Chapter 16
"You—what?" He could hardly comprehend what she was saying.
"I'm the one holding his leash."
"So he's working for you?"
"He's working under my supervision, yes. Here's what happened, Jason. We were thin on leads—the only thing we had was fragments of a phone conversation, and that wasn't solid enough to build a case on. Then I found out that Gray had information about Ramon. He was tortured horrifically in the detention center, and had spilled facts from missions they didn't even ask him about, just to make it stop. When I pulled him out of there, I asked him about Ramon's ties to terrorists, but he didn't have much more than hearsay either. The CIA was about to take him back when I came up with the idea to put him undercover. It worked, even more smoothly than I'd hoped. He's good, Jason. I've caught glimpses of him at work—and you'd never guess that he's hanging on by a thread."
"What do you mean?"
"The things they did to that man—I can't even bring myself to say. He's got a cover story that explains his injuries for his employer—mainly the truth, that he was captured and tortured. But the deeper injuries are inside his mind."
Jason knew how much deeper than broken skin and bone that pain from torture went.
"I don't know how he's doing it—we did our best to patch him up, but some injuries will never heal. We'll keep him in there as long as he can hold himself together. We're on borrowed time as it is—we don't know when they plan to set the bomb, and though Gray has learned a lot, he doesn't have anything specific enough to act on. We figured that you would be able to fill in missing pieces, and—you'd never have to know about each other. I'm sorry, Jason. Perhaps I should've told you, it's just—"
"Need to know."
"That, and…I didn't want to tell you about him if I didn't have to. I didn't want you to have to deal with him. I shouldn't have assumed that you'd stay in separate circles, but I hoped that a week would be short enough to avoid you meeting in a city of two hundred thousand.
"So you just saw him—did he see you?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Good. The more that these two operations stay separate, the better. That was my intention in the beginning…along with keeping you from hearing about Gray ever again, if you didn't have to. I sometimes wish I didn't have to work with him. Still, it's hard to see him as the sociopath that hurt you—he's able to wear that persona, but when he's alone, he's afraid and broken."
Jason was still in a state of shock from what Tasha had told him, but despite himself, his heart went out to Gray. Compared to months of torture, Jason's experience had been negligible. Jason didn't want to imagine what that much abuse did to a person.
Still, he wasn't sure that he wanted to run into Gray any time soon….At least if he did, he probably wouldn't go after him or Connie.
Relief flooded him. They could go places together again—although he wasn't about to take Connie on any more missions. As soon as he was done here, he'd go back to her, smother her in kisses. He didn't know how he could stand not being with her for this long.
He told Tasha about what he'd learned, and that he'd found a new potential contact.
After saying goodbye, he called Connie.
"Hi, Jason!" said Connie. "What's up?"
"I have some good news."
"Really?"
"I just talked to Tasha. She already knew Gray was here."
"What?"
"That's because she brought him here to go on a mission, parallel to mine. He's not about to come after us—he's on our side."
"Wow." She was silent for a moment. "I can hardly…this is good news! I wish I could hug you."
"I want to too. I just have one more thing to check out, and then I think I can call it a day."
"I like the pool and everything, but it'd be twice as fun with you. Hey, maybe when you come back, we can go swimming."
"Sounds wonderful."
"Just thinking about you coming back here is driving me crazy! I wish you were here, right now."
"I'll be there as soon as I can." He wished he could give her a kiss through the phone. "Bye, my love."
"Bye, my Jason."
Jason hailed a taxi, and climbed inside. He took a deep breath. Gray wasn't here for him; Tasha had him under her control. All that trauma was in the past. Maybe he could leave it there. At last.
The taxi stopped at the curb. The words Restaurante Karam was emblazoned in gold letters across the top of the building.
Inside, Lebanese music played softly, and red carpet beneath white arches gave it a Mediterranean feel. The host came to seat him, and gave him the menu. Looking over the food, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed Middle Eastern cuisine. A few minutes later, a young woman came to take his order. She had long, dark hair and beneath the friendly spark in her large eyes, sadness haunted them. Her name tag said "Jamila." His heart leaped; she was the woman Marcos had spoken of.
"Buenos tardes," she said. "What would you like today?"
"Marhaba," said Jason, and spoke in Arabic. "I would like the falafel, and the eran to drink."
"Very good, sir. And may I say your pronunciation is excellent."
"Thank you—Jamila."
She smiled, and walked away with his menu.
A little while later, the door to the kitchen opened. Jamila held a tray of food in one hand, and a little girl clung to her other hand. As Jamila walked forward, the little girl followed.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
"Stay there, Ester," said Jamila. A man emerged from the kitchen, grabbed Ester, and swung her up in the air, kissing her cheek, and taking her back behind the door.
"I'm sorry for that," said Jamila.
"That's okay. Her father looks like he has it under control."
"Oh—that's not her father. That's my brother Farid. Her father…does not even know about her."
"I'm sorry."
"No—I want to keep it that way." She left the food with him. When she returned with his bill, Jason put his credit card on the tray and on the receipt he wrote, I'm here to ask you about her father.
Her eyes fell to the note. Fear flashed across her eyes. She leaned forward, whispered, "Are you with Yousef?"
"No—I just need to know some things."
"Are you with the government?"
Jason nodded, watching out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone else seemed interested in their conversation. The other customers seemed occupied in eating or conversing.
"I want to help you—only—"
"You're afraid of him."
She nodded, swept back a stray strand of hair, revealing a scar across her forehead. Tears of fear glistened in her eyes. "He might be coming back. I don't want him to hurt my family."
"We'd keep it strictly between ourselves."
"I want to help—I just—can't involve anyone else."
"Do you know of a safe place—?"
A waiter walked past and she froze, and then took his credit card to the front.
