No Girl Left Behind: A Jamie Austen Spy Thriller (THE SPY STORIES Book 5)

by Terry Toler

  Somehow, coming out of the Sheikh’s house I made a wrong turn. Instead of heading in the direction of my plane, I was on a backroad outside of Abu Dhabi, with my surroundings deteriorating at every turn. Clearly, I had wandered into the poorer tribal areas. Made worse by the fact that my phone GPS wasn’t picking up a signal.

  A phone call to A-Rad earlier had also distracted me.

  “I need you for a mission tomorrow,” I said to him.

  I could hear his excitement through the phone as he let out a yell. A-Rad was a wild man. When I first met him, he was an Air Force pilot who flew planes into hurricanes for a living. He flew me into the eye of hurricane Delilah so I could parachute into Cuba and rescue four girls kidnapped on their senior high-class trips.

  When I told him I needed a pilot to fly me on missions, he jumped at the chance. In three months, he became certified for our plane and then went to the Farm where he was trained by Curly. Now, not only was he the best pilot I knew, but he could hold his own in the field with the best of them.

  He was particularly proficient when we needed muscle. A-Rad wasn’t good when it came to the nuances of spying. Ask him to spot or lose a tail, and he was lost as a goose. When we needed a bull in the china shop to come in and shake things up, A-Rad was our man. If we didn’t have a shoot-out on a mission, A-Rad felt cheated. If we had to storm a building or knock down a door, he wanted to be the first one in.

  Flying me to Abu Dhabi was not his idea of a good time. Art was of no interest to him. He couldn’t tell the difference between the Mona Lisa or Whistler’s Mother and didn’t care, even though he worked for one of the premier art distributors in the world as a cover. While he was willing to come and fly me here, the entire time had been the ultimate downer for him, and he let me know it on more than one occasion. Now that I had mentioned a mission, his spirits had done a complete one eighty.

  “Is it dangerous?” he asked.

  “Very,” I said.

  “Yes!”

  I could almost picture him pumping his fist in the air. I probably overstated the danger, but he would have to confront two armed men. Although, they were no match for his skills. Still, anytime guns were involved, a slight element of danger existed. Especially considering the brazen plan I hoped to pull off in the middle of downtown Abu Dhabi City in broad daylight.

  “I’m in,” he said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “You haven’t heard the mission yet.”

  “I don’t care. You had me at dangerous.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Another reason I loved A-Rad. He was a follower more than a leader. All I had to do was point him in the right direction, and he’d run through the proverbial wall for me. Except for my husband Alex, A-Rad was my favorite on our highly skilled and capable AJAX team. I also enjoyed his company. He was funny and up for anything. Over the past six months, we’d been bungee jumping, rock climbing, paintballing, paragliding, parasailing, and ski jumping. We’d raced together—motorcycles, bicycles, race cars, and anything else that moved at a high rate of speed.

  And been shot at a few times. Much to his delight.

  I explained what he needed. “Write this down. You’ll need a weapon—”

  “Yes!” he said before I could get the rest of the words out.

  “Small caliber. Something you can hide in your pants.”

  “Got it.”

  He probably wished it were a machine gun, but he didn’t say anything more.

  “You’ll need a ski mask to cover your face,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  That’s the other thing I liked about A-Rad. He never asked why. He just did it. Whatever I said. Never questioning me.

  “The last thing you’ll need is a blond wig, women’s sunglasses, and a woman’s burqa.”

  Well, most of the time he didn’t ask why or question me.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to wear them,” he said in a raised voice.

  I laughed. “No. You’ll be wearing the ski mask.”

  “Whew! For a second there, I thought you were going to ask me to dress up like a woman. That ain’t happenin.”

  “You’d make an ugly woman, A-Rad.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I’ll be home soon,” I told him. That was thirty minutes ago. Before I got lost. Now I wasn’t sure when I was going to get back to the plane. When I got cell phone service, I’d call him and let him know I’d be late. If I could get service. Getting lost in Abu Dhabi wasn’t that easy to do. All I had to do was head toward the Persian Gulf, and I’d hit the road that led right to the airport. I just didn’t know which direction that was.

  “I’ll wait up for you,” A-Rad said.

  That’s the other thing about him. He was highly protective of me. If I wasn’t where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there, he was the first to voice concern. Probably a tie between Alex and him as to which one would get in front of me first to take a bullet.

  My mind returned to my present problem.

  Where am I?

  I had no clue and didn’t know if I was making things worse. Complicated by the fact no one was on the roads. I hadn’t seen a car in ten miles. Or a gas station. Or even a village. My Lamborghini made good time: I just didn’t know to where. I rounded a curve and saw car lights just ahead, which caused me to breathe a sigh of relief. Hopefully, they could give me directions.

  As I neared, things seemed off. My CIA radar kicked in. The car was on the wrong side of the road. On the shoulder. The driver side door was open. No one was in the car. Was someone hurt?

  I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. In a field, to my left. Just off the road. No more than twenty paces. It looked like four people were standing over something. Or at least it seemed that way as I strained to see what was happening in the dark. I couldn’t make out what was happening. I rolled down my window and called out to them.

