Once on the ground, Caine and the women hid in the shadows between the buildings. He watched the insurgents as they loitered outside, arguing what to do. They didn’t seem in a hurry to raid the apartment building.
“Do you have a car?” he whispered to Kimberley.
“In a garage, just around the corner,” she hissed back.
“Good, let’s go.”
They left the grounds through a back alley, and made their way around the corner to the garage. Soon they were in Kimberley’s two door Fiat 126 sedan. The tiny vehicle was cramped, and Caine’s head scraped against the roof. He let Kimberley drive, figuring she knew the city better than he did. The Bedouin woman squeezed into the back.
With his field pack wedged at his feet, and his AK-47 resting on his chest, he didn’t have much room to move. The engine struggled and wheezed as they drove down the street. Caine considered the benefits of finding a faster, larger vehicle. But they were moving, and no one was following. An alternative car would have to wait.
“My name is Matthew Quinn,” he said in faltering Arabic to the woman in the back. “Can I ask what your name is?”
The two women laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked first in English, then Arabic .
“Your Arabic’s not terrible, but it’s not great either.” Kimberley grinned. “Just stick with English and I’ll translate. Oh, and her name is Safiya Naaji by the way. We have an agreement, her and I. We’ll help you if you help us.”
“Is that right?”
“Damn straight it is.”
They turned onto a major road, heavy with trucks and night traffic. Soon they were speeding east, out of the city.
“And how exactly am I supposed to help you?” Caine asked.
“Her husband was killed by mercenaries, the same men who kidnapped her sons. If you return her sons to her safely, she promises to take you to the crashed airplane.”
Caine nodded. “Alright. Tell Ms. Naaji we have a deal.”
Chapter Fourteen
Kimberley drove her Fiat out of Sana’a’s congested nighttime traffic, and through the Central Highland mountains. In the early hours of the morning, as the sun rose ahead in the east, they hit the Al Qaeda controlled ‘checkpoints’ in the township of Ma’rib.
Caine spoke to the heavily armed guards, using practiced phrases Safiya had taught him earlier. He explained they were Bedouin, returning from a trip to Sana’a where they had sold rugs. He was the only one talking, since Al Qaeda didn’t deem to speak to women. His story was that Safiya was his wife and Kimberley was his daughter. The aid worker’s age was close to his own, but that didn't matter. With all but her eyes covered, no one could tell her real age at a glance.
Caine’s weapons were never once questioned.
After a few minutes of awkward negotiation, he paid their ‘protection’ money. The guards let them through.
By early morning they entered the desert. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and soon they were deep within the dunes of the world’s largest sand desert. Most of the sand rifts were more than two-hundred feet high. When they stopped for a break, Caine stared north towards the heart of the Empty Quarter. They had parked on a rise, and all he could see were wave after wave of dunes. The towering mounds stretched a hundred miles or more, and vanished beyond the horizon. A thousand aircraft could crash into that desert and none would ever be found again. He felt humbled by the vast expanse before him.
“It’s impressive,” Kimberley said as she came up behind him.
“It is,” he agreed.
“These dunes are tiny, compared to what we’ll find deeper in.”
“You’ve been inside the Empty Quarter?”
She shook her head. “I’ve travelled further north than this, but I’ve only stood on its edge. Those dunes move by the way, up to thirty meters a year.”
“So, you can’t even use them as landmarks?”
“That’s right. They're like waves in the sea, only in slow motion.”
Caine squinted in the harsh, over-head sun. He turned to look back at her. “How do you know so much about the Quarter?”
Kimberley shrugged. “I don’t know. I like to immerse myself in the history of the places I visit. The geography, the culture. There is much that is beautiful about this country. The Empty Quarter is beautiful in my eyes, as well.”
He looked out again over the endless sea of burning sands. “I agree with you,” he said, shading his eyes with his hands. “It is beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous. Like a tiger, or a leopard.”
She laughed but said nothing.
“We should get going,” he said. “So far no one’s followed us, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t being hunted.”
They left quickly. Caine took a turn driving, with Kimberley in the seat next to him providing direction. Safiya, being the smallest of the three, again squeezed into the back.
While they drove, Kimberly translated as Safiya told her story to Caine. Her trek across the Rub’ al Khali. How she had found the plane, loaded with American weapons. Her plan to sell the arms to buy food, medicine and protection from Al Qaeda. Safiya burst into tears as she described how her husband had been murdered before her very eyes. Her sobbing grew more intense as she told Caine about her sons… how they were taken as hostages by the mercenaries.
Caine grilled her on the men who had attacked her camp. What did they look like? What weapons did they carry? What languages did they speak? Anything he could think of that might help him find them. She answered as best she could, but he had to rely on Kimberley to translate back and forth.
Finally, Kimberly relayed Safiya’s demands to Caine. “She wants you to find her children first, before she takes you to the aircraft wreckage.”
