by Sarah Black
Their situation was getting worse. He had hoped he could play the Ministry of Culture as the good guys against the bad boys at the Ministry of Justice. But it looked to him like no one in this country was on their side. He finished three miles and left to walk back up to their rooms. Wylie was going to watch Daniel’s back so the boy could get a decent workout. John also suspected they were waiting for him to split so they could talk in peace without dad listening in.
The hallways were deserted. The only people he had seen in the hotel besides the staff were his crew. In his suite, Jen and Sam were still head down over their computers, and John put his hand down on Jen’s shoulder. “I would like to speak with you for a moment.”
She looked up, her wide hazel eyes blurry with fatigue. “What’s up? The press conference is running wild. Even Yahoo put it up. I don’t get a feel for what’s going to happen next, though. Sentiment seems to be equally divided. Do you want me to try and get you an interview with the BBC?”
John looked at Sam. “Not right now. Sam, will you give us a couple of minutes? I need to speak to Jen privately. I was also thinking we might eat down in the dining room tonight if you could make arrangements.”
“Okay.” He gave the girl a worried look, then went out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
“When we first got here,” John said, “You told me you thought the men had been targeted in retaliation for what you are doing here and the association of your name to your father’s company. The information I have collected to this point indicates your work and your name were not factors in these young men being targeted by the Salafists.”
She blinked up at him for a moment, confused, then comprehension dawned and the light in her face almost made her beautiful. She jumped out of the chair and threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Really? You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“Do you have any reason to suspect I would falsify information to make you feel better?”
“No, sir, General Mitchel. I do not think you would do that. Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome. We’re going down to the restaurant for dinner. Would you like to join us?” She was still wearing the shapeless brown gunnysack of a dress. “Would you like to clean up and change and join us?”
She looked down at herself. “That yellow shirt you were wearing really looked good. I love yellow.”
“No can do,” John said. “You’ve already stolen my shoestrings. You’ll have to appropriate clothing from someone else. If you could, I’d like you to stick around and remain the communications officer. My communications officer.”
She watched him for a moment. “Yes, General.”
“I need to gather some intel. I need to know exactly who at the Ministry besides Ali Bahktar has decision-making authority over the blasphemy charges and who has their passports. Also, I want to draw a family tree and find out every living relative he has currently in Tunisia and all points east, west, north, and south. Tell Sam to draw it like a mind map, with areas of influence.”
“Okay,” she said, looking confused. “Sam knows how to draw a mind map?”
“Yes, he does.”
John stuck his head in the bedroom door, noted the hazy light from curtains pulled against the sun. Eli was curled up on his side, facing the wall. I could really use Kim, he thought, watching the boy. Kim would have him laughing and sitting up, and he’d drag him out to the living room to sit on that horrible couch. John wasn’t sure the military approach was the correct one in this situation, but the military approach was the only one he knew.
Dr. Shakir had gone home with his father after the IV had been removed, and Youssef had assured John he could call on him anytime for transportation or assistance. Eli was able to swallow the rest of the antibiotics as pills, and had eaten some rice at lunchtime and kept it down.
John pulled the chair around and sat down. Eli looked at him, his pretty green eyes far away. “I don’t know I’ve ever seen eyes that color green before,” John said. “Jen’s eyes are hazel, but yours are the mossy green you see on those big rocks on the Northern Pacific coast. Anyone else in your family have those green eyes?”
“Yeah, my mother, grandmother, and one sister. I really hated that my sister had the same eyes, because I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know her when we were at school. We looked like twins, and she was two years younger than me, so she followed me around spying on me. She would tell my mom everything she’d seen me doing. I really hated that. I hated having my mom know my business.” He studied John for a moment. “Have you told everybody?”
“Told everybody what?”
“That I was raped.”
“No. I told the Station Chief in Tunisia, the woman who is second in command at the embassy, that you guys were interrogated, beaten, and raped. She doesn’t know any specific details, and she doesn’t need to know. But that information was necessary for her to understand what I will do to keep you out of a Tunisian prison, up to and including breaking international law to fly you out of the country or breaking the neck of any evil fucker who gets near you.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“So of your several serious injuries, that’s the one that you want to keep hidden?”
He was silent for a moment, looking inward. “People will look at me differently. Getting your arm broke is one thing. Every nasty word, every insult I’ve ever heard for being raped in prison has been floating through my mind for the last hour. I don’t want to be that person. Am I going to look in the mirror and see these words plastered all over my face for the rest of my life? It’s like I keep thinking if I was stronger I should have been able to fight them off. I’m a fucking Ranger? I don’t think so. I bet there’s never been a Ranger raped in prison before. Am I a different person now? I’m not the guy I used to be, that much I know. What do I do now?”
John felt utterly helpless in the face of Eli’s pain and humiliation. “I don’t know what to do for you,” he said.
“You did it already. You walked into that stinking pit of a prison with nothing but a couple of Marines and big balls and you walked me and Daniel out.”
