The Silver Cord: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book Two

by Alison Caiola

  The kidnapping of the four staff members had sent devastating shockwaves throughout the entire organization. The loss was crippling and they mourned for the “family members” who had been ripped away from them. Chloe was heartbroken and felt as if a part of her had been severed. Ever since that fateful night, she felt only half-awake during the days. At night she would lie in bed and pray that Robert would return safely to her and that she would have the opportunity to be in his arms and finally confess her feelings to him.

  She took another drag of her cigarette and unconsciously rubbed the area on her shoulder where the bullet had entered.

  “Hey what are you doing: taking the day off?” Chloe looked up and saw Sam Wo, a Chinese doctor and recent graduate from Johns Hopkins, smiling down at her.

  Chloe flicked her cigarette butt a few feet away. “Just about to get up.” She lifted her right hand. Sam grabbed it and pulled her to her feet. She noticed that his gaze fell upon the neckline of her t-shirt, which inadvertently had been pulled down, revealing her cleavage. Chloe adjusted her shirt and she and Sam walked toward the clinic together.

  “Anything exciting happening?” Chloe asked.

  “ Rondeau sent me over to get you. Seems there’s a buzz going around about some dog-and-pony show scheduled to take place later today.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He said there’s a group coming here from America and they need to talk to you,” Sam smiled.

  “Me? What about?”

  “ Rondeau said it’s hush-hush, but he thinks it has to do with guys who were abducted last year. He also said he thinks there’s a big-name model or actress who’s going to be with them. Kinda cool, huh?”

  Chapter 18

  The shrill ring of the telephone startled Lily out of a deep sleep. It took her a few seconds to acclimate herself to her surroundings and to remember that she was in her room at the Jazeera Palace Hotel. She picked up the phone and glanced at the clock on the nightstand, surprised to see that she had slept more than three hours.

  Clearing her throat, Lily said, “Hello?”

  “Hello, Miss Lockwood, I have Mr. Maniadakis on the line. May I put him through?” The hotel operator announced in a thick Somali accent.

  “Of course.” Lily stood up, stretched, walked over to the windows, and pulled open the velvet drapes. She shielded her eyes against the overpowering light of the midday sun that flooded the dark room.

  “Hello, Miss Lockwood. I want you to know that we’ve taken over the large conference room on the main floor as our headquarters for the duration. If you’re up to it, one of my men can escort you down here so that you can be part of the briefing.”

  “Of course. I can be ready in a few moments.” Before she could say anything else, she heard a click and then dial tone. She shook her head and hung up the phone. Maniadakis was certainly not one for small talk. Lily walked out onto the terrace that wrapped around her corner suite and gazed out onto the sweeping city below. The tall white buildings were capped with terracotta roofs and she saw lofty minarets everywhere, poking through dark-green foliage. The war-torn rubble and military presence were not visible from this deceptive vantage point.

  Lily walked to the other side of the terrace, and from there she had a view of the Indian Ocean in the distance. The sun’s rays, like thousands of tiny diamonds, joyfully skipped across the sapphire spray.

  Lily turned her gaze eastward and saw waves of yellow, blue, red, and white orbs—like huge parachutes sewn together—that stretched for miles. Jama had told her those orbs were actually thousands of tarps entwined together to provide minimal shelter for more than 150,000 people displaced by natural disasters or conflict. He went on to tell her that the lack of facilities and clean water created a fertile breeding ground for infection and disease, and that, in the camp, young girls and women were raped daily.

  This stark juxtaposition—natural, innocent beauty set against the ruin brought about by malevolent forces—encapsulated Somalia. Lily now understood the passion Robbie had shown for MSF and the life-saving services they provide to populations such as this one. Lily was positive that Robbie had thrown both his heart and his medical expertise into saving as many lives as he could.

  She looked around and wondered where in this vast city he might be. Was he even still alive? Tears filled her eyes when she thought of the warning Maniadakis had given her before they left New York: that there was a strong possibility Robbie had already been killed. Or that, if he was still alive, they may never find him.

  Lily sat down on one of the terrace chairs and sobbed. After a few moments, she felt a severe pain in her head followed by tightness, as if her skull were being squeezed inside a vice. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to pass.

  Chapter 19

  Robbie awoke, his back in full-blown contraction, practically fused into the position in which he had slept. He rocked his body slowly, using abbreviated movements, in an attempt to release the spasm. Hot, searing pain surged along his spine. He yelled as he lifted his body off the pencil-thin mattress that lay on the floor. Once standing, he took a few deep breaths and slowly stretched. His body had withstood one vicious beating after another; this near-crippling pain was but one of the many residual effects caused by the cruel treatment to which he had been subjected.

  Since he had been moved to this location, he had not yet been tied up or beaten and was not confined entirely to his room. He had been allowed to walk the compound grounds, under the watchful eyes of several armed guards. The compound, more like a fortress, was encircled by a twelve-foot cement wall— one large building, three smaller structures, and the long, flat hospital facility still under construction—all of which was perched high atop a peninsula, overlooking the Indian Ocean. The ever-vigilant armed guards held AK-47s at their side as they patrolled the grounds.