  “Hill yemkenk an tatini alatiahat?” I asked in Arabic, the official language of the UAE. Can you give me directions?

  The four figures turned toward me. They suddenly took off running toward the car. What’s happening? It took a second to process things. For whatever reason, they were spooked. Something was on the ground. I did a double take as my mind processed that it might be a person.

  My phone was still in my hand with the maps pulled up. I switched to camera mode and hit the record button just in case I was witnessing something nefarious. One of the men ran straight for the open driver side door. He jumped in and slammed the door shut. A second man got in the backseat on the same side of the car. A third went around the front of the car and got in the passenger side door. I couldn’t see any of the men’s faces. Hopefully, the video on my phone picked them up.

  The fourth man had to go right in front of my car to get to the backseat of the passenger side. I got a good look at him.

  Our eyes met.

  I held my camera up to the dashboard, so he could see that I was either filming him or taking his picture. He had no way of knowing which. At least he’d know I was on to him. His face was clearly on my video. My headlights illuminated his entire body for the camera.

  He abruptly stopped in his tracks. Reversed field and bolted to my open window. I made no attempt to shut it. He reached his hand through to try and grab my phone.

  “Tatini an al-kalabah al-hatef,” he said roughly. Give me that phone. At the end of the sentence, he added a five-letter word, normally used to describe female dogs. That didn’t sit too well with me.

  “That’s no way to talk to a lady,” I said to him in Arabic.

  I grabbed his wrist, now inside the car and twisted it violently upward. Counterclockwise. In a direction it wasn’t meant to turn. A move Curly had demonstrated to our CIA training class on the Farm using me as the victim. I knew how much it hurt. Only I stopped shorter than Curly did. Before I could do any real damage. The man would have trouble sleeping tonight, but the soreness would leave in a couple days.

  He let
out a yelp. Something like what a female dog would sound like if you stepped on her tail.

  “Who’s the bitch now, buddy?” I said in English.

  He jerked his arm out of the car and ran crying like a baby back to his vehicle. The car sped away once he was safely inside, but not before I got a good video of the license plate.

  If I’d known what was about to happen next, I’d have done a lot more damage to his arm and to other parts of his body as well.

  ***

  A woman staggered out of the field.

  Wearing a hijab. Or what was left of it.

  She was bloodied, and her clothes sandy and torn. I put the car in park, jumped out, and ran to her side, barely catching her before she collapsed to the ground.

  Not a woman.

  A teenage girl.

  Badly beaten.

  Her right eye was swollen shut and her nose was out of place, hideously hanging to the side, clearly broken. Blood gushed from several wounds. Her jaw might’ve been broken as well, because when she tried to speak the words were slurred. Like she’d been to the dentist and had a shot that numbed her mouth and jaw.

  I helped her around to the passenger side of the car. Sat her down with her feet on the ground and facing me so I could assess her injuries in the light. A bottle of water in the center console helped me to clean some of the wounds. I tore off pieces of her hijab to use as tourniquets to stop the bleeding.

  Even then, she was in bad shape. Probably had a concussion. Maybe a broken eye socket. The men had inflicted a tremendous beating on her. Probably done more than that.

  “Agtisboni,” she said several times confirming what I already suspected. They raped me.

  “I know, honey,” I said. “But you’re safe now. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

  “No. Take me home.”

  “You need medical attention. You may have internal bleeding. You probably have a concussion.” I didn’t want to tell her about the facial injuries that might require surgery.

  “Please take me home,” she pleaded.

  Five hours later, I wished I’d listened to her. Right after the tribal police showed up, took a look at my video, and arrested her.

  6

  Amina

  Sheikh Zimraan Jaber General Hospital

  Thirty minutes outside Abu Dhabi City

  I had to be careful. I was coming perilously close to being arrested myself.

  “Why is Amina being arrested?” I asked the man roughly after he tried to handcuff Amina and take her out of the hospital bed and down to the police station. My arguing with him provided the distraction that kept him from doing so. The man wasn’t really a policeman. A tribal elder was how he introduced himself. From Amina’s village. I didn’t even know if he had the authority to arrest her.

  “She has violated the law,” he argued.

  “What law did she violate?”

  “The law of adultery.”

  I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

  We were in Amina Noorani’s hospital room. The girl had been brutally raped by four men, multiple times. Then savagely beaten. Had I not come along when I did, she probably would’ve died. As it was, she lay in the bed in critical but stable condition. Expected to live but with severe head injuries. Not to mention, the emotional scars that would be with her forever.

  “Adultery? What are you talking about?” the conversation was getting more heated with each exchange. I wasn’t sure if the man had the authority to arrest me as well. Something I didn’t want to happen. Not only did I need to secure the painting, but I also promised Bianca I’d help get her out of her predicament. She was counting on me.

  “The man on the video on your phone is married. Amina had sex with him.”

  I was almost beside myself.