“I don’t want to think I left something behind. Like your ability to sleep peacefully for the rest of your life. Your self-respect. What do you think would help?”
“I don’t know,” Eli said. “But don’t try to put me on a plane to Tel Aviv. I want this made right.”
“What do you want made right? The blasphemy charge? The attack in the prison?”
Eli shook his head, looking so young and so broken that John felt his heart crack. “All of it. I want to make all of it right.”
“Okay,” John said. “I’ll get to work.” That got him a smile. “And you can get into the shower and come down to dinner. We’re eating in the restaurant downstairs.”
Chapter 17
JOHN’S mentor, Admiral Mike Adams, had always insisted on the team sitting down to a meal together, even in the middle of crisis. He called it the wardroom, said the wardroom needed at least thirty minutes together talking about something else. John looked around the table at the wardroom. They were nice kids, a few sparks of potential genius, a few loyal, hard workers. He needed to call the wardroom to dinner every day going forward. It would turn Eli and Daniel into working team members, rather than victims. They both needed something to do, something to contribute to the effort.
It was the first time they had been together as a group, and everyone was shy with each other. He listened to the awkward conversation, wished he had Kim’s people skills. When the phone vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it out, hoping for a text from Gabriel. He was having serious withdrawal from his Horse-Lord, but he didn’t think Gabriel was coming until the middle of the night. He was getting times zones mixed up, though. Maybe he was coming sooner. It was a text from Gabriel, but it just said, John, brace yourself.
Brace yourself? What the hell did that mean? He looked up, through t
he glass walls of the restaurant, through the crowds of waiters standing around with nothing to do, and he saw a cello coming across the lobby on a luggage cart. “Holy shit,” he said, standing up. “Please don’t let this be….” Wylie was at his side in about four seconds flat. He waved him down.
Kim and Abdullah came strolling into the restaurant, looking as beautiful as movie stars, all shiny black hair and big smiles. Abdullah was giving him a cautious look, stood back a little and let Kim go first. John looked behind them. Gabriel leaned against the restaurant door, looking lean and dangerous. And tired. John stared at him for a long moment. Then Kim was in front of him, wrapping John up in his arms. “Please don’t be mad, Uncle John. I couldn’t sit at home, not this time. Not anymore. We want to help.”
John felt his heart crack a little bit more. “I love you, kiddo.” He reached out, pulled Abdullah over to him.
Abdullah wrapped his long arms around them both. “If you want to kick our asses, I totally understand. But we’ve got some information.”
“I’m not mad,” John said. Not at you. “You boys sit down, get some dinner.”
He walked a few steps toward the door, and Gabriel came over to meet him. “Did you just bring the majority of the people I love most in this world into Tunisia? Into the middle of an active op?” He was smiling, but his molars were grinding against each other dangerously.
“They were coming with or without me.”
John thought a moment, studying Gabriel’s sexy dark whiskers and the heat, and tiredness, in his beautiful eyes. “What was it you said? You were at the butt end of your last nerve, and I was stomping on it?”
“Stop glaring at me, John. I feel better now I can see you’re in one piece.” He narrowed his eyes, hands on his lean hips. “Are we gonna get shot if I kiss you hello?”
“I don’t care,” John said. “I’m going to have something to say about this later. Don’t think you’re off the hook.”
Gabriel sighed, reached out and pulled John into his arms. “I have been so miserable without you.” Gabriel reached down and kissed him, a warm spicy kiss with a tiny slide of tongue that had John’s knees going weak.
Gabriel lifted his head, and John turned around, looked at the table of people staring at them. Kim and Abdullah were pulling up chairs, grinning, and the waiters were sliding tiny salads in front of them, very carefully not looking at the two men kissing. Jen and Eli had their mouths open, and Daniel and Wylie appeared to be nudging each other under the table. Sam got up, came over to Gabriel and stuck out his hand. “Sir, I am so very glad to see you. You can’t imagine how glad….”
“Oh, yes, I can, Brightman. Looks like you’ve held up well!”
“Only on the outside. I’ve been developing an ulcer for days.”
Gabriel turned to the table. “I’m Gabriel Sanchez.” He slid a dark-eyed smile at John. “I am General Mitchel’s XO.” He pulled up a chair, and one of the waiters gave him a salad. He nodded his thanks. “John, maybe we could introduce ourselves and the staff can give me a brief?”
“Thank you, good idea.” John nodded to Wylie. “If you will all tell the Horse-Lord your particular area of concern, and current status, and any particular skills or issues so he’s up to speed. Anything you think might be classified intel can wait until we’re upstairs. He is in command if anything happens to me, understand?” He waited for their nods of agreement. “Wylie, you go first.”
“I’m USMC, staff sergeant, assigned to the embassy. The regional security officer, Greg Mortimer, sent me over to handle security at the hotel. We’ve got four Marines besides myself. We’ve also got a couple of Tunisian Security Service guys watching the doctor’s house. You know about the doctor?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Just keep going. I’ll catch up.”
