

Out of the Past

By P X DUKE

Copyright 2013 P X Duke

ISBN 978-0-9869558-9-1

Disclaimer

What follows is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Places mentioned by name are entirely fictitious and purely products of the author's imagination, and are not meant to bear resemblance to actual places or locations.

_For Irit, wherever you are._

Out of the Past

_Harry's comfortable family life is turned upside down when he learns that a former comrade long thought dead is alive and asking for his help. He puts his life on hold and pulls out all the stops as he races to the Horn of Africa intent on calling in every favor he is owed in order to rescue the woman who saved his life._

Contents

Out of the Past

More

About the Author

Out of the Past

Eloria

**ELORIA GREW UP** in the northern seaport of Haifa. She was separated from her sister, Irit, at an early age when she was sent to live with her grandmother, primarily because of a separation forced on them by family finances. By the time high school came around, they were hanging out together and had become fast friends.

They would walk to school together, meeting in the middle of the street in their working-class neighborhood, forcing what traffic there was to slow down and honk their horns to get past them. Later, during school breaks they'd bus to the beach and hang out. Annoying the boys proved to be a big pastime.

When they turned eighteen they joined the army and gravitated to the MP Corps, where they went through training together. They ended up getting posted to the Golan. The fights they got into taught them how to back each another up and to take care of themselves.

When their tour was up their return to civilian life was characterized by boredom. Then one day Irit noticed an ad for security personnel with an overseas posting. She jumped at the chance. It didn't take much talking to get Eloria to do the same, and they took a short bus-ride for the interview.

It was a simple process, and given their former experience, they were offered the jobs. To celebrate, they went to the nearest bar and drank themselves silly in between fights with the other patrons. Eventually, they got thrown out and ended up puking their guts out in the alley behind the bar.

The next morning they showed up at the recruiting office for their travel documents. Foreign passports and identities were bestowed with a minimum of ceremony. Neither of them batted an eye at the forged papers. The next day they shipped out.

Their first assignment took them to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. While it turned out to be a cake-walk, it did get them accustomed to the security routine of working in a foreign outpost in a large city. Together they learned to do all over again what they had been trained to do back home. Even the weapons were familiar. The rapport they had with each other translated into an affinity for the work. They earned and received excellent reviews from their first employer.

Eventually, their reputation got them rewarded with more difficult assignments. They accepted all of them without complaint. Their most recent saw them on a flight to a northern Tanzanian town where they were unceremoniously dumped on an airstrip.

A small, single-engine plane, engine screaming, disgorged its passengers in a cloud of dust. It finished unloading, turned and taxied back to the strip to become airborne. The man shepherding the passengers remained behind.

—I wonder who he is?

They collected their duffels and walked to town.

At the only hotel they were greeted by _khat_ -chewing locals lounging around the entrance. After checking in, they met with the company man sent to brief them. Tomorrow, they'd be on-site in an isolated location deep in the bush.

The women collected their weapons and headed to the single joint in town to discuss their latest adventure and to do a little drinking to celebrate their new jobs.

**The bar was a** hole in the wall affair, dark and dingy and smelling mostly of dirt and sweat. There was enough light to plainly make out the white faces within. So far, theirs were the only ones. Eloria nudged Irit and the two women observed two men walk in.

—Take a look at that.

—Probably Americans. You can't get away from them these days.

—I don't care. Fresh meat for us to annoy. If they're looking for white girls, they found us.

She kicked two chairs towards the guys and they sat down. It was almost too easy.

—I'm Eloria. My partner is Irit.

—Pleased to meet you both. I'm Harry. He's Mike.

—You look familiar. Are you the one that helped unload the plane?

Eloria could tell by the looks the two men gave each other. Her question was an uncomfortable one. That was no surprise out here, given what was going on in the bush.

—Mike and I work for a mining company. Maybe you're with the same outfit?

—That depends on the name of the mining company.

He avoided the question and instead went where they weren't comfortable going.

—You're Israeli. I can tell by the accents.

—No, we're Canadian.

Mike went for more beer while Harry stayed behind.

