by Dawn Kunda
She narrowed her eyes. “I want to see Christa Leinen.”
He rose from his seat, pushing his hands on the arms of the chair. Still bent at the waist, he raised his head and stared into Alina’s eyes. “Really? I may have something for you then. Wait here.”
* * * *
Vic crashed to the floor. His head felt as heavy as a ball of lead when he turned his injured cheek away from the floor. He could smell the petroleum from the rubber soles of the black boots inches from his nose. He bent his arms at the sides of his chest and pushed up.
The boot pushed him on his side.
He looked up, immediately recognizing the smug look on the man’s face. Dean Borland held a Mac 10 across his abdomen. “Well, Vic Grant. Didn’t think we’d catch up to you, did ya?”
Vic tried to look past the boots to see who “we” was. He saw another American whom he didn’t know. He saw Bret. Bret was tied to a chair. Blood covered his face. He must’ve been treated with the same welcome.
Vic pushed his feet against the dirt floor and slid himself up against the wall. His shoulders angled against the unfinished wood with one elbow resting on the ground. “What do you want? Or have you taken orders from Kreis?”
Vic grunted as Borland kicked him in the side. “Grant, you know you’re done for. You’ve gone AWOL and I’m sure Agent Kreis will realize you’ve deserted, joining the Sunni. More specifically, ISIS, which is even crazier.” The unknown American remained standing rigid and silent.
Vic growled, but held back. He had to figure out his options and whether Bret Ferrier was in any condition to help. “Plan on taking us,” he nodded toward Bret, “back home in disgrace?”
“Back home? Ha. You want to get that far?” Borland walked over to Vic and leaned into Vic’s face. “Your life is as good as finished.” Borland’s hot and stale breath tingled against the gaping cut in Vic’s face, but he held still in defiance.
Borland yanked Vic’s arm and pulled him off the floor. With the gun prodding his back, Vic walked to the designated chair. Borland shoved him onto a chair and kicked Vic’s feet apart. “Eikem, over here.”
The unknown American became an unknown name.
Eikem stepped behind the chair with his gun ready.
“Now what?” Vic spoke with authority. There was no way he’d be taken down easily. “What’s your grand plan? Are you going to kill us here where no one will ever know what happened? Make us disappear?” Bret raised his head. Vic kept his eyes focused on his tormentor.
“Exactly. Maybe you’re not as stupid as we figured. That won’t save you, though.” Borland walked around the room, looking to the ceiling while tapping his fingers on his chin. He turned and looked at Bret, then Vic. “How do you want to die? Your choice. I’ll give you a little bonus.”
“What if I can give you something?” Vic had an idea, or at least the beginning of one considering he had to think spontaneously.
Borland stopped between the two injured men. “What could you give me?” Vic noted a tinge of excitement in Borland’s voice.
“I can take you to a leader of the Sunnis.” He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
Chapter 33
Alina stood and paced the room. She couldn’t imagine what Al-Maqda would have as a collection to show her. If it brought her closer to finding Christa, that’s all she wanted.
The back door to the office swung open. Al-Maqda returned with a canvas bag, roughly the size of a bowling ball, dangling from his hand. Dark stains blotched the canvas.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the bag. He dropped it onto his desk. “This might be what you’re looking for.” His voice held a tinge of sarcasm.
She tore her stare from the collection bag only to see a self-righteous smirk cross his face. Her mood immediately turned to suspicion and apprehension. “What does this have to do with Christa?”
“Take a look.” He pushed the weighted bag closer to her.
Her legs felt like logs of wet wood as she stepped to the desk, watching him in exchange for the lifeless bag.
“Go ahead. See if this is what you’re looking for.” He stepped back, crossing his arms across his thin chest.
She looked at the bag, then back at him. Her throat dried with a gulp of courage. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the twine tied at the top of the bag. Her mind switched gears as she pulled on the thin rope, coated with a dried and rubbery dark liquid.
