Pussycat Death Squad (19 page)

“Colonel al-Fariq is having you moved again. It's going to be all right,” he responded kindly. Lelia guessed that al-Fariq had forgotten that she and Abdullah had grown up next door to one another and their parents had been close friends. Pride had kept her from asking for quarter, and he wouldn't have granted any. But he'd been kind to her while she was incarcerated and had provided amenities that she knew were not available for most of the inmates. Al-Fariq had never been one to coddle those he considered to be his enemies.

Lelia was impressed with Astaria's understanding of how al-Fariq's mind worked and the canniness of developing an escape plan that took advantage of it. Having her moved on a regular basis played into his usual paranoid methods and no one would be suspicious of it.

Astaria took one of her arms to lead her out of the room. Lelia desperately wanted to run but knew that would raise suspicion, so she forced herself to walk at a slow, almost reluctant pace. They'd almost made it to the exterior door when one of the soldiers they'd left behind gave a sudden shout. She and Astaria took off at a dead run, crouching so as to make as small a target as possible. She almost collapsed in relief when Patrick and Stark burst through the door, their weapons drawn and ready.

Lelia lost her footing when Astaria pushed her through the open door as she drew her own weapon. Lelia landed several feet away, turning in a catlike motion to avoid landing on her face. As the firefight started, she struggled to her feet, encumbered by her restrained hands. She knew that they were overmatched by at least two men. Frustrated by her inability to help, she looked around for the vehicle that would be their means of escape. Perhaps she could at least have the truck ready to go when they emerged. Her eyes had just adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the outline of a four-ton truck, when the sound of automatic gunfire intensified. Her heart sank. The getaway hadn't worked. Unable to help in her own escape, she crouched in the shadowy recesses around the corner from the entrance, watching the door, fearing who would come through. Were they all dead? The cold knot of fear in her belly tightened as she visualized Patrick's lifeless body. He was so vibrant and full of life, it was almost impossible to comprehend that he might be gone. What about her soldiers? She could hardly bear the notion of being responsible for even more deaths.

Lelia was so caught up in mourning that for a moment she feared hallucinations when the doors suddenly burst open and Astaria and Sarai began backing out, still steadily firing their weapons. She watched her soldiers retreat even as the gunfire abruptly stopped. She squinted against the darkness, seeing only muzzle flashes in the night. Where was Patrick? Her panic increased as she looked around frantically. When he came charging out, with Stark right on his heels, she wanted to leap into the air. Patrick paused for a moment on the stoop, clearly looking for her. When she emerged from the shadows, he grabbed her arm, and they began running toward the truck. Their harsh breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness after the firefight. Lelia struggled to stay on her feet without the use of her arms as they ran full tilt away from the palace.

Stark jumped into the driver's seat with Astaria riding shotgun while Patrick practically threw Lelia into the back of the truck. Sarai and Mura barely had time to jump on board before Stark gunned the motor, burning rubber out of the parking lot.

Lelia peered into the darkness as Sarai uncuffed her hands. Patrick and Mura were kneeling near the tailgate, their weapons raised just in case they were being followed. But Lelia could tell there was no one behind them. That was strange. Why weren't they being pursued?

Patrick responded as though he had read her mind. “It's the damnedest thing. They had us dead to rights, more men, more firepower, but they stopped halfway down the hall and quit shooting at us.”

Lelia breathed a sigh of relief. Abdullah
had
come through for her. She sent up a brief prayer of thanksgiving that Allah had been so generous.

* * *

Once it became obvious that they weren't being followed, Lelia relaxed against the side of the truck. Patrick and Mura holstered their weapons, and he slid over to her side. She sat staring at him, just eating him with her eyes as they bumped along in the back of the truck. There were dark shadows under his eyes and they were more than a bit bloodshot, but considering that she'd spent the past ten days convinced she'd never see him again, she didn't care how he looked. She just delighted in seeing him at all.

Lelia inhaled sharply when he reached out a callused hand and traced a finger along the path of a tear slipping silently down her cheek.

“My little commando,” he murmured softly. “I thought you were too tough to cry.”

Lelia sniffed loudly. “Those aren't tears. Your smell is making my eyes water. What did you guys do, swim all the way here?”

Patrick didn't take the bait. “I'd swim through hell itself to get to you.”

Lelia closed her eyes briefly. “Now I am going to cry.”

Her breath caught as Patrick cupped his hands around her face and then lowered his mouth to hers. The sudden hunger overwhelmed her senses and Lelia opened her mouth as wide as possible, taking in as much of him as she could. She tangled her tongue with his, pressing herself so close against him that not even a breath separated them. She felt rather than heard his groan as he grabbed the back of her head in his hands, slanting his mouth over hers. He began devouring her, his lips insistent against hers, his body pressing her against the side of the truck. Heat bloomed along her nerve endings, leaving her oblivious to the discomfort of the metal digging into her flesh. During her incarceration, she'd become convinced that she'd never feel this way again. Having it returned to her so unexpectedly left her almost light-headed with joy. Lelia shivered uncontrollably relishing the moment.

