Allah's Fire
Page 34
Inside the Fortress
“What’s wrong now, Sweeney?” John asked.
“Vehicles coming this way—lots of ’em.”
John grimaced. “Any idea who?”
“Nope. But they don’t look friendly. Hogan saw a coupla armored personnel carriers. They’re already near the road to the fortress, so we’ve probably got less than three minutes. Oh, and there was a large explosion on the side of a hilltop a few miles from here just a minute ago.”
“Wonderful.” John reached down and grabbed the still-whimpering Imad under one arm. “Doc, help Liz with Julie. Rip, take charge of camera-boy, and Sweeney, help me with snapper-head here.”
“No problem.” Sweeney quickly slung his carbine behind him and grabbed Imad’s other arm. Doc picked Julie up in his arms and carried her out of the room, Liz tailing them. Rip and the camera boy followed with John and Sweeney bringing up the rear, half dragging, half carrying the blubbering terrorist leader between them.
“You think we can hold ’em off from inside the fortress?” John asked as they emerged into the courtyard.
Sweeney gave him a grave look. “Not for long. Buzz says there’s at least a hundred men.”
In the light of the rising sun John saw Hogan lying on top of the wall, looking through his scope toward the road. “Buzz! How long?”
Without taking his eye off the scope, Hogan held up two fingers.
John and Sweeney dropped Imad in a heap in the center of the courtyard. The young cameraman sat to the side, his back against one of the sheds. Doc set Julie on her feet near the second shed, and Liz moved to her side. She slid an arm about her sister’s waist.
“I’ve got her. Go help John.”
“Karima.” Julie held out a hand. “Come stand with us. We’ll be out of the way here.”
John pointed to Imad and the cameraman. “Doc, keep an eye on them.” He turned to Frank. “Do we still have communication with the UAV?”
Frank shook his head. “I haven’t been able to raise them for a couple of minutes. I’ll keep trying.”
“Don’t bother. They won’t be able to help us in two minutes. What other assets do we have?”
“We found some RPGs in that shed over there.” Sweeney pointed to the far end of the courtyard. “And there’s a truck parked—”
“John, behind you!”
He whirled as the terror in Liz’s voice shot adrenaline through him. Emerging from one of the tunnel stairwells was a grizzled old man with a long beard that had once been white but was now matted with blood. His robed arm was already in midswing, and John recognized the water bottle in his hand just as he let it fly.
“Incoming!” Sweeney yelled.
The men dropped and rolled out of the way. Liz grabbed Julie and pulled her down even as Julie pulled Karima to the ground. The women huddled like three teaspoons curled on one another, Liz’s back exposed.
John dove at them, wrapping his arms around them and covering Liz with his body just as the bottle hit the ground and shattered, instantaneously transforming into a ball of flame. He pressed his face into Liz’s neck as the concussion and the flames washed over him, then slowly subsided.
He lifted his head and looked at Liz, her eyes squeezed shut. “You okay?”
She turned her head and smiled at him. “I’m fine.”
The other two women seemed fine, too.
His ears ringing with screams and the percussion of weapons’ fire, he scrambled to his feet. Multiple 5.56 millimeter rifle rounds had knocked the cleric off his feet. He landed on his back and lay still.
The terrible screaming continued. Imad.
The man writhed and rolled, but there was no escaping the fire. Then a weapon fired once more, and the screaming stopped.
John turned right to see Doc holstering his nine-millimeter pistol. He looked at John and shook his head. “No one should suffer like that.”
John was about to mention that Imad most likely would know an eternity of that sort of death when Hogan whistled from the top of the wall. “We’re out of time, boss!”
Just then the front gate was flattened by an olive-drab tracked vehicle. Its fifty-caliber machine gun swiveled toward John as the vehicle ground to a halt in the center of the courtyard. Immediately behind it, two jeeps full of soldiers entered and took up positions on either side of the armored personnel carrier. Green-uniformed soldiers jumped out, bristling with American-made M-16 assault rifles—all pointing at Task Force Valor.
Disgusted with himself and the outcome of his mission, John dropped his weapon and slowly raised his hands in surrender. The other men followed his lead. So did Liz and Julie. For a full sixty seconds, nobody said anything as more vehicles pulled into the courtyard until it was nearly full. John counted at least fifty guns pointed at him.
The hatch opened on the top of the APC, and a sunburned older man emerged, smoking a cigarette. Today he wore a military uniform instead of an ill-fitting suit.
Zothgar?
“Gentlemen,” the Lebanese operative said. “By order of the government of Lebanon, you are under arrest.”
What? “You can’t—”
The man held up a hand to silence John. “You will leave your weapons here, please. We will escort you back to Beirut for questioning. Then you will be turned over to your embassy and asked to leave Lebanon immediately.”
John was speechless. Rip, his arms raised, said, “You’re kidding, man, right?”
Zothgar ignored him. “We have reason to believe that the American hostage, Julie Assan, is being held somewhere near here. Our men will—”
Julie stepped forward, assisted by Liz. “I’m Julie Assan. These men just freed me. They are to be honored, not arrested.”
Now it was Zothgar’s turn to be speechless.
