by Chuck Holton
An hour later, sitting at Michael’s regular table at the members’ only dining area at the Army Navy Club in downtown Washington, Senator Dane Herger spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Michael, you know I can’t discuss defense department issues with you—even if you did have a top secret security clearance.”
LaFontaine noticed that the senator hadn’t touched his garden salad with buffalo mozzarella and red pepper vinaigrette. Neither had he yet had a bite of the beef medallions with shiitake mushrooms that were fast growing cold in front of him. The good senator had been too busy two-stepping, trying to tell him no without losing his campaign funding.
Politics was an intricate dance, one whose steps Michael had been practicing for years. And from the small beads of perspiration forming on Herger’s brow, it was clear who was leading. But he was losing patience.
“I don’t want you to discuss anything, Senator. I want you to listen. LaFontaine Industries’ new pharmaceutical plant could bring a lot of jobs to your district—or not. I’m not asking you to do anything unethical or illegal. I’m simply saying that a unit very near and dear to my heart has been abandoned by this government in hostile territory in South Lebanon.”
Herger looked as if he’d just swallowed his fork. “Where are you getting this information, Michael? Don’t ask me to confirm anything because I…”
Michael held up a hand. “I don’t need confirmation, Dane. I need action. My understanding is that somebody decided that their own backside was more important than some of our boys on the ground. That needs to change immediately.”
The ruffled senator nodded, staring at his uneaten food. He appeared to have lost his appetite completely. “I’ll see what I can do.” He rose to leave.
Michael affected a smile and watched him go. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said quietly to the senator’s retreating back.
His own meal was delicious.
Zebdine
There’s no place like home. And this sure isn’t it.
John fought to keep from ripping the telephone out of the wall. Another unsuccessful attempt to call out. Aside from the fact that the phone was probably older than he was, it seemed like the black ceramic instrument knew it was Valor’s only hope and was toying with him because of it.
He reminded himself how generous it was for the pharmacist to have allowed them into his home at all. If he were in the man’s shoes, risking his livelihood, his family, and his very life to take in a ragged bunch of armed strangers, John doubted if he’d be as willing. He was humbled by this man’s generosity.
Still, they should have been back at H-5 long ago. He should be sitting in the Ops tent, sipping a cup of that nearly toxic swamp water they called coffee. Instead, he was about to eat in the tiny kitchen of a Lebanese druggist. Not that that was all bad. The smells wafting from the kitchen said that this family was preparing a veritable midnight feast, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Unfortunately, good food would do little to quench the brooding sense of failure that had been building in him. No matter what he did, they kept getting farther and farther from their objective.
It wasn’t just being out on their own or being attached to the CIA that made this operation feel different. Something was wrong inside, something he couldn’t quite define, but neither could he ignore it. Something hadn’t felt right about John Cooper since they’d landed in Jordan three nights before.
He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe it did have something to do with how he’d felt since Doc James died. Then the talk with Liz had triggered the memory of Drill Sergeant Febus forcefully asserting that difficulty made one’s life better.
To his military mind, that made sense. Soldiers chose to endure hardship all the time in order to be fit and competent to handle the rigors of the job. Hardship in training brings victory in battle. Sweat saves blood. Who had first said that? Patton?
But did God operate that way, too, allowing His children to face hardship in order to get better? Liz seemed taken with the idea. But better for what? So they could win some future battle? Doc sure didn’t win. His life was cut off in its prime. Where was the victory there? Liz had said maybe they weren’t meant to understand because then they wouldn’t need faith. But John couldn’t live with that. He needed something more.
Where’s the victory, God?
He checked his watch. Almost 0100 hours. That meant it was nearly 8 P.M. back at Bragg. There probably wouldn’t be anyone at the shop, but the 3rd Special Forces HQ would certainly have a staff duty officer around. All John had to do was make the phone system cooperate and actually connect with him! So far, all he’d gotten was a strange busy signal or a cranky French-speaking operator and then a busy signal.
As much as he hated to admit it, they would have to walk out of here, at least until they got a little closer to the coast, where there was more traffic and a vehicle wouldn’t be so noticeable. The simple truth was, there were just too many Islamic extremists in the immediate area who would like nothing more that to have a collection of Task Force Valor hood ornaments. The fact that he felt increasingly powerless to save himself and his guys only added to the feeling of desperation rising within him.
The strange busy signal sounded again in his ear. With a supreme effort, he refrained from putting his fist through the wall and gently laid the receiver back in its cradle.
Liz sat quietly in the dark after John bolted. She rested her head against the wall once again, and this time when her eyes closed, she let herself fall asleep. It was easier than wondering about John and worrying about Julie.
She had no idea how much time passed before she became aware of John shaking her arm. She just knew it wasn’t long enough.
“Wake up, Liz. Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Dinner’s ready.”
She batted at his hand. “Leave me alone!”
“Grumpy when you wake up, huh?”
“No! Ray of sunshine. Now go away!”
“Let her sleep,” someone said. She thought it was Rip. “I’ll eat her food for her.”