  There was one small window in Robbie’s room. From this vantage point, Robbie was able to look out onto the sapphire ocean and watch the surf crash furiously onto the passive shoreline. He yearned to walk on the beach and raise his face upward and bask in the hot sun.

  His door opened suddenly and two armed guards barged in. They pointed their guns at him, signaling that he should leave the room. They walked him outside to an area behind the medical building where Robbie had never been. In the distance he saw ten uniformed men standing side by side. They wore black-and-gray shemagh scarves wrapped around their heads and faces so that only their eyes were visible.

  Startled, Robbie stopped, but one of the guards pushed him forward. As he got closer to the uniformed men, Robbie saw that they were armed with guns and had assumed the firing position. They faced human-shaped targets 150 feet away. On command they fired their weapons. The memory of Simon, Frosty, and Ivan careened through Robbie’s consciousness. His knees felt weak and he was certain that he was being escorted to his execution. His mind raced, but he knew that if he bolted, they would surely shoot him. Yet wouldn’t that be preferable to being forced to your knees, waiting to be shot in the head at close range? Robbie felt the adrenaline pump through his veins as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes:

  The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He guideth me in straight path for His name’s sake. Yea, that I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

  “Dr. Rosen, so nice to see you again.” Robbie opened his eyes and saw Abdikarim standing before him, hand outstretched. Robbie’s own hand trembled as he shook the outstretched one. An amused expression crossed Abdikarims’s face.

  Another round of gun shots rang out. Abdikarim looked at the trainees, put his arm around Robbie’s shoulder, and laughed. “My friend did you think you were being brought over to a firing squad?”

  Robbie did not answer. He had the innate feeling that the less he spoke, the better it would be. He merely nodded his head. Abdikarim kept h
is arm around Robbie and led him toward the medical building. He gestured toward the structure.

  “This is why you are here. As I told you, we are partners. You will do the surgery and remove the organs. They will be shipped all over the world. I get rich enough to buy anything we need to further our cause. And as long as you are doing the surgery, you will remain alive. It’s a good partnership, no?”

  Abdikarim opened the building’s door with a flourish. “I want you to have the grand tour of the medical facility, which is finally ready. Actually, we are waiting for one last piece of equipment scheduled to be brought in later this afternoon and then we get started. Very exciting!”

  Despite his weakened state, Robbie walked through the building and saw that the operating suite was state-of-the-art, with equipment that would, without a doubt, rival the finest surgical centers in New York City. The examination and waiting rooms were furnished and well-stocked with all the necessary supplies a doctor would ever need. He thought of the MSF facility and of how their equipment was mostly out of date and sometimes barely usable.

  Abdikarim led Robbie into a small office, where there was a large metal desk. He pointed to the desk and smiled, “Have a seat at your new desk, Doctor. Try it out—how do you say it in America, take it for a spin.”

  Robbie sat behind the desk and Abdikarim sat across from him. Robbie saw that the office was much nicer than the one he had shared with his fellow residents at New York Hospital.

  “Explain something to me. If the donors, as you call them, won’t survive the surgery, then why would you have examination and recovery rooms? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Abdikarim smiled, “Very astute, Dr. Rosen. I have spoken to my superiors and soon many of them will join us, and bring their wives and children. We have decided that you will also be in charge of all their medical care as well. So that is why everything must be the very best.”

  Robbie saw an opportunity and seized it. “I’ll care for your people to the best of my ability, I’ll commit to that. But I cannot be involved in the harvesting of organs for the black market. I can’t have the death of all those donors on my hands.

  Abdikarim leaned in closer to Robbie and whispered, “That is extremely distressing, Doctor. Do you have such little regard for your own life that you would throw it away?”

  “No sir, I don’t. But I do have the utmost regard for human life. What you are asking me goes against the oath I took when I became a physician. In fact, it’s against everything I believe to be right.”

  “Would it make you feel better to know that most of your patients have agreed to the procedure because their families will be well-compensated? They are all dying, you see, so this is actually an admirable service you will be performing.”

  “Dying? From what?”

  Abdikarim smiled, “From this and that. . .but mostly from AIDS.”

  “AIDS? You can’t transplant organs from patients with AIDS. That would be a death sentence for the recipients.”

  “You are right: It is. But let’s just say that I see it as killing two birds with one stone.” He laughed in a devilish manner. “Your first day of surgery is tomorrow late morning. I will be in the operating room, eager to witness the talent that I have heard so much about. Now Doctor, I am a busy man, and you must go back to your little world inside your little room.” He shouted in Arabic to the guard who was waiting in the hallway. The door opened and Abdikarim nodded to the guard to escort Robbie out. But before Robbie was out of earshot, Abdikarim said, “There is something I want you to think about, Doctor. If you refuse to obey, the treatment you received from the last group will seem like child’s play compared to the punishment we have been trained to employ here. Now have a wonderful day.”

