by Alex Ander
In less than ten seconds, Dahlia had entered the house, removed a set of plastic zip ties from her coat pocket and secured the man’s hands behind his back.
“I’ll take point.” Cruz skirted around Dahlia and took a forward position. She went down on one knee and scanned for additional threats.
Dahlia dragged the man further into the house before closing the door and shutting off the porch light. After stuffing one of her silk scarves into his mouth, she wrapped a couple of longer zip ties around his mouth.
Cruz glanced over her shoulder. “The immediate area is clear.”
Dahlia withdrew her pistol and bypassed her teammate, moving deeper into the living room. She nodded at Cruz, who leapfrogged her and cleared the next area. Employing this technique several more times, the women cleared the main floor.
Dahlia got Cruz’s attention and pointed upstairs. Hurrying toward the bottom of the staircase, Dahlia passed the kitchen and missed the figure exiting the room. Her back was to the man, who leveled his pistol at her.
“Dahlia!” shouted Cruz, squeezing the trigger of her weapon and sending a couple nine-millimeter rounds into the side of the man’s torso. The man’s body twisted and he hit the wall. He was already dead from where the bullets ended up in his body, but his brain had another thirty seconds of control. He spun around and extended his gun toward Cruz.
Cruz pulled back on the trigger of her weapon, but nothing happened. The slide was being held out of battery by an empty case. She pressed the magazine release button and moved the slide back and forth a couple of times. Reaching for a spare magazine, she lifted her eyes and found herself staring into a big black hole—the muzzle of the man’s weapon. Fixated on the gun pointed at her head, she continued the process of reloading her empty pistol, knowing she would never make it ready in time. He had the advantage. Her muscles tightened, bracing for the impact of the bullets. Below the man’s gun hand, Cruz saw his throat split apart. Three separate sprays of blood jettisoned into the air from the wound. The man’s hand dropped to his side and he fell to his knees. A second later, he tipped over and landed on his left side, like a tree being felled in the forest.
Cruz slammed a fresh magazine into her firearm and drew back the slide. She eyed the dead man. Dahlia had shot him in the back of the neck, severing his spinal cord and making it impossible for him to squeeze the trigger. Cruz sidestepped the body and drew up behind Dahlia at the base of the stairs. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
Dahlia acknowledged her. “I can say the same thing to you.” She took the lead. “I’ll share that kill with you.”
Cruz grinned and admired her partner’s cool attitude during a stressful situation.
“Keep your eyes peeled.” Dahlia’s boots landed on the floor of the second level. “There may be more hostiles.” Dahlia moved left. She and Cruz cleared the bathroom and one bedroom. One room remained—a corner bedroom on the other side of the staircase. Crossing the stairs, Dahlia stood in front of the bedroom door and signaled for Cruz to open it.
Cruz got into position next to the door, her back to the wall. The door’s knob was next to her left hand. She slowly twisted it all the way. Shifting her eyes toward Dahlia, who indicated she was ready, Cruz threw the door open, spun around and stepped back.
Dahlia charged into the room and darted left, swinging her pistol back and forth.
Cruz moved in behind her and went right. They saw the room was empty, except for a man in the bed.
Not knowing who was in his room, the man leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp.
Dahlia saw him. He’s going for a gun. She ran toward him and brought the muzzle of her pistol down his wrist. With the man howling in pain, she leapt onto the bed and straddled his body between her knees. Grabbing the pillow next to his head, she held it over his mouth and pressed her pistol’s sound suppressor against his forehead. The man’s eyes opened wider. “Do I have your attention, Abdul?” He nodded his head. When she removed the pillow from his mouth, he spoke to her in Arabic. “English, Abdul,” said Dahlia. “I know you can speak it.” Again, Arabic words shot out of his mouth. She swung the pistol around behind her and pressed it against his crotch. He was not wearing underwear. She smiled. “You will speak to me in English.” She cocked her head and stared at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the room’s low light and she could see the fear in his eyes. “The tone of voice you’ll be using, however, is entirely up to you.” Her knees felt his body quiver, when she jammed the sound suppressor further into his genitals.
