Edge of the Heat 6

by Ladew, Lisa

  “I’m a reporter,” she said.

  Ahhhhh. Many things clicked into place for him then. Both her demeanor and her GPS tracker. An American reporter in the Middle East during war time? She was trained in how to handle situations like this. She knew the risks long before she ever got here. And she had a failsafe, just in case. But she had to know what happened the last time the military had gone in and tried to save hostages, didn’t she? He opened his mouth to ask her when something in the air of the room changed.

  Heavy canvas rustled. Someone entered the room with them.

  JT went stiff, expecting the worst. If the person who entered had heard them talking and understood English, their ultimate fate might be coming sooner than they thought. He prayed it wasn’t so.

  Chapter 12

  Sara watched the middle screen in the bank of fourteen screens on the wall, a frown on her face. “You can’t get closer?” she asked.

  The unmanned drone operator, a young Army Corporal shook his head. “I can’t. We don’t go below 50,000 feet and it’s magnified to full capacity.”

  Sara bit her lip. She needed to see inside those vehicles, needed to know exactly who was in them. Or at least if it was men or women.

  “What if you went down to 30,000 feet? They can’t shoot you down that high up, can they?”

  The Corporal twisted in his chair and fixed her with a withering look. “Actually, they can, although I don’t think these guys have the right firepower to do it. But at 30,000 feet, the UAV will be seen, and I know you don’t want that.” He twisted back, apparently convinced that he had put her in her place.

  Sara didn’t bristle. She didn’t have time to take offense. She knew she was missing something here, but she didn’t know what it was. She was willing to look stupid to this young man, just to make sure she didn’t miss anything.

  “But aren’t you always flying drones over this area?”

  He shook his head. “Never. We leave that to Israel.”

  “And Israel’s drones are different than the U.S.’s drones?”

  He didn’t twist again, but he didn’t have to. Sara heard the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, very.”

  OK then, he was right. It would not do to let the terrorist group know the U.S. was watching them from above all of a sudden. They could move the hostages. Or worse, kill them.

  “OK, thanks,” Sara said, pacing behind the bank of comfortable chairs and monitors. Her plan was forming, but it was going to take a little longer if she had to do some of her surveillance on foot.

  She heard someone enter the room behind her and threw a glance to the door. It was Craig. He lifted a hand in greeting and sat in one of the chairs in the back. He’d been doing that a lot. Offering her a sounding board, support, bringing her water and food. She appreciated it, but wished it was Jerry. Jerry hadn’t ventured into the control room yet. And every time he looked at her, his sad, fearful eyes broke her heart. He hadn’t asked her not to do it, and she was glad about that. He understood it, but he didn’t like it. Not at all.

  Another person entered the room, interrupting her thoughts. She looked back again. It was Farmer, her CIA contact. His slim, mousy face was pinched with worry. She hadn’t seen it any other way yet.

  “Bad news, bad news,” he muttered, bringing a cloud of negativity in with him. Over his right shoulder, she saw Craig clasp his hands to his face and widen his eyes in an “oh my God!” look. Sara smiled in spite of herself.

  “What’s the bad news?” she asked, her voice gruff. He seemed to respond better that way.

  “The base is low on helicopter teams. It seems they are all out on assignment and won’t be back for days. There’s four helicopters on base, but barely enough crew to man them. They have one full team here, but one of the door gunners is sick. The pilots won’t go out without two door gunners.”

  “Can’t they just train someone?”

  Agent Farmer widened his eyes and ran back out of the door without a word.

  Sara pressed her lips together. He was downright useless when it came to independent thinking. And if she hadn’t asked for the job he would have been in charge of finding and freeing the two hostages without getting them murdered? She shook her head in irritation. There must have been some mistake. They must have just given her anybody, not the real intended leader of the mission.

