Sandra Hill (4 page)

In fact, the same was true today. She could not even go to the bushes to relieve herself without Gadi the goatherder following after her. She glanced over to where he leaned against a tree watching her. He winked at her, and Madrene almost gagged. She feared, with good reason, that Fakhir would eventually tire of her and hand her over to the big man who made no secret of his lust for her. Gadi would take her; willing or not; she just knew he would.

“Go on, and stop daydreaming.”

Madrene made a face at Zena, who didn’t have the sense to know she was being mocked. “That first night, dressed in those sheer garments, I was led to an opulent room of marble walls, velvet cushions, soft carpets and low tables overladen with food. The room was filled with men only, except for the serving girls. The men reclined on rugs and ate whilst listening to music from a harpist behind the curtains. I was led in front of the men to sit at Abdul Abba’s feet, which was apparently a great honor.”
If the men in my family, or in my troops, ever lay about on the rushes afore the hearth and demanded that girls on bended knee serve them food, they would have been laughed out of the hall.

Instead of being repulsed as Madrene was by that image, Zena sighed with yearning.

“Abdul fed me grapes and other delicacies like a lapdog, not allowing me to use my own hands. When he gave me a fig in honey sauce and it dripped
down my chin, he and the other men thought that was a great jest. Abdul even drizzled some of it over each of my breasts; that, too, was considered a mirthsome feat.”
Men and breasts! Really, what a fuss they make over bodily appendages.

The giggle that escaped Zena’s lips did not amuse Madrene. “And then what happened?”

“Later, they led me to Abdul’s bedchamber and disrobed me. There lay Abdul on his silken bed, naked as a newborn babe, with his dangly part … well, not dangling.”
Whoo! What a sight that was. And hairy balls! I have ne’er seen the same before or after.

“Huh?”

Madrene rolled her eyes at the thick-headed girl. “His manpart was standing up like a knight’s lance. As small as Abdul was in stature, that part of him was … well, huge … if one was wont to be impressed by such things.”
He, for one, certainly thought he was Allah’s gift to women.

“And then?”

“And then I pointed at
it
and said, ‘If you dare to put that thing in me, may the gods and goddesses frown down on you and turn your staff to butter.’”

Zena gasped at her temerity.

Madrene had been surprised at her own temerity at the time. She hadn’t planned to say what she did; the words just came to her in the moment. Luckily for her, as it turned out.

“Did Abdul’s guards smite you down?”

Hell and Valhalla! I am here, lackwit.
“Nay. They were too appalled by what they saw. No sooner had I spoken than Abdul’s manpart wilted … like a lump of butter in the hot sun. And no matter what
Abdul did … or what Abdul did to me … and no matter how his eunuchs beat me, they could not get his manpart to rise again. Day after day, night after night, they tried, but nothing happened. They swore I had put a spell on his dangly part … dooming him to eternal dangling … and that is why Abdul sold me to another caliph.”

Zena’s eyes were wide with wonder, and her lips turned up in a barely suppressed grin. Perhaps she was not as dumb as she appeared. “And the next caliph?”

Madrene shrugged. “Once I realized what men feared most, I had a powerful weapon in my hands. I began to develop a performance, perfecting it with each caliph or sultan to whom I was sold. Not only did I say the words, but I waggled my fingers in the direction of their manparts. Betimes I would hum as I said my curse. ‘Uhm, uhm, uhm!’ I even twirled about one time whilst cursing, but I tripped and did not try that again.”

“That is an amazing story,” Zena said, eyeing her with admiration for the first time. But then her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did you do the same to my husband?”

“I did.”
And, unlike Abdul, his was not huge.

“And did he wilt?”

Madrene nodded.
Like a candle wick.

“But he has bedded me since you have come here.”

“I told him the curse only involved me, but if he forced me, it would wilt forevermore, with all women. ’Tis the same story I give them all.”

“And Fakhir believed you?”

“Listen, Zena, you are young, but there is one
thing you will learn in time. When it comes to their manparts, men will believe anything.”
I recall the time a dairy maid told Ragnor that dousing his staff in honey would make it grow thicker. He had every bee from hides around chasing after him.

