by Terry Toler
The last guy took one look at the two men flailing away on the ground and the one dead, and he turned to take off running. I left the knife in the third victim and gave chase. I tackled him before he was ten feet away. I flipped him over from his back to his stomach and then pinned his arms down with my legs. He struggled to get away, but I am surprisingly strong.
His eyes were darting side to side in fear.
“Please don’t kill me,” he said.
“Don’t speak to me,” I said angrily. Then I took the palm of my left hand and smashed it into his right eye. For Amina. That was the same eye they’d damaged on her. I balled my right fist raising the knuckle on my middle finger slightly above the others. Then I smashed the knuckle into his throat, crushing his larynx and windpipe.
Of the four, he probably had it the worst. He lay on the ground writhing in pain. His hands clutching his throat. Trying to catch a breath that he’d never be able to get. It’d take about three minutes, but he’d die.
I stood and assessed the others.
One was dead. The other two would bleed out in a matter of minutes. I took their watches and wallets, so it’d look like a possible robbery. I retrieved the knife and cleaned the blade on one of their shirts.
Not bad.
I wish Curly could see my handiwork. He always quipped that I was better with my hands than with a knife. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I’d worked on my knife skills for hours to prove him wrong.
I couldn’t wait to tell him what I’d done. Four guys. Twenty seconds. All dead. Perfect kills. Efficient.
Curly would find something wrong with it.
I let the one guy get a punch off. The fourth guy could’ve gotten away. I should’ve used my gun. I acted out of emotions rather than mission expediency. Curly always argued to end a fight as soon as possible. Use the most lethal weapon at your disposal.
Maybe I wouldn’t tell him about it. Now that I’d thought about it, Curly was right. I did too many things wrong.
Oh well.
The only thing that mattered was the outcome. The four guys were dead. I looked around and didn’t see any witnesses.
Those four men didn’t face judgment for their crimes here on earth because of a corrupt system of laws and judges and prosecutors who used the system to abuse women.
They were now before God. I was the facilitator. Whatever vengeance God wanted to mete out, was up to him.
I was satisfied.
29
Abu Dhabi International Airport
Eleven days later
“I don’t like the plan,” Josh said.
“It’s your plan!” I responded.
“I know, Jamie. And I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” Brad said on a secured video conference line.
The rest of us were sitting in the plane discussing our plan to infiltrate the Sheikh’s yacht to see if any girls were being held captive there.
Josh was in charge of developing the plan and was having doubts.
We would’ve acted sooner, but Brad insisted we take our time, gather intel, and put together an MSO. Mission Success Odds. If they weren’t high, then we’d call off the mission. High MSO meaning in the ninety percent range, which was next to impossible given the mission involved twenty-to-thirty armed guards surrounding the Sheikh’s house.
We didn’t even have the element of surprise going for us. While no one was expecting us to launch an attack, the Sheikh was expecting the White Wolves to try something which was the reason for the heavy security presence.
“We’ve looked at all the other alternatives, and this was the best plan,” I said.
“If it goes to hell, you and A-Rad will be sitting ducks,” Brad said.
“That’s why I think I should be the one to go with Jamie,” Josh replied.
I let out a sigh. One of the things I hated most was rehashing the same arguments over and over again. We’d been through these various options a dozen times.
“A-Rad is the most proficient at hot wiring the boat,” I said. “If we make it to the boat without anyone spotting us, he’s going to have to get the engine running quickly.”
“How are you going to get across the beach unnoticed?” Brad asked. “Can’t you come in from the water?”
The Sheikh had a boat at his dock. We determined that was the best way to get to the yacht. A-Rad would hot wire the boat, we’d drive it out to the yacht, kill the three guards, search the yacht for the girls, and then drive the boat up the coast where we’d ditch it on the beach. From there, we’d hike to a rendezvous point on the road where they’d pick us up and we’d come back to the plane. Hopefully, with one or more rescued girls.
