Ransom

by Belle Ami

  Zara dressed. She braced herself against the cold turning up the collar on her coat and slipped out of the house. She walked past an outbuilding, her shoulders hunched up against the chill and her head down. She was taken completely by surprise when a large hand clamped over her nose and mouth, and her legs were kicked out from under her. Her assailant dragged her a few feet cursing her in Arabic. She kicked wildly to free herself, and then nausea filled her. A sickly sweet smell accosted her senses. Bile rose in her throat. She heaved, gagging on the drug that saturated her reason. In a last-ditch effort, she drove her elbows into the monster’s gut hoping to dislodge his hand, but it was like slamming her elbow into a steel door, he was solid and massive. She grew weaker with every breath and kicked and flailed desperately to dislodge him. But he pressed the cloth tighter against her nose and mouth causing her vision to blur. She was spinning. Wave upon wave of dizziness left her weak and unbalanced. The last thing she heard before she slipped into unconsciousness was a man’s heated whisper in her ear, “Now, the fun begins, Alfrnsih aahrh.” He’d called her a French whore in Arabic. Fear gripped her as darkness claimed her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shebaa Farms

  Beqaa Valley, Lebanon

  Abe Harel, head of Unit 8200 checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Normally as the head of the IDF’s most formidable intelligence gathering arm, he wouldn’t be participating in an active mission. However, the Ramsad had requested he personally oversee the prisoner exchange.

  The Ramsad wanted to track the released enemy combatant terrorists with the intention of eliminating them should they at some future time choose to fight against Israel. Each of the Hezbollah prisoners before leaving the prison had been given a last meal containing a newly developed isotope, a radionuclide, which would remain in their body indefinitely. The scientists had explained to the Ramsad that it was like being permanently tattooed from within. With new special gamma technology, the released prisoners would be tracked and their activities monitored by Abe’s Unit 8200. Already work had begun to build a satellite bearing a gamma camera with the ability to identify these terrorists on the ground. It was a dangerous new technology, and if it fell into the wrong hands, it would be deadly, but to release a deadly combatant to come against you again was an unacceptable proposition. If the prisoners again attacked military or civilian Israelis, they would not be given the luxury of a prison sentence a second time. Repeat offenders would be eliminated.

  Three Blackhawk helicopters crossed the Golan Heights flying in formation to the narrow strip of disputed land called the Shebaa Farms.

  The prime minister had symbolically chosen the Shebaa Farms for the prisoner exchange reminding Hezbollah that the Shebaa was now annexed along with the Golan Heights and belonged to Israel.

  The Blackhawks were accompanied by two Longbow Apache attack helicopters, armed with electronic warfare systems and AGM-114 Hellfire missiles. At 11:45 p.m. all five helicopters touched down at Shebaa Farms. The prisoners were unloaded and stood surrounded by IDF soldiers. Abe stood among them waiting for Gideon Reise and two other prisoners to emerge from a line of Hezbollah armored vehicles. There was tension in the air, and even the prisoners shuffled nervously, probably fearful their nearness to freedom might be deprived them.

  Finally, a figure supported by two Hezbollah soldiers emerged and stumbled forward. The man was being half dragged, and even from a distance, Abe could see he was in terrible condition. Two other gaunt men followed. He couldn’t bear to see what they’d done to the young men. He nodded to the soldiers surrounding the seventeen prisoners who were tied to each other and signaled them to move the men forward.

  Slowly the two sides moved toward the middle where they would meet. Abe glanced back at the helicopters, noting the gunners with their sights and machine guns aimed and ready to attack if anything went wrong. However, the exchange went smoothly. Gideon was hefted onto the back of one of the IDF soldiers and carried back to the Blackhawk where he was immediately taken in hand by the medics on board.

  From the Hezbollah side, there was joyful shouting, hugs, and thumps on the backs of the returning warriors. Their laughter made Abe’s stomach turn. These men had been returned fit and healthy whereas Gideon looked barely alive. The prisoners were loaded into Hezbollah’s armored vehicles, and without further ado, they reversed the vehicles and drove back toward Lebanon.

