Shock Wave, page 21
But she had never met one before.
Sure, she encountered Israelis every day. She’d even met some Americans. But not like this. Not at the cutting edge of the war. Not who might be the next to die. In her house.
This was so different from watching the jihad on television. She had been proud when she saw bombed-out buildings, cafés and buses. She felt no sadness when she looked at pictures of hostages and watched the families crying at their funerals. She thought about the Palestinian refugees whose homes and land had been stolen. She thought about the children growing up in camps, the men languishing in prison, the martyrs. Her father.
But she’d never been to the scene of an attack, never met someone chained in a basement waiting to die.
In her house.
The shorter of Ra’ed’s accomplices came in with his AK hanging by its shoulder strap. He smiled at Maysoon and gave her a formal greeting. “Good afternoon, Miss al-Hamdani. How is your health?”
The laws of Arabic etiquette required her to respond in kind. “Praise Allah. And you, Naji?”
“Praise Allah.”
Naji went to the stove and opened the lid of the dinner pot. The aromas of cumin and nutmeg filled the room.
“Leave it,” Maysoon ordered. “It is not time yet.”
Naji complied, then sat down on Maysoon’s left and leaned his rifle against the cabinets behind him. “Your mother is an excellent cook. Has she taught you her skills?”
Maysoon looked toward the hallway door. “Where is Ra’ed?”
“He has gone out. I am in charge.” Naji leaned toward Maysoon, showing off his slimy smile and cigarette-stained teeth. He was wearing a soccer shirt that needed washing. He folded his hands in front of him, so his right elbow was close to her left arm.
“And the other man?”
“In the basement. I will relieve him later so he can sleep.”
“What do you want, Naji?”
“I want to talk to you. You are a fine young woman—smart, I hear. I am a respected fighter in the group founded by your father and now led by your cousin. We should get to know each other.”
Maysoon rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Naji looked at her, his mouth curling into that smile again. “Of course, we should.” He put his right hand on Maysoon’s arm.
She pulled away. “If you touch me again, my cousin will have you cut into little pieces.”
Naji put his hand on his heart. “My apologies.”
“And if you are in charge, shouldn’t you be on patrol or something?”
Naji didn’t move.
“Or would you rather I tell Ra’ed you sat with me without an invitation or a chaperone, and—?”
Naji held up a hand to stop her. “All right, all right. I heard you were tough, and it seems the information was correct.” He stood and picked up his AK. “But I am also tough. In time, we shall see who is tougher.”
Maysoon glared at him. After he left the room, she muttered a string of curses not appropriate for a young lady.
* * *
Assali’s fighters continued to play with the costumes at dinner, wearing masks and speaking in strange voices.
Faraz had enough intel now to make a report if he could get ahold of a sat phone. The device would provide their location. He now knew when the attack would happen and that the men would be in costume. He still didn’t know where they would strike, but this was more than enough.
He sat at a picnic table with Iyad and Bashar, eating dinner and thinking of how he could get the full attack plan out of them. As the men continued to joke around, Faraz shook his head.
“What is wrong with you?” Iyad asked.
“They are like children,” Faraz said. “We have a job to do. We cannot do it with five-year-olds.”
“They will settle down,” Bashar said. “At least, I can say my men will settle down.”
“They will all do what needs to be done,” Iyad said. “They are tense as the day of the attack approaches. We must let them relieve the stress in this way, unless our friends in Riyadh are sending a busload of women.”
Iyad and Bashar laughed at that one, so Faraz joined in.
He decided to take the direct approach. “And what exactly is the attack plan?”
Iyad stopped laughing. “You will know when you need to know, Disco Boy.” He left the table and went into Assali’s headquarters.
Faraz sat in silence with Bashar as they finished their meals. He considered a nighttime operation. He had a bayonet. He could slip into Assali’s tent, kill him and make a call. But it was high-risk. With so many men in camp, someone was always outside, having a smoke or making a trip to the latrine.
In the absence of any better plan, he might have to try it.
Iyad came out of the building and walked straight to the table. He leaned forward toward Faraz and Bashar and spoke in a quiet voice. “After the meal, tell your men to prepare for departure.”
* * *
Maysoon and her mother sat at the table finishing their dinner. Ra’ed came through the side door scowling and slammed it behind him. Then he noticed the women. “I am sorry,” he said. “Salaam aleikum.”
“Aleikum salaam, Ra’ed,” Maysoon’s mother said. “Have some dinner,”
“Yes, thank you, Sayyidat al-Hamdani.” Ra’ed went to serve himself.
“What is the matter?” Maysoon asked.
Ra’ed closed the pot and threw a fork onto his plate. “Suleiman’s operation did not convince the Zionists to cooperate. They will not release prisoners for the life of the woman.” He turned to take his meal to the bedroom, but stopped at the doorway. “And your son’s so-called manifesto did not help—the bragging, the threats. The whole world is on alert, and the Zionist government made a statement saying it will never deal with such an organization. Where is Ayman, anyway?”
“He is visiting a friend,” Maysoon said.
