The man's eyes rolled wildly in his head as a torrent of Arabic words poured out of him.
"Speak English," Zack ordered, pressing the knife a little bit deeper, just enough so that a thin red line appeared on the man's neck. "If you can't, you're no fucking use to me."
The man suddenly pushed upwards, as if hoping to throw Zack off-balance. A stupid move. Zack threw the tango's head back down on the rocky ground and Dec figured the guy must be seeing stars right about now.
"I wish Greg were around," Dec said. "I could stand to know if these guys were part of the group we saw last night, or if they're free-lancers following this woman for some reason of their own."
"They were at the tent last night." Zack pointed to the end of the tango's long black tunic. It was charred.
Dec nodded. "They came after her to re-capture her."
"Looks like," Zack agreed.
The man stared up at them with a pleading look that made Declan uneasy. He knew what the outcome of this interview would be, and he didn't exactly feel sorry for the man. But he didn't enjoy watching someone plead for his life when his life was going to be taken regardless.
"But Greg's not here." Zack stared down at his victim. "Last chance, hajji. What are you doing here?"
"Camp. Camp," he said. He gestured wildly with one arm, pointing back the way they'd come.
"You were in a refugee camp?" Dec asked.
The tango gave a tight nod, careful not to move against the knife at his throat.
"With that woman?" Zack said.
The tango nodded again, a sliver of hope dawning in his eyes, as if he thought there was some chance his life could be spared as long as they were communicating.
"Fuck. They are associated with her," Declan said. He stared down at the tango. "What were you planning to do with her?"
The guy on the ground hesitated.
"Maybe we should play twenty questions," Dec suggested. "He might understand more English than he can speak."
"Worth a try." Zack eased up a bit on the knife. "You followed the woman from camp?"
A slight nod was the only response.
"What camp?" Dec asked. How had the woman gone from a refugee camp, been captured, and then struck out on her own last night? It was a suicide mission for her, here in these empty mountains controlled by men who had no use for women. Even though the Kurds had made gains recently, this was mostly a lawless land.
Zack pressed the knife a bit. "You planned to rape her?"
The tango's eyes widened, and he tried to shake his head.
"Liar." Zack shared a glance with Dec as if asking if this was worth the effort if the guy was going to lie. Of course, both men knew there was only one answer.
"You planned to rape her?" Zack repeated.
The guy frowned, his eyes puzzled.
"Boom. Boom." Dec thrust his hips forward twice.
The guy froze.
Yeah, he was guilty.
"Would you have killed her after?" Zack asked.
The tango shook his head slightly, careful again not to move the knife at his throat.
"Where is the woman going?" Dec asked.
"Sinjar." The tango pointed downhill.
"Why?"
But there, the communication halted. The jehadi simply couldn't or wouldn't speak English and Dec really didn't have the time to carry on with this charade. They still needed to chase down the woman and re-connect with their own teammates.
He sighed. As team chief, he had to say it. He glanced at Zack, and put up a hand to hide his mouth from their victim. "We can't travel with prisoners. No one can know we were here." He knew Zack didn't need reminding of their mission orders, but it was never pleasant to kill in cold blood.
Especially when the man was babbling in Arabic, his eyes rolling wildly as he looked from Zack to Dec, back and forth, trying to figure out which one of them might save him.
Zack nodded. "Then his usefulness to us is ended." Without further words, he silently drew his knife over the man's throat. He wiped his knife on one of the small clumps of tough grass that dotted the narrow plateau. The he threw enough dirt over the grass to hide the evidence. "That woman is doing something that aroused the suspicions of some ugly characters."
"And now these bodies are a goddamn advertisement that someone hostile to jihadis is in the area," Dec pointed out. "We need to deal with them."
At least they'd taken care of these two tangos. Now they just had to watch for other jihadis, re-connect with their team members, and deal with this woman. Piece of cake. He forced himself to stop cursing.
Zack sheathed his knife. "You need a bandage for that wound," he said.
For the first time, Dec became aware that blood was flowing freely from his chin.
"It'll heal faster than that black eye you've got." He grinned at his friend.
"Fucking tangos." Zack touched his eyelid. "Hope it doesn't swell up so I can't see."
Dec released his backpack and rummaged for the plastic peanut butter jar which held his first aid supplies. "That damn woman bit me. Gotta find the antiseptic." One thing they didn't mess with in the field was infections. They were a long way from good medical care and even their team medic was with the rest of the platoon. But everyone in the teams was trained in basic medical treatment for field injuries.
Zack laughed out loud. "She bit you?"
Dec pulled out a tube of antiseptic ointment. "Apparently, she has more of a death wish than we suspected. It's not enough that she walks around in an occupied war zone without any escort, but then she attacks someone who just saved her from two rapists or worse." He applied the ointment, wincing at the sting on his chin. "Idiot."
"We need to decide what to do about her," Zack said. As they'd been talking, he'd been searching the loose clothing of the dead tango. He pulled out some documents and waved them at Dec. "Written in Arabic. Identity papers, I'll bet."
Dec stowed his medical supplies back in his pack and walked over to the man he'd killed. A quick search revealed similar documentation. His guy had papers stashed in two different places, however.