When she returned, she handed him a note. It said, Meet me at the city cemetery at 6:30 tonight.
Jason had about five hours, then, to spend with Connie. He'd better make it count.
He took a taxi back to the hotel, and went up to their room. She wasn't there; she must still be out by the pool. He changed into his swimming trunks but left his shirt on, just in case there were a lot of people out there. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he didn't want people staring at his scars, asking questions.
He walked down to the pool, the carpet soft on his bare feet. Just outside the door, beneath the shadow of the arches, he stopped, looking for Connie among the people lounging by the pool and swimming. Then he spotted her. She was lying on one of the chairs in her yellow swimsuit, sunglasses on, a drink in one hand. She took his breath away.
How can she possibly be mine? he wondered. Someone as beautiful as that—chose me.
He walked up behind her, put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, whipped around. "Oh! Jason. You scared me."
"Sorry."
"That's okay—I'm glad you're here. How did your meeting go?"
"I got a potential lead. I'm meeting her again later today."
"Her? Should I be jealous?" Her eyebrow arched.
"You know you will always be the only one for me."
She smiled. "I know." She gestured to the empty chair beside her. "Come, sit by me."
He slid his chair closer, and sat down beside her. He lay back and closed his eyes, the sun soaking into him. Her hand pressed gently over his. He laced his fingers through hers, reveling in the fact that they were this close again.
"I love you," he said, barely realizing he was saying it until the words had left his lips.
She smiled. "I love you, too."
After a moment, she said, "I'm glad that Gray's on our side—though I can hardly believe it."
"Me either—but I trust Tasha. And she said that he's not really the ruthless agent that I saw last night. He was…tortured in the detention center. I can't imagine how he's dealing with it; with all that I've gone through, it's nothing in comparison."
"I wouldn't say nothing, Jason."
"I don't know how I'd cope if I were in his place. But somehow he's holding it together enough to work undercover."
"Maybe he's changed. I mean—for the better."
"I don't know. I wouldn't have gotten through without you, Dad, and God. Who does Gray have? He might not become who he was again, but he won't necessarily become better just because he's broken. He'll need someone to help put him back together."
"Do you think we'll run into Gray again?"
"The missions are supposed to stay separate, so I doubt it."
"All the better, then. So…do you want to go swimming? I think I might brave the pool again." She stood, adjusting her left shoulder strap.
"Uh, sure." He stood.
She walked over to the pool's edge; he followed. She stopped, touched his shirt. "You're not going in like that, are you?"
"I thought that—"
"No, no, no. That makes no sense."
"But—Connie—there are so many people—"
"It's okay, Jason. You can do this." She put a hand on his arm.
He carefully, slowly, peeled his shirt off, and tossed it in the chair. Then he followed her to the pool. Behind him, he heard low voices murmuring—he didn't stop to listen if they were talking about the horrific number of whip-scars on his back. He was probably just being paranoid.
He slid down into the shallow end. They stood there, the water lapping around them. She lifted her lips to his, and he savored the slow, lingering kiss. Then she dove under, and he dove after her, splashing down into the cool wavering blue.
The shadows shifted in the cemetery, dark against the sunlit grass. Jason walked among the headstones; so far, he couldn't see anyone. Then, movement ahead, behind a tree. He tensed, wishing he'd brought a gun. He hadn't thought he'd need one on this mission, but now—
The figure stepped out, tall, slim, wearing a long dress—Jamila. She walked toward him. "Hello," she said.
"Thank you for meeting me."
"This place—it's open enough, but people are few and far between." She gestured to a bench along the gravel road, and he sat down. She sat down beside him.
For a moment, she didn't speak. Then, looking off into the distance, she said, "The first time I met Yousef, it was at the restaurant. He used to come there just to see me, he said. He was so polite, charming…I felt myself falling for him. He'd give me things…nice little presents. He seemed to truly care about me. After six months, we got married. I was so happy. Then, almost that same night, he changed. Became distant. He'd say things—I didn't know what I was doing wrong, but I'd always try to please him. He'd go out all night, only be back in the morning….
"One day I asked him where he went, and—he hit me. It only got worse. The last night, I woke up to feel him strangling me. I scratched him across the face, and went to my father's house. He told me to stay with him, he'd protect me. Dad is well-respected in our community, and he helped me get a divorce.
"I haven't seen Yousef since; I think he's in the Middle East now. I'm afraid he'll come back, claim Ester as his own. He is involved in some terrible things, I know that much. I was with him enough to see the huge amounts of cash he hid—and the men he met with. One of them, Ziyad Hayek, I think is important. He's tall, and has a scar— here." She touched her cheek. His eyes were drawn to the scar across her forehead, revealing her abuse at the hands of her ex-husband. Anger boiled in him. Even if Yousef wasn't a terrorist, he deserved to be in prison, not free to do what he wanted, while she was still bound by fear for herself and her daughter.
"I would not be telling you this, except I'm afraid he might return. Anyone who will keep him from me and my daughter, I will help. I've hidden from him long enough." He hoped against hope that none of this would endanger her. He felt it was now his responsibility to keep her safe, as he'd gotten her involved in his mission.
"I have an address, too." She handed him a slip of paper. "This is where he used to go sometimes—I followed him one day, and he didn't see me."
"Thank you, Jamila. If he comes back, contact me." He gave her his cell phone number.
She looked up at him, a crease in her brow. "You have someone like Yousef, I think. One that hurt you." She lifted her hand toward his face, almost, not quite, touching the scar that ran down across his cheekbone like a banner.
"I do. But I have forgiven him."
A spark shot through her dark eyes. "How—?"
"I realized I was doing more damage to myself than to him—and the rest was God. But just because I've forgiven—that doesn't mean I've forgotten."
