by Ladew, Lisa
Sara didn’t know, but she lingered momentarily, trying to figure a new plan of action. To get out of here on their own they’d need a driver. She had money. Or if she could just get to a telephone she could try to find Farmer. Maybe he had checked in to one of the other hotels. Or she could call Camp Patriot. But it could take hours to get someone out here. If the attack on and closing of the St. Marin Inn had anything to do with Anti-American sentiment after the bombing out in the desert, JT and Dani were in incredible danger just being in town.
Sara had never suffered from indecision in Mexico. But here in the Middle East the game was different. So much different she found herself frozen in place, unable to decide on a plan of action.
Mentally, she shook herself. Just get moving! Anything is better than standing here and calling attention to yourself. She skirted the hotel and race-walked down the rough, sand-hewn street towards the next hotel, wondering what she’d find when she got there.
The Sinai Grande was open, white light spilling out of the large front doors. The sun had not risen yet, so she was surprised to see a bit of movement inside the lobby. A woman dressed in a simple black and white uniform answered a phone behind the counter and two European men in athletic wear passed her on their way out the door.
Sara approached the counter, still not sure what she was going to ask for. The lone hotel employee faced her and smiled. “May I help you ma’am?” she asked in Arabic.
“Yes, thank you. My business associate has been displaced and I am trying to find him. Could you tell me if he has registered at this hotel?”
The woman faltered slightly before she answered and Sara knew why. Dressed in the dirty niqab, she looked like a local, and not someone who would have a business associate at any of the hotels. But what could she do? With a name like Farmer she couldn’t claim he was her husband or a relation, not without drawing further suspicion.
“Certainly, his name?”
“Mitch Farmer,” Sara told her, enunciating carefully to keep her American accent off of these American words.
Now the woman’s eyes narrowed, telling Sara everything she needed to know about the current attitude of the town. She needed damage control, and fast. She leaned in conspiratorially to the woman and whispered “I hate working with the Americans. They are so demanding and horrible. And my boss hates them too, but he says we must humor them for now. Until …” She leaned back and looked around as if conveying a great secret. Then she brought her hand to her face and bit the side of her right forefinger, using a simple, threatening gesture her mother had used occasionally when she was really upset. A memory of her father lightly teasing her mother for using it surfaced in her mind, hurting her heart a little bit.
The woman nodded, satisfaction on her face. “Just a moment,” she told Sara, turning to her computer. “No.” She shook her head, looking up from her computer. “No Farmer here. But the Americans have all left town anyway.”
Sara thanked her, her heart sinking. What now? If only she could use a telephone. She wondered briefly if it would be smart to bribe the woman to let her use the phone to make an outside call. Probably not. Once the woman heard her speaking English, she would be even more suspicious. But then an idea hit her.
“Miss,” she said. “I stayed in this hotel last week, and I left my cell phone charger. Do you have a lost and found?”
The woman nodded, doubtfully. “Yes, but only the manager is supposed to access it. He is not at work yet.”
Sara dug in her bag, praying the woman had a family to feed. Her fingers closed on her small coin purse and opened it. She drew out about half of the bills in there, and laid them on the table, under her sleeve, not sure if there were cameras behind her recording their movements.
She spread the bills and watched the woman’s eyes track them. She knew how much money she had, and this should be close to a thousand Egyptian pounds. A month’s salary or more for this woman.
“Could I just have a look in it? It’s very important to me.”
The woman nodded jerkily, her eyes never leaving the money. She motioned for Sara to sit in a cream-colored chair in the lobby. “I will be right back.”
The woman disappeared quickly, then returned carrying a box the size of a microwave. She eyed Sara over the top of the box and Sara held the money out in a closed fist. The woman made it disappear and placed the box on the table in front of her. “You have one minute,” she said, tucking imaginary strands of wayward hair behind both ears. She turned, still patting her hair, and disappeared behind the front desk.
Sara pawed through the tangle of chargers, extension cords, headphones, batteries, cell phones, and binoculars. She found 6 chargers that seemed to fit the hole in her satellite phone, then almost as an afterthought, took a few of the cell phones on top as a backup, not that they were likely to work this far out in the desert. But at this point, even the long shots were worth going for.