  Sara continued to pace. She knew where she was going. She knew what her plan was once she got in the base, which was really nothing more than an old bombed out fort with a big tent for a roof, and she knew what the plan was once she got Sergeant Taylor and Daniela Clarkson out of the base and a safe ways away. Pilots refusing to fly would be bad news definitely, but she didn’t think it would come to that. There was always a way to get a bird in the air.

  Now, all she had to figure out was how exactly to get into the terrorist base camp without being noticed. She still didn’t know for sure that there were women traveling each day in the caravan from the mountain city of St. Marin to the base camp where the Americans were being held. But she thought it was very likely. If there weren’t, her plan was shot. But she would deal with that when she had to. For now, she needed to make sure —

  Agent Farmer rushed back into the room, shaking his head. “Oh no, oh no, they can’t train anyone. The pilots won’t fly without two experienced door gunners.”

  Sara set her jaw. What now? Behind Farmer, she saw Craig stand up. He held up one finger, as if to say wait a moment, and then he walked out the door.

  “OK, Agent Farmer. We’ll figure out a way around that. Are there any other issues?”

  He shook his head. “Good.” She turned back to the monitors, hoping Agent Farmer would get the hint and disappear for a while. She couldn’t think with him hanging around. His black mood and nervous energy sapped the life out of her. This was why she liked to work alone.

  On the monitor, three vehicles bounced across the desert, almost to their destination. She would watch closely as the occupants got out, but from 50,000 feet a robe was a robe and a head covering was a head covering. There was no way to distinguish men from women.

  Sara heard the door whoosh open one more time. She turned to see Craig and Hawk entering. Hawk strode to her. “I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Fly the mission. I flew as a door gunner in the Army.”

  Sara calculated quickly in her mind. She wondered if Vivian knew he was volunteering for this. She also wondered if something happened to him, if Vivian would blame her. And hate her. She sighed. Relationships complicated things in the worst way.

  She cocked an eyebrow at Hawk. “If we need you, and the pilots will take you, you’re in.” She looked around the large room. Farmer was gone.

  “When Farmer comes back ask him to take you to the pilots and see if they will let you fly.”

  Hawk nodded. He and Craig sat down. Sara felt a rush of affection for both men. She didn’t know them well, but they were good guys, she knew that much. Hardworking and useful. A great combination. She smiled. Of course Jerry would have friends like that.

  Her smile slipped at the thought of Jerry. She was leaving in a matter of hours. What was it going to do to him?

  Chapter 13

  Sara packed quickly in the tiny barracks room she shared with Jerry. Jerry watched her closely from the chair, his eyes masked. For the first time since the cabin, she felt they didn’t know what to say to each other. They had made slow, passionate love several times in the officer’s quarters on the C-40B special mission aircraft during the 18 hour flight from California to Kuwait, stopping only to sleep and eat. Jerry had seemed insatiable, and she knew why. He was afraid those hours were his last time with her. That she was going to die out here in the desert. There certainly was a chance she would. She knew that. But there was always that chance, even walking down the street. Sara tried to never live her life from fear.

  A knock on the door startled Sara out of her thoughts. Agent Farmer stood there, waiting for her message for t
he Military Intelligence Officer. She handed the piece of paper to him, and let him go. She wouldn’t stand over his shoulder for this part. Soon, he would be on his own and he needed to perform like it. If he fucked up down the line somewhere, well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if he did.

  Agent Farmer read the piece of paper over, then looked at her. “This will be enough to see you through to St. Marin without a male escort?”

  Sara nodded. Traveling in the Middle East as a lone woman was certainly harder than anywhere else. But the restrictions on women and their relegation to second class citizen also meant she would be safe from scrutiny, as long as all of her papers were in order and she had the proper approval from a man. No one would think she was dangerous.

  Agent Farmer was traveling to the village alongside her, but there was no way she would travel with him. He practically screamed American. That was a persona she wanted to avoid at all costs.

  “OK, I’ll have the officer make the calls now,” Farmer said.

  “Thank you.” Sara closed her door and turned back to her bags.

