“I have a doctor upstairs and I’ll get some supplies from him. You’ll need to keep this wound packed but I don’t think he’s in any danger. The bleeding isn’t severe and the arm isn’t broken. I can’t say how well he’ll be able to use the arm, though. A wound like this might never heal right.”
Again, the group stared at her, not impressed with her blunt delivery of such a poor prognosis.
“Can the doctor take a look at him?” asked the woman who’d brought Barb downstairs.
“I don’t think so,” Barb said. “One of our team is hurt badly and we need to get her out of here.”
“To a hospital?” the old man asked.
Barb didn’t want to go down that road. “We have a place we can treat her.”
“Can you take my husband?” the woman pressed.
“I’m sorry but no.”
“That’s a crock of shit,” the old man snapped. “I want a supervisor out here now.”
Feeling the anger welling among this group, Barb imagined all the ways it could go wrong. A subtle shift in the old man’s posture made her wonder if he was preparing to make a move against her, maybe beat her with his cane. It would be a big mistake on his part, but any conflict at this point would only delay getting help for Shani. She wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
Barb snatched up her rifle and took a few steps away from the group. “We saved you from certain death, perhaps even worse. If that’s not good enough for you, I’m sorry.”
Barb backed away from the group, then climbed the steps without turning her back on them. At the top, she positioned herself to watch if they attempted to come after her. “Doc Marty,” she called, “you able to move her yet?”
“Move her where?” Doc asked.
Barb realized she’d forgotten to relay Conor’s message. “Ricardo has arranged a medevac. Dad said that as soon as Shani was stable we needed to get her back to the LZ where we came in.”
“That’s good news.”
Barb heard the relief in Doc’s voice. They all knew there was no way he was saving her without a trauma team. All he was doing was buying Shani time.
“So can we move her?”
“She wouldn’t take anything for the pain but I’ve got her on fluids. We can move her. In fact, this van I’m driving doesn’t even have any seats in the back. It’s a cargo van. We can lay her down in the back of it. Do I need to check on the guy in the basement first?”
Barb shook her head. “Flesh wound. They can deal with it themselves. Assholes.”
Doc gathered his gear and secured Shani’s IV bags to her body. The two of them stood her up and she hung her arms over their shoulders. They limped awkwardly out the door but had her stretched out in the van shortly.
“You drive, Barb,” Doc said. “I need to keep an eye on her.”
“I’m a little rusty,” Barb replied. “You better hold on.”
“We don’t need more injuries. Please be careful.”
Every member of the team had a tiny water-resistant map that showed the LZ on it. They wanted to make sure each team member could make it back there if they got separated since only Conor and Shani had the sPads with GPS capabilities. Doc Marty, now familiar with the main road along the lake, used his map to guide Barb to the LZ in minutes. When they reached the spot, she pulled well clear of where the chopper had dropped down earlier and killed the engine.
They sat there for a moment, adjusting to the darkness, each of them wondering how long it would take the medevac chopper to reach them, each of them praying it would reach them in time.
It was Shani who broke the silence. “I think I’ll take that pain medication now, Doc.”
Doc clicked his headlamp back on. He’d turned it off while Barb drove since she was driving by nightvision for the very first time and he didn’t want to interfere with the function of her goggles. He drew a syringe of Ketamine.
“Make it a light dose, Doc. I need to be able to speak. I have some things to tell Barb.”
Barb was surprised. “I was going to take watch.”
“Let Doc take watch after he’s doped me up. You and I need to talk.”
55
Unlike his companions, Bushra had been a military man all his life and he knew an ambush when he saw one. There was no way these folks could have known his team was coming so it must have been their dumb luck to wander into a home running a watch at night. Perhaps word of their attacks was spreading around the community. It was possible that people were becoming fearful enough to guard their houses at night and have sentries in place.
He wanted to blame the fishing team—their scouts—but he supposed there was no way they could have known what his men were walking into. One thing was certain. He’d lost brothers tonight, men he’d formed a bond with through faith and action, and the people who’d attacked them would pay for this. As soon as he got back to the camp, he would wake all the men and they’d have an emergency meeting. However, they wouldn’t rush back in anger. He’d send spies tomorrow and they’d collect information. Once they had a better idea of what they were dealing with, they’d return and exact their revenge.
Bushra stuck to the road so he wouldn’t have to use a light. The paved surface of the road caught enough of the sparse moonlight to keep him on track. As he walked, he wondered about the mistakes they’d made. They should probably have been focusing on homes farther away. It wasn’t laziness; it was fear of the water. His men hated the boats and hated being out on the water. None of them could swim and they were constantly in some state of cat-like panic, digging their claws into the plastic hulls at the slightest rocking of their boats.
That was the nature of working with amateurs. The masterminds of the attack on America had been intent on using unknown people to the greatest extent possible. They wanted men who weren’t on watch lists and who weren’t known to the American government. It was so much easier to fly people directly into America on commercial aircraft and let them waltz right through security. People like Bushra were thought to be in databases and on terrorist watch lists. They’d had to skulk in under the cover of darkness. Some had come by water and others had walked across the Canadian border on trails used by marijuana smugglers. Bushra and some others had been smuggled in by a drug cartel in Mexico, their passage paid for with opium.
