Pushing Up Daisies (18 page)

He had no idea where Sarah was in the village, which presented him with a huge dilemma. He couldn't ask. He felt sure the entire village was involved with pirating. Their location was perfect for boats to run into the Gulf of Aden and stop large vessels. The Suez Canal dropped hundreds of ships into the Gulf each week with every one of them a potential target.

He stopped just outside the village behind a sand escarpment. The best thing would be for him to shift and find Sarah with his nose, but that meant he would be unarmed, entering a trap designed just to catch him.

His only prayer lay in surprise. He'd covered the ground rapidly without taking a wrong turn. They might think it would take him longer to locate their lair. He turned to the girls. “I have to go into the village alone. Can you two wait here? You're as safe as possible under these circumstances.”

He took Daisy's thirty-eight, abandoned by Nasr when he shifted, checked it for ammo, jacked one into the chamber and handed the weapon to the tallest girl. “Keep this beside you.”

Her eyes were huge in her frightened face. “If anyone tries to take you, shoot them.”

She nodded.

House went behind the Rover, stripped off the stinky, baggy khakis, kicked off a borrowed pair of boots, shifted and raced across the dry land for the village. He lifted his head as he ran searching for the scent of his beloved. He would find her and never let her out of his sight again.

As he neared the cluster of tan huts and small buildings, a pack of skinny dogs ran out barking. His hair came up as he planted his feet and growled. The dogs picked up his scent and ran back into the shadows of the building yelping with fear. A few goats wandered too close and ran off bleating with terror.

He slowed his pace and slunk through the alleys hugging the buildings, staying in the shadows. Every time he rounded a corner, he'd stop and sniff the air. At last he found her scent. He was crouched low to the ground in the shadow of a two-story building, one of the few in the village. As he sniffed the wind, he smelled the sea, dead fish, and on top of all those layers of scent, he smelled the al Qaida raiders and the pirates. They reeked of cigarettes, garlic, filthy man and goat. Sarah smelled like Sarah. She had a unique odor he had imprinted on his memory and would never forget.

Now that he knew where she was held, he turned and ran back to the hidden Rover. He couldn't go into the town unarmed. It would be foolish against so many. He figured he would have to wait for dark. The dark cloaked the hunter while his prey crashed around oblivious to their danger. He smiled thinking about it. He loved the dark and he loved hunting.

* * * *

One of her captors came to her room when the heat of the day had Sarah sweating. He said nothing to her, just pushed into her room and went to stare out her window. He turned and stared at her for several minutes, grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to her feet. She held her dress down with her bound hands and felt the idol, hard in her pocket. As soon as she touched it, Daisy spoke into her ear.

“House was just outside in his wolf form. He's come for you, but they are waiting for him. They expect him to come tonight. And they're right, he will.”

Sarah was afraid to answer her. The man that held her was thin, but strong. He wore his black robes comfortably. His scarf was loose around his neck. Sarah saw his features for the first time, hooked nose, black mustache and black, severely-arched eyebrows. When he glanced at her, she looked away. His stare was hot and familiar. He wanted her. Although his desire made Sarah uncomfortable, she understood it. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.

An overt display would probably get her into real trouble with this dangerous man. He would take her without a second's hesitation, assuming she was just another infidel whore. She needed to try to lure him into feeling sorry for her, to generate some kind of sympathy in his black heart. A challenge for sure, but maybe one she knew how to accomplish.

Instead of looking at him boldly as an American woman would have done, Sarah dropped her gaze and began weeping quietly. She hung in his grasp as though overcome with terror which wasn't that far from the truth. When he put his other hand on her back to support her, she leaned into him still with her head down.

“Are you hurt?” he said in heavily-accented English.

She shook her head and allowed a sob to escape her. “No,” she replied. “I'm just very frightened. I don't want to die.” Sarah made her voice shaky, that of a terror-filled woman, slightly breathless. She followed the statement with a tiny glance up into his face, then dropped her head quickly.