Dec brought the documents over to Zack. "Looks like this guy might have had two sets of identification."
Zack nodded. "Same." He had his cell in his hand. Dec angled his headlamp so it lit up the papers and Zack photographed everything.
"Greg can probably decipher this shit," Dec said, stowing the papers in one of his pockets. "In the meantime, we need to get back to the woman. " He wouldn't say so, but he was uneasy about her, for reasons he couldn't name. "Then we have to figure out what to do about her."
"She's a problem," Zack said. "Anyway you look at it."
"I'll tell you right here and now, I'm not willing to turn her into another corpse."
"So far, she hasn't threatened us," Zack pointed out. "We wouldn't be authorized to hurt her."
Dec grunted. Zack was right, but he just wanted to be clear on where he drew the line.
"She's not far, is she?" Zack asked. "We can get her and then deal with this." He waved at the dead men.
"Let's bring in the guys to help us deal with the bodies." Dec re-adjusted the light on his helmet. "Why don't you call them while I bring the woman up here?"
He turned back to where he'd left her, suddenly realizing that she'd been very quiet. Then he stared. He pulled down his night vision goggles. But the spot remained empty.
He quickly scanned the surrounding area, where nothing moved. "Fuck me sideways if she hasn't taken off," he said to Zack. "What kind of a damn fool thing is that to do?"
Zack had been speaking quietly into the radio headset in his helmet. He wheeled around. "She won't fare well in the dark," he snapped. "Idiot." The falling dusk had quickly turned to night.
As annoyed as Dec was, he also felt a prick of alarm. How would she fare alone in the mountains, overnight? He glanced at Zack. "Let's go." She didn't have much of a head start on them, nor would she be able to move quickly in the dark. With any luck, they'd h
ave her re-captured within a half-hour.
Chapter Four
Leila shoved herself to her feet—not easy to do with her hands tied behind her back—risked one quick glance around—and took off at a walk that was all she could manage. Not only did she risk falling on the stone-strewn ground, she couldn't lift the niqab without the use of her hands so it was a damn tripping hazard.
She didn't know what had happened to the two jihadis who'd tried to jump her, but she recognized them as two of the group who'd captured her last night. Obviously they'd followed her. Nasty, brutish men. Where were the rest of them? She shivered. Apparently, they weren't going to give up on her easily.
On top of that, she now had two Americans after her as well. She couldn't imagine what Americans were doing here in the Sinjar Mountains, but there could be no doubt about their identities. The straight white teeth, the robust bodies and overall air of good health—all screamed American as loudly as if they'd shouted their nationalities.
She didn't know which set of men were the more dangerous, but she didn't intend to put her faith in any of them.
The Americans had to be military guys, or maybe CIA since they weren't wearing uniforms. It didn't matter. She needed to lose them, and fast. They both had an impressive air of competence that told her they'd finish whatever they were planning to do to the jihadis and then come after her.
She wanted to increase her speed, but her gait was awkward, and she couldn't afford to take a fall. The ground was covered in rocks of all shapes and sizes, rolling under her feet, poking into her boots. Full night was almost upon her. Her GPS unit was in a pocket inside her burka and she couldn't reach it, nor anything else, without the use of her hands.
She didn't know this territory, which meant she would have to stop for the night. There was no point in exhausting herself walking randomly. Nor could she afford to get lost.
But those Americans had to figure she was going to Sinjar. They didn't look stupid, especially not the one who'd wrapped his arms around her and held her so tightly she couldn't move. His eyes had been hard, but there had been something about the way he brought her down that made her wonder if he was as cold as he looked. He'd protected her from the worst impact of the fall.
Of course, he'd also bound her hands, not as tightly as he could have, but effectively. Her arms were starting to really hurt, which meant she'd be spending an uncomfortable night on the ground. At least the niqab would fill a purpose, hopefully keeping her warm. The damn thing was certainly hot enough during the searing September days.
The half-moon had risen, providing enough light that she wasn't totally blind, but of course, it might make her visible to any pursuers. She had to seek a spot to go to ground and hide until dawn. To do that, she wanted to get off the direct route to Sinjar, but without the GPS, that was hard to figure out.
She glanced uphill to where the mountains loomed darkly, a series of jagged scars against the star-pierced sky . No point in going there. Sinjar was downhill, and to the east. She could keep herself on a straight line as long as the moon and stars were visible.
But she decided to turn directly downhill. She'd probably have to backtrack a bit in the morning, but the more important need now was to hide from everyone. On the thought, she made a hard right and hurried onward, casting about for any sort of protected hiding spot.
Finally, she spotted a trio of shoulder-high boulders that would hide her in the dark. With a sigh, she sank to the ground among them. The silence around her was immense, reminding her of her childhood summers, spent in these same mountains. The sky was vast, a black dome pierced by stars, that seemed designed to favor the hunter. She would have little warning if someone crept up on her.
She shook her head to dislodge the pessimistic thoughts. Rocks did not make a comfortable bed, but she couldn't sleep anyway. At least not until she got rid of the stupid cuffs.