Sara left the box and headed for the front door, eying the clerk at the counter as she did so. Her back was turned. Sara ducked quickly into the bathroom, cradling the electrical equipment in her hands and noting every electrical outlet she saw in the hallway on the way there. Inside the bathroom the first thing she did was look for a window, an exit. The empty bathroom had one that pushed out instead of raising up. Sara unlatched it and tried it. It swung out onto the night air. The lightening streaks across the sky in the East told her it would soon be morning. But it opened and if she needed a quick getaway, it would do. Sara could see only darkness past the window, but she knew this side of the hotel opened into a large, empty field made of sand, with the open desert beyond.
Now she needed an electrical outlet. A quick glance told her there weren’t any at the sink, or any she could see on the wall. She moved a plastic trash can. Bingo! Sara dropped to her knees, laid the chargers and phones out in front of her, and dug the satellite phone out of her bag. She tried all the chargers in the little charging hole on the side of the phone. Only 2 actually fit. She said a short, casual prayer and plugged in the one that was still seated in the hole. Nothing happened. The phone didn’t catch on fire or make a sound. But no lights came on either. Holding back curse words in her head she ripped the charger out of the hole. But as she did, the lights behind the numbers lit up momentarily. Holding her breath, a huge PLEASE WORK painted across her mind, she gingerly plugged the charger back in. Outside the window, she heard a man yelling off in the distance. Dimly, some part of her registered it and marked it, and hoped it had nothing to do with Dani and JT. As she plugged the charger back in, the lights came on briefly again. She wiggled the charger in the hole and found she was able to keep the lights on by pushing the charger as far up as it would go. So it didn’t quite fit, but it could work. Thank you Jesus, Sara mouthed. Just to be sure, she tried the other charger, but it didn’t work at all. So back to the could work one.
Sara finagled it and got the phone to turn on. She pressed a button and heard the soft lilt of ringing in her ear. She was about to say another impromptu prayer when the phone on the other end clicked in her ear and Agent Farmer spoke, sounding anxious and sleepy, like she had just woken him from a horrible dream. “Sara?”
“Where are you?” she asked, knowing there was no time for playing catch up.
She heard things falling and crashing to the ground in the background. “You’re alive,” he said. “And the hostages?”
Sara could almost see him putting on his glasses in the dark. “Aren’t hostages anymore. Where are you?” she repeated.
“I’m 20 miles out of town. I would have stayed but the hotel threw out all the American tourists yesterday and none of the others would take us. I paid a guide to take me in. I’m sleeping in his camel barn. At least I think that’s what it is. There’s no camel but it smells like camel.”
And just like that, Sara was sorry for every miserable thought she’d ever had about Agent Farmer. Maybe he just took a while to warm up. But he hadn’t left. And now Dani and JT had a chance
.
“Mitch, how quick can you get here?”
“Hold on.” She heard more noises in the background. “I see the car. It’s outside. I’ll get Khalid to drive me. 30 minutes. Where?”
Sara stood up and thought hard, the swiftly-rising morning light filling her eyes through the window. Here? The St. Marin Inn? Here. They wouldn’t look quite as out of place if they waited for him near this hotel. She hoped. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but nearly dropped the phone out of her nerveless fingers as something far off in the field was revealed by the rising sun.
A Black Hawk helicopter sat big as life and twice as scary, its rotors drooping towards the ground. It was either good news, or very, very bad news. Sara’s gut told her it was the latter. And she always listened to her gut.
Chapter 28
Dani wriggled in her uncle’s grip. He’d weaved a hand under her arm from the front, then across her back and tangled into her hair with a deadly grip. The pain in her side and her head fell away, deferring to the pain in her heart. Her flesh and blood, her father’s brother had just threatened to shoot her. Was probably planning on ultimately shooting her no matter what. And after all this time, she hadn’t learned a thing about why. What could possibly be bad enough that he would do something like this?
