by Chuck Holton
When they had first arrived at the barn, which looked like it hadn’t been used in years, John and Sweeney went off into a corner and had a lengthy discussion in low hushed tones. John produced a map, and the two pored over it. Once they called Rip and his GPS into service.
They were undoubtedly planning their escape route. E&E Frank had called it—she couldn’t remember what that meant. Something and escape? Escape and something? Just so they were planning on taking her along. She shivered at the thought of being left here to get herself back to Beirut.
On the other hand, she might be better off on her own than with a band of armed men in flak vests and helmets who, as far as she could tell, didn’t speak much Arabic or know much of the local culture.
When John finished his meeting with Sweeney, he went around and briefed the other men. Then he came over to her and went to one knee beside her.
He looked tired, but he radiated an intensity, a confidence that made Liz feel safe. She smiled at him.
“Okay,” he began, “here’s the deal. As you know, we’ve lost communications with headquarters, which means that we can’t coordinate with them to get out of here. Our backup plan is to head to the coast south of Sidon where a SEAL team can come in and pick us up. We’re about twenty kilometers inland, near here.” He put his finger on the map just northeast of the town of Nabatiya.
Liz looked at the map. Nabatiya was where Zahra had gone to live while she was pregnant. It was located midway between the sea and Syria, smack in the center of southern Lebanon at the mouth of the Bekaa Valley.
“We’ll head back to the beach when it gets dark,” John continued. “How are your feet holding up?”
Liz considered her black leather flats. They had held up surprisingly well on the trek last night, but they weren’t made for hiking. The walk in the stream hadn’t done them any good either, and after their soaking, they chafed. She wished for a pair of heavy socks as a cushion. “I’ll be fine.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Uh-huh. Any blisters?”
She nodded. “Maybe one or two, but I’ll be okay.”
“Let’s have a look.”
She hesitated, embarrassed, then slipped the shoes off.
John cupped her foot in one hand and lifted it to inspect the sole, then the heel.
“Looks like you’ve got a couple of hot spots here.” He then inspected the other foot. His hands felt strong, and his touch brought warmth to her face as well as her feet. “You’d better go see Doc and have him put some moleskin on those places.”
“I will.” The last thing she wanted was to impede their escape any more than she could help.
He took her chin in his hand and turned her face so he could see her swollen and bruised eye. “While you’re at it, have him take a look at this, too. What happened anyway?”
“I ran into Frank’s rifle scope during one of Sweeney’s fine moments in the van.”
John grinned. “Does it hurt much?”
“I wouldn’t say hurt so much as feels weird.” And it undoubtedly looked great, too.
“Well, Doc can give you one of those instant cold packs to reduce the swelling.”
John stood, gave her a brief smile, and went to talk to one of the men standing guard. She watched him, struck by the thought that the qualities that had drawn her to him during their short friendship in Virginia Beach were the very qualities that made him a good leader of men. He was clearly in charge but without being abrasive. He wasn’t threatened when one of the others made a suggestion. He shared all the responsibilities and dangers with the men.
Though nothing had developed between them as she’d hoped, she was encouraged in a strange way that she knew how to pick a good man even if he didn’t choose her.
The road to true love was littered with potholes deep enough to swallow you if you weren’t careful.
She lay down, trying to find a comfortable position, something she concluded was a hopeless task. She ended up on her back with her hands behind her head, feet crossed at the ankles. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep in spite of her discomfort.
When she woke, stiff from sleeping on the ground, she stretched. “I’m going to walk around the barn a few times,” she said heading toward the door. She had to work out the nap’s kinks somehow.
John moved quickly, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “No. You’re not.”
She turned, ready to argue, but one look at his face killed her words. Of course she couldn’t go outside. It only took one person seeing her to endanger all of them. She nodded, understanding that as long as she was with them, he was in charge of her, too.
John smiled briefly and turned to Sweeney. “I’m going to rest a bit.” Sweeney nodded. John lay down and was asleep in a moment.
Liz wasn’t sure, but it looked like Sweeney was second in command. She smiled at him as she paced, trying to ease her cramped muscles, but he ignored her.
All around her the men sat or rested as if they had all the patience in the world. Liz supposed this was the result of their training. A large part of any military operation had to be waiting for exactly the right moment and then being smart enough to know when that moment came.
Two of the men were on guard at all times, one near the crumbling wall where there had once been a door, the other up in the loft, watching over the scrubby valley through an opening where the roof had collapsed. All in all she felt very secure.
When she tired of stepping over or around sleeping men, she slid down the wall, sitting near Rip who was on guard duty at the missing door.
“Hi, I’m Liz Fairchild.”
He smiled at her. “I know. I’m Rip Rubio.”
She smiled back. “Mr. GPS. How’d you get the nickname Rip?”
“It’s just the shortened form of my name. Like Rob is for Robert.”
“Really?” Try as she would, Liz couldn’t come up with anything that produced the name Rip as its shortened form. “I give up.”
