Sandra Hill (6 page)

“What’s your position?”

“We set up a perimeter about half a mile from the target. Cat Three and Cat Four”—meaning JAM and Sly—“went in for a look-see. There are hostiles coming and going … at least three dozen. No Big Rat yet, but he’s there. I’d bet my … uh, tail he is.”

“What’s the gunfire I hear in the background?” Ian recognized the stuttering sound of an AK-47 and other rifle fire.

“A couple of jerk-offs doing target practice. Guess
they’re bored. They appear to be waiting for something … or someone.”

“How about munitions?”

“A stockpile. Everything from Uzis to rocket-propelled grenades.”

“Hmmm. Did you alert Garfield?” General Adams at CentCom was Garfield.

“Yep. Will fill you in later.” Which meant, in person, or when they had a more secure line. “Seems there’s some intel that a big-time roach is coming in, even bigger than the Big Rat.” Roach was code for Al Qaeda. “They figure we can nab the whole bunch at one time.”

“That’s just sweet. Rats
and
roaches. What do they think we are? Supercats?”

“Nope. Just frogs.” SEALs were traditionally known as frogmen from the old days.

Ian grinned. “Same thing. Both super.”

“Yeah,” Pretty Boy agreed. Ian guessed he was smiling, too.

“Should we come rescue you?” Pretty Boy asked, laughter in his voice. Apparently, not just Cage, but all the guys had been listening in on his conversation with the wild woman, or as much as they’d been able to overhear.

“In a while. For now, tell the other cats to hold their position till I tell you to come back here to the bat nest for further orders.” He hoped that Pretty Boy understood that he meant
cave
when he mentioned bat nest. “Tell Cat Three to continue as point man in my absence.”

Pretty Boy must be wondering why Ian, leader of this squad, wasn’t planning to join them immediately. Instead, he asked, “What bat nest?”

“The one I pointed out to you cats near our drop.”

“Ahhhh. Are you sure you’re not in any trouble?”

“I am in a little bit of trouble.”

“A little bit?” Yasmine exclaimed from across the cave. He’d almost forgotten she was here, but there she stood, hands on hips, tapping her filthy foot on the dirt floor. You’d think she was some kind of friggin’ princess, instead of a straggly-haired harridan. “You are in
big
trouble, I assure you.”

“What’s going on?” Pretty Boy asked.

“I’m in the bat nest near our drop zone, like I said, and I’ve got a … um, friend here.”

“Are you referring to me? I beg to differ. I am not even close to being your friend,” Yasmine squawked. The woman did like to talk a lot.

“Are you sure you don’t need backup?” Concern resonated in Pretty Boy’s voice.

“Nope. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’d better not be planning to handle me. Dare to touch me and I will lop off one of your body parts.” Her voice was getting shriller and shriller.

Man, she is a bloodthirsty wench. No wonder she and Jamal are lovers.

Not surprisingly, Yasmine continued to prattle on. “Why are you talking to yourself?” She stepped closer, but not too close, to see what he was about. “I knew a man once who talked to himself … Dar the Dumb. He was demented. Are you demented? Huh? Huh?”

“So what’s with the pussycat?” Pretty Boy inquired.

“That’s debatable … whether she’s a pussy … cat, or not.” Ian chuckled.

“Oooh, I am getting closer and closer to killing you,” she said.

“Get this,” he told Pretty Boy. “She just might be the Big Rat’s cheese. And she speaks Arabic.”

“Oh, my God! You hit paydirt?”

“In spades.”

“Is she as beautiful as the intel said?”

He looked over at the glaring woman, who seemed to think he was talking to himself. She must have been totally cloistered all her life not to recognize a headset … or kept in some harem, like she claimed. But no, no way was this chick ever selected for a harem. She was tall, probably five-ten. Her long, dirty hair, which stuck out every which way, was a nondescript color because it was so stringy and greasy … probably a mousey brown. Her eyes were pretty, though, sort of an icy blue. And her mouth … holy shit! … why hadn’t he noticed her mouth before? Angelina Jolie had nothing on her in that department. But even with that mouth, she was not a babe by any means. He laughed and answered Pretty Boy, “Beautiful is not the word I would use.”