Her mother stood. “You would do well to remember my husband founded the movement. My son and my nephew Iyad are the leaders now. They respect you, but do not overstep.”
Ra’ed scoffed and started down the hall.
“Ra’ed,” she called after him. He stopped and turned. Mrs. al-Hamdani walked to the doorway and spoke in a stage whisper. “Not in my house.”
“What?”
She pointed a finger at him for emphasis and spoke a bit louder. “You heard me. Not in my house.”
“I understand. But I cannot promise. We will do what we have to do.”
Mrs. al-Hamdani started to argue, but Ra’ed turned away, went into the bedroom and closed the door.
* * *
Faraz was herding his men toward the buses. Their mood had turned serious but some still wore their costumes. Many of them carried their toy weapons along with the real ones. It was dark. The area outside the camp was lit by the glare of the vehicle headlights.
Iyad stood next to the lead bus shouting for the men to hurry. Assali emerged from his tent holding his suit coat and a small valise, looking like he was about to board a commuter flight. The crowd of men near Iyad parted as the boss walked through and took the front row seat.
Even from a distance, Faraz could hear him yell at the driver to turn up the air conditioning. He hoped Assali had the sat phones in his bag.
Faraz directed his men to the third bus and went to speak to Iyad. “We attack tonight?”
“No. We have a long way to go.”
* * *
Maysoon sat on her bed wearing gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the Birzeit University logo—an olive tree with the motto “Building a Better Palestinian Future.”
Her plan was to not think about Bridget, to not see her again. Maybe Ayman could convince the men to take the woman out of the house. Then, whatever happened would be out of her hands.
But she knew that was not likely. Ra’ed had told them they wouldn’t have come here if there had been anywhere else to go. Now, the Zionists were on alert. Movement was impossible.
For Ra’ed to close the bedroom door in her mother’s face, he must be under a lot of pressure. Still, his rudeness would be punished. But when? Ayman couldn’t stand up to him and she had no idea when Iyad might return.
Maysoon rocked forward and back, grasping her blanket in both hands.
The words would not go away.
“You can save my life, Maysoon. Only you.”
“You will never forgive yourself if you let them kill me.”
Maysoon was not a particularly religious girl, but without meaning to, she recited the Salat al-Istikhaara, the Prayer for Seeking Counsel. “Allah, humma innee . . .
O Allah, I ask guidance from Your knowledge, and power from Your might . . .
She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her fists on the blanket. She couldn’t remember the rest of the prayer. She tried, but no. It wasn’t there.
Maysoon threw the covers out of her hands and opened her eyes. She would have to make this decision without Allah’s counsel.
* * *
It was still midafternoon in the Pentagon’s second basement. Patricia Simons jogged to Liz’s office, skirting desks and colleagues as she went.
“We finished.”
“Wait,” Liz said. She hit speed dial for Hadley’s office and the secretary put her right through. “Sir, Simons has something.”
“Go,” Hadley said.
Liz nodded at Simons.
“Um, well sir, we played the trace out as far as we could. Long story, lots of bounces.”
“Ending up where?” Hadley asked.
“We can’t get an exact location. It’s a neighborhood, a service node east of Jerusalem.”
“How big?”
“I can’t say for sure, hundreds of subscribers, I’d guess. Maybe over a thousand. The Israelis would know.”
“Send me the details.”
“This could be it, sir,” Liz said.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Sounds like a large area. And this is the internet guy, not Bridget. Unless they’re in the same place, we’d have to find him, take him alive, hope he knows where she is and that he’d tell us.”
“Or that the Israelis could convince him to tell us,” Liz said.
“Yeah, in a short time frame. Anyway, it’s something to work with.” Hadley hung up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Will holed up in his hotel room all day. He’d sent a secure email to Hadley to pass on the word that General HaLevy had ordered him out of the country. The reply was, “Sit tight.”
Without saying where he was, Will texted Drucker for an update on Ari. The report was good. The colonel was awake but would have to stay in the hospital at least one more night.
Will emailed Liz Michaels, who told him there was no new intel on Bridget. He was about ready to bounce off the walls. He dialed Hadley for at least the tenth time.
The secretary answered. “As I told you last time, Commander, and several times before that, the general is working the issue. You are to wait for his call.”
“All right. Sorry. Thank you.”
Will paced the room. He had the Israeli news on the TV in case Bridget’s picture popped up. But it hadn’t.
His phone rang.
“This is Hadley. We have something.” He told Will about the trace of the A-HAI manifesto. “We’re working with the Israelis to narrow it down. I got you a twenty-four-hour reprieve from General HaLevy. Stay where you are. You’ll be back in the mix when the time is right.”
Will sat on the bed. Outside his window, the Mediterranean was dark except for a tourist boat with multicolored lights running down the coast. On the promenade, the nightlife was in full swing—happy people strolling, laughing, drinking.
But somewhere out there, probably not far away, the woman he loved was in a terrorist hellhole. And if she wasn’t dead already—please God, no—the deadline for getting her out was now only thirty-six hours away.
* * *
Maysoon sat with her head in her hands.
