“Would I have any if your country needed you? I'm a soldier. Trained specifically to safeguard the Colonel. What type of coward and traitor would I be if I cowered here while his life and the security of my country are in jeopardy?”
Sarai and Mura both turned to Patrick as though waiting for a return volley in a tennis match.
Lelia could all but hear him grinding his teeth. The muscles in his jaw stood out in high relief against his tanned skin.
“I understand all of that.”
“Good. Nice to know that you understand.” She turned to walk away again, but he grabbed her arm.
“I still can't let you go.”
Lelia hesitated, suddenly aware that two of her soldiers were watching as though a Wimbledon title were on the line. “Gunnery Sergeant, may I speak to you privately?” she gritted out, gesturing toward the Administration Building where his office was housed.
He turned on his heel and began walking quickly in that direction. Lelia followed, her every step demonstrating her increasing anger. She slammed the door when she walked into the office almost immediately on his heels.
“Have you lost your mind?” she yelled. “You can't talk to me like that in front of my soldiers. As a matter of fact, you can't talk to me like that, period.”
Patrick rubbed his hands over his face, clearly trying to regain his composure. “I'm sorry. Okay. I'm sorry. I saw a little bit of what went down, and the thought of you going into that situation makes me crazy.”
Lelia leaned against the door. “Could you just tell me what happened?”
“Nobody seems to know. Apparently, early this morning a bunch of armed men broke into one of his palaces. They captured Colonel al-Fariq and made an announcement of abdication. Then later on in the day, al-Fariq made another announcement nullifying the first one. No one really knows how, but it seems he escaped from the attackers and got to another palace.”
Lelia nodded. “The Palladium Palace. It's the best fortified, and it's almost impossible to approach covertly. I set the security up myself. Nobody can take him out of there, and nobody can come in without us knowing it.” She patted the cell phone she kept clipped to her web belt. “I wonder why I haven't been contacted.”
Patrick shrugged. “There's a lot of craziness going on. Maybe somebody destroyed the communications grid. You know that's the first thing you take out. Still, somebody's getting information out. It's all over the news.”
“I've got to go. I need to see the news and talk to my soldiers. I can't believe this has happened. They must be—” She choked off a sob. “It's all my fault. I left them there. They were just kids, and I thought they were too young to come to America. I didn't want them corrupted by Britney Spears and Red Bull, and now they're dead.” The sobs were coming faster than she could choke them back now. Pure agony resonated with each wail.
Patrick took her into his arms. “God, Lelia, I'm so sorry.” He tilted her head back to receive his kiss. It began sweetly and tenderly, but soon she was clinging to him helplessly as he ravished her mouth, accepting the comfort and distraction he offered. For just this moment she could think about something other than those young lives taken much too soon. She clung to his arms while she returned the kiss with answering desperation. Leaving him was going to be hardest thing she'd ever done. But she had no choice.
“I'll come with you.”
“You can't do that; you'll get an Unauthorized Absence. You don't have time to get authorized leave. Besides, we don't know who these people are yet. As an American, you could well make the situation worse.”
Patrick pursed his lips. After a long moment, he nodded. “I know you're right, but it chaps my ass to stand back while my woman goes to war by herself.”
“I'm hardly by myself, Patrick. You've been with us for nearly a month. It's hardly our first coup attempt. My soldiers know what they're doing. We got this.”
He smiled, and she knew he'd noticed her attempt at humor by using the American slang. She reached up to touch his face, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him once again.
Neither sought to extend this kiss. They both realized that time was of the essence.
“I'll call you,” she whispered against his lips.
“You'd goddamned well better. Otherwise, I will come get you.”
Lelia nodded.
Never doubting for an instant that he meant exactly what he said.
Chapter Seven
The sun glinting off metal immediately drew her attention. Lelia brought her weapon up, waiting for the flash that would pinpoint the sniper's position. Before she could find that one, another one flashed by her peripheral vision. She turned but realized with a sinking sensation that he already had a bead on one of her soldiers, who was shooting at a target in the opposite direction. Before that thought had even fully formed, she took off at a dead run to cover the soldier's flank, firing her rifle repeatedly behind her as she ran.
“Jamilla,” she yelled, crashing into the soldier's side. “You know better than to leave your flank exposed.” Even as she automatically corrected the soldier for getting caught up in the heat of battle, she examined her quickly for any injuries. She then resumed scanning the rooftops for additional gunmen. Two-story buildings with opulent tiled balconies enclosed the small courtyard. Unfortunately, those balconies with all their greenery could provide deadly hiding places for gunmen, and Lelia watched them avidly. The tile roofs were another likely sniper's lair, and she'd already taken out a couple of shooters from an overhead position. The tranquil little area had always been one of Lelia's favorite retreats for quiet contemplation. The central fountain still gurgled cheerfully, though it couldn't be heard over the cacophony of the gunfire. The tall palm trees, usually sought after for their shade against the afternoon sun, were now providing much-needed cover for them in the firefight.
