Allah's Fire

by Chuck Holton

  “He’s locked inside a mountain in Colorado on some training exercise, but he was very concerned about you when he called last night. He talked about ordering a plane so he could come see you in Germany.”

  “Tell him I’m fine, Mom. I’ll be on my way back to the States before he could get here. What he should do is order that plane and take you to the Caribbean.”

  His mother laughed, though John thought he heard a note of longing in her voice. “That’d be a quick way to lose his pension.”

  “Tell him he can always come see me at Bragg.” But John knew he wouldn’t.

  “Mmm.” She knew he wouldn’t either. “Take it easy when you get home. No rock climbing or other crazy things before you’re fully recovered.”

  “Yes, Mother. Good-bye, Mother. I’ll be a good boy, Mother.”

  “Good-bye, John.” He heard a smile in her voice.

  Before he knew it, he was on a Continental flight home from Frankfurt. He squeezed into a window seat in cabin class and put the window shade down immediately. He looked around for a pillow, hoping he’d be able to sleep for most of the flight.

  His shoulder still had a dressing on it, though it wasn’t too noticeable under his blazer. Both of his eyes were still a frightening shade of purple mixed with green and yellow, and he had a nasty looking scab on his cheek from where he’d slid along the ground. A butterfly bandage held together the edges of the deep cut just above his brow.

  When the flight attendants and other passengers saw him, they quickly looked away, embarrassed somehow at how he appeared. They then avoided him completely. Nobody took the seat next to him.

  Frankenstein lives.

  John’s desire to sleep the long flight away wasn’t realized. His mind was too active, and his body too cramped. He itched to do something physical after lying in bed for several days, but he was confined to crossing and uncrossing his legs in the too small space between seats.

  He wanted to go climbing, to stretch, to sweat, to conquer.

  “No rock climbing.” His mother’s words rang in his ears. He sighed. Mom was right, much as he hated to admit it. He wasn’t physically up to something like that. A walk around the block would be more his speed for a bit longer.

  All too frequently when he thought about climbing, he thought about the girl. Not that he wanted to think about her. In fact, he tried not to think of her. Then, of course, she was all he could think about.

  They’d met at a climbing gym at the beach. He was on leave after having passed the Special Forces Qualification course, and she had just finished graduate school. She was vacationing while she waited to hear about a couple of job possibilities. The girl rocked; that was all there was to it. She was smart—really smart. And he’d never forget those limitless brown eyes.

  After meeting at the gym he had run into her again that night at a beach club his buddies dragged him to. He’d seen her come in and had made certain he left with her cell phone number. They hung out together daily for the rest of the week. They sat on the beach and watched the waves, talking about climbing and food and anything but their jobs. They’d eaten together at everything from a taco stand to a classy restaurant. He had liked how she didn’t care whether it was hot dogs or filet mignon.

  Just the opposite of Kim, the girl he’d been “seeing” for three years. With her, hot dogs did not count on the significance scale. It had to be expensive, whether it was dinner or jewelry or any gift. Shallow? Sure. All she wanted to talk about was shopping or some Hollywood hunk or her sorority. But he didn’t hold it against her. The relationship had simply been a way to stave off loneliness, at least for him. Not that Kim wasn’t nice. She was, and her movie-star looks made John the envy of everyone on the team.

  But the brown-eyed girl had a charm, a vitality about her that eclipsed Kim. And it was him, his company, that she enjoyed. She was certainly nice to look at, but John liked the way she stimulated his mind even more—and he found himself feeling guilty for wanting to get to know her better with Kim waiting back home. For her part, she seemed interested, though she never said as much.

  It wasn’t your typical vacation hookup, the kind people have when they’re looking for a bit of romance without commitment. They were friends, plain and simple. He never even held her hand, though he might have if it hadn’t been for his loyalty to Kim.

  All that week he found himself wrestling with his emotions, something he was not comfortable with. SF guys didn’t do emotions. But she was getting to him, and there wasn’t a neat little box to put those feelings in.

  Three nights before his leave ended, just as he was about to pick her up for dinner, his pager went off.