We discussed the water option and dismissed it, but Brad wasn’t in on those discussions, so Josh filled him in on why. “I don’t want them in the water because of the stonefish,” Josh answered, “and the sea snakes.”
Stonefish were the most venomous fish in the world, and a sea snake bite was ten times more lethal than that of a king cobra. They’re all over the muddy bottom of the Persian Gulf and liked to live in shallow water.
“We need to keep Jamie and A-Rad out of the water,” Josh added.
“I agree with that,” A-Rad said, shuddering his shoulders.
I did too. I’d go in the water to save the girls if I had to, but I wouldn’t like it.
“You don’t even know if the girls are on the yacht,” Brad argued.
I let out a groan. We’d had that argument with Brad before. I was losing patience.
“There are three guards on the yacht,” I said for the umpteenth time. “They’re guarding something.”
“The boat is worth five-hundred-million dollars. If it were mine, I think I’d have a guard as well.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Have you actually laid eyes on any of the girls?” Brad asked.
He already knew the answer to that question but clearly asked it to cement his point. We hadn’t seen any sign of the girls. None of the satellite images picked up anyone but the guards. I assumed the girls were being kept below deck. If they were there at all.
Alex was surprisingly quiet. Probably because this was my mission, so he was letting me take the lead. Something I appreciated. Rarely, if ever, did Alex play the I’m the man, you’re the woman card. He treated me as his equal in every way. What I say goes—a sharp contrast to what I’d witnessed in the tribal court.
“You need to get more intel,” Brad said.
I shook my head no. So did Josh.
“Tonight is a moonless night,” Josh said. “I mean… it’s not moonless. It’s cloudy out. If we’re going to go, we need to go when there’s no moon illuminating the beach.”
Another reason we’d waited so long to act. Every night, the moon had been clear and bright. There’s no way we could’ve gotten across the beach unnoticed. Even with the clouds, we might not be able to make it unseen. The biggest risk to the plan was running across the beach in plain sight of the guards. If they spotted us, we would be sitting ducks. At that point, we’d have to shoot our way out of the situation.
Not ideal, but if this was the plan, then we needed to go when we had the best opportunity for success. When there was no moon visible.
I added, “Also, MJ and Amina are scheduled to be executed two days from now. As soon as we snatch them, we all need to get out of the country right away. If we’re going to rescue Odille then we need to do it before we rescue MJ and Amina.”
Malak let me know he heard from the Supreme Court, and they rejected both of the girl’s appeals. He was despondent, but I was thrilled. That meant we could rescue them. He gave me the place and time, and Josh was already working on an extraction plan.
“You don’t even know if Odille is on the yacht,” Brad said.
“We’ve been over that ground several times,” Alex spoke up. “I agree with Jamie. The guards are there for a reason. You only need one guard to watch a yacht. You don’t need three. We need to find out if Odille is t
here. For Jamie’s peace of mind, if for nothing else. We don’t want to leave any girls behind.”
I touched Alex’s hand to let him know I appreciated the support.
“Then it’s settled,” Josh said. “We’ll go tonight. But I’m in charge of the mission. If I see something I don’t like, we’ll abort. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Are you on board with that, Brad?” Josh asked.
“I am. I trust your judgment, Josh. Don’t let those two do something stupid.”
He meant Alex and me. I wasn’t offended. Brad was right. Since I had the AJAX team around me, I took less risks. A couple days before, I had the idea to go to Dubai, rent a boat, and get to the yacht from the water. That took the guards at the Sheikh’s house out of play.
If I hadn’t had the team around, that’s what I might’ve done. Josh looked at the suggestion and dismissed it out of hand. He showed me why on a map.
“These are Iranian waters. The Gulf is patrolled by Iranian warships and submarines. They’d track your every move from the moment you left the marina. You stray too far from the shore, and they’d be on you in a second.”
Not a good plan.
We said goodbye to Brad, signed off the secured line, and then took a vote. One no and we wouldn’t go.