She snorted, eyes still closed. “Don’t you dare.”
John grabbed her arm. “Doc, get her other arm.” His voice was full of laughter.
“Hey!” she protested.
They pulled her off the bed and stood her on her feet. She swayed and slitted her eyes just a little. There in front of her with a disgusted look on his face was Alabama’s favorite son, scowling at her.
She wrinkled her nose at Sweeney, forced her eyes all the way open, and grabbed John’s arm for balance. She shook her head to clear the mists of slumber.
“I could sleep for a month,” she mumbled, her diction slurred.
“Couldn’t we all,” John said. “Now let’s eat.”
Somehow she maneuvered her way to the overcrowded kitchen. People sat at the table, stood leaning against the wall, or collapsed on the floor. A steaming pot of rice appeared, then disappeared at an amazing rate. Large platters of mankoushi were passed, the stuffed zucchini as delicious as any meal Liz had ever eaten. Baklava, its delicate pastry swimming in golden honey, was dessert.
When she felt she’d no longer die of starvation, Liz paused long enough to ask John, “Did your call go through while I slept?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to try again in a few minutes.”
Liz went back to her mankoushi as the pharmacist’s wife sat beside her at the table. “I am Nazira,” she said hesitantly in Arabic.
Liz smiled and answered in the same language. “I want to thank you again for letting us into your home. You and your family have been wonderful, and this meal is delicious.”
Nazira returned Liz’s smile shyly. “It is our honor to have you. We were afraid at first. We saw all those men in the street. There have been many robberies of pharmacies in this area recently, and we thought it was our turn. Even after they drove away, I was afraid.”
“I’m sorry you were frightened. They scared me, too.”
“So f
ar they haven’t hurt anyone, but you never know when that might change.”
“You’re right to be cautious.” Liz found it curious that the small village pharmacies were being robbed. Why not electronics shops or banks?
“It is very strange,” Nazira continued. “Apparently they only steal a certain kind of drugs—anti-inflammatories. This I do not understand. Morphine is worth much more, or several other drugs that bring a good street price, but they leave them alone. It makes no sense.”
“Anti-inflammatories?” Liz felt her blood fizz. “My sister takes those for her rheumatoid arthritis.”
Nazira nodded. “They are commonly used for such ailments.”
Liz forced herself to stay calm. “Have any of the thieves been caught?”
Nazira batted the air with her hand. “Oh, they won’t be punished. They are too powerful in this area.”
“You know who the thieves are?”
“Of course. We all know. They do not try to conceal their identities. They are brutal people, ruthless people, and unfortunately they are invincible. It would do no good to complain. Who would we complain to? Hezbollah?”
“So the thieves are Hezbollah?” Liz asked, surprised. Such petty thefts didn’t seem their style.
The woman clucked and shook her head. “No, no. Most of these terrible men I speak of are Islamic extremists who live in the refugee camps near Sidon. But they also use an old fortress near here. I think one of their leaders lives there. It is about five kilometers south of us on a high hill not far from the border with Israel.”
Liz heard a buzzing in her ears. “Ansar Inshallah?”
Nazira blinked. “I am surprised you have heard of them.”
Julie! She was at that fortress! Liz was absolutely certain. “How would you get to the fortress?”
“You wouldn’t. No one goes near it. These are not nice people.” With that pronouncement, Nazira rose and left to shoo her children off to bed.
Liz saw John standing in the hall near the telephone. She put her plate down, her baklava only half finished, and hurried to him. “John, I think I’ve found Julie!”
He was dialing a multidigit number. “Just a sec.” He pressed the receiver to his ear, a hand held over the mouthpiece to block the noise of thirteen people in a very small apartment.
She put a hand on his arm. “John, I need to talk to you.” Faintly, from the receiver there came the sound of a busy signal. John exhaled heavily, and his knuckles were white as he lowered the phone to its cradle.
He turned to look at her. “What do you want?”
His abrupt tone surprised and hurt, but she didn’t back down. She knew his frustration wasn’t really aimed at her. “I think my sister’s near here. Really near. We can save her.”
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, his gaze preoccupied. Then something in his face softened. He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.
“Look, Liz. I respect what you’re trying to do, believe me. But it just doesn’t work that way. I’ve been given a specific mission I must carry out, and right now that mission is to get my team out of this country safely. I can’t decide to send my guys off on a different mission, no matter how noble, no matter how important, especially one that’s likely to get us all killed.”
“But…” She couldn’t believe he was turning her down. This was Julie! Not only could she die because of his decision, but any budding relationship between her and John would die, too. The loss of Julie’s life would always be between them.
He held a finger to her lips. “Shh. I wish it were different; I really do. When we get out of here, I’ll do whatever I can to help you get help. You have my word. But right now I…”
She brushed his hand away. “By then it will be too late if it’s not too late already. They said seventy-two hours, and seven this morning will be seventy-two hours since the tape was first shown on TV. Please, John!” Her voice was thick with desperation and tears.
“We can’t, Liz.” He was kind, but his words were final.