  As soon as they were gone the Blackhawk with Gideon in it took off racing back to a military hospital where the Israeli’s would be assessed and treated. The other Blackhawks and the two Apache’s remained on the ground. Abe texted the Ramsad, Exchange successful. Gideon safe. The Ramsad could now notify Cyrus. The assault on the Hezbollah cannabis farm was approved to commence.

  Moments later, a Stealth Hawk, designed to avoid radar detection swooped in and landed next to the Blackhawks. Abe climbed aboard the military owl in the sky and waited for the signal he was ordered to duty. The clock had begun to tick on the operation. For Abe and the helicopters under his command, the nights work had only just begun.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kidon Team Farm House

  Beqaa Valley, Lebanon

  Aryeh loaded the motorcycle’s side-bags with ammunition. He’d received Zara’s text and read it to Cyrus.

  “I’ll text you when she’s safely on the back of my bike.”

  Cyrus clamped his hand on Aryeh’s shoulder reassuringly. “Happy hunting.” His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Gideon’s released. We’re good to go.”

  Aryeh slipped his helmet over his head and adjusted the chin strap. “Perfect. I’m going to get Zara out of there as quick as possible.” Cyrus followed him as he pushed the motorcycle outside and straddled it. He hit the ignition, and the bike roared to life. Aryeh pulled the night vision goggles down, and revving the engine he spun the bike in a tight circle and sped off.

  »»•««

  Zara woke with a dry mouth and feeling nauseated. Her hands and feet were tied behind her. She was naked. She pulled trying to break free, but the ties only cut deeper into her wrists. She had a splitting headache. She shook her head, and slowly her vision cleared. The world around her came into focus. She was lying on the ground on her side. She felt like a beached whale. She fought down the bile rising in her throat. Across from her, a huge behemoth of a man with his back to her was spreading a blanket over stacks of hay he was arranging into some semblance of what appeared to be a bed.

  “You bastard, what the hell are you doing? Untie me!”

  He turned, and she shuddered. The look in his eyes resembled a predatorial animal. He smiled, and her blood turned to ice as his eyes surveyed her naked body. “So the French whore has awakened. Good. I want you awake to enjoy what I’ve planned for you.”

  “Who are you? What do you want from me? Mustafa will kill you for this?” Vaguely she recalled his face. He was one of Nasrallah’s henchmen.

  He roared with laughter. “Mustafa? Mustafa is a boy, a fool. He took the bait like a fish. He’s at this minute pacing around the cannabis farm, waiting for the arrival of Nasrallah, wondering where the secretary general is? In the meantime, his whore will enjoy the pleasure of the cock of a real man.” He rubbed the large protrusion straining against his pant leg. “And I will have the pleasure of fucking and then ending your life in the most erotic way imaginable.”

  She spit at him. “You’re a pig. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth.”

  “Oh, mon amour, you have no choice in the matter. Once I’ve set the stage,” he waved his hand toward the arrangement of hay and blanket. “I will introduce you to Goliath.” Again, he rubbed his member. “Goliath will be the last cock you will ever know. Take comfort in knowing because you are so beautiful, I’ve decided to immortalize you forever.” He walked over to a camera mounted on a stand. “You will be mine forever in a way. Perhaps one day I’ll show the video to your lover Mustafa. I think it will be an excellent lesson for him.”

  “Mu
stafa will kill you, as will I if you come near me.” Her bravery was waning. She knew her only hope was to stall the deadly madman.

  “Believe me you’ve never known such pleasure as I plan on giving you. It is the least I can do for you before I kill you.”

  “And who do I owe this unbelievable pleasure to?”

  “Amir Haddad. General Amir Haddad.”

  “Does Nasrallah know what you are planning to do to me?”

  “Our holy leader need not know everything. So long as he gets the results promised him, he will not inquire further.”

  “Nasrallah has ordered me murdered? I don’t believe it.”

  “He has not ordered it, but he has not forbidden it either. He’s left the matter in my capable hands.”

  How long had this sick sociopath had her in his sights? Her thoughts raced through everything that had happened since she’d met with Nasrallah. “In Beirut, the near hit-and-run attempt on me, was that you?”

