by C. Forsyth
"If you are enemies of the Americans, you should aid us," Harry added.
"Well, you see, I'm not very political," Scarface informed them. "I prefer sports. Did you see the game between New Zealand and Brazil? The satellite reception isn't very good here in the mountains, but we saw the second half. A great game."
His men laughed.
"You are a Tajik and that one is a Pashtun," Harry said. "I am a Saudi. But we all have a part in the struggle."
"You fools want to be martyrs, don't you? And receive your 77 virgins?" Scarface said, then spat contemptuously. "You will have your chance to bed your heavenly harem shortly."
The appeal to religious solidarity didn't seem to be working all that well, but Harry carried on undeterred.
"You cannot frighten us. Being killed in the cause of Allah is a great honor," he said. "The Prophet tells us, 'I wish to fight for Allah's cause and be killed, I'll do it again and be killed, and I'll do it again and be killed.' We yearn for this kind of death as much as you yearn to live."
Scarface bowed. "I am glad to be of service, then. I will be happy to grant your fondest wish. But first you'll tell us where the cash is. I know they sent you with some American money in addition to the diamonds."
One of the men jumped off the truck,
"Look what I found," he said, excitedly holding up Harry's laptop.
One of the others leaned over his shoulder and whistled. "It's a beauty!"
Harry tried to struggle to his feet and was promptly shoved back down. That laptop was critical to the mission.
"Be careful with that," he shouted.
"What is this for?" the leader demanded.
"Video games," X said.
Scarface laughed. "You have a good sense of humor. I'll kill you last."
"We use it to communicate with The Chief," Harry explained.
"Thank you for the gift," Scarface said, waving the laptop. He winked at X. "I am partial to Grand Theft Auto myself."
Meanwhile the man holding Traci continued to take liberties. He put his right hand on her breast and began to squeeze it, as if he were testing a tomato for ripeness.
"You are their leader," Traci called to Scarface. "Are you going to let a good Muslim woman be molested by this son of a pig?"
"As I said, you people must learn respect," Scarface replied. "And the first lesson will be how to treat a woman. I'm certain your husband will learn a lot from watching us."
Now having been given the green light so explicitly by his leader, the bandit restraining Traci grew bolder. He stuck his hand between the agent's legs and began groping her.
"Don't worry, you'll have her back when we're done with her," Scarface told Harry. "And there are only eight of us."
"Do you not fear the wrath of Allah?" Asar cried.
Scarface knelt beside the teen. "I am sure that you are a religious man and will do your duty. You will obey Sharia, your holy law, and stone your sister-in-law to death for her sin of 'adultery.'"
Asar struggled in fury, but his huge guardian had him firmly by the neck. Another bandit - a dwarf no taller than three feet - climbed off the truck with the box of cash.
"Got it," he shouted.
"Count it," Scarface commanded.
The little man opened the box and began to count, "$100 ... $200 ... $300 ... "
X thought back to the dwarf who worked as a barker for the Pink Panther. This fellow was even shorter, he thought.
The man behind Traci slid his rough, callused hand up under her skirt and began stroking her inner thigh. She gasped as his middle finger entered her.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured in her ear. "We won't kill you, just the others. I am probably a lot bigger than your little husband, but I will be slow and gentle with you."
"$600 ... $700 ... $800 ... " the pint-size henchman was counting. "$900!"
"Next week, we'll eat steak at the finest restaurant in Kabul, my friends," the bandit leader exclaimed in delight. "And be entertained by the best whores in town." He glanced at Traci and as if loathe to give offense, bowed and corrected himself, "I mean belly dancers."
"Listen," X said. " I am Ali Nazeer, a valued operative of the Jihadist Brotherhood. Deliver us to The Chief and he will reward you handsomely."
Scarface's jaw dropped.
"Hey, we saw a story about this guy on CNN," one of his men said.
