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Hunter gathered the tools into a cardboard box and carried it into the house. One of the twins followed him, his gun always pointed at him. Then he went back outside where Fazul was barking orders at the teenager. The twins piled into the truck and the teenage boy jumped into the back with the IED.

“Mufid, out!” Fazul said. “I told you, you're guarding our friend and the American whore. Get me a piece of rope, now! We're going to be late.”

The boy shuffled into the house and returned a couple of minutes later with a half meter long piece of rope. If it were his operation, he would've used the extra wire to hog tie the prisoner, but who was he to dispense advice? He held out his wrists and Mufid bound them tightly in front of him.
Big mistake, muj-man.

The Passat's door was jammed. Fazul pulled on the handle, then gave up and climbed in through its missing window. Hunter guessed it was more macho than circling to the passenger side of the getaway car.

Fazul leaned out and gave final orders to the boy. “Keep your gun on him at all times. If he tries to get away, kill him. If the bomb works, when I return we'll send him on his way with our blessings. If it does not, it's not our blessings that he will need.” He started to drive off, then stopped and shouted, “And stay away from the American whore.”

Ramadi, Anbar Province

Camille and her interpreter returned to Omar's Electronics exactly one hour later. This time she noticed the thick layer of dust on the satellite dishes and assumed the inventory was not turning over very fast. If business was slow, then he'd be even more receptive to selling information. With the way the day had gone, it probably only meant what she already knew—that Iraq was a very dusty country.

She greeted him.

“I am sorry. The man you are looking for is similar to another customer who was in here yesterday. I was mistaken.” The shopkeeper waved his hands.

Camille pulled out a one hundred dollar bill, but Omar averted his eyes. She took out another, then another. When he didn't even glance at them, Camille knew it was hopeless.

“I cannot help you.” Omar held up his hand, turned and wedged himself through the doorway, disappearing into the back room.

Anbar Province

The boy kept his AK trained on Hunter as they watched the cloud of dust and sand kicked up by the Passat and the truck bomb disappear into the distance. Hunter flexed and twisted his wrists, trying to get as much play as he could from the ropes, but he only caused rope burn. They were tied too tightly. He'd have to work around it. The boy led Hunter back into the house. Either by instinct or training, the boy kept himself just far enough away from Hunter so he couldn't disarm him. He ordered Hunter to sit on the floor up against a wall. Like a good Arab, Hunter squatted instead.

“Help me!” Jackie Nelson started pleading again.

The boy stared at the door to the bedroom where she was being held. Hunter was relieved they hadn't broken her spirit—yet. They had sure fucked with his.

“Why will they not allow you to have her?” Hunter kept his eyes on the hostage's doorway. “You must not be man enough and they know it. They are your friends. They save you the humiliation.”

“I am a man.” The boy jumped to his feet.

“Of course you are. That's why you're the one holding the infidel's feet when the others cut off the head.” Hunter grinned as he calculated how much farther he needed to push the little bastard. “Tell me, Mufid, do they take you when there's no woman around? Maybe you like that too much and that's why they don't permit you to know her.”

“I am man enough! I can have a woman whenever I want.” He pointed the barrel of his AK at Hunter, then toward the bedroom door. “Get in there. I have to keep an eye on you.”

 

The boy ordered Hunter to stand beside the wall where he could watch him. Mufid pulled up his man-dress and climbed on top of Jackie Nelson, the AK in his right hand. She screamed and he slapped her.

With Mufid distracted, Hunter inched himself along the wall, moving out of the boy's main line of sight into his peripheral vision. The boy wiggled, trying to position himself. Jackie struggled and he smacked her harder.

Hunter couldn't restrain himself waiting for the optimal moment any longer. She had suffered too much. He jumped onto the boy's back, slipped his bound wrists around his head and jerked upwards. The neck snapped with a loud crack. His hands still around the neck, he lifted the body off Jackie and dropped it onto the floor.

She screamed even louder than before.

“Jackie, you're safe,” Hunter said as he checked out the AK. He dropped the mag, pushed on the rounds and felt some give. It was a few short.

Jackie continued screeching, her eyes tightly closed.

He raised his voice. “I'm rescuing you. You're safe. I'm American.”

She opened her eyes. “You're one of them.” She started crying, then sobbing. He wasn't sure if she knew where she was and what was happening or if she had totally broken with reality in order to survive.

“No. Calm down and listen to me. I'm with the US government. I'm getting you out of here.”

