by Tara Mills
***
Dylan walked through the Queen Alia International Airport, searching for a familiar face. He almost missed his friend because Jim’s features were hidden behind a pita sandwich, which appeared to be getting away from him. Dylan smiled and walked over to him.
“Halley,” he said with a chuckle. “Eating again, I see.”
“I’ve gotta do something to keep weight on down here. It’s supposed to be lamb, but I beg to differ. This is definitely mutton,” said his Aussie friend.
“You hope. You’re about to lose a tomato there.” Dylan pointed to a sliding globule.
Jim shot out his tongue to catch it. “Messy as hell.” Creamy cucumber sauce leaked over and between his fingers. Only a quick flip of his hand and an emergency lick kept the sauce from spilling onto his white shirt. Dylan patted his pockets, searching for something Jim could wipe with. He found a napkin in his jacket.
“Here.” Dylan thrust it at his friend and watched the comical motions ensue as Jim tried not to lose what control he had over his shawarma. It was hopeless.
“Oh, fuck it. I’m done here.” Disgusted, Jim strode over to the nearest canister. “I need the men’s room. I’ll be right back.”
Dylan waited while his surprisingly lanky partner wandered off in search of a sink. He wondered whether it was genes, the ability to stretch the calories throughout his frame, or simply hollow legs that allowed Jim to eat like he did, yet still appear starvation thin.
Jim seemed cheerier by the time he strolled back from the restroom. “So, you sorry to be back so soon?”
Dylan shrugged. “Mixed emotions. I’ve always loved this city.”
“I’ll second that.”
They strolled out of the building and into the night. There was no waiting for a taxi.
The car pulled up in front of the small hotel where Jim had spent the last three nights. They climbed the stairs to his room. When the door swung open, Dylan raised his eyebrows as he took in the only bed, undersized and sagging in the center, covered by an obnoxious, pea green spread.
“Screw you,” Jim said, chafing at Dylan’s silence. “It’s clean and cheap. I don’t get reimbursed as fast as you do.”
Dylan grinned and held up his hand, forestalling further argument. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jim’s surly manner didn’t bother Dylan. He’d known him long enough to understand Jim was all piss, no shit. It was a persona he’d developed to come across tougher than he actually was—a survival technique. Dylan just happened to be in on it.
He swung his bag off of his shoulder, set it down on the small table, and pulled out his computer. Jim flopped backwards onto the bed.
“Bitch about the room all you want, but you owe me a little thanks for insisting on a south facing window for your damn satphone. Remember that when you’re finally online.”
Dylan placed the satphone on the sill and connected it to his computer. Then he turned back with a little grin. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Their eyes connected and they both chuckled.
Since he had to wait for everything to boot up anyway, Dylan grabbed his toiletry kit and headed for the bathroom.
“How’s the water?” he asked.
“Use the bottled when you brush your teeth, otherwise you’ll swear you just ate bloody pussy.”
Dylan stopped mid-stride and shot a disgusted look at Jim. “Do you have to be so crude when we’re alone? Christ.”
“Sorry. Bottled water is on the back of the commode. Hey, it’s not the Grand Hyatt or the Radisson, but there’s no chance in hell anyone’s gonna bomb this place next.”
It was hard to deny his friend’s logic.
Jim rolled over and saw Ariela’s picture staring back at him from the computer screen. He craned his neck to get a better look then called to Dylan. He didn’t catch it.
Stepping into the open doorway with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, Dylan gave his friend a questioning look. Jim pointed at the computer. “Is that your Sleeping Beauty?” he repeated.
“Yep.” Dylan’s mouth stretched into a big smile, despite the toothbrush. “That’s Ariela.”
“She looks sweet. Pretty.” Jim rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Very girl-next-door.”
Dylan chuckled and turned back to the sink.
“Looks like you’re connected,” called Jim.
Dylan gave one more swish and spit, turning on the faucet to rinse the sink. He could smell the iron in the water.