Bushra didn’t know how long he ran but he was sweating. He nearly ran past the camp until the familiar outline of the Bass Springs Resort sign triggered something in his brain and brought him to a stop. In the distance, he saw a light in Kamil’s cabin. He appeared to be the only man awake at the camp, which was no surprise. He often awaited their return. Bushra made a beeline for his cabin.
Slowing to a walking pace, he took deep breaths, trying to calm his breathing. He slung his rifle over his shoulder now that he was back in his familiar camp. He stopped at the bottom of the steps outside Kamil’s cabin and leaned on the railing to catch his breath. When he’d calmed enough to speak with the older man, he climbed the steps and banged on the door with his fist. He didn’t wait for a response, but opened it and went inside.
A battery-powered lantern glowed on a desk beside an open book but Kamil was nowhere to be found. Maybe he’d gone to the toilet. There hadn’t been a light on in any of the other cabins. Bushra turned to go search for Kamil and found a man standing in the door waiting on him, a rifle raised and pointed directly at his chest. Bushra froze.
“Don’t fucking move,” the stranger said. He spoke loudly, with no apparent concern of being overheard. Bushra had to wonder if the entire camp had been compromised. Were all the men dead? Was he the only one remaining?
“Drop your rifle.”
Bushra did as he was told, his rifle clattering to the floor, his mind racing. What was he going to do?
“You’re going to use your left hand to release that gun belt. Keep the right in the air. Any sudden moves and you’ll join your buddies in Hell.”
Was that confirmation that everyone else was dead? Had a
ll his companions survived their mission just to get wiped out in a single night? Bushra had to raise the front of his jacket to reach his belt buckle. Since he wore his gun on the right, he couldn’t easily draw it with his left hand, which was clearly his captor’s plan. Nevertheless, it allowed him to reach a concealed surprise he’d retained since the original attacks.
Bushra relished the look of shock in his captor’s eyes as he brought up the grenade, the pin still hooked on his belt. The armed man opened his mouth to say something but Bushra wasn’t listening. He didn’t fear being shot or killed at this point. He made a slight adjustment to the position of his thumb and the spoon dropped free of the armed grenade. Bushra smiled and extended it toward Conor in his open palm.
It was funny how the sudden appearance of a grenade could screw up a perfectly good plan. Conor cried out and dove backward, launching himself off the porch and into the dirt. He fired at Bushra as he launched himself away but the shots weren’t aimed and hit nothing. Bushra knew he had three seconds and he’d just expended one of them. He tossed the grenade toward the open door and heard it bounce down the steps before it exploded, shaking the cabin from the foundation.
When the floor shifted beneath his feet, Bushra fell and slid toward the front wall. Books, the lantern, the desk chair, were all sliding toward him. The woodstove tipped over, dumping coals from the stovepipe fitting as it rolled into the bed. A blanket smoldered and caught fire. Bushra scrambled to his feet and climbed toward the back wall. He raised the old double-hung window and punched the screen out. He tugged himself through the opening, then slid down the exterior wall of the lopsided house.
When he landed on the ground, he didn’t bother to check on his enemy. He didn’t attack the presumably injured man. Sometimes an experienced soldier knew when it was time to withdraw. A live man could always return to fight again another day. A dead man could not.
56
Shani raised a hand and beckoned Barb. “Come closer. I need to talk to you.”
Barb felt a little uneasy with the request. She wasn’t scared of Shani but her intensity was disconcerting. What was so important that she needed to talk to Barb about it now when she was lying there injured?
Regardless, Barb did as Shani asked. The back door of the van was open and she sat down alongside Shani. Although they’d turned off the interior lights of the van, a red LED light provided enough illumination for them to see each other. Doc Marty had wandered off to maintain watch.
“I’ve known your father for a long time,” Shani began.
“I’ve heard that,” said Barb. “Doc Marty said you guys rubbed each other the wrong way but he didn’t know why.”
For some reason, that choice of words put a faint smile on Shani’s face. “Not always. We met on a job in Saudi Arabia nine years ago. I was working for Ricardo at the time but later left to work for my own government. I’d never met your dad before but I’d heard stories of him. He was this mythical figure who built crazy weapons and devices but rarely worked in the field.”
Barb nodded. “He’s still kind of a mythical figure, especially in his own mind.”
“We were there on an operation to kill a rising Al Qaeda figure who lived in Yemen and was believed to be responsible for attacks on Americans. It was too difficult to operate out of Yemen. We had a lot more infrastructure in Saudi Arabia. I was part of that infrastructure because I’d been working in Saudi Arabia for four or five years at that point.”
“Wasn’t it hard being a woman in Saudi Arabia?”
