Allah's Fire

by Chuck Holton

  Liz hated to admit it, but she really hadn’t thought that part out clearly. Her imagination stopped at the moment she and Julie wrapped their arms about one another, weeping in relief and joy. It was a picture haloed in gold, like the kissing scenes in the old comic books.

  The reality of her situation, the sheer stupidity of thinking she could rescue her sister from the clutches of a heavily-armed band of terrorists, suddenly hit her full force. Futility washed through her in great waves, threatening to drown her determination. “I…I don’t even know how I’m going to get in, let alone get her out.”

  The goatherd said nothing for a long moment. Honey’s gently tinkling bell was the only sound. Then, “Perhaps we could help.”

  “We?”

  “My goats and I.”

  She half sobbed, half laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “I don’t see how your goats can be of much help, but I really appreciate the offer.”

  “I was thinking I could use the goats to distract the guards at the gate.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “But that wouldn’t get you inside, would it? It is too bad we don’t have some way to get you up the cliff on the far side.”

  Cliff? A spark of hope burst into flame. “I’m a good climber!”

  “You are?”

  She nodded. “I’ve even taken lessons.”

  “But we have no ropes.” Anwar looked at her, distressed. “If you fell…”

  Liz shrugged. “A bad plan is better than no plan. Besides, I won’t fall.”

  The boy looked skeptical, but Liz didn’t care. “If you would be willing to distract the men inside, I could at least try to make it up and over the wall.”

  “But, Elizabeth, it is very dangerous.”

  “Yes, it is. But I don’t have a choice. I must try to free my sister.”

  As she and Anwar walked toward the fortress, there was no way Liz could believe their unexpected meeting was a coincidence. Thank You, Father.

  She might have lost whatever help John could give—and that was not a heart pang she felt, at least not one over him; it was not—but she’d gained another ally. She glanced at the animals trailing them. Allies.

  “God has sent you to me, Anwar.”

  He beamed at her. “You think so?”

  Liz nodded. “I do, most definitely.” They continued in silence for a few minutes. “Do you get lonely working out here alone?”

  “Sometimes. Normally one of my brothers or even my older sister would help me, but…” he paused, and Liz thought she saw a painful sadness in his face, “…my family will no longer allow it. They will not send any of my siblings out with—” He hesitated again, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say what he wanted to, “—an apostate.”

  “An apostate?” Fascinating. “What do you mean?”

  “I chose to leave the faith of my father and become a Christian.”

  “Did you, now?” Liz knew he’d made a choice that had great ramifications for him. Conversion was the ultimate disloyalty. “Then we have something in common.”

  He brightened visibly. “You are a Christian, too? A true Christian, a believer in Jesus?”

  “I am a true Christian,” she assured him. “How did you become a believer?” She loved faith stories and listening would keep her mind off Julie and the idiocy of what she was trying to do.

  The boy sighed. “I am the oldest son of my father. When I was born, as is our custom, he took the name Abu Anwar.”

  “The father of Anwar,” Liz said. “I’m familiar with this custom.”

  “Yes, and even from a young age, I knew that I wanted to honor him. So I asked to go to school. I wanted to become a Muslim cleric and make my father proud to wear my name. So though we are poor, my father sent me to a madrasah in Sidon to study. We spent day after day there memorizing the holy Koran. I was the best student; I memorized my verses well. But one thing began to bother me. The Koran says that Jesus was sinless. But when Allah talks to Mohammed, He tells him to repent of his sins.”

  “How very interesting.” Liz had never heard that before.

  “It bothered me for many weeks. Why would we follow the example of Mohammed, who made mistakes, instead of following Jesus, who was perfect? Then one night I had a dream. I was standing before Allah, and I begged him to allow me into paradise. But he refused. I was crying and asking why, when I had been a good Muslim? He replied that I was not hairy enough.”

  “Not hairy enough?” That was another new one.

  “Yes. We were taught that Mohammed said that God loves the hairy, strong man and the unhairy, sweet, soft woman. But I was not hairy. In my dream, I cried and cried and said, ‘But why did you make me this way?’ Then I turned and saw Jesus, wearing a white robe. He said, ‘Come to me. I will love you just as you are.’