"I remember. Well, well, well. That casts a new light on things. What do you mean by 'handsomely'?"
"We are close allies. I am sure he would pay a million for my safe return."
The bandits began to chatter excitedly.
"An interesting proposal," Scarface said. "I wonder how much the Americans would pay?"
"Perhaps more," X said. "But do you want to be known in these mountains as the man who collaborated with the Americans and turned over their worst enemy to them?"
Scarface stroked his chin thoughtfully.
A few feet away, the bandit's thick, dirty finger was stroking in and out of Traci, very rapidly and very deep. Her breaths became heavy. It was the first time she'd been touched by a man down there in over a year.
"Do you feel me behind you?" he whispered, thrusting forward for emphasis. It was a stupid question, because the guy was hung like a donkey. Slowly, she began to rotate her ample behind against him. He gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"I am going to show you how a Pashtun makes love to a woman," Donkey Dick whispered. "How you will cry out with pleasure when I split you in half!"
Traci reached under her slip and placed her hand firmly on his, sinking her nails into his flesh. She moaned audibly.
"She loves it," her captor announced to his associates. "She's wet as a duck in a pond."
The bandits began to chortle.
Asar roared in fury, "Get your hands off her, you pigs. Allah will see that you all burn in the fires of hell."
The man holding him by the nape of the neck shook him with a loud guffaw.
"It's your own tight little ass you have to worry about, pretty boy," the huge bandit said. "We'll make a woman of you next."
It was hard to tell whether this was mere taunting or the big bruiser truly had libidinous intent. In any event, the teen's eyes widened in horror.
X squinted for a better look at Traci and saw that tears were running down her cheeks, which were bright red. Come on, was the uptight FBI agent really getting turned on by the touch of some hairy, one-eyebrowed thug? He'd sensed it had been a long time since she'd gotten laid, but still ...
I always suspected you had a freak flag, doll, but what a time to fly it!
The bandit leader strutted over to Harry and patted him on the shoulder.
"It looks like you've married a true slut, my friend," he told the kneeling man. "You haven't been taking care of things at home, eh? Don't worry, we'll handle it from here."
Harry turned away, as if refusing to witness his "wife's" debasement.
Scarface stepped toward Traci. The woman, whose hand was lost under her dress, caressing her captor's hairy wrist, bowed her head in shame. Scarface tipped up her chin to look her in the eyes.
"Are you ready, sweet flower?" Scarface asked, grinning and grabbing his crotch like a gangsta rapper. "You know the leader's turn is always first."
"I'm ready," she whispered. "And you will be first."
The agent pulled the Beretta from its holster strapped to her inner thigh and came up firing. She put the first round in Scarface's heart. With the next five shots she dropped four of the other bandits, each a perfect forehead headshot, and winged the one holding Asar in the shoulder. The big guy was the only one who got even a chance to scream, scrambling to his feet and racing down the road like a jackrabbit.
When she'd emptied the gun, she flipped Donkey Dick over her shoulder and as soon as he crashed into the ground, she brought the butt of the weapon swooping down to cave in his skull.
Harry sank his teeth into the hand of the bandit holding him. As the guy released his hold,
the agent executed a textbook judo flip of his own, and then expertly twisted the bandit's neck until it snapped with a sickening CR—ACK!
The man holding X keeled over dead, Traci's bullet in his right eye socket. All this took place in the space of less than five seconds.
"Nice performance," X told Traci, standing and brushing dust off his knees. "How will I ever know if you're faking it?"
"He's getting away," Harry said, pointing to the wounded bandit.
Asar scrambled on the ground for a gun. "I will send that sodomite to hell," he cried.
Traci coolly picked up the rocket launcher and aimed it at the cliff which the sole surviving bandit was desperately trying to scale, about 20 yards away. She released the firing mechanism and the missile took off. A second later there was an explosion in the distance and nothing was left of the bandit but smoke.
Asar, kneeling, looked up at her in amazement.