His attitude softened. She felt it in the pressure of his hand on her back. He let go of her arm and slid his around her waist.

Inside, Sarah was smiling. She had him, but it was still a dangerous game. Leaning into him slightly, so he could feel the pressure of her body against his, she said in a small voice. “If it's not too much trouble, I need to use the bathroom.”

Sarah was straight-up using this man's negative attitude toward women to manipulate him. She prayed it would work to her advantage, not get her into more trouble.

“Allow me to escort you.”

While they were walking down a narrow, poorly lit hall, Sarah kept talking. “I feel…indecently exposed,” she said in a breathless voice. “Are there no proper garments for a woman such as me?”

Her plan was working. His grip around her waist tightened and she leaned into him again. “While you are in the toilet, I will find a burqa for you and a veil. You sound like a decent woman. You are not like all the American whores I see on the television.”

“My father was an ambassador,” she said in a quiet voice. “I learned to follow the ways of a modest woman. It is always better, especially in a strange land among men.”

“You show great good sense and you are very comely. If you would embrace the true faith, I might consider making you one of my wives. After all this is over and if you survive.”

Sarah said nothing but kept her eyes on the warped, faded wood of the floor. He opened an old, poorly-constructed door with gaps between the uneven boards. Inside was a toilet and a sink, both encrusted with filth. Rust stained the sink and the toilet. Apparently the pirates and the al Qaida had not thought to bring a woman with them to do their cleaning.

He grabbed her arm as she slid out of his grasp into the bathroom. “Don't try to run away. We have many men here who would not be so kind as I to a woman who tries to escape.”

Sarah risked looking into his face, but kept her eyes carefully averted. “My name is Sarah. May I know my benefactor's name?”

“Sarah is a Jewish name. Are you a Jew?” His voice dripped with disdain. Sarah knew all about the Arab world's contempt for Jews. She'd lived in Israel with her father several times.

“I'm a student of religions, but a Christian by birth.” She hoped this would give him some faint reason to think she entertained the idea of becoming a Moslem.

He shot her a look of skepticism from beneath arched brows and his dark eyes narrowed. She read he was a killer who enjoyed the task. “Do not try to escape. I will return for you shortly.” He stopped before closing her inside. “My name is Ghazi,” he said proudly. “It means conqueror.”

He shut the door and Sarah fell against it breathing deeply. He was gone. She had no intention of escaping. All she wanted was to find something she could use as a weapon to protect herself and aid House when he attacked. After using the filthy toilet, she searched everywhere in the bathroom. Behind the base of the toilet bowl, she found a rusted, clunky, ancient pair of vice-grip pliers acting as a handle for the water flow. The real handle was broken and laying in the accumulated goop of a thousand missed pisses. The stench behind the toilet was gagging.

She glanced at the door, then released the vice grips and shoved them into her pocket. The next man to clog the john would not be able to turn off the water. Oh well.

She'd just tucked them in beside the gold idol, when Ghazi the conqueror returned. He carried a black garment over one arm which he handed it to her. “Put this on,” he commanded, raking her with a possessive gaze.

When the stinking robe was on, Sarah noticed it dragged the ground. She didn't care. Her pliers and her amulet were safe. He handed her a headdress complete with a veil. “Cover your hair,” he said in a husky voice. “I find it…I find it disturbing.”

The headscarf was in two pieces, the al-amira, a cap with a tube-like scarf and a bushiyya, a thin scarf that was meant to be worn as a veil. No eyes holes were cut into it because the fabric was thin enough to see through.

She quickly donned the al-amira, shoving her blond braid under its concealing fold and wrapping the scarf around her head. Then she draped the veil over her entire head so it covered her face. It might have been blue at one time and smelled of stale garlic and bad breath, but she didn't care.

“You know the ways of our people,” Ghazi said with approval.

Sarah didn't answer, just bowed her head and nodded.
Oh yes she did.

She'd worn the traditional clothes of an Arab woman many times as a girl with her maid and then with her teachers. They'd all wanted her to know how to assume the guise of a proper Arab woman. And it was safer for her to be covered when she went to the market with her maid or outside the embassy compound.

