19

 

 

Gary parked his Jeep Cherokee in the driveway. For a moment, he sat there and rested his head against the seat. He needed sleep. Badly. He finally garnered enough strength to pull his briefcase from the back and wander to the front porch.

After disarming the alarm and changing to his house key, he fumbled key chain. It fell with a clink to the brick. Gary groaned and stooped. As he did so, his eyes landed on the flower pot holding the pansies. Water stood in the saucer, meaning Mary had watered everything before she’d left.

Mary.

Longing to see her and hold her filled him.

Gary straightened and put his key in the lock. The deadbolt slid back with a click, and the door opened on soundless hinges. He stepped into the total silence of an empty house.

Good.

If the kids had been around, he probably would have snapped at them out of total exhaustion and frustration.

He slammed the door.

Just who did Vic think he was?

A commander who did what was right with the circumstances he had, just as you would have done, he told himself as he tossed his change into the ceramic dish on the foyer’s mahogany console table. He placed his briefcase on the floor of the coat closet and hung his overcoat on a hanger.

Gary grimaced as the exhaustion headache he’d had since arriving at Dulles introduced nausea. The sooner he popped some aspirin, the better. His shoes tapped on the shiny blond hardwood as he shambled to the master bedroom.

A note sat on the dresser. He picked it up, closed his eyes, and inhaled the delicate scent of Mary’s perfume. She’d always sprayed some on her letters to him when he’d been deployed. He remembered how he’d lain in his rack in the middle of the Iraqi desert as he read the neat cursive on the pale purple of her stationery.

A smile finally crossed his face as he scanned her writing. They’d left a little late but planned to overnight in Roanoke before driving the rest of the way to Nashville. She looked forward to him joining them.

His assignment between now and then? To take a look at the brochures she’d left so they could figure out the activities they wanted to do in Hawaii on their anniversary trip in June.

His lip curled as his mind returned to the crisis at hand.

Yeah, right. He’d get no rest until they found Liza—if they found her.

Gary wanted to forget the whole thing had happened, that he’d had a distinct hand in a certain someone kidnapping her.

After exchanging his suit and tie for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he wandered into the master bathroom and flipped on the light. It blazed overhead, revealing mussed blond hair going gray, five o’clock shadow lengthening even further, and deep lines on his brow. Exhaustion reddened his blue eyes, making them almost glow.

“You look terrible,” he told his reflection before turning away.

Gary returned to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. Who cared if it was only one in the afternoon? Happy hour needed to start a bit earlier today. He popped the top, then washed down a couple of aspirin with a slug of the Heineken’s amber liquid.

He wandered into the den and collapsed onto the leather couch. Soon, a basketball game played on the screen. Oh, yeah. It was March Madness. How could he have forgotten? He scanned the scores scrolling across the screen as he tried to pick out his team. Vanderbilt seemed to be neck and neck with Arizona at halftime. Front and center, UNC and Kentucky duked it out for the right to advance to the Sweet Sixteen.

Gary leaned his head against the soft cushion. A nap sounded great. Then maybe if daylight remained, he’d go for a short run. Nothing too elaborate, just enough to loosen up his muscles and get the blood flowing.

He took another swig and set the bottle on the end table. The roar of the crowd and the drone of the announcer entranced him. As his mind relaxed, he drifted toward the blessed cocoon of sleep.

“It is a close game, is it not?”

The voice came from behind him.

Gary jerked upright. Electricity flooded through him. His heart pounded. Every sense blazed with alertness.

The buzzing began thrumming as if it sensed its master close by.

Gary flinched but refused to turn. “Why are you here?”

Makmoud stepped around the couch, the Glock in his hand held close to his body and pointed straight at Gary’s heart. “Why am I here? When I heard how a web hunter had been flushed from cover, I simply had to come and see for myself.”