  Jerry’s voice in the darkened room warmed and chilled her at the same time. “What if you don’t come back?” he asked softly.

  “I’ll come back.”

  “You’re sure? 100 percent?”

  Sara considered. “Maybe 85 percent.” She watched his face. 85 percent was good odds. Very good. But what would he think of a 15 percent chance of losing her? His eyes showed a brief flicker of something - fear? Anger? Sadness? She couldn’t tell.

  “What if they know you are coming?” he asked. “What if it’s all a trap?”

  “They don’t.”

  “What if something goes wrong with the plan?”

  “I’ve got enough bullets to take out everyone in the camp,” she said simply. If something went wrong, she would fight and she would call in air support and she would try to get home. And there really wasn’t any more to it. She knew he knew all of this. She thought he probably couldn’t think of anything better to say right now. Just like her.

  Sara arranged the last few items in her bag, then closed and zipped it. She crossed the room and climbed onto Jerry’s lap. His strong, warm lap. She lowered her face to his and kissed his cheeks, his ears, his neck. She felt him relax and respond underneath her. She focused her kisses around his mouth slowly, feeling the slight scratch of the hair on his face on the soft skin of her lips and cheeks. She loved the feeling of everything that made him a man against everything that made her a woman.

  Sara pressed her body hard against him, feeling him lift and shift under her. Too bad they didn’t have time for this. She had to leave in five minutes. He knew that, too. He caught her face in his hands and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t think you were going to stay home and play house, but it would have been nice if you waited at least until your ribs were fully healed before you put your head in the lion’s mouth again.”

  Sara smiled sadly. She felt the pain in his words. But she was who she was, and he said he accepted that. “I’m their only chance, Jerry,” she whispered back.

  He dropped his hands and leaned his head back against the chair. “I know,” he sighed. He lifted his head again. “Maybe when this is done we can take a vacation. A real one. Throw the phone away for a month. Not even pick up if it’s the President. Especially if it’s the President.”

  Sara curled her fingers in his. “Maybe.” She curled her other hand around her belly, and bit back the words that sprang into her mind. They would have been cruel. But she thought them again, fiercely. When I’m pregnant I’ll stay home. But even that wasn’t fair. Because she could be pregnant now. Only a few days pregnant, but pregnant still. They hadn’t been using protection.

  Instead, she kissed him again, a soft kiss full of withheld passion, then stood up.

  He pulled her hand. “I talked to the pilot who is flying you to Taba Airport. He says there is room for me on the flight.”

  Sara nodded. “OK, but are you sure it wouldn’t be easier for you to say goodbye to me here?” Jerry smiled finally, a typical, boyish, Jerry smile and her heart stuttered at how beautiful he was.

  “It would be easier, but it wouldn’t be right,” he said. He picked up her bag and held an arm out to her. Sara took it and let him lead her to the runway where she would be taking a plane to the most dangerous mission of her life.

  Chapter 14

  Sara looked out the window of her beaten-up taxi cab through the window of her niqab, the traditional Muslim veil that covered everything but the eyes. Wearing a niqab because she was mandated to by religious law, and not because she was using it as a disguise, made her feel vulnerable. She fingered the gun at her waist under her floor-length, shapeless dress and almost laughed at the irony of what she was planning to do. Although she was mandated to wear the niqab and long dress, it was also the perfect disguise and her current plan wouldn’t work without it. In fact, if Ali Musa-Elbenah, the leader of the NIB required his female servants to wear a burka, the Muslim covering for women that even covered the eyes, it would be the ideal disguise, and surely his downfall.

  Sara turned away from the window. The road outside was a normal, small road like any in the West. The desert looked harsh, unforgiving, and more mountainous than she had thought, but other than that, it was a typical, sandy desert. She flipped open the U.S. Government’s folder on Musa-Elbenah, looking for that one scrap of intelligence that might make the difference between success and failure. She read over what she had read a dozen times before without thinking about it. She couldn’t force the connections.