When the burqa was in place and her face covered, he gently took her arm. “You must return to your room. Food will be brought to you later.”

His grip on her was loose. He'd begun the long journey of learning to trust her. As they walked down the hall, one of the closed doors opened and she saw inside as a skinny boy came out of the room carrying a jug and an empty wooden bowl. She forced herself to conceal the excitement she felt inside when she saw Freidrick and Coop bound and leaning against a wall. She thought she'd seen a bundled form lying on a stretcher; maybe one of House's men.

She turned her head and pressed it against her captor's side. Ghazi grunted and pulled her close. He shot a nasty look at the Somali boy. “What are you staring at, boy?” he demanded. “This woman is not your concern.”

He spoke in Somali, a language Sarah was not supposed to comprehend so she leaned harder into Ghazi as though terrified. He tightened his grip around her shoulders and escorted her back to her room. When she was inside, he grabbed her arm. “Do not talk to anyone but me. When we are safe in my country, I will take you to my home where you will assume the duties of a wife.”

Under her concealing garments, Sarah sneered.
She'd rather die first.
As he closed the door, she felt the reassuring steel of the pliers and the warm gold of her amulet in her dress pocket. A small victory but it gave her hope.

When the sun had fully set, sending the desert into utter darkness, House woke. He'd heard Daisy calling him. He opened his eyes and saw a black wolf sitting next to him with a red streak in its fur. The wolf was so clear, it seemed real. When he tried to touch it, his hand went right through. The ghost wolf howled. House understood Daisy's meaning. She would run with him even as a ghost.

The two girls sat in the back seat of the Rover. They'd had no water in a significant period of time and were probably severely dehydrated. Dehydration could kill, as House knew. The night would help them conserve whatever moisture they had left in their bodies, but House needed to get them water soon.

“You girls wait here. I'll bring you food and water. Don't try to leave,” he warned. “The pirates are only a mile from here and there's a lot of them.”

The girls held onto each other tightly and nodded.

House found Daisy waiting. “I have to take weapons. I can't shift,” he said.

She didn't answer just started trotting toward the town. House was hoping she'd figured out a way to scare humans. Maybe if he could see her others could as well.

He felt naked without his own gear. The back of the Rover had produced a sawed-off shotgun and an AK-47 along with ammo. He'd fashioned a makeshift ammo belt and wore it around his waist. He carried the shotgun and let the AK hang from its strap over his shoulder. He felt under-armed and over-exposed.

When they got within a hundred yards of the town, House stopped to reconnoiter. The pirates seemed without electricity for the most part. A few lights gleamed from only one or two houses. He heard the hum of generators. A few fires glowed from inside the huts and he heard the mumble of voices; children and women along with the deeper voices of men. His enhanced hearing picked up the sleepy clucks of chickens roosting for the night and the rustling of other livestock. A dog growled somewhere inside the village. All seemed normal and quiet but House knew they were waiting for him.

“Daisy.” He knelt beside her ghostly wolf form. “Can you cause a disturbance?”

She growled and nodded her head.

“Go do it,” he said. “You're all I got.”

She took off to the east at a run and he continued toward the town. Odors carried on the night wind. The sea breeze was filled with the scent of cigarettes, goats, sewage, dead fish and unwashed humanity. His ability to catch scents was less in his human body. He couldn't smell Sarah.

Suddenly, screams erupted from the eastern side of the village. Shots rang out. House heard men running toward the screams and grinned. Daisy must have figured out something.

With all the commotion to the east of him, he ran toward the building housing Sarah. He entered carefully, holding the shotgun ready, wishing he had his own gear for the hundredth time. The inside of the building was lit and he heard the hum of a generator. He lifted his nose and sniffed. The smells of the pirates and the al Qaida men overpowered everything along with the odor of burning wood and cigarettes. It was too much for him to separate in his human form. If he hadn't needed his weapons, he would have shifted.