“Are you talking to yourself about me?” she demanded to know. “If you are, stop it.”

He just waggled his eyebrows at the shrew.

“I could put a gag on you,” she warned.

“Sonofabitch!” Pretty Boy said. “Did I just hear her say she was gonna put a gag on you? How could she do that?”

“Because she knocked me out with a rock and tied me up … ankles and hands.”

Pretty Boy must have heard the amusement in his voice because he laughed.

Ian still had the K-Bar in his boot and could slit his ties at any minute. He preferred to wait for the right time.

“You’re going to get laid tonight, aren’t you?” Pretty Boy accused him. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t think sex is on this puss’s agenda.”

“You can be certain of that,” Yasmine said hotly. “And remember what I said about my talent.” She waved her fingers toward his crotch.

“Wait till I tell the other guys about this,” Pretty Boy said. “You’re the only one on this squad who isn’t horny enough to bang any babe in sight … well, almost the only one … and of course you’re the one who gets the prize.”

“Listen, she’s no prize. In fact, she says she’s been kicked out of nine harems because—”

“
Harems?
” Pretty Boy sputtered.

“—because she claims to have a talent for turning hard-ons into wet noodles.”

“Hasn’t anyone told her it’s supposed to be the other way around?” Pretty Boy chuckled and said something to one of the guys who must have come up beside him. “You won’t believe …” was all Ian heard.

He glanced over at Yasmine, who was crouching down and fiddling with his backpack, unable so far to undo the clasps. There were things in there he did not want her to see. “Gotta go,” he said hurriedly. “Tell Garfield and Sylvester who I have and ask for further orders. She says she was being held against her wishes. Maybe she can be offered asylum in return for some information. On the other hand, she might be lying through her teeth.”

“Got it. Over and out.”

“So, sweetheart,” he drawled out then, causing her to stand quickly and look down at him suspiciously, “wanna play a game?”

She-bang, she-bang …

Madrene shot the warrior-troll her “You-are-an-idiot” look—the one she’d often used with her father and brothers when they did something particularly halfbrained, as men were wont to do.

He just grinned at her, as if she would melt at one of his smiles.
Hah! That will never happen, even if he does have an engaging smile. Too bad it is ruined by his black face and arrogant attitude.
“What kind of game?”

“The Exchange Game.”

She raised her brows in question.
What kind of fool does he think I am?

“I tell you a secret. You tell me a secret. It’ll be fun.”

Fun? That is a word I no longer know … if I ever did.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you want to play such a game with me? And why, pray tell, would I be interested in playing games with you?”

“To gain something you want?”

“Pfff! There’s nothing I want but to get to Baghdad.”

“See. I could take you to Baghdad.”

“You could?”
Have a caution, Madrene. It is no doubt a trick.

He nodded.

“How? Do you have a camel nearby?”

He laughed. “Nah! A bird will be coming for us tomorrow.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Me? Uh-uh! You will be in Baghdad tomorrow, that I can almost guarantee.”

One day to Baghdad? Even a fast camel could not get us there so quickly, let alone a bird. Even so …
“And what would you want in return?

He smiled.

Oh, now I understand. Another randy male looking for a nest for his dangly part. My nesting days are over.
“I am
not
going to couple with you. So forget about that.”

“Lady, let’s understand one thing. I have absolutely no interest in sex
with you
. Don’t reject what hasn’t been offered.”

His obvious disdain for her rankled Madrene, not that she wanted him to be attracted to her. Still, no woman liked to think she was repulsive. “I have nothing to offer in exchange.”
Well, I do have that navel gem which I pilfered last year from Sheikh Yasir … and, all right, there are those nine other jewels I happened to pick up from the others … but I am not about to give any of them to the likes of you.

“Yes, you do.”

He could not have discerned the large stones which she’d sewn into her sleeves. Could he? “And that would be?”

“Information.”

Whew!
“Information about what?”

“Your … uh … master.”

Huh? The man really is demented. I would tell him all about Fakhir without any recompense.
“He was not my master, he just thought he was. No man is my master. Besides, he has three wives and three concubines to call him master or whatever the bloody hell he wants to be called.”

