Freedom's Promise: Task Force 125 (14 page)

Sarah smiled and bowed her head slightly to the men, genuinely grateful.  "Thank you very much for such a gracious welcome.  We are indebted to you for your generous assistance to help our friend."

The one Brian introduced as Hamza smiled politely.  "The welcome was the least we could do for our cousin.  It has been too long since we have seen him.  For your friend, may Allah will watch over Vince until we can make the Russian answer for what he has done."

Sarah touched her right hand to her heart and replied with a heartfelt. 
"
Inshallah
."

From your lips to Allah's ears.

She looked for a reason to excuse herself because her sex and knowledge of Arabic really seemed to boggle these guys.  She couldn’t blame them. 

How many Arabs have seen a woman in battle dress with forty-fives strapped to her thighs who can speak Arabic? 
Probably only three
.
 

She noticed Chris in a corner setting up his small satellite and laptop rig.

"Chris looks like he could use some help.  Would you excuse me, please?"

The men nodded and then whispered to Brian. 

She shook her head as she heard him answering in the affirmative. 

"Let's have some chai, and I'll tell you some stories."

I really hope he doesn't tell them the embarrassing ones.  God knows he's got a few.

Sarah was helping Chris set up and check his communications equipment when Will stepped inside the tent and whistled for everyone's attention.

The room went silent.

"Okay, gentlemen, I want to thank you for your patience in waiting for a mission brief.  I'm going to give you a preliminary, informative briefing tonight and then we should have enough details for a mission briefing tomorrow night."

Everyone focused intently on Will.

"First, I want to reiterate that this is
not
a sanctioned operation in any way, shape or form.  We have a friend, a former Force Recon Marine…"  The sound of half the room saying, "
Hooah!
" interrupted Will.  He looked up at the men and smiled.  "Excellent.  As I was saying, our friend has been kidnapped by a fellow who lives, but isn't entirely welcome, in these parts.  While this mission isn't sanctioned by any government, we have the full support of the local population and our Bedouin hosts who are, by the way, the folks we owe our thanks for the tents, coffee and chai."

The men raised their glasses and mumbled their thanks before turning back to focus on Will.

“This tent will be our day-room for chow and, sorry to say, standing by.”

Sarah had to hand it to the
mercs
.  They were real pros because not one let out a peep about having to wait around in a tent in the middle of nowhere. 

“The other tent will be used for sleeping.  There is a field latrine on the West wall.” 

A lanky blond with a high and tight haircut spoke up.  "Any idea when we’ll engage?  I’d hate to waste
y’all’s
money just
sittin
’ around."

Will pointed to Sarah sitting near Chris.  "If Sarah can get us the
intel
we need tomorrow, we'll have an attack plan to raze the Russian’s compound the next night, and have you all out of here on first class tickets on day three."

Gino leaned in and whispered something to Will.

Will nodded.  "Sarah is going in tomorrow morning to locate Vince and do a recon of the compound.  With any luck, she'll be back tomorrow night with the
intel
to plan the attack.  Until then, get plenty of rest and stay under cover.  If you have any questions, find me, or Brian, the tall guy with the tan.”

Brian gave a brief wave to identify
himself
. 

“You can also find Chris, the guy with the computer, or Jason, the guy over there with the weapons and the crazy look in his eyes.”

Jason looked up from an M16 rifle he was function checking.  His cigarette hung from his lip and he smiled a half smile.

“We've got MREs and water for everyone over there."  Will pointed to the far corner of the tent stacked with cases of water and military-style meals ready to eat.  “Carry on.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Just a sliver of a moon made eerie shadows in the camp as Sarah walked to the Blackhawk and grabbed her small duffel bag packed with abayas and a set of Kunai throwing knives.  She slipped one of the abayas over her T-shirt and black battle dress pants and left the SIG 45s on her thighs.  Brian and Gino pulled the camouflage netting off one of the trucks.  Hamza and Brian’s other two cousins hopped in the back while Sarah sat in the front between Brian and Gino. 

After driving about a mile and a half on what could barely pass as a path, Gino broke the silence.  "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into, girl?  Those Russians play for keeps."

Great.
  Yet another chauvinist pig.  I'm so tired of dealing with these macho fuckers.

Sarah would never get used to being underestimated by everyone she met.  She knew Gino had helped them out, but his tone was like fingernails on a chalkboard.  “I appreciate what you’ve done for us, but this isn't a game and I'm not playing."

Brian interrupted before the conversation degraded any further.  "Gino, I was on the SEAL teams for fifteen years so I get where you're coming from, but Sarah's been trained by some of the best, including Jason, and has some pretty impressive operational experience.  I’d trust her to have my back no matter what goes down.”

"That's cool but can she handle going in undercover like this?  From what I hear, this guy isn't very good to the help."

Sarah stopped Brian before he continued.  "Thanks, Brian, but I don't need you to defend me to this guy."  Sarah turned to Gino.  She was ready to pop and this guy looked like he could take it. 

"I am not
playing
spy here, I
am
one.  I'm not some JEEP just out of training hot-dogging it.  This is what I do, and I seem to have done it pretty well up to now because I'm sitting here in this truck with you and not six feet under.”

Gino seemed to inch away from Sarah and closer to the driver’s side door.

She lifted the skirt of her abaya.  “In case you're wondering, these are 45s strapped to my thighs, they're loaded, and I know full well how to use them.”

Gino shot a confused look at Brian. 

Sarah never took her eyes off Gino’s face.  “I'll also carry three kunai knives strapped to each calf when I go in.  Nine times out of ten, I hit my mark even with distractions.  So, yeah, I know what I'm getting into.  Thanks."

