Edge of the Heat 6 (10 page)

In English, Sara asked Farmer if he had found any information on Tira Sarraf. Farmer produced a file. Sara skimmed it.
Jackpot!
“Tira, your mother and your baby sister. We can find them and reunite you with them. You can go to America. We will take you all to America and give you homes and money.”

Tira’s eyes softened but stayed shut. Her eyelashes fluttered and Sara saw tears spill out. Now was the time to push hard.

“Tira, your mother and your baby sister are living in a tent in a refugee camp in Jordan. Your mother has spent all of the money you sent her and she doesn’t know how to find you now. But we have found her. We can get her out of there. We can pull them both out of there
today
, but we need to know for sure who they are and who you are.” Sara knelt down and spoke as gently as she could. “Are you Tira Sarraf?”

Tira nodded slowly, her eyes still shut, her cheeks wet. “And your mother is Nathifa and your sister is Shiya?” Tira nodded again.

Sara smiled and handed the folder to Farmer. “Tira, this man is going to start the process of finding your mother and sister and getting them out of Jordan. You could be reunited with them in a few days or even less, but it is very important that you listen to me. It is very important that you answer my questions and give me the information that I need. And we must be quick.”

Tira opened her eyes and looked directly at Sara. “This is about the Americans, isn’t it?” she asked, her quiet voice trembling slightly.

Sara sucked in a breath and looked at Farmer, wondering if he had caught that. His Arabic was not as good as hers. He drew his eyebrows together and gave Sara a slight nod.

“What Americans?” Sara asked.

“The man and the woman at Malakan.”

“Malakan?”

Tira nodded her head towards the North. “Malakan. In the desert. The fort.”

Sara studied her face, trying to determine how Tira felt about the Americans. She didn’t want to say yes and have Tira stop talking. But what Tira said next removed all of her options.

“They are to be killed today.”

Sara looked quickly at Farmer to make sure he got that one. His wide eyes and panicked look let her know that he had. Sara stood up quickly. “When Tira? When are they to be killed?” Her mind flipped through her options even as she was waiting for an answer. She didn’t have any, except the U.S. Military coming in, guns blazing. And that was almost guaranteed to end with Jon and Daniela dead in the ground.

Sara’s eyes finally focused on Tira again. She had shrunk back even more into the corner and was looking at Sara fearfully.

Sara knelt and held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Tira, I got excited. Do you know when they are to be killed?”

“Tonight, after the TV showing.”

“The TV showing?”

“Yes, you know, the cameras. They will put them on TV and say things. And then.” Tira slid a finger across her throat. Sara felt her stomach clench. Was she going to be too late?

“Do you know what time tonight?” Sara asked, trying to keep her voice low and even.

Tira shook her head. “Maybe after dinner. Hassan will bring the cameras. After the cameras, they will do it.”

Hassan. Sara recognized one of the son’s names. “There are no cameras at the fort right now?”

“No, Hassan will bring the cameras when we go.”

“Hassan goes with you when you go?”

Tira nodded. “Yes.”

“When do you leave to go to the fort?”

“We leave at 10. To feed all of the men.”

Quickly, Sara decided that the plan stood as it was. It could still work, even if the plan was to set up the cameras immediately, which she didn’t think it was.

“Listen to me, Tira, you are not going out to the fort today, or ever again. I am going in your place. And I need to know everything that you are supposed to do so that I can duplicate it. Will you be honest with me?”

Sara watched Tira’s eyes, looking for deception. She saw none. Sara prayed she could trust this girl, because everything rested on the information she was about to get.

She started asking her questions, writing down some of the answers. She worked urgently, knowing she needed to get back outside and finish the girl’s chores before she was missed. Tira seemed to warm up to the situation and answered the questions quickly and competently, without hesitation or guile.

“What do you do first when you get to the fort?” Sara asked.

“I stoke the fire in the big room and put four pots of soup on for the men in the evening when we are no longer there.”

Sara had her draw a map of the fort and point out each room and its purpose. As she drew the room where Daniela and Jon were being held Sara paid close attention and asked her for details of where each sat and how they were contained.

“Do you have any duties in this room?” Sara asked, tapping a pen against it.

“I give them water. I roll up their masks and give them dippers of water from the bucket. I give them as much as I can but some guards only let me give a little.”

“Do you feed them too?”

“They do not eat.”

Sara shook her head. They would be weak.

“Are they ever untied from the chairs?”

“Yes, when they go to the bathroom. But their arms are never untied.”

Sara shook her head again. They would be weak and unable to hold a gun. She just hoped she didn’t have to carry either one of them. That would be impossible.

Sara asked her last few questions, stood back, and motioned for Farmer to step forward. She wanted to be sure that Farmer could talk to Tira and Tira would answer. He could feed her information into her ear if necessary. They had a humanitarian unit on the way to take care of Tira, but she would need to stay with Farmer until the mission was done.

Farmer spoke soothingly to Tira in halting Arabic, and Tira held her composure.
Good
, Sara thought. Because my time is running out.

She motioned for Tira to come into the bathroom with her. “Tira, we need to switch clothes.” Tira came in hesitantly, and took off her veil for Sara, handing it to her. Sara smiled at her. She was lovely, except for the fading bruises on her right cheek and neck, and the new bruise on her left cheek. Well, those would be her last bruises.

Sara asked a few questions while they were switching clothes, mostly to memorize the lilt and tone of Tira’s voice and the quality of her accent. She looked in the mirror almost satisfied with what she saw. Swiftly, she pulled the veil off and pulled black thread and a needle out of her pack. She sewed the eye opening of the niqab as small as possible before putting it back on. The next three hours were her most vulnerable. According to Tira, once they got in the back of the truck no one talked to her, and everyone went to sleep. So all she needed to do was perform Tira’s chores and make it into the truck without being noticed.

