The vibration of Stacie’s cell phone on the granite bathroom counter pulled her from the hot shower. As though she’d turned onto a twitterpated teenager again, she’d hoped the call was from Jeff.
Oh, shit.
She swiped the screen to accept the call from Dr. Bowden.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Stacie put the call on speaker while she wound an oversized bath towel around her body and grabbed her brush.
“I hope you are up. You’re about to get company,” the doctor warned.
“Damn. How soon?” Then Stacie wondered aloud, “How do you know?”
“Your presence was missed last night. Husam al Mukhtar’s oldest wife is a nosey bitch and her husband’s number one snitch. The man needs Jeff’s skills and wants to confirm him as soon as possible.” The sound of keys clicking came through the line. “Keep them in the parlor. Do not offer a tour of the house.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can do that.” Stacie plugged in her hair dryer.
“Remember, you’re not feeling well. Hopefully they’ll keep the visit short.” Then Dr. Bowden suggested, “See if you can get their take on the meeting last night. They often know more than their men think.”
“I found that to be very true in Iraq.” After the first month of living in the Tikrit community, the women had accepted her and openly gossiped about everything from the ISIS defection from al Qaeda to which women had been sleeping around.
“You’re new so don’t expect much today,” she warned. “Julianna is on her way to your house. She’s very good with these women. Smile a lot and just agree.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bowden. I’ll be a good wife, a little on the quiet side.”
“I’ll be watching and listening. If anything looks as though the meeting is headed south, I’ll call you. Excuse yourself and take it in the bedroom.” A phone rang in the doctor’s office. “I’m sorry, Stacie, but I need to take this.”
“No problem. I have to dry my hair and finish getting ready.” Through the still-open connection, she heard the doctor tell someone else to hang on.
“Stacie, you made a big step yesterday afternoon, personally and professionally. You’re now fully operational for this op.” The woman snickered. “By the way, you had the night tech on the edge of his seat. He was afraid you two were going to shoot each other so he connected me to the live feed to intervene if necessary. I’m proud of you. I think Jeff needed the anger sex. Something is bothering him. Get him talking. I’ve got to run now, but I’ll be watching when everyone shows up.”
There was so much there Stacie didn’t know where to start. She managed a “Thank you, Dr. Bowden,” before the encrypted line went dead.
Wahoo! She’d been certified for this op. She picked up her phone to text Jeff her good news but decided against the idea. She had too much to do.
Standing in her robe, staring into her closet, Stacie chastised herself for being the epitome of a woman. She couldn’t decide what to wear, first impressions and all. The doorbell rang, and she scooted to look through the peephole. Julianna. Just who she needed.
Stacie slid into the abaya and naqib hanging on the back of the door and used the abundant cloth to hide her hand as she opened the front door. As soon as she closed the door, she immediately flipped the outfit back off and hung it up.
“Help!” she begged one of her oldest friends.
Jul gave her a broad smile. “That’s why I’m here.” They hurried to the master closet where Jul rifled through the clothes provided to Stacie. “So, you and Jeff seem to be getting along fine.”
Stacie tried but knew she failed to hide the blush. “Yeah. Things are going better than fine.” She had to ask her friend, “You and Nathan were sleeping together in Iraq?”
Jul’s right eyebrow quirked up. “Hell, yes. We just seemed to click the first day. Then I watched that sexy SEAL walk around the house in nothing but baggy shorts that sagged so low on narrow hips for a full day. I jumped his bones within forty-eight hours.”
Stacie’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve been friends since the academy.”
Jul pulled out baggy cotton pants and a black tunic trimmed in gray. “This will do.” She handed the clothes to Stacie.
“Why, damn it?” Stacie insisted as she threw on the clothes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jul sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands. “Stacie, I love you like a sister—actually, I like you better than I like my sister—but you’re a tight ass when it comes to following the rules.” She finally looked into Stacie’s eyes. “We were afraid you’d report us and Nathan and I would get kicked out of the program.”
“I wouldn’t have done that.” Stacie checked out her reflection in the full-length mirror. She looked fine in her opinion.
“We knew you weren’t sleeping with Jeff,” Jul admitted. “Nathan used to joke about the man’s blue balls all the time.”
Damn. She’d never considered their time in Iraq from Jeff’s angle. She’d have to apologize and make it up to him. More sex with Jeff sounded perfect.
His final words last night flew through her thoughts. She’d have to ask him what he was sorry about. Aiming a gun at her? Fast sex?
Quit thinking like a sex-starved idiot and get your head back in the game.
“No wonder you and Nathan seemed to fall in love so quickly once you got back home.” Stacie checked her watch and saw she had about ten minutes, if she was lucky.
“He and I agreed in the beginning that since we were supposed to be married, we should at least get the benefits of marriage.” Jul shrugged again. “Somewhere along the way, we fell in love. When we got back stateside, getting married for real seemed like a good idea.”
“And now look at you, you’re having Nathan’s baby.” Stacie wondered if she’d had sex with Jeff back then, would she be pregnant, or would they already have children? What would it be like to have Jeff’s baby?
The doorbell rang and the two women scurried to the foyer.