Going right for the table, Dylan pulled the chair up behind him and sat in front of the screen.
“So, what’s she like?” Jim asked, his head resting on his arm, his ankles comfortably crossed, but extending over the end of the bed.
“She’s just right.”
“You’re leaving a lot to the imagination here.”
Dylan ignored him.
Jim grinned. “Yep, I might just have to swing by, check her out myself. I’ll give her a dose of the old Halley charm.”
That turned Dylan’s head, but he was grinning. “I can't imagine you’d remember where you left it. Now, be quiet; I’m sending her a message.”
“Can I read it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Jim laughed and kicked off his shoes.
TO: arielap@
SUBJECT: Checking in
MESSAGE: Well I made it without any hassles. I’ll be spending the next few hours on what looks like the world’s most uncomfortable mattress beside an over-sized blanket hog with sharp elbows and even sharper toenails. The only thing Jim has going for him from where I’ll be is fresh breath. Everyone’s obsessive about something, I guess.
Good news. We'll be able to catch the flight to Baghdad tomorrow. Ali will pick us up at the airport, so that's working out. We won't be staying at the Hamra Hotel right away. Ali found us a safe house close to where we'll be meeting with Hanna, early the following morning. Considering I don’t know what might crop up over the next couple of days, my messages will probably be sporadic at best. Electricity is going to be a factor, but I’ll make sure I keep you posted on the important stuff.
You don’t know how incredibly hard it was to walk away and leave you in the airport. We need to replace that memory with a better one. You waiting for me should do the trick. Pet Max for me—hell, pet yourself for me while you’re at it. I’ll imagine it from here. I’ll be in touch. I miss you already—Dylan
Chapter 12
Ariela was tempted to bring Max to work with her, but she didn’t know what to expect from him around the office, and their yard wasn’t fenced. She opted to leave him at home with his toys and his couch. At least it would be familiar.
Hours later, she realized she should have taken him to work. He’d been in the garbage and now it was strewn all over the apartment. Max had taken the choicest morsels up on the couch and worked on them there, making a serious mess. Only now did Ariela fully appreciate the merits of the hideous blanket Dylan had covering the sofa cushions.
Banishing Max to the yard, she went looking for a broom and dustpan, then set to work, sweeping up most of the loose debris first. Once the large stuff was out of the way she was ready to vacuum the little bits out of the rug. Ariela hoped she could get the coffee grounds up without staining, but she had her doubts. Unfortunately, after a lengthy search, she was forced to conclude Dylan didn’t own a vacuum.
Ariela grabbed the basket of dirty clothes from the bedroom and dropped the used bathroom towels on top. Even though the mere sight of the dog’s blanket practically set off her gag reflex, she nabbed it on her way out anyway. It had to be washed.
She opened the door that led to the shared front entry and threw open the basement door, leaving it wide open. Ariela hated this basement, but she didn’t want to haul the laundry over to her place and put this disgusting blanket in her machine. Clopping downstairs, the damp, earthy smell made her skin crawl almost as much as the rough, ir
regular walls. It reminded her of a dungeon. The inadequate lighting made it even worse. She avoided looking around so she wouldn’t see any mice scurrying around in the shadows or spy anything dead in one of the traps Dylan had set out. Yuck.
He might not own a vacuum, but at least his washer and dryer were relatively new and pretty nice. A large, commercial-style florescent fixture hung from the bare rafters above them. She flew to the nearby switch, and voila, there was light. She looked around again, anxiously trying to spot, well, hoping not to spot actually, anything scary or disgusting down there with her. She didn’t want to step on anything.
A well-stocked shelf stood next to the washer. The detergent and other related sundries might belong to the upstairs tenant, but Ariela wasn’t going to sweat that little detail. She wanted to get the load started and hightail it back upstairs before she had a close encounter of the eight-legged kind
She might have broken a speed record, fastest laundress in the west, well, technically the east. Forget separating colors from whites. Who cares if there are shirts and socks inside out? In it all went, in one irregular dump. She smoothed it out because she had to, not because she wanted to. It beat the heck out of running down here to deal with an unbalanced washer later.
