Freedom Does Matter (Mercenaries Book 2) (9 page)

“Sue said she thought whoever was coming in her direction. Dan said he’d heard nothing till Sue hollered, and my room was untouched. So…”

“Yeah. Well, how to do this? If we drive to Almaza and then back, it’ll be dark by the time you get there. And I did want to talk to Haleef again…”

“Dan can probably get a car… Wait. this is a tourist spot, right? I’ll bet they have taxis or car rentals here. I can just drive back, if you’re okay with going back alone to pack up and then drive to Cairo?”

“I can do that. ‘Course, it means driving into the sun again…” She grinned at his look of disbelief. “Anyway, since daylight is better than night for driving, let’s call Sue and tell her the plan.”

However, Kevin still wanted to see the grave; they entered the cemetery and he looked on the memorial for directions while Beckie walked first to the Statue of Remembrance, and then to the back wall to gaze up at the Cross of Sacrifice. She turned and gave the whole cemetery her attention. She’d seen pictures, as everyone had, of Arlington, and Normandy, and this, this was more moving for her. Maybe ‘cause I’m here. The green grass was tan sand, but there were shrubs and trees scattered throughout. Unlike Arlington, the markers were simple plaques rather than crosses. The ones she could see had name and organization along with a few words.

Kevin had come out of the cloisters at the entrance and was striding along a row of markers to Beckie’s right. She hurried up the central pathway and followed him, several paces behind. He stopped in a plot near the wall. Before a marker, he stopped to read it, then dropped to one knee and folded his hands. Beckie bowed her head.

After a minute, Kevin rose and looked around. When he was beside her again, he said, “You never get used to seeing all these graves.”

She had no words for him; she took his hand and squeezed.

Outside the memorial, he called Sue. In a few more minutes, he’d dissuaded her from attempting the three hour drive to meet him… “Unless we can’t find any other way to do it,” he said in appeasement. Very shortly later, they’d discovered no rental cars, and an hour later, they’d contracted—bribed, Beckie thought—an employee at the nearby Marina to find a taxi. He had and the driver accepted Kevin’s no-haggle offer, which, as Beckie discovered later, was only twice the going rate.

Beckie was headed back to the resort, sun in her eyes. She’d missed the battlefield, but decided the depictions in the museum would suffice.

By five-thirty, she was in her room, collecting the few things she had to pack. A trip to Kevin’s room proved he had less to pack than she. She had loaded the Jeep by seven; as she headed toward the restaurant, one of the desk clerks stopped her. His twitchiness and quavering voice telegraphed his nervousness. “Why are you still here? Everyone has been told to go to Alexandria.”

The man’s quick, shallow breathing did nothing to relax her. Maybe that’s what those three big busses were doing. Taking the guests back to Alexandria. “I was out until a little while ago. I heard nothing. What’s going on?”

“There are… rumors of military activity beyond Mersa Matruh. It may have to do with the holiday… Revolution Day, I think is how you would know it. The owners of the resort have moved the guests for their safety. Many of the staff is also departed.”

Beckie shuffled her feet, then pulled her hair around to hang over her shoulder. “Well, I’m not planning to try and drive to Cairo tonight. My brief experience with drivers here…”

The man nodded. “I have not driven elsewhere, but I agree, our drivers are…”

Beckie wanted to say insane to finish his statement, but held her tongue. He didn’t find the words, either, she guessed; he just allowed it to trail off. “It is no matter.” He shot a quick glance at the clock behind the counter. “From eighteen hours, the authorities require no one to leave. There are servers still in the Beach Grill, and they can find a dinner for you.” He waved toward the opening through which she could see the sea.

“When will I be able to leave?”

“They have asked that no one leave until eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“Good. I can sleep in.”

She feared she mirrored his nervous smile as she thanked him and left, seeking the Grill.

Chapter Twelve

Day Twelve - Almaza Bay

SLEEP HAD NOT COME EASILY; Beckie’d dampened her pillow crying as she agonized about Ian. The sounds of the waves came through the open window, but after midnight, they faded out.

