Foreign Soil

by Alex Ander

  Back at the rally point, while Franks was transferring Parker to another vehicle, Dahlia had placed the security card from Man 1 on a truck. She hoped the truck would be going in another direction from them, leading their attackers on wild goose chase.

  Now, they sat at the edge of a forest, tall trees all around them. The pitch-black sky and thick clouds blocked out the moon and afforded them zero visibility. The temperatures throughout Germany had been mild during the day, hovering around fifty degrees Fahrenheit. At night, ahead of an approaching cold front, the thermometer was dropping rapidly.

  Dahlia brought the wool blanket up to her chin. A second later, she scratched her neck before hugging herself beneath the prickly fabric. The VW’s blower shot out warm air, but a chill ran up her skirt, and her body trembled. “So, I mean no disrespect, Franks, but I have to know.”

  The man kept his eyes straight ahead.

  “What were your parents thinking when they named you?”

  He laughed and slowly shook and bobbed his head. “I’ve asked myself that same question for years.”

  “And?” said Dahlia, seeing the time on the dashboard—9:48—and reaching behind to shake Charity. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

  “No clue,” Franks held up his hands, “but like they say…what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” He shot Dahlia a quick glance. “Needless to say, I had my fair share of fights in school.”

  She laughed and shoved her arm under the blanket.

  Franks spied the dashboard clock—9:49. He sat upright, one hand on the headlight knob, the other twisted, so he could see his watch.

  “Well, thank you Agent Franklin Franks.” She paused. “Out of curiosity, what’s your middle name?”

  He never turned his attention away from the wristwatch. His eyebrows went up. “You don’t want to know…or rather…I don’t want to tell you.”

  Dahlia grinned. “That bad, huh?”

  “Let’s just say, it makes the first and last names sound benign.” His watch showed 9:50, and he flashed the headlights three times, waited a beat and flashed them three more times. In his head, he counted to thirty and turned the headlights on and off three times.

  “So, what happens now? Do—”

  Franks’s hand shot up. After another thirty seconds, he executed the headlight ritual again and sat back. “Now, we wait.”

  Charity clutched the front seats and stuck her head between them. “What are we waiting for?”

  Franks lifted a finger. “You’ll see.”

  “See what?” She looked out both back windows. The inside of the vehicle was as dark as the night sky. “I might as well be blind.” Fumbling around, she found Dahlia’s head, and mussed the woman’s hair. “Is that you, Dahlia?”

  His eyes adjusted to the blackness, Franks saw what Charity was doing. “No ma’am…it’s me.”

  Charity’s hand recoiled as if she had touched a hot stove. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”

  Holding her stomach, Dahlia bent over, laughing. “I like you, Agent Franks. It’s a shame we can’t get into one more gunfight before we leave.”

  Fifty feet away, straight ahead, a light flashed the same sequence Franks had used. He flicked the headlights on and off three times before leaving them in the ‘on’ position. “All right, ladies,” he held out his hand, “Agent St. James…”

  “Please, call me Dahlia. You’ve earned the right to loosen your tie.”

  He shook her hand. “Dahlia, it’s been a pleasure.” He extended his hand into the backseat area.

  Charity took the hand. “The same goes for me. My friends call me Cherry.”

  “Cherry, thank you for what you did for my partner. I really appreciate it…and I wish you both the best.”

  Dahlia held up the blanket. “Do you mind if I take this?”

  “By all means…” He sniggered and pointed. “It’s a better parting gift than those souvenirs in your leg.” Before Dahlia could reply, he added, “By the way, tell Hardy his payment for this favor is…Louise.”

  Dahlia frowned and cocked her head.

  “Just tell him that.” Franks smiled. “He’ll know what it means.”

  … … … … …

  A man in a black woolen overcoat approached the VW. After a few words with Franks, he stood near the women in the wash of light from the Passat’s low beams. “My name’s Carter.” He held out a hand.

  “Dahlia.” They shook hands.

