Infidels (13 page)

The
only way anyone could possibly say they wore this thing voluntarily is if they
had been brainwashed since birth that it was normal. Or were trying to make a
political statement.

The
button was pressed and they waited a few moments before a chime sounded and the
doors opened. Stepping on, she was led to the back, flanked by the two
anonymous women, the men forming a wall in front of her, as if they didn’t want
her to be seen.

Her
heart leapt.

Maybe
I’m about to go outside?

She made
an immediate decision.

If she
had the opportunity, she’d rip these coverings off and make as much noise as
she could. If someone saw her, she might be able to get help.

The
button was pressed for the second floor and the brief hint of hope deflated as
she realized they weren’t going outside. The doors opened and they stepped out
into what looked like an upscale office, traditional wood paneling and artwork
suggesting the building was fairly old with a lot of money put into the upkeep.

She
spotted a green and white flag and her stomach churned.

Saudi
Arabia?

If there
was a country that belched forth hatred across the globe, it was Saudi Arabia.
Wahhabism was one of the strictest forms of Islam and with Saudi oil money
behind it, they had founded, and continued to found, countless mosques the
world over, funding schools and organizations across the globe preaching their
fundamentalist interpretation of their religion.

With the
full knowledge of the Western governments they thumbed their noses at.

And it
explained the niqab she was now wearing.

If seen
by anyone here, they’d just assume she was one of them. Clearly being a woman
was going to work against her.

I
wonder what they would have done with BD.

She
still had the impression something had gone wrong and this entire plan was
being hobbled together on the fly. But whatever the case, it had worked with
her, the proof the windowless room she was led into, it the stereotype of every
interrogation room she had ever seen on television, from the plain table and
uncomfortable chairs to the bright lights and two way mirror.

The man
holding her arm shoved her toward one of the chairs facing the mirror.

“Sit.”

She
looked at herself in the mirror, startled at first that someone else was where
she should be before she remembered she was wearing the niqab and that black,
anonymous, sexless form was her.

She
turned to the man. “Can I take this off?”

He
seemed caught off guard, began to stammer out a reply then suddenly glared at
her.

“Sit!”

She sat.

The door
slammed shut and she was suddenly alone.

Sweat
began to trickle down her back and her breathing became labored as the sense of
claustrophobia, of being trapped, not inside the room but inside the heavy black
fabric, set in.

She tore
the head covering off, tossing it onto the table and breathing deeply, the air
seeming cool on her sweat-drenched face. Suddenly she jumped to her feet,
grabbing fistfuls of fabric and lifting it, dragged the niqab off her body as
if it were burning her flesh, her yanking and tearing becoming more and more
frantic as she struggled to remove the unfamiliar garment, it getting caught
around her shoulders for a moment, her arms stretched out in front of her as
she was bent over, her head trapped, her breathing once again rapid.

One
final growl and she had her head out, the cruel uniform now only on her arms.
She jerked one arm free then pulled it off the other, tossing it in a twisted
ball on the table before dropping back into her chair and grabbing her hair in
frustration. Leaning forward, her elbows hit the table followed by her
forehead, her hands clasped atop her head as she closed her eyes and took deep,
slow breaths, trying to stay as calm as possible.

Remember,
you’re Professor Laura Palmer and your job is to survive until BD can find you.

The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

“Sir, they took Maggie!”

Colonel
Clancy bolted upright in his chair at Dawson’s words, his heart racing harder
than the news of any recent terrorist attack had caused. Maggie Harris was his personal
assistant, a woman he had come to know and respect over the years, who did her
job well and understood the nature of their work. It didn’t go unnoticed that
she would close doors when someone started spouting off classified information
in his office without first checking themselves, or that she’d sometimes put
her earphones in when some Washington brass-hole decided to express his
displeasure through volume rather than tact.

In fact,
she was like a daughter to him.

Part of
the family.

Part of
The Unit.

“Explain.”

“We were
visiting the professors at the hospital. On the way out I was pistol-whipped
and Maggie was abducted. At least six men, Middle Eastern in appearance. I gave
pursuit but had to break off when they threatened to kill her.”

“When?”

“Almost
three hours ago.”

“Three
hours! Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because
I’ve been in a French interrogation room. I called Interpol Special Agent Hugh
Reading just before they arrested me. It took him a few hours to get me out.”

“Is he
with you now?”

“Negative.
He’s in London and can’t get away.”

“Okay,
any leads?”

“Just
the license plate number and some physical descriptions. Nothing else. I’ll
send you everything I’ve got in a few minutes. But there’s one more thing.”

“What’s
that?”

“I think
they thought we were the professors. The guy who hit me called me Professor
Acton. Any idea why they’d be targeted?”

“I can
think of only one reason.”

“Yeah,
me too, but who would know they were helping us?”

“Only a
handful knew, and I can guarantee you the leak isn’t at our end. What’s your
status?”

“Clearing
out of the police station now and going back to the hospital to take the
professors to the embassy where they’ll be safe. I’m going to get Niner back
here to help me.”

“Good
thinking. Keep me posted. I’ve got a call to make.”

Clancy
killed the call then requested a secure line to Colonel Faisal bin Nayef’s
office. While he waited, cigar spinning on his index finger and thumb, he had too
much time to think. Maggie had been taken, but her captors thought they had
kidnapped Laura Palmer. The fact they had screwed up meant one of two things.
Either they didn’t have good intel on who they were abducting, or they were
idiots, and if they were conducting a public abduction without good intel, they
were idiots regardless.

The
question was whether or not they knew who they had.

