Wade (24 page)

“He's there, too.”

Roan stepped forward. “Alive?”

“They wouldn't have bothered with him otherwise.”

She had a point, though it wasn't one Wade wanted to examine in detail. Jake's father, he was sure, would be even less willing.

Judging from the sounds in the woods behind them, the others were moving in their general direction. They must have cleared out the missing jihadis. The whole group would be on the scene in a few short minutes. Whether that would force Ahmad to act or prevent it was anybody's guess. Waiting to find out was not an option.

Wade looked at Roan. His cousin nodded. Then he swung toward the mound and raised a shout.

“Ahmad! We know you're in there. Come out now!”

No answer came for long seconds. Wade lined up the Pashtu phrases in his mind to repeat Roan's message. Then Ahmad spoke with a second voice trailing
his words in translation, that of the man Chloe had called Ismael.

“Come out where you can kill us, infidel? We are not so stupid.”

Roan hefted the 30-06 he carried. “It's the only way you might stay alive.”

“Life or death is of no importance if we carry Benedicts with us,” came the reply in a singsong rhythm like something learned by rote. “What matters is holy vengeance and family honor.”

It was Wade who answered that. “Benedicts know a thing or two about honor, my friend, since we've done our share of breast-beating over it. It's a strange brand that needs the blood of women and children to satisfy it.”

“You are an ignorant American who knows nothing and understands less. Our people were wearing silk and jewels and discussing the mathematical probabilities of the universe when yours were still worshiping trees and painting their faces blue.”

“And what does that matter when you act the patsy for megalomaniacs who think history can be reversed and the worn-out glory of Islam returned? Your kind would rather destroy modern civilization than admit that you can't keep up with it. I may be an ignorant American, but I live in freedom while you think it's only a word. I know that you pervert the teachings of Mohammed to legitimize murder without understanding that you can't build future greatness in a graveyard.”

“Enough!”

“The truth bother you?” Wade jeered. “Tough. It's time somebody pointed it out.”

“Wade, please,” Chloe said, her voice not quite even.

He was pushing it, he knew, but holding Ahmad's attention seemed better than letting it return to the boy who shared the dark cellar with that madman.

“I have no need to listen to you,” Ahmad said through Ismael. “We have explosives, more than enough to blow a crater big enough to swallow you and everyone near this place. This pile of earth will become the graveyard of us all, Benedict.”

“Ahmad, no,” Chloe called, stepping from the shelter of the trees. “You don't have to do this.”

Wade reached out and caught her arm, snatching her back to safety. Chloe flinched, stumbling, and he steadied her with a firm grasp on her upper arms. She stared up at him for a second with all the terror and fury inside her glittering in her eyes. Then she wrenched away from him.

Just behind them, men began to drift in from all directions, a quiet congregating in case of need. Wade glanced around, spotting Adam. “We have two holed up here,” he said as he caught his attention. “You got the others?”

“One dead, one captured. Hopewell was tying the one still alive to a tree when I left.”

Wade nodded. Hopewell was Johnnie's husband, the nurse who had inadvertently given Chloe a lift
earlier. A good old boy of the first order, he could be trusted to make sure the jihadi stayed out of the action.

“Any of ours down?” he asked.

“One, a leg wound.”

“Could be worse,” Wade said. “And may get that way yet, since we have a situation here.” He outlined the details, then invited suggestions.

“We could rush 'em,” somebody said from the back. “It would be over before they know it.”

“It'll be over all right, you danged idiot,” came an irate answer. “Didn't you hear the part about them blowing us to kingdom come?”

Nat materialized out of the undergrowth just then. “No windows in that place, right? No exit except the one door?”

“Right,” Wade answered, grateful that somebody appeared to be bending serious brainpower to the problem.

“No water source, I suppose, no food. We could starve them out if we knew we had the time.”

“We don't.”

“Right. About all I see is a flanking action, send a detail around to come up from behind, then storm the door at the same time.”

Wade had already considered and discarded that option. “Too risky.”

“For the boy, yeah,” Nat agreed. “But you don't have much choice here. It's one life against a chance for the whole clan.”

That same conclusion burned like a hot coal in Wade's mind. He couldn't seem to get a good breath. The urge to smash something or someone was so violent that it took most of his willpower to control it. He dragged air into his chest through flared nostrils, before he said, “I can't make that decision.”