“Euripides.”
She stared at him. No wonder she had drawn a blank.
“But nobody calls me that anymore, you know?”
“No?” She just bet they didn’t.
“No, ma’am. The last guy who did ended up in the hospital.”
“Used all your special training on him, did you?”
Rip laughed quietly. “Nope. That was, like, fifth grade or something.”
Liz laughed, then with a glance at the sleeping men, clamped a hand over her mouth. “So where are you from?”
“East LA. I grew up in the barrios. A whole lot different than this place.” He gestured outside, where scrubby hills stretched to the horizon. A flock of goats dotted a far off ridgeline.
“I bet.” That explained the Latino accent. “Probably not a lot of goats in Los Angeles.”
He shook his head. “I never saw a goat up close until we had to kill and eat one in Special Forces Selection.”
She looked out at the goats. “They say there are more goats here than people by a large majority.”
“There certainly aren’t many people. We haven’t seen a soul all day. But it sure is pretty here.”
“The Lebanese love the Bekaa Valley.” Liz gestured to the north. “It’s the fertile area of the country and produces wonderful crops. They’re developing an increasingly successful wine industry because the climate’s perfect for the grapes. It doesn’t look it, but it’s actually below sea level, hemmed in by the Lebanon Mountains on the west and the Anti-Lebanon Mountains over there.” She pointed toward the east.
“People vacation in the Bekaa. They go to see the scenery, enjoy the temperate climate, and bask in the beauty and history. You should see the ruins at Baalbeck. Fantastic.”
Rip looked slightly overwhelmed.
Liz smiled ruefully. “Sorry. That was my travel agent spiel.”
“So you’ve lived in Lebanon how long?”
Liz jumped on the question. “I don’t live here anymore. I was just coming over to…well…I was going
to research a story on Lebanese women, but then my sister…” Her voice trailed off, and she had to look away. Julie.
Oh, God, please take care of her!
Rip sat quietly and let her compose herself.
Liz took a deep breath. “I was trying to find her last night when you guys arrived.” She looked up at him. “Why were you guys there?”
He looked pained. “Sorry, chica. We can’t talk about that stuff, you know.”
“If you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?” The old joke came out sounding flat rather than funny, but then Liz no longer felt funny.
“I can say that I hope your sister gets out okay.”
Tears welled in Liz’s eyes at his kindness, and she suddenly didn’t feel like talking much anymore. She managed a weak “Thanks, Rip” before she moved off to another part of the crumbly old barn.
She passed the time by trying to compose the lead for her story about Zahra and the women she’d interviewed, but worry about her sister constantly intruded. Compounding her distress was the guilt that struck every time she thought about her parents. They must be going crazy about now, knowing that not one but two daughters were missing.
An hour later, the sound of a plane flying over caused John to sit up, instantly and completely awake. He rose and walked to the window. When he returned, he sat beside Liz, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. Apparently the plane had nothing to do with them because he looked completely relaxed.
“You’re doing a good job at waiting.” He smiled down at her.
She rolled her eyes. “This is very hard work, sitting here like this.”
“Actually it is.”
Feeling inordinately pleased at his approval and more than a bit self-conscious, she grabbed at the one interest she knew they had in common. “You been climbing much lately?”
“I wish.”
“What’s the matter? Did you scare off all of your climbing buddies?”
He gave a half-laugh. “No, nothing like that. I… I’m recovering from an injury.”
Her heart tripped. “What happened? Are you okay?” Dumb question. Of course he was okay, or he wouldn’t be on this mission. But an injury! Was he shot in the line of duty?
“How’d you…?” She caught herself. “Never mind. You probably can’t tell me because of national security or some such thing, right?”
He laughed quietly. “Something like that.”
The thought of him shot and in pain hurt her more than it should. He was, after all, just a guy she hadn’t seen in three years, a guy who had essentially stood her up.
“What happened three years ago, John?” The question slipped out before she could bite it back, and she flushed.
He looked at her for a moment, then lifted his hand and indicated the barn and the men. “Only then I was gone for nine months.”
Nine months? With not one word? “I guess calling someone while you’re on a secret mission sort of ruins the secret part of it, huh?”
He grinned. “Ever so slightly, though it wasn’t quite like this. I was stuck in the desert near the Iranian border, tracking down a man who was mass-producing car bombs.”
“Yeah, sure.” Liz chuckled. “That’s what they all say.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Liz didn’t know what he was thinking about, but she was wondering how a woman dealt with her man disappearing for uncertain lengths of time for the most dangerous spots on the globe.
“Just what exactly do you guys do? Besides keep the world safe for democracy, I mean.” She was half afraid of his answer. “In general terms I can understand, please.”
“We’re explosive specialists.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You mean like, you’re human mine sweepers?”
He grinned. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but sorta.”
“You’re nuts, all of you!”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to say that. But we’re also intelligent, charming, and dynamite to look at in our uniforms.”