  He eyed Charity. “So, you must be Red Ryder. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” After another handshake, he beckoned them to follow. “I have a car over here. I’ll be taking you to Strasbourg, where a jet is standing by to fly you to London. You should be there, and away from whatever mess you’ve gotten yourselves into, in a couple hours.”

  The trio trudged through the woods a short distance and climbed into a vehicle, Carter at the wheel, Dahlia in front, Charity in back. The engine came to life, and the man navigated out of the forest, turned left onto L554 and pointed the headlights south.

  Dahlia wrapped the blanket tighter around her body. “Is Carter your first or last name?”

  Carter rolled his head her way and smiled. “Need to know, ma’am.”

  She zeroed in on the man’s teeth. I thought mine were white. “Let me guess. Carter probably isn’t even your real name, is it? What agency are you with?” When she saw his pearly whites again, Dahlia went back to watching traffic. “Need to know, right? And, we don’t need to know.”

  “We’ll be at the airport by eleven, ma’am, and you’ll be in the air a short time later. Tip the seat back and get some rest. I’ll wake you when we’re ten minutes out.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 25: A Piece of This

  11:02 p.m. (Local Time)

  London, England

  Heathrow Airport

  The stairs of the Dassault Falcon 50—a French super mid-sized, long-range business jet—stopped a foot from the tarmac. Dahlia’s leather boots and jacket appeared in the fuselage opening, followed by their owner and Charity. Cruz and Hardy met the women at the base of the stairs.

  Cruz hugged Dahlia, who grunted and dropped her smarting shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” said Cruz, “I forgot,” before bringing Charity closer for a triple embrace. “I’m so glad you’re both okay. We were worried sick.”

  Dahlia spied Hardy, hanging back. She smiled and held out an arm. “Don’t we get a hug?” She stepped away from Cruz and extended both arms. “You know you want a piece of this.”

  A thin grin materialized on his face.

  She rolled her hands toward her torso. “Come on, tough guy. Bring it in.”

  The grin turned into a toothy smile, and Hardy hugged her and Charity. A hand on each of their waists, he glanced back and forth at the new arrivals. “It’s good to have you back again.”

  “Thanks to you,” Dahlia patted his chest, “and your spook buddies you sent.”

  The group broke up, and headed for the Nissan he and Cruz had borrowed from Hamilton.

  Charity pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “How is Parker doing? Do we know anything about his condition?”

  “I spoke with Agent Franks a little while ago.” Hardy turned a thumb skyward. “He’s out of surgery and recuperating.” He pointed. “Thanks to you, Cherry, the blood loss was minimal. There’ll be no lasting damage to his leg.”

  The four poured into the Rogue, and Hardy spun the vehicle around and made his way toward the highway.

  Sitting behind the driver, Dahlia leaned forward, between the front seats. “I’m supposed to give you a message from Franks.”

  Hardy spun the wheel back straight. “What is it?”

  “He told me to tell you that the payment for this favor was Louise.”

  He glimpsed Cruz in the passenger seat, a frown on his face.

  “He said you’d know what it meant.”

  A moment later, Hardy smiled and slowly nodded.

  Cr
uz saw the recognition. “What’s it mean?”

  He shook his head. “Franks has a younger sister, Louise. For years, he’s been wanting me to take her out on a date. I guess she has a crush on me…or had, I’m not sure anymore.” Hardy saw Cruz gazing at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some other way of paying him back.”

  “I’m not worried.” She turned her attention back to the road. “You know what I do for a living,” she smiled, “and what I’m capable of.”

  “Okay, Cruz,” said Dahlia, “before you two get into some phony spat, I need to ask Hardy a question. How well do you know Franks?”

  Hardy bobbed his head. “We go back a ways, why?”

  “What’s his middle name?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Nope…said it was worse than the other two.”

  Hardy chuckled and waited a beat. “It’s Percy.”

  “Oh my…” Dahlia sat back and rolled her head. “I can hear the name-calling already.” She laughed. “Boy, I wish I’d had that ammo when we were in Germany.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 26: The Stafford

  January 21st; 12:46 a.m.