She nodded, looked away, across the cemetery. Sunlight slanted across the gravestones in the haze. "I'd better get going. My Abi will miss me. And I have to tuck Ester into bed. She is the one who saved me, after all this."
"Love tends to do that. Save you, when all that seems to be left is darkness."
She looked at him, pain and hope warring in her eyes. She rose. Headed toward her car. He wanted to escort her there, but he knew that the less they were seen together, the better.
He sat on the bench as she walked away, a silhouette in the golden sunlight.
Just as she reached the car, a gunshot shattered the silence.
Jamila collapsed to the ground.
Another gunshot. A bullet slammed into the tree beside Jason.
He threw himself to the ground, just as another bullet pierced the air where his head had been a second before.
Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Connie sat on the balcony, looking out over the river. She'd been reading her book, but she hardly realized what the last chapter was about. What she really wanted was Jason. As much as she loved her honeymoon so far, it would be even better if the mission didn't take him away from her. She wanted him all to herself, no competition.
At least he was safe now. Gray was out there, but knowing Tasha had him under control made her feel a lot better.
Jason had said he'd be back as soon as his meeting was over, if he could. Then they'd go out to a restaurant of her choosing.
It was 7:30; he'd probably be back any minute. She was getting hungry though. Perhaps she'd go inside and get a snack.
In the hallway, she slid some coins into the vending machine. Took out a bar of chocolate, and then went back outside to read her book.
The leaves of the trees rustled in the breeze. Sunlight shone on their leaves, brushing them with burnished gold.
A pang struck her heart, burning a horrible ache into it. Am I having a heart attack? she wondered. Or is Jason in trouble? She'd felt this before, the second time Jason was captured.
Dear God, please let this be nothing—I'd rather it be a heart attack. I wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to Jason. Please, please God, don't take him away from me. Protect him.
She sat back. Her heart still ached, but a soothing presence assuaged it.
God was with him. No matter what happened.
Most of all, she hoped that this painful flash of intuition was wrong, and that Jason would soon be home…
I could call him, she thought. But if he's in danger—that could only make matters worse. I'll just have to wait for him.
She left the balcony, went inside, and sat on the bed. She couldn't read, couldn't concentrate. So she paced the room, waiting for Jason. Longing more than anything to hear his voice, know that he was okay.
Shots flew over his head, pinning him down. Terror raced through him. Terror—not so much of death—but of being captured. He'd almost do anything to avoid being captured alive.
The gunshots were coming from the direction of the road. If he crawled the other way, perhaps he could reach the riverbank.
What about Jamila? Maybe she's dead, he thought. But what if she's still alive? If there's even a chance…I can't just leave her.
Under the hail of bullets, he crawled toward her, inching forward as flat as he could make himself. Bullets slammed the dirt in front of him.
He pressed his fingers to Jamila's wrist. A pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips, weak, but there.
Jason scooped Jamila up into his arms. More bullets slammed into the car. He yanked open the door and laid her in the seat, as carefully as he could. Just as he jumped inside, a searing pain ripped through his shoulder. He pushed through it, grabbed the steering wheel, and pulled himself into the driver's seat.
The windshield shattered into a million puzzle-pieces of glass.
Capture is not an option.
He floored the accelerator, and dared them to shoot him as he sped toward the spray of bullets.
He glimpsed an angry face in the bushes on the side of the road, rifle raised—gunshots rang out behind him, shattering the rear windshield, but he was already at 50 miles an hour, and sped out onto the highway.
In a daze, he steered the car down random streets, shaking. He pulled over in a residential district, and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel, his heart thumping against his chest.
Thoughts spun through his mind, barely formed before dissipating into oblivion.
Then, a thought pierced through the haze—Jamila.
He leaned over and pressed his hand to her throat. She was still alive.
Blood soaked her shirt on her left side. There was a tear in his own shirt where a bullet had gone through, somehow without piercing his skin. He ripped through the tear, and pressed the ragged cloth to her wound. Then he gathered up his strength, wishing his hands would stop shaking, and drove toward the hospital.
He parked the bullet-ridden car in the parking lot. Then lifted Jamila as carefully as he could, and walked into the emergency room.
"She's been shot," he said to the nurse at the front desk.
"Looks like you need attention, too," said the nurse.
"No, I—" He looked at his shoulder. Blood spread across the blue fabric. He'd forgotten about it with escaping and looking after Jamila. "Not as bad as she does."
The nurse nodded, and called some paramedics in. They laid her on a stretcher and rushed her off to surgery.
He sat down and looked at his wound. It wasn't very deep, and there was an exit wound, so the bullet wasn't still inside. He was tempted just to leave—he'd taken care of worse injuries in the field—but he wanted to see if Jamila was all right.
Though most of the bleeding had already stopped, he tore off another piece of his shirt and wrapped it around his shoulder. Then he filled out some paperwork for himself and Jamila. He didn't know what her last name was, so he wrote down "Karam", her maiden name. His hand shook as he wrote; he tried to calm himself, although he knew that the danger wasn't past. The terrorists could assume they'd come to this hospital, and wait for them to come out…or come inside and finish the job. If he stayed inside, it'd be harder for them to kidnap him, if that's what they wanted. He at least needed to stay here until he found out Jamila was okay—but what then?
He had to get back to Connie somehow. And—he realized—he had to leave the country. Danger wasn't part of his job description anymore. And if there was danger to him, there was danger to Connie. They needed to go home to Odyssey and start their lives together. He longed for that normal, everyday life—no threat of being shot or captured. His taste for an agent's life of the other day had dissipated—he only felt drained, exhausted, inadequate.
His phone rang.
"Connie?"
"It's me, Tasha."
"Tasha!"
"Are you all right?"
"I ran into some…trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I was shot. My contact too."