He nodded his head as fast as he could. “Okay, okay, I speak English. I speak English. Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Dahlia re-applied her weapon to his forehead. “Let’s set the ground rules, Abdul. You don’t ask questions…you answer them. Do you understand me?” The man nodded his head and Dahlia shook her head. “Don’t nod your head…answer me.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Dahlia turned on the bedside lamp, examined the room and spied what she wanted. She faced Abdul and motioned with her head. “Get up and sit in that chair over there.” She swung her right leg over his body and stood away from the bed. “If you do anything I don’t like…I’ll shoot you between the eyes.”
Wearing only a long nightshirt, Abdul got out of bed and shuffled toward the chair.
Dahlia stopped him and ordered him to take off the rest of his clothes. When he protested, she took a step toward him and aimed the pistol at his head.
He raised his hands in front of his face before disrobing and dropping the shirt on the floor. He was naked, sitting in the cheap vinyl-padded chair with no armrests. He folded his hands and covered his genitals.
Seeing that Cruz had him covered, Dahlia holstered her pistol and retrieved several pairs of zip ties from her coat pocket. She sauntered past Abdul and stood behind him. She reached around his body as if she was going to give him a hug. Grabbing his forearms, she yanked his hands away from his crotch and brought them behind his back. While securing his hands with the zip ties, she whispered in his ear. “Don’t be so modest, Abdul.”
After tying his ankles to the chair legs, Dahlia removed her leather jacket and tossed it on the bed. She said nothing for several minutes, standing in front of Abdul, her hands on her hips. Shifting her weight to her right foot, she let the toe of her left boot come off the floor. Dahlia was sizing up her opponent, trying to ascertain his weaknesses. She thought about approaching the interrogation from a sexual standpoint, making him uncomfortable and keeping him off-balance, while she drilled him for information. She grinned. A better idea came to her mind.
Cruz watched Dahlia operate. She did not understand what her partner was doing. The silence was getting to her as much as it was getting to Abdul. She wanted to say something to her, but did not want to ruin the chess match taking place. She noticed the man was getting agitated. Even though the temperature in the room was cool, he was perspiring.
Dahlia approached the bed and fumbled around in the pockets of her leather jacket. Spinning around, she spoke to Abdul. Her words were sharp. “Tell me about Ashar Yamadi.” She methodically placed one foot in front of the other and moved closer to Abdul, her hands behind her back. She stared at him, making a show of every move she made. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Where is he? How do I contact him? And, don’t lie to me, Abdul. I know you’ve been in communication with him.”
“I swear…I do not know any Ashar…Yamadi. Is that what this is about?” Abdul glanced at Cruz for confirmation.
Dahlia slapped him across the face and his head whipped back toward her. She clamped onto his chin. “What did I tell about asking questions, Abdul?”
Cruz bristled when Dahlia struck him. She was not accustomed to hitting people during questioning. She had to remind herself that these were necessary means to bring about a favorable end, saving innocent lives.
“I do not know this man you speak of,” repeated Abdul, shaking his
head. “Please, you must believe me.” A single tear ran from each of his eyes.
Dahlia shook her head slowly. Bending over, she stared into his eyes. Her long, bleach blonde hair fell forward, touching his chest. She saw his eyes flash down to her breasts. She squinted at him and lowered her voice. “I don’t believe you.” She touched the stun gun to his chest and the man’s body seized and rocked backward in his chair. Removing the stun gun, she added, “And, you’re going to wish you hadn’t lied to me.” She waited for the convulsing to cease. “How do I find Yamadi?”
Through labored breaths, Abdul replied, “I don’t know anyone—”
Dahlia pressed the stun gun against his stomach and let it remain there longer. She jerked her head away from him, when his head swung forward and almost hit her in the nose. That would’ve hurt. She retracted the stun gun. “Every time you lie to me, Abdul, I’m going to keep going lower and lower on your body.” She let the stun gun hover a couple of inches away from his groin and twirled her wrist a few times.