His arms were still bound, so he couldn't stroke her or put his hand on her to reassure her. He sat beside her on the smelly bed waiting for his words to sink in. After a couple of minutes, her sobs faded into a whimper.
Progress
.

“You're going to be okay, Jackie, but I need you to get a grip on yourself. We have to go.” He couldn't believe he was taking time to get in touch with his softer side, but he felt like he had to after what he'd done to her. Besides, he wouldn't be able to get far with her unless she pulled herself together.

Hunter heard a vehicle approaching the house.

“Oh, fuck. Stay here and keep low.” Hunter sat up and grabbed the AK. He rushed into the main room, tripping on his man-dress. Reaching inside the cardboard tool box, he groped around, but couldn't find the knife to cut himself free. When he heard the engine turn off, he gave up and dashed out the back door with his hands still tied up.

 

Hunter circled the building, constantly trying to get a better grip on the AK. The red Nissan with his bomb in the back was parked directly in front of the house, close enough that it would take out the entire structure if it detonated. He should've told Jackie to run out the back and take her chances with any gunfire.

“
Marhaba
,” the twins called out and didn't wait for a response from the boy. “Guess who ran out of gas in the Passat?”

Hunter wanted to spray the truck with bullets, but feared that a stray might set off a detonation. But he also didn't dare wait long, because it would be prayer time at any moment. He was sure as hell praying already.

As one of the twins slid from the cab, Hunter fired a burst into his chest. The recoil from the AK jarred Hunter and his bound hands struggled to target the second tango. The
muj
ducked behind the truck, then popped up to hurl rounds in Hunter's direction. Hunter shot another volley, then ran as fast as he could, circling around the back of the house. When he got to the other side, the tango had his back turned toward him, trying to figure out what had happened to his assailant.

“Hey, you fucking
muj
!” Hunter couldn't stand to shoot a man in the back—even one of them.

The twin spun around and Hunter squeezed the trigger. The man's face burst into chunks of pink flesh and dark blood, then he collapsed beside the truck.

The bomb.

 

Hunter ran as fast as he could to the truck and vaulted over the tailgate into the bed. He grabbed one red wire and yanked on it. It pulled free. Then he tugged on a yellow wire.

It came loose, disconnecting one of the two circuits.

He exhaled and let his head drop while he waited to catch his breath, but only for a few seconds. The shells could be unloaded later when he and Jackie were ready to use the truck to make their escape from this hellhole. Shaking his head, he couldn't believe how close it had come to detonating.

 

He went back inside and found a knife to cut his hands free. When he walked into the bedroom, Jackie sat up on the ripped mattress, trying to pull her torn blouse shut. He took this as a good sign. The room where she had been held contained no furniture other than the filthy mattress and a slop bucket in a corner. There was nowhere even to search for her pants. Hunter pulled the dishdashah from the boy with some difficulty. His limbs were already starting to get a little stiff. Rigor happened fast in the hundred and twenty degree heat. He rolled the corpse so it was face down, more out of respect for Jackie than the dead tango. He shook the man-dress out, opened the hole for the head and handed it to Jackie.

“I'm sorry, but this is the best we've got right now.” He helped her get it over her head and put her arms into the sleeves like he was dressing a child.

“What happened?” she said, barely moving her lips.

“Don't worry about it. The twins are dead and so is the boy. We're the only ones here.” He took her arm and gently pinched her skin. It tented and very slowly settled back to normal, indicating severe dehydration, but he already knew that. “We've got to get you some fluids.”

“There was one more.”

“He's at large. Out of gas somewhere between here and town—wherever the hell that is.” Hunter extended his hand to her and she took it and pulled herself to her feet.

“I want him dead.” She stared at the corpse of the teenage
muj,
then kicked it twice. She bent over, removed his sandals and put them on.

“You'll get no arguments from me.”

“I mean I want you to track him down and kill him.” She wobbled from the room.

 

Fazul was baking in the Passat at the side of the small desert road. The twin morons couldn't be trusted to do anything right. All they had to do was throw a can of gas into the back of the truck without hitting the IED and come back for him. They were probably indulging themselves in the pleasures of temporary married life with that American harlot. He regretted ever taking a hostage. They were too much distraction and he still hadn't found anyone to pay enough ransom for her to make it worth his trouble. The husband had seemed uninterested.

He flipped open his cell and called his cousin who agreed to pick him up. Praise be to Allah that Omar had closed his electronics store early and was nearby, so it would only take a few minutes to swing over. He hung up the cell. If the twins were not back by the time Omar got there, he'd have him drive to the house and he'd kill both of them along with the American whore. He snatched a prayer mat from the back seat, got out of the car and used his cell phone to check the direction toward Mecca.