Damn them. Damn them all—the Zionists, the Americans, and damn Ra’ed and Iyad for their stupid plan and for bringing it to her house.
Idiots. Palestine will not achieve freedom by killing that woman.
Maysoon got out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror above her dresser. She appeared tired, stressed out. She wanted to be a midwife, or maybe a doctor. How could she, if she let this happen?
In her agonizing, Maysoon had conceived a plan. She hadn’t meant to, but even thinking of helping the woman led her mind to explore how she could possibly do it. She had no way to judge whether her plan was any good. And she couldn’t say for sure whether trading her honor for her soul was a good bargain.
But something told her that with her limited resources, it was the right approach. In any case, she’d made her decision and she had no other ideas.
Maysoon thought about putting on a more attractive shirt but decided it was too dangerous and almost certainly not necessary. She brushed her hair and put on a headscarf, making sure it didn’t cover much. She put on her glasses, packed another bag for the hostage, and went to the door.
Yes, damn them all.
Maysoon took a breath and let it out. She would be punished. But it would be nothing compared with how she would punish herself if she let this happen.
She opened her bedroom door and went downstairs. The hallway was empty. Maysoon heard the by now familiar sound of two men’s rhythmic snoring in the guest room. She opened the basement door and went down.
Naji was sitting outside the storage room but stood when he saw her.
Maysoon smiled as if she was glad to see him. “I have more things for the woman.”
“I don’t know—”
“The others are sleeping. That means you are in charge, right?”
“Of course.”
Maysoon smiled again to help him decide.
“All right. I will allow it.” He slid the bolt and started to open the door.
Maysoon saw Bridget inside, curled up on the floor, her eyes closed. The handcuffs were off, lying against the wall. But her feet were still chained together. Bridget’s face and clothes were filthy. Her breathing seemed shallow. She looked terribly alone and helpless.
The girl’s resolve strengthened. She looked at Naji. “I am sorry I was rude to you earlier. This has all been so stressful.” She lowered her gaze. “I am afraid.”
“Do not worry. We will protect you. I will protect you.”
Maysoon looked at him. They were about the same height and standing only a few inches apart. “Yes. I know. Thank you.” She took the bold step of touching his arm. His breath caught.
She let a second go by. “May I go in, now?”
“Of course.” Naji moved out of the way and pulled the door open so Maysoon could enter the cell.
* * *
Bridget sat up straight. She was surprised to see the girl. There were still plenty of supplies from her visit a few hours earlier.
Maysoon pulled the door closed behind her and crossed the room. She put down the bag and whispered, “When you hear the bolt slide open, wait one minute, then move fast, and as silently as you can. I will distract Naji.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. She nodded, then pointed at the shackles and chain on her feet.
Maysoon’s body sagged but she recovered. “Naji.”
“Yes.” He answered from outside.
“You must remove the leg chain.”
“It is not allowed.”
Maysoon walked to the door and opened it.
“Are you in charge or not?”
“Yes, I am in charge.”
“Then take off the chain. It is necessary.”
He hesitated.
“Please, Naji.” Maysoon cocked her head to the side.
“All right. I will do it for you.”
Naji took the key off the hook and unlocked the leg irons. Then he left and closed the door, clearly not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in proximity to “women’s problems.”
Bridget rubbed her ankles. “Thank you.”
“At the top of the stairs, go left, out the back. Then . . . I don’t know. Climb the fence and run. It is the best I can do.”
Bridget took Maysoon’s hand. “It’s a lot. Thank you. Come with me.”
“No. I will not abandon my family or the movement.”
Bridget nodded. “All right. Be careful. You are very brave. To save a life is not a small thing.”
* * *
When Maysoon came back out of the storage room, Naji slid the bolt to the locked position.
“Again, I am sorry about earlier,” she said. “You are not a bad guy. We should talk sometime.”
“How about now?”
Maysoon paused as if to consider the idea. “Okay.” She lowered her chin and let her eyes roll to the top of their sockets. She blinked. She did not have a lot of experience at flirting, but it wasn’t her first time, either.
Naji grinned. “What shall we talk about?”
“Over there. Away from the woman.” Maysoon indicated the other side of the stairway, a dark corner of the basement.
Naji smiled more broadly and took Maysoon’s hand.
She pulled away. “Talk. Only talk. Over there.”
Naji chuckled. “Of course. Talk.” He turned, wasting no time moving to the other side of the room.
Maysoon reached behind her back and slid the bolt. She walked toward Naji, blocking his view of Bridget’s door, resigned to what she would have to do.
* * *
Bridget started counting the seconds. She moved to the door and listened. There were voices in Arabic some distance away. The guard said something. The girl giggled and replied.
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Bridget hoped the girl was counting, too.
* * *
Naji put his right hand on Maysoon’s left forearm and rubbed up and down.
“What are you doing?” she teased. But she made no move to stop him.
“I like you. And I think you like me.”
“Yes, but—”
“But, what?” Naji took hold of her arm.
Maysoon put a hand on his chest. It was not yet time for her full humiliation. She pushed him and moved to her right so they spun around. Now, her back was to the wall. And his back was to the cell.
