"I have seen you at the
University; they call you Ramos, Alejandro Ramos. I see through your
pretense. You are not a Spanish Muslim. I think you are also American,
probably a Christian."
"I’m a sinner, period."
"You have broken
commandments?"
"Many times."
"Tell me how?"
"Among others, I’ve killed.
Be glad I don’t feel like sinning tonight."
"You do not scare me, Señor
Ramos. I have known men who take great pleasure when they inflict pain on a
woman."
Her remark reminded him of
the scars on her back. "What about you, Fadia? Do you practice Islam?"
She shook her head. "No more.
I, too, am a sinner. That we have, how do you say, together?"
"In common." He smiled. "At
least we’re honest about it."
She replied with vehemence,
"Not like men who are blinded by hatred and sated by cruelty. Yet they feel
sanctified because the holy men say the "Qur'an permits this behavior."
He took her outburst as a
sign of opening up and probed, but she refused to say more. Instead, she
walked to the bed and curled up with her back to him ...
... The cleric whispered quietly,
as though in prayer, using an unfamiliar dialect. Then he turned to
Alejandro. "This is Samir, a close friend and a protector."
Samir informed Faizel that a
young burglar had skulked around the house while they prayed at the mosque.
"What happened when you
discovered the little thief?" Faizel asked.
"I detained the boy in your
basement. You will decide his fate."
Alejandro had a sick feeling
in the pit of his stomach.
The cleric nodded. "Anwar,
bring the boy upstairs."
Moments later, Anwar shouted,
"Fadia!" He dragged the young women dressed in boy's clothes into
the room. Her wrists were bound behind her back and heavy tape covered her
mouth. He threw down the cap that had covered her short-cropped hair and
raged, "This is not a thief. This woman shamed my family." He slapped her
hard on the face. "You will suffer greatly and then I will kill you in the
name of Allah."
Anwar raised his hand again,
this time with a closed fist.
Alejandro reached out and
stopped the blow before it connected with the girl's face. "Punish with
control. Temper demeans a man."
Her eyes flashed gratitude
before she cast them downward ...
... Devon stood motionless in the
shadows behind the house and
watched. By now, Nate should have entered the bathroom and cracked the
window. Otherwise, he should have left the house, walked past the alley, and
circled back unnoticed. Something had gone wrong. He studied the rear of the
house carefully. On the second floor, a bedroom window was
open about six inches. An iron pipe ran up the side of the building within
two feet of the window and he wondered if it would hold his weight. If so,
who would be inside the room? As he thought about his options, Devon saw one
of the janitors walk past the window. Seconds later, the light in the room
went out.
After
testing the strength of the fasteners that secured the pipe to the building, he
began a slow shinny upward. A minute later, he swung himself to the window
ledge and peered into a dark, empty room. Then he eased the window up and
pulled himself through the opening. Inside, Devon checked his weapons and
moved silently toward the interior door.
He peered into the hallway and saw one other door. It stood open. As he
crept forward, he heard leather making contact with bare flesh, a sound he
had learned about when he was fifteen. A quick look inside told the story. Tied
facedown to a rickety metal bed, a person took a beating from another
wielding a belt.
The snapping against skin stopped. "You will no longer shame me or my
father."
"You and your father can go to hell, Anwar."
He recognized the voice. Drawing his knife, Devon glanced into the bedroom.
Anwar gripped Fadia's short-cropped hair. With her head inches from the
mattress, he put a knife to her throat.
Without a sound, Devon moved in behind the man, grabbed his hair, and slid
the blade across his carotid artery. Blood spurted and the body slumped
across Fadia. Devon quickly cut her bindings. With no time to waste, he went
to find his brother. Creeping down the hall toward a
narrow staircase, Devon heard another sound from below ... Nate screaming in pain.
The admiral wants to bench
Nate
The admiral glanced at his
computer screen and clicked his mouse. "I received your last fitness
evaluation. According to the doctors, you have some hearing loss in one ear. The
folks on Coronado reported signs of a sleep disorder. They expressed concern
about your participation in this last mission. I had my own reservations."
The comment sucker punched Nate, but he reacted nonchalantly. "News to me,
sir."
"Glad you proved me
wrong. I chose you as the primary for Madrid with McLean backing you."
Still piqued, Nate
replied coolly, "I appreciate your confidence."
"The two of you have
instincts about one another … read each other’s minds … anticipate each
other’s moves. My wife and I developed a sixth sense." He chuckled. "She can
finish most of my sentences."
Nate forced a smile and wondered where the conversation was headed.
"During our recent phone conversation, you mentioned the possibility of
marriage. I'm happy for you, Nate. At thirty-six, your career has taken its toll and you deserve a change;
but
your experience and skills are important to the security of our country. We
need analysts and information gatherers, people who blend well socially,
couples who work as partners …"
The word
couple hit
him like another fist. Struggling to keep his voice level, Nate asked, "Do I
hear you recruiting Eve O’Connor?"
"I am. With the proper
training, I think she’d be a valuable resource for the government."
The word resource pushed the button. Nate rose to his feet. "With all due
respect, sir, when hell freezes over." He turned to leave.
The admiral spoke
sharply. "Sit down, Commander. I’m not finished."
Nate fought the urge
to walk out, but he couldn’t disregard the order.