This man who had bought her a Barbie doll when she lay in the hospital recovering from appendicitis at age 4, after her mother had said No, no Barbie dolls -they promote a negative body image. Uncle Kevin had bought her one anyway, knowing it was the only thing she had wanted in the world — had wanted for over a year. And then he had stood up to her mother and got her to change her mind. Convinced her to change her mind. This man who had patiently spent two weeks before swimming lessons started at age 7 helping her with her forward crawl so she didn’t have to be stuck in the same group again that summer. Dani’s mind flash-forwarded through all the nice things he’d ever done for her. Every kind word, every gift, every wink when her mom and dad got on her case about something. He’d been the fun uncle. The guy you called if you needed to get away from your parents for a while. The guy who understood even when her father didn’t. Especially when her father didn’t.
And now he was going to kill her. Kill her and JT. JT stood before her, his face hard, his hand frozen in place in the act of reaching for his gun. He seemed to be staring Uncle Kevin down. Trying to read him, or out think him. The thought that Uncle Kevin would kill her hurt her heart. The thought that Uncle Kevin would kill JT, maybe in front of her, seared her consciousness. Sweet, thoughtful JT, who had done nothing but try to look after his friend. A red hot anger flashed through her body. How dare he? There was no reason for this. Nothing he could ever say or hope to say would excuse this behavior. She didn’t care if there was somebody behind him holding a gun to his head making him hold a gun to her. He was a man. And a God damned Marine. God damned. That was exactly how she thought of him right now, and if God didn’t damn him, she would.
A coldness dropped over Dani’s brain and a film of red covered her vision. The video playing her own thoughts in her mind flicked to slow motion, giving her time to examine her options. She stood tall and dropped the arm that had been weakly scrabbling to pull the gun away from her side. Let him hurt her. It would all be over soon, one way or another. Whether it was her or her uncle, someone was leaving this deplorable, sand-blown excuse for a town in a body bag. Her free hand clenched and unclenched at her side. She had a gun still, in the small of her back in a holster. She wouldn’t reach for it now, she had no good angle. But if he didn’t find it, he would be done for as soon as she had a clear shot.
She watched JT, his jaw clenched in a hard line, sweat standing out on his brow. She opened her mouth to tell him to shoot Uncle Kevin, then closed it again. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t risk her life like that. And it was no use trying to convince him to do it. He was a man of courage. Of principle. The kind of man she’d been holding out for the last 10 years without even knowing it. Her mind served up a clear image to her that had nothing to do with her probable imminent death. Sara looking at her and saying are you related to him? And Dani shaking her head No. And she’d never fixed that mistake. That lie. Never opened her mouth and said He’s my uncle. And now it was too late. Suddenly, that seemed inconceivable to Dani. That she or JT would lose their lives, their most precious gifts, without JT knowing the truth. Without her telling the truth. She opened her mouth again with the words on the tip of her tongue, but again she stopped. If she told him now, JT’s response (bewilderment? confusion? anger?) might give Uncle Kevin the upper hand. Yeah like he doesn’t already have the upper hand, she thought.
“Did you fucking hear me, Devil Dog?” Clarkson snarled. “Get your fucking hands up or she fucking dies and it will be your fucking fault.”
JT’s hands rose slowly, painfully, murder in his eyes. “Turn around and march toward that stairwell,” Clarkson told him, “If you do anything funny, even one move I don’t like, her brains will paint your back.”
Dani winced inwardly at the imagery. She wondered briefly if Uncle Kevin was on drugs. She never would have believed him capable of saying something like that about her. And of meaning it.
They started forward in a tight group, her Uncle’s hand still tangled in her hair and his gun still sticking in her side. In front of her, JT looked side to side. “Looking for help Devil Dog? You should know better than that. There’s no help here.” To Dani, her uncle sounded jangly, unwell. Like he’d drank too much coffee or taken some bad drugs.
Dani could only see the back of JT. His big hands clenched into fists in the air and she thought he might be imagining her uncle’s neck between them.
JT lead them to the stairwell. “Go on, climb up it. Just remember who is in charge here. And go slow.” On the third floor, JT stopped, head down. “Open the door and walk through. Stop in front of the first door on the left. Put your nose on it.”