“Somebody has to.”

“No,” Chloe said in simple contradiction. “No, they don't.”

Wade thought for a second that her objection was a purely emotional reaction. Then something in her voice snagged his attention. “What are you saying?”

“Ahmad might come out if you use the right bait.”

“I don't think so.” What he meant was that he refused to consider it since he had an idea what she was getting at.

“He did once.”

“Yeah, and look what happened.”

She shook her hair back as she faced him. “It's worth a try. He's here because of me.”

“And me.”

“You're secondary. I'm the one he blames for the stain on his family honor. I'm the one who corrupted his sister, or so he believes. He has promised a more personal revenge for me, so he may be enticed to send out Jake in exchange, or even leave himself open to your fire.”

“No.” It was all he could think of to say, all she had left him with her soul-chilling logic.

She watched him, her eyes dark and fathomless.
Her voice when she spoke was entirely too self-contained. “You have no choice, not really. Shall I speak to Ahmad? Or will you offer the substitution man to man, as if I have no value compared to one who shares your blood and your name?”

C
hloe waited with a suspended feeling inside her chest for Wade's answer. No particular motive for her question had been in her mind, and yet more than her life seemed to depend on his answer. Her sense of who and what she was, her whole worth as a person and her reason for existence was wrapped up in it. Everything she had done and the reasons for it would be affirmed or denied with what he said to her now.

“I won't do that,” he said in tones of iron. “I can't. If it has to be this way, then it's up to you.”

It was the reply she needed. The gladness of it bloomed inside her, giving her strength and purpose. She had no idea if what she intended would succeed, but she had to try. And if she failed, it would still be worth it to know that for a few short minutes she had been valued as the equal of any male, or any Benedict man or woman.

Swinging toward the dark wedge that was the cellar doorway, she called out. “Ahmad, my brother? Attend to me. What shall I tell these Americans of you before we die? Is there nothing that you want them to know? Are there no last words you would say?”

“Do you imagine that I need such as you are to speak for me?”

The arrogance and prejudice she had expected were there in his words, and the contempt. That was good. “Someone must since you have no eloquence, no poetry at your command. Perhaps Ismael, who has both, will find words for you as well as translate them?”

“Ismael is nothing. He has fallen from grace and seeks only redemption.”

“So you say,” she returned, her voice reflective. “Yet he is a man. He has enjoyed a wife, fathered children. He has loved and been loved. His name will live on as yours will not.”

“Silence, whore!”

Behind her, Chloe could hear whispering and muttering. The Benedicts might not understand the spoken words, but the threat in Ahmad's answers was plain enough. They feared she might anger her stepbrother so much that the world around them would disappear in a billow of fire and destruction. So she might, but it would happen without fail if she stopped.

Wade moved to stand beside her. His voice quiet, he said, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“So do I.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, tasting suppressed tears. “Ahmad might not notice if you and the others leave one or two at a time.”

“Leave?”

“Or at least get back out of the way as far as possible. Just in case.”

“That won't help you.”

She didn't answer because there was nothing to be said. Moving closer to the cellar door as a distraction for any retreat by the others, she lifted her voice again.

“All women are whores to you because of the teaching of the mullahs, Ahmad, or so Treena said before she died. Can it be you despise us so much because they forced you to become one of us? Did you kill Treena because she knew it.”

“It was for honor!” he thundered in answer. “But you will die as she did, for the disease of sedition that you carry and because you have no respect for anything that is not of your benighted country.”

“By your fine bloody knife, my stepbrother? Come and get me,” she invited with all the mockery she could manage. “If you are man enough!” She could hear the stealthy departure of the Benedict defenders from the darkness behind her. However, neither Wade nor Roan made any move to go. She hated that.

Movement shifted in the shadows of the cellar opening. Chloe could just make out two dark forms, one large and one more slight, as if Ahmad had Jake in front of him as he'd used her as a shield in Turn-Coupe. Another shadow emerged after them that had to be Ismael.

“Such is a woman's bravery, to talk while hiding behind men with weapons,” Ahmad sneered. “You would not dare without them.”

“You think so? Perhaps it's not I they protect at all. Perhaps they will leave me to your revenge, if
you release the boy? You would do it, would you not, if a mere woman was offered in exchange for a comrade?”