—Actually, Mike and I are Canadian. And your accents sound like you might be from Montréal. Am I right?

Shit. Their cover had been blown. By actual Canadians. Now what? To change the subject, Eloria pulled a Galil from behind her chair and leaned it against the table. Irit did the same. Perhaps intimidation would work. It had before.

—What are you really doing out here?

—We're a couple of lost Canadians looking for a place to live and women to love.

The one called Harry did have a nice smile.

—Canadians for sure? That's all right with us, right Eloria? Come on, you two. Curfew is coming up. We have somewhere we need to be.

**Eloria woke up** to discover an arm moving beneath her pillow. She made a grab for it and almost missed. By the time her grip closed, the hand had managed to attach itself to the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun she kept there.

—Let it go.

—What?

—Let go.

Eloria worked her fingers beneath Mike's hand surrounding the shotgun. She pressed and twisted and extracted Mike's empty hand.

—Don't do that again if you know what's good for you.

She moved his warm hand to her cool breast beneath the thin sheet. She shifted against Mike's warm, sweaty body beside hers. In minutes she had him convinced and ready to make love to her again. She'd lost count of the number of times. Even so, she kept her mind on the shotgun until she lost herself in eager desire for the sweaty body beneath her.

Eventually desire was replaced by a need for drunken sleep. In her hung over stupor Eloria didn't hear Mike depart in the early light of dawn.

**Eloria awoke in** an empty bed. Still drunk and not yet sober enough to be hung over, she looked around, shrugged and pulled the shotgun out from beneath the pillow. She checked the chambers and put it in her duffel.

—Irit! Wake up. It's time. Let's go.

—Shit. What time is it? Where did the guys go?

—I have no idea. Come on. We're late to pick up our people.

They stumbled out to the waiting Jeeps and the crew of drunken mercs waiting to be transported to the airstrip servicing the bush camp. No one wanted to be first to climb on the Jeeps, let alone board an airplane for a flight. The unhappy load finally pulled up at the strip and those that could threw up while the remainder dry heaved.

—Look. It's our boys from last night. What do you suppose they're doing here?

—It looks like they're the aircrew. Shit. Here they come.

Harry nudged Mike.

—They must have followed us. How are we going to get rid of them?

—Hey, you're the one looking for a place to live and a woman to love.

—Did I really say that?

Mike regarded his friend.

—Yes.

—In that case, they must be all right.

Harry's manner went into gruff mode as he approached the women.

—What are you two doing here? Did you follow us?

Eloria, still hung over and in no mood to take shit from a one night stand, pulled the Galil off her shoulder. She waved it in Harry's direction, keeping the muzzle pointed into the air.

—We're with the mercs. Do you have a problem with that?

The look she gave him must have convinced him otherwise. He mellowed and she returned his smile.

—Why didn't you say something last night?

—We didn't know who you were.

—Now that you do, load those drunken excuses for men into the plane. Be sure to tell them that if any one of them gets sick in my plane, I'll personally toss them out.

Even in her drunken stupor, Eloria knew that Harry wasn't a man to be trifled with when it came to his plane.

—You and your partner can wait here with Mike until I get back. You'd better be sure your own guts are empty or I'll toss you both out, one at a time.

Eloria made up her mind on the spot. Harry and her sister would be a good match. She grinned like a puppy at the man Irit had welcomed into her bed.

**The Pilatus returned** and taxied to a stop with a high-pitched scream surrounded by a cloud of dust kicked up by reverse pitch on the prop. The pilot didn't shut down. Instead, he got out and motioned for them to climb aboard. Eloria didn't like what she saw. No seat belts. No seats. No intercom.

—Holy shit. We're climbing on board a piece of junk.

Irit pointed a thumb inside.

—At least they've got some firepower strapped to the bulkhead. I wonder if they know how to use it.

Mike, annoyed and still hung over, was in no mood to take backtalk.

—Let's go, ladies. Stop bitching and climb aboard.

