by Mary Alford
“You are CIA.”
Michael wasn’t surprised Khalid had figured it out. But what did it say about the state of Khalid’s world if someone like this tribesman was familiar with the workings of another country’s spy network?
“Yes. The man missing was sent here to find Zyad Ali-Arawar.”
Khalid recognized the name. “The man is a ghost. Your government is looking for someone as elusive as the former Bin Laden himself was.”
Michael forced a smile. “Perhaps. Agent Tanner had orders to capture Zyad Ali-Arawar alive, if possible. We believed that bringing this man in secretly, without the fanfare of the press, would lead us to more of the top al-Qaeda leaders.”
“Your government has been trying to destroy al-Qaeda for years. What makes you think you can do so now?”
“We had intel that Zyad Ali-Arawar was in this area.”
“Why not send in your marines to surround the area? Ensure that the man didn’t escape.”
Michael’s lack of answer confirmed Khalid suspicions. “I see. There is more to the story than simply wanting to capture Ali-Arawar, isn’t there?”
Khalid was correct. There was more to the story. Much more.
Chapter Six
The man with the knife slapped my face hard with a closed fist. The blow forced my head back and sideways.
He was wearing something, a ring, and brass knuckles. I could feel welts rising on my cheek. He was well trained. Working the intimidation factor. He then spoke to me in Arabic, trying to determine how much I might have understood.
It took all of my past training to keep a blank expression. Again he fired off question after question in Arabic.
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“You lie.” He’d switched to English since he wasn’t completely convinced I knew the language.
“I don’t know what you mean. Why have you brought me here?”
He slapped me again, this time harder. “Enough. Stop lying. I know why you are here. You’ve come to find the agent. Booth Tanner. I had the pleasure of ending his life.”
Please, God, no.
I struggled to keep my reaction to those gut-wrenching words from showing. Unfortunately, my assailant had seen the truth. He smiled slowly. “It’s true. His death came slow. He suffered much,” he continued as if enjoying the story. “Yours does not have to be painful. I can make it swift. If you cooperate.”
I refused to take his bait. “Like Rahab? I saw what you did to her. She’d been tortured before you killed her.”
The man who had been little more than a voice attached to the knife moved closer, inches from my face. For the first time, I was able to make out some of his features.
He was Arabic, which, of course, was no great surprise, considering his dialect. He leered at me then said something I didn’t understand to the others and they laughed once more. I tried to discern their numbers from the sound of their laughter. Two, possibly three, men.
My assailant whispered against my ear, his hot, foul breath fanning across my cheek. “She deserved everything she got. She was one of us. She became a traitor for your man. She sold herself and her country out for money.”
I didn’t believe for a minute that Rahab was al-Qaeda but paying an operative was commonplace. I’d seen the conditions of Rahab’s life. It wouldn’t have been easy to choose to help Booth. If what this man said was true, why had Rahab chosen to try and reach out to me after Booth disappeared? No amount of money could have forced her to risk her life and her family’s to help a stranger.
The Arab grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me closer. “You will tell me what you know. And you will do it now.” His tone grew hard. He didn’t like that I wasn’t completely intimidated by him.
The knife’s edge slithered across my cheek, slicing into it. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see excitement in his. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know anything.”
The knife’s tip dug deeper into my cheek. “Liar. You know plenty. Now, I want to know what you know about the weapons. What did Tanner tell you?”
What you know about the weapons?
My thoughts tangled. Why would this man whom I’d pegged to be al-Qaeda believe Booth or I would know something about weapons?
“What weapons? I don’t know anything about any weapons.”
Somewhere a phone rang. The man questioning me removed the knife and gripped my face painfully in his hand.
I could feel the blood from my cuts oozing down my face.
“Hussein.” One of the men behind him interrupted his questioning. “He wants to speak with you.”
My assailant, Hussein, expelled a harsh breath. He hadn’t liked that his cohort had used his name, which meant it was his real name and not an alias. He squeezed my face harder, then released me, and stormed away.
The relief washing over me threatened consciousness. I strained to grasp bits of the conversation. The man who’d identified Hussein whispered something that sounded like, ‘he’s angry’, then Hussein took the phone and moved away.
The conversation was almost completely unintelligible except for a couple of words. Hussein slammed the phone shut and said something to the men about covering tracks. With that and only a glance my way, they left the bunker, relocking the door.
In Hussein’s conversation with what I could only conclude was the real mastermind responsible for my kidnapping, I’d caught the words CIA and search. Someone from my former team was looking for me. Had Khalid gotten word to them? I could only pray they’d find me before Hussein finished the job.
* * * *
“Michael, I have someone who claims to have seen Rahab before she died. He said he followed her outside of the village.” Dawn had barely broken when the search for Rachel resumed.
Sam found him going over the map provided by Khalid. As Michael soon discovered, the tribesmen of the desert possessed a great deal of modern tools.
Michael studied Khalid’s expression at this piece of news. In the short length of time he’d known the tribesman, he’d learned the man rarely gave anything he was feeling away. No doubt, a trait that came in handy in this section of the world. Here you never knew whom to trust.