John, who now realized what was happening, had to smile at Julie’s unsubtle reprimand. Without lowering his arms, he nodded toward the tunnel entrance behind the body of the old cleric. “I believe you will find the explosives you’re looking for inside that tunnel. But I must warn you, some of the men left to carry out another attack before we arrived.
“Were they driving a black Mercedes?” Zothgar asked.
John looked at Liz, who nodded. He winked at her, and he saw her relax a fraction.
“Not to worry then.” Zothgar flicked his cigarette butt away. “The threat has been neutralized.”
“That explosion we saw?” Sweeney asked.
Zothgar gave an abrupt nod as he shook another cigarette from a crushed package he’d pulled from his shirt pocket. The rear hatch on the APC whined open. “We do not have much time. Please get in. We must leave for Beirut immediately.”
“What about the women?” John cast a glance toward Liz, feeling something stab at his gut. She stood beside Julie, her hands at her shoulders. All she had known from him was trouble, and that ate at him.
Julie suddenly staggered, and both Liz and Karima reached for her. Rifles swiveled, and the women froze.
John took a step forward to draw attention, and the rifles swiveled back. “Mrs. Assan has had a terrible few weeks. She needs medical care immediately.”
Zothgar signaled, and several soldiers stepped toward Julie. “She will be taken to the hospital in Beirut, and then returned to her family. Have no fear for her.”
“The other two will be returned safely home also?”
“Of course.”
Liz looked at John. “You have the addresses. Please use them.”
He smiled. “You have my word of honor.”
Zothgar issued some curt orders in Arabic. Then he turned back to John. “We will secure the explosives now. We will shortly issue a press release detailing the demise of those who were responsible for the Hotel Rowena bombing—and the rescue of the American hostage—all at the hands of our highly trained Lebanese commandos.”
John’s mouth curved sardonically. “Fine. Just tell your highly-trained commandos not to drink the water.”
To: reprtrgrl
From: jcman
I saw you on TV yesterday. You and Julie did a great job. It couldn’t have been easy to play dumb before the massed newsmen of the world. I was proud of you.
John
P.S. You clean up very nicely.
To: jcman
From: reprtrgrl
You’re right about how hard it was. I’m not good at playing dumb. Acting like Julie’s release was the work of the Lebanese army was galling, even though I’m sure you had no problem letting them take the credit. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would get along with the international press. I’m sure Julie and I sounded like idiots, but the ambassador helped, and having Charles and Annabelle there to hug us and cry helped, too.
Are you guys back at Bragg?
To: reprtrgrl
From: jcman
We got back to Bragg just before your press conference yesterday. Zothgar was glad to see our backs. I don’t know all the details, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my godfather had a role in getting us out of the country. I’ll tell you more about it when I see you. Sweeney and I went to McDonald’s last night and got two orders super-sized. Each.
To: jcman
From: reprtrgrl
I never thought I’d say I was jealous of Sweeney, but his getting dinner at McD’s with you turns me green. I won’t be back in the States for a couple of more weeks.
To: reprtrgrl
From: jcman
Are you jealous of Sweeney over dinner at McD’s or dinner with me? I’m sure I saw some golden arches when we were in Beirut…
Liz laughed as she read John’s e-mail and knew there was no way she would answer that last question.
“Let me tell you about last night’s dinner,” she wrote instead. “Julie told our parents that she had survived her imprisonment so well because she knew the Lord was there with her.”
Liz had rarely been prouder of Julie. Her sister was feeling better physically now that she was home and on her infusion treatments for her RA once again. She was slowly regaining the weight she’d lost. Liz could only imagine her emotional chaos, on one hand being glad to be free and in possession of her head and on the other mourning Khalil and her marriage.
“You have done so well, Julie.” Charles, pompous and clueless as ever but kind in heart, reached over from his place at the head of the table and patted her hand. “Such courage. You have made your mother and me very proud.”
Julie turned her hand over and held her father’s. “God gave me strength, Charles. I never would have made it without Him. He enabled me to survive.”
Charles blinked, straightened, then pulled his hand back. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Julie persisted. “I was afraid to tell you that I had become a Christian. I know how you feel about religion and people of faith, but I have learned that it’s total commitment to Christ that makes life worth living.”
Charles was clearly torn. He had just praised Julie for her courage. He couldn’t turn around and criticize the very thing she said gave her that courage.
Annabelle surprised all of them by saying, “I must admit, it was prayer that carried me through these past weeks. I’m not even certain who I was praying to, but if it was God, He was gracious enough to help me.”
“Annabelle!” Charles stared at his wife with more horror than if she’d confessed to bombing the Rowena.
“Oh, hush, Charles.” Annabelle waved her hand at her husband. “It’s not the end of the world to think about God, even talk about Him. Many intelligent people do.”
“None that I know.”
She shook her head in loving frustration. “What a terrible thing to say about your wife and daughters.”
Charles was shocked to speechlessness.
Liz thought of the day she had heard her mother pray outside the Assans’ home and her skeptical reaction to Annabelle’s words of despair. Shows how much I know. “Oh, Annabelle, the same God who helped Julie is the One who helped you. The Bible says that God is gracious and blesses both the just and the unjust.”