  The Stafford London

  A mini command center was established at The Stafford London, a nice hotel not far from the National Crime Agency, so Dahlia and Charity could shower and work in a more relaxed atmosphere. The close proximity to Hamilton’s office afforded her the option of zipping back and forth if the need arose.

  Hardy had rented a modest room, the Main House Junior Suite, mainly because of the separate living room and the optional twin beds. Two people could sleep, while others worked. The other reason was the price. The last time he stayed here a friend had gotten him a deal on the Penthouse Suite; however, since U.S. taxpayers were footing the bill on this occasion, he wanted to keep the cost down.

  Curled up on the couch and wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush white robes, coffee cup in hand, Charity stared at Cruz’s laptop, occasionally working the touchpad.

  Across from Charity, Hardy and Hamilton had pushed together two comfortable chairs in front of a small table. They, too, were staring at a computer, trying to gather information on Rijal Al Salam.

  Dahlia was sleeping. She had slept a few hours on the plane from Washington, D.C. to Munich; however, a car chase, two gunfights and a gunshot wound had used up that reserve. Even though she was running on fumes, she had fought to convince her teammates she was fine. Hardy was forced to pull rank. With a tired half grin, half sneer on her face, she had retreated to the bedroom, dragging her feet.

  The electronic lock hummed and clicked before the door to the suite opened. Cruz strolled in with a garment bag slung over her shoulder. She set the bag next to Charity. “I grabbed your clothes on the way up.” The hotel had a laundering service. “And, there’s a bag of intimates and personal grooming items,” Cruz pointed, “in the bedroom.”

  The seated woman raised an eyebrow.

  “Hardy told me what happened in Munich,” —Charity using her bra as a tourniquet, and her and Dahlia having to leave their overnight bags in the wrecked BMW— “If you need something else, feel free to go through my bag.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cruz spun around. “What can I do to help?”

  Hardy scribbled on a pad of paper, tore off a sheet, “Here,” and pointed at an available laptop. “You can run these down.”

  She read the scrap. “What’s this?”

  Studying his watch, Hardy stood. “Recent terror attacks that this Salami group…”

  Hamilton grinned and shook her head.

  “…has claimed responsibility for. See what you can dig up on them.” He tapped the wristwatch. “I’m overdue for checking in with Jameson.” He squinted at the ceiling. “At least I think I am. What time is it back in D.C.?” He shrugged. “Either way, I need to let him know,” he patted Charity’s leg on his way to the door and smiled at her, “we’ve got the band back together.”

  Snickering, Charity watched him leave. “And to think, he didn’t really like me when we first met.”

  Cruz sunk into the chair beside Hamilton, and both women said, “He doesn’t like anybody,” before Cruz finished with, “at first,” and Hamilton ended with, “in the beginning.” The women shared a laugh and went back to work.

  … … … … …

  After sliding a key card into the slot and opening the door, Hardy glimpsed his cell—1:28. That took longer than I’d planned.

  “No, no, no,” said Dahlia, sitting on the couch to Charity’s left. Both in white fluffy robes, they sat close enough to resemble two giant cotton balls. “You’ll never locate him that way. You need to run a separate algorithm. Is this computer capable of running concurrent algorithms?”

  “Of course it is,” replied Charity, removing her eyeglasses and pinching the bridge of her nose, “but I don’t see how that’s going to help.”

  “You’ve got one that’ll run facial rec,” —facial recognition— “and the other will look for matches in gait.”

  Arching his eyebrows, Hardy showed Cruz his palms.

  She shrugged. “They’ve been at it like this for the last fifteen minutes.”

  Hardy eavesdropped on the technical conversation a little longer. Arms crossed over her chest, Charity stared at the laptop, her lips puckering as if she had sucked on a lemon. For Dahlia’s part, she scowled and threw daggers, while continuing the sales pitch. Although he understood little of the computer jargon, he knew enough to try whatever Dahlia was selling.