“Jackson’s my partner. He’s upstairs covering the door to the general’s suite. We got two others sleeping and one outside. We’re watching the usual points of egress and ingress but that doesn’t really cover it.”
“What floor do you have?”
“Four.”
“You’ve got the whole floor?”
Wylie shook his head, and Gabriel pulled out a small memo book and made a note. “Any particular skills or issues?”
“I can speak some basic Arabic.”
“Good.” He looked up, pointed at Jen. John sighed, leaned back in his chair. God was in his heaven and all was right in the world. The waiter slid a plate in front of him, covered by a metal dome, and when he pulled the cover off, John smelled a mixed grill, calamari and octopus and strip steak seared over a charcoal fire.
“I’m Jennifer Painter, acting communications officer. Now you’re here, I’m going to recommend we split into media relations, that’s me, and communications, that’s Sam. He knows all about radios and secret codes and all that army boy-talk.” Jen leaned back and waited for her plate. “The two videos, the first of the assault and the second of the press conference, have been widely disseminated in the media. There is quite a bit of commentary in various social media sites, I would estimate 60/40 positive. However, I’m not sure they are moving us toward the end goal. We have not received any communication from either the Ministry of Culture, saying sorry we were such assholes, or from the Ministry of Justice, saying sorry we were such assholes, in the last twelve hours. At this time we have pending charges of blasphemy and no passports.”
“Do we have secure sat coms?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your father? Is he coming?”
“No idea,” she said and bent over her plate. Then she looked up again. “Oh, one other thing. I don’t have a passport.”
“That might be considered classified intel,” John said, looking around the room. “Let’s hold that discussion upstairs.”
Gabriel looked at the two boys. He’d seen pictures of them in their files back at the hotel in DC, so John thought he knew who they were. Gabriel pointed his fork at Eli. “What is the end goal? Do you just want to get the hell out of here as fast as you can? I can steal a chopper and we can head for Malta or the nearest aircraft carrier flying the stars and stripes.”
Eli shook his head, and Daniel reached over, grabbed his shoulder. “I’m not really sure what the end goal is,” he said. “I just want to make this right.”
Gabriel looked at John. “Okay.” He turned back to Eli and Daniel. “You two have your IVs out.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got this,” Daniel said, raising his casted hand. “Boxer’s fracture, can you believe that shit?”
Eli raised the splint and winced. “We don’t know if this is broken or not. We haven’t been able to leave the hotel for an X-ray. It hurts like a bitch and I can’t use my fingers. The doctor didn’t want to put a cast on while it was so swollen.”
“You’re both on your feet, a major tactical advantage. If we need to run, we can reinforce the splint so the arm’s safe.” He pointed to Abdullah. “This is Abdullah al-Salim. He speaks Arabic, he spent time in Kuwait when he was a young sprout, and he is a world-class cello player. Kim Baker,” he pointed to Kim, “is special counsel to General Mitchel. He’s our secret weapon,” Gabriel said, sliding another smile toward John, “because Kim thinks outside of the box. Okay, is that everybody?”
Daniel raised his hand. “Can I ask you something? My dad was in Desert Storm in ’90 and ’91, and he told me this story about a card game, poker or something, and there was a grass hula skirt and a coconut bra and a pitcher of piña coladas. I was just wondering if it was true?”
“Forsyth, Forsyth, let me think. Graham Forsyth, right? That’s your dad? Absolutely not true,” Gabriel said, “and if you have pictures I will swear they were doctored. Though he did look very sweet in that coconut bra.” He leaned back to let the waiter slide a plate in front of him. “General, I’ll need a few minutes after we eat.”
They all leaned over their plates, and then Kim spoke up. “Can you believe we’re sitting right on the shores of Ancient Carthage? I me
an, how cool is that?”
Eli’s green eyes lit up. “I know! You should see the ruins. I can’t believe the stuff that’s just sitting out there! I mean, these cool mosaics and columns, and these big arches made out of golden stone, just laying everywhere, broken pieces of statues, Roman statues, in pieces on the ground!”
“Are the mosaics Roman or Carthaginian? I guess after they conquered the city, they brought in their own artists, right?”
“I don’t really know how they would look different.”
“We ought to look it up,” Kim said. “I saw something online, Eli. About your Elephant Clock. Remind me and I’ll show it to you when we get back to the room. Did you know Al-Jazari may well have invented the first mechanical robots?”
“You mean the Peacock Fountain?” Eli turned to Daniel. “That was what I was telling you! You pull a plug in the peacock’s tail, and then water flows so you can wash your hands, then a robot servant appears with soap. Then when you’re done, a second robot appears with a towel.”
Jen leaned forward. “How did they do it?”
“It’s a mechanical device,” John said, “and I understand there are gears and pulleys and water flowing from one area to another, forming shifting weights. Al-Jazari did quite a bit of work in the area of mechanical devices to lift water, really important in the desert, where life depends on deep wells. When I was an engineering student, a long time ago, we played around with some of the gears and pulleys. Nothing is as much fun as a mechanical perpetual motion machine. And his were particularly beautiful.”
