Pussycat Death Squad (15 page)

Lelia nodded. “Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant.” She nodded curtly, then took a step to continue on her way.

“Wait a minute. What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I'm going to assess the situation; then I'm going to get myself and the rest of my soldiers on the first airplane back to Laritrea.”

Just like that, all pretense of professionalism evaporated like water on a salt flat. “Have you lost your mind, woman? You do realize there's a war going on in your country?” he yelled.

“And just where the hell else do you think I should be?” she yelled back. “It's a war. I'm a warrior. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” he snarled back. “I've got plenty. What about the fact that you're my woman? Don't I have any say in this?”

“Would I have any if your country needed you? I'm a soldier. Trained specifically to safeguard the Colonel. What type of coward and traitor would I be if I cowered here while his life and the security of my country are in jeopardy?”

Sarai and Mura both turned to Patrick as though waiting for a return volley in a tennis match.

Lelia could all but hear him grinding his teeth. The muscles in his jaw stood out in high relief against his tanned skin.

“I understand all of that.”

“Good. Nice to know that you understand.” She turned to walk away again, but he grabbed her arm.

“I still can't let you go.”

Lelia hesitated, suddenly aware that two of her soldiers were watching as though a Wimbledon title were on the line. “Gunnery Sergeant, may I speak to you privately?” she gritted out, gesturing toward the Administration Building where his office was housed.

He turned on his heel and began walking quickly in that direction. Lelia followed, her every step demonstrating her increasing anger. She slammed the door when she walked into the office almost immediately on his heels.

“Have you lost your mind?” she yelled. “You can't talk to me like that in front of my soldiers. As a matter of fact, you can't talk to me like that, period.”

Patrick rubbed his hands over his face, clearly trying to regain his composure. “I'm sorry. Okay. I'm sorry. I saw a little bit of what went down, and the thought of you going into that situation makes me crazy.”

Lelia leaned against the door. “Could you just tell me what happened?”

“Nobody seems to know. Apparently, early this morning a bunch of armed men broke into one of his palaces. They captured Colonel al-Fariq and made an announcement of abdication. Then later on in the day, al-Fariq made another announcement nullifying the first one. No one really knows how, but it seems he escaped from the attackers and got to another palace.”

Lelia nodded. “The Palladium Palace. It's the best fortified, and it's almost impossible to approach covertly. I set the security up myself. Nobody can take him out of there, and nobody can come in without us knowing it.” She patted the cell phone she kept clipped to her web belt. “I wonder why I haven't been contacted.”

Patrick shrugged. “There's a lot of craziness going on. Maybe somebody destroyed the communications grid. You know that's the first thing you take out. Still, somebody's getting information out. It's all over the news.”

“I've got to go. I need to see the news and talk to my soldiers. I can't believe this has happened. They must be—” She choked off a sob. “It's all my fault. I left them there. They were just kids, and I thought they were too young to come to America. I didn't want them corrupted by Britney Spears and Red Bull, and now they're dead.” The sobs were coming faster than she could choke them back now. Pure agony resonated with each wail.

Patrick took her into his arms. “God, Lelia, I'm so sorry.” He tilted her head back to receive his kiss. It began sweetly and tenderly, but soon she was clinging to him helplessly as he ravished her mouth, accepting the comfort and distraction he offered. For just this moment she could think about something other than those young lives taken much too soon. She clung to his arms while she returned the kiss with answering desperation. Leaving him was going to be hardest thing she'd ever done. But she had no choice.

“I'll come with you.”

“You can't do that; you'll get an Unauthorized Absence. You don't have time to get authorized leave. Besides, we don't know who these people are yet. As an American, you could well make the situation worse.”

Patrick pursed his lips. After a long moment, he nodded. “I know you're right, but it chaps my ass to stand back while my woman goes to war by herself.”

“I'm hardly by myself, Patrick. You've been with us for nearly a month. It's hardly our first coup attempt. My soldiers know what they're doing. We got this.”

He smiled, and she knew he'd noticed her attempt at humor by using the American slang. She reached up to touch his face, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him once again.

Neither sought to extend this kiss. They both realized that time was of the essence.

“I'll call you,” she whispered against his lips.

“You'd goddamned well better. Otherwise, I will come get you.”

Lelia nodded.

Never doubting for an instant that he meant exactly what he said.

The sun glinting off metal immediately drew her attention. Lelia brought her weapon up, waiting for the flash that would pinpoint the sniper's position. Before she could find that one, another one flashed by her peripheral vision. She turned but realized with a sinking sensation that he already had a bead on one of her soldiers, who was shooting at a target in the opposite direction. Before that thought had even fully formed, she took off at a dead run to cover the soldier's flank, firing her rifle repeatedly behind her as she ran.

