“There must be some kind of misunderstanding. This is Saffi,” Agnes offered. “The new girl the owner brought in.”
“There is no new girl,” George said firmly before turning his attention back to Shani. “I will ask one more time that you raise the hem of your abaya. If you don’t, we will do it ourselves, and I guarantee you will find the experience less than pleasant.”
Shani weighed her options. The narrow hallway worked to her disadvantage in this case. There was little room to escape the muzzle of the gun. She would have to rush the man and hope he didn’t have time to pull the trigger. Additionally, Agnes was positioned just ahead and to the right of her, which blocked any dynamic moves, such as a kick or strike, that might have allowed her to disarm him. Any attack she launched would require shoving Agnes out of the way first and that would cost precious time.
Agnes cleared her throat, trying to speak confidently. “I told the owner we wouldn’t come back to this house if the men insisted on harassing us. Our families won’t put up with it. You leave this woman alone and let us go on our way.”
George launched a short jab, striking Agnes in her hooded face. She cried out and slumped against the wall. Shani saw that the gunman’s eyes followed Agnes. Taking advantage of that second of distraction, Shani’s left hand flew out, twisting the gun to the side. The man pulled the trigger and the gun fired, the round slicing into the interior wall. At the same time, she launched a short toe kick to George’s groin and he staggered back against the wall.
Shani’s tight grip on the barrel prevented the action of the weapon from cycling. She threw a head butt, catching the gunman in the nose and breaking it with a satisfying crunch.
He dropped the gun but didn’t retreat as she’d expected. Instead, both of his hands closed around the base of her niqab, pulling her to him. The movement shifted the position of the eye holes and she couldn’t see. The gunman yanked the hood tighter, trying to wrap the base of the hood around her neck and choke her.
Losing visibility threw Shani off her game. She had a moment of panic before she fell back on her training. She raised her leg, dropped a hand, and came back with her boot knife. Blinded with rage from his broken nose, he didn’t see the weapon coming. In fact, he didn’t even feel the blade plunging into his left side until it had already sunk into him four times.
The stunned man looked down at the blood blossoming on his shirt. He released Shani and she leapt backward, yanking the niqab from her head and throwing it to the side. Her face was a mask of rage. Free of that blindfold, she was ready to throw herself onto both men and end their lives for good. There were only two of them and more would have to enter the fight before she felt she was at a disadvantage.
That was exactly what happened. Men began pouring up the stairs and crowding into the hallway, summoned by the gunshot. All of them had weapons in their hands. All of those weapons were leveled on Shani.
“Drop the knife,” George ordered.
Shani hesitated a moment, her mind racing.
“Last chance,” George said.
When Shani didn’t comply, he grabbed a handgun from the nearest man and pointed it at Agnes’s head. The Native woman had removed her hood and Shani could see the fear in her eyes. She could also see the determination in George’s. She had no doubt he was going to kill Agnes at any moment and she couldn’t let that happen. As much as she hated to, as much as it violated every instinct in her body, she opened her hand and the knife dropped, clanking as it struck the tile floor.
George closed the distance between them and pistol-whipped her. Shani heard Agnes’ sharp intake of breath, then everything went black.
16
Conor had been on edge all morning. He wasn’t comfortable with this plan of Shani’s but it wasn’t his call. Had he been able to present a rational argument against it she might have listened but he had none. They were at the point where they had to do something and this was “something” for her. Since he had no active role in this part of the operation, he planted himself in a good spot to maintain surveillance on the men’s house and kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. It was all he knew to do.
The first sign of trouble came in the form of the van driver appearing at the house. This seemed unusual. Throughout the time they’d been observing this compound, there had been no point at which the van had driven to one of the houses. Yet, there it was. Two men got out and headed toward the front door.
Watching through the spotting scope, Conor confirmed that one of the men was the van driver and the other was likely a resident of the house. He’d seen that same young man, the resident, leaving the house on foot earlier. Had he gone to find the van driver for some reason or was this just coincidence? Conor didn’t believe in coincidences. Something had to be going on.
He studied the men before they disappeared into the house. There wasn’t anything unusual about their behavior, demeanor, nor appearance. They weren’t carrying anything and they weren’t rushed. Yet the timing was concerning. The sudden appearance of this new face while Shani was in the building put Conor on edge.
“C’mon, Shani, you ladies have done enough cleaning,” he whispered. “Get your asses out of there. Let’s go. Wrap this shit up.”
His brain scrolled through excuses for what he’d seen. He tried to rationalize. Maybe the van was merely here to pick the ladies up and take them home. Maybe he and Shani had not seen the van come to the building before because they hadn’t been there on a day when it was being cleaned. Perhaps the housecleaners were running behind and the driver was in a hurry to get them home.
How was that going to play out when Shani didn’t want to board the van? They hadn’t prepared for this possibility. Maybe she could hide out in the house and emerge later, though that action could cause a whole other set of headaches.
That wasn’t what happened.