Michael glanced past Sam to the Arab standing nearby. “How did this guy find out about the search? Did he see something? Maybe he knows who killed Rahab and took Laura?” At this point, everyone was questionable. But with few leads and thousands of miles of desert to search, no clue could be ignored.
“He is from the village of Bel-Ahzar. He saw...Laura and Khalid the other day. It aroused his suspicions about Rahab, who he knows. He might be of some help.”
Michael looked the man over. He didn’t stand out as unusual but then, at this point, the enemy could be disguised as anyone. “What’s his name?”
“Mozhar.”
Michael turned to Khalid. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him around the village. I believe he sometimes brings perishables in from Kabul and gives candy to the children.”
Michael turned back to the man. He motioned to Mozhar, who was standing out of earshot. “Do you speak English?” The man nodded. “You know something?”
“Yes. As I explained to your friend, I knew Rahab and her family. Well, what’s left of her family. There’s just her mother now. The bombs struck the village a few years back and destroyed most of it.”
Michael glanced at Khalid, who nodded. “How did you find out about the search?”
“I travel this route several times a month. I arrived in Bel-Ahzar only yesterday. As I was on my way late in the evening, I saw Rahab leaving the village. She was alone.”
“And you followed her?”
“No, no, I was traveling west to Ala-Ahaia. I confess I thought it strange she would be leaving the village that late, but I was in a hurry. I had vegetables for Ala-Ahaia that needed to be there before sundown.”
“Did you see anyone follow her out of the village?”
&nbs
p; Michael had a feeling he knew the answer. Whoever had killed Rahab and taken Rachel was a pro. They knew what they were doing and how to hide in plain sight.
“No, I’m sorry, I did not. But I wish now that I’d listened to my conscience and followed Rahab. She might still be alive.”
As Michael was quickly learning in his crash course of fieldwork, you couldn’t always trust the enemy to look the part. Still, the man appeared harmless enough and according to Khalid, his story checked out. “We can use all the help we can get. Why don’t you go with Sam? He can get you started.”
Sam motioned to Mozhar. “Sure, come with me. You can work with me.”
Once the Arab was out of sight, Michael asked Khalid, “Where do you think they’d be keeping her?”
Khalid shrugged. “There are several places that come to mind. No doubt, they’ll move her around a lot, especially once they hear of the search.”
Michael had no doubt that whoever took Rachel would be watching the area carefully. They’d expect someone to come looking for her.
“Give me your best guess.” Michael had never felt more frustrated. His time for bringing Rachel back had run out long ago and yet he’d ignored Hughes’ calls. Which probably meant Hughes would be adding his name to the growing list of problems to take care of.
Khalid moved back to the map spread out on a makeshift table. “If it were me, I’d take her here.” He jabbed a finger on a site called Ulziheir. The last known hideout of some of the top al-Qaeda leaders. The sickening feeling in the pit of Michael’s stomach increased tenfold.
That entire area had been impenetrable since the invasion of Afghanistan. The last stronghold of both Taliban fugitives and al-Qaeda operatives that U.S. troops hadn’t been able to destroy. It was also a suspected training camp for al-Qaeda.
“That’s not what I needed to hear.” If Rachel had been taken there, the chances of her coming out of this thing alive were next to zero. And he’d have a hard time explaining to the world how he’d gotten an American under-ambassador murdered in enemy territory.
* * * *
Blinding light filled the room. It took forever for my eyes to adjust to the brilliance. Then, the world returned to darkness. I’d gotten only a glimpse around me. The walls were gray, reinforced cement blocks. No windows, and bags holding what appeared to be some type of grain were stacked high against one wall. Beyond that, nothing but blinding desert sun.
I’d caught sight of two men entering the room. Once the door slammed shut, they talked quietly. I couldn’t make out much of their conversation--only that they needed to wait for Hussein before moving me.
I had a feeling if I left this place, I’d be leaving behind my last chance at getting out of this alive.
One of the two came close. I could smell sweat and stale food--a combination of garlic and something else--on his breath. He put something to my lips. A bottle of water. My captors were showing compassion. They needed me alive. For the first time since I’d awakened to this nightmare, I let myself hope. There might be a chance I could survive if help came soon.
The water was good and did wonders to bring me back to life. I remembered something Booth had taught me once.
He’d told me that when captured, I should try and make my assailants see me as a human being. It became harder to kill someone who you’d made a connection with.
“Why are you doing this? I know nothing.” The man with the water froze then turned back to me. I couldn’t tell if he’d understood what I’d said and I didn’t dare address him in Arabic. “My name is Laura. Laura Ingalls. I’m from Texas. Do you know where that is?”
The man disappeared into the darkness. He said something quietly to his buddy.
“I have a two-year-old daughter. I’m all that she has. If you kill me, you’ll destroy her.”
“Shut up,” one of the men told me in broken English. “You will shut up now.”
“Her name is Ava. Do you have children of your own?”
After one of them rattled off profanity in Arabic, they left the bunker. I could hear them speaking angrily to each other outside. I slumped against the ropes holding my hands, more desperate than ever.
