by Ladew, Lisa
Just as she set up her last piece of equipment, the three vehicles pulled into the driveway of the house (villa, her mind kept saying). She watched closely and marked each person who got out. The first vehicle was a small truck with a homemade camper on the back of it. One man and one woman got out of the front seats. Sara watched in astonishment as six women climbed out of the back with large bags. She could not tell what they were full of. The women and the bags must have been packed on top of each other. Each woman wore the same color robe and a niqab. One may have been wearing a burka but Sara couldn’t be sure. The women dragged and carried their bags towards the house.
The next car, a small sedan with oversized tires had two men in the front. Musa-Elbenah and a son? Or would he come home? Sara had an idea he was sequestered out there in the desert with the hostages. These two men took pots and dishes from the back of their car and carried them inside. And the last vehicle had one man in it. He carried nothing.
Voices rang inside the home. Sara heard a woman yelling and a man grunting. She pulled out her telescope and looked in the windows, marking the passage of the people from room to room.
As the afternoon wore on, Sara began to get an idea of the tempo of the house. She saw the women carrying laundry, washing dishes, and preparing food. The female servants wore the head coverings even in the house, which was going to make her job harder, but she wouldn’t worry about that until the morning.
As night took over, then deepened, the house quieted. After the last light went out, Sara laid down for a few hours of sleep, but she set her alarm for 3. She knew the servants would be getting up early, and she intended to be awake before any of them. Three lives, hers, Daniela Clarkson’s, and Jon Taylor’s, hinged on what happened the next morning.
***
Sara came awake in an instant and padded silently to the window. No lights were on in the entire town. She sat down to wait. When the first light came on in the first window from the house below her, she turned on her equipment. She watched the servants get up one by one and start their day. One woman had an extra-large soup pot cooking on each of the four stove burners while she made bread. Another woman folded laundry and packed it into the large gray bags that had been in the back of the truck the day before. No one spoke.
Sara checked the time. The open-air market was scheduled to start selling food and trinkets in 45 minutes. She dressed herself quickly, strapping guns to her legs and a flat pack around her midsection. She sent a silent prayer up to anyone who was listening that at least one servant would come out of that house today before the caravan headed out. She wanted to be on it today. She knew the terrorists could decide to kill the hostages at any time.
She sent an email message via the satellite phone to Agent Farmer. I am on the move. Tell me if someone leaves the house. Omit no detail about who and what they are wearing or carrying. They had radios, but she didn’t want to talk into hers, just listen. She adjusted her ear piece, thankful for the veil that would easily hide it.
Sara pulled the veil over her face and looked at herself in the mirror. The guns strapped to her legs were wound in fabric. It made them harder to get to, but also harder to see under the dress she wore. She bent, knelt, squatted and twisted in the mirror. Looks good, she decided. She strapped her favorite knives to her ankles and the inside of her upper arms, and left the room for the open-air market.
A narrow corridor over burnt sand provided a walkway between buildings. Vendors opened shutters and placed food, jewelry, paintings, and clothing on both sides of her. A few women walked the corridor with her. Sara avoided their eyes.
She walked the marketplace once, then wound her way back to the driveway of Musa-Elbenah’s home, walking past it to the hotel, and then out the back to the market again. She circled the path continuously until Farmer spoke in her ear. “Three women and one man leaving. The women are all wearing dark dresses and dark niqabs and carrying cloth bags that appear to be empty. The man is wearing a white dishdasha, no head covering. The man is getting in the small car. The women haven’t left the driveway yet.”
Sara blessed him silently. That was a good report. Maybe he had just needed some time to warm up to the mission. She hit the button on her radio so he would know she heard and quickened her steps. She wanted to fall in behind the women. Her plan depended on them separating.
The radio crackled in her ear again. “One more woman leaving. She is running. The other women have turned right towards the market. This last woman is wearing the same dark clothing and head covering. Stand by.”
Sara turned a corner and could see three figures in front of the house she’d been watching. A fourth ran swiftly out of the driveway and caught up with the women. Sara walked quicker, wanting to be close enough to hear their conversation.
“There’s something strange about the last woman,” Farmer said in her ear. “She is walking directly behind the others, very close, and she keeps reaching out to the woman in the middle but not touching her. She seems indecisive. Oh, never mind. She has the middle woman’s attention — OH!” The transmission broke and Sara held a finger up to her ear. Ahead of her, the women seemed to have stopped. Sara slowed.
Farmer came back on the radio talking swift, his voice pitched low. “Well, no wonder she was indecisive. The poor girl. When she got the middle woman’s attention, that old b-word turned around and hit her.”
Sara’s eyes widened. Did he really just say b-word?
The radio crackled again. “The b-word is yelling at her.” Yep, he said b-word, Sara thought, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips for an instant. “Now she’s pointing her finger at her. And now she threw something at her. I can’t tell what it is. The poor girl on the ground is grabbing it up. Is it paper? Everyone is walking again.”
Sara could see them. The three women that originally left the house together were in front, and the girl or woman who ran after was a few steps behind but seemed to be purposely falling even farther behind.
