No Remorse (9 page)

“I see those Rambo types all the time at the gym, strutting about, checking out their abs in the mirror, a hero in their own minds. Big insecurities, little dicks.” The woman held up two fingers and pulled a face.

Wisebaum gave a meaty laugh and touched her arm a little too long. Either they were an item, or he’d like them to be. The woman hadn’t responded in kind, so she was either naïve or just using him to get ahead.

Mac suddenly realized she must have been referring to him. She apparently knew he was a soldier, which she shouldn’t, and it appeared she didn’t want to work with him. Fine. The feeling was mutual. He had no desire to hold the hand of a pretty computer nerd from head office. She’d attract all sorts of problems.

He needed to knock this on the head, and fast.

“
Bonsoir, mademoiselle et messieurs.
This way please,” said the portly maître d’, directing the group towards an empty table near the window.

Mac stepped out of the queue. “I’m with them.”

Wisebaum spun around. “Mac! Where did you come from?”

“I was invited…I think? Could we have the table over there?” he asked, pointing to the back corner. It offered more protection from the street, a good view of the whole restaurant, and a quick exit through the kitchen.

The maître d’ stiffened. “It’s a little noisy,
monsieur
.”

“We love balalaika music.”

“Bouzouki,” the woman said. “Balalaikas are Russian.”

“Correct,
mademoiselle
.” The maître d’ bowed. He took them to their table and handed them menus.

Mac gave the woman a friendly smile. “I’m Rambo.”

Wisebaum blustered, trying to regain control. “Lee McCloud, this is Tally Francis. Rosco Estuarez, Tony Cabrera. As I mentioned to you, Mac, you’ll be partnered with Tally on the next project, after we’ve completed the current job.”

“Actually, Derek, you said I’d be partnered with one of the team. You didn’t say it’d be the April cover of Sports Illustrated.”

Tony and Rosco looked horrified and glanced at Tally, waiting for her response. Wisebaum had his gaze firmly focused on the menu.

Christ, they’re scared of her
.

She pursed her lips and considered him for a moment, then said, “Actually, I’d have pegged you more as the Soldier of Fortune reader. Or maybe you just like the pictures of big guns.” She smiled and sat down. “Well, I suppose at least you have a sense of humor.”

He leaned across the table and whispered, “Helps, when you have to kill for a living.”

“Have to? Or choose to?”

The other guys on the team were glancing at each other, looking somewhat uncomfortable and uncertain whether to intervene. A bubbly, ginger-haired waitress with piercings in her upper lip and eyebrow arrived and softened the icy glares across the table by taking their orders, returning with Mythos beers for Mac and Tony and a bottle of Kratistos red for the others.

“Were any of you aware of me tailing you?” Mac said.

“Huh?” said Tony.

“You’re not in the office now. You never know where the threats might come from. For example, in a restaurant you should never sit by the window.”

“Kabul,” Tally said leaning back in her chair.

The others looked at her.

“You’ve been in Kabul too long, Rambo.”

“He’s got a point, Tal.” Wisebaum looked sheepish as he unfolded his napkin. “That’s why the director asked me to team you two together on the next operation.”

Mac felt a growing irritation. “Kandahar, actually.” Had they been told of his Special Ops background? That much, at least, should have been kept secret. “So, what have you guys been told about me?”

“Not enough for you to kill us, I hope.” Tally said, laughing with the others. She crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him. “How’s this sound: Special Ops soldier screws up unauthorized stakeout in Mexico leaving two girls and four cops dead and two American girls missing without a trace. Some red-faced General in Washington needs to get rid of the problem and sends it to us. That about sum it up?”

“Tal…” Wisebaum, stroking his beard, shot her a disapproving frown.

Mac wasn’t going to be provoked, and he held his voice steady. “You’ve just demonstrated how a little knowledge can be dangerous.”

“And now he makes threats.” She finished her wine and heaved a sigh. “Listen,
Mac,
we’ve tried this before with a soldier. Doesn’t work. All you people know is how to kill.” She refilled her glass and took another mouthful.

