by Ann Gimpel
Juliana would call him back. He was certain of it. Depending on what news her father had, Brice would help any way he could, even if it meant accompanying her back to Egypt. Given the circumstances, he wouldn’t let her go alone. It was too dangerous.
Besides, if she was correct about her student being abducted, having a doctor along could be critical. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring.
Chapter Eighteen
Juliana switched to her father’s incoming call. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Somehow, I didn’t doubt that for a moment.” Chris sounded like he always did. Calm. Reassuring. “How well do you know the region around the dig?”
“Really well. I spent a month mapping a twenty-mile swathe in that area before selecting a location. Even then, my first guess wasn’t good, and we moved to my second.”
“Next question. Do you speak Arabic?”
She nodded. “Yes, both Arabic and the Egyptian dialect. Why is it important?”
“You’ll see. The plan we came up with is this.”
“Who’s we?” she cut in. “You and Mom?”
“Hell no, princess. The less you know about the people I’ve been dealing with, the better. Are you ready to listen without asking questions every thirty seconds?”
“Yes. Sorry.” She closed her teeth over her lower lip. No wonder she had such a peremptory manner. She’d inherited it from her father.
“I need you at Boeing Field at noon sharp. I have an aircraft ready to go. Or it will be by then. This missing grad student knows you, which is why it makes sense to bring you along. I’d considered including her husband, but his emotional ties run too deep, and I have no idea what we’ll find. Or how he’d react if his wife is too badly mutilated.”
Julie’s mind stumbled over the word mutilated, but she remained silent.
“A local operative tracked Katie to one of the buildings a few miles northeast of Cairo where human traffickers store their goods. As of an hour ago, she was still there. My guess is she’s raising hell, which wouldn’t make her worth much on the auction block.”
Chris inhaled noisily. When he blew the breath out, he sounded stoic. “Usually, in these instances, they hang onto the noncooperative ones. Starve them. Flog them until they realize their only option is to play nice.”
Julie closed her eyes, sick to her stomach at her father’s description. “Jesus, Dad. How do you know so much about human trafficking rings?”
“I can’t answer that. Besides, it’s not relevant. Back to listening mode, please.”
“Got it,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
“The plan is to make certain she’s still there once we’re in position. Assuming she is, we’ll move in with a small unit, blow the lid off that location, and free whoever else is being held there along with Katie. Then we get back on our plane and fly home.”
Juliana could almost see her father dusting his hands together. “Any chance of me staying?” she asked.
“No. It won’t be safe for a while. Your site is in the middle of nowhere. International crime syndicates are behind human trafficking, and whoever’s underwritten this operation will be furious. Why would you want to remain?”
“To secure the artifacts at my dig site.” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’s not nearly as important as Katie’s life.”
“It should be safe enough. Someone well above me in the food chain talked with the Egyptian government. They’ve cleared everyone from the area pending the investigation of Katie’s disappearance. I was promised they’d keep it pristine for you.”
A low, rattling breath bubbled from her lungs. “So that means my two other grad students are on their way home?”
“Yes. And the bastard who’s behind all this. He’ll have a spot of explaining to do.”
“He deserves to rot in a cell.”
“First, we need to extricate Katie. She can testify against him. It should do the trick.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“A backpack with a change of clothes. Dress the way you would in the field. Sturdy, practical clothing. Nothing that would stand out.”
“Thanks, Dad. Not that I’m looking forward to another thirty hours on planes, but—”
“We should be there in twelve hours. Maybe thirteen.”
“That’s all?”
“Nothing like private jets and direct routes. We’ll be in one of the long range, business-class jets the military maintains for situations rather like this. You’ll find it quite comfortable. I still have a lot to do. See you soon.”
“Can I tell her husband what we’re doing?”
“No. Not one word. Promise me. This is as black ops as they come. Under the radar.”
“I promise.”
Her father disconnected.
She ran to her bedroom and collected her duffle from the closet, stuffing a few things inside. She wouldn’t need much but made certain her passport and ID were in her bag, along with her laptop. She was on her way out the door when she thought about Sarah.
And Brice.
She’d promised him she’d call back. The Sarah part was easy. She phoned Ariel. Before she could even say hello, her mother chirped, “No worries. I’ll handle everything with your sister and that Scottish doctor. I also talked with Susan, and she’s good with extending her stay for however long it takes before you return. But I don’t believe she’ll need to. These types of operations never take long. You’ll be back before you know it, but you need to get moving. See you on the other side.”
Juliana smiled grimly, parroted, “See you on the other side,” and hung up. It was an old exchange between her parents when one or the other was going into a dicey situation.
Before she could talk herself out of it—after all, she’d told him she’d call back—she dialed Brice’s number.
“Julie. What’d your dad cook up?”
“How do you know he ‘cooked-up’ anything?” she countered, not sure how much she could tell Brice. Her father had been most emphatic about not talking with Doug Johnson.
“Because he’s a resourceful kind of guy.”
