by Dana Marton
“In a small cell.”
“Here?”
She shook her head.
Excellent. That meant she’d been outside. “Have you seen any trucks?”
She thought about that for a moment. “They’re behind the main building.”
“How close?”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze finally focused on him. “A hundred yards.”
He pulled her back into his cell, stripped one of the men and put on his uniform, taking the headdress and wrapping it around his own head to cover up his blond hair. When he was done, he took the other two kafehs, folded them then wrapped them around Abigail’s bare feet.
“Keep your hands together at the wrist”
She seemed reluctant to let her clothes go.
“Here.” He removed her hand, pulled on the material of the abayah and tied it at the neck. The black fabric still gaped in the middle. He salvaged a length of rope and bound it below her breasts. That held. “We have to go.” He grabbed her arm, led her from the cell and then from the building.
The men were a good three hundred yards away. One of them yelled out. Abigail looked back at him, her eyes filled with panic. Spike pushed her forward roughly, mumbling “sorry” under his breath. Another man yelled, but not at them, Spike realized after a moment.
“Don’t look at them,” he whispered, as he searched the camp without turning his head. He spotted two ancient army Jeeps on the other side of the training court and filed that information as backup.
He walked as if taking her to the main building, ducking behind it at the last second. Four trucks lined up in front of him. He couldn’t have planned it better. He walked to the one that held a row of gas cans in the back, determined not to make the same mistake twice. He didn’t want to get stranded in the middle of the desert again due to lack of fuel.
“Get in and get down.” He pushed her up into the cab and breathed a sigh of relief when she soundlessly obeyed.
He didn’t tarry long, just enough to slash the tires on the rest of the vehicles. He was in the driver’s seat and had the truck hotwired within seconds. Then they were flying across the sand. The first shots rang out just a few seconds later.
“Stay down,” he said, keeping his eyes on the terrain before them, not wanting to flip over the truck on a sand dune.
She looked at him, myriad emotions flashing across her face. Determination was the last and it stuck. She grabbed one of the rifles, leaned out the window and returned fine.
Dr. Abigail DiMatteo, peace activist. He grinned. He could get used to having her around.
He got a good head start, but it wasn’t long before the two army Jeeps appeared behind them. The lighter vehicles, which were easier to drive on the sand, were catching up. Whoever was riding in them had good guns, big ones. Sooner or later they were bound to hit one of the gas cans in the back and blow the truck to kingdom come. Spike slammed on the brakes and turned the truck so he faced their pursuers head-on. He lifted a rifle out the window. Between him and Abigail, it didn’t take long to pick off the men.
“Are you okay?” He glanced at her as he put the truck in gear again.
“Yes. Are we safe?”
She was speaking at last. A good sign.
“For now” He had a feeling they hadn’t seen the last of EL Jafar’s men.
Eager to put distance between the terrorist camp and themselves, he drove as fast as was safely possible, paying attention to the position of the sun and trying tc figure out which way Tihrin was. He wished they hadn’t taken his watch and cell phone.
“So you work for the government.” Her voice cracked.
He glanced at her, then back at the sand that stretched before them. “Yes”
She took a deep breath. “You could have given me a warning.”
“No, I really couldn’t have.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “Now what?”
“We’ll find the nearest phone and call in the location of the camp.”
“That’s what you’ve been after from the beginning.” She sounded tired, resigned.
He owed her some explanation. “I was supposed to recruit you, but at the end there was no time.” They rode on in silence.
“So the foundation money was bogus?” she asked after a while, then her eyes widened. “The call. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense.”
“I don’t know a lot about that part. I came in later.”
“I got a call from someone at the foundation, saying they were establishing a new grant for work with children in war-torn countries, and they would like to see something done in Beharrain, since it’s gotten so little foreign aid so far. The woman who called said they had read the article I wrote about my work in Uganda and would be delighted if I submitted a grant proposal. I thought it was strange, because one of the girls I went to Uganda with works for the Barnsley Foundation now and we keep in touch and she hadn’t said anything about a new grant.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they made it up just for you.”
“Why me? Why was I picked? Jamal came in contact with a bunch of people at the university.”
“I’m sure all of them were looked at. I think they had other candidates at the beginning, but you seemed the strongest. You had a history of working in a situation similar to Beharrain. They knew Jamal would remember the kind of stuff you were into in college. You had built-in credibility. You are a woman, less suspicious or threatening than a man. You’re athletic. You were on the biathlon team, so they knew you weren’t scared of guns. You weren’t the perfect candidate, but, all things considered, you were pretty damn good. Good enough for the CIA to hedge their bets on.”
“Excuse me if I’m not flattered.”
He simply shrugged. “Why did you leave early? You were supposed to be evaluated, recruited and trained before you left the U.S. You didn’t wait for the grant award to be announced.”