The van driver went inside and didn’t re-emerge anytime soon. Thirty nerve-wracking minutes passed before the front door of the building opened again. The black-clad women streamed out like a flock of nervous hens. When they were on the porch, the van driver hurried outside, followed by two other men. Everyone was armed.
They directed the women into the yard in front of the building and lined them up. The van driver went down the line, deftly whipping the niqab off each woman’s head and throwing them to the ground, yelling and screaming at them the entire time.
From his position in the log pile, Conor could hear every word of the driver’s rant. His pulse quickened. Were they going to execute all these women? Covert operation or not, he couldn’t stand by and watch that happen. If the driver made a move to shoot any of the women, Conor would take him out.
Of course, if it went that way, the op was blown. He’d end up in a firefight with all of these men and Shani would be stuck behind enemy lines. He made himself relax. He was getting ahead of himself. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He needed to trust that Shani could take care of herself for now and let this play out.
“You are all to blame for what happened in there!” the driver shouted. “If anyone speaks a word of this, none of you will ever receive another box of food from this compound. You will also be putting your family at risk. In these times, people disappear. Entire families disappear! Are we clear?” He held a gun above his head for emphasis, to demonstrate his ability to carry out his threats.
The women stood nervously, some of them clutching at the hands of their companions for support. Others twisted at the folds of their robes but no one said a word.
“Do you understand?” he demanded.
Whereas fear had frozen their tongues moments ago, they were now afraid not to speak. There were mumbles of assent. They understood the threats. If they wanted food, they kept their mouths shut. If they broke their promise to this man, they were aware there was more at risk than a weekly box of food. He would kill their entire family.
Everyone appeared to understand what was going on except Conor, whose anxiety grew
by the minute. With all the niqabs removed, their faces exposed, he could see that Shani was not among the women lined up in front of the building. He also had to wonder what the driver meant by “what happened in there.” What had happened in there?
Was Shani dead or injured? Was the op already blown and Conor didn’t know it yet?
He was trying to think of a way that he might corner one of the housecleaners and ask some questions, but there was no opportunity. After the driver’s lecture, they were immediately directed onto the van. He ordered them to strip off their abayas there in the yard and drop them into a pile. As the women clambered aboard, the driver gathered the discarded garments and hurriedly threw them through the rear doors of the van. When all the women were loaded, he slammed the side door shut and got in the driver’s seat. Despite his agitation, he drove carefully as he departed the house and exited the compound.
The two men who’d been with the driver remained on the porch. Their posture was more alert, more guarded, than Conor had ever seen from them. They were acting as sentries. Whatever had happened in there gave them some reason to think security had been breached. That was not an encouraging sign.
Conor lay there in his hide trying to figure out what to do. He wracked his brain. Part of him wanted to do what he’d done when Barb was kidnapped, to unsheath his combat tomahawk and wade in, stacking bodies like firewood. Despite the tension between him and Shani, despite the history left unsaid, he knew she would do the same for him. For better or worse, they were a team. His life could depend on her actions and her life could depend on his.
He hurriedly packed his gear. He needed to get closer so he could overhear any discussion and try to gather more information. Getting closer would also put him in a better firing position if it came to that. The weapon and optic combination he’d brought was set up for shorter distances. Just as he moved to break down the spotting scope, he caught motion in the field between the houses. He dropped an eye back to the scope and rotated it toward the figure approaching the men’s building.
It was Mumin.
Conor had never seen the man in person but recognized his face from the briefing Ricardo gave them. He was wearing a red down jacket and had his hands shoved in his pockets. He walked quickly, anxiously, his face a mask of concern.
17
The men on the porch noticed Mumin as he approached along the gravel path between residences and turned to face him. The closest man was Qasim. He wore a light jacket and sandals as if he’d been pulled outside unexpectedly, without adequate time to dress for the weather. That wasn’t a good sign.
“What happened?” Mumin demanded. “I thought I heard a shot nearby.”
“You did,” Qasim replied. “When the women were cleaning this morning, one of them snagged her abaya on the corner of a bed. Rahim was nearby and saw her leg. He noticed she was wearing combat boots with military-style pants. There was also a knife in her boot.
Mumin’s thoughts raced through the possibilities. “What did Rahim do?”
“He went to get George and brought him up here to check it out. George soon figured out that there was an extra woman on the crew today.”
“Extra woman?” Mumin asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means that George delivered twelve women this morning but there were thirteen inside cleaning inside the house.”
Mumin put a hand to his chin, looking away as he contemplated this. “Did he figure out where she came from?”
Qasim shook his head. “Rahim and George confronted her in the hall upstairs. There was a fight and Rahim’s gun went off in the struggle. That was the shot you heard.”
“Was anyone hit?”
“Not by the gunshot, but the woman stabbed Rahim several times. She knew exactly what she was doing with a knife. By the time she was subdued, Rahim was dead. There’s blood everywhere.”