He unceremoniously shoved Irit up front with Harry and then took a seat on the floor beside Eloria in the cargo compartment. He removed two lap belts from a small compartment and fastened them clevis pins to the blocks on the floor. He waited for the woman beside him to buckle up before giving Harry the high sign.

He turned his attention to the woman beside him as Harry stood on the brakes and firewalled the throttle.

—What are a couple of nice girls like you doing in a place like this?

Eloria's response to Mike's question was drowned out by the scream of the PT-6 as it wound up for takeoff. Harry released the brakes, allowing the Pilatus to gain flying speed. At the appropriate moment, Harry rotated the control column and the Porter lifted and rolled onto the tail wheel. Lightly loaded, he initiated a steep climb, allowing the purpose-built aircraft to do one of the things it did best.

Eloria's stomach began churning. Keeping in mind Harry's admonition about throwing up in his plane, she closed her eyes and covered her ears.

She put Mike, sitting beside her and glued to her hip in the tight confines of the plane, on ignore for the rest of the trip.

**Up front, Irit** wasn't weathering the flight much better. She was as hung over as her sister in the back. Harry looked across at her, grinned, and regarded the familiar bush strip before it passed beneath the nose. He pulled the prop into Beta and pointed the nose down at a steep angle.

The Porter dove for the ground. A roller coaster flare and sudden stop coming so fast after touchdown had the desired effect. Eloria jumped out and headed towards the tail. Irit threw open the door and followed.

Together they leaned against the fuselage and threw up. Neither stopped dry-heaving until Harry kicked them both in the ass. The stereo dirty looks they gave him couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

—What did you think of my landing?

—Fuck you!

Mike threw the duffels out of the plane.

—Grab your gear and find a tent. We've got work to do.

Pale-faced, the women stumbled down the rows of canvas, still hung over and sweating in the bush humidity. They made their way to the bunkhouse. Rows of side-by-side cots didn't impress them.

—Shit. We can't bunk in with these guys. They'll have us for breakfast.

—I noticed that too. I wonder how Mike and Harry would feel about sharing a tent?

—They are kind of cute. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

—Ask? Let's tell. If they say no we'll worry about it after we unpack and get set up. Besides, they seemed all right in the bar last night. If we have problems, we'll handle them like we always do.

—They did treat us pretty good, even when they were drunk. I like them.

—So do I.

### ~ ONE ~

No place like home

**BY THE TIME** Harry got to the ringing phone, it was too late. The extension woke Sasha in the upstairs bedroom. Except for that, it was no big deal. She was accustomed to the late-night calls from Ops scheduling the never-ending positioning flights. He called up to her.

—Was it flight ops?

—She didn't say. I asked if you had to go in early, but she had such an accent I couldn't understand her. When I asked who it was, she hung up.

—Probably someone new in dispatch. Sometimes they get uncomfortable talking to wives.

—Which one of them has the heavy accent?

—Accent? As far as I know, none of them.

**On his return** from Africa, Harry cashed out everything he had to buy the house. He came to the realization that he still had feelings for his ex, Sasha. He hoped it would put an end to the woman's thirst for her own adventures. That she and their daughter chose to move in with him to share the place confirmed that she too wanted to give the relationship another try.

He hoped as well that it would put an end to the woman's thirst for adventure that was starting to look more and more similar to his own.

Since then, the past eight months had gone by in a blur. After accepting his friend Mike's offer of a flying job, he got posted in the north to fly a Twin Otter. True to Mike's word, he started out as a co-pilot, but it was starting to look like he'd be getting bumped to Captain sooner than expected. The extra money would come in handy now that he had a family again.

He grew accustomed to the rotation schedule of three weeks out and one week home. Sasha had some trouble getting accustomed to having him underfoot for seven days at a time. They both laughed when she told him, but she knew he wanted to be around for their daughter now that Christa would soon be into her tweens. He'd be around a lot more when he transitioned to one of Mike's jets.

The ease with which he fell into the regimented flying surprised him. He had become accustomed to the adventure and the highly-paid flying jobs he took in Africa to pay the bills for his formerly estranged family. He knew now that he should have taken Mike up on his job offer years ago.

