She turned around from the front seat and looked back to Abu Dahl, who sat between the two guards. She smiled and said, “So much has changed in the world since you were brought to this terrible place. I hope you don’t have too much trouble adapting to the newest technology.”
“Technology is not important to me,” he answered. “I only wish to return to my homeland and embrace my freedom.”
Laurent nodded with a sympathy bordering on pain, imagining all the great pleasures of life this tortured soul had been deprived. Stolen time and memories, never to be retrieved. She started to speak again and stopped, alerted by something in his eyes that she’d not seen earlier. Something disturbing. He stared back at her with a look that made her feel naked, self-conscious, vulnerable. Laurent was never made to feel so uncomfortable by a man’s gaze. She turned back around and stared out the windshield, wondering what just happened. She attempted to reconcile the sinister expression as the actions of a typical man who hadn’t seen a woman in many years. But it went beyond that. There was nothing suggestive or even sexually hungry in those eyes. His glare felt dark, unclean, condescending, and violent. She imagined that given the opportunity, he would not just have his way with her. He would consume her. Defile her. Ravage her.
Laurent was dismayed and disappointed by her own vivid imagination. Had she really gleaned all that from a single glance? She squeezed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to force the thoughts out of her mind. Her reaction was sophomoric and over-reactive. Yet, she still felt his eyes upon her, even now. Through the back of her skull, right through the car seat, she felt him. Felt him penetrating her.
She forced a smile, but it wasn’t working. She realized now that the man unnerved her. She would make it a point to put some distance between them on the plane. She would also warn her other guests to keep their guard up, just in case. Second thought, saying so could make her appear the fool after everything she did to gain his freedom. She would ask the flight attendant to keep an eye on him instead.
The sedan pulled up to the plane as the other guests emptied out and assembled on the tarmac.
Laurent dismissed her concerns and bounded from the car with renewed vigor. She threw her hands in the air and stepped victoriously into the group. “We’ve done it!” she cried. A cheer went up as everyone squeezed into a group hug. Laurent then pointed back at the car and directed them to make room for their guest of honor.
Lieutenant Hodges came around and opened the right passenger door. Out stepped Sergeant Dobbin, followed by Abu Dahl, and finally Corporal Bolinski. Bolinski took one step back from the prisoner. He put a hand on his club, watching as the sergeant removed the restraints. Dobbin moved to the prisoner’s side to remove the ankle shackles, careful to avoid the possibility of being kicked in the process. He stood back up and unlocked the handcuffs.
Abu Dahl flexed and rubbed his wrists as the shackles came off, exaggerating his discomfort.
Hodges discreetly nudged Dobbin and said, “I’ll take those.”
Dobbin gathered the restraints and handed them to Hodges.
Laurent stepped toward the prisoner and announced, “Everyone, this is why we are here. May I present to you, Mr. Abu Dahl, a free man!”
They all held their places, smiling at the guest of honor but making no move toward him. Abu Dahl stood staring back at the group in his orange jumpsuit. His long, straggly hair and beard gently stroked by the soft Caribbean breeze. His expression was anything but welcoming.
No one moved for what seemed like an eternity.
Abu Dahl finally slipped into character, ready to play the part that was expected of him. “Thank you for fighting to win my freedom,” he announced with a forced, humbled smile. “I pray that my deeds in life will make you remember this moment forever.”
The ice was broken. The small group flocked around to shake his hand and offer congratulations on this new beginning.
Lieutenant Hodges used the moment to locate the pilot. He found him standing at the doorway, watching the activities below. Hodges climbed the steps and introduced himself. Tom Kellogg was an ex-navy fighter pilot. He ushered Hodges inside and introduced him to David Scott, his first officer and a former air force pilot.
“I assume that I don’t need to explain to the two of you the type of man that is about to board your aircraft,” Hodges said.
“We’ve done a little research on our own,” Kellogg answered. “We’ll be watching him.”
“He is an active combatant who has pledged death to his enemies. That would be us. Tell me, and this is in the strictest confidence, do you travel armed?”
“You’re asking us if we brought weapons on to a secure military installation?” the first officer asked. “I’m assuming there are no repercussions for revealing such information.”
“Ordinarily, there would be, but there is nothing ordinary about this situation. I’m not asking to bust your balls.”
Scott looked to the pilot, who gave a slight nod. “Yes, Lieutenant, we both travel armed. Force of habit. There’s a stowed Kimber and H&K.”
“Good,” Lieutenant Hodges answered, “very good. I recommend you take these as well.” He handed the first officer the handcuffs and leg irons along with a key. Scott accepted them and headed into the cockpit to stow them before they could be seen by the other passengers.
Hodges locked eyes with Kellogg. “If this man sees an opportunity, he will kill you. For the sake of yourselves and all of those clueless partygoers out there that we are sworn to protect, watch this man. Your lives may depend on it.”
Laurent gave everyone time to greet Abu Dahl, then tapped her watch. “If we’re going to stay on schedule, then we need to get aboard. Come on, everyone, let’s go!” She directed the guests up the stairway as Lieutenant Hodges made his way back down.
