Grains of Truth (28 page)

A sinewy brown hand shot out and grabbed her arm in a painful grip, spinning her around. She gasped, momentarily paralyzed by the gruesome face—only inches away—amplified a thousand-fold by the expression of hatred in the glowering, murderous eyes. Her delayed struggle failed to prevent the wet rag from being pressed over her nose and mouth. Within seconds, the world spun into oblivion as she lost consciousness and slid to the dirty street. 

Henry reached the corner, panting, expecting the worst. The worst was nothing.

Both Julia and the man with the fearsome face had vanished.

Chapter 33

A heavy gloom now obscured the night, the moon hidden by clouds, and street lamps restricted to main thoroughfares. Alexander turned off the Corniche el Nile onto a side street. He could just make out that it was joined by several even darker alleys. Without slowing his pace, he turned down one of them in the middle of the block. At this point, he stopped to allow his vision to adjust to the near-total darkness.

The directions he’d been given were clear enough, but the claustrophobic closeness of the narrow passageway quickened his senses. Near the other end, the door of a parked van opened and a man stepped from the driver’s side. Even in the dark, he recognized the figure of Jalal.

“Come,” called the familiar voice, barely loud enough for Alex to hear.

As he neared the van, Jalal spoke quietly. “Please excuse us for the necessary precautions. It is for your safety as well as our own. Bend your head and close your eyes.”

Alex did as he was told, only stiffening slightly as the scratchy sack settled over his head. The clamor of the city faded as the van left the congested turns behind and headed in a straight line. Soon, all Alex could hear was the rattle of metal as they continued along a bumpy road. When they eventually came to a stop, Jalal guided him into a small building, warning him to duck his head. Once inside, the Egyptian lifted the sack.

“He will be here soon. Do you have the merchandise?”

Alexander moved with slow, deliberate caution. Any sudden or unexpected action on his part might cause undue alarm. He shrugged the laptop case from his shoulder to place it on a rickety wooden table. An oil lamp burned beside it as he pulled back the zippers. When he raised the top, the case revealed—not the computer for which it was intended—but the Magnum and the Beretta. Before dinner, he’d exchanged the weapons for the computer, leaving it safely hidden in the false bottom of his suitcase.

He glanced at Jalal, whose ebony eyes sparkled with reverence in the lamplight as they caressed the gleaming metal. It was always the same. Men were invariably drawn, like magnets, to weapons. And to the power they represented. Alexander allowed no sign of his weary condescension to show as he peeled off his jacket and unbuckled the holster under his arm.

“You must face the wall during the meeting. Do not, under any circumstances, turn around.”

It didn’t need to be spelled out. Alex understood the consequences for failing to comply with this “request.” No sooner than he’d balanced on a low stool facing a white-washed mudbrick wall, he heard someone come through the doorway.

“Good evening, Commander. So we meet at last. I am Sharif.” Ahmed wasted no time on pleasantries. “Jalal has apprised you, I believe, of my needs?”

Jalal backed away from the guns.

Ever so slightly, Alex cocked an ear. That voice rang a bell. “Yes. These models should meet your requirements.”

Ahmed picked up the Magnum. “Why these?”

Alex succinctly recited the features for each. Jalal shifted nervously in the background as “Sharif” examined each weapon.

“There is,” Ahmed drawled, “some sense of urgency in completing the transaction. A long-standing tribal feud in my native Saudi Arabia threatens to interfere with a cousin’s wedding. We must take all precautions.” He paused before the next lie. “Receiving the merchandise there could prove problematic. We would prefer to take delivery in Sinai. Within the week.”

Even as Alexander felt his chest clench, he kept his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a tight timeframe. That’ll inflate the price. I’ll make inquiries and let you know.” He waited for a response. When one failed to come, he ventured to add, “An order for handguns only is kind of unusual. Have you no need for heavier artillery? Automatic rifles, or missiles?” 

Ahmed made a sound that was more like a purr than a laugh. “No, Commander. This will do for now.” He snapped a barrel shut. “I will keep these samples, with your permission, of course.”

The thinly veiled demand kicked Alexander’s adrenaline up another notch. He’d already considered the possibility of this unfortunate development. His tone remained strictly casual. “That might not be such a good idea. These pieces could be traced back to me. Besides, if they should be found in your possession here in Egypt, it could land you in some serious trouble.”

Behind his back, Alex could feel the violence that flared in the terrorist’s eyes.

Ahmed did not care for being denied. A threatening silence permeated the stuffy room before he sighed, his passion passing like a summer storm. “As you wish.”

The final negotiations took a while, with Alexander attempting to discover as much as possible without appearing overly inquisitive. The most important thing he learned was the point of delivery: a village along the east coast of the Sinai Peninsula, on the Gulf of Aqaba. He promised to let them know by six the following evening if delivery could be made within their timeframe.

After “Sharif” departed, Alex—head once again covered by the sack—was driven a short distance in the van. When it stopped, the sack came off and he was transferred to a horse-drawn carriage that plodded along interminably before at last reaching the waterfront. The clip-clop of the horse’s feet and the clicking of the carriage wheels created a kind of mantra that induced the composure he needed to analyze every nuance of the past few hours.

It still struck him as odd, the request for handguns only. Surely these maniacs would need heavier artillery for their ambitious plan. One thing was certain, even though he’d heard only a few words from the neighboring table at lunch the previous day: He unequivocally recognized the voice of “Sharif” as that of the striking Arab. 

Still deep in troubled thought as the carriage finally drew near the hotel, he looked up to find Mohamed storming out the front gate with the Langleys close on his tail. It was then he learned of Julia’s abduction. A raw, gnawing fear gripped him as Henry’s description of the scar-faced man left no doubt as to the identity of her captors.