She leaned back and eyed his dirty jeans and T-shirt. “So I see. Tell me, if you’re such a wonder, how’d you reach the age of what? Twenty-nine? without getting hitched?” He wore no ring on his left hand, but maybe it wasn’t allowed for some reason. She was somewhat mortified at how much she wanted him to still be single.
“I almost made that mistake once. Her name was Kim. We dated for three years.”
When he didn’t say any more, Liz couldn’t stand it. “So what happened?”
He studied his hands, as if what he was going to say made him nervous. “You and that nine month deployment.” He glanced at her to see her reaction.
“Me?” she squeaked.
“And the nine months. When I came home, I found Kim had decided I wasn’t worth waiting for and had married an insurance salesman.”
Foolish, foolish woman. “I’m sorry. It must have broken your heart.”
He gave a snort. “Not hardly. It was a relief. What really hurt was that you had disappeared.” He looked her right in the eye as he told her that.
Oh, my! Her pulse went from normal to overdrive in one second flat.
“I want all of your latest contact info.” He pulled a piece of paper and a pen from his vest. “So I don’t lose track of you again.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Later there might not be time.”
As she reeled off her e-mail address and her various phone numbers, she wondered what his last comment meant. Whatever, it didn’t sound good. “Do you get shot often?”
“Nah. I’ve never been shot. Shot at, yeah. Shot, no.”
She was confused. “Then your injury?”
“We’re an explosives disposal team, remember?”
“You got blown up?” Horror chilled her to the bone.
Suddenly he looked full of sorrow. “No, I didn’t get blown up.” He frowned. “I…I can’t talk about it.”
Can’t or won’t? Liz got the feeling it wasn’t because the mission was all that secret.
“Well,” she said, making her voice light, wanting to draw him back to the moment, away from his pain, “if we ever get out of here, I’ll show you this sweet limestone overhang I found north of Beirut. It’s only a five-seven, but it’ll curl your toenails.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I’ve met some really nice climbers here that we can go with.” If he was thinking they would never get the chance, he didn’t show it. He was grinning at her.
“That would be great, Liz. I’d really like that.”
Me, too. Oh, yeah, me, too. “Since you couldn’t climb while recuperating, what did you do?”
“Fishing’s my current way to unwind.”
“Fishing’s manly enough for a Special Forces guy? After all, it’s kind of passive compared to climbing.”
He nodded. “Anything that involves worms and fish guts has to be manly.”
“Point taken. Well, I can certainly see the need for you guys to have relaxing hobbies. Many nights like last night, and I’d be dying for something to calm me down, too.”
“Thankfully there aren’t that many nights like last night. Ninety percent of Army life is training and waiting.”
She eyed him. “What made you decide on the dull life of the Army?”
“Two things.” He grinned at her, the full power of his personality concentrated on her. She blinked. Wow! “One, I realized I had no talent worth speaking of.”
“Wait a minute there.” Liz held up a hand. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I was a highly skilled pool player, but somehow I think my father would have had a coronary if I announced I was going to become the next Minnesota Fats.”
She laughed. Charles would have responded the same way. “What was the second reason?”
John pressed his lips together, the laughter gone. “My father came home from an extended tour.”
Liz waited for more. When he said no more, s
he finally asked, “And?” She could see she had a lot to teach him about sharing.
“And we didn’t get along too well.” The flat tone in which he spoke said far more than the words.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Ouch.” John leaned his head back against the wall. “That’s when I decided I was not going to West Point. I was not going to be my father.”
“So where did you go to college?”
“I didn’t. I enlisted the day after high school graduation.” He smiled grimly. “I thought Dad would have that heart attack after all.”
“My father almost went into cardiac arrest when I told him I had become a Christian.”
He looked at her as if he doubted she was serious. “Now there’s a rebellious action if I ever heard one.”
“It is if you’re Charles Fairchild’s daughter. ‘Elizabeth Fairchild, have you lost your mind?’” She deepened her voice in imitation of her father. She gave John the short version of her experiences at UVA, certain she’d told him the long version before. He nodded as if he remembered the story. “Charles saw and still sees all religions as divisive and suitable only for weaklings. We never went to church.”
“I remember you telling me that before.”
“And I remember that you went to church your whole life.”
“I did.”
“How did a goody-goody church kid become a Special Forces guy?”
“Who said I was good?” His sly smile made her laugh.
“I think I was probably the goody-goody kid.” She wrinkled her nose as she thought of herself growing up. “I was always trying to impress God.”
“Well, if you have to impress someone…”
She grinned. “Even though Charles told us God wasn’t there, I spent a lot of time bargaining with Him. I’ll be good—or get great grades or clean my room or feed the poor—if You make Julie well. I kept bargaining even when the results were less than stellar.”
“She didn’t get well?”
“She didn’t, and eventually I decided my father must be right. Better not to believe in God than be disappointed that He didn’t come through. Julie still struggles with RA. I can’t imagine what this captivity is doing to her without her meds.” Liz’s voice was harsh with emotion.