The bouzoukis started again, slowly with a rhythmic, metallic twang.

The waitress returned with their orders. “
Bon appetit!
” she yelled above the noise. Her cheerful Irish-accented French ratcheted the tension back a notch.

“Mmm, this looks magnificent. Let’s not talk shop, eh?” Wisebaum had ordered the restaurant’s specialty dish,
astako makaronada
—lobster with macaroni—and he attacked its soft white flesh.

Tally persisted with her attack. “Are we supposed to ignore the elephant in the room, Derek? No offense, but just so we’re clear, I think the world would be better off with fewer soldiers and more teachers.”

Tony and Rosco were watching them like it was a boxing match and one of the contenders was about to get knocked out of the ring. Mac sliced his swordfish steak and tried to ignore her. She was quickly getting under his skin. Still, with his training, he knew he could get the better of her. She’d be the one to lose her temper first. And then he wouldn’t need to work with her.

“To the glory of war!” Tally held up her glass in a mock salute, and took another gulp.

Mac held his emotions and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. “No soldier thinks there’s glory in war. What you armchair critics don’t understand is that war is never totally in control. It’s frequently unfair… But then, life’s not fair either, is it? How fair is it that innocent people get killed when a plane’s flown into the building they just happen to work in?”

Tally stopped eating and shot a look at Wisebaum. There was more than a hint of color in her face.

“Tally’s parents were killed in the North Tower on 9/11,” Wisebaum said quietly.

There was a few moments’ silence. Mac glanced at the others, could see that he’d maybe gone onto shaky ground. He hadn’t been briefed on these people, so how could he be expected to know? It still didn’t excuse her attitude about servicemen and women.

“Nice fish,” Tony mumbled.

Tally quickly recovered, pointed her knife at Mac. “You think we’ve beaten Al Qaeda? Afghanistan’s more dangerous than ever, even post Bin Laden. And I’m not an armchair critic. I know what the military does. It screwed up the soldier I went out with.”

Mac swallowed his mouthful of fish. “You sure it was the army that did that?”

Tally’s mouth dropped, and she uttered a spluttering cough. Her face and neck flushed and she glared at him like he was the guy who couldn’t find Obama’s birth certificate. For a moment, Mac thought she was going to storm out. Good. That would solve his problems.

Wisebaum almost choked. He pulled off his glasses. “Guys…”

But clearly Tally wasn’t about to let it go at that. She spoke softly, but with an aim as devastating as a sniper. “So, what’s the military done for you, Mac? Where are your friends? Has it helped you to buy a home? Has it helped you get a wife and family? Your file says your former fiancée dumped you while you were serving with the Rangers. Ended up marrying your brother. That must have been tough. Then, of course, there’s the Mexico fiasco. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised you accepted Derek’s deal to get you off the hook. Terribly sad about those two little Mexican girls who—”

“Enough!” Mac slammed his fist on the table.

Tally’s glass tumbled off the table and shattered on the floor. Several customers turned towards the source of the commotion. The bouzoukis played louder. Rosco and Tony sat like frozen Arctic explorers.

“See how easily he loses it, Derek? I can’t work with this guy.” She stood up and walked out.

There was a moment’s silence. Mac reached over and stabbed his fork into the carrots on her plate. “No point letting them go to waste.”

Sophia was alone in the cell, haunted by Danni’s screams. Bouts of trembling had exhausted her body, just as the gentle rocking of the boat served to disorient her. She pulled the sheet up over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, but the lights were bright and she couldn’t shut out the horrifying thought that whatever Danni’s fate had been, the same fate would soon be hers too.

Danni, where are you?

She tried to distract herself by thinking of things in her room back home: her favorite plush rabbit, Dodo, with some of the stuffing missing, but still taking pride of place on the top shelf; the gymnastic trophies from early high school, the photos of her friends stuck on the wall in a heart shape, the Jonas Brothers poster, the iPad from last birthday, the
I’m Not Dead
poster of Pink… She hoped her mother would interpret that as an omen and not tear it down.