It
obviously wasn’t an assassination attempt, they would have just killed them
publicly since they had no problem abducting them publicly. That meant they
wanted them for some reason, either to interrogate them for some piece of intel
they thought the professors possessed, or they needed to silence them
temporarily.

Or they
wanted them for leverage.

If this
was connected to the op in Yemen then he couldn’t see how the leverage aspect
would work since the professors were unconnected officially to the United
States government, and he was pretty certain the Saudi’s would have no idea
about the unofficial connection.

The
question then became how did they know that Acton had been contacted about the
Black Stone?

The
Saudi Professor.

The CIA
said he had been captured and taken to a Mabahith facility where he hadn’t been
seen since. The Saudi’s wouldn’t hesitate to torture the poor man, so he would
have most likely given up Acton’s name, probably within minutes.

That’s
how they got the connection.

Which
meant somebody at the Saudi end had called for Acton and his wife to be taken
for some reason, probably to keep a lid on things, or to find out if they knew where
Red’s team was.

Yet that
made no sense, since it was the Saudi’s who had supplied the information. They
knew exactly where Red’s team was located.

So
they don’t want the professors talking.

Which
made sense. If he were the Saudi’s he’d be trying to squash any rumors about
the Black Stone being stolen.

But that
assumed it was the Saudi government behind it.

The
phone rang with his call.

“Colonel
Clancy, how can I help you?”

Clancy
decided to go the confrontational route, it his experience that Middle Easterners
reacted better to strength rather than weak diplomatic talk.

Especially
those within their secret police.

“Who the
hell did you tell?”

“Excuse
me?”

“Someone
abducted one of my assets in Paris, attacking a second!”

“Who?”

“You
know damned well who.”

“I
assure you, I do not.”

“If
you
don’t, then someone within your organization does. You’ve got a leak, Colonel.
I want it plugged, and I want to know who was involved so I can get my asset
back.” Clancy leaned forward, jabbing his desk, wishing the daggers he was
shooting could be seen at the other end. “And Colonel?”

“Yes.”

“If
anything happens to that asset, I’ll make it my personal mission to eliminate
every single person involved.”

“I
understand.”

Clancy
slammed the receiver down just as a written report from Dawson arrived in his
secure email.

Now
to get Maggie back.

Alive.

Hotel Astor Saint Honore, Paris, France

Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung knocked on the hotel room door, a quick
three-two-three pattern, before stepping back slightly so the other side would
have a good view of him.

The door
opened, a grim faced Dawson greeting him, Glock 22 in hand.

“How are
you holding up?” he asked as he stepped inside, closing and locking the door
behind him then dropping his duffel bag in the entrance.

“Going a
little batty. I’m waiting for Langley to get back to me, they’re trying to
trace the van now.”

Niner
headed for the kitchenette of the large two-bedroom suite, he having occupied
one of the rooms just a few days ago before heading to Spain for some sand,
surf and sun with an old buddy. With everything that had happened just last
week still fresh on his mind, he had never expected to be back in the thick of
it so soon.

Especially
for Maggie.

He
looked at his friend sitting in one of the comfortable chairs, phone in one
hand, TV remote in the other as he stared blankly at the screen.

He
must be going through hell.

Though
the boys ribbed Dawson good-naturedly about his relationship with Maggie, they
all wanted the best for him. Dawson was a bit of a loner when it came to women,
his relationships never lasting longer than a few weeks, almost always broken
off by him as soon as he felt a connection forming.

It was a
pattern even he was guilty of.

Most of
the guys in The Unit were married or in serious relationships, but a few just
hadn’t found the right fit yet, but with Maggie, Dawson certainly seemed to
have found ‘the one’.

He just
hoped his friend didn’t lose her before he could find out for sure.

Niner
grabbed two bottles of water from the well-stocked fridge, joining Dawson in
the living area, placing a bottle in front of him. He dropped into a chair and
cracked the lid, taking a long swig.

“When
are you expecting to hear from them?”

“Any
time now I would think. They’ve been on it for hours.”

“I read
your secure email. So you think this is a case of mistaken identity?”

Dawson
nodded, his eyes still glued to the television. “He definitely called me
‘Professor Acton’, and we had just left Palmer’s room.” He snapped his fingers,
finally looking at Niner. “Maggie had some sort of stomach cramp and was
holding her side. I bet you they thought that was Palmer’s stomach wound.”

Niner
took another drink. “Makes sense. So you’re pretty sure this has to do with
what’s going on in Yemen?”

“Can’t
think of anything else. The Colonel’s looking into it. He thinks there’s a leak
at the Saudi end that told the wrong person that the Actons were helping us.”

“Jesus,
those two are just shit-magnets.”

Dawson
grunted. “No friggin’ way I’d go to Vegas with either of them. I’d lose my
shirt.”

“Not if
you bet against them,” grinned Niner. “You might just win some of their money.”

Dawson
shook his head. “No thanks, I’m happy with my measly salary. Money means
problems.”

“True
dat, but I wouldn’t mind having an extra hundred grand just to get my folks out
of the mess they’re in.”

His
parents had lost their home during the housing crisis, declaring bankruptcy and
losing everything, even their friends, his father too proud to remain in the
same city. They had left in the middle of the night and were still trying to
rebuild.

It had
broken his heart.

“Why
don’t you ask Palmer? I’m sure she’d give it to you.”

Niner
gave Dawson a sideways glance as he looked at the television. “The sad thing is
that she probably would.”

“You’re
probably right.”

“So the
professors are secure?”

“Yeah, I
had a DS detail escort them to the embassy as soon as I was sprung. No one’s
getting at them now and they’ve got decent medical facilities there just in
case.”

“Shit, I
forgot about that. What about getting them stateside?”