Uncle Kevin pushed Dani through the doorway. JT stood waiting in front of the door, his posture tense. “Put your fucking nose on it Gunnery Sergeant, just like in fucking boot. You hear me?”
JT stepped forward and leaned into the doorway, his back shaking. Dani’s cold countenance remained, but underneath it she wondered at this treatment. What was Uncle Kevin doing? Trying to humiliate JT? 5 minutes ago she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but hate carved a wider river through her heart at this treatment.
The hand in her hair loosened, then disappeared for a moment. Something fluttered in front of her. “Pick it up Daniela.” When he spoke to her his voice sounded sad and weary. “Keep your fucking nose on that door Sergeant!” The mean snarl came back for JT. That’s how he talks to his Marines when they did something wrong - or to keep them in line, she realized.
The something that had fluttered to her feet was a key card. She picked it up, trying not to bend very much. She knew the gun at the small of her back was probably visible when she did. It was a big gun.
“Now move to your left Sergeant. And keep your hands in the air. If you drop them an inch you both die right here. Having to shoot you will put a small crimp in my plans, but not enough that I won’t do it.
Dani stepped forward to the door, knowing he wanted her to open it. She inserted the key card and watched the green light cheerily pop up. She pushed the door slightly open and waited for instructions.
“Walk inside to the far wall Daniela. Keep your hands in front of you. Don’t think about going for that cannon you have strapped to your back.”
Fuck. Dani walked to the far wall, which was actually a covered window, of the tiny hotel room, thinking about it. She pictured the holster in her mind: which way it lay, how the strap lifted, how long it would take her to get the gun out of it. Too long.
Before she reached the window she heard two thuds behind her. The first sounded like a piece of meat getting hit with a hammer. It confused her. But the second was unmistakable. It was the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Who hit th
e floor? She whirled, her eyes flashing. JT lay just inside the doorway, his arms underneath him and his face smashed into the carpet. Dani could already see a nasty bump raising under his short hair. The skin had split where Uncle Kevin’s gun had hit him, and bright blood oozed merrily from the split.
“What did you hit him for?” she cried, dismayed at the loss of control in her voice.
Clarkson knelt, his eyes never leaving Dani, feeling along JT’s body for the gun he wore in a holster. He pulled the gun out and released the magazine. It dropped to the carpet with an unimportant clink. “I had no choice Daniela, don’t be stupid. Look at him. He’s half my age and stronger than me. If I hadn’t knocked him out he would be on me already, wrestling my gun away.”
Dani blinked at this sentence, trying to understand how her Uncle could talk to her like she was in on it somehow. Like he was doing something sane and right. She studied his face. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year and she suddenly realized how horrible he looked. Like he had aged 15 years in the last 9 months. He’d lost weight. His skin seemed baggy and limp, like an ill-fitting suit. His eyes were sunken hollows that reminded her of a skeleton. His short-cropped hair had thinned, making him look even older if she focused on it.
“Uncle Kevin what happened to you? Why are you doing this?”
Clarkson stood, JT’s gun in his left hand, his own gun in his right and trained on Dani. “Turn around and lift your shirt,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
Dani considered not doing it. But why? For what? So she could die quicker? That might be preferable, actually. But in the end she did it. The will to live, to survive another day never succumbs easily. As she turned, her eyes crawled across the room, looking for something, some advantage, some clue, something that could help her understand and get out of this horrible situation. What she saw caused her breath to clog her throat. One bed was messed, Uncle Kevin had apparently slept here and not made the bed yet. On the other bed was a camouflage rucksack, its contents spilled across the coverlet. A large, slightly-curved knife, the largest she had ever seen that couldn’t be called a machete, called her eye immediately. But next to it was the item that really scared her. A slim, innocent-looking tube, that really wasn’t innocent at all. The single hole at one end and the screws meant for the threaded barrel of a gun on the other end told her what it was. A sound suppressor. All the better to shoot you with and not have anyone hear, my dear, she thought, feeling insane.