"You are a goddess," the teen gasped reverently.
X stepped beside her and whispered, "Very Sylvester Stallone of you."
* * *
They found the bandits' hideout less than 300 yards away. The mouth of the cave was about halfway up a steep incline, concealed by bushes. If it hadn't been for an empty vodka bottle left at the foot of the slope, they would never have seen it.
After a short passage they had to hunch over to squeeze through, the mouth opened up into a huge cavern with a span of more than 200 feet. At the back wall of the cave, a trickle of water flowed down the rocks and dribbled into a little black pool. Their flashlights revealed dozens of carvings, pictograms recounting a forgotten battle waged countless eons ago.
Searching the bandit's stores they found some American-made weapons, an Uzi and crates filled with plastic-wrapped bundles of opium. Roped in a stall were eight donkeys.
"Allah is merciful. We can use the animals from here on," Asar said. "The terrain is becoming difficult to traverse by truck. We would have had to continue on foot."
Next the teen came across a box chock full of pornography that seemed to have originated in India. Bare-breasted, brown-skinned girls with diamond studs decorating their noses leered into the camera as they shed their saris. Asar's eyes bulged. X had the distinct feeling he'd never seen a topless woman before, let alone one naked with her legs akimbo.
Harry took the box from him. "We should burn this trash immediately."
Asar looked mournfully at the stack of porn, then nodded. "We must not let our hearts be contaminated by such filth."
"I'll take first watch," X said.
He sat close to the entrance, a Kalashnikov on his knee, positioned so that he could put a shot in the head of the first uninvited visitor. Of course, he'd never fired a gun in his life - he hadn't even carried one. Con men who did were a disgrace to the profession in his view. Hadn't thrown a punch since seventh grade for that matter. Some boy had said something about his mother.
What had he called her?
Traci settled down beside him, still wearing her face piece.
"I thought you were asleep," he said.
"Harry told me you tried to escape last night."
"That's an exaggeration," he replied. "I was taking a walk. A long one."
She shook her head.
"I don't get you. Don't you care about your country? Don't you care about anything other than yourself? If The Chief gets his hands on a nuke, millions of Americans could die. Innocent children in New York, in Los Angeles, in Kansas could be incinerated."
"I guess I'm lucky I'm over here then."
"Why are you so goddamned selfish?"
"Because I'm a criminal,"
"That's no explanation."
"What, do you want my life story now?"
"I want to understand. Explain it to me like I'm a three-year-old."
X sighed. He stood up and leaned the gun against the wall.
"I've been on my own since I was 14 - that was the day my mother offed herself with sleeping pills. I never knew my father. He was some rich bastard who seduced Mother when she was working in his house scrubbing his toilets. She never told me his name. I do know that he was a big shot in the United States government. So do I say the pledge of allegiance to Uncle Sam every morning? No."
Traci had read about the suicide in his file. She could see in him the lost boy who'd just been told he'd never see his mother again. She stood up beside X and touched his hand gently.
"Robbing every rich man in America won't bring your mother back," she said.
"Keep my mother out of this," he said pulling away from her. He cursed himself for bringing Mother up. He'd never told the story to anyone, not a social worker, not a foster parent.
"And there's more to a man's identity than bearing his father's name," Traci went on. "You can define yourself by your actions."
He stared at her fiercely, nostrils flaring, then his face relaxed and he laughed.
"Are you one of those women who feel they have to 'save' a man, save his soul?" he demanded. "Are you some kind of missionary now?"
He smirked. "Or are you more interested in the missionary position? That's it, isn't it? You want me to fall in love with or maybe just bone you. Gosh, did that little finger-fuck session get you that hot and bothered, honey? I know it's been a while, but try to keep it in your pants, for God's sake. Q needs to equip you girl spies with pens that turn into vibrators or something."
Traci snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, sugar. My flavor is chocolate."
"Really?" he said. "Well, then, why are you blushing?"