He settled in to enjoy the fruits of his labor after the years spent roaming foot-loose and fancy-free across Africa. Who would have known? Both he and Sasha should have gotten a kick in the ass from someone a lot sooner. That someone was Mike's wife, Barbara, but rather than kick them, she let them be. Somehow, she knew that the inevitable would eventually happen.

And it did, finally. No thanks to his wandering ways. Hell, things were going so well in the relationship department with Sasha that they had talked about getting pregnant again. It wasn't always so.

Harry first met Sasha and her friend Barbara in Mexico. He and Mike took the women out of a bad situation on the Baja and brought them across the border to safety. Even so, she wasn't a very trusting person. She was dead set against marrying him. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with him. Mike didn't think he'd be able to crack her. Barbara knew different, but she never said a word about it until after the two married.

That told him how close the two women were. At the time he made a promise to himself to never come between their friendship. So far, he never had.

He saved Sasha's sorry ass one last time on the Horn of Africa after her kidnapping adventure. That was almost nine months ago.

It was about time he asked her to marry him again. That ought to keep her out of the hot seat and close to home for the duration. His mind was already made up. He committed to doing it before he left on his next rotation. She'd have three weeks without having him underfoot to think about it.

Harry was confident it wouldn't take her even that long to get her to bite the bullet for the second time.

**The phone rang** again. Harry's hello was an empty greeting. He never got a chance to say another word. It was all he could do to understand the thick accent of the woman who wouldn't stop talking. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. When he put the phone down, all thoughts of a proposal and a wedding were gone out the window.

In his old life, he would never have bothered to tell Sasha a thing. He would have packed and left. Now, in his new life with Sasha and their daughter Christa, he was committed to telling her everything.

Harry reluctantly climbed the stairs to the bedroom, but not before a trip to the garage to dig out his old duffel bag.

—What's going on? Do you have to leave early? Give me a minute and I'll drive you.

—Damn it. I don't want to do this. I thought I'd have more time. It's only been ten months.

Sasha's attention went to what he dropped on the foot of the bed. She recognized it as the dusty old bag he had hauled across the African continent countless times. The look on his face and his words warned her something was bothering him.

—It's only two a.m. It's not time for you to leave. What's going on?

—I just had a phone call–

She didn't let him finish.

—It wasn't about work, was it?

—No. I'm going to have to leave for a while.

—No you're not. There's no way you're leaving both of us behind ever again. I don't care what's going on.

—I gave my word.

—Then I'm coming with you, Harry.

Grim-faced, Harry looked at his partner. Together, they'd been through so much. Stubborn as the woman was, he knew there was no way he'd be able to convince her to stay behind. He tried anyway.

—I can't take you. I refuse to let the mother of our child put herself in harm's way ever again. You'd better know that by now.

That was all he had. He already knew it wouldn't be enough.

—If you leave, I'm going with you and that's all there is to it. If it's what I think it's about, you're not going without me.

—In that case, Christa is going to have to stay with Barbara and Mike. I can't tell you anything until you drop her off. I can't take a chance on Mike finding out anything.

The expression on Harry's ashen face said more than he wanted. He started packing while Sasha hurried out of bed.

—I'll be as fast as I can. Barbara is going to give me the third degree. Judging by her reaction the last time I took off, she's liable to chain me to the balcony.

—I know. Throw some things on the bed and I'll pack your bag while you're dropping off Christa.

—What am I packing for?

—Africa. I already made reservations for us into NBO.

So he had anticipated her. Sasha was secretly pleased.

—Barbara is going to have a fit when I arrive in the middle of the night.

—You can't say a word to her. Mike will want to know what's going on. It's bad enough that I have to send you to tell him I won't be at work tomorrow.

—You can't call him?

—He'll have too many questions that I'll feel obligated to answer. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

—It's about the women who got the two of you across the border and out of Tanzania, isn't it? Just how many years ago was that?

—Not long enough, apparently. I didn't let on, but it's been eating me up for quite a while. I need closure.

—You can tell me about it on the way to the airport.

