AMIRA

by Matthew Betley

  “How so?” asked the uninjured rebel.

  Amira smiled, although the two men only saw her pale blue eyes sparkling in the artificial light. “Because this is for one of you, as is this,” she replied, holding up the suppressed SIGSAUER 9mm pistol. “I won’t lie to you – only one of you is walking – well, not necessarily walking – out of here.”

  “What do you want?” the uninjured man asked.

  “Me? I don’t want anything. Personally, I’d like to shoot you both. God knows what horrors you’ve committed and how much innocent blood you’ve spilled. You killed four guards in your little assault yesterday, and a hostage was killed in the barracks by your men, who all died badly, by the way, either by my hand or the hyenas. That was something, I have to admit. But me? I don’t want anything.”

  “Then why do this?”

  Amira moved back as if perplexed by the question. “Because this is what I do. Because you’re the bad guy, and I’m the good guy sent to stop you. It’s all very simple. Now, listen to me very carefully. You attacked the wrong facility. You should’ve never shut down the oil supply. It was very short-sighted of you, but you’re a self-proclaimed freedom fighter, I’m sure. You bastards never really think things through on the macro level. And for that, you’re going to pay the ultimate price.”

  “Oil? You’re an American,” the man spat back. “It’s always about the oil with you people. How much blood have you spilled in the Middle East over it? You’re no different than me, no matter what you say.”

  Amira knew he had a point. “You’re not totally wrong, but I don’t make policy. I just carry it out on a very tactical level. But it’s irrelevant. Here’s the bottom line: one of you is going to die right now, and because you’re in much better shape than your friend, here, I’m going to leave it up to you to decide.”

  Amira watched the dawning horror on the man’s face as he realized the unthinkable decision she’d just placed in his hands. “You can’t,” he said, his voice suddenly acidic with hate. “Asim and I grew up together as brothers. Kill us both. I’d rather die.”

  “It’s okay, Omar,” Asim said. “You should…carry on…the cause.”

  They were the last words Asim spoke, as Amira quickly raised the SIGSAUER and shot him in the forehead from only a few feet away. The loud bark of the suppressed pistol felt magnified in the darkness, and Omar screamed in anguish, an honest, mournful cry that made Amira feel slightly guilty about what she’d just done. Don’t. These men are monsters. God knows how many lives they’ve taken. This is justice. Real, hard, African justice.

  “You…bitch,” Omar said, tears streaking down his face.

  “You didn’t want to make a choice. So I made it for you. And now, it’s your turn,” Amira said coldly, holstering the pistol.

  Amira bent down and deftly rolled him over, his hands and feet secure. He struggled and squirmed on his stomach, cursing her, but she ignored it. An expert in judo, she mounted his lower back and easily manipulated his body with her strong legs. She bent down and whispered into his right ear, “Put your hands over your head, or I’m going to use this machete to cut your throat.”

  Omar continued to buck beneath her but realized quickly he had no leverage. He stopped struggling, and said, “You’re going to burn for this.”

  “Maybe, but I’d like to think that if either one of us is going to burn for our sins, it’s you. Now, place your arms over your head, slowly.”

  Omar rolled slightly to his right and removed his arms from under his chest, rotating his shoulders until his secured hands stretched out above him.

  Amira grabbed his hands and placed them on a large, flat rock. He tried to keep his hands balled into fists, but she slammed the butt of the machete into the back of his hand, not hard enough to break bones but hard enough to reflexively cause his fist to open. She grabbed his left ring and pinky fingers in her left hand.

  “I have to know,” Amira said in a low voice, taunting him, “how many people have you killed with this blade? It’s sharp, cared for, the way I care for my stilettos. I see a few dark spots on the leather handle. No doubt that’s blood. I dread to think whose.”

  Omar remained silent, which was an admission of guilt in Amira’s eyes.

  “That’s what I thought. Monsters like you never acknowledge their misdeeds. You’re nothing but a criminal and a coward,” Amira said, baiting him.

  “Coward?” Omar spat out from beneath her, his face in the dirt. “I’ve killed more people with that weapon than you can imagine, and every one of them deserved it.” His voice rang true with self-delusion, justifying the horrors for which he was responsible.

  “You know, I thought you’d say something like that,” Amira said, quickly extending his two fingers flat on the rock. “And I’m really glad you did.”

  “Why is that?” Omar asked, confused.

  “Because then I don’t feel so badly about this,” Amira replied, and brought the machete swiftly and forcefully down.

  Chapter 16

  Paolich Airport, Southern Sudan

  0623 Local Time

  The dim morning light increased in intensity as Amira Cerone walked back across the runway of the Paolich Airport towards the camp the USAID workers had established. She’d driven back towards the pumping facility, abandoned the Hilux outside the north perimeter, retrieved her backpack, changed clothes, and begun the several-mile hike back to camp. Her adrenaline from the firefights and mission accomplishment had energized her for the long walk. She’d contemplated her final conversation with Omar, her only regret that her leadership wanted him alive.

