by Toby Tate
“What do Gordon and I do?” Gabe asked.
“Stand by here. We’ll need you for all the shit that comes later.”
“How long do you think the op will take?”
“The drive to Riyadh is about eight hours, seven if you’re hauling ass,” Bio said. “We want to hit it early, about three a.m. As you probably know, that’s the Russians’ favorite time to do ops, when people are in the middle of REM sleep.”
“I never dream about REM,” Gordon said. “I’ve had a few dreams involving me and Lady GaGa, though.”
“Powers, you’re still a wise-ass,” Scooter said.
“I guess we should all eat and hit the hay, then,” Gabe said. “It’s already near lunchtime. I could sleep for a week as it is.”
Scooter grunted his agreement. “We’ll wake at eighteen hundred, get some chow, and then meet back here for an INTSUM before we head for the border.”
“Thanks for coming here, Scooter. We couldn’t do it without you,” Gabe said.
“Who could resist a chance to look at your beautiful face? Besides, you gave me ten million good reasons to come.”
“Yeah, wasn’t that nice of her?” Gordon said.
* * *
Gabe and Gordon made a quick trip to the commissary and did their best to decipher the labels on the food, most of which were in Arabic, although some were in English. They went back to the apartment and Gordon cooked up a surprisingly tasty meal of grilled grouper, white rice, and a salad made of parsley, bulgur, tomatoes, garlic, and lemon. They washed it all down with Arabic tea. Gabe hadn’t eaten that well in a while.
“Where did you learn to cook like that, Gordon? It was delicious.”
He turned to speak as he was washing the last of the silverware. “More out of necessity than anything else. I like to eat well and I don’t like a lot of processed food or restaurant food, which is mostly salt. So I bought some recipe books back when I first joined the CIA, since I figured I would be spending a lot of time on my own.”
Gabe stared at him for a moment, admiring his full head of dark hair, his chiseled jaw, his broad shoulders, long legs, and firm butt.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you ever been married?”
“You’re asking a CIA guy why he’s never been married? I would think you’d know the answer to that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to deprive all those women their chance at me.”
“All those women? Seriously, Gordon, do you really think you’re God’s gift to the female of the species?”
He finished the last of the silverware and turned to face her, wiping his hands with the dish cloth.
“Come on, Gabe, tell me you don’t find me appealing.”
“Yeah, in a fatherly sort of way.”
He dropped the cloth on the counter and slowly advanced toward her as she sat at the kitchen table. She suddenly felt heat rising up inside her belly, but swallowed hard and forced herself to put the fire out. She wasn’t ready for that, at least not yet. Gordon stopped walking, as if he sensed it, and stared down at her.
“I’m not going to force myself on you, if that’s what you think,” he said.
“No, that’s not what I think.”
“You’re a little uptight, Gabe. You need to…”
“I know, I need to chillax, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Maybe if you didn’t make so many wisecracks, it would be easier to like you.”
“But that’s what makes me…me. I don’t think you’d really like me any other way, princess.”
“Gordon, I told you not to call me…”
“Princess? I know. But sitting there in that chair looking at me with those beautiful brown eyes, that lovely red dragon tattoo on your arm, that’s what I think of—an Arabian princess.” He smiled and winked. “And on that note, I will say good day.”
Gordon turned and strode out of the room and she watched in stunned silence until he disappeared through the bedroom door, closing it behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabe awoke to her alarm at six p.m., when most people were just getting ready for dinner. She knew this was going to throw off her circadian rhythm, but there wasn’t much choice. She was actually sorry she wasn’t going on the op—she would have liked to at least get in on some action instead of waiting around here for the next eighteen hours or so. But if all went well, they would be back by noon the following day.
She put her feet on the floor and dragged herself into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and showered, then pulled on some blue jeans and a t-shirt, thanking God that the Kuwaitis were not so strict on women’s apparel. She headed out to the living room in time to smell Gordon cooking breakfast. She was actually glad to see him.
“What’s that you’re making?” she asked.
Gordon turned from the stove and smiled at her. “I’m frying up some eggs and turkey bacon we got from the commissary. Unfortunately, there’s no pig bacon available in the Middle East.”
Gabe pulled out a chair and sat. “Imagine that.”
He nodded toward the counter. “Made some of the coffee we got there, too.”
“Wow—real coffee. It smells like fresh heaven.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I think I was asleep before I even got in bed. In fact, I don’t remember getting in bed. Didn’t wake up until the alarm went off.”
“I slept like the dead, myself. Figuratively speaking.”
He finished cooking and served a plate to Gabe and then made one for himself and poured two cups of coffee. They talked as they ate and had both taken their last bite when a knock came at the door. Gordon glanced at his watch.
“Punctual. I like that in my commandos,” he said, and then walked to the door and pulled it open.