“After I told my girlfriend about the grant, she asked around about it. And then a while later, she saw my name on the paperwork and accidentally found out I won. I was going through a rough time in my personal life. She told me the good news to cheer me up. I needed to get away and I had some funds set aside, so I figured I’d leave early and start setting up.”
“You put your own money into this?”
“I’d been saving for something else that fell through.”
“Another project?”
“Something like that,” she repeated his evasive words back to him.
Okay, so she didn’t want to talk. He could wait her out.
“A wedding,” she said finally when she’d apparently grown uncomfortable with the silence.
There’d been a copy of a marriage license in her CIA file, but no marriage certificate. He’d wondered about that. “You left him?” He couldn’t imagine a man who would willingly leave her.
“Damn right.” Anger gave strength to her voice. “So your people are looking for us? Leave no man behind, right?”
“Not really.” He hated to bring her down but didn’t want to give her false hope. It’d be better if she knew it was all up to them. “My team works on the if-you-get caught-we’ll-deny-we’ve-ever-heard-of-you principle.”
She sucked in a deep breath then exhaled. “Don’t overwhelm me with all the good news at once.”
She was all right. Maintaining a sense of humor
under the kind of stress they were in showed amazing strength. “The real good news is we’re going to make it out of here.”
Her face grew serious. “You think so?”
“Piece of cake,” he said.
SHE WAS SLEEPING. Good. She needed rest to regain her strength. Spike turned his attention back to the rippling sand spread before them, which reflected the heat in waves. With both windows down, plenty of air moved through the truck’s cab as he drove, but unfortunately it was hot air. St
ill, it made things bearable, as did the shade provided by the roof. The minor comforts had allowed them to drive through the worst of the day without stopping for shelter. They should have an easier time now that the sun had passed its zenith and was on its way to the horizon.
He glanced at the dashboard, at the little needle resting on red. They were out of gas. He had hoped it would last a while, not wanting to wake Abigail. The motor coughed a couple of times. They weren’t going to make it much farther without refueling. He turned the truck at an angle to make sure she had as much shade on her as possible, then stopped.
She opened her eyes as soon as the truck ceased moving.
“Gotta fill up the tank. Might as well stretch your legs.”
She sat up straight in her seat and looked around, disappointment clear on her face. She’d probably thought they’d reached Tihrin.
“It won’t be long now.” He opened the door and jumped onto the sand, swore at the pain in his side as he walked around to help her out.
She slipped a little, ending up sliding down against him, which he would have enjoyed tremendously under different circumstances. As it was, they both winced in pain
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “We are a sorry pair.” He steadied her and walked to the back. She followed after him.
They had six cans of gasoline, more than enough to get to Tihrin even if they made an accidental detour, although he wasn’t planning on that. The desert lay to the south of the city. As long as they drove north, they should hit a populated area. The ride out to camp had taken about eight hours, so the ride back should be the same. And he could chart their position by the stars easier than by the sun, so nightfall shouldn’t slow them down. He didn’t think Tihrin was all that far off, but the going was slow over the uneven terrain and loose sand.
He lifted a five-gallon green metal can off the back of the truck, biting back a groan when pain pulsated through his side. He ignored it as he twisted off the cap and lifted the can to the tank. Some of the gasoline sloshed on his sandals-except it didn’t smell like gasoline at all. He sniffed the can, poured some of its contents into the palm of his hand. Water. It sure came in handy. He tasted it. Warm, but clean, drinkable water. That was one less thing he needed to worry about.
“Would you like a drink?” He offered the can to Abigail, who was coming around the amuck, then poured some into her hands and twisted the cap back on when she was done. He lifted the can into the back, climbed up and opened another one. Water. Another, another, another. They were all the same.
“What?”
“We don’t have any gas.” He climbed down.
“Right here is the reason most people in Tukatar own camels.” She plopped on the sand but got up after a few seconds.
“Too hot?” He came over and pushed aside the top few inches of sand to get to the cooler layer below, creating a bench-sized area. He sat down next to her, needing a little time to think. “There’s probably enough oil below us to fuel all the cars in the country”
“Life is full of irony.” She poked her fingers into the sand. “Shouldn’t we start walking?”
“Not yet.” It had to be well over a hundred degrees. They wouldn’t get far. “We’ll rest until the sun goes down, then walk at night. It’s better to keep moving once the temperature drops anyway.”
“Desert survival training?” She smiled at him for the first time in a long-time.
He grinned back. “Comes in handy now and then.”
They climbed into the back where the canvas kept out the sun overhead. He flipped up the two sides to let some of the breeze in, positioned the water cans at the back as a makeshift barricade, just in case, and made sure they had all three rifles with them.
He settled in, sitting up to make sure he could see. Abigail did the same.
“You should stretch out Make yourself comfortable.” She was staring at his face. “Is your cheekbone broken?”
He touched the swollen flesh and winced. “I don’t think so.”