“Jamilla,” she yelled, crashing into the soldier's side. “You know better than to leave your flank exposed.” Even as she automatically corrected the soldier for getting caught up in the heat of battle, she examined her quickly for any injuries. She then resumed scanning the rooftops for additional gunmen. Two-story buildings with opulent tiled balconies enclosed the small courtyard. Unfortunately, those balconies with all their greenery could provide deadly hiding places for gunmen, and Lelia watched them avidly. The tile roofs were another likely sniper's lair, and she'd already taken out a couple of shooters from an overhead position. The tranquil little area had always been one of Lelia's favorite retreats for quiet contemplation. The central fountain still gurgled cheerfully, though it couldn't be heard over the cacophony of the gunfire. The tall palm trees, usually sought after for their shade against the afternoon sun, were now providing much-needed cover for them in the firefight.

Lelia squinted against the sun, straining to see any movement on the roof. Sunglasses were a necessary evil, diminishing the glare from the harsh sunlight, but they had a tendency to distort visual clarity. She was pretty sure she'd gotten the second sniper, but wondered what had happened to the one she'd sighted first. Then, suddenly, the man inexplicably rose to his feet. Lelia hesitated, wondering if he planned to surrender, but when he braced his weapon against his shoulder, she reflexively raised her own gun. She watched the blood blossom almost in slow motion over his face as her bullet found its target in the center of his forehead. His body weaved for a moment before it tumbled off the building. Lelia paused for a moment to ensure the man was dead, murmuring a brief prayer for his soul before scanning the roofs again. She thought she spotted another shooter behind one of the conical chimney pots, but eventually realized she was mistaken.

She wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand. Fighting in such close quarters had left the metallic scent of gunpowder hanging heavily in the air, triggering her allergies. The gloves, designed to protect her hands from the heat of her automatic rifle in heavy firing situations, itched more as they became saturated with her sweat. Wearing Kevlar vests in this heat was a necessary evil, but it guaranteed that she'd be soaked down to her underwear by the time the day was over. Both were minor irritants that she'd grown accustomed to over the years. Neither would distract her from the mission at hand, even as she found herself scratching at the snug fabric.

The fighting had been surprisingly light for a coup attempt. They'd been back in the country for several days, fighting their way, street by street to the Colonel's fortified position, and this was only the fifth pocket of resistance they'd encountered. Lelia turned to her right as Astaria began running toward their position behind a low wall in the courtyard of the city's central market. She and Jamilla returned fire, covering Astaria's flight.

Astaria hunkered down beside her, and the three of them continued to shoot back at the assailants. It didn't take long before an eerie quiet fell over the courtyard as everyone stopped firing. For the first time Lelia could hear the fountain. The sound was far from soothing, as it was much too soon for the gun battle to be over. Under those circumstances, the silence was almost jarring.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sergeant? I thought we agreed that you'd remain behind the bunker.” Astaria gestured toward a planter full of lush blooms on the far side of the courtyard they'd designated as a command post when they'd reconnoitered the area. “You could've been killed,” Astaria hissed at her, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet of the courtyard.

Lelia discharged an empty clip, shoving a full one into her weapon with a practiced snap of her wrist. She met Astaria's glare with a determined gaze of her own. “I'm not losing another one,” she said simply.

Astaria held her gaze for another long moment, clearly about to argue further when they were interrupted again by the resumption of gunfire. They returned intermittent rifle rounds for a brief moment, before one of the soldiers on the other side of the courtyard took the sniper out. After waiting for what seemed like forever to ensure there were no more combatants, Astaria asked the question Lelia had been dreading since the operation had begun.

“Ready to begin house clearing, Sergeant?”

Her heart heavy with dread, Lelia gave the order. There was nothing she hated worse than ordering her soldiers to secure a building. It was like going blindfolded down a dark alley. They could, and usually did, encounter just about anything. Jamilla and Astaria left to begin the operation while Lelia returned to her bunker in a remote corner of the courtyard where she could supervise the soldiers. She watched the minute hand on her watch ticking off the amount of time the operation should take. The all clear she received in less than half that time added to the growing sense that something was not right. A cold finger of dread traced the contours of her spine. Nothing about this coup attempt had felt right from the beginning. Too few men. Too little firepower. Too unprofessional. She stood up, looking around the small, enclosed space, not really seeing the shattered glass or the chipped stone fragments that littered the area, signaling its transformation from a refuge to a battlefield. Most of the damage was purely cosmetic, and even that was somehow wrong. In the previous coup attempt, there were dead bodies littering the streets, and most buildings had damage from mortar rounds. The street fighting had been brutal. Not so the skirmish they'd just had. They fought harder in training. Just what the hell was going on?