Adrenaline beat in her bloodstream at the thought. She willed herself to calm down, and said goodbye to Tira. With a few last instructions to Farmer, she headed back out into the hot desert air.

Dani tried to stretch her neck and roll her shoulders and push away the growing despondency crashing down on her at the same time. She had been convinced that the troops would rush in and save them. That they would have to endure being held by blood-hungry terrorists for only a short while. 12 hours, 24 hours - 2 days at the most! Wasn’t that the reason for the GPS tracker she wore? Rescue?

Oh, and she’d worked hard at convincing herself that when the cavalry showed up what happened three months ago with the soldiers would not happen to them. That the US government had learned from that and that they would do a better job this time and no one would be killed. At least not her and the Marine. He hadn’t said he was a Marine. He’d said his name was JT, but she knew the look. She was as positive that he was a Marine as she was positive her own uncle was one and her father used to be one.

Thinking about her uncle and father hurt, they must be worried sick about her. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t convinced anyone to come save her yet. She and JT had already been here for five, possibly six days and as much as she didn’t want to, she was losing her faith that anyone was coming. And if they
were
coming, couldn’t they hurry? If it were possible for a person to die of misery, she was afraid that was where she was heading.

She could barely feel her chest and arms and her legs were numb and on fire at the same time. How could that be? She knew she was getting weaker and weaker. Today she didn’t feel hungry, but just yesterday she had felt like she was going to die if she didn’t get any food. Speaking of food, Dani smelled the heavy, fragrant odor of soup somewhere in the compound they were in, even through the heavy hood she wore. Someone was making soup or eating soup. Saliva squirted into her mouth at the thought. Maybe she was still hungry after all.

Dani heard some noise outside of the room they were in, if you could call this dirt-covered floor; muddy, crumbling walls; and dirty canvas roof and door coverings a room. She heard two men talking. She tried to care. She knew that JT would care. He still thought they could escape. Every time he was awake she could hear him subtly moving his body and testing his ropes. Sometimes he even stood up and moved around. Right now he was sleeping. She could hear his even deep breathing occasional groaning. She didn't know where they had hit him when they had last been caught talking but she knew they had hit him. She heard the grunt and the laughter, heard his sharp intake of breath and determination not to scream. Then they had hit him again and he had screamed. Fresh tears squirted out of her eyes as she thought of it. He was tied and hooded. And they had hit him with something heavy, probably a gun.
Cowards
! Dani chanted again in her mind.

Dani considered herself a patriot, but knowing so much more of the history of these lands than most people, she felt a bit more compassion for the people in the Middle East who were fighting what they thought was a good fight than most people did. But not anymore. That compassion had died with the heavy thud of metal against flesh.

She had waited, terrified, tongue held between her teeth to keep her from screaming, for their attention and their blows to land on her. But they hadn't. The men had seemed satisfied with hurting JT. She wished she could take it back. She would've told him to be quiet – don't talk. But she couldn't take it back and now he was hurting even more. The thought burrowed into her heart like some horrible worm.

***

The truck bounced and jolted along the desert floor. No roads led to the middle of the desert. Sara lay in the back of the truck pretending to sleep, bags and equipment piled on top of her. She was still surprised how easy it was for her to take over Tira's role and get in and out of the house without anyone noticing that she wasn't Tira. It had been no hiccups, no mistakes, no issues, and no beatings. She had finished Tira’s chores quickly and retired to Tira’s room until called to start loading the truck.

Voices speaking in Arabic drifted through the open window of the cab of the truck to where she lay. She only caught every second or third word, but what they were discussing was clear. Killing. Videotaping. Sara’s stomach turned at the light and joking manner the words and tone conveyed. Killing was no big deal to these men. Sara strained to hear as much as possible. She could not afford a single misstep when time was this tight.

The old truck finally bounced to a stop. Sara peered out the tiny window, trying to see something, anything. She waited for the other three women to get out of the back and then she pulled her bags with her and slid to the ground. Keeping her eyes averted she picked up three bags of food and one of laundry and marched quickly towards the dusty, crumbling, front wall of the fort. As she walked, her eyes swept left and right, taking in the desert, the mountains around, and the lack of visible guards. Were they cocky? They didn't think anyone would find them? Or were the guards well-hidden? She saw no possible hiding places close by. Her eyes scanned the mountain-sides for the tell-tale glint of sunlight on sniper sights. Again, she saw nothing. In her mind, she upped her odds of escaping with the two Americans to 90%.

Sara recalled the map that Tira had written for her into her mind. She walked in the front door pushing aside the heavy piece of canvas and immediately ran into a bulky man with a machine gun slung over his back. She dropped her eyes and whispered ‘excuse me’ in Arabic and tried to push past him. He grabbed her elbow and grunted. Sara's breath caught in her throat. Was she really to be discovered this soon?

Her hand stole inside her sleeve, her fingertips straining for the knife under her arm. If this is how it was going to be, then so be it. Her fingers touched the cold metal. In her head, her odds dropped down to 50%, maybe 40. The man pulled her close and grimaced at her. Maybe he was trying to smile. She could see flakes of food in his teeth. His dirty hair hung in his face and his beard smelled like rotting animals. Sara gritted her teeth under her veil and grasped the handle of the knife under her left armpit. She was just about to pull it loose and bury it in the man's collarbone when he snaked an arm behind her and squeezed her ass, then let her go with a laugh.