LOST AND LETHAL Page 11

  Molka repeated. “Where’s Uri?”

  Tariq watched the dancers and danced in place. “I heard over the radio what you did here. Great job. That’s really going to help us with our negotiations.”

  “Ok. But where’s Uri?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Tariq told Molka it would be easier to talk in the quiet confines of his SUV parked near the village entrance.

  With the celebration escalating, she agreed.

  They proceeded to the vehicle.

  Tariq got into the driver's seat.

  Molka occupied the passenger seat and peered into the backseat.

  No Uri.

  She viewed Tariq. “Where’s Uri?”

  Tariq’s grin faded. “Sadly, I have some bad news.”

  Molka sighed. “More bad news is the last thing I needed today….” She checked her watch: 12:09AM. “I mean, the last thing I needed yesterday or again today.”

  “I sympathize.” Tariq unwrapped the keffiyeh on his head and fashioned it back into a neck scarf. “But unfortunately, Rivin turned down my offer for quick cash. He plans to demand a huge amount from your country for Uri, and quote, ‘rape them like the whores they are.’ Needless to say, he’s not a big fan of your country.”

  Molka’s face hardened. “Yes. Needless to say.”

  Tariq used the rearview mirror to give his thick hair a finger restyling. “There’s a happy ending to the story, though.”

  Molka’s eyebrows rose. “I hope so.”

  “I contacted Azzur, and he’s sending us another pilot. The pilot will leave the city of Antep by car in the morning and get here sometime late tomorrow afternoon or early evening.”

  Molka’s face contracted into puzzlement. “Another pilot is coming?”

  “Yes,” Tariq said. “Now, this pilot is a total civilian and has no idea about our operation. He’s just been told you and Ibis are a tourist father and daughter who chartered a private plane to fly you out to see some ancient cave writings in the mountains near here. And while you were viewing them, your pilot went off on a drunken binge and can’t be located. Yes, I know it’s not the best cover story, but with all the money Azzur’s paying him, he won’t pry.” His face teased with an ultra-charismatic smile. “See, told you the story had a happy ending.”

  Molka shifted in her seat to face Tariq. “Wait? You called Azzur tonight, and he’s already arranged a replacement pilot for us?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did he say about losing Uri?”

  “Nothing, of course,” Tariq said.

  “Nothing?”

  Tariq patted Molka on the shoulder. “I keep forgetting you’re new at this.”

  Molka’s eyes attacked his patting hand. “That’s no reason to patronize me for it.”

  “Sorry.” Tariq pulled back his hand. “But you have to understand when you have an obstacle during a mission, you can’t dwell on it. You just adapt and overcome it. Because accomplishing the mission is not just the most important thing, it’s the only thing.”

  Molka turned her body and face away from Tariq. “I understand.”

  “You don’t sound so sure. What’s wrong?”

  “I would like to borrow your satphone and contact Azzur.”

  “What about?” Tariq said.

  “I need to confirm he’s sending us a replacement pilot. May I have the satphone now?”

  Tariq raised his hands palms up to Molka. “I’m sorry I can’t do that. I was specifically instructed by Azzur not to allow anyone else to use it. No exceptions. Azzur is quite paranoid about all electronic communications being monitored, even when using state-of-the-art encrypted equipment.”

  “I read and know his task communication security policy,” Molka said. “And me calling him would be a blatant violation. But since this is an extreme circumstance, I think he’ll only be moderately furious.”

  Tariq offered Molka a smug face. “Oh…ok. I know what this is really about. You don’t need to confirm with Azzur. He told you I’m in charge of the ground operation here and to defer to my judgment. You just don’t trust me.”

  “It’s not that. It’s that this whole…Uri thing has me freaked out. I’m questioning my own capabilities. Maybe talking to Azzur will reassure me I can still see this task through.”

  Tariq smirked. “Now you’re patronizing me. You don’t trust me. Admit it.”

  Molka looked Tariq in the eye. “Ok. I don’t trust you. But it’s because I don’t really know you. Don’t take it personally; I’m naturally mistrustful.”