"What happened?"
He told her about meeting with Jamila at the restaurant, then the meeting at the cemetery.
"It sounds like it's safe to assume that her ex has returned from the Middle East," said Tasha. "I wonder if he had an agent already at the restaurant who overheard your conversation and followed her."
"Makes sense. It was a risk to meet at all—but a risk she wanted to take."
"I think maybe it's time for you to come home, let others take over. You've gotten good leads—but now you've gotten a little too close to their operation. I can't ask you to do any more. I almost have my team together—I will be able to send them down within the week."
"We can go home?"
"I think you've more than earned it. Besides, I can't stand the thought of putting you in danger."
"I've been in danger before."
"This is different. I put you there. And it's different after…everything that happened to you. I don't want the possibility of you going through something like that again. You've gone beyond the mission parameters; I can't reasonably ask any more of you. You are an unofficial agent, anyway; I can decide when you can leave and when you can't."
"I can't argue with that. It's been fun—part of it anyway. But I'm ready to go home."
"I don't blame you, Jason. Thanks for all that you've done."
"What about Jamila?"
"She's an essential witness. I'll send someone to take care of her and her family."
"How soon can they arrive?"
"Tomorrow at the earliest—they'll have to hop on a flight right away."
"In case something happens before that—I'll need some way to contact you."
"Yes—we weren't expecting it to escalate into a direct threat to you. I'd better give you a contact number. Here's a secure one." She gave him a number to call, and then she hung up.
Jason longed to be with Connie, but he had to stay at the hospital for now. He at least needed to let her know what had happened, that he was okay, and that they were going home soon.
"Connie?"
"Jason! Are you okay?"
"More or less."
"What does that mean?"
"I—" He dreaded telling her this. Smashing any illusion of safety they had. "I was shot."
"What!"
"At the meeting. Someone found out about it."
"Jason—this is what I was afraid would happen."
"I thought this mission would be a safe one. Tasha did too…but no mission is really safe, if you're dealing with terrorists. I tricked myself into believing that this one could be. Maybe partly because I forgot what it was like to be an agent. I certainly wasn't prepared to be one again. Another reason to get out now."
"So, we're going?"
"As soon as we can get a flight."
"You can come back to the hotel, right? Or should I come to the hospital?"
"No—don't come. The terrorists could return—just stay as far away from this as you can."
"But—I need you. I need to see you right now, Jason. When are you coming back?"
"I can't yet—not until I know Jamila's okay. She risked her life to get me the information—I can't just leave her."
"She was shot too?"
"A lot worse than I was. It just grazed my shoulder.
"I'll be there as soon as I can. Then we'll go home."
"I've liked it—the waterfalls, staying at this hotel. But now—I can't go home fast enough. Back in Odyssey, where it's safe."
"We won't have to end our honeymoon, either. We can celebrate at home too."
"I never want it to stop."
"As long as we love each other, it won't."
"Well, that'll be forever, then. Oh, Jason—please—don't stay out any longer than you have to."
"I won't. I just…can't leave yet."
"I understand. I…had a feeling that something was wrong, you know. And now you're shot—and I can't be with you."
"You are always with me. You're a part of my heart."
"You're a part of mine. That's why…it hurts so much when you're gone, especially when you're hurt too."
"Didn't know what you were getting into when you got mixed up with me, did you?"
"I wouldn't trade it for anything, Jason. The pain and the joy—it's all more than I could ever want, and I never could have imagined something so glorious. You—being with you—is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. I love being a part of your heart—and I'm never going to regret one minute of being yours."
A tear streaked down his cheek. "I love you, Connie," he said. "I just wish…there was a way to stay here, and be with you at the same time. The only thing I don't like about being with you is any pain I cause you. That's not worth it."
"I'll probably give you some trouble of my own one of these days."
"I doubt it. You're perfect, my love."
She gave a small laugh. "Far from perfect."
"That's all I see when I look at you. The most beautiful thing in all Creation. Everything else fades away in your presence."
"You're not bad yourself. But seriously—you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."
"I don't know if I'd use that term."
She laughed again. "You know what I mean. It's not just your looks—your soul shines through."
"I can't imagine that you'd give me near the amount of trouble that I've already given you."
"It's worth it. You don't have to worry about me. I'm here for you, no matter what."
"I just wish I could be there for you! And just forget all about this."
"We will soon. Just—be safe, Jason."
"I don't want to risk the possibility of not getting back to you. We need to get some plane tickets and get home."
"I'll look online for some."
"I wish I could kiss you right now."
"I'd kiss your shoulder, to make it better."
"It'd probably do more than anything a doctor can."
The nurse at the desk called, "Jason Whittaker!"
"That's my cue," he said. "I need to get my shoulder looked at."
"Okay."
"I want to keep talking to you as long as I can."
"Me too. But it wouldn't be practical."
"I guess not. Bye, Connie. I love you."
"Love you too." He turned off the phone; his shoulder already felt a little better.
He went back into a small examination room and waited about twenty more minutes for the doctor. He was tempted to call Connie again, but he didn't want to give her any undue distress, and the faster he got this done with, the faster he could be back with her.
The doctor examined his shoulder, put some stinging disinfectant on it, and bandaged it up. He looked curiously at Jason's other scars, on his shoulder and just visible beneath his torn shirt, but only asked about them once, and when Jason declined to reply, he left the matter alone. Then Jason went back out and read a magazine while he waited.
Finally, at about 10:00, the nurse called him to the front desk. She told him that Jamila was out of surgery. "She's conscious," said the nurse. "She's still in serious condition, but we have gotten the bleeding under control. She is asking for you. We think she's stable enough that you can talk to her, at least for a few minutes."