  “Yes, my men failed when your boyfriend pulled you out of the way. It was meant to be a warning to you both, but in retrospect, it was lucky for me. In Tel Aviv, I killed a woman, in the same exquisite way I intend to kill you. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. To be given the same pleasure twice is beyond my expectations.”

  “You’re a sick animal, Amir. Allah will curse you. You are an abomination. A freak of nature—”

  The huge monster lunged at her and slapped her so hard she saw stars. Her head snapped back. She was lucky he hadn’t broken her neck. She couldn’t stop the flood of tears that rained down her face.

  “Shut up, bitch! The name of the sacred is not to be uttered by the likes of you. You are a traitor to your faith and people. You are nothing more than a whore in the employ of the French. The same corrupt French who colonized Lebanon draining her of her wealth and resources. I intend to make you pay dearly for your treachery.”

  For the first time in her life, Zara felt real fear. Amir was a brutal killer. He would take pleasure in torture, he was the definition of evil, and he would revel in squeezing the life out of her in the most macabre way. The only option left to her was to die fighting him to the end. Maybe she could anger him enough to snap her neck and end her life quickly. “Doesn’t your wife satisfy your sick sexual perversions?”

  He glared at her. “My wife does what she’s told to do. She knows her place. Do not sully her name by speaking of her. You are a whore, and she is a mother of warriors.”

  “She’s the mother of pigs. And your daughters? Have you introduced them to Goliath, you sick fuck?”

  He grinned. “Are you trying to instigate my anger? Are you hoping I’ll kill you before I stick my cock inside you?”

  “No. I figure a sick prick like you with no moral boundaries wouldn’t hold any compunction against fucking the unfortunate female offspring of his loins.”

  “Tsk tsk, habibi, I like your fire. It’s something lacking in most women. It is no wonder Mustafa fell under your spell.”

  “The only kind of woman who would put up with the likes of you is a dishrag, a submissive with no backbone. But then your wife probably prays your dick is anywhere other than in her cunt.”

  Amir’s face reddened and his hands fisted. “You are going to pay dearly for your words, whore.”

  “Touch me, and you will know what it is to rattle a tiger’s cage.” Her bravado gave her courage, but courage wasn’t going to save her. She needed to get free. She needed a weapon.

  “As much as I’ve enjoyed our verbal foreplay I’m far more interested in what comes next.” He strode toward her, and she shrank back. With little effort, he swooped her up and carried her writhing and cursing to the haystack.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help me! Somebody help me!” He threw her down on the blanket and reached down and squeezed her nipple between his fingers so hard she nearly passed out. She screamed at the top of her lungs, and fresh tears ran down her face. The cries stuck in her throat as she gasped gulping for breath.

  “No more screams or I’ll cut your nipple off, which would be a shame since there are so many more pleasing things I want to do to it.” He leaned down and glided his tongue over and around the nipple. Then he suckled her humming with pleasure as she tried to twist and turn away from him. He growled, “Your body was made for sex. Why would Allah give such perfection to a whore?”

  Dear God, kill me before he touches me. Don’t abandon me in my hour of need.

  As Amir continued to touch her body with his mouth and hands, she tried her best to remove herself from what was happening. If there was ever a time she needed Aryeh to show up, it was now.

  And then God answered. The depraved psychopath placed his ear within reach and growling she bit into him, shaking her head like a rabid dog, tearing a piece of his ear from his head. He screamed, and a thin stream of blood dripped down his neck and onto her. Disgusted, she spit the chunk of soon to be rotting flesh from her mouth and closed her eyes knowing she would pay for what she’d done.

  His fist made contact with her cheekbone. The pain ricocheted through her body. She smiled as she slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mustafa’s Vineyard

  Beqaa Valley, Lebanon

  Aryeh killed the engine and pushed his motorcycle up the road toward the guardhouse. When he was within a hundred yards, he put the kickstand down and left the bike. He kept to the shadows and the trees on the side of the road. The moon passed free of the clouds and cast silvery light on the gate. Open? Where are the guards?

  He approached the gate and peered into the window of the guardhouse. The moon disappeared behind another cloud but his night goggles made everything crystal clear. Inside the guardhouse were two bodies lying in a pool of blood.