From day one, all she’d wanted was to return to Iraq and retrieve her cousin, then go home and never see this country again. Unbelievably, she’d never considered alternatives to the outcome. Bad endings only happened to others and in movies. The kick in the gut that she was involved in a movie scenario, only worse because it’d be real, made her head swim along with a flush of nausea plunge into her stomach. She hesitated.
“Not so sure you want what you’re looking for?” He marched forward, grabbed the tie on the bag, and ripped it open.
The release of the opening caused the bag to tip sideways. The object stayed inside the bag and fell with a thump on the metal desk top. A protrusion of greasy strands of dark hair escaped.
Alina stumbled back away from the desk. A groan escaped her parched throat as she threw her hands over her mouth. Her eyes scanned the stark room as it whirled around her. The confinement became a vacuum of hard edges as a throaty laugh echoed around her.
Her back hit the cold, cement wall. She couldn’t get farther away from what she knew lay inside the bag. She didn’t need to see the rest. Her breath came in deep gulps. Her head grew dizzy. Her sight blurred with tears of emotion she didn’t want.
Reaching her hands to her side, she fumbled to move closer to the door and find the handle. The sight, the scent, the laughter in the room suffocated her. Her body trembled as if she’d downed a pint of hard alcohol. Nothing felt worse.
She didn’t need to imagine the contents of the bag. In her naïve attempt to rescue Christa, she’d never considered an outcome of this magnitude.
Her fingers jammed into the handle of the door. She didn’t feel pain, only horror when somehow Al-Maqda had crossed the room and clamped his hand over hers and the doorknob. “You’re not going anywhere. My men weren’t successful in bringing you to me, but you did it on your own.” A deep rumble of more laughter escaped his parched lips and stained teeth.
She locked her knees in place to keep from crumbling to the floor. The ground would’ve been a better place to be as she felt the slam of a dirty and callused hand crack into her face.
* * * *
“If you can take us to the leader so easily, why has he not been taken out, yet?” Borland stood in front of Vic.
Ignoring the question, Vic added, “I know if you can capture and take back a leader of the Sunnis, you’ll return in honor and maybe a big bonus or promotion is in the future.” Vic heaved the words out with disgust as he labored to breathe evenly against the pain in his head and ribs. “There’s one condition, though."
“I hardly think you’re in any position to make conditions.”
“Hardly. Go ahead and kill Ferrier and me. Hide our existence. Go home and act like nothing happened, but it will come back to you.”
“That’s the plan.” Borland jerked his chin up. Looking at Eikem, he said, “You ready for a little target practice?”
“Sir?” A look of confusion passed over Eben Eikem’s face.
Borland turned on Eikem. “What do think you were brought along for? I will tell you what to do, and you will do it. I thought you were taught to follow orders in the Corps?”
Eikem stood his ground. “Sir, I am not here to kill another American. I am here to bring them back to the safety of their country.”
“Not on my watch.” Borland turned back to Vic and Bret Ferrier. “Can you get me to this so-called leader?”
Vic stared him down. “I told you I could get you there and I will.”
“Just remember, if this is a trick of yours I won’t be merciful on where and how
I leave you behind.”
Vic saw Eikem’s face twitch with a sign of disgust and disbelief. The look was gone as fast as it passed over Eikem’s face. Vic wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have broken through to Eikem. No Marine would play such a dirty game against his own. Vic would have to cautiously count on this well-known fact.
Bret remained quiet as Vic told Borland where the chemical plant stationed the leader. Vic wasn’t sure what tangent of the Sunnis Al-Maqda was, but it would buy him time and a chance to make sure Alina remained safe. Vic’s plan took on a more realistic shape and it just might work.
* * * *
It was easy getting to the door of the plant, but another thing getting inside and to see their target, Al-Maqda.
Borland pushed Vic and Bret ahead of himself. Vic purposefully walked slowly with his hands tied behind his back and blood crusted along his cheek. Bret didn’t look any better with a knot forming on his forehead where he’d been accosted.