  “Were you briefed on my background?”

  “Very lightly,” Molka said.

  “Then please allow me to lay it on a bit heavier. Over the last three years, I’ve completed 14 missions for your country’s military intelligence service. And on those missions, I’ve been slapped, punched, choked, cut, almost drowned, and shot at for your country.” Tariq’s tone turned surly. “But forget all that, because the totally inexperienced operative on her very first mission—task or whatever the hell you people call this, is not sure she can trust me yet.”

  Molka affected a respectful tone. “I respect your past service. I would just feel better if I could confirm with Azzur.”

  “Confirm? You want to confirm? How’s this for confirmation?” Tariq removed a regular phone from his jacket, swiped to a photo, and presented the image to Molka. “I’m sure you recognize the person shaking my hand.”

  Molka viewed a black tuxedo-wearing, smiling Tariq shaking hands with her country’s prime minister. “Yes.”

  “That was taken at a private, off the record, ceremony your prime minister organized to personally thank me. I only saved a few thousand lives for your country on that one.” Tariq re-pocketed his phone and turned his head away from Molka. “But, of course, you can’t trust me.”

  After a few silent moments, Molka resumed her respectful tone. “Ok. I was wrong. I think I can trust you.”

  Tariq spun his head back toward her with resentful eyes, “No, no, no, don’t try to backpedal. It’s a sign of weakness. And you’re the security specialist and can’t show weakness. So we’ll call Azzur right now so you can be sure that you can trust me.”

  “I said, I trust you. And we don’t need to contact Azzur.”

  “But now I insist we do.” Tariq exited the SUV, leaving the driver door open, and removed a satphone from his coat pocket.”

  Tariq dialed the phone.

  Molka put out a stop sign hand. “Don’t do that. I want to maintain task communication security.”

  Tariq glared at Molka. “Too late for that now.”

  Molka’s face broke into anxiousness. “Please don’t—"

  Tariq reached back into the vehicle and held the phone toward Molka’s face.

  Azzur’s awoken from sleep voice answered: “Hello. Hello?”

  Molka viewed the phone in silence.

  Tariq pushed the phone closer to her face.

  Azzur’s voice: “Hello? Tariq?”

  Molka viewed Tariq with distressed eyes and shook her head furiously.

  Azzur’s voice: “Tariq? I hear you breathing. Answer me, damn it!”

  Tariq put the phone to his ear. “Sorry, Azzur, I accidentally butt-dialed you. It won’t happen again. Sorry.”

  Tariq ended the call, put the phone back into his jacket, reentered the SUV, and shut the door.

  Molka exhaled. “Thanks. What’s next?”

  “Zoran the Great will want to spend more time tonight with his people and then rest. We can make the exchange deal with him in the morning and then take the general to the plane and meet the pilot there in the afternoon. In the meantime, tonight, we’ll go get the money from where you hid it.”

  “My instructions from Azzur are to confirm that Ibis—by the way, I met the general earlier tonight. He introduced himself and insisted I stop calling him by the code name and address him properly.”

  Tariq nodded. “He said the same thing to me.”

 
; Molka continued. “Ok, so my instructions from Azzur are to confirm the general still wishes to leave with us—me—and defect to our country. Only then am I to retrieve the money. And if you want to change those instructions, we will have to call Azzur and let me talk to him.”

  Tariq sighed and stared forward into the night. “Azzur has a fine operational mind but no tact when it comes to delicate interpersonal negotiations. If we show up in Zoran the Great’s office tomorrow without the money, he’s going to be very offended. He’ll almost certainly call off the deal and throw us out of his domain. Or maybe even hand us over to Rivin and his cutthroats.”

  “Azzur anticipated that reaction and gave me instructions on how to diffuse the situation.”

  “I’m sure he did. So be it, we’ll follow your instructions. It’s only our lives that are on the line.” Tariq started the SUV. “I’ll take you to Zoran the Great’s home. They prepared a room for you to sleep in.”