She turned away, struggling for control. She would not cry, especially with a sneering Sweeney watching her. She managed to stop her chin’s quivering, though a lone tear slipped down the cheek John had brushed moments ago.
Even in her sorrow, she understood what he was saying. He had his orders and no choice but to follow them. He had to protect his men. Julie wasn’t Valor’s responsibility.
Julie was her responsibility.
She stepped past John without looking at him. She didn’t want him to read her grief or her intentions in her eyes. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”
“Good idea. We still have quite a night ahead of us.” He ran a hand over her bent head, lingering for a second at the nape of her neck. She knew he didn’t like disappointing her any more than she liked being disappointed.
She walked slowly toward the bedroom. Lord, come with me. Help me.
She checked over her shoulder. No one was watching her at all. John was the only one in view, and he was once again trying the phone. She continued past the bedroom and down the back stairs. She let herself out into the yard and ran south until she was out of town.
Julie, I’m coming. Hang on. I’m coming!
Lebanese Countryside
THE NIGHT SEEMED so much darker when she was trying to find her way through it alone. And scarier. But she could see a light ahead, high on a hill to the south. She figured that was where she needed to go.
It had become visible as soon as she was out of the village, a pinpoint in the distance. She understood more fully now why John and Rip had gone to such extremes when they had to read their maps. Light showed a phenomenal distance.
The ground was rough and hilly, covered with low scrub brush that scratched her ankles. A quarter moon sat low in the sky, giving just enough illumination to make the landscape before her blur into a thousand indistinguishable shades of gray. If her feet didn’t hurt so much, it wouldn’t be a bad walk at all if she was careful where she stepped.
She looked at the light again. Julie was there. She was sure of it.
A little bell sounded off to her right. A wind chime? She looked but couldn’t see a house, but that wasn’t surprising. It was probably tucked just over the next ridge.
She trudged up a rise and froze in midstep. Someone was standing in her path. When the dark silhouette didn’t move, she approached it with caution. A few steps more and she realized that she almost had a heart attack over the trunk of a long-dead tree.
She shivered from the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush. Get a grip, girl. Nobody’s going to be out working in the fields this early in the morning. Just take it one step at a time.
She concentrated on getting to the field of big rocks up ahead. When she reached that objective, she’d pick a new one. Taking a deep breath, she started down the gentle slope.
What she really wanted to do was sit down and cry. While she understood where John was coming from, she had been deeply hurt by his refusal to help. This was Julie, her sister, they were talking about. Surely a little side trip to free her from the radicals of Ansar Inshallah wouldn’t have taxed Valor too much.
The chime tinkled again, much closer this time. As she wondered about it, one of the rocks in front of her moved.
She screamed and the adrenaline came rushing back. Then all the rocks stood up and moved away from her in unison, bleating in alarm.
Goats. There must be a hundred of them. Then she heard the sound of running footsteps. Human footsteps. Another shot of adrenaline.
Liz tried to whirl toward the sound and back away at the same time. She succeeded only in stepping on her long skirt. She sat down hard in the dewy grass.
“Deery baalek!”
She looked up to see who was warning her to be careful. She stared at a boy, short and skinny and dressed in the flowing garment of a bedouin.
“Are you hurt?” the boy inquired in Arabic.
“La, shukran,” she said. At lea
st I don’t think so.
“Do not be afraid. My goats will not hurt you. They will not go near strangers. But be careful around Asal, my Honey.” He patted the largest of the animals, the one with the bell. It was a donkey with a pair of the longest ears Liz had ever seen.
“That’s Honey?” She pointed at the donkey.
“Asal. Yes. She protects the herd from danger. She is a very good guard donkey.” He grinned at the donkey and stroked its scruffy mane.
Liz watched the goats press in close to the boy but keep a good six feet from her. “You care for all of these by yourself?”
The boy stood a bit taller. “Of course. I am Anwar. I am fifteen years old.”
She smiled. “Of course. And I am Elizabeth.” She didn’t find the boy at all threatening. She had seen bedouin goatherds out in the country many times, and she knew that they spent the night with their animals.
She cast a glance toward the fortress. Julie, I’m coming.
“Why is a lady like you walking here in the middle of the night, Elizabeth?”
She looked again toward the fortress. Its walls loomed black in the wan moonlight, the silhouette faintly limned by an illumination within.
He followed her gaze. “That is an ancient Crusader castle, built in the eleventh century by Christian men to forcefully prevent the spread of Islam into Europe. If you could see it in the daylight, you would see that it is beautiful.”
“That’s why I’m here. That’s where I’m going.”
Anwar was shocked. Even Honey seemed to quiver at her words. “You cannot go there now. The fortress is being used by very bad men.”
She nodded. “I know, but I must go. They have my sister.” She began to walk, and Anwar and his flock followed.
“She is a hostage?”
“Yes.”
“The one they show on television?”
Liz’s heart caught. “You have seen her? Is she still all right?”
“She was last evening when we walked through the village.” He pointed back the way Liz had come. “But how will you get her out without being caught or killed yourself?”