“Aren’t you afraid I will tell my husband, and your sham will be over?”

“Nay, I am not. Because if you do, and if Fakhir takes me as his concubine, and if I please him, then it will be I who gets the trinkets, not you.”

Zena studied her for a long moment. “Mayhap I will wait before disclosing your secret.”

Smart girl!

Later that evening, after evading Gadi’s lusty hands on several occasions—he was getting bolder and bolder—Madrene found herself on her knees outside in the bushes where she was supposed to be taking care of her bodily needs. “Dear God … father of the Christ whom my grandmother worshiped … I beg you for your help. Two long years have I suffered. Please deliver me from this captivity.” It was a prayer Madrene had said on many an occasion, and she no longer had much hope. Still, she felt compelled to try.

But then, loud claps of thunder shook the skies and the earth trembled and quaked. The wind rose with a vengeance. Fakhir’s tribe was running hither and yon, screaming with dismay as the skies opened with loud explosions of sound … thunder and lightning as she’d never seen before.

This is your chance,
a voice in Madrene’s head said.

She looked up at the roiling skies. Stunned, she whispered, “Thank you, God.” Then, lifting her robe up to her knees, she ran and ran, off into the hills.
The skies continued to explode with light and sound. Madrene ran till she could run no more, a pain throbbing in her side, her breath coming in pants. For more than an hour she ran, even though she heard no one following her. They would eventually.

She saw a cave up ahead and knew she had to stop and rest. Settling into the darkened chamber, which was luckily empty of any wild animal, Madrene laid her head down to rest. She was not back home, not even close to Baghdad, where she might find a Norse longship willing to take her back to Norstead, but for the first time in three years, she felt safe.

A deep sleep overtook her then, and in her dreams she floated and floated and floated.

I’m fallin’ for you, baby …

The entire team landed flat on their feet, their legs acting as springs to absorb the shock.

They dropped, rolled over and got up quickly. Then they collapsed their stealth chutes, balled them up and ran at a crouch toward a nearby stand of bushes. Within minutes they removed their helmets and jumpsuits, buried them and their chutes under a pile of leaves and rocks, then cammied themselves up. Later, they would also put on black balaclava hoods with only their eyes showing, but the hoods were hot and not necessary yet. Some of them wore floppy hats. Others, like JAM and Omar, pulled their hair up under an olive drab, triangular bandana tied behind their heads. They all wore night-vision goggles, or NVGs, which wouldn’t be necessary much longer since the sun was starting to come up.

Pretty Boy carried state-of-the-art Motorola SATCOM radio equipment in his backpack. The satellite-based communication system, with its ability to encrypt messages, provided instant contact with anyone in the world, thanks to the Milstar satellite. Thus they were able to communicate with the chain of command at NavTel, at CentCom in Baghdad and SEAL headquarters in Coronado. In addition, for inter-team communication, each of them carried short-range Motorola radios with belt packs, lip mikes and ear pieces.

Each of them had infrared American flags on their sleeves which could only be seen with night-vision goggles. It was a good method for recognizing each other in the darkness of a covert operation.

All his men were geared up with a full loadout of weapons and ammunition. Many of them carried Colt M4 carbine rifles with all the bells and whistles of Special Operations Peculiar Modification (SOPMOD) accessories.

Ian had an assault rifle in a sling over one shoulder, a Beretta handgun in a low-slung holster on his thigh, and a K-Bar knife in his boot. They all carried two sets of flexible plastic handcuffs to secure their prisoners … a bit of optimism there. JAM, their sharpshooter, also carried an MK11 which could take a tango out at one thousand yards. And, of course, they all wore assault vests and hard body armor.

Ian looked over each of his men. Satisfied that they were as prepared as they were going to be, he said, “Okay, let’s party! Go, go, go!”

With those words and a directional signal from Geek, who had a compass and GPS in hand, they moved off silently toward their target zone five miles
away, where they were to find the terrorists, take them by surprise, and capture and secure them for the extraction to Baghdad for interrogation. In the most successful military operation, no shot was fired. Ian could only hope that would be the case this time, but reality suggested that lethal force would be necessary.