He followed the nurse through hallways back to Jamila's room. A heart monitor beeped beside her bed. Her face was etched with pain, but she looked up when Jason came in.
He sat down in the chair beside her bed.
"Jason—" she said. "They tell me if I'd been left out there just a little longer, I…wouldn't be here."
"I couldn't just leave you."
"You were shot!"
He shrugged; pain shot through his shoulder. "It's nothing. Nothing compared to yours. How do you feel?"
"It hurts…but it would hurt a lot more without the medicine. It was Yousef, I know it. He must've already been back, and watching me…Ester. He might go after her if he can't get to me. I know him. He'll think he owns her….And my father. He and my brothers will protect her, but…Yousef is capable of anything."
"Do you want to talk to them, see if they're okay?"
"You wouldn't mind?"
He shook his head.
She told him her father's number. Jason dialed it for her. The phone rang, and rang. Finally it went to voicemail.
"He didn't answer," said Jason. "Should I leave a message?"
She shook her head. "Just call my brother."
He dialed Ali Karam, her brother. No answer either. He handed her the phone so she could leave a message.
"I hope everything's all right," said Jamila when she finished. "I need to talk to Ester."
"I could…I could go over to the restaurant, see if everything's okay."
"I couldn't ask you to do that!"
"I'd just check in—and if it seemed there was trouble, I'd call the police."
"Your arm's injured."
"I've had worse."
"Thank you." She reached out a hand. Grasped his, pressed it softly. "My little Ester…please, let her be all right…." She laid her head back, exhausted.
Jason rose and slipped out the door.
Out of the hospital, he left the bullet-ridden car in the parking lot, and walked a few blocks to a car rental. He didn't want to get a taxi driver mixed up in this. Then he drove, pangs shooting through his shoulder every time he turned a corner.
He stopped in front of the restaurant. It was dark, closed down for the night. Didn't look like there was any reason to call the police. Only—
Movement. Someone was moving inside—weaving rapidly around white-clothed tables—A burst of red fire. A bang. Two men—no, three. One of them carrying something in a bundle, all of them with large guns—
The front door burst open and the men ran out, piled into the car two spaces ahead of Jason's.
In the arms of one, a little girl's head peeked out, dark eyes wide and frightened.
Ester.
Their car rumbled to life.
Should I go after them? How can I? They'll find out about me and—
No. I have to find out where they take her, and call the police. If I let them go, they could be gone forever.
As soon as their car moved out on the street, he started his, and followed them.
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
Jason wove his car through the streets, careful not to bring attention to himself. He kept the terrorists' car just visible ahead of him.
Should I even be doing this? he wondered. I need to get back to Connie and get out of this country-not get even more involved.
But Ester's frightened little face drew him forward—nothing in his heart would let him slow down.
I'm sorry, Connie, he thought. But he was sure she'd understand he had no choice where a little girl's safety was concerned.
Something shot through his mind—the impression of children, a beautiful future—what he could have with Connie. He felt a deep longing, not just for children of his own, but to be with them—his and Connie's—and already felt a deep love for them, even though they were yet unborn—
That is why I cannot abandon her, he thought. Her mother needs her, loves her with all her heart—like I love my own.
The terrorists' car turned out onto the highway, toward the outskirts of town. Jason's heart leaped. They were getting farther out—and soon, they'd be away from any kind of help—
Jason needed to call the police now—which would be difficult while trying to keep the terrorists in sight, with an injured arm.
He dialed one of his old contacts in the police force; because Jason knew him, he could cut through any preliminaries and get straight to the point.
"Manuel? This is Jason."
"Who? I don't—" His voice trailed off. "Oh! That Jason. It's been a long time. What are you up to these days?"
"I'm following some terrorists—at least, I believe that's what they are. They've kidnapped a little girl."
"Terrorists? Where are you?"
"Just passed Lago Acaray, out toward Hernandarias. Not far from the dam. As soon as they stop, I'll tell you where they are, and you can send someone out here."
"Without concrete proof, it might be hard to convince anyone we need to act."
"If you go to the Restaurante Karam, the owner will tell you what happened. And there may be injured there."
"I will check it out. Get back to me as soon as you find out something."
The phone clicked off.
Ahead, the car had disappeared. Jason panicked—then saw it zooming to the right, taking an off-ramp. He swerved to follow it, almost screeching into another car, and it honked at him.
So much for subtle. He hoped they were too far ahead to notice it.
They took the road to the wildlife refuge, then veered off onto a narrow dirt road, its entrance nearly obscured by bushes. Jason turned his lights off, driving deep into thick trees that obscured the sky, so dark he could barely see the road. The taillights disappeared in a tangle of shadowy branches.
The car bumped over ruts, jarring his injured shoulder. Pinpoints of lights glimmered ahead. He slowed; lights illuminated a clearing, spreading out to a small valley. Ahead, the terrorists were jumping out of their car. Jason didn't see a sign of the little girl. He hoped she was all right—he couldn't imagine how scared she must be. He wished he could charge in there and get her, but getting captured would help neither of them.
He knew where they were now, anyway. As much as he hated to leave the little girl, it was time to call the police and get out.
He backed his car up a little further into the trees. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if he could turn around without going into the clearing. He might have to back up all the way down the dirt road.
He dialed Manuel. "Hello," he said. "I've found it. It's off of the road that leads to the wildlife refuge."
"It's not easy to see, I take it?"
"No, you could easily miss it."
"I've got a good eye. But just in case, why don't you hide on the side of the road, and when we get there, you can come out, show us the way, and we'll storm the place."
"Just—make sure that the little girl is safe."
"Of course. She's our priority."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Jason tucked the phone back into his pocket, and shifted the car into reverse.
Just then, something tapped against his window. The butt of a rifle, a man holding it. More men converged on him.
He froze, unable to think.
