by Chuck Holton
She ran from the room, never looking back.
“Get up!” the man ordered Julie.
She nodded and rose stiffly.
“Go.” He pointed to the door.
Julie stared in disbelief. “I can go home?”
The man threw back his head and laughed.
Julie felt faint as the blood drained from her face.
Beirut
AS LIZ CLOSED the front door of her parents’ house behind her, her mind whirled. Every time she tried to concentrate on one problem, another jumped up and screamed, “Think of me! Think of me!”
The seventy-two hour deadline with more than twenty-four hours gone already.
The fear of what lay ahead—the plan that was forming in her head to find Julie.
The worry about Julie’s health and the prolonged time away from her medications.
The warnings and the money Bashir gave her.
John Cooper staring blankly at her and the German with the Southern accent who whirled her away from John. “Get out of here fast,” he’d hissed. Then he’d yelled something in German as she ran, something she knew by his tone of voice wasn’t complimentary.
The more she thought about it, the more she thought she had somehow stumbled into a covert operation. It was the only explanation. The very thought gave her goose bumps.
She leaned against the door, staring at the floor. She knew John was in the service. Army? Navy? It didn’t matter. They both had their Special Forces and covert operations.
What could he and those other men possibly be doing here? Granted things were a bit egg-shelly since al Hariri’s assassination, and there was the bombing at the hotel, but black ops stuff? Something involving Syria? Or Israel?
Still, fantastic as such a scenario sounded, she prayed she hadn’t ruined something or identified someone who shouldn’t be identified or something like that.
Lord, I didn’t mean anything bad. Please keep John and the other guys safe. Help them do whatever it is they came to do.
She pushed away from the door and hurried to her room. She heard voices coming from the courtyard, but she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She needed to keep her mind centered on her goal.
“You would rather risk that your parents have no daughters than that they have one safe and well?”
Bashir’s words roared through her head. How unfair was she being to her parents to go haring off like she planned? She went to her desk, sat, and pulled out a piece of paper. She began writing.
Charles and Annabelle,
If you are reading this, then I have failed and I have caused you great grief. Please know that that was not my intent, but I cannot stand by while no one goes after Julie.
A sudden thought struck Liz. Could John and his men be here to rescue Julie? Wouldn’t that be wonderful! It was just the type of thing special ops guys did, wasn’t it? In spite of the U.S. policy of not negotiating with terrorists, they might send in a secret unit, right? It was so cavalry-to-the-rescue, so American.
How would I find out if Julie is their assignment? She shook her head. I couldn’t. She had no idea where to find John, and even if she did, he probably couldn’t tell her because then he’d have to kill her or something. She blew out a breath. She’d have to continue as planned.
She resumed writing.
Going after Julie is probably the result of my watching over her as we grew. I find I can’t let go of that habit. I don’t want to let go. Please know I love you both.
You are special parents. I know you think my faith is foolish, but let it be a comfort to you now. Both Julie and I are with Jesus. All my love,
She reread the note and could figure no other way to say what she wanted to say. She signed her name, folded the note, and stuffed it in an envelope. Then she went to find Nabila.
“You plan to go into the camp to find Julie?” Nabila was appalled.
Liz shrugged. “No lectures, Nabila. I was hoping you would be able to help me.”
“Help you how?”
“Look at this map.” Liz spread the map Bashir had given her on the table. “See the X? What is that building?”
Nabila narrowed her eyes as she studied the paper. “I think it’s just a big warehouse. Remember, it’s been years since I’ve been there.”
Liz nodded. “That confirms what Bashir said.”
“Did he also say you’re risking your life going in there? They have killed people for far less.”
Liz didn’t answer. “Do you know anyone named Azmi?”
“Azmi what?”
“I don’t know his last name. He has a son who was injured by a land mine explosion.”
Nabila shook her head. “That happens too many times. South Lebanon is littered with land mines left from the civil war and the Israeli and Syrian incursions. They estimate a hundred thousand are still buried. Too often children playing are the victims.”
“When you are a doctor, you can help them.” Liz smiled. “You will be wonderful.”
Nabila merely raised an eyebrow. Hollow compliments were not going to distract her from her disapproval of Liz’s plan.
Liz held out the letter she had written to her parents. “If the worst happens, give this to them.”
Nabila crossed her arms and just looked at the letter. “I want no part of breaking your parents’ hearts again.”
Liz kept the letter extended until Nabila sighed and took it.
“I have to do this. How can I let Julie die without trying to find her?”
Tears slid down Nabila’s face. “And how can I let you go, knowing you might die, too?”
Liz leaned forward and kissed her friend’s cheek. “Thank you for caring so much. Don’t worry. I will be back before morning.”
As Liz returned to her room, she wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Still, no matter how she looked at things, she had no choice.
She changed quickly into a long, full black skirt, a black blouse, and black flat shoes. She pulled a large black scarf from the closet and draped it over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked so American! She slouched. Better but still not right.
Makeup! She ran to the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean. That was better. With her eyeliner she drew circles under her eyes, then smudged them, hoping they made her look weary. She was afraid she looked more like a raccoon.