“Get moving. Do what you promised, or Eikem will shoot you here and now.” Borland shoved the barrel of his automatic handgun into Vic’s spine.
Vic steeled against a reaction and stopped in his tracks. Low and demanding, Vic said, “Borland, remember what I said on the way over? Leave Eikem out here. We need a cover in case things don’t go well on the inside.”
Borland grunted. “Eikem, stay ready outside.”
Vic then allowed Borland to direct himself and Bret into the plant.
The sliding steel door had barely closed when a swarm of machine gun-armed men surrounded them. The armed men spoke rapidly, shouting commands. They swarmed the Americans, patting them down and relieving the Americans of weapons.
Vic prayed Borland didn’t freeze and forget his role.
“We have a trade. We have a trade.” Borland’s voice boomed out.
The armed men kept their guns aimed. One stepped up to Borland. In heavily accented English he said, “Trade? Trade for what? What is your purpose?” The speaker jabbed Borland’s ribs with the heavy AK -47.
“I…I have American spies to trade for a minute to speak with Al-Maqda.” Borland finished his sentence with the strength Vic willed into him.
Vic thanked the stars that Borland didn’t mention which regime he’d told Borland that Al-Maqda was with because Vic honestly wasn’t sure. Vic only knew Al-Maqda was the target the Egyptian leader, Abasi Shehata, had sent him for.
The armed men looked among each other. The speaker decided. “One minute.” He nodded to the armed man at his side.
Sweat clamped Vic’s shirt to his chest and back. His shoulders ached with his hands tied behind him for so long. He looked to Bret. Bret had a determined and resilient expression across his face. There’d be no backing down from here on out.
“I am not aware of such an honor for this day.” A tall, bearded man paraded across the lobby. His clothing of a brown-and-green camouflage blended with the others, but his stance held power and leadership. The stern setting of his face told Vic that the man did not consider this a game.
Vic willed Borland to hold on and not cower to the evident position of this man.
“I have American spies. I will turn them over to you in return for a bond with the Egyptians.” Borland must have high hopes.
The bearded man’s beady, dark eyes traveled over the visitors, then back to Borland. The bearded man threw his head back and laughed a laugh full of dark tones and a wild accusation. He quieted and boomed, “Americans? What would I want with Americans? I would rather take all your heads and get on with my business. What good are you to me?”
“You are Al-Maqda?” Borland’s voice had a slight waiver. It better go away, or he’d never get to the next step of the plan. “I will give these men to you,” he slapped his free hands on the necks of Bret and Vic, “in exchange for a truce with the Egyptians and your chemical exchanges.”
The bearded man didn’t answer. He looked the Americans up and down with consideration. “Follow me.” He turned without acknowledgment and walked back to the exit he’d come from.
The armed men surrounded Vic and the other Americans, prodding with their guns to follow the bearded man.
Chapter 34
Alina watched from a barred window. The blinding sun hampered a colorful view, yet a circular area devoid of anything but the dirt and sand on the ground and cement block walls wouldn’t be any better after the sun went down. A steel door halfway around the circle screeched open on rusty hinges.
She saw Al-Maqda enter the ring with a regal air about him in the way he moved and held his head higher than normal for a casual walk. Four men in the same camouflage uniforms as Al-Maqda surrounded three men. She strained to see who the men in the middle could be.
One man, whom she didn’t recognize, was not restrained, yet was kept between the armed men.
As her eyes searched for recognition of the other two men who bent at the waist and had their hands tied, she gasped. Tears stung her eyes. She wiped the wetness from her vision as she saw Vic turn his head her way.
He didn’t appear to see her, but she saw him and another man pushed to the center of the ring. A guard had recently come to her, moved her to this room, and told her Al-Maqda would have a show for her in a few minutes. It was a horror show.