Then, he realized that if he didn't do something, he'd be captured.
I'll die first, he thought.
He floored the accelerator, backing up at 40 miles an hour. Bullets pierced his windshield.
He had to slow around the curve. The car jerked and swerved—a bullet must've hit the front tire. He kept his foot on the pedal but the car slowed, bumping to a crawl.
I won't get anywhere like this, he thought.
He opened the door. Leaped out into the dark tangle of forest.
He ran toward the main road. Rough bark of vines scraped his arms, crashing into his injured shoulder. But he ignored it. It was nothing compared to what they'd do if they captured him.
Dark shapes sped past. A thin sliver of moon peeked between the branches.
The trees thickened, overgrown with brambles. He grabbed them, pushing through them so that they pricked through his jeans, slashing his arms and hands.
There. Ahead. A soft gleam on pavement.
He ran forward, dodging trees.
A log caught his foot. He fell headlong onto the leaves and branches and dirt.
The wind knocked out of him, he struggled to his feet. Barely able to catch his breath, he ran the last ten yards to the road. No sign of the terrorists.
He crouched beside the side of the road, waiting in the bushes like Manuel had instructed, hoping the terrorists wouldn't get to him first.
A few minutes later, headlights lanced down the road. Soon, the markings of a police car became visible. It had to be Manuel—though he'd have thought he'd have brought backup with him.
Jason ran out of the trees; the police car slowed at the edge of the road. Sure enough, it was Manuel. Gray in his hair, but the same sharp gleam in his eye, as if he were constantly thinking over a conundrum. He leaned out the window. "Jason! Are you all right?"
"Lost the rental car back there, but I'm fine."
He looked Jason up and down. "If you say so. Where's the entrance?"
"Just a little ways down. They're after me—we'd better get out of here."
"I suppose we'd better. Get in."
Jason slid into the passenger's seat. Just being in a police car made him feel more secure.
"I've messed up your operation now," said Jason, as the car pulled forward.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that."
"They might even pull out of this encampment, and take Ester with them."
Manuel glanced at him. "That would be a problem."
"If you send someone in now, it might not be too late."
"Now that I've thought about it, it's a little out of our league. It's more a matter for the army."
"Have you called them?"
The police car sped out onto the highway. Back toward the city, a halo of light glowing against the blackness.
"Not yet. But now that I know where it is, I can call them, tell them its location."
"We can't leave little Ester to get caught in the crossfire."
"There's not much I can do; it's out of my control."
The car sped off of the highway to a back street, along the Parana Country Club; soon they'd be near Casablanca Hotel, where Connie was waiting for him.
"How did you know we're—?" said Jason. He stopped. The car pulled up to the curb. A huge mansion loomed over the landscape. Illuminated by lights, palm trees decorating its walled estate.
"How did I know what?"
"Why are we stopping here?"
"I've got a quick errand to run." Manuel drove up to the front gate. Security personnel sat in booths on either side.
"Whose place is this?"
"You'll see."
A strange feeling crept over him. Something wasn't right here. "I think it's time I leave," said Jason. It's just a few blocks to our hotel, anyway, he thought. He reached for the door. It was locked.
He tried to unlock it—but as he did, a pistol swung toward his face, its muzzle a few inches from Jason's head. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why-?"
"I'm not the person you knew, Jason. There's so much more to gain than being a cop who refused to be corrupted. Those ideals were the dreams of a naïve rookie." He turned to face the security guard in the booth, keeping the gun trained on Jason. "I'm here to deliver the package."
"Very good, sir."
Jason took his chance while Manuel's attention was focused elsewhere, and grabbed for Manuel's wrist.
Manuel twisted, his wrist slipping out of Jason's grip. Jason punched him in the ribs, and grabbed the gun, the smooth surface familiar beneath his fingers.
He unlocked the door, yanked it open, stepped out—
Only to find two rifles aimed at him.
"Don't move," said the guard on the left.
Maybe I should shoot at them, he thought, take my chances—
But then, that would be committing suicide, and I don't want to do that to Connie. Any amount of hope left—I'll take it.
His heart sinking, he surrendered his gun. Knelt on the pavement, hands above his head, and Manuel clicked handcuffs around his wrists.
Then, the guards yanked him to his feet and shoved him toward the gate. Jason walked toward the mansion, consumed with dread at what lay in store for him inside.
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Marble floors. Gold engravings lining the doorposts. A crystal chandelier, shimmering with iridescent sparkles. A grand spiral staircase, with a delicately carved railing of dark wood.
He was still reeling from the shock of being captured. If he'd been captured by the terrorists, he'd expect torture. But here, he hardly knew what to expect. Why had Manuel brought him here? Who had ordered it?
He had a feeling he already knew….
The enormous doors opened. A man breezed through.
"Hello," he said in English, striding up to Jason. "Welcome." He gestured to the guard on his left. "Please, take the handcuffs off. We don't need them here."
The guard unlocked the handcuffs, and Jason brought his arms forward, his shoulder stiff.
The man held out a hand. "I'm Khalid Ramon. You can call me Ramon. Most people do."
Jason didn't grasp the man's hand. He wasn't about to trust someone who had kidnapped him.
Ramon laughed. He was a handsome young man, no more than thirty-three, with dark hair, expressive, deep brown eyes, and golden-brown skin. He wore a silver-toned suit without a tie, tailored to a T.
"I don't blame you for not trusting me. Manuel can get a little carried away at times—but he's a good man. Very loyal. There was really no need for such measures; I believe you would have come on your own volition if asked. But now that you are here, I hope you can join me on the veranda for some refreshments."
"Why am I here?"
Ramon waved a hand. "We'll get to that. Come with me, if you would."
"What if I don't?"