  Charity’s arms shot up. “I just don’t see how—”

  “Cherry,” said Hardy, striking a serious tone and lifting a finger toward Dahlia, “let’s try her way.” He swung the finger to include everyone. “Just like more eyeballs on the problem are good,” his head dipped toward Dahlia, “maybe what she wants to try might help us.”

  There were a few moments when everyone stopped working.

  Charity’s face flushed. Her jaw muscles flexed. She shot glances at Cruz and Hamilton before coming back to Hardy. “Okay…fine,” she plopped the computer onto Dahlia’s lap, stood, grabbed the garment bag, “I’ll be getting dressed…if…I’m needed anymore,” and strode into the bedroom.

  Dahlia’s head fell back against the couch. “Aw crap. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  Walking past her, Hardy pointed. “You run your program, or algorithm, or…” he waved a hand, “whatever it’s called. I’ll find out what’s up with her.”

  … … … … …

  Hardy rapped a knuckle on the door. “Cherry, are you decent? I’m coming in.”

  “Give me a minute…okay.”

  He entered the bedroom, and closed and leaned against the door.

  Facing him, Charity made a knot in her robe’s belt.

  “What was that all about?” Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  Hardy folded his arms. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to you storming off like that.”

  “I didn’t realize I stormed off.” Silence consumed the space, while Charity fiddled with the end of the belt.

  “I’m not a dummy, Cherry. What happened out there was something more than just two coworkers having a disagreement.” Pushing away from the door, he cut in half the distance between them. “Did something happen in Germany?”

  “Yeah,” she snapped, “a hell of a lot happened.”

  He shook and dipped his head. “I meant between you and Dahlia. Do you two have problems?”

  She looked up. “What? No…she was great out there.” Charity let out a quick breath. “She was awesome in fact. I wouldn’t be standing here now if it weren’t for her.”

  Hardy took a step closer. “So, what’s the problem then?” More silence filled the room. “I need to know what’s going on, Cherry. I need to know my team is running on all eight cylinders.” He softened his tone. “Talk to me.”

  And,
talk she did. For the next two minutes, she spoke nonstop, barely taking time to breathe before finishing with her strongest point.

  “I’m supposed to be the one with all the computer answers.” She jabbed a thumb at her torso. “Me…that’s my thing. I don’t have the skills,” she flung an arm toward the door, “the rest of you have. You won’t find me running and gunning, or knocking out a bad guy’s teeth with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. That’s not my strength.” She wiggled fingers. “You put me in front of a keyboard, though, and I can get you the information you need.” She took a breath. “So, the rest of you can kick the shi—” she grabbed oxygen, “kick the crap out of terrorists.” Charity held out her hands, palms up. “If I don’t have that, then what do I bring to the team?” Turning around, she threw up her arms. “Why am I even here?”

  Hands on hips, Hardy stared at the back of her head. Wow. I didn’t see that coming. He turned his head and gaped at her clothes lying on the bed—jeans, blouse and blazer. The hotel could not get all of the dirt and stains out of the pants and jacket. Dark patches littered the fabric—Dahlia’s and Parker’s blood. He spied a white bra Cruz had bought, the price tag still attached. His mind replayed the conversation he had overheard, the one between Dahlia and Charity—‘No, I mean a really personal favor…I need you to take off your bra.’ Hardy stifled a chuckle. I’m not sure I would’ve given up my underwear.

  Drawing close to her, Hardy spun Charity around and clutched her shoulders. “Listen to me, Cherry. When Jameson told me you were joining the team, I didn’t like the idea.” Hardy rolled his head. “I hated it, in fact. I thought for sure you were going to get me killed.”

  Charity scrunched her eyebrows. “If this is supposed to be a motivational speech, then you suck at it.”

  Laughing to himself, Hardy pumped an open hand. “Just hear me out.”

  “As they say, don’t quit your day job.”

  Tamping down another snicker, he put the hand back on her shoulder. “Long story short…I’ve come to trust you with my life. There’s no other person I want feeding me intel.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Dahlia may be good with computers, but,” he pointed, “you’re the best. And, no one is going to take your place.”