She grabbed her bag, checked to see that she had her passport, Julie’s passport, and her medicine. She’d gone to her sister’s house after she left the café. Since she wasn’t certain what would help Julie most, she took every pill bottle in the house. She put them all in a sealed plastic bag. She planned to try and bluff her way past the guards at the gate by telling them she was visiting a sick friend.
She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock. Time to go. She hurried through the house, keeping an ear tuned to the voices in the courtyard. She had to be away before Charles and Annabelle saw her and demanded to know what she was doing. Without a doubt they would try to prevent her.
“Liz!”
She turned at the door and with misgivings watched Nabila approach. The last thing she wanted right now was another lecture about how thoughtless and foolish she was being. She felt guilty enough as it was. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that she’d feel many times guiltier if she didn’t try.
“Here.” Nabila held out some tattered papers. “Take these.”
Liz took them. “What are they?”
“My old identity papers from when I lived in Sainiq.”
“Nabila!” Liz threw her arms around her. “Thank you!”
Nabila hugged her back. “You are going whether I think you should or not. I offer you this meager protection as a thanks for what you did for me and tried to do for Zahra.”
By the time her rental was on the highway to Sidon, Liz’s tears at Nabila’s gift had dried. In their place her shoulders screamed with tension, and the insane drivers on the road weren’t helping.
Beirut
>
John stood on the balcony of his room on the fifth floor of the Moevenpick Hotel, gazing down at the two giant swimming pools surrounded by imported palm trees. Beyond the trees was the hotel’s private marina where the Mediterranean was a shimmering gold as it reflected the setting sun. A few of the yachts anchored there were probably worth more than some countries he’d visited.
“You’re staying where?” Major Williams had practically shouted when John called him on the iridium satellite phone and told him that they were checking into the Moevenpick. The major never shouted.
Even doubling up on rooms, Zothgar’s mysterious instructions were no doubt putting a good-sized dent in the credit card the redheaded CIA agent, Mary, had issued him “for emergencies only.” John had no idea who got the bill, but whoever it was wouldn’t be happy. He just hoped it wouldn’t get taken out of his next paycheck. And the one after that. And the one after that.
He couldn’t make himself feel too bad, though. A year earlier he had scheduled some leave time and had purchased tickets to Cozumel to do some diving. The day before the trip, Task Force Valor had been alerted, and forty-eight hours later he was defusing a booby-trapped weapons cache outside of Khandahar when he should have been floating serenely above Palancar Reef. He still had the nonrefundable plane tickets in the desk drawer in his office, as if holding them might someday make them valid again.
So maybe this was a little payback.
After they had checked into their rooms, John cut the boys loose for a few hours. Rip and Frank made a beeline for the hotel’s business center to check their e-mail. Hogan and Sweeney were working on their tans and gawking at all of the silicon surrounding the swimming pool.
He and Doc Kelly had headed to the fully-equipped fitness center for a light workout followed by a quick swim. They were going to meet at eight for dinner at Hemingway’s Grill downstairs.
This place wasn’t anything like the Middle East John knew. He recalled his nine months defusing mines around that lonely outpost on the Iraq/Iran border with nothing but camels, bedouins, and super-heated sand for a hundred miles in any direction. His time there had redefined his concept of boredom and misery. That was still the one deployment by which he judged all others.
He smiled. Sitting here on his balcony, letting the light sea breeze dry his bare chest was about as far from the desert as one could get, and it felt good.
Until he thought of Liz.
He ran a hand through his hair. What were the odds of running into someone you had been trying unsuccessfully to find for more than three years while on a covert mission in another country? A million to one? A billion?
God had a twisted sense of humor.
Doc Kelly walked onto the balcony wrapped in a thick, white terrycloth bathrobe. “Dude, this place is great! Maybe we can find a reason to delay the mission for another couple of days. These digs are even better than what the Air Force gets.”
John laughed, but the sound was sour.
Doc eyed him. “So who was she?”
“Who?” John asked without much hope.
Doc just looked at him.
John sighed. “Her name’s Liz Fairchild. She’s—” He hesitated. He certainly couldn’t say the girl of my dreams, though that’s exactly what she was. “An old friend.”
“An old girlfriend, you mean.” Doc sat in the other balcony chair. “Sweeney said you looked like you’d been shot.”
“Sweeney exaggerates.”
“He says he saved the mission.”
“Mmm.” But he was probably right. John didn’t think anyone had followed them to the café and thus overheard Liz, but with the crowds it was impossible to tell for sure. He’d briefly considered aborting the mission after Zothgar panicked and left the café so abruptly.
He’d discussed it with the team, and the consensus was that Sweeney’s quick thinking diffused the situation enough that whoever observed the exchange would probably pass it off as a case of mistaken identity.
“I hear she’s a beauty.”
John gave Doc a deadpan stare. The last thing he wanted was this discussion.
Doc just smiled. There was no such thing as slack in this unit.
“So who was she?”
“Just some girl I met at the beach about three years ago.” When he’d met Liz, Kim was in Miami shopping with her mother. He was so careful not to “cheat” on her. He never touched Liz, never promised her anything.