"You will miss out on some of the best food and drink this side of the Parana, and I dare say some of the best conversation." A smile tugged his mouth sideways. He laid a hand on Jason's shoulder.
Ramon guided him down the hallway, guards following them, past opulent rooms decorated with gold and mahogany and crystal. Jason had never seen a place so rich, and he'd been inside palaces of fallen dictators and kings. It was strange being here—the refinement of the place a sharp contrast to the wildness of the jungle, Ramon's personable manner contrasting with the violence of the terrorists. He wished he'd been able to rescue little Ester somehow—and that he could get word to Tasha that he'd found the terrorists' camp….
Jason would just take this one step at a time, looking for any opportunities to escape. Ramon seemed amiable enough, but if rumors were true, he was ruthless. And if he knew that Jason had been investigating him, which was probably the reason he'd had him brought here….
He didn't want to think about what lay beneath Ramon's welcoming demeanor. And didn't want to think of how close, and yet far away, he was from Connie. She'd be wondering where he was by now, wondering why he hadn't checked in yet….
So close, he'd been. So close to the end of the mission—and now—He could have not taken those risks. Not met with Jamila. Not gone to rescue Ester. But the only guarantee of staying out of danger would be to avoid the mission altogether. He could have married Connie without coming here at all, and they could have been in Odyssey, and he could have been lying in her arms right now—
The French doors opened onto the veranda. It was broad, brick, with a white railing. A large estate spread out beneath them, gently rolling hills gleaming softly in the dark, rimmed by a dark fringe of trees.
There were two chairs around a table, laid out with plates of hors d'oeuvres. A tiered tray sat in the middle, filled with cookies and cream puffs and little cakes.
Ramon gestured to a chair. "Please, sit."
I could refuse, thought Jason. And the hors d'oeuvres could be poisoned. I'll see if he eats them.
Jason stayed standing for a moment to show that he would do nothing not of his own volition. He wasn't going to make this easy, whatever they wanted from him. He sat down slowly, leaning back, not giving Ramon the satisfaction of eye contact. He looked out over the estate, then picked up a little sandwich, fiddling with it, not lifting it to his mouth.
"So, Jason, is it?"
Jason nodded.
"I make it my business to know everything that goes on in this town. I'm a businessman—and the best don't let any detail slip past them."
"I take it you're the best."
Ramon smiled. "I like to think I have a pretty good grasp of the Tri-Border area."
"So nothing gets past you. Not even more…shady dealings."
Ramon gave a short laugh. "Well, we are a border town. It would be impossible for my business not to touch a little lawlessness."
"What about terrorism?"
"What about it?"
"Do you know about the camp northwest of here?"
"Ah. Terrorism is one thing I try to know as little about as I can. It can be profitable….But it can also be messy. I cannot be connected with terrorists….Because, you see, most people here may look the other way when it comes to commercial criminal dealings. But terrorists are not very popular. We don't want them in our backyard. And then there's the problem of international scrutiny. If the terrorists take a US target, for example, the US will start sending its agents down here to collect intelligence." He sent a pointed look toward Jason.
"Then you are not affiliated in any way with terrorists."
Ramon shrugged. "Things down here are interconnected. You never know when your dealings will touch another's, especially with someone as well-connected as I am."
"If you didn't let on….you could still profit from selling them weapons, as long as you kept it secret."
"I could. Theoretically." Ramon gestured to the tiered tray. "Help yourself, if you'd like."
"I'm not very hungry."
"Perhaps you are worried about poison." He took a dessert from the tray. "Your choice. But you are missing out. My cook is unparalleled."
Jason was actually quite hungry, now that he thought about it; he hadn't had any supper, since he'd been planning to go out with Connie. But to eat what Ramon offered would to acknowledge that he was here legitimately. He could pretend…but that could only go on for so long.
"So what brings you down to our beautiful region? Business or pleasure?"
Jason didn't answer.
"Manuel said that you are an NSA agent."
Jason shook his head.
"A former one, then. So, since you were here before, you wanted to visit again? See the natural wonders around you, the bustling city life. But then, what were you doing in a terrorist camp?"
"I was helping someone."
"So you were using your skills as a former agent to help out a friend. Commendable. You are a man of honor, then."
"I try to do what's right." And don't always succeed, he thought….even with the best intentions. At least I'm not in the labyrinth anymore….I'm kind of in limbo. No—I have Connie—she's all I need. And I have been doing this mission—with mixed success. Still, there is something that's missing—somehow I feel it now more than ever. And this is definitely not where I want to be, though I'd rather be here than captured by the terrorists—so far, anyway.
"I try to do what's right as well. To a certain extent. But to get where I am, I have had to be…pragmatic. For example, to build the Sirena Center, I had to bulldoze a burial ground. Of course, I let archaeologists excavate the bones and artifacts first."
"You have probably had to compromise a lot to get where you are."
"It's true, I have probably had to compromise more than most to get to my position. Not just my values, not just disrupting others' lives, but legitimate personal sacrifices. It hasn't been easy to get here." He spread his arm, indicating the veranda, the estate.
"So does your position now justify what you've had to do?"
"Oh, I'd say that it has. It pretty much has to. If this was not worth it all, there would be no point. I love my life now; my sacrifices have made it that much sweeter. The fact that I could lose it— after all I've done to gain it—makes me love it all the more. If I lost it, my sacrifices would be for nothing."
"But to constantly fear losing it—I wouldn't want to live like that."
"Fear is a part of life. Managed correctly, it keeps you moving forward, never complacent, seizing life, tasting its spice. Sitting still means going backwards. Becoming stagnant would be a deathblow, both to me personally, and to my business. I can't afford it."
"I also don't like a life that's too…calm." I haven't minded it for a while, until recently —perhaps that's part of what I felt that's missing. I wanted the danger—but to have it means the fear, the terror—something I can never get over enough to face real danger again, without falling apart.