A smile curled his former captor’s lips. “I jest, of course. Don’t consultants, when they have clients, periodically send people to visit these clients to ensure their satisfaction? You Americans call that a quality call, I believe. I’ve decided to do a reverse quality call with you. You see, Gary, I as a ‘client’ am dissatisfied with your services. I had told you I would take care of this little problem of the web hunter. I specifically ordered you to delay in notifying the FBI of the need to get her to safety. Yet when my men arrived, you already had a team there. Now, Deborah Fields is gone, whisked to safety. You failed us, did you not?”

“You think I had a choice?” His face flushed. He glowered at him. “I have other bosses too, right?”

“And you had orders. From me, that is. Directly from me.”

“Yeah, well, mine came from the president. If I’d stalled, if I made it look like poor judgment, then when she died, suspicion would fall on me. I hope you know I waited to send in my team as long as I could. I actually did you a favor there.”

“Who is this team? According to my man, they were quite well trained. And armed, I might add.”

Gary clinched his jaw shut.

“Come, now, Gary. We’re friends of sorts, are we not?” Makmoud smirked, his perfect, white smile reminding Gary of a wolf.

His breath hitched. Suddenly, he remembered how he’d found himself naked and on his knees in the filthy cell with his hands chained to opposite walls. Makmoud stood there, hands in the pockets of his pants, a smile on his face when he saw how his prisoner had finally broken.

“Friends?” Now a short bark of laughter escaped Gary. “Friends don’t torture friends. Friends don’t hold friends captive for six months.”

He made as if to rise.

“Stay where you are.” Makmoud’s eyes narrowed as he studied him. Then he clucked his tongue and sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But keep in mind that I saved your life after that firefight.”

“Only to nearly kill me again by torturing me.”

“Perhaps. But after that? We got to know each other quite well.” Makmoud’s dark gaze bored into Gary’s.

Gary couldn’t break it.

Slowly, Makmoud repeated, “Now tell me. What is this team of yours?”

The buzzing flared.

Gary moaned and put his head in his hands.

“It is not a difficult question.”

“I know.” He’d do anything to make it recede. “Okay. Okay. I received orders from the president to form a team like a Special Ops team. Satisfied?”

“Do go on.”

Gary winced. “Shadow Box. I started it in February of last year and had them recruited by August. When word came down that you were making a move on Deborah Fields, the president ordered me to send them into action. I had no choice, all right? You’ve got to understand that.”

“Oh, I do. I know you serve two masters.” Makmoud seated himself on the edge of a straight-back chair. The ugly muzzle of the gun remained focused on Gary’s heart. “I’m quite aware of that. Where did this Shadow Box team take Mrs. Fields and her brood?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Hmmmm.” Makmoud rubbed his chin. “Wrong answer. Tell me the truth.”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Gary bit those words off.

“That would be, why?”

“Because Victor Chavez, the team commander, wanted to compartmentalize.” Suddenly, Gary realized his blunder. He clamped his jaw shut.

A smile teased the corners of Makmoud’s lips upward. He started chuckling. “Victor Chavez, eh? As in former Secret Service Agent Chavez? The man who tried to kill me?” His gloved hand shot up and rubbed the ugly scar along his neck. “I heard he ran away under a cloud of suspicion with his tail between his legs. Now, where did his team take Deborah Fields?”

“I told you I don’t know. Truly, I don’t. I have no idea where their base is because we’re keeping things compartmentalized.”

“Of course.” Makmoud nodded. “That does make sense. Who else is on that team?”

Gary clenched his teeth. He knew all too well who else.

Suleiman al-Ibrahim.

Also known as Ibrahim Hidari, Makmoud’s turncoat half-brother.

“You won’t answer me?”

“No.”

Makmoud sighed and shook his head. “So sorry. Pity that you won’t, because I didn’t want to show you these.” He reached into his black leather jacket and brought out a manila envelope. He tossed it.

The envelope landed on the coffee table in front of Gary.

“Go on. Open it.”

Gary did. His blood ran cold as he flipped through the photographs. They showed Mary and the kids packing the minivan, outside their hotel in Roanoke, and in a restaurant.