Lelia squinted against the sun, straining to see any movement on the roof. Sunglasses were a necessary evil, diminishing the glare from the harsh sunlight, but they had a tendency to distort visual clarity. She was pretty sure she'd gotten the second sniper, but wondered what had happened to the one she'd sighted first. Then, suddenly, the man inexplicably rose to his feet. Lelia hesitated, wondering if he planned to surrender, but when he braced his weapon against his shoulder, she reflexively raised her own gun. She watched the blood blossom almost in slow motion over his face as her bullet found its target in the center of his forehead. His body weaved for a moment before it tumbled off the building. Lelia paused for a moment to ensure the man was dead, murmuring a brief prayer for his soul before scanning the roofs again. She thought she spotted another shooter behind one of the conical chimney pots, but eventually realized she was mistaken.
She wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand. Fighting in such close quarters had left the metallic scent of gunpowder hanging heavily in the air, triggering her allergies. The gloves, designed to protect her hands from the heat of her automatic rifle in heavy firing situations, itched more as they became saturated with her sweat. Wearing Kevlar vests in this heat was a necessary evil, but it guaranteed that she'd be soaked down to her underwear by the time the day was over. Both were minor irritants that she'd grown accustomed to over the years. Neither would distract her from the mission at hand, even as she found herself scratching at the snug fabric.
The fighting had been surprisingly light for a coup attempt. They'd been back in the country for several days, fighting their way, street by street to the Colonel's fortified position, and this was only the fifth pocket of resistance they'd encountered. Lelia turned to her right as Astaria began running toward their position behind a low wall in the courtyard of the city's central market. She and Jamilla returned fire, covering Astaria's flight.
Astaria hunkered down beside her, and the three of them continued to shoot back at the assailants. It didn't take long before an eerie quiet fell over the courtyard as everyone stopped firing. For the first time Lelia could hear the fountain. The sound was far from soothin
g, as it was much too soon for the gun battle to be over. Under those circumstances, the silence was almost jarring.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sergeant? I thought we agreed that you'd remain behind the bunker.” Astaria gestured toward a planter full of lush blooms on the far side of the courtyard they'd designated as a command post when they'd reconnoitered the area. “You could've been killed,” Astaria hissed at her, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet of the courtyard.
Lelia discharged an empty clip, shoving a full one into her weapon with a practiced snap of her wrist. She met Astaria's glare with a determined gaze of her own. “I'm not losing another one,” she said simply.
Astaria held her gaze for another long moment, clearly about to argue further when they were interrupted again by the resumption of gunfire. They returned intermittent rifle rounds for a brief moment, before one of the soldiers on the other side of the courtyard took the sniper out. After waiting for what seemed like forever to ensure there were no more combatants, Astaria asked the question Lelia had been dreading since the operation had begun.
“Ready to begin house clearing, Sergeant?”
Her heart heavy with dread, Lelia gave the order. There was nothing she hated worse than ordering her soldiers to secure a building. It was like going blindfolded down a dark alley. They could, and usually did, encounter just about anything. Jamilla and Astaria left to begin the operation while Lelia returned to her bunker in a remote corner of the courtyard where she could supervise the soldiers. She watched the minute hand on her watch ticking off the amount of time the operation should take. The all clear she received in less than half that time added to the growing sense that something was not right. A cold finger of dread traced the contours of her spine. Nothing about this coup attempt had felt right from the beginning. Too few men. Too little firepower. Too unprofessional. She stood up, looking around the small, enclosed space, not really seeing the shattered glass or the chipped stone fragments that littered the area, signaling its transformation from a refuge to a battlefield. Most of the damage was purely cosmetic, and even that was somehow wrong. In the previous coup attempt, there were dead bodies littering the streets, and most buildings had damage from mortar rounds. The street fighting had been brutal. Not so the skirmish they'd just had. They fought harder in training. Just what the hell was going on?
* * *
“Are you sure, Astaria? Are you absolutely sure?” Lelia leaned back in her office chair and closed her eyes. She was beyond exhausted. Like all her soldiers, she'd been up for nearly forty hours straight. Suspicion about the ease with which they were able to take back the country had forced her to put Astaria to work investigating the mysterious coup attempt they'd been able to put down in less than three days.
“Would I say such a thing if I wasn't sure? I've got sworn statements, and even some documentary proof.” Astaria rubbed her bleary eyes. Their bright color against her richly toned skin made the redness even more evident. She slid her lanky form into Lelia's guest chair.