**Barbara met** Sasha at the door and ushered the three of them into the kitchen. Already she knew by the look on her friend's face that there was something serious going on. She took Christa upstairs and put her to bed before coming back down.

—It's oh dark-thirty. What the hell is happening, girl? Is it Harry?

Sasha looked at her trusted friend. If she only knew how hard it was for her not to give up Harry's secrets.

—I can't tell you on pain of death by nagging. Or worse.

Harry would leave her behind, and that wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.

—If you're going off on another one of your expeditions, I'll have your hide. Sit and we'll have coffee.

—I can't. I don't have time.

—You will or I'm waking Mike.

—Harry will kill me for this.

—He won't kill you as bad as I will if you don't tell me.

Finally, she gave in. Their friendship was too strong to deny.

—I'm swearing you to secrecy, girl. Like old times.

—Here's to old times.

Sasha settled back in her chair and regarded her friend.

—I don't know much, if anything. He wouldn't tell me. All I know is he has tickets for Nairobi.

—Tickets? As in two?

—Yes. He already had them. He knew. I didn't have to convince him. He's not getting away again, no matter how dangerous he says it is.

—Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

—Whatever it is, it's my fault for traipsing off into the desert with that dimwit of a boyfriend. If it wasn't for that–

—If it wasn't for that, the three of you wouldn't be together.

—True, but even so. He made some deal to free up that airplane you all used. Harry wouldn't tell me what the arrangement was. Now I'm thinking it's come home to roost.

—I know as well as you do that Harry is always good for his word. If someone called in his marker, he'll move heaven and hell to make it good.

—That's what I'm afraid of. There's one more thing. You're going to have to tell Mike that Harry won't be at work for a while.

Sasha opened the door to leave. Mike strode across the kitchen and halted her at the door.

—Not so fast, woman.

Surprised, she turned and waited. An anxious look remained frozen on her face.

—You tell that son of a bitch that if he needs something, he'd better call. He doesn't have to beg for anything.

Sasha regarded Mike as she hugged her friend.

—Thank you, Mike. I will. But not right away.

Barbara released her friend and walked with her back to the door.

—I knew it. I gave away that damned shotgun way too soon.

—Oh, I hope not.

**Harry felt bad** about insisting that Sasha not divulge anything to Barbara. He knew how close they were, but still. It had to be that way. Mike would want to know too much and have too many questions he wouldn't be able to answer. He just didn't have enough concrete information to tell him anything.

It was bad enough he'd have to tell Sasha more about the two women that rescued them from the frying pan into the safety of Nairobi. He didn't even want to do that. It wouldn't be easy. He'd fill her in, but it would be Mike's recounting of the details that he passed on to her.

He remembered nothing. He had no recollection of his escape across the border from Tanzania to Kenya. The head wound suffered from the firefight at the landing strip had completely erased any memories of the drive to the border.

It was enough that Mike had finally shown up at the hospital in Nairobi minus the girls. When he told them that they'd been killed in the firefight, he almost lost it. He owed the two women everything.

Harry's phone rang a second time, interrupting his faulty memory. It was the information he had been waiting for. He hung up and made one call to an old acquaintance who ran an airline in Somalia. The former Somali Air had been the source of the DC-3 he and Mike had used to rescue Sasha on the Horn of Africa.

The phone rang a third time. This time it was his old friend Ali in Galkayo on the other end of the line.

—I need you, my friend.

—We're already on our way.

It was starting to look like payback would be a convoluted affair.

He went on-line to check flights. They'd be able to get into Galkayo from Mogadishu. Mog wouldn't be any fun with the rebels in control. He hoped a layover wouldn't be needed, especially now that his wife was coming along.

Dammit but he didn't want to put her in harm's way again. This would be number three and this time it would be on him if anything went sideways.

He had no idea where this exercise would lead, but he had to prepare as best he could. With his wife coming along, it was time to start calling in some of the favors he was owed.

Harry searched through his Africa kit and retrieved a small, dog-eared notebook. He flipped through the pages, anxious for the number he needed. The man on the other end of the line in Frankfurt listened patiently to Harry's instructions. He didn't ask any questions.