Everyone voted yes.
“Great!” Josh said. “Let’s go over the plan again.”
My mind was elsewhere. On a girl I’d never met. I’d never even seen her face. I couldn’t pick her out if she walked right by me on the street. But I was risking my life for her. She didn’t even know it. Didn’t matter. My heart was already beating out of my chest. This was what I lived for. Rescuing girls.
Odille was on the yacht. I could feel it. I had a sixth sense about these things. It might be stupid. Brad might be right.
If I were Odille, I’d want someone to come and rescue me.
Stupid or not, that’s exactly what I intended to do.
***
The Sheikh’s house
Everyone was in position.
A-Rad and I hid behind some trees to the east of the dock. Near the beach. About fifty yards away from the pier that led to the twenty-five-foot speed boat. Bond was to the west, situated behind a sand berm. He would have our back if a threat came from that direction.
Alex and Josh were strategically situated higher up, looking down on the Sheikh’s estate. From their vantage point, they could see the entire area, except for a blind spot directly behind the house. Bond had eyes on that location. Josh had done a good job situating everyone.
The three of them had assault rifles. A-Rad and I carried small arms and a couple explosive devices in case we needed a diversion. And a FOG. Fast Obscurant Grenade. To provide instant cover if necessary by creating a smoke screen around us.
The beach was dark. The only light was from the reflection of the lamplights around the swimming pool and the ground lights leading from the house to the dock. Our path was clear until we got to the pier. The guards were primarily situated on the front and side of the house. They clearly didn’t expect a threat to come from the Gulf.
“How does it look, Private?” I asked through our radios.
“All clear here,” Josh said. “You’ve got a clear path. Seven? Are we a go?”
“All clear,” Bond said. 007 was Bond’s nickname, but they called him seven for radio expediency.
“On the move,” I said, as A-Rad and I sprinted for the boat. We slowed as we got to the dock and into the lighted area. I prayed the guards weren’t paying attention. I bolted onto the pier with A-Rad right behind me. We slowed our pace once we got on the wood so we wouldn’t make any noise.
After a few steps, the darkness engulfed us again all the way down the pier to the location of the boat. An eerie feeling came over me as we ran down the deck, wondering if someone was going to shoot us in the back.
I flung my backpack over the side of the boat and slipped into the center of it, keeping my head down. A-Rad followed me.
“We’re in,” I said.
“We saw you,” Bond said. “I can’t believe you let a girl outrun you, Willy.”
“Shut up,” A-Rad said as he pulled out his tools to begin hotwiring the boat. He estimated that it’d take him about ten minutes.
Willy was A-Rad’s nickname. The antithesis of A-Rad on purpose. William Shoemaker was a professional jockey. He stood four feet ten inches tall and weighed ninety-one pounds. A-Rad was a huge man. Not overweight. Just bulky. I forgot how much he said he could bench press, but it was a lot. He also loved shoes for some reason. Sneakers actually. He was always on the lookout for a new pair of high-end sneakers. A-Rad hated the nickname, which was why it stuck.
Mine was Dolly, as in Dolly Parton. Because my boobs weren’t that big. I barely filled out an A cup. I’d always been lean and thin. I hated the nickname, but pretended to like it, so the guys would search for a new one. So far, they hadn’t come up with one. If I were to suggest one, they’d dismiss it out of hand. The whole point of a nickname was for it to be funny. At some point, the right nickname would come along.
Alex was Whiskers for the longest time because he couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it. By noon, Bond had a five o’clock shadow. Something he continually teased Alex about and held over him.
“You should be with a real man, Jamie,” Bond would say. “Someone who can actually grow a beard.”
A few times, I thought the two of them were going to come to blows. Probably would at some point if Bond kept it up. That’s why I made them change it. Now they call Alex, Bama, which was not any better than Whiskers. Alex was the starting quarterback for the Stanford Cardinals. They lost in the national championship game to Alabama. Alex played a great game, but the defense gave up a touchdown on the last play. Alex was a good sport and played along, but I could tell that the nickname Bama hit him where it hurt.