Ten minutes later, overwhelmed with the long names of ten women, she’d determined they all had Azra al-Saif in there somewhere. Virgin of the sword? Maybe the assigned name was particular to that religious sect. On the other hand, a penis had been called a sword before and they certainly wouldn’t be a virgin after they’d met a proverbial sword. Sometimes Middle Eastern naming drove her crazy.
The women’s English was amazingly good and they all spoke in that language since they were from several different countries—Iran, Iraq, one was from eastern Turkey, but most were from Syria. Stacie smiled a lot, answered appropriately when asked a direct question, but mostly listened for the first fifteen minutes to the women bitch about morning sickness and pregnancy woes. She had nothing to contribute, although Jul seemed right in the thick of the conversation.
Stacie knew the niceties were over when Husam’s wife, Zayn, asked pointedly, “For how many months do you go not pregnant?”
“I…uhm…” To hell with it. Just roll with it. “We’ve only been married a few months,” she replied in way of explanation.
One of the Syrian women chimed in. “They are newlyweds. Give her time.”
Zayn kept prodding. “Is he bad in bed?”
“No. He’s very good,” popped out of Stacie’s mouth. Jeff was a wonderful lover. Attentive. Very sensual. He’d discovered all her most sensitive spots in a few hours yesterday.
The older woman pressed on. “Does he not make you come? You no orgasm? You need to orgasm to get pregnant.”
Well, that wasn’t true, but it was nice that their husbands believed that. Stacie had never talked so openly about sex in her life. And she and her mother had never talked about the Big O.
One of the younger Syrian women with a very pretty face, and very pregnant, offered, “Saif will be here tomorrow. He will take her. She will get pregnant.”
What the hell?
An Iraqi woman rubbed her baby belly and smiled. “Saif will give her many orgasms. He is an excellent lover.” Her expression changed. “Much better than the husband he picked for me.”
Across the parlor, the Turkish woman agreed with the Iraqi. “When Saif gave me his baby, he promised me a good man. Baqir is not a good man. He will not love Saif’s baby as instructed. He bounces on me, grunting like pig and promises I will be pregnant with his son soon after I give birth to this baby.” She scoffed. “I don’t think his little penis can make a baby, certainly not a son. That requires a great man, like Saif.”
The woman next to her sat up straight. “After I birthed Saif’s son three months ago, I told Asim he could not touch me until Saif gave him permission. I am hoping Saif will be proud to see his son and know I can give him another so he will make me pregnant again. Asim can continue to wear out his hand.” All the women burst into laughter.
Stacie forced a giggle. She and Jul exchanged glances. With a nod of approval from Jul, Stacie had to clarify, “Are you suggesting I sleep with Saif al-Rasul?”
“Yes,” chorused around the room as they all smiled and nodded.
Zayn examined Stacie from the top of her dark brown hair to her bare feet. “You are pretty, for an American. Saif will want you. I will have Husam arrange it. You will get pregnant.”
Hum. No. No fucking way was that terrorist going to touch her. She most certainly was not going to sleep with Saif al-Rasul. The brother of Rashid, the brutal asshole who’d kidnapped her, abused her body, and beat the shit out of Jeff. She’d kill the man first.
“Geoff would never allow—” she started to explain.
“It is not a decision your husband has.” Zayn crossed her large arms over her abundant chest. “Saif is the chosen one, the true son of the caliph, Abu Baqr al-Baghdadi. You should beg for the chance to bear him an heir. Are you not a believer?” Black eyes surrounded by too much white tried to pop out of her chubby face.
Oh, shit. She was in trouble now. This was her test.
“It would be my honor to have the child of one so holy, a leader to Allah.” Stacie hoped that sounded honest as she lied through her teeth. “But I’m sure Geoff will succeed this month if we had the blessing of Saif.”
That seemed to pacify the angry crowd.
As they all left soon after the pregnancy gaff, Zayn took Stacie’s hand before she put on her mandatory black gloves. “Allah will make the choice of your baby’s father.”
Not thinking so. Stacie pasted on a smile and simply said, “Praise Allah.”
When the visitors had all exited, Stacie locked the front door, and set her phone to scan for electronics. She didn’t trust these women, especially Zayn. She checked the entire parlor, the powder room—which had seen a great deal of use with so many pregnant women—and all around the foyer. Nothing unexpected, so she joined Jul who had the video conference set up.
Dr. Bowden’s face appeared on the screen. “Well, that was interesting.”
The tech looked to his right. “I have that list you asked for, ma’am. Check your in box.”
The agency psychiatrist seemed to read something on a different screen then smiled. “Exactly what I thought.”
“What?” Jul and Stacie asked in unison.
“Every pregnant woman in that room recently married an American college student who traveled to the ISIS region.” The doctor sat back in her seat. “Can anyone say anchor babies?”
Stacie’s brain was stuck on repeat of Zayn telling her Husam would arrange for her to have sex with Saif. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow,” she confessed.
“Husam sends new recruits, American citizens by birth, over to the Islamic State for the caliph to indoctrinate.” The doctor made air quotes around the last word. “They return to the United States with a pregnant wife. But the baby is Saif’s. I’ll bet part of the deal is that the husband is to raise the son in their fundamentalist ways until Saif becomes the caliph of the Islamic State. He’s growing an army of his own children who will be American citizens.”
“The best way to change a country is from within,” Jul noted.