She was about to follow the last of them up when Sergeant Dobbin approached. “Never let him out of your sight, Ms. Laurent,” he said. “You are not safe until he is gone.”
Laurent nodded hesitantly, her eyes staring downward. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, turned, and proceeded up the steps and into the aircraft.
Once the craft reached cruising altitude, Laurent unbuckled and came over to Abu Dahl, holding out a package. “These are fresh clothes and travel supplies: toothbrush, comb, shaving kit, things like that. Feel free to get freshened up in the restroom up front. We’ll be serving dinner very soon. I hope you’re hungry.”
Abu Dahl smiled back, took the package, clicked out of his seatbelt, and headed for the lavatory.
Everyone sat in groups of four for dinner, which coincidentally featured Middle Eastern dishes. Laurent sat with Senator Dunwade and Valerie Tynes, leaving one seat open for Abu Dahl. He appeared a few moments later, donning a black jogging suit and sneakers. His expression hinted this would not become his favorite outfit. But it was clean, and it wasn’t bright orange. Laurent waved him over to the open seat across from her. He sat down before a large platter of chicken shawarma and Kkshik––a porridge made from burghul fermented with yogurt, along with Kofta, spicy balls of minced lamb, and garnished with grape leaves.
Senator Dunwade puffed with pride for having suggested the menu items to make their guest feel welcome. “I assume it has been a while since you’ve enjoyed foods from your homeland.”
Abu Dahl busied himself with scooping from each of the dishes with his fingers. “No, I ate Tabbouleh last night. It is required that we be fed with foods from our own culture.” Abu took an entire stuffed grape leaf and crammed it into his mouth. He held up his finger as he chewed. When he had swallowed half, he added, “These are good, but the chef at Guantanamo makes the best grape leaves I have ever tasted. I will miss them, but nothing else.”
The senator’s face reddened, unaware that the prisoner had been so well fed. He made a mental note to check into the foods being served at the prison.
Valerie Tynes watched with equal parts of curiosity and repulsion. Abu Dahl used his fingers to sample all o
f the foods on the platters. He licked them after each taste, then dug in for more.
“So, Mr. Dahl,” she asked, “do you have family that you will be returning to when you reach your home?”
The man stopped chewing and stared across the table. “No, my family is dead. My parents were killed before my eyes by a Soviet helicopter launching a missile into our home. My two brothers were both shot by American forces as we defended our land from attack.”
Tynes felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard, wishing she hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry for your losses. I hope we have shown you that not all Americans support the war.”
Dahl stuffed a Kofta ball in his mouth. This woman would be stoned to death for speaking such treason against her own country. “Yes, you have shown me much.” Yes, he thought, you have shown me how easy it will be to defeat such weak-minded people.
The conversations continued and bounced from subject to subject. Everyone anxiously awaited their turn to speak with Abu Dahl. Gradually his responses became shorter, often with only one or two-word replies. It seemed as though maintaining the thin veneer of feigned friendship was too demanding. He eventually ignored the questions altogether while continuing to sample every dish within his reach. The other passengers got the message and left him alone.
For her part, Laurent was drinking her way to numbness. She now was having serious misgivings about Abu Dahl. With every short, sometimes condescending reply he gave her guests, she became more convinced that she had erred in ignoring all the warnings. By her fourth glass of chardonnay, her thoughts shifted to a good night’s sleep and getting him off this plane.
18
Washington, DC
The buzz on the street and social media was the Karlson/Al Jazeera interview. News anchors and teams of specialists analyzed its contents from every angle. Dagger-throwing debates raged, further dividing friends and electronic acquaintances. Supporters and opponents faced off and battled with keystrokes and emotionally lobbed emojis. Depending on the political persuasion of the network reporting the story, Karlson was portrayed as everything from the smartest woman in politics, single-handedly brokering world peace, to a poorly scripted, washed-up actress pandering to the enemy.
Karlson herself was savoring the moment because, good or bad, publicity was publicity. She basked in the spotlight and anticipated a large bump in the public opinion polls.
The interview was already proving itself a political godsend. It paved the way to upcoming appearances on the Tonight Show, The Gab, Meet The Press, and a cameo performance on Saturday Night Live. The first phase of Gene Lawton’s brilliant plan was a monumental success. Time would tell if the hidden viper inflicted its venom.
The sound of a television streamed in the background as Karlson finished the last of her salmon entrée in a private dining room of her favorite DC restaurant. The management treasured its powerful and elite customer base and sequestered them into this exclusive area. The general public was barred from entry. This was one of her secret ports of refuge where she enjoyed the solitude and ambiance as much as the splendid culinary offerings.
The server set down a cappuccino as her cell phone chirped. She read the caller ID before answering and sighed. It was Senate Majority Leader Linda Romulus. Karlson couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough to ignore the call and answered.
“Good afternoon Madam Speaker,” she announced with feigned politeness. “I was just thinking that you and I have not spoken in some time. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you, senator. Congratulations on your interview. You’ve done well in carrying forward our unified party message that we represent the best hope for peace in the Middle East.”