If I didn’t find a way to escape soon, I’d be killed once they got what they wanted out of me.
I somehow managed to find the strength to stand on my tiptoes, which relieved the tension on the ropes a fraction. The knot was simple enough, but it would be all but impossible to work loose from the position my hands were tied. The tiniest amount of light filtered through the cement blocks above. There were wood beam supports to which my ropes had been attached. Something above my hands glinted in faint light. It took me a second or two to realize it was a wood screw. It had worked its way halfway out of its hole. Probably due to my weight against the beam. I stretched my fingers out as far as I could and managed to touch the screw. It hurt like crazy, but I began to work it from its place, being extremely careful not to drop it.
After half a dozen useless attempts, I somehow managed to get the screw loose and clasped it between my thumb and forefinger.
If I could move a little more to my right and stand a little higher on my tiptoes, I could position the screw against the knot in the rope and hopefully get it loose.
I got the screw positioned and slowly began to work the knot while listening for any sound outside. The men were silent. I didn’t know if they’d left or simply decided to keep quiet.
I worked for what seemed like hours and had managed to loosen the knot slightly when I heard voices again from outside. I recognized Hussein’s immediately. I tucked the screw into the palm of my hand and prayed it wouldn’t be discovered.
The door swung back hard on its hinges to admit Hussein, followed by his two subordinates.
Hussein ordered the two men to clear the place. Make it as if no one had been there. Leave no evidence behind. Then he came to me, his expression cold and hard. The face of a killer. Before I knew what he was intending to do, he raised his right hand and jabbed something into my neck, then darkness slowly began to swallow me. I fought to hang on to consciousness, but it was as if I were walking through a thick fog. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
My hands were released and I struggled to keep the screw hidden. I heard Hussein tell one of the men to get me inside the Jeep and under the tarp.
“No,” I managed to whisper, yet no one was listening. Not that it mattered. I was powerless to do anything more but slump into the arms of my captor. Before there was nothing at all, I prayed that Ava would never hear the details of what happened to me.
Chapter Seven
I was startled awake from sweet dreams of Ava when someone’s open hand made contact with my cheek. The smacking sound of flesh on flesh reverberated throughout my body. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked into Hussein’s.
He eyed me suspiciously for a handful of seconds. Satisfied I was now fully awake, he turned away. He addressed someone in Arabic. “She’s awake.”
“Good.” The voice, a new player, sounded oddly familiar. I glanced around. I was huddled in the corner of a room only slightly more endearing than the last one. At least my hands weren’t tied above my head. Now they were secured behind my back. I still clutched the screw tight in my palm. Somehow, against all odds, I’d managed to hold on to it.
The familiar voice stepped from the shadows. It was Anwar. The man who’d provided me safe passage to Kabul.
Disbelief kept me from speaking for a moment. My mind raced to make logical sense of what I was seeing.
“Anwar? What are you doing?”
He ignored my question. “You will tell me what you know about the weapons and you will do it now.”
This was not the man who’d appeared caring. David’s trusted friend.
“What weapons? I don’t know anything about any weapons. I told you why I was here.”
He squinted furiously at me. When he spoke, each of the words were bitten out, angry spittle flying from his mouth. “You are lying. If yo
u’re trying to protect him, you’re wasting your breath. If you want to save yourself and your daughter, you will do as I suggest and tell me what you know. Everything.”
“My daughter? What are you talking about?” I struggled to force those words out, my thoughts reeling from the implication. He knew about Ava. How? I’d mentioned my daughter to the two men, but I had a feeling Anwar’s admission had nothing to do with them. This man knew David. He’d ingratiated himself into David’s life with a specific purpose. To get to me.
“That’s right. You figured it out. I know all about you and I can get to your daughter any time I choose. You will answer my question.”
I fought back bile. “I don’t know anything about any weapons. As I told you, I came to find my friend. Nothing more. That’s it.”
Anwar motioned to one of the men, who yanked me to my feet and ripped my shirt open in the back.
Hussein stepped forward carrying a whip, a maniacal grin on his face. He motioned for the man to turn me around.
The first blow from the whip knocked me to my knees along with the man who held me.
“Get her to her feet,” Anwar bellowed. The man lifted me up. The second blow struck my lower back. I struggled to keep conscious as blow after blow rained down on my back. I lost track of their numbers before Hussein was finally told to stop.
The man released me and I fell forward to the floor, slipping in and out of consciousness.
Anwar discussed what must be done next. “He will not be pleased. The chance that she may have told someone about this is risky, but if we cannot break her, then it will have to do.” Though I pretended to be unconscious, Anwar didn’t seem worried. Which meant they didn’t plan on letting me walk out of this place alive.
Somehow, in spite of the merciless beating, I’d held onto the screw as if holding onto my only means of escape.
“Do you want me to kill her?” Hussein seemed excited by the possibility.
“Not yet. I must speak with him first. See how far he wants us to take this thing.”
“What do we do with her?” Hussein kicked my side, checking to see if I was awake.