“Shit,” Mumin muttered. It wasn’t the death of Rahim that concerned him as much as the greater implications of what this might mean for their security. Why was this woman in the house? Was she some kind of spy? “What about the housecleaners? Were any of them hurt?”
“Scared but not hurt,” Qasim replied. “George reminded them they needed to keep quiet about everything or their food would be cut off.”
“Does he think that’s enough of a threat to keep them silent?”
Qasim smiled. “He also told them their families would be killed if they talked.”
“I hope that does it. Where is George?”
Qasim shrugged. “He’s gone to take the women home.”
“Couldn’t someone else have done that?”
“He didn’t want any of us being seen outside the compound.” Qasim grinned. “Apparently we’re a dirty little secret.”
“Do we need to bury the bodies?”
“There’s only one,” Qasim pointed out. “George knocked the woman out and tied her up. The other men are watching her.”
Mumin frowned. “I assumed he killed her.” Having known George for many years, Mumin expected that George would have responded to such a threat with finality. Mumin had seen him do it before, back in their casinos.
“No, George wants to talk with her when he returns. He left strict instructions for the men to leave her alone. Of course, my companions are not dogs to be ordered around. They are men with their own minds. Maybe they’ll listen and maybe they won’t.”
Mumin was concerned by Qasim’s attitude. George overestimated his ability to threaten and order these men around. They’d been warned before about messing with the housecleaners but continued to test the line every week. They did as they wanted, with little regard for consequences. Several times Mumin had threatened to stop having their residence cleaned for them but he always gave in. The men scared him. They also outnumbered him, his family, and George. To the best of his ability, he needed to keep them happy.
Mumin climbed onto the porch and headed for the front door.
Qasim stepped in front of him, raising a hand in a halting motion. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to let you go in there until George gets back.”
Mumin glared at Qasim. He wondered if the man was trying to give his friends time to do whatever they wanted with the prisoner. He didn’t intend to let that happen. “You need to remember this is still my property and I am in charge here. George works for me. You and your companions are my guests.”
Qasim gave Mumin a hard stare for a moment, then shrugged and stepped aside. He offered no apology for his actions. In fact, he remained defiant while allowing Mumin to pass. His attitude was representative of this whole group in general. They’d all displayed the same insolence when Mumin had been forced to deal with them.
There was always something they weren’t satisfied with. They wanted access to the weapons in his armory, even though they had weapons of their own. They wanted to leave the compound so they could find women. They wanted to take liberties with the housecleaners since Mumin denied them permission to leave the compound.
The root of the problem was that they were growing restless and that concerned Mumin. No concessions on his part were going to keep them happy for long. Aware that their frustration might spill over at some point, Mumin preferred to keep his distance when at all possible. His family had strict orders not to leave the house. This, however, was one of those times when he absolutely needed to know what was going on inside that building. Everything could be at risk and he could not ignore the problem.
Mumin shoved the door open and entered the common area. He found several of the men kicked back on the furniture like they didn’t have a concern in the world. They turned at his arrival and stared blankly at him. He wasn’t expected, nor was he a concern. Mumin noted the handguns sitting openly on the coffee table. One man affectionately cradled a folding stock AK.
He’d never liked the idea of them keeping their weapons at hand. He tried to make them use the locker in the storage facility but they refused. His reasoning had fallen on deaf ears and they ignore
d any further discussion, refusing to even acknowledge his words. While he understood the importance of weapons, he didn’t believe in having them laying about everywhere. More importantly, he didn’t want these men to have such easy access to them.
It simply wasn’t necessary at their remote compound. The facility was secure. The men were protected. Mumin himself only kept a single handgun in his home. Should he require anything further, he could simply go to the weapons locker and retrieve it. These men should have been willing to do the same, but they weren’t. It told him they didn’t trust him any more than they trusted anyone else in this country. That fact was always in the back of his mind. They didn’t consider him to be one of them. They ignored and discounted his contribution to what had taken place.
“Where is she?” Mumin asked.
One of the men tipped his head in the direction of the hallway.
Mumin gave them a disapproving look and strode off in that direction. He heard a loud voice from behind a closed door at the end of the hall. He stopped outside it, afraid of what he’d hear, but his steps had been noticed. The voice paused and the door whipped open before he could tap on it with his knuckles.
It was Omar and his eyes were filled with fury. Mumin had interrupted something. Mumin craned his head to look around Omar but the man didn’t budge.
“Please move aside,” Mumin requested.
Omar angrily threw the door the rest of the way open and stepped aside. Mumin had a clear view of the woman tied to a folding metal chair with shoelaces. She was wearing combat fatigues but no insignia of any type. It was generic tactical clothing that could have come from anywhere. The clothing alone didn’t mean she was of any significance. It told them nothing. She had straight dark hair with a touch of gray beginning to show. Her skin was dark, her eyes an angry brown. As she flexed against her bonds, she appeared to be lean and muscular. She looked very much like a woman soldier.
Northern Sun: Book Four in The Mad Mick Series Page 10