  Hours later, while the sun was setting outside, Robbie lay on his mattress and contemplated his limited options. He knew that he would surely be tortured if he did not obey. But he was convinced that they wouldn’t kill him, since the stakes were too high and they desperately needed his services. He thought about all the organ recipients who would be infected with the AIDS virus and who, in turn, might unknowingly infect their own families. It was the perfect storm for terrorists.

  Robbie understood what he needed to do; he knew that it would be in his best interest to comply. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling comfort—a feeling he had not experienced since coming to Somalia—when he thought about his familiar routines as a physician. When he was working at New York Hospital, each time before he performed a major surgery, he would visualize step-by-step every facet of the upcoming procedure.

  In approximately fifteen hours, he would meet with his surgical team. Before they entered the operating room, he would make sure they each knew the procedure and what their individual role in it would be. He would ask them to repeat each aspect of the process back to him, so as to ensure that they had grasped the particular rhythm and timing that would need to take place. He would dress and scrub for surgery. He would take his time. He was always fastidious, especially when he scrubbed. Once inside the operating room, he would make sure, one last time that his team was prepared for what he expected of them. He would smile encouragingly at each of them. He would deliberately smile at Abdikarim, slowly lift the scalpel, and feel the familiar weight of the sharp instrument in his hand. Robbie would then calmly proceed to sever his own carotid artery. Within minutes he would be dead.

  Chapter 20

  Lily and one of Maniadakis’s men, the one they called Smitty, walked across the hotel lobby toward the conference room. The young woman, standing behind the front counter, wearing a black-and-gold shash, nodded as a signal of recognition; Lily smiled back. She noticed a large clock above the concierge kiosk that was set seven hours behind Somali time, with a sign underneath it—New York. She avoided eye contact with four men in white dashikis waiting to check in to the hotel. A shiver traveled up her spine as she walked past them.

  Smitty turned left into a narrow hallway where two of Jama’s men stood guard in front of the conference room. He nodded for the men to open the heavy double doors. Lily walked inside and was astonished to see that that the stark-white conference room had been converted into a high-tech mission-control center that was already a beehive of activity. There were two long rows of computer stations where men and woman, wearing large headphones, sat typing. Live streaming images of streets throughout different sections of Mogadishu played continually on four oversized flat screens mounted on the wall in front of the stations.

  Five men—three in tan military uniforms and two in civilian clothes— studied maps drawn on an enormous white board. Photos of individuals and groups of men were pinned to a cork board. Lily looked around the room, but could not find Maniadakis. She spotted David standing with two other men, peering over a woman’s shoulder, as she pointed to something on her computer screen. David glanced up and Lily caught his eye. He nodded to his sister, broke away from the group and walked over to her. David gave his sister a peck on the cheek, “Did you get some sleep?”

  Lily nodded. “Some.” She looked around at the active staff and the high level equipment. “This is overwhelming.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. They have this whole network in place that monitors ‘chatter.’ If anyone says anything that smacks of a situation that could in any way relate to Robbie, it gets flagged for review.” David pointed to the large screens. “And they have satellites that can zoom in on anyone in the streets and listen to their conversations.”

  “Who are all these people?”

  “Most of these people worked for Maniadakis when he was in the C.I.A.” David pointed to an older woman, wearing a dark brown suit, her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun and a no-nonsense expression etched on her face. “That woman, Eleanor, was his assistant for twenty years; she says he was a big deal there. Most of these people were in the C.I.A with him.”

  “Did they share any information with you?”

  “Maniadakis said that when you arrived, we shou
ld go to his office for a briefing.”

  David put his hand gently on his sister’s back and steered her past the commotion to a private office in the far corner of the room. The door was open and Maniadakis was seated behind a large desk, talking on the telephone. He waved them in and gestured for them to sit down.

  “I understand, Frank, you know I do. But if this is what I think it is, then we’ve got a win-win situation here. You send a team, pick up our guy, and get yourself a few insurgents. Who knows, with just the right coaxing, they may give you the info you need to get you the big kahuna. Then you’re a hero with the man in Washington.” Maniadakis listened intently while the person at the other end of the conversation spoke.

  The transformation in Maniadakis had been remarkable. This mission and the promise of adventure had rejuvenated him. When Ken had contacted him, Maniadakis was at the lowest point of his life. Retirement did not suit him—sitting around for hours talking about his exploits, rather than partaking in new ones, had deflated him. Maniadakis had no wife or children—he had never had time to settle down, since he’d been totally absorbed in the world of espionage. Now, his recollections of more exciting times haunted his days and had begun to seep into his dreams. In recent months, his source of comfort and refuge came from one place: inside a bottle.

  One particularly wretched night in Mykonos, after having drunk too much and revealed too many details about past glories to anyone who would listen, he walked along the limani. The gentle rocking of the anchored boats in the harbor filled him with an overwhelming sense of loss, loneliness, and guilt. After another few drinks, he stumbled back to his apartment where he promptly passed out on the kitchen floor. At 9:00 a.m. the following morning, the ringing of the telephone woke him up. He was face-down in a mound of his own vomit. It was Ken asking him for his assistance in finding Robbie.