  Ali Musa-Elbenah, born September 30th, 1964

  Attended and ran Al-Jaroq terrorist camp

  2 wives

  3 sons

  7, possibly 8 servants

  The report listed possible names and origin countries on 5 of the 8 servants. Sara ran her thumb over the names of the two most likely candidates for what she had in mind. Both were from Syria, and both were under 23 years old. She had already requested Farmer investigate what families they might be sending money to in Syria or in one of the many Syrian refugee camps in surrounding countries that had sprung up after the Syrian Civil War had started.

  Sara studied the picture of the house and again wondered why he needed so many servants. It was not a particularly large house. She took out the files on the known servants and read their names. And then she read the passage that interested her the most.

  Musa-Elbenah acquires house servants from Syria and Lebanon. He may have bought two of them in outright slavery. The others seem to have been hired more or less willingly through labor recruitment firms spinning tales of a better life working for wealthy businessmen in Kuwait and Egypt. Stories circulate that he pays very low wages, but he has taken away these women’s passports so they cannot leave. There are also whispers that at least three servants over the last 10 years have died or been killed, 1 accidentally in a fall, 1 as the result of too-harsh beatings, and 1 possibly after a rape involving one of the sons. The servants were said to have run away, but this agent has been told by more than a few villagers (on condition of complete anonymity) that the bodies are all in the desert.

  Sara sat back and let her thoughts go where they would. More human trafficking. On the other side of the world. The details changed but the stories stayed the same. It didn’t matter that these were Syrian women and not Mexican women. She would go in and clean house, even if it didn’t happen until after the mission. She already had the President’s promise that these particular women and their families could find refuge in the United States.

  Sara closed her eyes and dozed lightly. The cab covered miles of dusty ground while her agile mind searched for connections and possibilities. She noted when the pavement turned to hard-packed dirt, but didn’t open her eyes. Her almost-awake brain saw the road from the sky, as a drone would see it from 50,000 feet.

  ***

  Sara checked into the St Marin Inn, the unlikely tourist destinatio
n in the Sinai Peninsula. She was surprised to see that it was a modern building, and not some ancient church or fort transformed into a hotel. A steady flow of tourists entered the area before attempting to climb Mount Sinai, which many believed to be the actual mountain where Moses received the Ten Commandments, and because of this there were three hotels in the small town. Agent Farmer was staying here too, but he wouldn’t check in for an hour. She wanted no chance that they would run into each other. The other hotels were nicer, but this was the one they picked because the East-facing wing overlooked Musa-Elbenah’s house. As an added bonus, this hotel owners and staff had the most welcoming attitude towards Americans.

  As soon as she entered her room, she went right to the window to see what kind of a view she had. From the top floor of the tiny hotel, she could see directly into the courtyard of the house that looked like a modern, tan villa to her. The walls looked to be made of solid clay or mud, and the rooms climbed on top of one another haphazardly, with the house itself framing and favoring the courtyard. Her view was as good as could be expected here. She just hoped it was good enough for her to pick out the most likely servant for her to impersonate.

  She settled in for an afternoon of watching the house, pulling the tiny but high-powered telescope and her customized laptop from her luggage and taking them to the window. Sara took out her satellite phone and checked in. Agent Farmer said he had just received a report that the caravan driving back from the camp where the hostages were being held was two miles out. Sara thanked him and hung up, determined to finish her preparations before the caravan pulled into Musa-Elbenah’s home.

  She opened a small plastic case that had been secreted deep in her luggage and began screwing together the pieces from inside it. This was her laser microphone. It would let her listen in on any conversations going on in the house. She set it up and turned it on, switching on her recorder at the same time. She trained it at the large window on the main floor and waited. Silence. She checked the other windows, but it seemed the house was empty. Did the entire household make the trek to the camp each day? Even the wives? Or were they inside relaxing. They couldn’t have to do much work with that many servants.