  “You know, you’re lucky. If it were up to me, you’d be in the afterlife with your friend,” Amira had said as she’d thrown some QuickClot on the stubs at the first joints of his two fingers and bandaged them. “But you’re a message, and I need you to understand that. But even if you don’t get it, I’m sure others will.”

  “And what is that?” Omar had asked, cradling his mutilated left hand in his right, his wrists still zip-tied together.

  “That you should’ve never taken the pumping station, that you should’ve let the referendum play out next month. South Sudan will get its independence. Everyone knows it. Your soon-to-be country didn’t need you, no matter what your ego thinks. It will be here soon enough, and this is the critical part – if you or any other group decide to attack that or any other pumping station, it won’t be just me that comes next time. It will be a whole lot of people just like me or worse, and no matter what you think, it won’t end well for you or anyone like you.” She’d knelt down to emphasize her last words, her pale blue eyes boring into his. “Your fight is over, and you survived. For your sake, although I’m not sure you deserve it, I hope you understand that you get a second chance, which is more than the rest of your friends can say.”

  He’d remained quiet, and she’d abruptly stood, turned, and walked away. She’d left the machete near his damaged Hilux and figured that it would take him a decent amount of time to hop or crawl to it, cut himself free, and escape back under whatever rock from which he’d emerged.

  As Trevor would’ve said, “A job well done. Mission accomplished, and you walked out alive. That’s all you can ask for in this business.” And she knew he was right. She’d done what her country had asked of her, what they’d trained her to do, but more importantly, what she’d volunteered for. The path she walked was the one she’d chosen, and she had no regrets about her choices, including executing the wounded rebel. He hadn’t been an innocent. They all had blood on their hands.

  She crossed to the other side of the runway when a male figure emerged from the main tent. As she neared him, she recognized Dr. David Granger, the US Embassy doctor, a six-foot, handsome man who wore his hair in a care-free, adult version of Justin Bieber.

  “Amira, what brings you out this early?” he asked, holding a cup of coffee in a white, plastic embassy mug.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a hike. Been gone abo
ut forty-five minutes or so, just around the airport. Kind of refreshing, to be honest.”

  David nodded. “See anything exciting?”

  “Exciting? No. Just the sun starting to wake up. Oh. And a hyena. Off in the distance. Why do you ask?”

  “One of the security guards came and roused me from my slumber. You know the pumping station that was attacked yesterday a few miles from here?”

  “Of course,” Amira replied, her pulse racing at the question. The entire team had been briefed on the assault the evening before, hours before she’d been activated to resolve it.

  “Well, apparently, there was some kind of attack or rescue operation. I didn’t get all the details. They’re not clear, but he told me that the hostages are all safe, and all the rebels are dead. Sounds like a battle of some sort.”

  Amira sounded surprised. “God. That sounds intense. I’m glad the workers are okay, though.”

  “Exactly. I offered to help if they had any serious injuries, but apparently, the only injuries sustained were fatal ones to the rebels.”

  “Well, that’s something, for sure. And if nothing else, it leaves you to focus on the people in the village today.”

  “Now that is the truth. Okay. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. I suggest you do the same. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Amira smiled, a gesture that made men blush due to her beautiful, exotic features. “Every day in Africa is a long day. Let’s get to work.”

  Part III – Full Circle

  Chapter 17

  Gaylord National Hotel

  The Present

  1550 EST

  Amira stared at Omar Bol, the leader of the rebel group whose two fingers she’d taken as a message to others in southern Sudan. I knew I should’ve killed him. Her instincts had been to finish the job, but the powers-that-be at Langley had wanted him alive. And now he was in the United States, involved in a plot to assassinate the director of the CIA. Hindsight is worse than twenty-twenty. It’s sometimes a fatal shot right between the running lights.

  “The look on your face is priceless. It’s almost what I anticipated. Almost. I’ve found that the thing anticipated never really lives up to the anticipation itself. I told you you’d burn for what you did to me, and while I won’t be setting you on fire – not because I don’t want to, mind you – your death will be good enough for me.” The hatred she’d seen in those eyes back in Sudan still burned brightly.

  She considered a response, but instead, turned her attention to Nafisa, who stood behind Omar. “I know who this one is,” Amira said, nodding her head at Omar while avoiding eye contact, “but what does that make you? How do you fit into this madness?”

  Omar spoke in reply. “Nafisa, you haven’t told her, have you? I thought that would’ve been the first thing you did.”

  “I didn’t want her to know until it was time, until just before I pulled the trigger,” the bitter Nafisa said.

  “I understand,” Omar said, and dropped it.

  But the exchange between the two had triggered an epiphany, and Amira spoke. “Your husband or your brother?”

  Nafisa stared at her, spitting words in reply. “What did you say to me?”

  “I said, ‘Your husband or your brother?’ That’s the only reason you’d have that much hatred for me. The wounded man I killed, Omar’s partner, he must’ve been your husband or your brother, to have that much anger – trust me; I would know.” She considered the choice, and said, “I’m guessing husband.”

  Nafisa’s demeanor intensified so sharply that Amira thought the woman might spontaneously combust. For a brief moment, Amira expected an attack, vicious and fast like the first strike, but none came, and the woman turned and left the room.