Good, Sara thought. Perfect. Now they just needed to separate. And then Sara would swoop in. Sara knew if she had to take a few hits from that old b-word, she would. It would be easy.
Chapter 15
Ahead of Sara, the four women entered the market. The first three walked straight on, but the woman at the rear went right immediately. Sara followed. The woman walked swiftly, pushing her way through the crowds that had appeared suddenly. Sara hurried until she was a few steps behind. The woman stopped at a stall with large ropes of meat hanging in front of her. In a surprisingly strong voice, she called out for 10 pounds of something red and dripping. The man wrapped her order and she moved on, secreting the meat in her bag.
Sara followed her for four more stops. She got spices, fruit, more meat, and pig’s feet. Sara watched her shove the last package in her bag and decided it was time to move.
Sara pulled the Arabic phrases she wanted to use from the back of her mind and rehearsed them. Then she stepped forward quickly. “Al anesah, Al anesah,” she cried, grabbing the young woman’s sleeve. “Miss,” she said again in Arabic. “Your Mistress, she needs you, it is an emergency!” She grabbed the young woman by the hand and pulled her through the milling people buying their wares for the day.
“What, what is it?” the young woman asked, struggling to keep the pace that Sara was setting.
“No time, you must hurry, your mistress is sick and needs you,” Sara said, almost running, projecting panic into her words.
They burst out of the crowd and Sara pulled her towards the hotel. Sara held down the button on her radio under her dress so that Farmer would know she was coming. “She is here, your mistress, she was taken here,” she hissed over her shoulder at the young woman, finally reaching the hotel and starting up the stairs to the top floor. The woman’s feet pounded loudly on the stairs. Sara winced but knew it couldn’t be helped.
When she reached the top floor she saw Farmer’s door standing open. Bless him, she thought again as she pulled the woman inside. Sara
pulled the woman all the way into the room as Farmer shut the door behind them. Sara caught her breath and watched the woman’s eyes as they took in the empty room, except for the obviously American man in the corner. The woman’s eyes widened in fear and she shrank backwards against the wall, her hands clutching at the one chair in the room and putting it between her and Sara.
Sara held up her hands and started speaking in rapid Arabic. “It’s OK. Your mistress is not here. I lied to get you to come here because I need your help. We will not hurt you. We are going to help you. You have my word that we are going to help you and get you out of that house. We are going to help you find a new life where no one hits you and you can make enough money to support yourself. We just need some information from you.”
The woman shrank farther into the corner and shook her head no. Sara could only see her eyes under the niqab, and they were filled with fear and disbelief, and possibly resignation. As if this had happened to her before. Sara hoped she didn’t start screaming.
She kept trying to calm the woman, talking to her, and asking her name. She offered her a chair, then offered her a soda and some fruit. The woman only stood in the corner, looking stricken.
Sara knew they probably didn’t have much time before the woman was missed by the other servants or the wives. Sweat trickled down her back. If they could just get her to say her name! Agent Farmer stood by the door, watching Sara. She didn’t know if having him come forward and talk to the woman would be a good idea or a bad one, but she was almost ready to ask him to try.
Sara tried one last time to connect with the woman. “What is your name?” No response. The woman pushed into the corner and closed her eyes. “Are you Aisha?” Sara hesitated but the woman did not do anything. “Are you Tira?” Her eyes flickered open and contemplated Sara, then she squeezed them shut again.
In English, Sara asked Farmer if he had found any information on Tira Sarraf. Farmer produced a file. Sara skimmed it. Jackpot! “Tira, your mother and your baby sister. We can find them and reunite you with them. You can go to America. We will take you all to America and give you homes and money.”
Tira’s eyes softened but stayed shut. Her eyelashes fluttered and Sara saw tears spill out. Now was the time to push hard.
“Tira, your mother and your baby sister are living in a tent in a refugee camp in Jordan. Your mother has spent all of the money you sent her and she doesn’t know how to find you now. But we have found her. We can get her out of there. We can pull them both out of there today, but we need to know for sure who they are and who you are.” Sara knelt down and spoke as gently as she could. “Are you Tira Sarraf?”
Tira nodded slowly, her eyes still shut, her cheeks wet. “And your mother is Nathifa and your sister is Shiya?” Tira nodded again.
Sara smiled and handed the folder to Farmer. “Tira, this man is going to start the process of finding your mother and sister and getting them out of Jordan. You could be reunited with them in a few days or even less, but it is very important that you listen to me. It is very important that you answer my questions and give me the information that I need. And we must be quick.”
Tira opened her eyes and looked directly at Sara. “This is about the Americans, isn’t it?” she asked, her quiet voice trembling slightly.
Sara sucked in a breath and looked at Farmer, wondering if he had caught that. His Arabic was not as good as hers. He drew his eyebrows together and gave Sara a slight nod.
“What Americans?” Sara asked.
“The man and the woman at Malakan.”
“Malakan?”
Tira nodded her head towards the North. “Malakan. In the desert. The fort.”