"I don't blush," she said.
He tore away her veil. And, sure enough, her face was flushed.
"You, you stinking, arrogant ... " she stammered.
He grabbed her waist, pulled her close and planted his lips on hers. She pushed him away - but not far.
"Stop," Traci protested weakly.
He kissed her again, more aggressively now, and her bosom pressed up against his chest.
This is crazy, her robust superego lectured her. But it had been so, so long since she had been with a man, or been kissed by a man, beyond a perfunctory peck on the cheek at the end of a first and last date - or for that matter, had even been touched by a man except in a judo hold.
He pulled away and gave a mischievous grin.
"How do you know I'm not a 'brother,' by the way?"
"Yeah, right."
"Well, maybe part. And I'll be happy to show you which part."
"Hush your mouth."
It seemed like he was going to ruin the moment with more banter, but she used her mouth to shut him up. She slid her tongue into his mouth and wrapped it around his. Her hands found his shoulder blades and pulled him toward her so their groins ground together. She could feel him becoming aroused.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Harry's voice startled them. They broke apart like high-school juniors caught necking in the janitor's closet by the principal.
"What kind of woman are you, that you would throw yourself at this man so shamelessly?" he snarled. "Cover your face!"
"You're really staying in character as an uptight prick," remarked X, unflustered. "Are you a method actor?"
Harry railed on, as if the other man were invisible. "You're jeopardizing the mission. Asar is 30 feet away!"
Traci was too embarrassed to utter a word in her own defense. But X came to the rescue.
"Is that you talking, or the green-eyed god?" X suggested, casually picking up the rifle and resting it on his shoulder.
"Don't be absurd. I have a wife and three children."
"Methinks the gentleman protests too much," said X. "It looks like we have a love triangle on our hands."
Traci could barely resist a titter. The situation WAS like something out of high school. And Harry couldn't sound more jealous if he tried.
"Please don't fight over me, boys," she said.
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry said angrily. Then his expression changed, as if he regre
tted his choice of words. "I knew Jones was crazy to send a 'breast-fed' cherry on a mission this delicate."
"Excuse me," Traci snarled, facing off with him. "Breast-fed," as Traci knew only too well, was spy slang for a female FBI agent.
"You heard me."
"I will kick your puny unibrow ass from here back to Lebanon."
"That'll be the day."
She stepped close enough to feel his panting breath against her face.
"Listen, John Wayne. I am leading this mission until the minute I am killed or captured. So you will address me at all times with respect."
Harry stepped back. "Respect yourself," he mumbled.
Sobering words. She had indeed allowed herself to be flattered, to enjoy the sense that she was the object of desire, like a doe contested over by two smitten bucks. It was time to reassert her authority.
"Let's call it a night," she said brusquely. "I'll take watch."
She jerked the rifle out of X's hands.
* * *
Back in the body of the cavern, wrapped in a blanket beside the still-snoring Asar, X couldn't believe what had just happened. He had never revealed so much of himself to anyone.
His imprisonment had weakened him, he felt. He replayed the entire episode in his mind. He certainly hadn't intended to kiss Traci; he'd acted on impulse - something he rarely did. He'd done it punish her, to unseat her from her high horse. Prove she was no better than him. And it was indeed smug satisfaction he primarily felt as she surrendered to his kiss. At first. Then, as she responded so aggressively and she'd gotten him aroused, well, he felt something else.
He remembered the taste of her lips and the scent of her; no perfume of course - that would be offensive to Allah - but a clean, soapy smell. She hadn't bathed in days, none of them had. How did she manage that?
Feeling himself growing hard again, he shook off the memory. First rule of the game: never, ever fall for a mark.
He wondered, though, how far it might have gone had they not been so rudely interrupted by Harry. What a self-righteous jackass! Something the man had said irked him in particular, though X could not say precisely why.
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry had said. He'd echoed Traci's words.