Any moment, it would be time for afternoon prayers.

 

Jackie walked through the main room and out the back door. Soldiers lived with their guns in combat and Hunter was still on the battlefield. He was not going to make the mistake of letting his guard down a second time, so he picked up the AK and ran after her. One of its sharp edges cut his hand.

“I've got to get out of here,” Jackie said. Her eyes were glazed and she didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.

“Sit down.” He pressed lightly on her shoulder as she tried to walk away.

“No, I have to go.”

“You're severely dehydrated. You're not thinking straight.” He took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the shade of some date palms about fifty meters from the house. “Sit here in the shade.”

She ignored him and walked out of the compound's back gate and into the desert. Hunter reminded himself that he needed to be patient, when he really wanted to shake her to her senses and if that didn't work, knock her out and carry her to safety. He followed the crazy chick into the desert.

Hunter thought he heard something and turned back to the compound in time to see a brilliant white flash, then an orange fireball rising into the sky. He shoved Jackie to the ground and threw his body over hers just as he heard the loud clap. The earth shook as the blast wave passed. A piece of tangled red metal fell near Hunter's head, missing him by inches. A hailstorm of concrete cratered the desert around them, then smaller debris pelleted his back. As if someone were sifting the particles by size, sand followed. Then suddenly everything was quiet and a dust cloud enveloped them, making the air hard to breathe.

He rolled off her the moment he thought it was safe and he hoped to god he didn't re-traumatize her by throwing his body on top of hers so suddenly. The last thing he wanted was to go back to ground zero with her. He coughed, then pulled the sleeve of his dishdashah up to his face. “Breathe through your clothes,” he instructed as Jackie pulled herself up off the ground. “Everything's going to be fine now.”

“What happened?” She pulled the dishdashah over her nose and mouth.

“Their truck bomb detonated somehow.” Except Hunter knew how. He'd pulled out only one set of yellow and red wires. He couldn't believe he had disabled one of the parallel circuits but had forgotten the second set of wires. Too many things had been going on at once, but still he couldn't imagine that he'd been that careless. It didn't take long for him to convince himself that one of the tangos must have survived longer than he had thought and caused movement that had set it off. That would be what he'd tell the guys in the unit, anyway. Then he remembered he no longer had a unit.

“I have to find some water for you. Come on. Let's hope those palms are still intact so you can have some shade to sit in.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Sweat evaporated so fast he didn't notice it anymore. As soon as the dust cleared, the mid-afternoon sun would be relentless. They needed water fast.

 

Most of the mud wall circling the compound somehow had held together, testament to the years of baking in the desert heat. The house had not fared as well. It was gone. Disappeared. Poof. Rubble littered the ground, but not nearly as much as Hunter had expected. Some of the dust he was breathing had probably once been the house. A twisted section of truck chassis no bigger than a bicycle was all that remained of his escape vehicle. Hundreds of flies swarmed in several places. He had been in combat enough to know to avoid those spots marking fresh flesh and blood.

The house had shielded the well from the worst of the blast. Hunter dropped the bucket into it and waited for a splash. It clanked as it hit the dry bottom.

He pulled the rope, hoisting the bucket back to the surface. The well was shallow, not more than twenty feet deep. Since mud coated one side of the bucket, water couldn't be too much deeper. The rope was long and it didn't seem too badly frayed. Peering into the dark pit, he knew what he had to do if he didn't want them both to die from lack of water.

Hunter tied the rope to one of the date palms. Jackie sat watching him, her arms crossed, rocking herself. No way was he going to leave his AK with the unstable lady. It was going down the hole with him.

He kicked off his sandals and threw his leg over the side. His man-dress caught on a broken brick. He couldn't stand maneuvering in the awkward thing any longer. He had no doubt why the man-dress had never gone over in the West. They totally sucked. Man-purses like some Europeans carried at least had some practical advantages he could understand, but not the mandress. He vowed never to give a woman a dress as a gift again. It wasn't right.

Hunter turned to Jackie and shouted. “Look the other way, okay?”

She shook her head and didn't turn away as he propped the AK-47 up against the side of the wall and peeled off the dishdashah. He reached for the gun again, then talked himself out of taking it with him. It would be an extra hassle and it was very unlikely that a target would lean over the top and into the very narrow range of fire he'd be afforded from the bottom of the well.

He lowered himself unarmed and naked into the well. He liked fast-roping, but not without protective gloves, so he kept his descent slow.