“Three wives and three concubines? No shit?”

“There is no need to be vulgar.”

“Sorry. Concubine? That’s an outdated word, dontcha think?” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, which it didn’t.

“I was the fourth concubine, or so he planned when he purchased me. That is, until—”

The dolt grinned and finished her thought. “—until you waved your magic fingers and lowered his flag.”

That is one way of describing that thing.
“Yea. Plus I have added other things to my bedchamber performance.”

“Like?” His lips twitched with mirth he did not even attempt to suppress.

The loathsome lout!
“Spinning about three times whilst waggling my fingers in the direction of … well, you know. And I hum. Uhm, uhm, uhm.”

“This is unbelievable,” Ian—that was the name he had given her—said. “Then what happened?”

“Since he couldn’t swive me with his dangly part, he gave me work to do. For the love of Frigg! I had to milk his bloody camels. Believe you me, that was almost as bad as bedding the old bag of wind. Camels are not pleasant creatures, you know. They spit and snap and snort and smell. Like men. That is part of what you smell on me. Camel spit.”

The troll’s jaw dropped practically to his chest at her long discourse. “He’s old. How old? For some reason, I thought he was fairly young. You called him a bag of wind. Odd way to describe your lover.”

“Aaarrgh! Did you not hear me say I never coupled with the maggot? And, yea, he is old. He has seen more than fifty winters, I would guess. Mayhap even sixty.”

“Hey, fifty isn’t old. I’m thirty-four myself. How old are you?”

“Thirty-one and do not dare make a jest about my being so old my female parts have no doubt dried up.”
Which they probably have.

His mouth dropped open again.

Good thing there are no flying insects in here.

“Did someone actually say that to you? Never mind. Don’t answer. You do know that the rumor mill has it that the two of you have been lovers for years?”

“That is the thing about rumors. They are rarely true. First, I have only been here one sennight. Two, I have had no lover since my husband put me aside ten years ago. Three, if I were going to take a lover, it would not be a crude man who breaks wind constantly, day and night.”

“You were married? To whom?”

How like a man to home in on the least relevant thing I said!
“To Karl Ivarsson, if you must know. And that is all I will say on the subject.”

“About that farting thing … maybe the tango has a stomach ailment. Hmmmm. That’s one thing we didn’t know about him.”

“What’s a tango?”

“A terrorist. A bad guy.”

Then say what you mean, troll. Calling a bad person a
tango … dumb, dumb, dumb.
“He does strike terror in those around him. Not me, though.”

“Of course not. You are such a brave woman.”

Is there perchance a rock nearby that would fit in his mouth?
“I find your sarcasm insulting. I am not talking to you anymore.” She walked away from the beast and picked up the metal object.

“No!”
he hollered.

Is my prisoner daring to order me about … again? Incredible!
She turned her head, holding the object in her right hand. He seemed very upset that she would touch his … thing.
Hmmm. Does it have some special value? Mayhap there is a gem in there.
She held the metal part to her face and peered into the barrel.

“Oh, damn! Put … the … gun … down!” he yelled.

“You are going to burst a vein in your forehead if you are not careful. You remind me of my father the time he suffered under an absurd vow of celibacy. Grouchy all the time, he was.”

“
Gun! Down
!” he demanded.

Of course, she held it all the higher. “What is a gun?”

“A weapon, you fool.”

“Well, it could be a weapon … a club wielded to inflict bodily harm.”

“A cl … cl … club,” he sputtered.

As she continued to handle the … gun, he threw himself down on his side and took a knife out of his boot with his hands, even though they were tied behind his back. He starting sawing at the cloth that bound his feet.

Madrene was caught off guard. At first. “Nay, you will not escape from me.” She started to rush back
and take the knife from him, but when she dropped the club … uh, gun … to the ground, the air around them exploded with the loudest noise she’d ever heard. Like a thousand strikes of lightning all at once. Dust and rock shards flew from the area near the cave opening where the loudest part of the explosion seemed to take place. Apparently, the weapon had been aimed that way when it dropped. Her gunna protected most of her body, but some of the bits of rock hit her exposed face, and she could feel blood running there. But Ian … oh, my gods! Was he all right?