  He left a message on her phone—no details, just apologies. Next thing he knew, he was headed to Iraq. The deployment was a relief in a way. He didn’t have to debate with himself about her. Or about Kim. Nine months spent at a remote outpost on the Iranian border meant he hadn’t been able to contact either one.

  He returned to find Kim married to some guy who sold insurance. One problem solved, and he didn’t have to do anything. But the other woman could have been a segment on Unsolved Mysteries. She had disappeared as completely as those they searched for on the show. She had gotten a job and moved somewhere, but he had no idea where, and her cell number was no longer active.

  He sighed as he lifted the window shade and looked at the Atlantic far below, wondering about what could have been. He crossed and uncrossed his legs another time.

  A gangly young private in a class-A dress uniform sat in an aisle seat up a row across from John. It was clear by the kid’s dress greens that he had probably been in the Army for less than a year.

  Probably going home on his first leave.

  A man on his way to the lavatory stopped by the kid and held out his hand. “Thanks.”

  The kid looked at him blankly.

  “For serving.”

  The kid flushed and smiled.

  Several others did the same thing as the flight progressed. About halfway across the Atlantic, the attendant stopped beside the kid. “We’re glad to have you on our flight today. We have an extra seat in first class. Would you like to move up?”

  The kid was wide-eyed. “Really?”

  She smiled sweetly. “It’s the least we can do for a soldier who is keeping us safe in the war on terror.”

  John shook his head, then grabbed at it, a sharp pain reminding him that his brains were still rattling around in there. He wanted to laugh out loud, but that would hurt too much.

  Sometimes life had a cruel sense of humor.

  Downtown Beirut

  CHARLES RETURNED Dr. Assan’s embrace, and the two men wept. Liz turned away, only to be confronted with the blackened proof of their loss. She put out her hand and steadied herself against Captain Habib’s car. Without its support she was afraid her legs would give out.

  Dr. Assan pulled back and took a deep breath. “Now I must go tell his mother. Not that she doesn’t already know. But I must tell her not to hope.”

  Liz and her father watched Dr. Assan walk away, shoulders bowed with grief.

  “I’d better call Annabelle,” Charles said in a weary voice. “She keeps hoping, too. Then we’ll leave, Liz.”

  “Please, Dr. Fairchild.” Captain Habib opened the door to his car. “Sit in here. It will be much quieter. And use my cell phone.” He held it out.

  “Thank you, Timon, but I have mine.” Charles climbed in and pulled the door shut, leaving Liz standing in the street.

  Captain Habib looked at her kindly. “It would be best if you moved behind the barriers. It’s dangerous to stand so close.” He pointed to the shattered remains of the hotel’s walls. “If they collapse, you could be hit with debris.” He looked at her father. “Dr. Fairchild does not need to lose another daughter.”

  Nodding, Liz took a step back. He was right, but how could she stand behind the barriers? They were too far away, too far from Julie. Still, she had no choice in the matter.

&nb
sp; Feeling the captain’s eyes on her, she backed slowly toward the watching crowd. At the same time, a section of the far side wall of the hotel began to crumble, sending those standing near it running for safety. Captain Habib bolted for the action, forgetting Liz completely.

  She thought of the great lobby of the Rowena as it had been, full of cedar panels and potted palms, carved wooden screens and bamboo furniture, all under that great glass atrium. Talk about flammable! Had it ever been retrofitted with a sprinkler system? Probably not. Add to that the small diameter hoses that were used by European and Middle Eastern fire companies, and you had disaster.

  You also had fire-weakened walls like the one finally giving way. First small pieces broke off, then the entire wall began to lean.

  She stepped behind a fire truck to watch in relative safety, automatically pulling out her pad and sliding the pen free. She tensed as the wall teetered, seemed to steady, then collapsed in a great cataract of concrete and rebar. The ground shook, and a cloud of pulverized debris rose, billowing outward. She pulled her head back, a turtle hiding from danger as the fog of particulate rolled toward her. She brought the hem of her hoodie to her face and hunkered down by the wheel of the truck.