  The first thing I did when the man arrived was show him the video on my phone. Now, I realized how big a mistake that had been. This was why Amina had pleaded with me to take her home and not to the hospital. She knew how much trouble she was in.

  “You call that sex!” I said, just barely below shouting. “He forced himself on her!”

  “Our tribal laws make no distinction,” he retorted. “They had relations.”

  I paced the room now. Trying to control my anger which was about to erupt like a volcano on steroids.

  “That’s not sexual relations. It’s called rape! Do you not understand the difference?”

  “She’s already admitted her guilt. I have no choice but to arrest her.”

  “How did she admit her guilt?”

  The man pulled out a little black book and began reading from it.

  “She told the nurse she was walking on the highway. The men stopped and offered her a ride. She said no and kept walking. That’s her first offense. She admitted talking to the men. It’s against the tribal laws for a woman or girl to talk in public to a man who’s not a relative.”

  I noticed he kept saying tribal laws. I couldn’t believe that a sophisticated country like the UAE would still have such archaic laws.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. All she did was answer the man. She told him no. That she didn’t want a ride. Sounds to me like she did the right thing.”

  “What was she doing away from her home that late at night, walking on the highway? Alone. She was asking for trouble.”

  “I don’t know why. Doesn’t matter. She was wearing her hijab, so she was covered. They had no right to attack her. What about the men? Are you going to charge them as well?”

  If he answered wrong, I might just choke him out. Tribal elder or not.

  “I will question them. They may have a different version. Perhaps she came on to them.”

  “So that justifies them beating her to a pulp?”

  “We don’t know that the men in the video are the ones who assaulted her.”

  Was this guy an idiot or just a low-life bigoted scoundrel?

  Bigoted was a given.

  “Don’t forget that I saw the men standing over her. When they saw me, they ran away. Why would they run if they weren’t guilty? You saw the video. They sure looked guilty to me. I’m sure Amina can identify them as her attackers as well.”

  “The law requires that any charges against a man must be supported by the testimony of four men. Neither your testimony nor the young girl’s will be admissible if it’s not supported by the testimony or confessions of the other men.”

  “You have them on tape!”

  “All I see on the tape is them walking to the car.”

  “Running to the car. Like they’re guilty of something. Amina will confirm everything once she’s able to talk.”

  “I’ll say it again. A woman’s testimony is not permissible in our court unless it’s supported by the testimony of four honorable men. If she were to bring a charge against the men without the testimony of four witnesses, she’ll be charged with an additional crime of slander.”

  I wanted to slap him across the head.

  “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. You’re going to charge her with adultery, but the men get off scot-free.”

  “I didn’t say that. The three men will be charged with having premarital sex, if they confess to the charges. The married man will be charged with adultery as well.”

  “What is the punishment for that?”

  “That’s up to the judge. Probably lashes. Maybe jail time.”

  Right at that moment, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

  “Amina will also be charged with the same crimes,” he continued. “Three counts of premarital sex and adultery. She’s already confessed to them. Her punishment is a hundred lashes and a year to two years in prison for each offense. The adultery charge is the more serious charge. The penalty can be lashes, imprisonment, even death, although I don’t know if that will happen. Depends on the judge.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh, so he’d know how frustrated I was at him. The men get lashes and maybe prison time. Amina get
s four hundred lashes and four to eight years in jail. Maybe death.

  Maybe I’d just kill him and take Amina back to my plane and out of the country.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t totally surprised. This information wasn’t completely new to me. I’d read the reports. Human rights violations against women and girls had been running rampant in the middle east for centuries. The UAE had made significant reforms over the years. Apparently, those reforms hadn’t made it to this tribal area which was still operating in the dark ages.

  I remembered reading about a woman, a hotel maid, who was raped by her employer. I don’t remember where, although it wasn’t the UAE. When she went to the hospital complaining of stomach pains, they discovered she was pregnant. She was arrested for having premarital sex but she wouldn’t identify the name of the father which made things worse for her. The punishment was a hundred lashes even though she was pregnant. The sentence was carried out. They threatened to continue the beating until she divulged his name. When she finally revealed that he was married, the charge was changed to adultery, and she was sentenced to death. The media went ballistic.

  Human rights groups condemned the actions, and the UN imposed sanctions. I seemed to think in the back of my mind that the woman went to jail, and the employer got off with a fine. While things may be getting better, I was witnessing firsthand how heavy handed the system still was against women in some areas.

  “Amina should not be arrested. She did nothing wrong,” I said to the man, after I had regained my composure and could speak in a calmer tone.

  “That’s none of your concern,” he retorted. “That’s for a judge to decide.”

  “I think it is my concern,” I said. “I’m a witness to the attack. I can identify the men. I shot the video.”

  Something I regretted now. That was the primary evidence that could be used against Amina. I looked over at her. She let out a moan. Her face was almost unrecognizable because of the swelling. I wished the man would give me ten minutes alone in the room with the four men. I’d see that they get a beating they’d never forget. Put all four of them in the room with me at the same time. I didn’t care. I’d beat them to a pulp, so they’d know how it felt.