“Don't be a fool.”

“You are the one who suggested it with your talk of protection. But what can such a test hurt when we are all to die anyway?”

“Chloe,” Wade began.

She stopped him with a sharp gesture, afraid that even a small protest might sway the issue. There was less rustling, less shifting of bodies behind her, as if the Benedicts had drifted back into the woods until only a few were left.

Ahmad gave a sour laugh. “You would never dare come close enough.”

“What do I care?” she asked as she moved forward again. “To die one way is as good as another.”

“Come, then,” he taunted her. “Come taste my knife.”

She took another step, even as she heard Wade breathe a curse. On the periphery of her vision, she saw him raise his rifle as if waiting for any false move from the cellar.

“Release the boy,” she said with a firm lift of her chin. “Then I will close the distance.”

“Come close first. Then I will see.”

“Let Ismael bring him halfway, releasing him when I hold out my hand. That is fair.”

“That is stupid!”

“You let him go then, when Ismael has me. What
do you have to lose?” She turned her gaze to Treena's husband. “Ismael? You accept my suggestion?”

“This I will,” he answered as he stepped fully into the light and inclined his body in a bow as he touched his forehead and then his heart. “I swear it on the memory of my wife who loved you, Chloe Madison, as she would a sister of her blood.”

That gesture of respect was so much more than she expected that she stared at him in the dimness. Then she saw where his raised hand remained, saw what he was doing.

She knew then. She knew, with the bone-deep chill of terrible foreboding, exactly what was about to happen.

The night was deep and warm around them, the air damp and soft, as they stood in their frozen tableaux. Trees sighed, as if shifting in disturbed sleep. Water lapped, endlessly, at the edge of the lake not far away. Clouds drifted overhead, covering the face of the rising moon with dark splendor. Somewhere a mating frog called then fell silent. Life went on, uncaring. It was nature's way.

“Ismael,” she began.

“It is fate,” he said, “and is right. As you Americans say so often, it is just. It is fair.”

I have my own personal jihad.

“I think I've changed my mind,” she said abruptly.

Ahmad laughed, a harsh sound of irony and scorn.

Ismael only smiled with tenderness spreading
across his young, aquiline features. “No, sister of my heart, that will not suffice. Do not fear for me. Consider instead my young daughters who may share their mother's fate. Think of my family harmed years ago. Remember all you taught us about freedom, Chloe Madison, while you were with us. Think, now, of the many ways there are to be free, and the one that is the ultimate. Come. Now.”

He held out his left hand. With his right that was still at his breast, he unclipped the grenade hanging from the belt that crisscrossed it.

“Don't!” Wade commanded from behind her.

Was he speaking to her or to Ismael? Did he realize Treena's husband must be the operative who had infiltrated the al Qaeda? How much did he see? He'd spent years in the Middle East, yet what did he understand of Ismael's long patience or his reasons that were steeped in ancient laws and traditions? Was it enough? Was it? If so, then he should recoil immediately, putting distance between himself and the cellar while there was still time.

Being Wade, he could not do that. Of course, he couldn't, not while Jake was still held prisoner. Nor could Roan who had moved to stand behind him. They had both eased from the shelter of the woods, she thought, though she couldn't turn her head to look, not now when every second counted. She had no answer for her doubts, none for anything as she took a steady stride toward Ismael's outstretched
hand. It was not his right hand, the hand of respect, but what did that matter?

His grip was warm and dry, but not confining. Over his shoulder, he said to Ahmad, “Now the boy?”

“It is fair,” Chloe's stepbrother repeated in virulent ridicule. Then he pushed Roan's son away from him.

Jake's face was white and his bottom lip cut and swollen, but his shoulders were rigid with pride and he allowed no trace of fear to show in his eyes. He was all right. He could walk, even if he moved with a teenage swagger calculated to show how little he cared. Chloe willed him to look at her instead of his captor, prayed that he wouldn't be so humiliated by her rescue that he could not.

Then he met her gaze. His crooked smile of approbation was so like that of his cousin that her heart turned over in her chest. “Run,” she said. “For God's sake, run. Now!”

It was the trigger.