Gino appeared confused and looked across Sarah to Brian as though he couldn’t believe it unless a man said it.

Brian nodded.  “I tried to tell you.  She’s the real deal, man.  Do us both a favor and don’t piss her off again.” 

"Good enough."  Gino drove the rest of the way in silence.

They traveled into a small town that was more a collection of small, walled compounds.  Dogs barked in the dark and a dust devil would spin up in the headlights every few minutes but there were no people to be seen. 

Gino pulled up to one of the concrete walls and everyone exited the truck.

Sarah sighed with relief to be out of the cramped cab, so close to someone she could easily take her frustrations out on. 

Abdullah, one of Brian’s cousins who’d ridden in the back of the truck, led them to a door around the side of the small walled compound.  He opened the door and bowed slightly to Hamza who walked in first. 

Sarah watched as the family politics played out in the small parade. 
First Hamza, then Brian and Sarah, followed by Gino, Muhammad, and Abdullah.
 

Sarah took a visual stock of the small dusty yard.  Date, olive, and citrus trees, a small henhouse and
a large
water tank—all things necessary for survival in
Saudi Arabia
's
Empty Quarter
—were laid out around a concrete patio.  The chickens were quiet but a Saluki dog trotted out of the shadows and nudged Hamza’s hand with his nose.  Hamza rubbed the dog’s chin and continued walking toward the house.

A soft glow of light from the windows shone golden onto the patio. 

Sarah’s stomach rumbled and growled.  The welcoming scent of saffron, rice and chicken hung heavy in the still air of the courtyard as they stepped up to the patio.

An older woman opened the door for them.  She wore a black abaya as was proper for the mixed company of family and foreigners.  Abdullah introduced her as his mother, Samara.  She welcomed each of the visitors graciously in Arabic as they entered. 

Sarah stepped inside to see three teenage boys and a young woman watching her.  Their curious looks were amusing after Gino’s line of questioning on the ride in.

The entry room was small and seemed to be the traditional room for entertaining with low, upholstered benches lining every wall.  Though it was small, Sarah estimated they could probably fit about twenty people comfortably.  They most likely had family meetings or audiences in this room. 

Samara led them into a large dining room devoid of furniture where the floor had been dressed with a tablecloth and a small feast had been laid out.  A huge platter of saffron rice served as the centerpiece, surrounded by platters of grilled meats, meats in sauces, crusty flatbread, vegetables, and fresh fruit off the tree. 

Sarah tried to ignore the sound of her stomach and hoped that nobody else heard it, until Brian eyed her and gave her a playful wink.  Apparently, he heard it over the chitchat of the women and teens. 

Hamza said something quietly to Brian and then Brian turned to Sarah.  "Generally the women and men eat separately when entertaining but because I've filled them in on you and we need to discuss the plan with all of them, the women will be eating in here with the men tonight."

Sarah nodded, aware of the cultural allowances they would be making, and whispered back to Brian.  "I don't care where I eat so long as I do it soon.  I'm starving."

Abdullah, the head of the household, introduced the entourage to his sister, Bashira, and his three much younger brothers.

They all seemed more than a little surprised and somewhat pleased when Sarah addressed them in Arabic.  She could see why her language skills had been a big plus in her selection for her job with the C.I.A.  Her Russian and Arabic had certainly been coming in handy as of late.

Even in an abaya, Bashira was a beauty with flawless olive skin and unadorned almond eyes.  Probably only in her twenties, there was something of the slave about her.  The bruise on her cheek was a dead giveaway. 

In her years as a cop, Sarah had seen women who had been abused and that was the same look she saw in Bashira's soft brown eyes.  Her heart went out to the poor young woman who had been born into a hard life that was probably made harder by mistreatment.

Sarah respected the traditions of the land and spoke only when spoken to at dinner.  When the women rose to clear the empty dishes, she rose to help as well. 

Bashira insisted she remain seated.

Coffee was served and the men took out cigarettes as the women returned and sat quietly. 

Sarah looked questioningly to Brian.  She didn’t want to offend her hosts and knew the Arabs, especially the rural people, took male and female roles very seriously.  She knew quitting smoking would be a good thing for her, but not here and not now.   

He nodded, indicating it was all right to blaze up if she wanted to.

With some relief, she pulled her cigarette case from a cargo pocket and took one out.  She remembered the custom from her military assignment in
Turkey
and passed the cigarettes around as a courtesy.  They all took one.  The younger boys seemed especially impressed.

Hamza took much interest in the gold case engraved with delicate scrollwork.  When Sarah offered it as a gift, he protested but she insisted and he seemed quite pleased with the expensive trinket.

As they sipped their coffee and smoked Sarah's cigarettes, they discussed their plan to destroy Nikolai.  Samara and Bashira sat quietly in a corner and listened. 

Abdullah spoke first.  "I take no pleasure in watching you go to that place after what my sister has suffered at the hands of Nikolai's man."

Sarah looked at Bashira.  "May I ask what happened?"

Bashira’s eyes glistened with the threat of tears, and she looked down at her knees. 

Abdullah spoke for her.  "The worst thing a man can do to a respectable girl.  She has been soiled.  No man will have her now.  She cannot marry."

Sarah took a deep breath and swallowed back the rage building inside over the rape of an innocent.  She bent her head and covered her face with her hands for a moment as she composed herself.  She gazed at Bashira, who held her head down in what must certainly have been shame.  "I am so sorry.  Bashira, I promise you will never have to go back there again."