It wasn't the first time Harry had dealings with Frankfurt. It was someone he trusted implicitly. When he terminated the call, a shipment into Entebbe had been arranged. It was guaranteed to meet up with their flight to Nairobi.

**Sasha felt compelled** to tell Harry both Barbara and Mike knew something was going on.

—They've put two and two together and as much as said so as I was leaving. Mike must have been listening when I was talking with Barbara. He wasn't happy.

—He's going to have to live with it for now.

—What's next on the agenda? Did you get my bag packed?

—Yes. Our tickets are waiting at the airport. The taxi is on its way.

—I'm ready.

—I'm not.

The atmosphere in the taxi was subdued. Even though he was committed, having Sasha along was something Harry hadn't counted on. He should have known he wouldn't be able to stop her once she knew what the real story was.

—We'll be in Montreal in a couple of hours.

—I know, Harry.

—It's your last chance to back out.

—I think we can both be pretty certain that isn't going to happen.

—I know, but I have to say it. You know why.

—Yes, I love you, too. Even when I wouldn't admit it and booted the two of you to the side of the freeway.

Harry smiled. She finally admitted what he knew to be true after all these years.

**Harry didn't have** much to go on. Even so, as best he could he brought Sasha up to date on the events of the last few hours while they were en route to Montreal. He re-hashed what he remembered of Mike's conversation in the hospital in Nairobi.

—I can remember pretty clearly when we hit the blockhouse at the tanzanite mine. The intent was to put a little cash or gems in our pockets for traveling money since we weren't carrying cash. We came up empty-handed.

—Did you hurt anyone?

—No. When we learned there was nothing in the blockhouse, we got out as fast as we could.

—Are you sure?

—I remember that part pretty clearly. We were in and out in minutes after we got our hands on a vehicle. We made straight for the blockhouse. One of the women had already cleared it. I think it was Eloria.

—And?

—That's when it gets fuzzy. The last I remember clearly is high-tailing it down the road headed for the border. I can recall bits and pieces, but nothing that makes any sense. Believe me, I've tried.

—That's understandable. You were suffering from the double whammy of a shoulder wound and a concussion.

—Strangely enough, I can remember the landing at the strip and getting shot up. I remember being bandaged up by the mercs. I can recall the firefight. Even the almost two-day trek to the mine is pretty clear. But after we hit that blockhouse, that's the end of it. It went downhill from there.

Harry went on to tell her Mike's version of events as he had been told. Eloria rode shotgun. Irit sat in the back taking care of him. Mike caught sight of a Jeep in hot pursuit. He never slowed. It was full speed ahead.

It all started to go to hell when the RPG hit the tree just as they passed beneath it in the Rover. Irit took a branch full on that went into her chest. Eloria crawled into the back and tried to revive her, but she was already gone.

—So there was no chance that Irit was still alive by the time Mike got you across the border?

—Not according to Mike. He told me he had the pedal to the metal headed in the direction of the border with Kenya. Eloria manned up and returned fire. She popped smoke, handed Mike her shotgun and rolled out of the Rover onto the road.

Mike said the last thing he saw was the smoke engulfing her. She had her Galil shouldered and she was giving it a workout. A single Jeep penetrated the smoke, still in pursuit all the way into Kenya.

—And that was the end?

—Pretty much. He crashed through the border. A couple of klicks later he pulled Irit out of the Jeep and stashed the firearms, except for the shotgun. That's when he said he found the passports taped to the stock.

—After I got out of the hospital and before we left, I took them to the embassy, showed some I.D., got grilled for my troubles. The embassy rep wouldn't tell me a thing. I never saw the passports again.

—Could Eloria have been alive after the Jeep came out of the smoke?

—It's a possibility. She was a professional. She might not have wanted to shoot because we would have been in her line of fire down the road.

Harry took his wife's hand. He knew there'd be no talking her out of anything. He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. Now that he'd allowed Sasha to commit, there'd be no turning back.

