by Dawn Kunda
Inside a café, Vic ordered an iced tea. With a wink and a smile he kept the attention of the cashier. “I have some time to spare as my van won’t arrive until tomorrow. Working with humanitarian aid.” She sank her chin down with a smile. “Got any suggestions of sights I should check out while I’m here?”
She tugged a pamphlet from a holder on the counter. “This will help.” A shy smile accompanied the brochure.
Vic flipped through the information without reading any of it. “Baghdad has a lot of interesting spots. Guess not everything is affected by the government turmoil.” He smiled his best, testing the waters. “Are there any areas I should stay away from?”
She fluttered her eyes. “Just the areas with protesters. You can tell.”
“Right, that makes sense.” He sipped his drink. “Really good stuff.” Pretending a new thought came to him, he asked, “Do you know anything about an Al-Maqda, some leader of some sort? I hear he’s quite the bad guy.” He chuckled, inferring he was all about a good story.
Her lips straightened and she stepped back. “I don’t know anything about such people.”
“Oh, I just like local events and heard he’d caused a ruckus recently. Always like to bring a good story back home with me.” He tapped the counter with the pamphlet. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll stick to the museums. Thank you.” He passed her another encouraging smile and turned to the exit. If he were a decade younger, he’d try to get to know her better to get information. Alina was the story he should’ve been banned from reading. He was in deep now, and he wanted a happy ending.
“Mister, wait. Wait.” The young lady bent over the counter while her coworker took care of the next order. “Stay away from the chemical plant area. Very dangerous right now.” She returned to her work and didn’t look at him again.
Vic left the café in a daze. He sat at a table on the sidewalk. The plant is dangerous. He’d left Alina to find her way to the chemical plant thinking he’d sent her to a safe building, away from his dirty work.
Chapter 31
“She is here, Al-Maqda.” The man dressed in fatigues directed Alina inside his leader’s office. Her escort stepped to the side.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Al-Maqda had eyes dark and hollow like a dried up well. “You are aware of your reason for being here.” She nodded to the statement. “You will direct our uranium to faster enrichment for more energy for the needs of my people.”
“Yes, Sir. I am able to pass on the process for greater energy production.” Alina’s voice held strength and knowledge, betrayed by her shaking insides only to herself.
“The living conditions of my people, the men, their wives and infants, depend on your success.” Al-Maqda had no warmth in his voice when he recited his allegiance to the people.
“I can do what you need.”
The more she considered his act of superiority to her, and the deplorable false respect he pledged in helping the Iraqi families, Alina felt a tremor of anger tease her conscious.
Al-Maqda turned to her escort. “Take her below to where she will accomplish this for me.”
The escort nodded. Alina took the hint and proceeded to walk in front of him according to his directions. An elevator took them below ground, and then they walked a long length of a corridor until he grabbed her arm and directed her into a lab.
Short with words, her escort said, “You will change into safe work gear.” He pointed to the uniforms hanging on the wall at the entrance. “Through the next door you will work.” He turned and left.
Alina paused and then pulled a uniform from its hook. This was a small room for dressing before entering the door four feet away, which would be the lab.
Almost comfortable with the familiar gear on, a crinkly, stiff white bodysuit, Alina bent over her worktable. The nonflammable material protected her from the touch of hazardous chemicals.
She never questioned her work within another country, provided her government had researched the project and found it worthy of participation. Sweden had nothing to do with her current assignment. The nearest thing to validity she counted on was the word of the sultan who had sent her here. When her doubts clouded her brain activity, she reminded herself of Christa. Once she focused on Christa’s glazed and watery eyes the last time she’d seen her, nothing stopped her from foregoing the proper avenues she had been assigned to get to Christa.
She’d done this same work many times, but she never worked under a deadline so strict she had no breathing room. She never worked with the life of a person, her cousin, relying on her to successfully pretend her work resulted in progress by the minute.
Every time she relaxed her guard against Vic’s flip-flopping personality, she got a punch to the gut. Furious that he had set her up as a faux-worker in an extremely dangerous venue, her stomach churned while she forced herself to be calm. She wasn’t allowed to have any direct part in saving Christa and that’s why she’d traveled here in the first place.
Once she realized Vic had used her to get into Iraq for his own purpose, she vowed to never trust anything he said or did again. All she could think of was that he definitely had to retrieve Christa no matter what else he had on his mind. If he didn’t, she’d kill him and feed him to the wolves as a repayment for his deception.
* * * *
“There he is.” Borland gloated as he and Eikem watched Vic Grant attempt to get information on CIA Agent Bret Ferrier. “If he thinks it’s that easy to locate an undercover CIA agent, he needs a brain tune-up and I have the perfect fit for his head.” Borland stroked his gun tucked at his side under a light windbreaker.
Eikem kept his mouth shut and rethought his orders. He, Borland, and Duchaine had been assigned to bring Vic Grant back to the US for interrogation on his misleading activities and unauthorized departure from the country. It didn’t make sense that Borland treated their job as a hunt and kill mission.