She waited, but Brice didn’t say anything further. “I’m kind of in a hurry,” she said. “We can talk in a few days.”
“Aha! You’re going back to Egypt. Don’t bother denying it. Juliana. Take me with you. If your student is injured, having a doctor along will be important.”
“What are you, psychic?” she sputtered. She’d always been a lousy liar, and he’d see right through her if she told him he was wrong.
“When are you leaving?” he pressed. “And from where? I can call your dad, but I’d rather you told me.”
Her temper flared. “I have enough problems right now. You can’t just muscle your way back into my life after—”
“I’d never have left if you hadn’t been too stubborn to believe me,” he countered. “Look. This isn’t about you and me. It’s about what’s best for your graduate student. For Katie.”
Julie sat heavily, falling into a nearby straight-backed chair. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Since when is stating the truth not playing fair? Put me on hold. Call your dad. Please.”
“How can you possibly leave? What about your patients?”
“I’m part of a group practice, and every single one of those bozos owes me. Your father?”
“Hang on.”
Feeling like she should have just said no, stuck by her guns, and hung up, she ground her teeth. She could tell Brice her father said no and walk out the door. Problem was, she wanted Brice to come along. Craved the time with him and his steady, imperturbable presence by her side. Anxious about what they’d unearth, and apprehensive about coming anywhere near a human trafficking den, she was scared.
Yeah, imagine how Katie must feel. She’s caught up in the middle of an unimaginable hellhole. Because she stood up for me.
A glance at her display told her two minutes had ticked by while she stewed in her own guilt
and ambivalence. She called her father.
“Yes? Did you get cold feet? If you did, it’s all right. I don’t blame you. We can manage without—”
“Can Brice come?” she blurted, cutting off her father’s words.
“Funny, but that’s the angle I was just working on. We need a doctor. In case Katie’s been tortured and is in bad shape. Sure. Love to have him, but he cannot disclose the nature of where he’s going to anyone. Not the hospital. Not whoever he practices with.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Call me back with a firm yes or no. I’m curious as hell why the two of you are talking again, but it’s all for the good.”
Her father hung up, and she clicked back to Brice. “Sorry you had to wait—”
“Never mind. Am I going?”
“Yes. Boeing Field. Noon. You cannot tell anyone where you’re headed.”
“Give me credit for a little sense. I’ll be there with medical supplies. Thanks for not stonewalling me.”
She shouldered her duffle and her bag and tucked the phone between her jaw and shoulder. “I should be thanking you for volunteering. What we’re heading into won’t be pretty.”
“I gathered as much. We’ll talk more when I see you. I have to get moving.”
He clicked off before she could say goodbye. Juliana locked her house and hustled her things into the 4Runner. She’d be a little early, but it was all right. If she stuck around, Doug might stop by again, and she didn’t trust herself not to slip up.
She texted her father to let him know Brice was coming, and drove toward the interstate entrance that would lead her south to Boeing Field. It surprised her when her father commandeered her to help. He hadn’t been kidding about the black ops part. Apparently, the military wanted distance between it and whatever they were about to do.
Her phone signaled an incoming call, and she switched to Bluetooth to answer it. “Hello.”
“Juliana. Thank God. What the hell is going on?” Mike Weiss demanded.
“Um, hi Mike. I’m kind of swamped right now.”
“The Egyptians have shuttered the dig site. Cleared all the personnel. Obviously, I’m not there, but I have spies everywhere.” He laughed uncomfortably.
Julie bit down on her lower lip. “I’ll be back at the site just as soon as a misunderstanding gets cleared up. Once I’m back, I’ll alert you and you can show up with your camera.”
“Yes, but what’s going on now?” he pressed. “My person said it looks like a crime scene.”
“I can’t disclose anything, Mike. I’m sorry.”
“Even to me?”
Yeah, especially to you. You’re the media.
She organized her thoughts. “I value our professional relationship, but this is one instance where I truly cannot say anything. If I do, I might jeopardize someone’s life.”
“Fascinating. Damn. I want to know everything. Maybe I’ll hop on a plane.”
“Not a good idea, Mike. Please. It could be really dangerous.”
“Which means I might capture the shot of a lifetime. I was an Army Ranger. I—”
“You have a wife and two children.” Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be. “In the end, you’ll do what you want, but please wait on this. I’ll get hold of you as soon as I can.”
“I’m trusting you mean it.”
“I do. Why would I want to burn a bridge with you? You’re my favorite photog.”
“Any idea how long before—?”
“None. Might be a few days. Might be a week. Or two or three until the Egyptians deem it’s safe for me to set up shop again.”
“How do you know thieves won’t make off with the artifacts?”
She bit back a snort. “You sound just like me. I don’t, but there are some very old universities in Cairo that have exceptional antiquities departments. I’m going to assume their scientists are involved at least peripherally in the lockdown.”
“Okay, Juliana. Gotta run. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Merry almost Christmas.”
“Back at ya,” she said and disconnected.