“You see, Gary, I have someone following your family. Iman has been behind them almost the entire time. One call from me, and she will take care of them. She may be a woman, but she is very proficient with a gun.”

Gary’s jaw began hurting.

Makmoud finally shook his head. “I can see I will get nowhere with you right now. This is what I want you to do. I want you to print out profiles of all members of your team. In full, glorious color. Do this by Tuesday. I’ll notify you of when and where to meet. Then perhaps when this thing blows over, you’ll be able to meet up with your family.” His lips curled in a smile. “I did, after all, read that note your lovely wife wrote. I have taken quite a liking to her perfume. I’ll take those.”

Stunned, Gary remained sitting as his handler lifted the photos from his hand and secured them in the manila envelope.

“I’ll be in touch.” With another brief smile, Makmoud opened the door leading to the garage.

Only when it shut did Gary leap to his feet. He bolted to the garage and ripped open the door.

The door to the back thumped closed.

He rushed to the sliding glass door in the den.

Nothing.

No sign of Makmoud anywhere.

Gary cussed out loud and slammed the door so hard that the glass cracked, leaving a jagged line in it and one more chore for him to do.

Bile tasting of beer rose to his throat. The buzzing increased. As if punishing him, the headache returned with a vengeance. Nausea washed over him. He barely made it to the toilet before he threw up. Gary remained crumpled on the tile, his hands gripping the cold white porcelain. His stomach heaved again, but nothing came up.

Finally, he gripped the counter and hauled himself to his feet.

Forget running.

He barely had the strength to crawl onto the queen-sized bed.

He squeezed his eyes shut. A merciful sleep overcame him.

“I love you,” Mary murmured to him, her breath whispering against his ear, her voice soft. She touched his face and kissed him.

He found he couldn’t open his eyes.

Someone lifted his dog tags from around his neck. Makmoud’s voice spoke, instructing his comrades nearby.

Angry shouts assaulted him. Rough hands grabbed him and dragged him from the safety of his bed and into a filthy cell smelling of blood and excrement. They chained his wrists to ropes on opposite walls.

Gary’s sobs reached him. He now had no strength. Crying, he pleaded, “Let me die. Haven’t you killed me already even though I breathe?”

“Ah, but your time with me has only begun.” Makmoud released the chains. Hooking an arm around him, he rose. “Come with us.”

Gary hobbled between Makmoud and Jibril, who helped him into a steaming tub of water. His festering sores stung, but the hot water felt so good, so cleansing.

“I love Mary.” Gary sat on the floor of a room, a meal spread on the blanket between him and Makmoud. He met his gaze. “I’ll never be unfaithful to her. I vowed that ten years ago.”

Mary collapsed against him. Her sobs assaulted his ears. “You don’t know how hard it was. This waiting. This having to deal with the media. With never knowing if the next body that turned up would be you.”

“I love you,” Gary whispered. He held her tightly.

Her blond curls tickled his chin.

“I love you so much.” He closed his eyes, savoring her softness and lavender he’d grown to associate with her.

She cried out.

Someone ripped her from his grasp.

Gary came wide awake.

“Gary! Help me!” His wife’s pleas echoed into the darkness.

Light flashed, revealing Makmoud’s lips curled in a sneer for a brief instant. He held a gun to her head.

“Mary!” Gary had bolted upright. Sweat soaked his shirt. Tears poured down his cheeks. He blinked for a few seconds as he took in Mary’s dresser with its lamp and the picture of their wedding day as well as his massive armoire. Suddenly, he realized he sat on their bed in Arlington.

I’m at home. I’m in the bedroom. Mary’s safe and on her way to Nashville, at least for now. He slouched forward and rubbed his neck as the dream receded. The buzzing and headache did too, leaving him shaken and drained.

He raked his hands through his hair and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.

He realized one thing.

Makmoud had entrapped him. He had no way out.

None.