“Very challenging,” Shani replied. “But your father wasn’t much better than the Saudi men. I was to meet up with him for the first time at this cafe that hosted a lot of Western tourists. I made contact and gave the sign. He responded with the countersign and I took a seat. He immediately started badgering me about this bloke Axel that he was supposed to meet and wanting to know where he was. I don’t know what he assumed I was. His driver? His maid? His mistress? I was furious. I went by the name Axel in that area of operations and your dad never even considered for a moment that Axel could be a woman.”
Barb smiled in the red glow. “Dad can be archaic sometimes. He’s old school.”
“I’d worked hard to get where I was. I was Ricardo’s top operative in Jeddah and here was this old dinosaur treating me like a second-class citizen. I was brash and hot-headed at the time, so I completely played the part. I told him I was a local guide there to get him to the safe house where he’d be staying. I let him know that ‘my boss,’ this imaginary male operative he seemed to be waiting on, would be delayed for several days due to an emergency outside the city.”
“How’d he take that?”
“He was a little put-off. He thought the schedule was tighter and that the hit needed to be done quickly. He was ready to get to work.”
“How long did you wait to tell him?” Barb asked.
“Two weeks.” Shani put a hand on Barb’s forearm and held to it. “I’m not proud of this, but I seduced your father. For two weeks, we carried on without a care in the world. He thought he was quite the stud, bedding the young Saudi guide. He didn’t know I was the one playing him.”
A disturbed expression crossed Barb’s face. She assumed there had been women in her father’s life. After all, her mother had been dead for nearly twenty years. She’d never seen or heard of any of them until this very moment and it made her uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Shani gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to lay this on you, Barb, but it’s very important.”
“It’s fine. Keep going.”
“Two weeks later, Ricardo shows up to brief us on the mission timetable. On the drive to Ricardo’s hotel, your father is bitching about how there’s no point to Ricardo briefing us on the op without Axel present. I didn’t respond, but I was laughing inside. Then we get to the hotel and Ricardo says something harmless like ‘So how are you and Axel getting along?’ and I thought your dad was going to die.”
Barb couldn’t help but grin at the image. She could imagine her father’s expression. “I can imagine he wasn’t very happy about that.”
Shani shook her head carefully. “No, he wasn’t. He played it cool there in front of Ricardo. He never let on that we’d had this little misunderstanding. Once we left Ricardo’s suite, he tore into me and we argued for a long time. I think I hurt his pride and embarrassed him. He didn’t take it well. In fact, he never got over it as far as I was concerned. This operation up north was the first time he’s spoken to me in a civil manner since Saudi Arabia.”
“Did you guys ever work together again?”
“Ricardo didn’t know about the bad blood so he teamed us up several times to work in India, Germany, Turkey, and a few other places. It was always strictly business. He never got over the deception.”
“Why are you telling me this, Shani?”
“Because I never told him about our daughter.”
Barb shot to her feet, her head reeling. She paced back and forth. She couldn’t even find words. Her father had a daughter somewhere that he’d never seen? She had a sister? What the hell?
“Barb!”
Barb returned to the door of the van and stood over the injured woman. “What?”
“I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if I’m going to make it. If I don’t, I need you to tell Conor about his daughter.”
“This should come from you,” Barb said. She wasn’t angry but she was firm. This was something she wanted no part of.
“There might not be the opportunity for that. I need you to promise me that if I don’t make it you’ll tell him.”
Barb threw her hands up in a gesture of futility. “What the hell am I supposed to say?”
“That Shani has a daughter named Abela and Conor Maguire is her father.”
Barb put her hands to the side of her head. “This is...a lot.”
“I know, Barb, but I need your word.” Shani
's voice was desperate, pleading. “As a woman. As a friend.”
With a sigh, Barb sat down in the back of the van again. “Abela.”
Shani nodded. “When I work, she lives on a moshav in Jezreel with my sister.”
“What’s a moshav?”
“A farming settlement, like a kibbutz, only different.”
“Does your sister know about my dad?”
“She knows the story. She doesn’t approve of my actions or most of my choices for that matter. She’s insisted all along that I needed to tell Conor the truth. Ricardo has the address of the moshav and he can give it to Conor.”
“I can hear the chopper!” Doc Marty called. “It’ll be here in a second.”
Barb turned her face to Shani’s and looked her in the eye. “I will make you this promise on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“If you live, you promise to tell my father about Abela. He deserves to know.”
Shani sighed and looked away. “I promise.”
There was an explosion in the distance and every head snapped around.
“Was that the chopper?” Barb asked.
“I don’t think so,” Doc replied. “It sounded like it came from the direction of the camp.”
Shani fumbled to extract her sPad from her gear. She called the number Ricardo had given them for the drone team. The call was answered immediately. “We heard an explosion. Did you see anything?”
“Thermal shows some type of small explosion at the camp. I have one man down and another fleeing out the back of the structure.”
“Can you tell who’s down?” Shani asked. “One of us or one of them?”
“I can’t be sure but I think it’s one of us.”
Shani went to relay the information to Barb but it was too late. Barb was gone at a full run, the sound of her boots as rhythmic as the blades of the approaching chopper. “Doc, when you get me on this chopper, you go after her,” Shani said. “Help Conor.”
Northern Sun: Book Four in The Mad Mick Series Page 28