Abdul saw the device move in a circular motion, dangerously close to his private parts.
“Do you like game shows, Abdul?”
Abdul shut his eyes and rolled his head. His face was crinkled and his chest was heaving. He heard her question, but it made no sense to him. Game shows?
“Think of this as a game show. For every wrong answer, you get buzzed.” She continued twirling her wrist and the stun gun close to Abdul’s male anatomy. She saw his eyes move downward. She made a quick and loud ‘buzzing’ sound.
Abdul jumped and squirmed in the chair.
“Next question,” Dahlia snapped, grabbing the man’s chin in her right hand and squeezing. “Where…do…I…find…Yamadi?”
Abdul shook his head as much as he could and spoke. “I swear to you.” His voice was cracking and tears were running down his cheeks. “I don’t know the man.”
Dahlia stopped him from shaking his head and fixed her eyes on him. “Is that your final answer?” After a few seconds, she let go of him and observed his crotch. “All right, so be it.” She moved the stun gun closer and heard Abdul cry out.
“Stop! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t use that thing on me anymore.” Abdul was half talking and half crying. He was staring at her hand and the machine in it. A bead of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose and dropped onto his penis.
“How do I contact Yamadi?”
Abdul did not respond right away. He took a couple of deep breaths.
“Tell me, Abdul.” She held up the stun gun and pressed the trigger, sending an arc of electricity between the contacts.
Abdul’s body lurched backward and he spat his answer. “I have his number in my cell phone. I usually send a text and he contacts me within twenty-four hours.” After a few seconds, he added, “There are no direct calls.”
Dahlia sensed Abdul was lying to her, but she let it go. She had him talking and wanted to keep it that way. Besides, a text message would work, too. Scanning the room, she saw his phone on the nightstand. She grabbed the phone before fishing around in the pockets of her jacket and retrieving a small USB flash drive.
Standing in front of Abdul, Dahlia pulled up her mini skirt, spread her legs apart, took two small steps forward and plopped onto his lap. He grunted. She leaned forward and put one elbow on each of his shoulders. She held Abdul’s cell phone behind his head. Inserting the small flash drive into his phone, she toyed with him, while working. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it? I’ve always said communication is the basis of a good working relationship.” After she finished with his phone, she brought it to where he could see it. “Which one’s Yamadi’s number?” She scrolled down the contact list, watching Abdul’s eyes.
Abdul was trying to find a way out of this mess. If he gave this woman Yamadi’s number, Yamadi would kill him. If he did not give her the number, she would…well…she would do something very bad to him. Abdul decided to take a chance. “There,” he said, stopping her from scrolling. Gesturing with his chin, he added, “That one—the 626 number.” He looked away and exhaled a breath of air. “I usually just tell him we need to talk—nothing specific.”
Dahlia touched the number on the screen and typed a text message similar to what Abdul had said and sent the message. She got off Abdul and dropped the phone onto his lap. Picking up her coat, she addressed Cruz. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
Dahlia and Cruz left the house and made their way to the Renegade. Dahlia was walking fast, breaking into a short trot every third or fourth step, wanting to get to the vehicle as soon as possible. Cruz was almost jogging to keep up with her.
Once the women were inside the SUV, Dahlia plucked a laptop computer from the backseat and set it on her lap. She lifted the screen and began hitting keys and tapping the touchpad, until she got to the screen she wanted.
Cruz watched her. “What are you doing?”
Dahlia held up her finger.
“How do we know he gave you Yamadi’s number?”
“He didn’t.” Dahlia stared at the screen. “He wouldn’t have given that up without a lot more persuasion from me.”
Cruz held up her hands, palms up. “Then, what was all that for? Why did you send a text to the number he gave you, if it wasn’t Yamadi’s number?”
“That was just to keep the ruse going, so he wouldn’t suspect anything.”