Ahmad lifted his weapon. Ismael pulled the pin on the grenade, turned with it in his hand. In the single glimpse she was allowed, she saw him lunge at Ahmad, grasping him tightly in a parody of a lover's hold as he fell with him to the ground.

The hard thud of running footsteps sounded behind her. She was struck from behind, snatched away from Ismael even as she saw Roan hit Jake in a hard dive that carried him out of sight on the far side of the mound. Then she was falling, rolling, tumbling in the
circle of Wade's hard arms while the world blasted apart with a thunderous roar. Deafened, blinded by the white, stabbing light, she felt the earth tremble. Dirt and grass clogged her mouth. Something heavy covered her, stopping her breath. And in her mind were horror and grief and an endless agony of gratitude for which there could never be any acknowledgment. Not in this life.

Then the night was quiet again.

 

“So you're leaving.”

Chloe glanced up as Wade spoke from the doorway. He looked as tired as she felt, she thought. “It's time. I can't stay here forever.”

“It's only been four days.”

“It seems longer.” She paused with her shower cap and a lipstick in her hands. Then she went back to filling the plastic bag that served as her luggage.

“Mom says you asked to go back to New Orleans when she goes with Adam and Lara.” Wade turned and put his backbone against the door facing, shoving the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.

“A phone number for the RAWA group in California was with the video Freshta gave me. I'll stay in a New Orleans hotel until I can make contact and finish settling my father's estate.”

“What then? You're going to go and live with people you don't know, in a faith that's not yours, and probably a household where you'll be expected to
cover your hair and almost every inch of skin when you go out in public?”

“Something like that.”

“Why?” Exasperation rasped in his voice. “You know what it will be like. You've seen the problems that can be created.”

She refused to look at him. “The RAWA is helping to change attitudes, here as well as in the Middle East. I need to belong somewhere, to do something worthwhile.”

He digested that for a moment. “You can stay here. I told you that before, and it still stands. Janna would love to have the company, and she could certainly use the help when the baby comes.”

“I…don't think it would work,” she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

“I won't be here, if that's what you're thinking.”

That got her attention. With her hairbrush in her hands, she turned and sat on the mattress. “You're going back to the oil fields?”

“Nat's been after me to work with him for ages,” he said with a careless shrug. “Rescuing people seems as good a job as any.”

“It's dangerous!”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing until it was no longer possible to see their green tint. “I have to do something, and it's worthwhile.”

“Don't.” She looked down at her hands twisting the brush.

“What?”

“Don't mock what I want to do!” The glance she gave him was brief but hot.

“Not what you mean to do, just how and where you intend to do it.”

If he couldn't understand, then explaining further was useless. “Anyway, you don't have to leave your home because I might be in it.”

“You think that's why I'm going?”

“What else? Unless, of course, you just prefer leaving everything here behind you.”

It was his turn to look away. “Hardly.”

“You left years ago because of your father. Now you're going because of me. It seems to be a pattern.”

“Of running away from trouble?”

“I didn't say that. And I'm no trouble to you.”

The look he gave her was incredulous. “Honey, you've been nothing but.”

She twitched a shoulder. “At least it's over.”

“Yeah.” He didn't sound particularly happy.

“If I'm not going to see you again, I…suppose I should say thank you for what you did out there the other night, getting me away before…”

“Forget it.”

The words were curt, dismissive, and hurtful because of it. “I don't think I can. Or will. Ever.”

“It's done. You did what you could, but some things can't be changed. Let it go.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

“No it isn't,” he corrected in strained intensity. He stopped, took a deep breath. “It isn't easy at all. I
was so afraid I was going to have to watch you die. I couldn't have stood that.”

“There was no need. You didn't fail,” she said in quiet answer to his pain. “You saw it coming this time, and that made all the difference. If anyone needs to let it go, it's you.”

He closed his eyes with a small shake of his head. “Maybe I will. One day.”

“I suppose we both will.” It wouldn't be soon, however, and they knew it. The memory was too fresh, as was the raw earth bulldozed over the crater that had once been an Indian mound. The state authorities had come and taken charge of the artifacts that were uncovered. Federal authorities had arrived to conduct interrogations into Ahmad's al Qaeda activities and to take charge of the other injured Hazaris. Local authorities had helped clean up the rest of the mess and ship Ahmad's and Ismael's remains back to Hazaristan for burial. All that was left was the forgetting.