  Omar studied Amira, shaking his head as if chiding an insolent child. “Husband. Asim, the man you executed – not just killed; don’t diminish your true crime – was her husband. It’s why she gets the pleasure of you killing you once we give her the green light. She deserves her vengeance.”

  “And what’s this green light? Sounds complicated,” Amira asked sarcastically.

  Omar ignored the comment. “After your Director Tooney is dead. It’s actually pretty simple. He dies; then you die; and we all escape as your authorities try to sort it all out.”

  “Nothing about this seems simple, but what do I know? I’m tied to a chair.”

  “Yes. You are, and that’s where you’re going to stay until the very end.”

  Samuel entered the room. He placed a hand on Omar’s left shoulder, and said, “It’s time.”

  “I just have one last question, a last request, so to speak,” Amira said.

  Samuel raised his eyebrows.

  “No. Not for you,” Amira said, redirecting her gaze to Omar. “For him.”

  Omar studied the woman who’d tormented and tortured him, who’d ruined his plans, who’d maimed him. See what she wants. She’s going to die soon, anyhow. “What is it?”

  “How did you get wrapped up in all of this? That’s what I don’t understand. Someone had to find you to get you involved. You didn’t get here on your own.”

  Omar smiled, knowingly. “I have you to thank for that.”

  Amira’s brow furrowed, perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know, but they said you would once I tell you this,” Omar continued, sending a chill up Amira’s spine. “About a year after your attack, a Chinese man came to my village. He told me he worked for the Chinese government, and he offered me a chance for revenge. Several months after we achieved independence, the Chinese National Petroleum Company assumed control from Petrodar over the pumping station. I guess it had something to do with a small war you and your friends waged on the Chinese in Sudan. Rather than side with the US, both Sudan and my South Sudan reached a deal with China over that new oil field.”

  Amira’s head hurt from the implications. All that blood in Sudan, and yet it’s still not over.

  “But unlike Petrodar, the Chinese understood that they needed to take care of the villagers in Paolich. Food, medical supplies, and money poured into the local area. The Chinese even provided engineers to help build a school, something we’d never had. But the Chinese also have long memories, and they offered me a chance to reclaim my honor.”

  “Is executing a woman tied to a chair honorable?” Amira asked.

  “How is it any different from what you did to Asim?” Omar laughed. “Your arrogance is your undoing. You really don’t see your hypocrisy.”

  As much as it psychologically pained her, she knew he had a point. It’s all a matter of perspective.

  “The Chinese are tired of the US meddling in Africa, where they’ve invested billions of dollars. Within ten years, the Chinese economy will be the dominant global economy, especially if they can get the US to stop playing in their backyard. As a result, they’ve funded my revenge, pure and simple.” He stood before her, his hands held wide, indicating there was nothing else left to say.

  “You know it’s not going to work, right? No matter what they told you, how much they paid you, what they gave you, it won’t work. It never does. My government always finds out the truth, even if they hide it themselves sometimes.”

  “We’ll see, but one thing is for certain – in less than twenty minutes, you’ll be dead, and Asim will be avenged. Goodbye.”

  He abruptly turned and left the room, leaving Amira alone with her spinning thoughts. Please, God. Let there be a way out. But if not, let me face my fate bravely.

  Less than a minute later, the door to the suite opened and closed one last time, and Amira was left alone with the woman whose husband she’d executed.

  Nafisa entered the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the queen bed to Amira’s right, her back to Amira. “Finally, we’re alone. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this.”

  That makes one of us, Amira thought, counting down the seconds in her mind, praying for help she knew wasn’t coming.

  Chapter 18
/>   The two women sat in silence for several minutes, which suited Amira as she mentally counted down the clock ticks left in her life. You can’t blame her. You killed her husband. She’s doing what you would’ve done, what you have done. But you also know she’s blinded by her hatred. She’s about to throw her life away because after today, if they succeed, they’ll find and kill her. Of that, Amira was certain. Once she was dead, John would hunt Nafisa down literally to the ends of the earth. There’d be no place safe from the wrath of Amira’s lover. Give her a chance.

  “I understand why you hate me. Believe me. I get it, but are you really willing to throw away your life? Because that’s what you’re doing. Omar is a monster. I knew that the night I met him, but I barely had a moment with your husband. Did Omar tell you the full story of how Asim died?”

  Amira felt the loathing, but she prayed there was a glimpse of reason left.

  Nafisa turned on the edge, her legs in the space between the two beds, and looked at Amira. When she spoke, her words were quiet, as if by speaking softly they could counteract the fury behind them. “He said you shot him in the head, that you never gave him a chance. That you ambushed them as they fled, caused an accident, and captured them both alive, only to murder my husband.”

  That sonofabitch. He lied to her, at least partially. You have to get to her to see the truth. Amira edged forward slightly, the subtle movement intended to emphasize her sincerity. “Nafisa, I know you despise me, and I know you have no reason to believe me, but what I’m about to tell you is the truth, the entire truth. Yes. I killed your husband. Yes. I shot him in the head. That part is true. But I shot him because I thought he was already dying from his injuries, and I needed one of them alive because that was part of my mission. I swear to God.”