Sara studied her face, trying to determine how Tira felt about the Americans. She didn’t want to say yes and have Tira stop talking. But what Tira said next removed all of her options.
“They are to be killed today.”
Sara looked quickly at Farmer to make sure he got that one. His wide eyes and panicked look let her know that he had. Sara stood up quickly. “When Tira? When are they to be killed?” Her mind flipped through her options even as she was waiting for an answer. She didn’t have any, except the U.S. Military coming in, guns blazing. And that was almost guaranteed to end with Jon and Daniela dead in the ground.
Sara’s eyes finally focused on Tira again. She had shrunk back even more into the corner and was looking at Sara fearfully.
Sara knelt and held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Tira, I got excited. Do you know when they are to be killed?”
“Tonight, after the TV showing.”
“The TV showing?”
“Yes, you know, the cameras. They will put them on TV and say things. And then.” Tira slid a finger across her throat. Sara felt her stomach clench. Was she going to be too late?
“Do you know what time tonight?” Sara asked, trying to keep her voice low and even.
Tira shook her head. “Maybe after dinner. Hassan will bring the cameras. After the cameras, they will do it.”
Hassan. Sara recognized one of the son’s names. “There are no cameras at the fort right now?”
“No, Hassan will bring the cameras when we go.”
“Hassan goes with you when you go?”
Tira nodded. “Yes.”
“When do you leave to go to the fort?”
“We leave at 10. To feed all of the men.”
Quickly, Sara decided that the plan stood as it was. It could still work, even if the plan was to set up the cameras immediately, which she didn’t think it was.
“Listen to me, Tira, you are not going out to the fort today, or ever again. I am going in your place. And I need to know everything that you are supposed to do so that I can duplicate it. Will you be honest with me?”
Sara watched Tira’s eyes, looking for deception. She saw none. Sara prayed she could trust this girl, because everything rested on the information she was about to get.
She started asking her questions, writing down some of the answers. She worked urgently, knowing she needed to get back outside and finish the girl’s chores before she was missed. Tira seemed to warm up to the situation and answered the questions quickly and competently, without hesitation or guile.
“What do you do first when you get to the fort?” Sara asked.
“I stoke the fire in the big room and put four pots of soup on for the men in the evening when we are no longer there.”
Sara had her draw a map of the fort and point out each room and its purpose. As she drew the room where Daniela and Jon were being held Sara paid close attention and asked her for details of where each sat and how they were contained.
“Do you have any duties in this room?” Sara asked, tapping a pen against it.
“I give them water. I roll up their masks and give them dippers of water from the bucket. I give them as much as I can but some guards only let me give a little.”
“Do you feed them too?”
“They do not eat.”
Sara shook her head. They would be weak.
“Are they ever untied from the chairs?”
“Yes, when they go to the bathroom. But their arms are never untied.”
Sara shook her head again. They would be weak and unable to hold a gun. She just hoped she didn’t have to carry either one of them. That would be impossible.
Sara asked her last few questions, stood back, and motioned for Farmer to step forward. She wanted to be sure that Farmer could talk to Tira and Tira would answer. He could feed her information into her ear if necessary. They had a humanitarian unit on the way to take care of Tira, but she would need to stay with Farmer until the mission was done.
Farmer spoke soothingly to Tira in halting Arabic, and Tira held her composure. Good, Sara thought. Because my time is running out.
She motioned for Tira to come into the bathroom with her. “Tira, we need to switch clothes.” Tira came in hesitantly, and took off her veil for Sara, handing it to her. Sara smiled at her. She was lovely, excep
t for the fading bruises on her right cheek and neck, and the new bruise on her left cheek. Well, those would be her last bruises.
Sara asked a few questions while they were switching clothes, mostly to memorize the lilt and tone of Tira’s voice and the quality of her accent. She looked in the mirror almost satisfied with what she saw. Swiftly, she pulled the veil off and pulled black thread and a needle out of her pack. She sewed the eye opening of the niqab as small as possible before putting it back on. The next three hours were her most vulnerable. According to Tira, once they got in the back of the truck no one talked to her, and everyone went to sleep. So all she needed to do was perform Tira’s chores and make it into the truck without being noticed.
Adrenaline beat in her bloodstream at the thought. She willed herself to calm down, and said goodbye to Tira. With a few last instructions to Farmer, she headed back out into the hot desert air.
Chapter 16
Dani tried to stretch her neck and roll her shoulders and push away the growing despondency crashing down on her at the same time. She had been convinced that the troops would rush in and save them. That they would have to endure being held by blood-hungry terrorists for only a short while. 12 hours, 24 hours - 2 days at the most! Wasn’t that the reason for the GPS tracker she wore? Rescue?
Oh, and she’d worked hard at convincing herself that when the cavalry showed up what happened three months ago with the soldiers would not happen to them. That the US government had learned from that and that they would do a better job this time and no one would be killed. At least not her and the Marine. He hadn’t said he was a Marine. He’d said his name was JT, but she knew the look. She was as positive that he was a Marine as she was positive her own uncle was one and her father used to be one.