Faint light from the moon flashed in Beckie’s eyes. Heart in her mouth, she forced her breathing to steady, then surveyed the room to determine what had awakened her. The clock showed 4:15 and the sky and moon showed night. Is something over there? No, I’m being stupid is all. I’m still beat from the driving and here, must still be things going on. Maybe getting ready for the holiday?

She rolled over to try to go back to sleep when she remembered that the moonlight had winked in her eye, and she thought she heard…

She ducked into the bedclothes as an arm struck her shoulder. Feathers fluttered away from the gash in the pillow. A tiny yelp was all she could afford as the hand-to-hand combat she’d learned came roaring back.

She twisted back holding two more pillows clutched to her chest, bringing them up to where she could just see over them. The attacker was taller than she by a couple of inches. It’s a ninja, she thought in dismay. No, can’t be. Even I have black.

She watched the attacker bring the knife up for a strike, then thought: Time for offense!

With her feet under her, she launched herself, pillows included, at the arm with the knife. He didn’t expect that! They both hit hard but Beckie’d managed to keep the attacker’s body between her and the floor. Where’d the knife go? The stranger struggled, trying to free himself. Oh, no you don’t! She grabbed for his feet, only to get a soft sandal crushing her nose. A curse came to mind, but breathing was more important. The guy got halfway up; Beckie threw an arm around his ankles and yanked but he didn’t lose his balance. Another kick motivated Beckie; she lunged forward, driving her shoulder into the back of his knee.

His leg buckled and he fell over backward, rolling over her hip to land on the rug. She’d mostly caught her breath while fighting from the kneeling position; she jumped to her feet and attempted the knee in the throat hold she’d been so fond of in training.

Unfortunately, the intruder had other ideas; he squirmed away, toward the bathroom door. Before he reached the tile, Beckie grabbed his shirt and heaved. She gasped at the ugly sound his head made when it bounced off the door jamb. He went limp.

She dropped her knees in the small of his back and took a few gasps to calm her breathing again. Quickly, she surveyed the field of battle. The attacker’s knife lay out of reach; she pulled his shirt up far enough to bare skin and pinched. No reaction. She scurried over to snatch the weapon, then switched on a lamp as she returned. He hadn’t moved; she tested the knife on her thumb. Sharp. Another glance around but there was nothing to restrain him.

As the knife lay heavy in her hand, she gave the scene one more look, then lifted his shirt and slit it and his undershirt all the way to his neck. His hood got in the way; she pushed it up to slice the collar. 

Funny, he doesn’t seem to have the muscles… Whoa! Needs a bath, too! She dismissed those thoughts and, hand around his throat, lifted him enough to drag the shirt off his left arm, and then his right. She separated the two garments in her hands; testing the lighter one, the cotton undershirt, she twisted it into a rope. Quickly she bound his wrists.

In a few more seconds, she’d tied the heavier outer shirt around his ankles. After she took a deep breath of relief and satisfaction, she grasped his shoulder and pants and wrenched him onto his back.

She stared, awestruck. The breasts were small but absolutely feminine.

Beckie rocked back on her heels and contemplated. Well, it doesn’t matter, she assured herself. She’s in my room with a knife. I don’t care what she is. In a moment, she knew she was trying to convince herself; having a girl in that position didn’t seem right.

“Damn,” she said softly as another possibility raised its ugly head. “I guess the first thing I should have ripped off…” Again she lifted the girl’s head by the neck and seized the top of the balaclava.

The face exposed was more rounded than long; her skin was the deep tan Beckie’d come to associate with the sheikhs and their people at the meetings. Blood tricked from her lip and from a gash along her cheekbone. Her hair, like her eyebrows, was black, but it had been chopped off; no more than four inches long, sweat under the hood had matted it to her skull.

But those observations vanished into the picture on Kevin’s monitor; Beckie’s heart pounded as her chest went tight. Her arm went up and she began to swing her fist at the girl’s head. Of course! She’s the one shot Ian! She pulled the punch and cursed, “Fuck! I can’t just beat her to death… Pfaugh!”