  PROJECT MOLKA: TASK 1

  THURSDAY

  9:09AM

  CHAPTER 23

  Mmm…

  Enticing, hunger-inducing bread baking aroma stirred Molka awake in a soft bed in a large upstairs guestroom in Zoran’s home.

  She sat up and viewed her old pilot’s watch on the nightstand. She had completed a good, solid eight hours sleep.

  She rose in her black bra and panties and paused at an odd sight on the chair beside the closed guestroom door.

  The previous night before crawling into bed, she’d sat in the chair and removed her tac-boots and socks and placed them beside it. Then disrobed and laid her mock turtleneck and jeans atop the chair.

  But her things did not sit as she left them.

  She moved to the chair and examined.

  During the night, someone took her clothes away, mended the bullet rip in her shirt, laundered everything, and replaced them neatly folded. And her boots had been cleaned of all the dust and mud making them gleam as if out of the box new.

  What considerate hosts.

  She walked back across the soft, sore-foot-soothing carpet to the nightstand and opened the top drawer.

  Her weapons and spare mags waited untouched.

  What respectful hosts.

  Molka entered the room’s private bath to find the thoughtful hospitality continued.

  Women’s grooming products awaited her on the basin counter, including several different brands of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body lotion, and deodorant. A new brush and comb waited beside them, and a new toothbrush in its wrapper lay next to a new tube of toothpaste.

  And how they knew she wore contact lenses and included contact lenses cleaning solution and eye drops was a pleasant mystery.

  Molka had never stayed in a 5-star hotel, but she imagined even they could not be as accommodating.

  She showered—taking care not to wet the bandage on her wound—rubbed lotion on her body, applied deodorant, brushed her teeth, removed, cleaned, and replaced her contacts, and brushed out her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail.

  She moved back into the bedroom, dressed, strapped her old pilot’s watch on her left wrist, and rearmed.

  On the way out the door, she paused to view herself in a full-length mirror.

  Day two of your task will be much better.

  Mandate it!

  Amira—wearing a long purple dress adorned in gold embroidery—greeted Molka with a smile at the foot of the stairs and bid Molka to follow her.

  They crossed the spacious, well-decorated house to a large dining room with a sizeable dining table. A place setting waited at the end seat surrounded by food covered platters.

  Molka did not need a translator to tell her breakfast was served. She sat, and Amira departed with a smile.

  The offerings included the fresh-baked flatbread she smelled on waking, butter, jam, several kinds of cheese, green olives, honey, yogurt, and a pot of strong black tea.

  Molka’s ravenous appetite put a significant dent in everything.

  Twenty minutes later, as Molka sipped her tea, Zilan entered wearing fresh blue medical scrubs and a fresh hair bun.

  Zilan smiled at Molka. “Good morning.”

  Molka smiled back. “Good morning.”

  “I see you’ve eaten well; did you sleep well, too?”

  “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.”

  Zilan sat across from Molka, scooped some yogurt onto a plate, added fresh berries as a topping, ate it all down with a spoon, wiped her mouth on a napkin, and addressed Molka. “Tariq is upstairs showering. He said he’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Oh. Ok.” A small smile crossed Molka’s lips before she sipped more tea.”

  Zilan smirked. “What does that mean?”

  Molka’s little smile widened to a grin. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, my room is upstairs too. But Tariq sleeps in a separate guestroom not attached to mine.”

  “And it's none of my business any way,” Molka said. “Do your six sisters live here as well?”

  “No.” Zilan’s eyes fell into a stare at the platter holding the flatbread. “They’re all married to wonderful men and have their own homes and children. And I’m still single, living with my parents, and running a small clinic with not enough supplies and outdated equipment and no doctors.” Her eyes refocused on Molka. “How does your shoulder feel?”

  “It’s throbbing a little,” Molka said. “But nothing serious.”

  “I can give you something for pain.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “May I take a look?” Zilan said.

  Molka stood and pulled her shirt overhead to expose her left arm.

  Zilan stood, moved to Molka, peeled back the bandage, and examined the wound. After a moment, she replaced the dressing. “You’re a fast healer.”

