Jet left the market as quickly as she could, and after asking directions at a corner store, made for the hotel where the housekeeper worked. By the time she arrived, the sun was high in the sky, and she spent ten uncomfortable minutes surveying the edifice before entering and walking up to the woman at the counter.
“Hello,” Jet said with a smile.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I have a friend staying here. But I don’t know what room.”
The woman’s eyes bored through Jet. “Male or female? We don’t allow male guests to have female visitors.”
“Very sensible,” Jet agreed. “Female.”
The woman’s eyes flitted away. “We don’t have any female guests at the moment.”
“She was here a few nights ago. Does that help?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jet held up the hijab. “Does this refresh your memory? I just bought it from your housekeeper, who found it in her room.”
The woman’s sharp intake of breath was audible. “Oh. Of course. Her. She left the next day. Only stayed one night.”
“Which night was that?”
“Um, the night before last, I believe.”
Jet held her stare. “Do you have a lot of female guests, that you’re not sure?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Jet could sense two things from the woman: fear, and that she was lying. Which meant that Salma hadn’t checked out, or at least hadn’t voluntarily. Jet decided that the situation favored the direct approach rather than a continued game of cat and mouse.
She removed the pistol from her waistband, pulled it free of her robe, and pointed it at the woman’s head. “Tell me what happened to her. Now. Or I’ll splatter your brains all over the wall.”
The woman cringed, and the color drained from her face. “No…”
“Yes. You’re lying. She didn’t check out, did she? Yet your housekeeper thinks she did, and in such a hurry that she left some of her things. That leaves only a few possibilities, none of them good. But I want to hear it from you, not guess. Where is she?”
“I…I don’t know. They took her. That’s all I know.”
“They? They who?”
The woman swallowed hard. “Slavers.”
Jet nodded, as though she’d known all along. “See? That wasn’t so hard. We’re getting somewhere. What slavers, and how did they select her?”
“I had nothing to do with it. It was…it was my husband.”
“I see. And where is he?”
“Out. I don’t know where.”
“What’s your name?” Jet asked.
“My name? Fatima.”
“Fatima, you have a tell when you lie. Do you know what a tell is?”
Fatima shook her head.
“It’s a giveaway. An involuntary tic that only happens when you lie. I won’t say what yours is, but it’s there, and you’re lying. Now, where’s your husband?”
Fatima shivered. “He’s in the back.”
“Show me.”
Fatima led Jet down a dark hall to a door and swung it open. Umar was sitting on a pile of rugs, watching a television in a stained T-shirt and shorts, his belly round as a watermelon. He leapt up as best he could at the sight of Jet and his wife, and then saw the gun.
“Hello. Your wife here was telling me about slavers that took my friend the other night, and I was thinking that you might want a chance to stay alive one more day by telling me everything you know about them.”
“She…she what?” he sputtered.
“Here’s how this is going to go. I badly want to shoot you, or maybe cut you into little pieces and make you eat them before I do. But I’ll resist if you tell me who took my friend. I can already piece together that you got paid to tell them. So all I need to know now is who, and where I can find them. You lie to me and I’ll indulge my impulse to butcher you like a hog, at which point you’ll have begged me to believe you. Because you’ll tell me either way.”
“I have no idea what my wife told you. She’s…she’s never been right in the head. I have nothing to do with any slavers. I’m a poor man who runs a hotel. Please…”
Jet stepped past Fatima and slammed Umar in the side of the head with the gun butt before spinning and leveling it at Fatima again. He tumbled to the ground, and Jet glared at Fatima. “Go over there by your husband,” she ordered.
Fatima did as instructed. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re in this together, so you’ll both pay the price.”
Umar groaned from the floor and felt his skull. His hand came away with blood. Jet shifted the gun to him and exhaled impatiently.
“That was your one lie. Now you tell me the truth, or I’ll start by shooting off body parts, and then switch to the knife. If you want to test me, I can start on your wife to prove the point.”
“I didn’t do–” Fatima protested.
“Shut up,” Umar snarled.
“You know what?” Jet said to him, cocking the pistol hammer with her thumb. “I think I’ll just shoot you first and then start asking questions.”
Umar shrank from her. “No. All right. I’ll tell you. The trader’s name is Amir. He’s one of the biggest in town.”
“And where can Amir be found?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
“But you know how to get in touch with him.”
“No, I just recognized him.”
Jet shook her head. “And here we were, doing so well. Which knee do you want to lose? Left or right?”
“I have a phone number. That’s it.”
“Give it to me.”
“I have to get it. I don’t have it memorized.”
“Let’s go together. All three of us.”
Fatima helped Umar stand, and the couple walked to the reception area. Umar opened a blue notebook to the first page and read a number aloud. Jet repeated it and then crossed to where the phone sat on the counter and jerked the cord out of the wall. “Very good. Now here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to leave. You’re going to forget I was ever here. You’re not going to call anyone or try to tell Amir about my visit. If you do, I, or someone like me, will be back, and we won’t be here for information – we’ll be here to silence you forever. Do you understand?”