**—Do you think** Mike ever told Barbara about Eloria and Irit?

—I have no idea. All I know is that it was never a subject of discussion for us once I got out of the hospital.

—What happened with the passports?

—In spite of their passports, I knew they weren't Canadian. Their accents were too thick. I dropped the documents off at what I thought was the proper embassy and ended up getting the third degree for my troubles. They must have been satisfied, because I was released after a couple of hours.

—That was pretty momentous for both of you. You think he'd have at least mentioned it to Barbara.

—I don't know, Sasha. Like I said–

—I know. Like you said. So if he told her, why didn't you let Mike know about the call?

—Because lining up the DC-3 that we used to rescue you was entirely my deal.

—But you must have known that eventually someone would want to get paid back.

—I knew. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

—What aren't you telling me?

Harry sighed.

—Eloria might still be alive.

This was why he didn't tell his wife anything about the phone call before they left Mike and Barbara behind.

—What? The woman with the accent on the phone? Say that again.

—There's a chance that Eloria could still be alive.

At least, that's what it sounded like, judging by the heavily accented female voice on the other end. Not only was Eloria alive, but she was somehow connected to Ali in Galkayo. How could that even be possible? And where had she been all these years? Why was he getting calls from her only now?

He shut his eyes again. In another thirty-six hours, he'd know one way or the other.

**Harry couldn't help** having second thoughts. The comfortable life he had made for his family was already turning upside-down. Not only that, his once and future wife insisted on coming along. That could turn out to be trouble. And if it wasn't, it could at the least be a very bad idea.

—It's not too late to turn back. For either of us.

—I've been thinking about that, too. Do I really want to pull up stakes and go on a hunt with you for people who may or may not want us interfering in their lives? Do we even know who it actually is? Going by your description of the voice, it could be anyone.

—I've known Ali a long time. I don't think he'd let himself be used if he didn't think it was the right thing to do. He wouldn't call me over there for something trivial.

—Perhaps you're right.

Harry's phone rang one last time. His face turned ashen. When the phone went dead on the other end he wrote down the number and turned it off.

—If you want to call Barbara and check on Christa, do it now.

He already knew what Sasha would say.

—There's no need. I trust Barbara. Our daughter will be fine, no matter what.

—We're going to ditch our phones. We'll pick up a couple of burn phones in Nairobi. Take out your SIM card and the memory and toss the phone in the trash. I'll flush the rest.

—Are you going to tell me who that was?

—Yes.

—Well then, do it.

—It was Eloria. At least, it sounded like it could be her.

—She's alive. After all these years. What did she say?

—Not much. She didn't have time. She's with Ali in Galkayo.

—With Ali? How did she get there from Tanzania?

—I guess we'll be finding out soon enough.

—Yes, we will. There's no way you're going to be talking me into going home now.

He smiled thinking Sasha was just as stubborn as he was, if not more so.

—One more thing.

—Yes?

—Her last words before she hung up were, ##Please help us.

—Us? Are you sure?

Harry couldn't believe it either.

—Yes.

—But I thought Irit was dead.

Was it she and Ali who needed help? Who else could it be? Harry mulled over the possibilities in his mind.

—So did I.

### ~ TWO ~

A Dangerous Road

**HARRY LOOKED ACROSS** the aisle at Sasha. He still wasn't pleased that he'd not been able to shake her determination to accompany him on this mission. Perhaps if he adopted a brusque attitude he'd convince her he meant business.

—When we land in London I have a meeting to go to. You're not invited.

Sasha wasn't having any of it.

—In that case, when we land in London, we'll be staying overnight. I'll make a reservation in arrivals so you'll know where to go.

—I'd like it better if you flew home from here.

—Yes. I love you, too.

—Damn you, woman. Do you ever listen?

—Harry, if you haven't learned anything about me by now, you never will. When was the last time you talked me out of anything?

He didn't have to think.

—Well, there was that one time on the Baja in the Jeep–

—If I remember right it was me who did all the talking then, too.

There was no getting around it. Sasha had his number and they both knew it.

—You're right. I did all the talking when I convinced you to marry me. You listened for so long that I thought you were deaf.