The older man leaned
forward and softened his tone. "Here me out, Nate. I want you out of the
fray and on the sidelines. A man with your background sitting alone on the
bench sticks out like a missile on a launch pad. When you became involved
with Eve O’Connor, I put Isaac in charge of her background check."
Nate started to speak, but the admiral cut him off. "You know the protocol
for someone with your clearance." He clicked the mouse and glanced at the
computer screen.
"Despite her error in judgment with the man you sent to
prison, she's squeaky clean."
"I never had a doubt."
"Don't be cocky. History is full of men blinded by love."
"My eyes are wide open on this subject."
"You'll work on assignments we consider safe."
"I've been in the field too long. There's no such beast."
"I want you to think about this, Nate."
"The Navy can do whatever they want with me, but as long as I'm alive, Eve
O'Connor will not work as a government agent. Are we through, sir?"
Another tragedy occurs in front of Nate's
home
A gray-haired volunteer led Nate to a waiting room. He sat leaning forward
in an unforgiving plastic chair with metal legs, elbows resting on his
knees, blood stained hands knotted together as though in prayer. His eyes
focused on an invisible spot on the vinyl floor that only he could see.
Rain-soaked clothing had formed a puddle around him. Air pouring from the
ceiling vent chilled his body as much as the cold Pacific had on his first
day of Indoc.
That’s how Eve found him as
she crossed the room with a bundle of dry clothes. When he looked up, the
fear and grief on his face almost caused her to weep.
"Have you learned anything about his condition?" she asked.
Nate shook his head. "He’s in surgery."
"Does
anyone know what happened?"
"Only that he took a bullet in the chest." Wet clothes and air-conditioning
forced an involuntary shiver through his body.
Eve
rubbed her hand across his back and spotted a lavatory in the corner of
the room. "I brought you dry clothes."
She stood in the doorway of the small bathroom while he stripped off his
sodden, stained clothes. Then he washed the blood from his hands, splashed
warm water on his face, and took the clean towel she handed him. After he
dressed, Nate hugged her and whispered his thanks.
Nate
and Eve become al-Qaeda targets
With his background, he
easily spotted security agents posing as wait staff and guests. Due to the
recent bomb threats, the security level throughout the Spanish Embassy
didn’t surprise him. Others would be stationed behind the scenes and on the
street. Nate saw the ambassador approaching him. With help from U. S.
government, the man had taken the safety of his guests seriously.
Nate nodded. "Mister Ambassador."
"I had hoped for a minute of your time alone, Commander Dunlevy. The
President of Spain asked me to extend his personal gratitude. He commends
your efforts on behalf of this Embassy. Our gratitude obviously extends to
your role at Santiago Bernabéu and the lives that were spared in that
stadium."
Although Nate
responded graciously, he worried that one more person could link him to
Ramos and wondered how many others could do likewise.
The
ambassador
continued, "Working together, our governments may bring another key member
of al-Qaeda to justice. Listing Alejandro Ramos as the embassy’s guest
tonight was indeed a clever idea.”
His stomach sank. The high security level made sense. Someone had used him
as bait, but kept him in the dark. He glanced in the direction Eve had gone.
Fear for her safety overpowered the anger building inside him.
When the Spanish diplomat commented on the lovely agent posing as his
fiancée, Nate cut him off. "Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador, I’m needed
elsewhere."
"Of course, Commander. Vaya con Dios."
Nate hurried toward the restrooms hoping God’s company would be all he’d
need to survive the night. Without hesitating, he marched into the women’s
room and found Eve standing in front of a large gilded mirror applying
lipstick.
Spotting him out of the corner of her eye, Eve said, "Wrong door. Men’s
is across the hall."
She dropped her lipstick when Nate gripped her arm. "We’re leaving right
now."
"We haven’t eaten yet. Is that polite?"
"Don’t care." He guided her toward the staircase.
"I left my evening jacket on the back of a chair."
"I’ll buy you a new one."
"These high heels weren’t designed for speed." She gripped the banister for
balance has he propelled her down the long staircase, one strong arm wrapped
around her waist.
"Nate, what’s wrong?"
"I'll tell you later." He stopped when they reached the grand foyer and
spoke to the doorman. "The lady is feeling ill. Please extend our regrets to
the ambassador."
The man bowed. "I'll arrange for our driver to take you home, Commander."
Nate shook his head. "Thank you, but we'll take a cab."
The doorman walked to the street and signaled. Within seconds, a luxury
class taxi pulled to the curb. The doorman opened the rear door and held it
as Eve slid into the back seat followed by Nate. When the door closed, he
gave the cabby a destination, one different from Devon's apartment. The cab
rounded Washington Circle and he spotted a boy running along the perimeter
toward him. Then he recognized Fadia's face.
Eve started to ask about their destination, but Nate signed for her to be
silent. If his demeanor were more relaxed, she'd have guessed he was taking
her to a fancy place for dinner after their disappearing act at the embassy.
They traveled in silence for a few blocks. The driver stopped for a red
light and turned to ask a question.
She watched Nate lunge forward and heard the thpit of a silenced
weapon. His body slammed back into the seat. After his head slumped, so did
the rest of his body.
Before she could react, Eve heard another thpit. Sharp pain ran down
her arm and she lost consciousness.
copyright: DAWELCH, LLC
2007-2009