Umar and Fatima both bobbed their heads in agreement. Jet studied them like insects and allowed the disgust to show on her face. “Like I said. I’d deeply love to kill both of you right now, but I don’t want to alert the neighbors. But make it worth my while and I’ll be back, and nothing on God’s earth will stop me. Do you believe me?”
More nods.
“How much did they pay you?”
“Two hundred dinars.”
“That’s the price of both your lives. Remember that when you’re tempted to betray me. Two hundred dinars is what you died for.”
Jet turned, phone in her hand, and left, tamping down the anger in her stomach as she walked back to the hotel. She tossed the handset onto a rubbish pile on the way, and repeated the number in her head so she could have headquarters trace it to an address. She walked fast, now a woman on a mission, aware that now every hour that the slavers had Salma, she could be being subjected to the tortures of the damned.
Chapter 18
Southeast of Murzuq, Libya
A four-wheel-drive pickup with oversized all-terrain tires cut a beeline through massive sand dunes as it approached an encampment of thirty-five large tents with a variety of vehicles parked in the desert around them. The sun beat down on the scattering of shelters with brutal intensity, but on hearing the revs of the truck’s engine, figures emerged from the tents, assault rifles in hand.
The truck neared and the men gathered to face it, and when it rolled to a stop in front of them, they raised their rifles overhead and cheered. Tariq threw open the passenger door and stepped from the vehicle, and the cheering intensified, along with several
gunshots fired in celebration. Tariq waved at the gathering, and Mounir stepped forward with open arms. Tariq embraced him and patted him on the back before saying a few words to the men.
“Today marks a special day – a day of rejoicing. Our plans are finally coming to fruition after we delivered a devastating blow to the navy in Tripoli. Those forces are in disarray and ripe for a takeover. The government itself is running scared – the bureaucrats who have been stealing everything that isn’t bolted down are unsure how to respond. We have deliberately remained silent about our responsibility for the attack, as well as our objectives, and will continue to do so until the time is right. All they know is that they face an adversary that can slaughter hundreds of them whenever it likes, and is willing to do so.”
More cheering, and Tariq held up his hand for silence. A hush fell over the assembled men, and he smiled.
“Right now, the first boat is headed toward Italy, where our allies will deploy a canister of the agent to cause maximum damage. That will bring the battle to Europe, which has been insulated from the devastation its agents wreaked on our homeland and continue to wreak on our brothers in Palestine and Syria. It is but the first step. We will hit them where casualties will be maximized, which will make continued support of Israel so painful that it will find itself isolated…and with isolation, vulnerable. It is then that we will strike at the heart of the beast and rain vengeance down upon the heads of the infidels. Within weeks Israel will cease to be the darling of the West, and its citizens will scatter to the four winds like the cowards they are.”
The cheering was deafening, and Tariq basked in the attention before offering another wave and moving to where Mounir was waiting by one of the largest tents.
“An exciting time, Tariq. You’re a genius. Truly,” Mounir said.
“It is nothing compared to what is to come,” Tariq replied with a glance at the sky. “Let’s get out of the sun, my brother. It was a long and hot drive, and I could use some refreshment.”
“Of course. This way.”
Mounir raised the tent flap and Tariq ducked inside, where it was surprisingly cool thanks to a thin insulated coating of thermal material. Mounir offered him water, tea, and a variety of nuts and dates. They feasted while seated on the carpets that Mounir had brought from his home when he’d come to the encampment that Tariq’s most loyal followers in southern Libya had established a few kilometers south of the oasis town of Murzuq, an ancient enclave on the trading route to Rome from across the Sahara, situated at the northernmost extreme of the most inhospitable desert on the planet.
“Tell me about your wife, Mounir,” Tariq said when they’d finished their meal.
“The situation is under control. She ran to Sebha, but we located her, and she’s being held by slavers there. I planned to go and collect her once you’d arrived.”
“Why did she run, Mounir?”
“I suspect that she was a plant who infiltrated us to spy on us. She left right after I received your package, and we’re positive that she copied the contents and was taking them somewhere.”
“Who is she working for?”
“I intend to beat it out of her. By the time I’m done flaying the skin off her, there will be no doubt that she has told us everything.”
Tariq considered his answer in silence and sipped the tea Mounir had prepared on a kerosene burner that sat in a corner of the tent. When he finished his cup, he sighed and fixed Mounir with an intense stare. “How many years were you married to her, Mounir?”
“Three.”
“And you never suspected?”
“No. She was a good wife, as those things go. But now I have to assume everything she told me, every gesture, every act, was a ruse to earn my trust.”
“How much does she know?”
Mounir frowned. “We have to assume that she knows everything. She’s met or seen most of our men at one time or another, and she has the plan. It is Allah’s will that she reveal herself now and be taken captive in a city where we have influence.”
“Yes,” Tariq said, nodding. “Fortuitous indeed.” He selected another date and popped it into his mouth, chewed it with relish, and then stood. “Come, my brother. Walk with me.”
“Of course, Tariq.”
They moved to the tent flap and Tariq paused. “Who else knows where she is?”