Her father was so insulted he all but sputtered. “Are you saying your mother is unjust?”
“No, no,” Liz said hastily, relieved to see that Annabelle nodded as if she understood what she’d meant. “I’m saying that God listens to all of us, and out of His mercy and goodness answers even those who don’t yet know Him well or even who He is.”
“Humph.” Charles clearly wasn’t satisfied, but he was momentarily placated.
“It’s going to be very interesting to see how things develop over the next few months,” Liz wrote John. “Very interesting.”
From: jcman
To: reprtrgrl
Julie’s story is wonderful, and it’s just one more thing that’s soothing my doubts about God’s goodness. You can’t push Him away, can you? No matter how hard I tried in my anger at Him over Doc James’s death, He always kept showing Himself in some way.
Your faith.
Julie’s faith.
Vernon’s faith—showing compassion, even in the act that took his life.
Even the glory of a night sky over the desert. Somehow it just speaks to me of order, of God’s plan.
I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why God allows evil and suffering in this world, and maybe that’s not even the right question to ask Perhaps I should be focused instead on how I can be a part of the solution—showing God’s compassion and grace through my own life, in my chosen profession. If I can focus on that, then maybe I won’t have to be in control of everything myself. I get too task-saturated that way anyhow. Even in the evil of the Rowena bombing I can see His hand in so many ways. I don’t think I can fight it—or Him—anymore.
Even writing that loosens the knot that’s been tied in my gut for the past weeks.
From: reprtrgrl
To: jcman
Welcome home, soldier
From: jcman
To: reprtrgrl
It’s good to be home. Speaking of which, when will you get back on U.S. soil? I’d like to invite you to stop here for a few days on your way to Philly. (Do you have any idea how many times I typed and deleted that last line?)
From: reprtrgrl
To: jcman
Another week, John. There are two more things to do before I can leave. Today Julie and I are going to visit Dr. and Mrs. Assan. The day after tomorrow I’m going to try and get back into Sainiq to talk with some more friends of Hanan, Nabila’s cousin, for my articles.
From: jcman
To: reprtrgrl
You be careful in that camp, Liz! I don’t like you going there at all. Last time was a bit of a disaster, wouldn’t you say?
I don’t envy you the visit with the Assans. Can you say emotional overload?
And what about an answer to the question I sweated over in the last message?
From: reprtrgrl
To: jcman
The visit with Dr. and Mrs. Assan wasn’t as bad as I expected. They were genuinely glad to see Julie, but it hurt them too. She’s alive and Khalil isn’t I’m glad I don’t have to go again.
And I’d love to visit you and the guys. (Do you have any idea how many times I wrote and deleted this answer?)
From: jcman
To: reprtrgrl
Glad things went so well with the Assans. Whatever happened to the Palestinian girl who was Julie’s nurse? Oh, and thanks for the answer. It’s the right one, but did you have to add “and the guys”?
From: reprtrgrl
To: jcman
Our embassy people talked fast and got Karima released with us. We brought her home where Nabila took her under her wing. We all had visions of another Nabila success story, but it was soon obvious that Karima hasn’t the intellectual curiosity or the self-confidence to deal with Beirut.
“But I don’t want to go back to the camp,” she told us, tears filling her eyes. “My father will just marry me off to another without concerning himself about my heart I don’t know what to do.”
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Nabila contacted the family who had cared for her cousin Zahra when she was pregnant Was there a place for Karima with them? Work for her? Yes, yes, they said. Send her to us. We will care for her.
Last week Julie and I drove her to these people who warmly welcomed her. It was easy to see that she would feel more at home there than with us. She will be free of the restrictions forced on her by her father and her culture but still surrounded by those who understand her, her upbringing, and her thought patterns. They’ll help her find as much or as little independence as she wants.
Why wouldn’t I want to see the guys again?
When Liz tried to write to John about her trip back to the refugee camp, she struggled with the words to convey what she felt about the interviews. At her request Hanan arranged for her to meet other women, ones who ardently supported the extremist Muslim position on women.
Liz had been both fascinated and upset by these women who were obviously very intelligent. They made Liz think of the strong Iraqi women who wanted to use their country’s new democratic process to overturn the family status laws that gave freedoms to women, laws that had been passed when the less religiously extreme regime of Saddam Hussein ruled.
“You believe a husband has the right to beat his wife?” Liz asked after several minutes of preliminary conversation.
A woman wearing a chadar nodded, only her eyes visible. “She is his property. He may do with her as he chooses.”
Everything Western in Liz shuddered. She fought to keep her voice nonjudgmental. “Even kill her?”
“If she dishonors him.”
“You believe that if there is a divorce, she should lose the right to her children?”
“If she has been immoral, yes.”
“But if the husband has been immoral, he never loses custody, does he?”
“Allah has made the man superior.”
All the way back to Beirut Liz kept thinking of the gracious way Jesus treated women, elevating them above the views held by the society in which He lived. And St. Paul taught equal respect of husband and wife for each other’s needs as well as mutual submission, respect, and love.