  “When I woke up, I gathered my things and left the madrasah. I took a bus back home. I had decided to believe in Jesus. But as I expected, my family was very unhappy. My father stopped using my name, and I am not allowed in the tent. I only live with the animals.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “No.” Anwar shook his head. “I thank God every day for allowing me to know the truth. In my life is much hardship, and the people here treat me as an outcast, so now I must always trust God, because He is all that I have. And I have found that He is enough. I have a lot of time to pray out here.” He spread his hands, taking in the flock and the valley.

  All things working for good, Liz thought. God’s definition of good. Anwar was being given a marvelous gift in the opportunity to get to know God in a deep way. God didn’t make his family reject him, but He turned the rejection to Anwar’s benefit.

  That’s how I should look at this, isn’t it. Lord? For Julie and for me, this is an opportunity to develop our spiritual wings and take flight as never before. For us that is how You are redeeming Khalil’s death and Julie’s captivity.

  Anwar was silent for a minute. Then he said, “God has put us together for a special reason, I think. Come, let us pray about it, and then we will finish our walk to the fortress. Perhaps He will show us a better solution.”

  Praying was the best idea she’d heard yet. With the goats pressing in on Anwar and Honey standing guard, Liz and the young goatherd bowed their heads and asked for God’s help. When she finally raised her tear-streaked face again, somehow Liz felt better.

  Zebdine

  John held out a wad of Lebanese bank notes, offering them to the pharmacist. “Permittez-vous me payez pour le telephone.” He was taxing his limited French to the hilt but still feared he was offering to buy the man’s telephone instead of offering to pay for its use. He wished Liz were here to translate into Arabic, but he decided to let her sleep.

  The pharmacist held up his hands and refused to take the money. “Non, Dieu fornit. C’est mon honneur a servir.”

  John shrugged and put the money back in his pocket. He understood the words about it being an honor to serve, and something about God. Clearly the pharmacist was a man of principle and didn’t want the money. No matter. John would just hide it under the pillow in the kids’ room before they left.

  He reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Merci bien. Vous avez la couer de lion.”

  The man grinned broadly and went to join his now-sleeping wife and children in the bedroom.

  John felt pleased as he wandered back to the living room. He’d finally connected with a duty officer at group headquarters. If Valor made it out of here, he’d probably get reprimanded by some armchair general for giving his grid coordinates over an open phone line, but at this point he didn’t care. Whatever worked.

  With any luck, his message had already been relayed to H-5, and the major now knew their plans to lie low until the following night. With a bit more luck they could evade their pursuers, and in little more than twenty-four hours be en route to an aircraft carrier in the Med with an escort of Navy SEALS. In the meantime they were fed and hidden, as safe as they could hope to be.

&nb
sp; Thanks to Liz. He smiled at the thought of her. She was very unhappy with him at the moment, and he would have to do some fancy dancing to win back her favor. Waltz, two-step, fox-trot—it didn’t matter. He looked forward to matching wits with her and being blessed by one of her wonderful smiles.

  He glanced at the closed bedroom door. He’d better stop mooning and get some sleep himself. One look at Sweeney laid out asleep on the floor in front of him, cuddling his weapon like a kid cuddled a teddy bear, told John that for once they’d be well rested when it came time to move again.

  Rip had been poring over the map on the kitchen table, and now he refolded it carefully. “I’m going to hit the rack, Coop. Wake me up if you need me.”

  John nodded. “Okay. We’ll keep one man on the phone at all times, as I expect they’ll be calling back shortly. I’ll take the first hour and post a roster by the phone. Since Doc, Frank, and Hogan have already been out for a while, I’ll put them on first. You should be able to get at least four hours solid.”

  “Shoot, that’s more than I get at home.” Rip headed down the hall. He entered the bedroom, then stuck his head back out. “Hey, you want me to sleep on the floor and save this last bed for Liz?”