Granted he should have been up front with her about Kim. But truth be told, he wasn’t sure what to say, especially since he knew in his heart that there was a more intense, more personal connection between him and Liz in that one weekend than he’d ever had with Kim.
He swallowed a sigh. The team would have enough fun at his expense as it was. They must never suspect how deeply he really felt, or life wouldn’t be bearable.
Just another little sign of how much you care, eh, Lord? You let me find her when I can’t explain, apologize, or ask her to dinner so I can find out what she’s been doing for the last three years.
John narrowed his eyes at the setting sun. “You hungry, Doc?” He consulted the G-shock on his wrist. “We’d better get a bite to eat before we go.”
Doc’s eyes brightened. Food was better than stripping a man’s heart bare any day. “Is a pig pork?”
“Not in a Muslim country, it’s not. Let’s get dressed and go round up the others.”
Three hours later, John sat alone in a plush leather chair in the tan marble lobby of the Moevenpick. They’d eaten at Hemingway’s, enjoying every bite after the fare at H-5. Now the rest of the team was waiting upstairs in one of the rooms with all the gear. John fiddled with the walkie-talkie in his hand.
Let’s get on with it!
A wedding party was in full swing somewhere nearby, and the wall behind him reverberated with thumping techno bass. The prettied-up partygoers staggering past him at irregular intervals were clearly part of the country’s upper crust, and he was again amazed at the women’s style of dress, or lack thereof.
It was much more reminiscent of Los Angeles or London than Beirut, Britney Spears or Madonna than Mother Teresa. What did the hard-core Muslims in the country think of such immodesty? Then he reminded himself that a good portion of the Lebanese people weren’t Muslim.
Zothgar appeared through the hotel’s revolving front door. He didn’t look any more relaxed than the last time John had seen him.
“Ah, there you are. Please, we must hurry. Where are your men?”
John held up the small transmitter. “Right here. Where are you parked?”
“At the marina. Please…” Zothgar motioned to the radio.
John held it to his lips and pressed the button. “We’re on. Meet us out back at the marina.”
Sweeney’s voice came back, “Roger, five mikes.”
Zothgar led John to a nearby elevator. It was all glass and looked out on the pools below and the black ocean beyond. When the doors closed on them, John turned to Zothgar. “What’s wrong with driving to Sidon?”
“It is safer this way. There are checkpoints on the road, and the traffic is terrible.
“This will be the fastest way for us. Don’t worry. It is only forty kilometers, so we should arrive shortly after midnight.”
It was the answer John had expected, and it made a lot of sense—except it left them without transportation at the other end. “Once you drop us in Sidon, how do we get to our objective?”
Zothgar smiled again. “I have many contacts. A van for you to use will be parked near the docks. Once you have finished with it, simply lock it and leave it parked near the warehouse. I will send someone tomorrow to retrieve it.”
John studied Zothgar. How far could he trust this man? Well, shoot. What choice did he have? “Okay, lead the way.”
They exited the elevator and the hotel on the lower level by the pool, which was deserted except for one couple nuzzling each other as they looked out over the beach.
When his
men appeared, John waved them over. In silence the team followed the operative to the far end of the docks. The few yachts riding at anchor were dark. Zothgar stopped beside the berth of a somewhat run-down motorboat.
Sweeney eyed the boat dubiously. “You sure this is seaworthy?”
John just looked at him.
Sweeney shrugged and hopped into the boat. He turned and held out his hands for gear.
“Don’t forget,” Zothgar said. “A boat is harder to follow. I believe someone may have taken an interest in your presence here.”
Startled, John asked, “Do you know this for a fact?”
Zothgar shook his head. “Just, how you say, a feel in my gut. It pays to be cautious.”
John couldn’t argue with that. “Does the boat belong to you or to the Lebanese government?”
“The boat belongs to a friend of my cousin. I borrow it from time to time for fishing.” Maybe fishing was a euphemism for smuggling or drug running. Either seemed more in character.
It was the first time John had seen Zothgar smile, and he tried to imagine the little man with a rod in his hand. He failed.
The men quietly passed their duffel bags to Sweeney, then jumped aboard.
John paused with one foot on the gunwale. He glanced at the sleeping yachts, then at the motorboat. “Does your cousin’s friend keep his boat moored here all the time?”
Zothgar looked surprised. “Here? Oh, no. It is far too expensive. I had Mohammed drop me off at the slip where the boat is usually kept, and I drove it here. When I return later tonight, he will pick me up at its usual berth and take me home.”
Satisfied, John jumped into the boat and watched Zothgar slide into the driver’s seat. The engine chugged, paused, then idled somewhat smoothly. Then they were away.
The bright full moon made the sea shimmer like a vast sheet of silver lamé, torn neatly in two by the spreading, frothy wake. John watched the lights of the city recede as they turned south about three miles offshore.
“We shall arrive in Sidon in a little over an hour.” Zothgar held up his cell phone. “I just received a text message from a cousin who is waiting at the pier. He says the van is in place. He will call shortly with directions for how to get into the camp by way of a smugglers’ route. That way you will avoid the checkpoint.”