I allowed myself to stick my head up long enough to look out at the yacht. It looked huge even from a distance. Majestic. The lighting around it illuminated the sea, creating almost an aura, except from below not from above.
Lights were on below deck. I was certain it had to be the girls. One guard was on the stern and one on the aft. I couldn’t see them from that distance, but every time we took a picture from a satellite, they were in the same location. A third guard rotated with them. Once a week, the Sheikh changed out the guards.
The boat we were on took supplies to the yacht once a week. Bond thought the supplies were more than what would be needed for three guards. Another circumstantial piece of evidence that the yacht had more than three people on it.
A-Rad cursed under his breath as he struggled with something. I knew enough to leave him alone so he wouldn’t be distracted.
Then something caught my eye. Nothing more than a glisten in the Gulf.
A flash of light.
I heard what sounded like a small engine. Maybe two.
And a wake. I strained to see if I heard it again.
Before I could send it across the radio, gunfire erupted.
I ducked my head down.
The radio exploded with noise.
“Who’s shooting?” Josh asked with urgency in his voice.
“Not me!” Bond said. “Sounds like it’s coming from the water.”
I peered over the side of the boat.
Then ducked down again as a barrage of gunfire rained down around us.
30
“Keep your head down, Dolly,” Josh said.
He didn’t have to tell me. It felt like we were in the middle of a major firefight. We were cowered down behind the engine block. Just in case a stray bullet came our way.
Josh started giving us a blow-by-blow account of the action. Like a ring announcer for a boxing match.
Bond filled in what Josh couldn’t see.
“Two amphibian vehicles landed on the beach,” Josh said.
“Twelve to fifteen hostiles piled out of each,” Bond
added. “They opened fire on the guards.”
“The Sheikh’s guards are engaging them back,” Josh said. “But they’re outmanned.”
“Sounds like tracer fire,” I said.
“It is. The hostiles are mowing them down,” Bond reported.
“That’s what we’re seeing as well,” Josh said. “These guys on the boat are good. Who the hell are they?”
I think I knew. They were the White Wolves. Coming to exact revenge. Not perfect timing, but something we could use to our advantage. As long as they didn’t know we were there.
“Hostiles just breached the house,” Bond said.
“Two guards are fleeing. Bama, take them out. No witnesses.”
“I’m on it,” Alex said.
“Two more coming your way, Bama,” Bond said.
“I see them.”
I heard eight distant shots. I suspected Alex killed them. Two shots each. Efficient.
“Four tangos down,” Alex confirmed.
The action was fast and furious. As soon as one guy stopped to take a breath, another was filling up the radio with more urgent information.
“I got a dozen or more dead in the back,” Bond said. “A bloody massacre.”
“More dead on the side of the house. What are the hostiles doing now?” Josh asked.
“A dozen or so are in the back, guarding the perimeter. Don’t look up, Dolly. They might see you.”
I didn’t intend to, even though the curiosity was eating away at me.
“I have eyes on the Sheikh,” Bond suddenly said excitedly. “Hostiles are dragging him out of the house.”
Up to that point, Bond had been speaking in a mostly monotone voice. His words suddenly reached a fever pitch.
“The Sheikh’s in one of the boats!” Bond said. “I repeat. The Sheikh has been kidnapped!”
“Confirmed. I can see him,” Josh said.
All of that was happening near us. I could hear the shouting. I had to look up. Twenty feet or so to the right side was the boat Josh had described. To the left was the other one. Some hostiles were gathering up their wounded and putting them in the boat to the left. The boat to my right shoved off to sea. The Sheikh was sitting in it. Half dressed. A stunned and vacant look had taken control of his face. His head was down, and shoulders slumped. Like he was resolved to his fate. Blood was coming from his nose and upper lip.