At first, Eikem overlooked Borland’s and Duchaine’s eagerness to ready their weapons and seek out a fellow agent as a devotion to their assignment. Eikem excused the weapon-ready partners as agents protecting another agent. After Duchaine’s murder, the dumping of the bodies, and now the manhunt for Grant, it created a tug-of-war with Eikem’s values and integrity.
Eikem was the man on board to take the shots when necessary, but Borland had changed the rules of the game. Eikem had the definite feeling that Borland still expected his sharpshooting abilities to play a part in the game, but he feared Borland included another agent, Vic Grant, as a target.
“We need Grant to get ahold of other agents in the area before we take him in.” Borland held his arm in front of Eikem, keeping them hidden in an alley a couple doors down from the group of men Grant confronted.
Borland’s comment didn’t answer Eikem’s question. If Borland had his motives screwed up, Eikem better take care in sharing his thoughts. “What other agents are in this area that you aren’t involved with?”
Borland kept his eyes focused on where Grant headed to. “Uh, I know there’s a couple, can’t remember their names, but when Grant contacts them, we can bring them all back with us.”
Borland changed his mantra once again. Instead of aiming bullets at the agents, Borland inferred they’d return to the States.
Eikem pledged to watch his own back. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of leaving fellow agents in danger, either. He considered the possibility of Borland’s vague and inconsistent plans.
“Come on. We have another contact to meet up with.” Borland backed into the alley. “Grant’ll be back, and we’ll be ready for him.”
* * * *
Vic hailed another cab and directed the driver to pass the chemical plant. He didn’t have any identification to assure entry in such a guarded “palace,” but he needed to see if any commotion had happened.
Alina wouldn’t have anything to do with him once she found out he had sent her into the lion’s den.
Fortunately, the driver m
inded his own business and didn’t ask a litany of questions. Vic stared out the window as the sand and gravel representing the road turned into smooth asphalt. Palm trees circled by succulents outlined the pavement.
“Ahead is the plant.” The driver remained short on words.
“Drive past it slowly, please.”
“You don’t work there?”
“No, I just wanted to see what it looks like.” Vic didn’t intend to say more than necessary and wasn’t in the mood to have the conversation that had been avoided during the ride. He wasn’t sure why the driver assumed he worked at the plant. Maybe no one came this way unless they had a purpose.
“Want me to drive past again?”
“No. Looks clean and a nice place to work.”
“Hmmph. If I had known you wanted this place, I wouldn’t have taken you.”
The driver decided to speak and Vic wanted more. The driver’s change in attitude held a meaning and he wanted it. “What would it mean if I did work there?”
The driver circled the boulevard and drove by the plant again. “If you know nothing of what is inside the plant, then you should stay away.”
He’d have to pull the conversation along. “I know it’s a chemical plant and develops energy. What else is there to know?”
“A lot.” The long pauses began to irritate Vic. The ride back to the café area would end in ten minutes. “It is an energy plant. The regime that has control is not ‘for the people.’ People who do not belong, never come out. Sometimes, it is taken further.”
“What do you mean?”
“The regime controls whoever and whatever it deems necessary. If they cannot bring their targets to the plant, they go out after them. Sometimes it’s whole families and neighborhoods.”
“But if you’re supposed to be there, you’re safe, right?”
“For a while.” The cab stopped at a sign. The driver looked up in the rearview mirror. “Just by driving by and watching could lead to trouble. The whole avenue is on screen.”
“Is there any way to sneak in?”
“I think it is time for you to leave my vehicle.” The driver turned the corner and pulled over, two blocks short of their destination. “Anyone connected to the regime should know better than to take a cab to their headquarters.”
Vic didn’t oppose walking a few blocks. As he paid the driver, he said, “I’m not part of any regime, just a curious tourist.” It didn’t matter what the cab driver thought, but Vic didn’t need an eye on him from any foreign entity.
The air he encountered on the sidewalk felt like a hot, wet cape had been thrown over his shoulders. Perspiration bubbled up on his forehead. He thanked the cloudless sky for the occasional sweep of a breeze to fight the temperature which must register close to one hundred.
He decided he could waste another twenty minutes and walk back to Bret’s home. He barely acknowledged the dust thrown into the breeze, the outdoor venders hocking anything from daily meats, greens, or brightly colored cut flowers, and other pedestrians yacking on their cell phones and hurrying the opposite direction.
He considered where he’d sent Alina to spend her day, with the likely assassin of the sultan’s, Abasi Shehata’s, daughter. The more he tied the bits of information together, the more he believed Al-Maqda also had control of Christa.
Christa’s outlook began to take the shape of gray matter. Instead of the intricate pattern the brain forms a body into, he imagined her to resemble the roughly shaped blob more like Play-Doh. It was doubtful she had a future at the hands of the terrorist leader and regime front man, Al-Maqda.
He hoped Alina would follow today’s plan of faking her work and returning safely to the hotel. He wouldn’t let her return to the plant tomorrow. The rest of the mission would be on his back even if he had to tie her down for her own safety. He’d find Christa, Agent Bret Ferrier, kill Al-Maqda, and then get the hell out of Baghdad.