  John wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean? She’s already in there asleep.”

  Rip shook his head. “I only see three bodies, and none of ’em is a hot mama.”

  “What?” John strode down the hall. When he reached the bedroom, he flipped on the light. Doc, Hogan, and Frank all sat up, shielding their eyes.

  “Turn that thing off, Coop!” Doc ordered.

  “It’s not time to get up already, is it?” Hogan asked around a yawn.

  “Just because you aren’t sleeping, Cooper, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t want to knit up our raveled sleeves of care,” Frank muttered.

  “What?” Hogan demanded as they all looked at Frank. All but John. He stared at the empty bed.

  “Shakespeare, you unwashed pagans.” Frank pulled his pillow over his head and immediately fell back to sleep.

  John’s stomach did a slow pitch and roll. He spun back into the hallway and flipped on the light in the small bathroom. Again, no Liz. It didn’t take long to search the small apartment. No Liz anywhere.

  Then it hit him. Julie!

  “Why, you little…”

  He ran to the window and searched the street. He saw no movement, but it was completely dark outside. If she stuck to the shadows, he might not see her.

  “What’d you say?” Sweeney sat up behind him. “What’s going on, Coop?”

  John gripped the windowsill, willing Liz’s figure to appear. It didn’t. He imagined her out there in the darkness, alone, going to find Julie because he wouldn’t. “It’s Liz. She’s taken off.”

  He heard Sweeney’s contemptuous, “Pfff. I knew she was gonna git herself killed.”

  John glared at Sweeney. “Not if I can help it.” He started for the bedroom to get his gear.

  Sweeney caught up with him in the hallway. “Coop,” he whispered in deference to the others sleeping, “what are you doing?”

  “Going to find her.”

  Sweeney snorted. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  John put out a warning hand. “Stay out of my way, Bobby.”

  “Listen, man. You’re the team sergeant, and you know I’d follow you to the gates of hell in gasoline-soaked underpants if you asked me to. But I gotta tell you, I think you’re lettin’ your feelings for this girl cloud your judgment.”

  John just stared at him.

  “I know she’s a friend of yours, and anyone can see she’s a pretty thing. Anyone can also see you’re taken with her.”

  John couldn’t deny it.

  “But we got a job to do, Coop! Right now that job is to get ourselves out of this country so we can track down the ITEB.” Sweeney’s face was hard, but his eyes told John that he sympathized.

  John sighed. “What do you think I should do?”

  “I say let her go off if she wants to. She’s a big girl.”

  John sighed again, then shook his head. “I can’t just leave her, Bobby. We brought her down here. She’s our responsibility now. You stay here and man the phone, and I’ll go look for her. She can’t have gone far.”

  Sweeney scowled. “You’re making a mistake, Master Sergeant.”

  “Maybe so, Sweeney. Maybe so.” John hefted his rifle and turned toward the back door. “But sometimes there’s no choice.”

  The Fortress, Southern Lebanon

  LIZ AND ANWAR SEPARATED when the fortress was still a half mile away.

  “It will take me at least thirty or forty minutes to move my herd around to the gate. That should give you plenty of time to get up the wall. When you hear the bell of my Honey, you’ll know it’s time to seek your sister.”

  Liz took a deep breath. “Okay. And thank you.”

  Anwar stopped and looked back at her. He smiled. “It is an honor to help a sister in need. I only wish that we were able to spend some time worshipping our great God. If not on this side of heaven’s gates, then on the other.” Then with a princely bow, he disappeared into the darkness, clucking and cooing at his flock.

  While he and his herd moved up the hill that would lead them to the gate, Liz moved toward the shadows at the base of the cliff. The closer she got, the more terrified she became that someone would see or hear her, though it wasn’t likely over the increasingly loud bleating of the goats. Whatever Anwar was doing to stir them up was working.

  Static crackled, making her jump.

  “Task Force Valor, this is Solo-Four-Four. Come in, Valor.”

  Liz spun, looking behind as her heart pounded. No one was there.

  “Task Force Valor, this is Solo-Four-Four. Come in, Valor.”