She got up, took off her veil and soaked it in water, then came back to put it on his face. “What else did they do to you?”
“I think I might have a couple of broken ribs.” Not that he was a complainer, but it didn’t seem all that bad to have her fuss over him.
“Let me bind them up.” She began to tear strips off her abayah, revealing her ankles and then her calves through the flimsy nightgown she wore underneath.
He didn’t stop her.
“Lie down.” She knelt next to him.
He shook his head. “I want to keep an eye on things.”
She went still for a moment then glanced back over her shoulder into the direction they’d come from.
Damn. He didn’t want her to worry. “I think we have some time. It’ll take a while before they catch up with us. Pray for wind.” They needed that more than anything to erase their tracks from the sand.
She looked back at him and reached for his shirt, her slender fingers working their way down the buttons efficiently. Her breasts, eye level to him, rose and fell with each breath. He felt his blood stir, looked away. When she was finished with the buttons, she moved the shirt out of the way and ran her fingers down his ribs, gently probing one after another. His body didn’t seem to know its own limits. He dropped his hands into his lap, not wanting to embarrass her.
“That one,” he said when she got to one of the spots that hurt like hell.
She nodded and moved on. They identified three broken ribs on the left and two on the right before she was finished.
“It’s terrible.” Her voice shook with upset.
“Could be worse. At least none of them punctured my lungs.”
She stared at him for a few seconds. “I don’t even want to think about that.” Her hands trembled slightly.
Exhaustion and the shock of the last couple of days were probably catching up with her. He couldn’t let her fall apart now. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ll have to take care of me for a couple of days. You think you can handle it?”
She drew a deep breath then nodded. “Sit up.”
He’d given her a challenge and she took it up. Good. Now she had something to focus on, to take her mind off other things she could be worried about. He leaned away from the back of the truck toward her, his face inches from her breasts. She’d been right. Life was full of irony. He’d wanted to distract her, and here he was, himself severely distracted.
She leaned closer still, to wrap strips of cloth around his torso. She tugged the makeshift bandage tight. Strangely, he didn’t seem to feel any pain.
“Good as new” She moved away too soon. “Wish we had some painkillers.”
He leaned back and looked her in the eye. “You could kiss me.”
He’d caught her off guard. Her eyes widened before she quickly glanced away. “Listen, back at the house—I don’t want you to think I—”
“It’s good to give thinking a break every once in a while.” He reached for her. “If I thought about it, I probably wouldn’t do this.” He pulled her to him and kissed her.
Her lips were soft beneath his and they parted as she relaxed in his arms. She felt like heaven. He deepened the kiss, taking it all, wanting more: She was like a sandstorm—she came up on him fast, spun his mind around, blinded him.
She felt it, too. He could tell from the small sound that escaped her throat, the way her breath caught when he pushed his hardness against her. But just as he was getting good and lost in her, she stiffened and pulled away. Damn. That was the trouble with women. They couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t let the tide wash them away wherever it may, to hell with the consequences. He knew what was coming before she opened her mouth.
“Do you always take whatever you want, the minute you want it, without any thought tb others?”
Only when it came to women, although not without any thought to them. He’d always made sure they had as muc
h fun as he did. Nobody had ever complained. “Not usually.”
“Good to know I’m special.” She settled down on the truck bed, as far from him as possible, and pulled her knees up. “If you think I’d forgotten all that lying, you better think again.”
The abayah slid up her thighs, her sheer nightgown revealing slender limbs. He forced his gaze to move up and away from that trouble spot. Not that her swollen lips were less tempting. And he was willing to bet anything the flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with righteous indignation.
He turned the other way. “The whole point of a covert operation is that it’s done without anyone knowing. I didn’t have the time to evaluate you to see if you could handle it. Would you have been able to keep your silence with Suhaib?”
“Who?”
He turned back to her. “El Jafar. Jamal’s brother.”
“Oh.”
He could see the wheels turning in her head.
“We didn’t run into Jamal by accident,” she said.
He shook his head.
“So the fire at the hut…”
“I made sure you were safe. It was the only way I could think of to get you to Tihrin in a hurry.”
“And the explosion?”
“They caught me snooping in the armory.” He went on and explained the original plan, then the adjusted one and how it had gone wrong. “Look, the world is changing. It’s not countries against countries anymore. Our enemy is not a traditional army. We can’t just draw the front line on a map and talk strategy about how to push it forward. A surgical operation like this works best against a small target. Would you rather have the whole U.S. Army come in and bomb guilty and innocent alike?”
She gave him a dark look. “I still hate it.”
“I know. I had no right to put your life at risk.”
“If you had told me, I would have volunteered.”
She probably would have. Unfortunately, he hadn’t known her well enough to make that judgment call, and he hadn’t wanted to go against a direct order. But when he looked at the rope burns on her wrists, the knowledge that he’d done the best he could didn’t keep him from feeling like a bastard.