  When the noise and confusion lessened, she stood and dusted herself off. She peered out, taken with her vantage point that allowed her to see but not really be seen. She wrote her observations as well as her thoughts about the vulnerability of the old hotel, thinking like a reporter, not a sister.

  She fought the urge to compare this tragedy to the World Trade Centers, but the scope of the 9-11 event made this one pale in contrast. The only similarity, aside from terrorists, was the heartbreak of those bereaved.

  She drew a shaky breath. Julie!

  Liz realized she was near an alley that ran beside the remaining side wall of the hotel, the one farthest from the apparent blast site, from where Julie and Khalil had been eating. But the fire had reached it and blackened it. Still, it looked solid, and since no one seemed interested in this side of the site, it must be stable.

  A large, dusty rock, part of what was once lovely landscaping fronting the hotel, sat at the entrance to the alley. She climbed on it and began writing.

  Her pen gradually stilled, and she found herself trying to imagine what life would be like without Julie.

  Empty, with a hole never to be filled. No one could ever take her sister’s place.

  Who would she tell about the latest hopeless prospect she’d dated? Who would she brag to about things like an exciting assignment? Who would be interested in the little things—her rock climbing, the singles group at church, the latest movie she’d seen?

  Oh, God, I’m so lonely! I want my sister back.

  Snapshots of Julie flashed through her mind, a Technicolor collage of their lives together. There was three-year-old Julie with the raggedy haircut she’d given herself. Liz stood beside her with an arm around her shoulder as Annabelle lectured them on the dangers of scissors.

  Five-year-old Julie sat in a wheelchair in a Paris hospital, her ankles so inflexible from the juvenile rheumatoid arthritis that she couldn’t walk. Liz pushed the chair every time they’d let her.

  Eight-year-old Julie was attacked by the school bullies because the JRA made her walk awkwardly. Liz raced to her rescue, giving the older boys bloody noses and getting a few bruises herself in the process.

  Fourteen-year-old Julie hid under the covers crying because the boy she liked didn’t like her back. Liz sat beside her and rubbed her back, telling her over and over that the boy was an idiot.

  Seventeen-year-old Julie cried at the airport as Liz left for college. They e-mailed every day.

  Nineteen-year-old Julie said, “Liz, I’ve become a Christian, though I’m not going to be as outspoken about it as you.” Liz rejoiced and helped Julie learn the doctrinal basics.

  Twenty-one-year-old Julie stood at the altar, glorious in her bridal white. Liz served as maid of honor in spite of her doubts about the wisdom of the marriage.

  Suddenly she couldn’t sit still another minute. Clutching her Steno pad, she slid from the rock and began to pace. Into the alley, then out. Into the alley, then out.

  Liz stopped her pacing as questions about Julie’s last moments struck her. Was death instantaneous? Did she suffer? Did she wake up in the arms of Jesus? At the last thought, Liz looked up toward heaven. She blinked as she saw above her a window with the glass blown out and the wire mesh torn loose.

  A wisp of sea breeze floated across the Corniche, across l’Avenue du General de Gaulle, through the soot and dust, and down the alley. Something tinkled above her. She focused on an object caught in the jagged edges of the window’s mesh. It looked like a necklace. She stretched for it, but it was just beyond her reach. She jumped and grabbed, but all she got was a scratch from one of the mesh’s distorted prongs.

  Sucking on the wound, she stepped back and eyed the windowsill above her. Maybe if she could reach it, she could pull herself up high enough to grab whatever it was and jerk it free.

  She tucked her pad in her pouch, stuck the toe of one foot into a crevice in the wall, and lunged up and in, grabbing for the sill. Her foot slipped free under the force of her weight, and she plunged down. She managed to stick out a hand just in time to keep her face from hitting the wall. She wasn’t so lucky with her knee. She sat on the ground staring at a nasty scrape through the tear in her jeans.

  How come stuff like this always looked so easy on TV and in the movies? Then too, she was a climber. She contemplated trying again but decided against it.