Somehow she heard Sarai's sardonic, “I know you probably haven't noticed, and really, who could blame you? But, Sergeant, you two are not alone. Thought I might mention that before this gets really embarrassing.” From the soldier's tone of voice, Lelia suspected it wasn't the first time she'd tried to intervene. Lelia opened her eyes slowly. Patrick's were still tightly closed in a grimace that almost looked like pain. She reached up to smooth his brow and whispered against his lips, “Trick, darling, we have to stop.” Patrick groaned again and the grimace briefly deepened; then, as though he had suddenly come back to reality, he slowly pulled away. He stroked her face for another long moment, then leaned down to press his forehead against hers.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you again,” he murmured, his thick tones almost incomprehensible.

Lelia placed her hands over his. “I know,” she whispered back. “I felt the same way. I was so scared.” She closed her eyes as her voice broke. “I thought I would die; then I thought you were dead.” She exhaled heavily. “I don't ever want to be that scared again.”

He pulled her closer against his chest. “I know, baby, I know.”

She rested against him, relieved to absorb his strength and revel in the knowledge that for the first time in her life she had someone to lean on. Gradually, she became aware of the air around them changing. The salty tang was unmistakable. She raised her head, looking around at the vehicle's other passengers, then back at Patrick. “Where are we going?”

He grinned down at her. “It's our escape route, sugar. Don't worry. You'll come out smelling as good as we do.”

* * *

“I can't believe you cut your hair for me,” Lelia said. “Especially you, Mura.” Mura had always been understandably vain about her mane of lustrous mahogany locks.

Mura dipped her head. “Didn't seem like a lot to ask to keep you from losing your head.” She squirmed uncomfortably on one of the straight-backed chairs that occupied their tiny cabin.

Lelia was too overwhelmed by emotion to give a real response for that. The sacrifices they'd made and the risks they'd taken left her humbled. It was almost more than she could bear. To distract herself before she began weeping again, she studied the small cabin the captain had placed all four women in. Possessing only one narrow bunk and a few mismatched chairs lined up against dingy paneled walls, the room was less accommodating than her cell—and with more people. Thank goodness they expected to rendezvous with another vessel for the rest of their trip across the Mediterranean. She couldn't imagine having to sleep there. The captain had taken Patrick and Stark back topside. Neither man had seemed surprised. Apparently they'd worked on their passage to Laritrea and fully expected to do the same on the way back.

“I'm sorry you're having to leave home because of me.” She sighed. “I don't think any of us will ever be able to go back.”

Sarai shrugged from her perch on the room's only bunk. “Considering the alternative, it seemed a small price to pay.”

“We could hardly leave you there to die, Sergeant,” Astaria spoke up. “Even though I know you would've preferred it.” She leaned one shoulder against the wall. With her shorn hair and lanky body, only the softness of her face hinted at her femininity.

Lelia frowned. Her second knew her almost too well. Given that they'd been together since they were children, that wasn't particularly surprising. Still, it was odd that someone was so familiar with her most intimate thoughts. It was almost like seeing her image reflected in a mirror. Restless from finding herself confined once again, she began to pace the room. “I'm only wondering what we'll do now. We're literally women without a country.”

* * *

Lelia brought that question up the very next time she and Patrick were alone again. Returning to America with three additional women of Arab extraction was proving to be a bit problematic. Given the changed circumstances, Patrick hadn't tried to make his connection with a covert operative at sea. Instead, he took advantage of Laritrea's standing as a former French colony; all three women were admitted to France, and Patrick arranged for them to remain in Paris while he worked out the logistics of getting them into the States.

He'd been on a cell phone virtually full-time since their arrival. Lelia watched him as he gritted his teeth in frustration, then closed the device with a sharp
click
and tossed it onto the bedside table. He stood staring down at his hand for a brief moment. Finally, he picked up the phone again and punched in a number one-handed.

“Colonel Brown, there's been a slight change in plans.”

As she listened to Patrick's end of the conversation, it quickly became clear that Colonel Brown wasn't exactly pleased with his actions. Lelia wandered around the room, oblivious to the amenities she should have appreciated after days of incarceration. The thick carpet under her feet muffled her footsteps, and she idly picked up a crystal decanter before replacing it on the antique sideboard. She stood at the window, looking at but not seeing the beautiful postcard view of a small park riotously in bloom. Patrick's conversation continued for a long time, and Lelia struggled to tune it out. She didn't need anything to increase her anxiety. When he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, she leaned back against his chest with a heavy sigh.

“What did she say?” Lelia had met Colonel Brown briefly during her stay in America. She recalled being both shocked and awed by the diminutive woman, knowing instinctively that she was a force to be reckoned with.

“The parts of the conversation that are fit for mixed company are pretty straightforward,” Patrick mused. “As native Arabic speakers, the US military would love to have you. The problem is getting all of you into the country. Homeland Security is much less enthusiastic. They wouldn't mind having you, but they're so paranoid they see terrorists everywhere. Besides, they can't resist jerking the Marines around a little bit, either. ”