  He retrieved his motorcycle and pushed it up the road toward the house. His heart thundered in his chest. All he could think about was Zara. Near the entrance to the house, he found another man dead, his throat slit. He left the bike under a tree and walked the perimeter of the house. Nothing. No movement. No sign of life. Was Zara dead? He didn’t dare imagine it?

  “Aisha alaaherh! You bitch, you whore!” An angry male voice pierced the silence.

  Aryeh pulled his gun and ran toward the sound. He burst through the doors of the outbuilding, his gun drawn. Zara was lying naked and unconscious—or possibly dead—on a pallet. It reminded him of a sacrificial offering table you’d see in some B-rated horror movie, where the beautiful virgin is sacrificed to satisfy some bloodthirsty god.

  Fuck, what a sicko. He took in the macabre scene and knew at once what had happened. The man turned, and Aryeh immediately recognized him. This was the man who’d set off the bomb in Tel Aviv and left a trail of dead. This was the man who’d ruthlessly tortured, beaten, and starved his nephew, Gideon. The thought of killing him gave him great pleasure.

  He glanced at Zara again. Thankfully he saw the rise and fall of her chest. She’s still alive.

  The man barreled into him knocking the gun from his hand. The giant’s fingers slipped around his neck, cutting off his air. Aryeh attacked frontally, driving his fists into the man’s solar plexus. It was enough to loosen his grip on his neck. Aryeh was brawny and muscled just like his assailant.

  Aryeh used his hands as blades, chopping into Amir, but the giant was giving as good as he got. He too was trained in hand-to-hand combat and used his massive strength with every blow knocking Aryeh nearly senseless. One punch caught Aryeh near the eye, splitting the skin. Blood oozed down his face. With a flat palm punch, Aryeh retaliated and broke Amir’s nose.

  The bear of a man toppled, and Aryeh jumped on him, fists flailing. The two men rolled over several times as they each tried to get the upper hand. They hit the straw pallet where Zara was lying. The shouts and curses must have awakened her because from the corner of his eye he glimpsed Zara struggling to break free of her bonds. Like a contortionist, she’d managed to slip her body through her arms, and she sat gnawing on
the zip tie binding her wrists.

  Again, the man pinned him beneath him and wrapped his thick fingers around his throat. Aryeh grabbed at Amir’s hands trying to dislodge them. His vision blurred, and his ears rang. He hovered on the edge of blacking out as Amir’s fingers closed tighter around his neck. All he could think about was what this monster would do to Zara if he didn’t kill him. He tried to rally driving the point of his elbow into Amir’s gut. Amir growled, his fingers firm. It seemed the harder Aryeh fought, the more strength the monster gained.

  “Take that you bastard!” A shot rang out.

  Amir’s hands grew limp. His face bore a look of surprise. Blood gurgled up from his mouth, dripping on Aryeh. Amir’s hands lost their grip, and Aryeh gasped. With a final death rattle, Amir collapsed on top of him.

  Aryeh wheezed, gulping air like a fish out of water.

  Zara’s voice sounded distant, eclipsed by the pounding of his heart. “Go to hell, you bastard.”

  With a groan of disgust, Aryeh rolled the dead terrorist off of him and just lay there trying to breathe. He croaked, “Thank you, mon amour. I owe you one.”

  She kneeled beside him. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her shoulders shook. She tried to wipe them away. “Thank God you’re okay. If you hadn’t shown up when you did—I was so scared—God only knows what that monster intended to do to me. ”

  He took her face between his hands and held her gaze. “Mon chéri, I’ve never seen you cry like this.”

  “I’ve never been afraid before tonight. Forgive me. I owe you my life.”

  “We are human, Zara. You saved my life too. Let’s call it a draw, oui, mon chéri?”

  “Absolument.”

  He caressed her swollen cheek. “Get dressed, Zara, we have bigger fish to fry. The team is waiting for us.”

  Looking down at her naked body, she quipped. “I forgot I was nude, merde.” She grabbed her clothes and began dressing. “Fill me in on where we stand.”