“I’m sorry.” Caine shook his head. “I would like to, I really would, but we have no leads. The aircraft you described, it must be the DHC-6 Twin Otter I’m looking for. The people who took your children want whatever is hidden on that plane. If we can get to the plane first, we can use what we find there to negotiate Mohammad’s and Hussein’s release. For all the children’s release.”
Safiya fired off a rapid string of Arabic words. Caine couldn’t grasp any of what she was saying, so he looked to Kimberley for help.
“She doesn’t believe you. She says you’re an American, and American’s only look after themselves.”
He gritted his teeth, frustrated that the two women did not yet trust him. “I’ve promised to find her children. And I will.”
Kimberley shook her head. “We want to believe you. But actions speak louder than words.”
Caine sighed. He knew if the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t believe his offer either. He turned to Kimberley, and said, “Why are you wrapped up in this anyway? I thought UN workers weren’t supposed to get involved in individual cases?”
Kimberley waved her hand out the window, letting the passing air cool her arm. “Yes, that’s what we were told. But that’s not me. I know I can’t help everyone, but sometimes you have to help one person. Sometimes improving one person’s life can make things better for everyone. Besides, you see what it's like here… how can I just look away?”
Caine nodded. “You’re right.”
She looked surprised. “You agree with me?”
“I do, actually. I came to Yemen because my friend was killed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but how does that relate?”
Caine paused, gathered his thoughts. “She knew that sensitive information was on the downed aircraft. And she was killed for what she knew. I might not be able to help her anymore, but I came here to find the men who killed her. That led me to you, and Safiya. So in a way, she’s the reason I’m here helping both of you.”
“Maybe… ”
“We’re in this together, Kimberley. Our goals are aligned. You’re searching for missing cholera and malaria medicine. Safiya is searching for her sons. I’m searching for a missing plane, and intel that might reveal my fr
iend’s killers. What if all our searches lead to the same place, a common enemy? We should help each other. Maybe that’s how we make things better for everyone.”
“How?”
If we work together, we can find the children, and return the medicines. And when I find the people who killed my friend…” His voice trailed off. He glared at the dusty road and empty dunes ahead.
He turned, and caught Kimberley staring at him. He gripped the wheel tighter.
“Look,” he said, turning back to face the road, “if we leave Safiya’s children with those mercenaries, they’ll either end up dying, or be sold into slavery. Or maybe they’re used as child soldiers, and then the next cycle of violence begins. Same with the medicines. They can bring hope to people who have lost everything, including their health. My friend died, but that doesn’t mean something good can’t come out of all of this.”
Safiya sobbed again, and her body shook as her tears intensified.
Caine wanted to comfort her but he didn’t know how, so Kimberley and he drove in silence, and let her be. Kimberley was correct. There were no words that could sooth her. Only actions would heal her now.
By midday a small township appeared in the distance. The tiny buildings stood against a rock outcrop skirting the desert sands. The majority of buildings were mud brick. But as they drew closer, a few modern buildings appeared in the center of town, including a gas station.
“You should fill up,” Kimberley reminded him. “Not sure there will be another petrol station for a while.”
Caine agreed and pulled up to a pump. Stepping out, the hot naked sun beat down on him, causing him to sweat. He dusted off the sand that built up on everything. He could even taste it in the air.
When Kimberley and Safiya stepped out of the car, he said, “Don’t wander too far.”
He couldn’t read Kimberley’s expression through her veil, but he sensed she wasn’t impressed with his instruction.
“There's a shop over there,” she said, pointing to a concrete building that looked more like a bunker than a retail establishment. “Safiya and I are going to purchase some provisions. It’s going to be expensive out here, so you’re paying.”
She put her hands out and he gave her money.
“Don’t you wander too far,” she said, winking.
Caine laughed. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then I’ll come looking for you.”
Kimberley shrugged and the two women walked away from him. From behind, draped in their shapeless abayas, he could only distinguish the two by Kimberley’s taller frame.
A man came out to unlock the pump. Caine asked that he fill the tank and provide him with three gas cans. When he was satisfied that the job was done, he paid with cash and returned to the Fiat.
Kimberley and Safiya had not yet returned. It was hot in the car, so he leaned against the vehicle, and watched the buildings of the small town.
His eyes drifted to another concrete building, about two-hundred feet down the road. Thin people lingered outside, many with even thinner, emaciated children hanging off their arms. A slumped, listless woman cradled a crying baby in a loose embrace. The infant’s belly was bloated from malnutrition, and he had no meat on his spindly limbs.
Caine couldn’t help himself. He stepped towards the makeshift building. As he walked closer, the stench became awful. The air smelled of sweat and human excrement. Men, women and children all looked up at him, their pitiful eyes sunk deep into their sockets. Some put out their hands for money. Many were too tired to do even that.
He walked closer. He looked down and saw another mother cradling the corpse of a child in her stick-thin arms. Caine gritted his teeth. There was no doubt… these people were infected with cholera. There was no medicine here to save them.
He stormed back to the Fiat. Safiya and Kimberley were waiting for him, carrying bags with food.