Beckie rolled the girl onto her belly to check the bindings, then dragged and shoved and pushed until she lolled against the wall. She fetched a chair, set it over the girl’s legs and seated herself where she could stare into her captive’s eyes.

With another, not so gentle, pinch, she assured herself that the girl was still unconscious. She replaced her sleep shirt with shorts and tee and headed for the minibar. When she returned, she carried containers of juice and water. She had finished half of the juice when the thought that the girl had been unconscious too long struck her. God, I hope I didn’t kill her! With a shake, she called, “Hey! You in there?”

Again she knelt by the girl, this time to touch her neck; the girl’s pulse pounded under her finger. The motion of her chest proved she was breathing. Okay, then. That’s good. No smelling salts, so… she held the water bottle upside down over the girl’s face for a three count. 

The girl revived, albeit slowly. With her arms secured, she couldn’t reach to hold her head, but Beckie wasn’t interested in making her feel like anything but a prisoner. Why? I need to know why.

The girl’s mumbles were foreign. Yeah, that’s to be expected. Sure hope she speaks English. Enough English. Realizing her course would be determined by that answer, she slapped the girl’s cheek, not hard, just enough to convince her to open her eyes. When her black eyes opened, the girl tried to swing her head away from Beckie’s glare, but she caught her chin and held her head.

“Do you speak English?” Nothing. Beckie put the water bottle against her lips. When she tried to twist away, Beckie pushed it between her lips. “It’s all over you. If it was poison, you’d already be dead.”

She took a few swallows, but Beckie expected that was to keep from drowning rather than acquiescence. She checked the girl’s bindings again. “You understand me?”

The girl’s head turned slightly; this time a flash of fear showed in her eyes.

“I guess you do. Well, we have things to talk over. In a minute—”

“I have nothing to talk to you.”

The girl’s voice was almost mechanical; the small error caught Beckie’s attention. “We’ll see.” She smiled. “I’m not sure exactly how we’ll work this. I don’t want to turn you over to the police, yet, but…” The depth of confusion on the girl’s face impressed Beckie. It almost covered the embarrassment.

“May I be covered?”

“What? No, not yet. Maybe after we talk.” Beckie wondered how much leverage she could get from the girl’s discomfiture. “Should I have my partner come in and question you?”

Even with the girl’s complexion and light covering of dirt, Beckie could see her blanch. She didn’t speak, just dropped her head and shook it. Beckie heard, so faint she almost didn’t, “
Min fadlik. La.
”

“What?”

The girl’s head lifted slightly, but her eyes remained fixed on her chin. “Please. No.”

“Okay, for now.” Beckie slipped off the chair and crouched next to her. As she felt the girl’s head, she said, “Does this hurt? Or this?” Finding the lump above her ear ended the discussion; Beckie took the water bottle and washed the blood away to determine the cut had sealed itself until she began playing with it. “I think you’re going to live.” She drew herself up to command: “Tell me your name.”

The girl’s eyes opened wide and she caught her breath. “Noorah.” Her voice barely carried beyond her lips.

Beckie nodded, pleased that no additional threats were needed. “Okay, Noorah. We can get family names later.” She reached into her back pocket and withdrew the knife. “Nice. I like mine better, but it’s personal preference.” She hefted it in her hand, then fixed Noorah with a glare. “You didn’t bring it for protection. Why attack me?”

Noorah’s head had come up when the knife flashed under her eyes. Once Beckie’s words sank in, her expression faded into stark terror, eyes wide enough to see the whites and mouth open, drawn back over her teeth. In a complete non sequitur, Beckie found herself marveling at how white the girl’s teeth were. That won’t do
any
thing, she told herself angrily, and knew from Noorah’s reaction that the anger made it to her face. She leaned back and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Were you going to explain?” When Noorah made no effort to speak, Beckie glanced out the window and said, “Still dark. We’ve got some time. Tell me about yourself.”