Ramon smiled. "I can see how someone who was an agent would not be the type to totally settle down. That is why you came here, is it not? For the adventure of it."
Jason nodded. He didn't want to reveal the other reason—marrying Connie. He had to keep her out of it. He was thankful that, except for the first meeting with Juan and the stakeout, he and Connie had stayed separate in public. Ramon seemed to know a lot—but hopefully he hadn't a clue that Jason had brought his new wife down here as well.
"Where have you been so far?"
"Iguazu Falls."
"Beautiful. Although it's not on our soil, so it technically doesn't even belong to us. We just appropriate it, because we need something spectacular to call our own. Our Monday falls is amazing too. Anywhere else?"
"Mostly around the city. The parks, restaurants..."
"My store, Sirena, has something for everyone. Have you been there?"
"Not yet."
"There are products I can recommend. Perhaps I will give you a discount. Do you have a significant other to buy a gift for?"
The one thing that Jason would never reveal—that Connie was here with him. He looked into the distance. Wishing he was sharing a table with her, and they were having a normal conversation….That somehow he'd declined Tasha's offer and instead taken Connie here on his own, no strings attached—no Agency to shadow him at every turn, even now….There were lives at stake, yes. But it didn't always have to be him, rushing to the rescue. He could have let someone else take the case. He was retired. If he ever got out of this, it would be for good.
"No one in particular, then? What about family? They are all north of the border?"
"I'm down here on my own." Jason looked at Ramon directly.
"But you have friends here. The one you were helping out, for instance. And I believe you spoke with one of my affiliates, Marcos."
"He's with you?"
"Everyone's with me. Manuel told me about the last time you were here. It was quite an adventure you and he had. And now, you have come back to reminisce about old times. Perhaps take down some terrorists together.
"If I were you, I'd harbor no ill will toward Manuel. He simply gets overzealous at times, as you probably know. He says he has no ideals—but he does. He believes in me. And the money I provide him, of course. I'm very generous with my friends.
"You would have probably come without the coercion, but I told Manuel to bring you to me, and he took the initiative. I do not like to be rough on my guests, unless I have to be. You and I could become friends. We could benefit mutually. Anything you could want, I could provide." Ramon took a cream puff, and bit into it.
"And I would come to work for you?"
"If you'd like. I have other Americans working for me, including another former agent. But if you'd like to head back to the US, that's fine too. I'd only ask that you not take any detrimental information with you."
"Such as?"
"Anything that could connect me to wrongdoing of any sort, true or not. I can survive a lot, but there are certain rumors my image will not weather. I'd also ask that you give me any names of those who know the same information you do."
"I don't really know anything."
"You have been asking questions. Marcos admitted as much when I spoke to him, although he had no idea that I'd even asked anything. If your mission is me, I'm flattered—I'd just like to be let in on it." He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table.
"It's the terrorists I'm interested in." Technically, that was true. Ramon was just the name that had sparked the whole operation.
"Ah. Well, then. I should let you get back to your investigation. As soon as you tell me about what you have found on your mission here. And who else knows the information you do."
"You said you want to know as little about the terrorists as possible."
"That's true. But it seems they have become my concern. I want to make sure no one can tie me to them."
"Are you tied to them?"
"If I were, it would only be by the most tenuous of connections. I cannot have rumors leaking out. And I am prepared to pay well to keep my image intact."
He withdrew his wallet, opened it. A ruffle of hundred-dollar American bills spilled out onto the table, scattered by wind across the little sandwiches and crackers laden with caviar. Ramon picked up a handful of it, smoothed it out, and held it out to Jason.
"I can't take it."
"One friend to another."
"You would want something in return."
"A friend, of course, would feel a need to reciprocate a generous gift. By something of equal or greater value."
"Information, then."
"Your complete cooperation. This is just the tip of the iceberg." He rubbed the bills, making them rustle.
Looking at all that money made Jason's stomach turn. To be offered a bribe…to be considered able to take it—
"I'm sorry. I can't."
"Then I'll have to resort to something less pleasant to the both of us. I have to say, I've been enjoying our conversation." He spoke into his phone. "You can come up now. I've got a new project for you."
Jason's chest tightened, his heart thudding hard against it. He'd been able to keep the fear down as long as the civilized façade kept going, but now that the mask was about to come off….
A few minutes later, the French doors opened onto the veranda. A man strode through.
Blond—tall—his eyes caught Jason's.
Gray.
Of course. The enforcer.
Gray's face blanched with shock. Jason registered this somehow, beneath his own shock of being face-to-face with Gray again.
"Is something wrong, Dominic?" asked Ramon. "Do you know this man?"
Gray cleared his throat, seemed to recover somewhat. "No. I thought I did, but it's not the same man."
"Then you're okay with this?"
"Of course."
Gray stepped forward, grabbed Jason's arm. Jason yanked it away, and stepped back toward the balcony.
"Fighting will only make it harder," said Ramon, sitting back, a slight smile on his face as if he were watching a movie.
Jason looked over the edge. Two stories. He could jump—and break his leg, as Connie had….Swinging over the balcony, however, and dropping would give him a chance—
A thought sparked across his mind: If only it were higher. Then there would be no chance of survival to be dragged back and tortured….But I can't leave Connie. Not yet. Even if it means…He swallowed, banishing vivid images of agony. He sprang for the railing—but just as his hand touched cold marble, two guards grabbed for him. One punched his injured arm, sending pain shooting through it. He collapsed to his knees.
Gray came toward him with a needle. Jabbed him in the arm with it. Before consciousness faded, Jason thought he caught a hint of apology in Gray's eyes….then, all thought disappeared beneath a surge of darkness.