The walk did him good. He formed a tight plan of whom and what he was up against and how he’d overpower the odds. Looks good on paper, or in his head anyway.
He stopped short of turning onto Bret’s road to check if the same groups of men surrounded the area. The pattern of sitting on the ground, leaning against posts, and smoking cigarettes remained the same, but the men had rotated to new faces from what Vic could tell. He still decided to approach through the back alley. His face didn’t need any recognition.
The back alley stunk with rotting greens and other refuse carelessly thrown for the rats and baked by the torturous sun. He counted the doors before he arrived at Bret Ferrier’s.
The back door fit haphazardly against the frameless opening. Light came through the edges of the door revealing a chain lock.
Vic pushed the door. It yielded two inches before a chain held it firm. Someone had locked the door. He bent to the wooden edge and looked through the crack. The inside looked the same as last time he’d entered except for the bottle of half-drunk brew sitting on the cockeyed table.
The chain dropped from its catch. Vic lifted his head, stepping back. At the same time the butt of a weapon smashed across his cheek.
Chapter 32
Once again Alina couldn’t help but call on her turbulent personality. Feeling like all the men involved in her search for Christa were against her, she had no choice but to take the lead. She refused to play the game of a meek and ignorant chemist who was oblivious to all the injustice playing her hand.
The insulated room without windows gave her no sign of what time it was. She carefully laid her vials and measuring instruments on the lab table and walked to where she could see the clock. Barely past three in the afternoon, she momentarily considered working the next three hours instead of confronting Al-Maqda. If she waited till tomorrow to take her vengeance out on the plant leader, she could make a concrete plan tonight.
Staring at the clock, she watched the second hand nudge time as if it had a life of its own. She swore the minutes slowed. She wanted the day to end quickly.
Her momentary lapse into reasonableness faded in a hurry. She heaved out a breath of air she’d held in while unwillingly synchronizing her heartbeat to the seconds of time. Waiting till tomorrow will result in a sleepless and tiring night.
She left the lab and entered the vestibule, shrugged off her lab coat and jumpsuit, and deposited them on the wall hook. Straightening her arms tight at her sides, she marched to the door, flung it open, continued down the corridor, took the elevator up, and headed to where she hoped had been her temporary boss’s office.
As she approached the door, she commanded herself to follow through with the confrontation. Raising her fist to knock on the door, it flew open before she connected with it.
The leader stood at the other side of the heavy metal door. His height forced her to lift her chin to match the darkness of his eyes.
His lips briefly curved up, although she didn’t consider it a smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at your station?” His lips flattened.
“I came to speak with you.” Her heart raced and sent tingles of adrenaline through her body.
“You are not here to talk.”
Her anger mounted. She clenched her hands. “I have not taken a break today, and I have to speak with you.”
His shoulders relaxed, and the smile returned, fake as it was. “As a chemist, I see no reason for words with me, but if you promise the quality of what you’ve worked on today as superior, then I will grant you a few minutes.” He stepped to the side and waved his hand low, allowing her to enter his office.
Alina’s heart thudded. This is what she’d waited for, so she had to talk succinctly. She walked to his desk and remained standing. He nodded to the chair opposite his. Reluctantly, she sat while keeping her eyes trained on his actions.
He skirted the desk and dropped into his own chair. Tilting his bearded chin down, he waved his hands to his sides. “Speak.”
She hadn’t rehearsed her speech. Assuming the right words wo
uld come from her months of thinking about this minute, she nearly froze. What could she say to make him do as she wished? He was in charge, not her. She didn’t even know he had Christa for sure. Any number of unknown top men of the chemical plant might be the one she sought.
“I came here to find my cousin.” She’d said it. Her hands tingled with the lack of circulation while squeezed tight in her lap.
She glanced down, then back up as she stretched her fingers out and reclosed them.
He picked his teeth with the switchblade from a multi-tool he’d grabbed from underneath the desktop. “Who is your cousin?”
Maybe she was getting through to him. “Her name is Christa, Christa Leinen.”
He wiped the blade on his pant leg. “I don’t know a Christy Line.”
Her brow furrowed. “Christa Leinen. She worked here about three months ago and did not leave.” Alina left out the part of herself being here at the same time.
“There is no Christa Leinen in the chemical plant.” He got her name right this time.
“I don’t know if she’s in the plant, but she is in Iraq. Somewhere. I have to see her.”
“What will you trade to see her?”
Alina began to rise from her seat, but thought better of it and stayed put. “You know where she is, then?”
“I did not say that. What do you have to trade?”
“Trade for what? I have nothing. I am here on work through my country.”
“I’m not sure that is the case, Egyptian princess.”
“What?” Trying to hide her confusion, she repeated, “I have nothing to trade. I’m only asking to speak with my cousin.” She didn’t dare ask why he’d called her an “Egyptian princess.” She pretended to stay in charge of the conversation.
He swung his chair to the side wall and flung his blade. The knife flew straight and sucked itself into the wood of a framed picture without a single vibration of the handle. He turned back to her. “I have a collection.”