Traffic thickened as she traveled through exits serving Seattle’s downtown area, but she had over an hour before she had to meet her dad. Using her voice-activated Bluetooth, she texted her father:
Where at Boeing Field?
He texted right back:
Tell the gate guard you’re meeting me. He’ll direct you. I’ve already alerted Brice.
Brice.
A welter of confused emotions threatened to swamp her. Excitement. Anticipation. Fear they’d lost their special connection—because of her stupidity. None of them had a place right now. Brice had been dead on when he’d said this was about what was best for Katie.
Except she couldn’t stand to think about Katie. It tore her heart out. Especially after her father’s graphic descriptions about starvation and flogging. Thank God, he hadn’t gone into any further details about methods of torture. If he’d worked to stymie human trafficking, she bet he knew a whole lot in Technicolor detail.
Photos from some National Geographic articles flashed through her mind. Emaciated humans, some with body parts that had been severed.
Back off. Stop, she ordered herself.
Katie had only been missing for a short time. It took far longer than that for short rations to take a toll. She reminded herself of the “Rule of Three.” Humans could survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food.
Her thoughts circled back to Brice. It had felt almost normal to talk with him earlier. He’d listened in his usual, thorough manner. He’d always had a way of focusing his entire attention on her, of making her feel heard in a way no one else had ever come close to. Most people—including her sister and parents—listened until they figured they had the gist of something, and then their attention wandered as they assembled their own ideas about the topic du jour.
Not Brice. He gave you his full and undivided awareness until he was certain you’d said whatever was on your mind. At that point, he’d ask a few questions for clarification. She cringed as she replayed his many attempts to talk with her about the episode with Sarah.
He’d tried to explain that day in her apartment. When she refused to listen, he’d called, but she hung up. Next, he’d written. She’d burned the letters without reading them.
“Goddammit,” she muttered. “I cannot believe what a sanctimonious bitch I was. People make mistakes, but I couldn’t offer him any latitude. Not an angstrom.
“Because if I had,” she answered herself, “all that anger would have transferred to Sarah.”
Forgiving her twin had been easy sitting on her hospital bed, fifteen years after the fact. Finding compassion for her illness and recognizing the harsh impact of chronic, debilitating disease was a no-brainer today. When they were twenty, though, she’d been in full denial about the seriousness of her sister’s condition.
Damn me. No insight. No compassion. Just a pile of hubris.
Julie exited the freeway and drove onto the grounds of Boeing’s vast campus south of Seattle. Crossing an enormous parking lot, she rolled to a stop at the gated entrance to the airstrip and rolled down her window.
After a quick conversation with the guard, she drove toward a bank of hangars. A sleek Gulfstream sat on the tarmac. To avoid thinking about what she was about to embark on, she admired its lines. A man in coveralls balanced on a ladder, futzing with the craft’s tail numbers.
Her eyes widened as she realized he was altering them. She was pretty sure it was illegal, but she’d keep that opinion to herself. Her father strode out of the hangar, dressed in military fatigues, and pointed to where he wanted her to park.
She put the 4Runner in the indicated spot and got out, going around to the back to gather her gear. She’d just slammed and locked the car when her father walked up to her.
“Hi, Dad.”
He nodded curtly, back in full military operations mode. “I’ll t
ake your kit. Step inside the hangar.”
She furled her brows his way, but he shook his head and gave her a small shove toward the open hangar door. Julie hurried inside and blinked to adapt to the sudden dimness.
“Over here, Dr. Wray,” a man’s rough voice ordered.
She angled toward a bald man. Medium height, with keen blue eyes, he wore a Marine uniform. “Remove your coat,” he said, and then added, “Please.”
“Why?” She stared at him, mystified.
He reached down and grabbed a Kevlar vest, waving it her way. “The general says you need one of these. Got to get the right size, or it won’t do its job.”
“B-but it’s a bulletproof vest,” she stammered. “Surely, that’s overkill.”
“Juliana Wray.” Chris’s voice boomed from the hangar doorway. “If you can’t follow orders, immediately and without question, you can’t come.”
Her temper had always been quick to ignite, and a rush of white-hot anger flashed through her. What the hell? She wasn’t one of his men.
Her father stood still, staring at her, his eyes cold and his face impassive. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen before.
She slid out of her jacket and took the proffered vest, fiddling with the fastenings.
The Marine said. “Nope. It’s too big. Try this one.”
She traded hers for his next guess at size. This one passed muster, but it was snug enough it bordered on uncomfortable. “It feels tight,” she said.
“You’ll get used to it,” the Marine said. “It has to stay put if you’re running or crawling or engaged in any type of activity. The larger sizes have a nasty habit of twisting and leaving a vital area exposed to gunfire.”
She started to unfasten it.
“Leave it on,” Chris said. “It needs to become a part of you, so it doesn’t divert your attention when we get to the place where you might actually require its protection.”
“One more thing,” the Marine said and handed her a large-bore semiautomatic pistol in a shoulder holster.
“Any chance I could have a revolver instead?”