  Liz blinked. The disembodied voice was coming from her skirt. The radio Rip had given her when she had crossed to the pharmacist’s!

  She reached into the pocket and pulled the radio free. At first she just stared at it. Should she say something? Shut it off so no one in the fortress would hear it?

  “Task Force Valor, this is Solo-Four-Four. Come in, Valor. Please come in.”

  Liz heard an edge of desperation in the crackly voice. It was nice to know that Valor’s people were as concerned about contacting Valor as Valor was about contacting them. This was the opportunity John had been hoping for. She remembered the button Rip had shown her and pushed. “Uh, this is Liz Fairchild speaking.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then the voice returned. “This is Solo-Four-Four. Please identify yourself, over.”

  “Uh, my name is Elizabeth Fairchild. I’m an American.”

  “Copy, you are American. What are you doing on this net, over?”

  “I’m with your men, or at least I was. They gave me one of their radios. They are trying to telephone Fort Bragg from a house back in Zebdine. Uh, where are you?”

  “Okay, say your name again, please.”

  “It’s Elizabeth Fairchild.” She thought she could hear a buzzing sound, like a gas-powered weed eater, somewhere high above her. Liz studied the sky for a moving light that meant a plane. “I can’t see you. Are you in a plane?”

  “Stand by.” A moment passed, then the voice returned. “Listen, Elizabeth. We need your social security number, please. Over.”

  “What?” Then it dawned on her. They needed proof that she was who she claimed to be. That made sense. An American woman in the middle of the Lebanese countryside in the depths of night was probably the last thing they expected. As far as they were concerned, it could be a trap or a disinformation kind of thing.

  She keyed the mike. “Okay, here it is.” She recited the number.

  “Thank you. Wait one.”

  Liz shivered in the cool night air as she felt the seconds tick past.

  “Elizabeth, this is Solo-Four-Four. We’ve confirmed your identity, thank you. Now listen, we need you to get one of our operators on the radio right away, over.”

/>   “Sorry. Can’t. I’m not with them anymore.” No thanks to Team Sergeant John Cooper.

  She climbed over a bunch of fallen stones that had tumbled from the walls sometime in the last several hundred years or so, using one hand for balance while the other held the radio.

  A creature about the size of a house cat startled at her passing. She wasn’t sure who jumped higher, the animal or her. She watched it scamper away and thought it might be a hyrax. No way was that little animal’s closest relative an elephant, no matter what the zoologists said.

  She pushed the radio button again. “I’ve got to get my sister.”

  “Say again, over?”

  “Julie Assan.”

  The radio was silent for a moment, then, “I copy you said Julie Assan? She’s the hostage they’re showing on television?”

  She tried mimicking the professional tone of the voice. “That is correct, over.” It felt silly talking that way.

  “Where did you say the team is?”

  “They’re in Zebdine.”

  “Zebdine, roger. Listen, Elizabeth. You should go back there now.”

  “Sorry, I can’t. I…I won’t. I’m going to go now. The goats will be at the front gate soon. I’ve got to climb the wall.”

  “Goats? Wall? Say again, over?”

  “Look, I don’t have time to explain. I hope you find your team, but I’ve got to go. So, uh…bye. Or ‘over’ or whatever you’re supposed to say.”

  Liz turned the knob on the top of the radio until it clicked off, then dropped it back into her pocket. She moved close to the wall of the fortress. It towered above her.

  Okay, girl. Let’s do it.

  Somewhere Over Lebanon

  Mary Walker tore the headset off and let out a stream of words that would have made even her father scowl in disapproval. Immediately she cringed and her face flamed. She never talked like that. Hopefully the drone of the C-130 was loud enough to mask her outburst.

  What just happened? No sooner did the UAV get over Lebanese airspace and start broadcasting than they got a reply from this…this girl? Elizabeth Fairchild? It had only taken a moment to radio her social security number back to Langley and verify her identity, but that still didn’t explain how she happened to be in southern Lebanon with one of Task Force Valor’s radios but without the team itself.