  Molka pulled her shirt back on. “Doctors have told me that before.”

  “You should still have a doctor examine it when you get home today.”

  “I will,” Molka said. “Thank you, again.”

  “And thank you, again.” Zilan smiled. “You’re my hero.”

  Molka shook her head. “What happened to the wounded prisoner and the rest of the prisoners?”

  “They’ll be taken back to the border from which they crossed into this country and turned over to the police.”

  “Your father is a very benevolent victor,” Molka said.

  “With those border police, they might wish they had died in battle.”

  “Good morning, ladies!” Tariq bopped into the room with freshly quaffed hair, a fresh shave, a white turtleneck over pressed creased black slacks, shined black boots, and another alluring cologne. He carried a black leather jacket and a gold-colored keffiyeh.

  Tariq paused and ogled Zilan and Molka. “And it’s also a beautiful morning in sooo…many ways.”

  Zilan ignored Tariq’s flirtations. “I have to get back to the clinic. Please stop on the way out so I can redress her wound.”

  Tariq’s face teased with an ultra-charismatic smile. “You just want to see me again. And who could ever blame you?”

  Zilan addressed Molka. “There is no end to his self-flattery. I’ll see you soon.”

  Zilan departed.

  Tariq watched her leave. “She opens that little clinic up every morning at 6AM, and there’s usually already a line waiting. She takes care of all those people, comes back here to grab a quick breakfast, goes back to the clinic and doesn’t finish up there until after dark.”

  “Admirable,” Molka said.

  Tariq took the chair beside Molka and helped himself to flatbread, butter, honey, and yogurt. After devouring, he said, “This is one of the few things I miss about this place: the traditional, simple, all fresh ingredient breakfast.

  “You seemed to be enjoying the traditional dancing last night too.”

  Tariq smiled. “You’re right. I did.”

  “And when you passed out candy to the village children, you looked happier than they did.”
Molka grinned. “That’s a lot of happiness for someone who swore off this backcountry, backward lifestyle a long time ago.”

  Tariq shrugged and poured himself a cup of tea. “Just a little nostalgia. Trust me, I’m getting back to the big city, big lifestyle first chance I get.”

  “When will we meet with Zoran the Great?”

  “Any moment. Amira’s going to let us know when he’s ready to see us.”

  On cue, a smiling Amira entered the room.

  Tariq picked up his keffiyeh and began to wrap it on his head. “Well, here we go. Please don’t get us killed.”

  Amira escorted Molka and Tariq to Zoran’s office.

  Zoran sat behind his desk in fresh olive-green fatigues and his gold-colored keffiyeh.

  Seated at the desk’s left, the general sported tan desert boots, khaki pants, and an open, khaki safari-style jacket over a green button-up collared shirt. A thick cigar smoldered in an ashtray on the desk.

  Zoran motioned to Molka and Tariq to the side-by-side chairs facing his desk.

  Molka and Tariq sat.

  Zoran smiled at Molka and spoke.

  Tariq translated to Molka. “He asks if you slept well last night and dined well this morning?”

  “Yes,” Molka said. “Very well, and the food was delicious. Thank you for your generous hospitality.”

  Tariq translated to Zoran.

  Zoran replied.

  Tariq translated to Molka. “He says it is he who thanks you again.”

  Molka bowed her head humbly.

  Zoran spoke.

  Tariq translated. “He says he can see you have not brought his money. So he must assume you have decided not to make a deal.”

  The general’s face angered, and he spoke to Molka in English. “What is this betrayal?”

  Molka addressed the general. “No betrayal, general. I’m following my instructions. I’ve secured the money until you verify to me you still wish to leave with me and defect to my country?”

  The general coughed until his face reddened. “I did not come to this horrid place to retire. Of course, I wish to leave with you and defect to your country.”

  Molka addressed Tariq. “Please tell Zoran the Great, as per my instructions, I have now verified the general is still the guest of Zoran the Great. And I have verified the general still wishes to leave. And that I have buried Zoran the Great’s money near the airstrip for security purposes, and I am now ready to retrieve it and make the deal.”