Growing more frustrated by the moment, Cruz peeked out her window at the house. “I still don’t see how any of this gets us closer to finding Yamadi.”
Dahlia was trying to focus on the computer screen and Cruz was distracting her. Turning her attention away from the screen, she rattled off a few sentences to bring Cruz up to speed. “Abdul is going to give us Yamadi’s number, and his location, just as soon as he calls Yamadi. I uploaded a program to his phone that will allow us to monitor his calls from this computer. As soon as he makes the call, we’ll know where Yamadi is.” She went back to staring at the screen.
Cruz had seen Dahlia insert the USB drive into Abdul’s phone, but she did not know what Dahlia had done. Pretty clever. “How is he going to place the call? We left him tied to a chair.”
Dahlia shook her head. “I didn’t tie his restraints that tight. I just wanted to buy us some time to get back here and—” she stopped talking, when the laptop’s speaker came alive. “This is it. He’s calling someone.” She moved the cursor to another area of the screen and double-tapped the touchpad to record the call. Opening a separate window, she started a program that would translate the call into English. Dahlia put her forefinger to her lips and pointed at the screen.
When the call was connected, a voice said, “Ashar, it’s Abdul.”
“You fool!” replied a very deep voice. “I told you never to call me on this number. You have broken protocol.”
“Ashar, this is important.”
“Stop using my name and go through the proper channels, you idiot!” The man disconnected the call.
Dahlia tapped the laptop’s touchpad a few times and waited. She curled up the right side of her mouth in a half-grin and slowly rotated her head toward Cruz.
“Did we get it? Do we know where he is?”
Dahlia nodded her head one time and said, “Denver.”
“That’s where Abby was kidnapped.” Cruz scrambled for her phone and hit the speed dial number for Hardy. Waiting for the call to be connected, she glimpsed Dahlia out of the corner of her eye. She was impressed by her tactics. Unconventional as they may have been, they were effective. “Do we know exactly where in Denver?”
“The program I used isn’t that sophisticated. It can only narrow it down to a city.”
Cruz heard Hardy answer. She held the phone away from her mouth and spoke to Dahlia. “Make a copy of everything and we’ll send it to the FBI.” She brought the phone back to her mouth. “We found Yamadi.”
Chapter 16: Good News
7:49 a.m., Washington D.C.
Aaron Hardy caught a break
when he arrived at LaGuardia Airport. He hitched a ride on a Gulfstream V flight scheduled to fly to Washington, D.C., cutting his travel time to a little more than twenty minutes. After the plane landed, he disembarked and met Charity halfway between the jet and her SUV. The first thing he noticed under her long winter coat was her red skirt and high heels.
Hardy raised his voice, so he could be heard above the noise of the aircraft. “I thought you were going to change into some street clothes?”
Charity wrapped her hand around his elbow and escorted him toward the SUV. She leaned into him. “There was no time. I’ll tell you about it when we get to the car.” The temperature in Washington, D.C. was thirty-nine degrees. A stiff wind was making it feel fifteen degrees colder.
Once they were in the quiet and warm confines of the four-door Chevy Tahoe, Charity slid out her laptop from its protective case and lifted the screen. Biting on her gloved middle finger, she yanked her hand from the fabric, so she could bring up the video she wanted to show Hardy. While the program was booting up, she undid the scarf around her neck and partially unzipped her winter coat.
Hardy shifted in his seat to get a better view of Charity’s laptop. “Have you contacted Layla’s host family? Do they know we’re coming?”
“Yes, they’re expecting us around nine o’clock.” She tapped the touchpad on the laptop a couple of times before rotating the laptop to her right. “Okay, this is a video from a surveillance camera outside a restaurant in downtown D.C.” Charity held up her hand. “Let me back up a minute. After our earlier conversation, I decided to upload Layla’s image to my software algorithm…the one that scans for facial recognitions from any and all sources of video and images from all across the country.”
Hardy was familiar with the algorithm. She had used it on numerous past missions to get valuable information on potential targets. He nodded his head and gestured for her to continue.