Max was stretched out on the grass, gnawing on a large dirty bone, when Ariela pulled the kitchen door closed behind her. There was no way she was leaving him alone in the house again without the blanket back on the sofa. She’d seen what he was capable of.
“Come on,” she called to him, resigned. He hurried over, and she clipped on his leash and worked him over to the car. He was extremely pleased about taking a ride.
When they got to her house, she had to shove Max back when she got out because there was no way she wanted to wrestle him and a vacuum cleaner into the car at the same time.
“No, just me. You wait here.”
Jean was following her step-aerobics video when Ariela walked in.
She looked up, breathing hard. “What’s up?”
“I need our vacuum. Dylan doesn’t have one, and the dog made a huge mess today.” She dragged the machine out of the closet and shut the door. “I don’t have this pet thing down yet, but I’m learning.”
Jean laughed as the door closed. “See ya.”
Max seemed disappointed when they didn’t actually go for a walk, but he was ready enough to get over it when she unclipped his leash and let him have the yard to himself again.
Ten minutes later, the carpet looked much better, not great, but much better. She wound the cord and ran down to throw the wash into the dryer, then sprinted back upstairs with her heart pumping.
Feeling guilty for banishing the dog outside all this time, Ariela grabbed one of Dylan’s books off the packed shelf and took it outside to read in the sun. So much had happened between her and Dylan since she first sat in this lawn chair on that fateful Saturday. She’d given him her heart and received so much in return. Yes, she was worried about him. Dylan was heading back into danger, but she had to trust him, trust that he knew how to protect himself, and trust that he would come back to her again. Anything else was just too terrifying to contemplate. They still had so much ahead of them.
Only after the ugly quilt came out of the dryer, clean and relatively free of dog hair, was Max allowed back inside. He eyed the vacuum warily, hating it on sight as it sat by the door. He growled and shot it suspicious looks. Ariela found it highly amusing—until he sniffed and raised his leg. She put the vacuum back in the car.
When she returned, Ariela checked to see if there was an e-mail from Dylan yet. To her relief, he’d made it to Amman. A wave of loneliness and longing swept through her as she pictured him turning in for the night with Jim, the blanket hog. She couldn’t catch her laugh when it escaped. She really missed him. The man brought her up, he brought her down. Was there anything more bizarre or emotionally charged than suddenly finding you’re in a relationship? She pulled the keyboard toward her.
TO: dylanbond@
SUBJECT:
MESSAGE: I’m lending comfort and aid to my enemy. Translation—I’m learning how to deal with Max. I didn’t realize he could be so destructive, but don’t worry, it was only the garbage. I’m onto him now. I’m going to lock the trash in the bathroom before I leave. I watered your plants, did the laundry, and noticed you don’t have a vacuum. You didn’t tell me if Max is allowed on your bed. I wasn’t going to let him up there, but I think we’re both missing you a lot so, well, you’ve been temporarily replaced. Let me know if this isn’t okay. I can shut the door.
I can’t get over how much I miss you. So much, I’m sleeping in your shirt. It’s the one thing I intentionally didn’t wash. Keep your head down, help Hanna, and hurry back. If you die over there, I'll kill you. Ariela
***
Ali Hadad was twenty-four, a handsome kid, whose college education had been cut short first by the American’s drive into Baghdad, then again when it got too dangerous for the professors to hold classes and the students to reach the university to attend them. Just having a book on the bus was a deadly gamble.
Ali’s father was part of the university faculty, a professor of mathematics, but he’d been forced to flee when several of his peers were rounded up and taken away. A few were found executed. The others simply vanished, leaving a gaping hole in their households. Professor Hadad had taken refuge in Canada, where he worked to bring his family, one by one, to safety. In the meantime, Ali sought any means available to help support his remaining family, which meant working for the occupying forces and offering his services to journalists as an interpreter.