“Well, thank you. That film crew was very excited to share our views with their audience. I have their contact information if anyone else wishes to use them.” Fat chance of that, Karlson thought, even as she made the offer. She intended to keep a tight lid on access to Deeba Gohar.
“I have two reasons for the call, senator,” Romulus said in her slow, nasally voice. “You are no doubt aware of the bill being voted on this afternoon?”
Karlson swallowed hard on a mouthful of hot cappuccino and burned her throat. “Yes, I was aware, madam speaker. I did not intend to vote on that issue.”
There was an uncomfortable silence before Romulus responded. “I’m not sure we have all the votes necessary to defeat this proposal. I’m calling on you to help your party.”
Her tone was soft yet reminded Karlson of being scolded by a high school teacher. She did not want her name on the voting rolls of this bill so close to the election. It was already dead at the door with little support. And although Karlson was against any tax decrease, this legislation had no chance of passage. Her participation, therefore, was not required. “My understanding was our opposition doesn’t have the votes to carry this forward.”
“Senator, my job is to make sure it has absolutely no chance. For that, I need you in your seat this afternoon. Can I count on your vote?”
She was caught. The shriveled old prune was using her position for everything it was worth. The day would come very soon when she could put this woman in her place. But until November, she needed her support. “Yes, madam speaker,” she managed to say in a near convincing tone. “I will be there.” Can I finish my damn coffee now?
Romulus wasn’t finished. “I noticed during your interview with Al Jazeera that you referred to yourself as a co-sponsor on the low-income supplemental support bill. I remember how we fought for passage. Well, you can imagine my surprise when you stated this piece of legislation belonged to you. I don’t think Reinstein or McCalvy would understand you taking credit for their hard work.”
Jesus Christ, does this wench ever offer support? Incensed, Karlson’s face flushed with anger. She struggled to control her tone. “I worked diligently with my fellow senators on both the drafting of the document and earning its passage. My name did not appear on it, but I did indeed earn the title of co-sponsor.”
“It only counts if it’s in ink. I look forward to seeing you this afternoon, senator.”
Karlson ended the call and tossed the phone into her purse. Her cappuccino was lukewarm, and she’d lost all desire. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a crisp linen napkin, reapplied lipstick to accentuate her academy award-ready smile, and headed for the exit. Her thoughts rolled through the appointments that needing rescheduling to make room for attending the senate vote. Despite the pleasant lunch, her brief conversation with Romulus left a sour taste in her mouth. “Your day is coming, bitch,” she murmured as she climbed into the limousine for the short ride to the capitol. The hag would pay for not allying herself with Karlson when she had the chance.
19
39°43’40”N 43°49’80”E
With the last of the plates cleared, the flight attendant explained to Abu Dahl how to recline his seat for the overnight portion of the flight. Erin Laurent took this as her queue to head for the solitude of her cabin. She glanced back before closing the door to see Dahl being instructed on how to view a movie.
She stripped down to her panties and pulled on a T-shirt. As she walked back from the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She had aged gracefully and still maintained an exercise regimen to keep her body toned. The facelift flattened out time’s creases and gave her a youthful glow. She stopped to admire her reflection, wondering if she should consider another round of liposuction.
Something moved in the corner. Laurent blinked twice to make sure it wasn’t the dim light playing tricks. In a flash, he was on her, darting from the shadows and grabbing her from behind around the waist. She watched him envelop her in the mirror. As though she were witnessing it all happening to someone else. Her mind didn’t yet register that she was being attacked. A fist came up, cocked back, and released with the force of a compressed piston, striking her in the right ear. The painful impact caused a bright flash behind her eyes. Her ears rang with a shrieking,
high pitch as her vision filled with blackness. Her body went limp, and consciousness drifted away.
Laurent was vaguely aware of what was happening but incapable of stopping his advance. That same fist now pulled open her mouth and stuffed a linen napkin inside. Her head drooped uncontrollably as she struggled to focus on the reflection of his face in the mirror. She saw anger, rage, and lust in his terrifying expression as Abu Dahl gripped her jaw in one hand and pulled her hips tight against him with the other. She could feel the intruder pressing his loins against her, his erection nearly penetrating her from behind. She tried to work out a scream, but he dug his nails into her face and her abdomen, hard enough to draw blood. Small trickles of red worked their way down her cheek and belly. She willed her muscles to respond, but her body remained unmovable, like a machine that was offline, unable to offer any resistance. She was like a rag doll in his hands. He was in complete control, and it was the most dreadful, helpless moment she had ever experienced.
He released his hold on her hips, and she felt his rough hand sliding her panties down as he pinned her against the wall. Tears streamed down her face and onto the hand of her assailant. Her heart banged so hard and fast that she imagined it tearing out of her chest. It would be better, she thought, if she could escape to a safe corner deep in her mind until he was finished with her body. She tried to imagine another place, another time, anything but right here and now. Any thought that could distract her from this beast that she unwittingly unleashed.
His fetid breath on the back of her neck brought her back to the moment. She could tell that he was struggling to untie his new jogging pants. It would just be a matter of time now, and he would be done with her. Laurent prayed she would still be alive.
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 10