~

A tense silence lay over the room like a heavy blanket as those present listened to Alexander Bryant’s side of the phone conversation. Following his concise report, there was not much to overhear, apart from the occasional single-word response. 

“Understood,” he said brusquely for the fifth time. Replacing the receiver, he remained for a moment with his back to the others gathered in the sitting room of his suite.

Henry and Henrietta sat on the sofa, legs touching, hands folded in their laps. Brad Caldwell sprawled in one of the big chairs next to them, with Linda Boyd perched on the arm. Mohamed stood in the corner looking out the window, his rigid back to the room. Sarah Littlefield sat up straight on the other end of the sofa, sharp green eyes alert for the unspoken accusations bouncing off the walls.

None of them had slept during the endless night. The group from San Francisco had arrived an hour before, travel-weary and staggered to learn of Julia’s abduction.

Brad asked the obvious question. “So?”

Alex turned, clearing his throat. “As expected, the same response as yours: The Brits regret the unfortunate turn of events but there’s little they can do. Even if contact is made for a ransom, their government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. Officially, their hands are tied.”

“And unofficially?” The quiet question came from the corner. While the calls were made, Mohamed had remained ominously silent. His internal conflict about the situation had evaporated, like smoke in the wind. These bastards kidnapped Julia. They took his angel—with god only knew what evil intentions. Unfortunately, he knew all too well their probable intentions, as did everyone involved. Not a shred of doubt clouded his conscience that he would do anything and everything he could to save her. Anything to save the woman he loved.

Again, Alex cleared his throat. “Unofficially, they’ll make whatever resources they can available to us, should we choose to pursue the matter.”

He and Caldwell exchanged a steady, significant look.

“Should we choose to pursue the matter,” repeated Mohamed in the same deceptively soft voice. “So, as far as the British and U.S. governments are concerned, she’s to be regarded as ‘collateral damage,’ is that it?” He turned to face the ex-military officer, his mouth twisted with savage contempt, dark eyes pools of anger and pain.

“That’s what you call it, isn’t it, ‘collateral damage’? Such a bland expression to define the death, destruction and maiming of innocent people caught in the midst of your crusade to bring what you call ‘democracy’ to the ‘developing’ world?”

The harsh words shot out like bullets, piercing every heart in the room.

Henrietta broke the uncomfortable silence. “We know you’re upset, my dear. We all are. But let us please try to focus here. We will all, and I do mean all,” she added sternly, directing a sharp look at Brad Caldwell, “do everything within our power to bring her back safely.”

Mohamed looked from face to tense face. His burning eyes lingered on Alexander’s studiously expressionless ones before settling on a troubled Henry Langley. “I should have gone after her,” he said, heavy accusation plain behind the words.

Henrietta put a protective hand on that of her husband. “No, dear, then you would have been taken as well. Or worse.”

The debate stormed for over an hour before they agreed upon a plan. Most of those present were professionals. They possessed the training and instincts to deal with the difficult circumstances. All except Mohamed and Sarah. She chafed at having to remain at the hotel—and dug in her heels for a fight.

Brad stepped up to take her on. “Look. Someone has to stay to field communications if anything turns up. Or if the kidnappers should call.”

As an Egyptian citizen, Mohamed knew he was particularly vulnerable. If the Jihadists didn’t punish him for his involvement, his government would. Nonetheless, rock-solid determination steeled his nerves and cleared his brain. “There’s not a chance in hell you will leave me out of it. Besides,” he pointed out with cool calculation, “I’m the only one who knows the territory and can speak to the ‘natives.’ They will remove their hostage from the vicinity as quickly as possible. If they haven’t already.”

“Assuming they’re holding her hostage.” Linda Boyd’s words, quietly spoken, fell into the momentary hush.

Henrietta’s clear gaze watched both of Mohamed’s hands clench.

“We’ll fan out in pairs.” Alex was already grabbing up his jacket.  

Naturally, the Langleys would work together, as would Caldwell and Boyd. That left Alex and Mohamed. They eyed one another warily. Even though Mohamed now knew and accepted that the arms dealer had no intention of arranging to sell weapons to the terrorists, each still felt the other had contributed to Julia’s abduction. Each felt burning guilt for failing her. They formed an uneasy alliance.

~

Immediately upon the arrival of the other Americans, Commander Alexander Bryant had insisted on having a private conversation with Special Agent Brad Caldwell. The two squared off, assessing one another guardedly. Brad could feel the other’s palpable resentment, and contempt, even before he spoke.

“It is absolutely inconceivable to me that you would actually involve a civilian in this kind of operation.” Guilt then ambushed Alex’s indignation, as he remembered his insistence that Julia carry a gun. Thank god she’d refused. If she’d had it on her, it would have most certainly made things worse. A whole lot worse.

In the end, the two men came to a truce, of sorts. Alex filled in the blanks of his involvement and purpose, which was to flush out and identify the militants for British Intelligence—nothing more, nothing less. 

Once they’d taken each other into complete confidence, they argued briefly over whether to bring the rest of the group fully into the loop or provide information only on a “needs-to-know” basis. Everyone except Mohamed. He already knew most of what was happening anyway. It was therefore agreed advisable to keep him apprised—especially as far as Alexander’s involvement. The conspicuous tension between the two could cause problems, and anything they could do to alleviate it would be in the best interest of achieving their objectives.

t

Alex swore under his breath as he sat at a sticky table in the café near the corner where Julia had disappeared. Although working as a team, he and Mohamed affected indifference to one another in case they were being watched. He pretended to read the newspaper spread before him as he kept the Egyptian in his peripheral vision.

Mohamed spoke heatedly with one of the waiters. He’s too damn intense, thought Alex. He needs to relax if we’re going to find out anything useful. Alex was convinced this was a waste of time anyway. There might be a better way to discover what happened to Julia.