“What’s up?” Kimberley asked.
“My friend,” Caine muttered, his voice an angry growl. “I owe her… owe her my life. But she’s part of this. Stealing medicine. Letting people suffer.” His fists clenched and unclenched. The need to punch something grew overwhelming.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Kimberley demanded.
Caine paused. He bit down on his anger and let his training kick in. He calmed his breathing, assessed his situation, and formulated a plan. He knew what he had to do.
“I’m going to do what I promised. We need to move out, now!”
Chapter Fifteen
RIYADH, RIYADH REGION, SAUDI ARABIA
Sulieman Rashid was once proud that he owned a spacious home in Saudi Arabia’s capital. His house was one of the few large enough to feature a built in swimming pool. High walls and date palms provided shade, and ensured no one could see inside, so the pool could be used by his whole family. It was Friday today, the weekend. Everyone was home. His two teenage sons played in the pool while he sat on a lounge chair in his swim suit, watching over them.
His daughter wore her black Abaya, but left her face uncovered. She brought him a mint tea, like they made in Morocco. He thanked her and Allah for the refreshment. That seemed to please her. She asked if she could do anything else for him, but he said no, and thanked her again. She bowed and shuffled away, off to help her mother with the chores and housework.
He watched his two sons wrestle in the pool. The older one pushed his younger brother under over and over again, trying to scare him. Pretending to drown him .
Rashid knew he should intervene, but he didn’t. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything.
He tried to imagine how he would feel if he had to disappear, if his arrangement with Jarod Forster and the CIA was revealed to the public. Secretly, the Saudi Arabian Government didn’t want medicines inside Yemen. They had sanctioned this operation. His superiors had even laid the groundwork, implicating the Iranian-backed Houthis for hijacking UN pharmaceuticals. They hoped to turn the world against their uprisings. The only problem facing Rashid was if the mission became public. If the kickbacks he and his CIA partner received, for the sales of the illicit goods in the United Arab Emirates, were revealed. He had made a significant profit already, enough to buy a villa in faraway Marrakesh. If his corruption ever came to light, he could run and disappear there. His only question was, should he bring his family with him?
If he ran and left his family in Riyadh, they would suffer. His wife and children would be treated as traitors, forced to live on the streets as beggars. His wife and daughter would no doubt be raped. His sons might even be executed. How could they not? It would be assumed that they were complicit in his deception, even though they knew nothing of what he did. Could he let that happen to them? Would Allah forgive him for such a course of action?
He just didn’t care.
Four years ago, before the Mossad agent had impaled his brain with a knife, he would have done anything to protect his family. Anything to remain pious in the eyes of Almighty God. Now, he just didn’t care. He knew he should, but he didn’t. If others suffered because he abandoned them, well that wasn’t his concern. He couldn’t feel hurt, or sadness, or… anything.
Yes, if he needed to run, he could. No emotional ties would hold him back.
His phone rang.
The call was unlisted but he answered anyway.
“It’s me,” said the electronically distorted voice .
“Yes?” Rashid had decided earlier that he would keep his responses short. Let the American do all the talking.
“Just wanted to let you know, our Station Head was murdered last night,” he said, referring to Martin Delbridge without actually using his name. “The one man who could have connected you and I is no longer in the equation.”
“Yes?” Rashid replied in a monotone voice.
“Yes? What the fuck does ‘yes’ mean? I thought you’d be over the fucking moon about that?”
Rashid said nothing.
“What is it? You can’t talk? Why did you fucking ans
wer then?”
“I can talk.” Rashid stepped away from the pool as he wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked into the men’s bathroom. He needed privacy if he were to answer in more than just single words.
If he had emotions, Rashid knew he would be feeling frustration right now. His hacker, Mansoor Alharbi, had been unable to locate where Jarod Forster was hiding out. The CIA man had conveniently faked his own death. No one in his own organization was looking for him. There were no leads from other spy agencies he could hack into.
Forster’s faked death had complicated matters, but it would only be a matter of time before Alharbi found him. Then Rashid would send a kill team to watch over Forster. They would stand ready to assassinate his partner when he gave the command. There were enough loyal men under him who would do the job willingly and without question.
The American continued speaking. “Well my friend, before you go and get all excited, brace yourself for even better news?”
Again, Rashid said nothing.
“For fuck sake, I’m out on a limb here!” the American exclaimed.
“Just tell me what you have done.”
The American laughed, an odd crackle through the voice distorting software. “Our man on the ground is isolated. He doesn’t trust his own people. He’s teamed up with a local woman who might know where the missing plane went down. We’re following him. When he finds the plane, that’s when either you or I, or both of us, tie up the last of the loose ends. We'll make it a nice, neat little bow."
Rashid thought about what he was being told. The key here was the data stick on the downed aircraft. What he and the American were doing was authorized by his government, but it had to remain a secret. If the files got out, it could spark a war between their two governments. If that happened, Rashid knew he would be the first casualty, punished with a bullet in the back of his head.
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