The kid was a natural at the job. Competent, smart, and resourceful, he was careful to keep his involvement with the Westerners a secret.
Jim and Dylan both climbed into the back of their young driver’s car. The kid had a pistol on the seat next to him, just in case. Dylan lifted the blanket off the floor so Jim could shift his long legs and a second gun dropped out of it. Dylan reached down to pick it up.
“Loaded?” Jim asked.
Dylan checked. “Yep.”
“I only shoot pictures. That thing’s your responsibility.”
“I figured.”
They both hunkered down so they wouldn’t be seen from the outside. Kidnappings were a very real threat. Westerners were specifically targeted, so it was extremely risky to venture out without good cause.
“Remind me to stop and pick up some perfume for Ariela when we get back to Jordan.”
Only after he said that did it strike Dylan as comical, considering he was holding a gun in his lap at the time.
Now all they had to worry about was getting through the clogged streets of Baghdad without incident.
Ali shifted his mirror, looking to catch Dylan’s eyes. As soon as he had his attention, he turned it back. “I will be coming for you in a police vehicle tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you arrange that?”
He gave his head an imperceptible shake. “I can’t say, but we’ll only have a short time to use it, if we aren’t going to get caught. Trust me, it is the best way.” Dylan didn’t doubt it for a second.
***
Debris littered the street in this neighborhood and a huge crater remained from an earlier bomb blast. They cut wide around the shell of the burned-out car. Even though they didn’t see a soul outside, that didn’t mean there weren’t eyes watching. They had to be very careful.
A radio under Ali’s leg broke the tense silence. He asked a question and quietly acknowledged the reply. Speaking to Dylan and Jim in an undertone, he asked, “Are you ready? We’re almost there. I’ll let you out as close as I can, but you must hurry inside because I can’t delay or we’ll be noticed. The front door is unlocked. Take the gun.”
Dylan slid his shoulder strap up his arm and saw Jim doing the same thing.
Ali alerted them right before he stopped and Jim dove out the door first, immediately followed by Dylan. He ca
refully pressed the door closed behind him, just enough so it would latch, then hurried inside. Their driver was already pulling away.
They knew there was food and water waiting in the abandoned house. Ali had warned them, vigorously, to be quiet and stay hidden. From the little he saw on his way in, Dylan hated to think of Hanna forced to take refuge in a neighborhood like this. He wanted to get her out, now more than ever. Was it possible?
The house was easily seen from the street, so they made their silent way to a back room, away from windows, to camp out for the night. It would be safest. Jim stretched out on the hard floor and used his duffle bag for a pillow while Dylan settled his back against the wall, every sense he had on alert. He had the gun—first watch fell to him.
Chapter 13
Waking up alone was unsettling, given the circumstances. Dylan looked around the cold, vacant room and rotated his aching shoulder. He’d slept with his arm pinned beneath him and had cut off the circulation to both. Turning onto his back, he squeezed his arm all the way down, trying to bring it back to life.
It was time to go in search of his photographer.
Jim was sitting on the floor in the empty front room, out of the line-of-sight from the outside, his back to the wall, a game of solitaire set out in front of him. The gun was on his right. Dylan was proud of him.
“Better light in here,” Jim said quietly, answering the question before it was asked. He nodded toward the empty window sill and the broken glass beneath it.
“This place has seen better days,” Dylan whispered, avoiding chunks of concrete as he made his way over, dust clinging to his shoes. The house had clearly been abandoned. Or so he thought. More likely, it had been stripped.
Jim placed a card then looked up, keeping his voice low. “Keep to this side of the room, so you aren’t seen through the window.”
Dylan was picking his way over the concrete rubble, trying to make as little noise as possible, when he suddenly drew back from the wall and hissed, “What the hell is that?”
“You know what it is,” said Jim without looking up. “I’ve been trying to ignore the damn wall for over an hour. I’ve almost reached the indifferent stage so don’t screw with me.”