She looked around for the right type of rock.
There. It was about a foot off the ground and had a sort of ledge sticking out on one side. She inched over, lifted her arms as well as she could, and began a sawing motion, rubbing the plastic cuffs against the edge of the rock.
The position was uncomfortable. The awkward angle caused her hands to slip frequently. Every slip resulted in a graze or worse on her hands and wrists. She couldn't see if she was making any progress. But it had to be done, so she kept working at it. She felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to free her hands.
Less than five minutes later, her heart thudded into overdrive. Danger approached. She'd been wrong about not having any warning. Although she couldn't see or hear anything, every instinct she had was shouting at her to beware. She strained to hear any clue, at least to give her an idea of the direction, but the night was filled only with the eerie soughing of the wind.
She forced herself to remain unmoving. With her bound hands and the impediment of the niqab, she certainly couldn't outrun a fit man. But she could maintain her cool. Danger was approaching, but that didn't mean they knew where she was. With any luck, they'd pass on by.
A shadow loomed out of the darkness and a hard body pounced down on her. So much for luck.
The American.
Already, she recognized his scent. Cold iron surrounded by charcoal smoke. That's how she thought of him. It was probably military hardware and gunpowder she smelled, but facts alone could never describe his essence.
He was quiet, especially for such a big man. Even when he spoke, his deep voice was calm, as if he didn't ever need to shout or bluster. She didn't let loose the shriek that wanted to express her fear and frustration. Nor did she fight him. This guy was much stronger than she was. She already knew that. So she had to be smarter, and that meant she couldn't indulge in futile efforts.
"Good girl," he muttered, but she could tell he didn't expect a response. Of course, he didn't know she spoke English fluently. The annoying thing was that she responded positively to the approval in his tone. How stupid was that?
She also enjoyed the feeling of his hard arms around her, even though she knew he was restraining her, not comforting her. But she needed comfort badly enough to pretend for just a moment that this feeling of safety was real, that the fear that had been her constant companion since she left London was held at bay.
Of course, it wasn't.
She became aware that the other man had crept up on her side.
"She didn't make it far," he said in a low voice.
The man holding her grunted. "Not necessarily good. She'll slow us down too."
"We could leave her here."
"Dead or alive, Zack?" Her captor shifted his lower body off her and stood up.
She shivered, both at the sudden absence of his heat, and also at the implication of the discussion they were having about her, as if her life or death was totally in their hands.
Perhaps it was.
"Fuck, Declan," the man called Zack said."It's either a quick death or a slow death for a woman alone in these mountains." He didn't sound like he cared much either way.
"Exactly." The guy who was apparently called Declan peered into her face as if he thought he could find something meaningful there. "That's why we have to take her with us." He suddenly touched her arm. "What are you doing?"
She froze. How had he seen her movement in the darkness? He'd pushed his night vision goggles up to his helmet right after he'd pounced on her. She'd continued to rub her cuffs against the rock, but she'd kept her body still, moving only her hands, and they were behind her. This guy was entirely too observant. She remained silent, and he looked over at his teammate.
"I'm not a fan of the silent treatment," he muttered. "Typical woman."
"If we took her with us," the other guy said, "that would compromise our mission."
Declan was silent for a moment, but his eyes left her face as he stared into the distance thoughtfully. "Our mission," he finally said slowly, "could use an interpreter. I don't know why"—his gaze returned to her face—"but I feel like
burka-woman here understands everything we're saying."
"Technically, it's a niqab," the other guy answered, "because everything is covered but the area around her eyes. The burka is the one which covers her head-to-toe except for a sliver of mesh that she can more or less see out of."
"Fine, scholar, but I'm sticking with burka. It's close enough. The point is, can she be useful to us?"
Yeah, she could be useful. Or—at least make a pretense of being useful. Lying here, bound, it had occurred to her that she didn't want to be left behind. She'd be in big trouble, unable even to eat the meager supplies she had with her as long as she was cuffed. On top of that, she was worried about the location of the other jihadis who'd captured her last night. Where were they? Why had the group of men split up between the two who'd followed her and the rest?
The two jihadis who had attacked her weren't looking for her to help her, of that she was certain. She didn't know what had happened to them, but if she had to guess, she'd guess that these two Americans had taken care of them. Permanently.
While she was pondering her absence of good options, a miracle happened. The cuffs gave way. The instant release of pressure felt so good she had to blink her eyes closed in relief. Her arms tried to move apart, to ease the stress they'd been under, and she struggled not to move.
When she opened her eyes, anxious not to do anything suspicious, Declan's gaze was narrowed on her. For a moment, she feared her elation had shown on her face.
He grabbed her arm. "What in the hell are you doing wriggling around like that? Speak, woman."
She knew she'd have to say something soon. The other guy was more than half-ready to abandon her here, and Declan was growing testy. More importantly, she had to distract them from figuring out that her hands were free.
She opened her mouth, which was painfully dry. "I'm not here to be useful to you."
Her captor's gaze flickered in surprise, and his teammate sucked in a quick breath. "A Brit," he said. "Who would have guessed?"
Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances Page 110