“Two of my most trusted men: Mahmoud and Abdu.”
“Very good. I like them both.”
“I knew you would approve.”
They emerged from the tent, and Tariq put his arm over Mounir’s shoulder as they strolled toward the truck. The heat rising from the sand was blistering. They were almost to the vehicle when Tariq plunged the curved blade of a jambiya dagger into Mounir’s abdomen. Mounir screamed in shock as the steel sliced through his intestines, and when Tariq pulled it free, Mounir tumbled onto the sand as the men who were still outside stared in surprise.
Tariq held the dagger over his head and turned to them. “This man, Mounir, is like my brother. I loved him like one, and he was as close to me as anyone can be. But he failed me, and the price of failure must be paid. He trusted a woman who now jeopardizes everything we have worked for, and it is his failure to see her true nature that has cost him his life.”
Tariq leaned down and sliced the razor-sharp edge of the blade across Mounir’s neck, and bright crimson arterial spray sluiced from his carotid before ebbing to a slow pulse.
“There is no need for him to suffer in pain any longer. It gives me no pleasure to end his life here. Today I have cut out a cancer from my heart, and I suffer just as he does, the pain just as real.” He looked at the men. “Move his body before the sun can damage it. Wash it and then give him a proper burial. I will take his tent. His name is never to be spoken in my presence or you’ll meet the same fate. Today my brother died as a lesson to you all. Nothing is more important than our cause. Nothing. And those who fail me will suffer the same end. We are all of us expendable, and as such, we must safeguard our secrets with our lives.”
Tariq waited for any comments. When nobody said a word, he grunted. “Where are Mahmoud and Abdu?”
“Over here, Tariq,” Abdu called from near one of the tents.
“You have a vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to go to Sebha and bring me his wife. Now.”
The men looked doubtfully at the sky. “It’s over two hundred kilometers. By the time we get there and back, it will be well after nightfall. We won’t be able to find the camp in the dark.”
“Then drive faster.”
Abdu swallowed but nodded. The road, once they connected to it, was a cracked and pitted ribbon of asphalt well beyond its prime, and would be boiling late in the day after absorbing the afternoon sun. To drive any faster than forty or fifty kilometers was to risk a blowout or broken axle – the potholes and gaps in the pavement from a decade of no maintenance and heavy cargo trucks chewing it up were lethal in places, deep enough to park an ATV.
“We’ll do the best we can.”
Tariq scowled. “I have a handheld GPS in my truck. You can take it. I have the camp pinned as a waypoint. You’ll be able to find your way back even at night, so better to be prudent than reckless.”
“Of course, Tariq. We’ll leave immediately.”
“Good. And men? I want her in one piece and unharmed, am I clear? It is up to me to mete out punishment, and only after I get answers. Do you understand?”
Mahmoud gave a humorless smile. “Perfectly.”
“You know who is holding her?”
“Yes. Moun…we were told. And given money to buy her.”
“Then go. And ride with the wind.”
Chapter 19
Sebha, Libya
Jet watched from the shadows as a trio of Jeeps arrived at the apartment building that headquarters had identified as the slave trader’s home, based on the phone number she’d provided. A two-story affair that looked relatively modern and more expensive than
the surrounding structures, the exterior paint was in good shape, blinding white and obviously recent, and the design more contemporary than most she’d seen in Sebha. Which figured. Buying and selling human beings had to pay better than most local vocations, or why go to the trouble?
The front vehicle held four men, the middle just the driver and a passenger, and the rear carried four more. Jet surmised it was Amir in the middle Jeep, coming home after a hard day’s slave trading, based on the vehicle types – Amir owned a Jeep, according to the Libyan registration database the Mossad specialists had hacked into. Her only hurdle was that Leo had pinpointed the building from the phone company but not the apartment, and it was up to Jet to figure out which dwelling was his.
The Jeeps stopped in front of the building, and all of the men got out and entered the complex through a locked gate. They continued along a central walkway before taking the stairs to the second level. Jet resisted the urge to rush them and gun them down while they were out in the open, and instead waited until they stopped at the fourth apartment on the second floor, where the squat slaver opened the door and led everyone inside.
Now that she knew which unit was his, it was just a matter of patience until she made her move. Hopefully at least some of the bodyguards would leave for the sunset prayer or dinner, but if not, she would bring the MP7A1 into play and wipe the floor with them. She didn’t really care whether she wounded the slaver or not. As long as he was alive long enough to tell her where he was keeping Salma, that would suffice, and then his usefulness would be at an end.
The sun set, and the call to maghrib, the sunset prayer, wailed from the minarets. Jet checked the time and fingered the trigger guard of the submachine gun, anxious to get to work now that the long hours of tracking and waiting were over. She was considering the best way into the complex when seven of the entourage emerged and returned to the two Jeeps, leaving Amir, his driver, and one guard in the apartment.
Once two of the Jeeps departed, she worked her way across the street to the iron front gate, but it didn’t budge. She looked both ways down the sidewalk, adjusted the shoulder strap of the MP7A1, and pulled herself up and over the gate, her robe an impediment but not an insurmountable one.
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