How long had it been? Would they think she was dead? How long before they would give up on her? How long before dad drove her stuff to the Salvation Army? Wade would probably get her room and ruin it.

Stop it!

She burst into tears and buried her face in the pillow.

Danni, what did they do to you?

She had always thought of slavery as something they had done to black people hundreds of years ago. Yet, obviously these men were not ashamed to be buying and selling kids as though they were at a racehorse auction. Incredibly, she and Danni had resigned themselves to being sold. But at the end of the auction, they were still sitting on the beach with five other girls and three boys. The captives that had been sold had been taken into one of the other tents. Strangely, this made her feel even more worthless, if that were possible. Had they been considered undesirable? What was their fate to be?

Then they had come for Danni.

Danni had struggled and cried out in protest as they dragged her up the beach, staring back with eyes that seemed to plead:
Why me
? Sophia felt the full burden of guilt. Yet even then, she prayed they would not come for her.

But they had not taken Danni to the auction tent. They had taken her into another tent and she could hear some kind of announcement. Then applause.

Then the screams began. Danni’s screams. What were they doing to cause her such pain? She could only imagine the most horrifying acts of cruelty. They were torturing her, killing her slowly. The other girls, even two of the boys, were crying and trying to block the sound from their ears. Suddenly Danni’s screams became too much. Sophia retched up the little food remaining in her stomach, then collapsed onto the sand.

Some time later, men had come for them and ferried them back to the compound where they were locked in their cabins. At some point she must have fallen asleep, because she was shaken awake by a woman she had seen before, who smelled strongly of a spicy, earthy sort of perfume. A guard stood by the door.

“You will come with me,” the woman said firmly in English.

“No… Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking from lack of water.

The woman grabbed her arm and she held onto the bed sheets, whimpering softly as she was dragged onto the floor. The guard came in and pried the sheet from her hand.

“Please don’t hurt me… oh, God.” Sophia felt the warmth wash over her legs.

The woman stepped back and pulled a face, then spoke abruptly to the guard, who left, grumbling.

“Come, Sophia. My name is Rubi. You will not be harmed.”

Sophia did not believe this woman’s promises. She was one of
them
.

Rubi led her along a jetty out to the big boat. There was a gentle breeze blowing, bringing with it a burble of talking and laughter. There was some kind of party on one of the decks above. With no moon, the blazing lights of the
Princess Aliya
cast a muted glow across to the cliffs a few hundred yards away. As they climbed the ship’s external stairs, Sophia considered throwing herself over the side. But she was too scared to try, in case she succeeded.

The guard stayed outside as Rubi led her into a large cabin decorated in pastel colors, which she said was the women’s quarters. She opened the door to a huge bathroom where a steaming bath was waiting.

“Clean yourself thoroughly. And wash your hair. His Highness Sheik Khalid wishes to see you.”

Khalid, dressed casually in tan shorts and a white polo shirt, smiled at the girl called Sophia as she was brought in. Rubi straddled an ottoman across from both of them as he introduced himself in English and explained to her that he’d been educated at Oxford. He thought perhaps she’d be less afraid if she knew he was Western-educated. But her demeanor suggested that this wasn’t the case. She was visibly shaking, suggesting that his gentle approach was scaring her more. The girl was pretty, that was certain. The cotton
abaya
she wore was thin, and he admired her willowy figure through the cloth.

“Are you cold, my dear?” he asked.

She shook her head, but said nothing.

He invited her to sit. She remained standing. Defiance? Perhaps it made her feel more in control? He tilted his head. “Very well, stand if you wish.”

He glanced at his watch. He had less than an hour before Sheriti would come, and he would need to save his energies for her. And tomorrow he was flying out to visit his father in Dubai. Perhaps when he returned, the girl would be more cooperative. It was vital that she be in the best possible physical and emotional state and her organs not stressed when his father arrived for the transplant in a week or two, when he was well enough.