They progressed in “leapfrog” movements, whereby two SEALs alternately covered each other’s advance … one crouched and covering his partner till he moved forward, and the second took his turn. Ian was up front, leading the way.

They were silent as shadows, barely discernible even to themselves. Every item of gear on their bodies had been taped down or padded. Not a sound could be heard. Not the crunch of their boots underfoot. Not the rustle of clothing. Not even breathing. SEALs were so attuned to each other that they even knew each other’s scent.

When they’d traveled about a half mile, Ian stopped and put up a halting hand. His men looked at him. “Some movement up that hill. I’ll go check,” he said softly into his throat mike. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” It was probably just a small animal, but just in case, he pulled the safety off his weapon, ready to fire if necessary.

“You sure I shouldn’t go?” his partner, Cage, asked.

Ian thought a moment. A squad leader really shouldn’t leave his men, but they were far from the target zone and unlikely to meet any tangos in this kind of terrain. “Okay, you stand watch down here. Don’t come up unless I direct you to.”

Cage nodded.

“JAM, you take over till I catch up.”

“Roger,” JAM replied.

When his other men were out of sight, gone about ten minutes, he spoke softly into his headset, “Any problems?”

“Negative,” someone answered. Sounded like Sly.

“Nothing here, either,” Cage said.

Ian crept up the hill slowly, hiding behind a bush every couple steps to inspect the area. Nothing. But wait. That looked like a cave up there. Into his mike, he whispered again, “Cave. Going in.”

“Watch your back,” Cage whispered back.

Stepping into the dimness of the silent cave, Ian made sure the safety was still released on his rifle. Too late he sensed a presence behind him at the cave opening. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure in a long robe with a rock raised high in two arms. A woman! Surprise … the enemy of any soldier … caused him to hesitate. A huge mistake. Pain hit him in the back of the head like a hammer to the skull, and he fell forward to the ground.

After that, there was only blackness.

Playing possum …

Ian blacked out for only a second, but he remained still, flat on his stomach, arms stretched forward, one hand holding his assault rifle. He deliberately kept his eyes closed to bare slits.

He waited while the woman circled him tentatively, checking for signs of life, he would guess. First, she toed him in the side to see if he would move, which he didn’t. Then the nutcase pinched his buttock … as if that would cause him to move. He barely felt a thing.

He’d only got a brief glimpse of her before being struck, but, man, she was some kind of wild thing. She would scare the bejesus out of someone in the dark, for sure. Plus, she reeked to high heaven.

He could easily jump her now, but decided to wait and see what she was up to. More important, who she was, out here in the middle of Arab nowhere.

“Cat Two to Cat One. Contact? Contact? Cat Two to Cat One.” Cage kept saying into Ian’s earphone.

When in hostile territory, real names were not used over radio lines which could be intercepted. Since this was Operation Rodent, the members of Ian’s squad had named themselves Cat One, Cat Two and so on. The upper chain of command had names of well-known cats, such as Garfield and Sylvester. It was a joke among the teams that none of the flag ranks would take the name Puss, as in Puss in Boots.

When the woman moved to his legs, he whispered into his throat mike. “Cat One here. Do you read? I’m okay.”

“Roger. I’m watchin’ your six. Need help?”

“Not yet. Woman here. Watch for others. Alert team.”

“Did you say something?” the woman shrieked, coming back to his head area.

He made a soft groaning noise to cover up. Then went back to silence.

“Bloody hell, I’d best hurry afore he wakens,” the woman said in an odd accent.

Ian decided to play possum for a while to see what was up.

My cave is your cave, honey …

Madrene started to drag the man farther into the cave by his outstretched arms. He was still face-down.

“Loki’s lips!” she swore under her breath. “He must weigh as much as a warhorse. Must be I am weakened by my escape … and lack of food.” In the
end, it took her a considerable time to pull and shove his large body, huffing and puffing the whole while.

The villain appeared to be as tall as the men in her family. Lean, but well muscled. Instead of Arab garb, an odd fabric covered his wide shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. It was a mixture of browns, green and blacks … a combination that would blend well in a wooded area. His hands were covered with fingerless gloves. In one of those hands had been a strange, molded object made of iron or some similar product; it had slipped from his fingers when she’d started tugging. Was it a club?