Lelia struggled to open her eyes. Nothing less than treachery of the worst sort would be enough to keep her awake at this point. Unfortunately, that seemed to be precisely what Astaria's investigation had revealed. She stood and began pacing the sparse confines of her office. She'd always planned to decorate it but had never gotten around to it. Now, she barely noticed the white walls and the battered, secondhand furniture. She picked up a set of dumbbells from a corner and began doing hammer curls, trying to contain her rage but doing a very poor job of it. At least the exercise would give her some much-needed energy.
When she could bring herself to speak, she said, “You were absolutely discreet.” She didn't make the statement a question. Astaria was an old hand at making judicious inquiries. She possessed the tact, ability to dissemble, and political abilities Lelia lacked. All these traits made her an ideal second, and Lelia always appreciated her expertise in these delicate situations. Astaria didn't dignify the observation with a response, and Lelia wasn't expecting one. She walked over to the cabinet across the room from her desk and poured a glass of water. After taking a long, gulping swallow, she gestured toward Astaria.
“Tell me once again. From the beginning.”
* * *
Lelia steepled her fingers as she finished briefing the Colonel on the resolution of the coup attempt. Fortunately she had worked through the chronology of events so many times in her own mind that she was able to maintain brevity without sacrificing thoroughness. Repetition also made it possible to give the briefing while engaging her brain as little as possible. This was a good thing. Even hours later she still hadn't come to grips with the facts revealed by Astaria's investigation.
The Colonel grinned broadly. The wrinkles around his eyes showed in sharp relief against his teak complexion. He walked over to his credenza, raising an elegant cut-glass liquor decanter in her direction. When she declined, he poured himself two fingers of bourbon, then perched on the corner of his strikingly unadorned desk. Publicly, the Colonel was given to grandiose gestures and ornate palaces, but the private man lived an almost ascetic life, excluding his love for boutique bourbon, of course.
“Well done, as usual, Sergeant. Of course, I expected nothing less from you.” He made a pointed gesture toward her chest, bare of any medals or awards. She had earned many but rarely wore them. “You've definitely earned the Croix de Laritrea.”
Lelia shook her head. The croix was her country's highest military honor, and she certainly hadn't earned it.
Al-Fariq stared at her, clearly taken aback by her response. “I've offered you generous compensation before. Are you saying you've come to your senses? We can set up a special account…”
Lelia rose from her chair, automatically assuming the at-ease position. “No, Colonel. I have not earned a reward. I would, however, like to ask a question.”
The Colonel raised his brows, then took a sip of his drink. Despite his avowals to be a devout Muslim, he didn't adhere to the religion's proscription against alcohol. He had an annoying habit of obeying only those rules he found convenient. It was good to be the king, even if false modesty compelled him to use only his military rank.
“Please, do ask your question.”
“Why would a man start a coup against himself?”
He opened his mouth as though to speak. After a long pause, he seemed to rethink what he'd planned to say and walked over to the credenza again. He took his time refreshing his drink.
“I don't suppose it would do any good to deny involvement?”
“Deniability is not plausible in this instance. We have concrete evidence of your complicity. Now I just want to know why.”
The Colonel cut off a harsh laugh as he returned to his handmade, custom-leather desk chair. “Sergeant, you're an educated woman. You could teach classes on the art of war.” He cut off another bark of laughter. “In fact, you do.”
Lelia clenched her fists behind her back in an effort to restrain herself. Instead, she recited, “A leader instigates an insurgency against himself to draw out his enemies so that he may know who they are and deal with them accordingly,” she ground out the words through teeth clenched so tightly she was amazed they hadn't disintegrated.
He raised his glass in salute. “Precisely. I had to know who my enemies were.” He shrugged. “This was the best way to find out.”
“And you construed some absurd reason to send us out of the country…”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes. You and that Guard of yours are just too efficient. Every time my people would try to start a coup, you would stop it before it could even begin.”
“That's odd. I thought that was my job.” Lelia couldn't contain her sarcasm. She gasped in disbelief when the reality of his words sank in. “You mean all those attacks—”
“Were started by my people,” al-Fariq completed the sentence. “I finally realized that nothing could happen while you were still here.”
Lelia frowned as she tried to wrap her mi
nd around his logic. “But, sir, if the attacks all came from you, what made you think you had enemies?”
Al-Fariq waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “A man in my position always has enemies.”
“You mean to tell me you started this coup. You got my soldiers killed, and you had no evidence whatever that you were in danger? If you had concerns about your safety, why didn't you bring them to me? Keeping you safe is my responsibility.”
“I didn't come to you, because I knew you wouldn't do what was necessary.” Al-Fariq waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “You, with all your talk about honor and responsibility…”
“But, sir, I learned that from you. You have always said you were a man of honor and that duty to one's country was more important than anything.”
“Of course, I talk about honor and allegiance all the time. You actually try to live up to that nonsense.”
Lelia was left speechless by his accusatory tone and couldn't respond as he continued. “You're not supposed to let your principles come between you and doing that which is necessary.”
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