Scooter and his four men filed in, greeting them both. Gabe glanced at One Shot just in time to see him diverting his blue eyes from her. He was quite handsome in a California surfer boy kind of way, with biceps that were a little too big for his shirt sleeves and a neck to match. She could sense softness to his demeanor, in spite of the fact he was a former marine sniper.
She stood and made her way into the living room where everyone again formed a circle to go over the day’s plan of action. After Scooter went over everything, he glanced around the room.
“Any questions?” he asked.
Mad Dog raised his hand. “Hey, what if we have to take a piss?”
Groans filled the room. Max said, “I heard astronauts wear diapers. You could try that.”
“No, man, too much chafing. Besides, who wants to sit in their own piss for sixteen hours?”
“My kid does it all the time.”
“Probably because you don’t ever change him.”
“Does anyone else have any questions?” Scooter asked.
“I wish we were going with you guys,” Gordon said. “We’ll be sitting around here pulling our hair out until you get back.”
“We’ll use the satellite phone if we get into trouble. I don’t really see that happening, though.”
“I have the utmost confidence in your team. I know you’ll pull it off.”
Scooter grinned. “And if we don’t, well, I guess you’ll be saving ten million dollars.”
Everyone stood and Gordon opened the door, shook hands with Scooter and the other men as they filed out. “Good luck, guys,” he said, closing the door behind them.
Gabe sighed. “Why do I get the feeling things aren’t going to go as planned?”
Gordon glanced at her and chuckled. “Do they ever?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
At three-fifteen a.m., Lydia walked slowly outside the KACST compound, glancing around nervously. Like her boss, Dr. al-Shamari, she was a scientist and not a spy or a warrior. She was not used to sneaking around and disobeying the law. But she knew she would do it for Abel, would do anything for him, in fact. She had faith that God was in control of this situation despite her feelings to the contra
ry. Once he was free, she would be able to breathe easier, but right now her nerves were on edge, like a cat trapped in a pit of hungry dogs.
The street lights blazed overhead and she knew that any minute the Saudi police would drive by and see her, and then stop and question her. Her alibi would be that she had received a message from someone at the institute to come to the genomics lab and she had called a taxi. Likely, they would check her story and realize she had lied and she would be arrested, and then jailed.
But perhaps she was just being paranoid. The Americans were very good at what they did and they had given her specific instructions.
As if on cue, a rust-colored SUV came around the corner and drove toward her. The vehicle came to a stop right next to her, and two men with their faces covered, dressed in black, and carrying large carbines jumped out and ran toward her, yelling in Russian. She had no idea what they were saying, but she knew this was who she had been waiting for. She stopped in her tracks as they approached her. Her heart began to race as an icy surge of adrenaline shot through her veins, yet she also felt relieved to finally be helping Abel gain his freedom.
“Vzyat' nas tuda, gde prsioner prokhodit!” Take us to where the prisoner is being held!
The man repeated the order in Arabic. Lydia nodded frantically, looking the part of the fearful hostage, and they dragged her to the SUV and pushed her inside.
The man driving glanced at her. “I’m One Shot, this is Mad Dog,” he said, pointing at the passenger seat. “Do you speak English?”
Lydia nodded. “Yes. I spent much time in England.”
“Good. That’ll make things easier.”
They turned onto the boulevard that was the main thoroughfare through the huge complex.
“Which way do I go?” One Shot asked.
“Turn left at the first street,” Lydia said. “Then right and stop at the first building. That is the genomics lab.”
* * *
One Shot raced through the street knowing that time was not on his side. Any minute the Saudi Police would likely spot them and the whole of the police force would descend on this place. He took a hard right, saw the building and screeched to a halt. They jumped out of the SUV and he immediately spotted cameras on the corners of the building overhead. They were being watched by security. They didn’t have much time, if any at all. Hopefully this early in the morning nobody was paying close attention.
They got to the front door of the building and Lydia swiped her key card in the slot as the two men kept their carbines trained on her. The guards would surely be alerted by that. Now they were definitely on the clock.
“Let us know when we’re about to enter the secured area so we can take the guards,” Mad Dog said.
They passed through several labs and entered a corridor. They came to a set of double doors and Lydia said, “On the other side of this door are two guards.”
“Flash bang?” Mad Dog whispered.
One Shot nodded and Mad Dog grabbed a grenade off his belt, then jerked open the door, tossed it in and shut the door again. He heard yelling and then a deafening pop, followed by more yelling.
“Alright, let’s do this,” One Shot said. “Lydia, wait here until we call you.”
Mad Dog kicked the door in and they found the two guards rolling on the floor, holding their ears and crying out in Arabic. They both looked like college-aged kids, both dressed in traditional garb, probably doing this on the side, One Shot figured.
They each grabbed hold of a guard and relieved them of their weapons and radios and cuffed their hands and feet.
