she did.

  Dani had heard JT drinking his fill to her left, she heard the splashing of the water and JT’s throat working. The dipper went back in the water five times, six times, seven times. 7 times? The first day when the woman had brought them water, the guard head grunted at five times and since that day the woman had only let them drink five dippers of water each day. She lost count of how many times the dipper returned to splash in the water for JT as her own dry throat worked in preparation, but she thought he had gotten to drink at least 10 dippers of water.

  She had wondered if she would get the same. Desperation and hope had bloomed in her mind. It was all she had been able think about. That, and she hoped she wouldn’t throw it up if she got so much. The woman moved to her. Dani felt her hood roll halfway up her face and the motion of the dipper brought to her lips. But something was different. This was not the same woman. Dani did not sense the same kind, gentle presence that she usually did. This woman, she was sure it was still a woman, felt coiled and dangerous, like a snake ready to strike. Dani pulled back from the dipper of water. The woman brought it to her lips again. What choice did she have? None. Drink or die. Dani drank. She had counted 11 dippers of water before her stomach could take no more and she had turned away.

  Dani waited for connections to fall into place but felt none. Then something came. Maybe the woman was part of a rescue force? An advance party? But that was crazy. Wasn’t it? No one would send a woman into this snake pit alone. And how would she have gotten in without being noticed? Dani played situations in her mind, trying to imagine how it could have happened.

  Voices in the corridor interrupted her thoughts. She noticed her heart was pounding and willed it to slow a little and let her hear better. It sounded like two men. The canvas rose and fell as they entered the room. She could hear equipment being dropped and a zipper being unzipped.

  “Put it over here,” a harsh voice said in Arabic. The accent was thick, but
Dani could understand every word. “No closer, right here, we want them to see everything”

  Another voice spoke, this one practically on top of Dani. She pulled back involuntarily. “We are sending video of the tribute to the US leaders then?”

  “Not today. We just send the message today. But we want to get it all on video. We will shoot a few different messages before so we can use them later.”

  The second man spoke. “But why kill them then?”

  Dani’s heart sank like a stone in her chest. They were done for. No one would ever be able to rescue them. JT had been right. She should have tried to escape harder. Fear perched on Dani’s shoulder but for some reason it never got a foothold in her body, because at that moment all she could see was her father’s face. Her father’s sadness. Her father would be devastated by this.

  And then the first man said something that twisted Dani’s heart and caused ice to run through her veins. “Clarkson wants them dead today.”

  Dani shuddered. Clarkson. It wasn’t a very common name and she knew it. Who else could Clarkson be, but her uncle Colonel Kevin Clarkson of the United States Marine Corps? The man who had asked her to meet him at the cafe where she had been captured. The man who her father suspected of selling U.S. Government secrets for money. Her father’s brother. The shudder turned into shaking. Her whole body tried to deny what her ears had heard. But she couldn’t do it. Uncle Kevin didn’t want his secret found out. Hatred for this man who was supposed to be a part of her family, who had been her godfather as well as her uncle, ran through her. And JT, oh poor JT, this is all her fault. It was her fault that he was here. His death was on her hands.

  Dani couldn’t help it. Finally, she started to cry.

  ***

  After a few moments Dani’s tears dried to a trickle. She sucked in a breath and held it. She was determined not to cry in front of the cameras this final time. Her parents would see those videos. She would smile for them and mouth loving sentiments to them if the camera turned her way. If today was the day she died then she would do it with dignity.