She had always been safe in other countries. This time, she didn’t have a safety net or any guarantees. She hadn’t focused or thought clearly. Her only concern had been Christa, and Christa…well, she didn’t need to be rescued any more.
Now what? She didn’t have any communication with the outside world, including Abasi Shehata who had promised safety and guidance on the excursion into Iraqi’s turbulent underworld. Granted, she didn’t expect to be in the control of a terrorist causing her to need a rescue team.
She heard a series of thumps and scraping sounds on her west wall. She could only assume another prisoner had been captured by the cement walls. The noise in the barren circle outside her window grabbed her attention away from her probable neighbor.
She watched from two stories above the group of men. The Iraqis shouted indecipherable commands and jeers while Al-Maqda paced before the two American men. The armed men continually prodded and jabbed the Americans with their weapons.
Al-Maqda shouted. The armed men forced Borland to his knees with Vic and the other American. The machine guns swung low and rested against the temple of each downed man.
The American who didn’t have his hands tied appeared to be confused and mad as he shouted and resisted the push to the ground.
“No! No!” Alina whispered and wrapped her fingers around the bars covering the glassed window. Not Vic. I love him so much. I put him here, and now they’re going to shoot him. Alina let the tears drain down her cheeks. She couldn’t see Vic’s face, only the curve of his back to her. He held his head high as she knew he would. His strong shoulders held the weight of life without a tremble.
Alina didn’t want to see what she feared the end result of this confrontation would be, yet she had nothing else to do except watch. She looked around her stark room and confirmed this last realization.
Upon looking back to the men huddled between the guards, she saw Al-Maqda raise his hand in the air. The guns pushed against the American’s heads, but no shots as she’d feared.
Al-Maqda walked back to the steel door and left the scene.
Alina whipped around at the sound of the lock on the door clicking. Oh, God, they’re coming for me now.
* * * *
Eben Eikem pushed Alina’s door in with the “borrowed” key. He’d taken the notion to enter the plant. He wouldn’t be of any use on the outside and had followed the men at a distance after Al-Maqda had taken them from the entry.
Eikem got in the building just in time to see Al-Maqda’s man put Alina in the room, left with a guard on the outside. The guard, overly confident of seclusion from visitors, left to have a smoke down the hall. Eikem waited around the corner and took his first opportunity to break the
guard’s neck with a deadly grip and no noise. He immediately relieved the guard of two guns, one equipped with a silencer, and a set of oversize keys.
From there, he’d stayed out of sight to see where Borland, Vic Grant, and Bret Ferrier were taken.
Eikem put his fingers to his lips and motioned for Alina to come to him. She held back.
“I’m with Vic Grant,” he whispered. “I’m on your side and need you to come with me.”
She tentatively stepped toward him.
“We have to hurry, if we’re going to save them.” He continued in hushed words.
“How do I know—”
“You’ll have to trust me if you don’t want our men dead.”
She pulled her shoulders back. “What can I do?”
Eikem wasn’t sure himself, but if she was a prisoner, he might have something to bargain with, or not.
He heard footstep coming their way. Looking around, he pulled Alina against him at the wall. He pointed the opposite direction of the footsteps and yanked her to a turn in the hall where he’d left the dead guard.
He heard a whimper from Alina and frowned. “Shhh.”
The footsteps stopped. Shouting and a scurry of more steps bounded down the hall. They’d found out Alina had left her room.
“Go, go.” He pushed her in front of him and down two flights of stairs. She didn’t resist and nearly matched Eikem’s speed.
At the bottom, he took her arm and yanked her under the staircase. He pulled the gun with the silencer from one of the many pockets on his shirt. He leveled the weapon between the open steps of the stairwell.
All too soon a pounding of boots came down the stairs. At least three guards shuttled Al-Maqda to the first floor. Shouting in their language echoed against the hard walls.
Eikem took aim and squeezed the trigger. A grunt matched a thud to the floor. The other guards split up, one with Al-Maqda.