  She got to her feet and looked around for something to stand on. Deep in the alley near a door stood some boxes. Just what she needed. She ran to them. One crate contained tomatoes. She tried to pick it up, but it was too bulky.

  She grabbed one end, slipping her fingers between the wooden slats, and tugged the crate to the window. She climbed on it, feeling the wood bend beneath her weight. She was probably damaging the tomatoes, but who cared? No one would be using them anyway.

  She still couldn’t quite reach what appeared to be a gold chain caught in the grasping metal fingers at the edge of the mesh. She raced back to what was probably the kitchen door and found another box, this one heavy cardboard with plastic bands around it. The label proclaimed this box to contain grapes grown in Lebanon.

  She grabbed the strapping and dragged it to the window where she heaved it up onto the tomatoes. She climbed onto the boxes and reached. Her fingers closed over what was definitely a slim but sturdy gold chain.

  She stilled. For a minute there she thought the wall had shimmied. But walls didn’t move like that. Her mouth went dry. Unless they are going to collapse.

  She looked up just in time to see a few bricks from the wall above give way and tumble onto the remaining boxes of produce outside the kitchen. Right where she had been mere minutes ago.

  Heart pounding wildly, she struggled to free the chain. She knew it didn’t make sense to risk her life for a piece of jewelry, but still she struggled. It became difficult to keep her eyes focused, given the glitter of the chain and the shimmy of the wall.

  A low rumble and another section of the wall came crashing down. It became like watching a wave break, the foam curling along the crest as it broke, not all at once but in a progressive line. Another section of wall leaned and fell, followed by another.

  Forget being careful with the chain. Liz yanked with all her might. The chain broke and slithered into her hand. She wrapped her fist around it and the locket that hung from it and jumped from the boxes. She raced for the safety of the fire truck and threw herself behind it as the thunder from the collapsing wall chased her out of the alley.

  She hugged one of the large wheels, shaking all over at her narrow escape. She pulled her hoodie over her head as the mushroom cloud engulfed her. She waited a few minutes, then peeked out. Dusty, but safe. She opened her hand and stared at the reason she had risked her life.

  The chain was lovely but
not worth the chance she’d taken. She turned the porcelain pendant face up, seeing it clearly for the first time.

  Liz stared in disbelief at the miniature Annabelle had painted of Julie in her blue regency gown.

  What was it doing caught in the mesh of a window in the burned-out hotel? And did it mean what she thought it meant?

  “Oh, God, she’s alive, isn’t she? Julie’s alive!”

  Near Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  JOHN COOPER’S FISHING REEL whirred like an angry dragonfly as his sinker traced a lazy arc over Valley Pond. The hook struck the water and disappeared, taking the attached earthworm down with it. The Royalex canoe rocked gently as John leaned back against the thwart to gaze up at the tops of the dark green pine trees that ringed the forty-acre lake. The sky, bright blue above the evergreens, was full of large, puffy clouds, promising a spectacular sunset.

  The way I feel, the sky should be black with thunder cracking and lightning flashing. And there should be rain. Lots and lots of rain.

  He rotated his stiff left shoulder, grimacing. The doctor at Womack Army Medical Center on Fort Bragg had given John the go-ahead that very day to rejoin his unit after a week and a half of convalescent leave. Since it was already Friday afternoon, John decided to report in on Monday. If he went in today, he’d end up staying all weekend getting caught up. Besides, a couple of extra days to get his head back in the game wouldn’t hurt.

  After less than a week in Germany, he had been sent back to Fort Bragg, where his unit placed him on leave until he was again fit for duty. It wasn’t until he returned to the States that he heard the full story of what happened the day Doc had been killed.

  The Suburban had been packed with an estimated two-hundred pounds of Semtex explosive, and the blast left a crater six feet deep in the road outside the gate of the French compound. Doc, the young U.N. guard, the woman, and her unborn child had been killed along with the driver of the vehicle. The Cougar had held up surprisingly well, with only minor damage to the exterior, which was amazing considering its proximity to the blast. The team members inside were rattled but uninjured. The big vehicle had also shielded Major Williams’s Humvee and probably saved his life.