“Ne dvigat'sya ili vy umrete!” Don’t move or you die! One Shot yelled in Russian. To emphasize his point, he put several bullets into the wall above their heads. The Saudi authorities would hopefully have their forensics team check the make of the bullets and find them to be Russian. He knew they probably didn’t understand him, but they got the message and finally lay still, both whimpering like scared puppies.
One Shot glanced at the metal doors in front of them and knew Abel was behind there. He called Lydia in and yelled at her to open the door. She protested and he pulled his pistol, pointed it at her, glancing down to make sure a guard was watching, and yelled again. She slid her card through—the doors hissed open. There, sitting on a chair and staring at them as if they had been expected, was a lily-white, blue-eyed young man dressed in an Arabic dish-dash and head scarf. His eyes were as silver as two shiny nickels. At his feet lay another guard, a military one by all appearances, who was out cold.
“Hello,” he said in Arabic with a surprisingly mild voice. “I’m Abel.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“On your feet!” One Shot yelled in Arabic, his carbine trained on Abel. Since there was no way to know where all the cameras were, they had to continue the act until they were away from the science center.
Abel complied and stood from the chair. Mad Dog cuffed the guard on the floor, and then cuffed Abel behind his back, grabbed an arm and led him from the room. One Shot glanced back at the guards as they passed through the doorway. They were still on the floor, praying in Arabic. Unfortunately, the Saudi authorities would not look too kindly on their allowing Russians to kidnap their prized possession. He felt sorry for them, but there was nothing he could do about it. At least he hadn’t shot them, he figured.
They continued out the way they had come until they reached the front door of the building. Then, Abel skidded to a stop, causing everyone else to do the same.
“I have a request,” he said in English. Mad Dog and One Shot glanced at each other and then back at him.
“A request.” One Shot repeated. “What kind of request?”
“Lydia comes with us. If we leave her here, they will eventually figure out she aided in my escape. You know what happens to women who go to prison in Saudi Arabia.”
One Shot glanced around the alcove, trying to spot a camera. They were running very short on time.
As if Abel had read his mind, he said, “There are no cameras here, only on the outside.”
They didn’t have time for this. They had to get moving. One Shot made a command decision—they could sort it out later.
“Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”
But Abel didn’t move. Instead, he said, “I have one more request.”
One Shot felt his temperature rising. “Seriously?”
“Dr. al-Shamari and his family also go.”
“Al-Shamari? Who the fuck is al-Shamari?”
“Dr. al-Shamari is the one who first brought Cain to the facility,” Lydia said. “He knows more about the project than anyone alive.”
“Look, ma’am, my orders are to get Abel to our rendezvous point, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve agreed to take you, and I don’t even have the authority to do that. I’m already pushing it, so let’s go.”
At that moment, the sirens went off. The police would be here in minutes, if not seconds. Abel suddenly broke his flex cuffs like they were no more than velvet ropes and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What the fuck?” Mad Dog said. “How the hell did you…?”
“The doctor and his family come along or I don’t.”
One Shot knew they didn’t have any choice. He had to bring Abel, no matter what, and there was no time to check with Scooter. He could knock him out and drag him, but that would also take too much precious time.
“Okay, where are they?” One Shot asked.
“Waiting in a car in the street outside the compound—the doctor, his wife and two small children.”
“What the hell—the more the merrier, right?” Mad Dog said.
One Shot didn’t like it, but again, he didn’t have much choice.
“Alright, let’s go before we end up in a Saudi prison,” he said and pushed through the door.
* * *
Scooter sat on the darkened street in the Range Rover with engine running, listening to the sirens going off in the distance. He knew there
was about to be trouble. He hoped his men had time to get Abel and get back to the vehicle before the police arrived. According to Bio, the radio was lighting up with calls about something going on at the science center, although they hadn’t figured out exactly what, yet. But as soon as they found the guards, word would be out of the Russians kidnapping their carefully-guarded secret. Then, everyone would be looking for them.
“Where the hell are those guys?” he said out loud, glancing at his watch.
His Motorola APX radio earpiece suddenly sprung to life with Mad Dog’s voice.
“Boss, we’re headed your way with the noun,” he said. “Um, there’s one thing…”
Scooter tapped the talk button on his ear bud “What’s that?”
“Well, we had to pick up a few extra passengers.”
Just then the Chevrolet Captiva they had stolen earlier came rolling around the corner and down the street—and Scooter swore he saw the shadows of several more than the three people that should have been riding inside.
“What the hell…?”
As soon as the SUV stopped at the curb in front of him, he knew he was right. The doors opened, and the seemingly endless number of people that climbed out reminded him of a clown car at the circus. He recognized Lydia immediately, and he knew the younger man was probably Abel. But who was the older man and woman? There were two little kids with them, as well.