—Yes, dear.

To change the subject, Harry pulled some old aerial photos and maps from his carry-on. He described the long trek the four of them made across the bush to the mine site. He remembered most of that, probably because he had to work so hard to overcome his wound and the concussion. The forced march had given him something to concentrate on.

He left out how he and Mike had met the girls the day before and ended up spending the night with them. If Sasha had questions, she wouldn't hesitate to ask. So far, she hadn't. The seatbelt sign lit up and he tucked the photos away.

—I want you to use your American passport to get through customs.

—Why?

—If anyone is fishing through the databases, they won't expect it.

—All right, if you insist.

—Once you're admitted you can destroy it. From then on you'll be a full-blooded Canadian, and attached to me.

—I think they call it married, Harry.

—Some do. Some don't. We're divorced, remember? Where we're going, it could make all the difference when you can drop my name into the conversation.

He changed the subject again.

—After you find us a room, I'll be heading to a meeting with an old Africa hand. I tried to make some arrangements before we left, but with all the electronic snooping going on these days I decided to finalize things in person.

—How many markers are you calling in?

He'd need an airplane and some munitions to go with it. He had already decided on a two-seater. And he knew of just the one if only he could get his hands on it. It would be perfect for getting two people out of trouble. Sasha wouldn't know it, but she wouldn't be one of the two. If he had anything to do with it, she'd be sitting poolside at a resort in Nairobi.

—All of them.

This time, when he was finished, there'd be no returning to the Dark Continent.

**Harry thought back** to the job ad Mike had shown him years ago. It hadn't taken long to make up his mind and get off a response by cable. When adventure called, he always answered. He didn't know at the time where it would take him, but eventually that job ended up earning them a position in the huge African arms market. It was one that Harry suspected he would have to use to its full advantage now that he had a final mission to perform.

He had no idea what transpired back in the camp when Mike was rounding up help to come to his rescue. He was just grateful that someone finally showed up. In fact, after he got himself shot, he began to think that he wouldn't be getting out alive. Then he heard the explosion of a shotgun blast in the middle of a firefight. He knew right away that a sound like that wasn't a part of any rebel's arsenal.

Even more surprising to him was how the rescued mercs didn't want anything to do with their rescuers. He guessed that being saved by a couple of women wouldn't be a story they wanted to be witness to when it got told in a bar. An event like that would follow them for life. He never stopped hoping the chickenshit sons of bitches were left guarding shithouses in a flood plain.

Harry had no recollection of their run to the Kenyan border. Whether both Irit and Eloria had still been alive before they crashed through the border were beyond his conscious memory. It was all he could do to recall being admitted to the Nairobi hospital.

When Mike told him what had happened to the girls, he took him at his word, and he took it hard. If it wasn't for the two female mercs that had taken a shine to both of them, he'd have been a goner. Together with Mike, those two had committed without question to rescuing him at the strip. When he heard they both had been killed trying to get him across the border into Kenya, he crashed for the second time in the hospital.

The recent phone call he received shot that all to hell. He was left to figure out what went wrong, and how he could fix it.

**Harry looked around** the messed-up London hotel room. They were traveling light, but the backpacks had been stripped and their contents thrown around the room. Anything with a seam had been ripped open and examined.

—I thought you were a better housekeeper than this. Perhaps I was misinformed.

—I was out for only a few minutes. I went down to the lobby to get a couple of magazines.

—It's a good thing. You might have ended up being held for ransom.

—As I recall from our last expedition, Ali in Galkayo had an eye for both me and Barbara. Unless you're planning on shipping me back to him, you'd better start talking.

—And as I recall, our last expedition, as you call it, was put in place to rescue you.

Sasha's feet were planted firmly on the floor and her hands were on her hips. The look in her eyes wasn't good, either. He was going to have to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. He didn't have it all put together yet. He'd go with what he had.

—Where would you like me to start?

—How about with the phone calls you got at home in the middle of the night?

—The first one was from Ali.

Harry stopped, but he knew he wouldn't get any peace until he came up with a reasonable explanation. This time, he wouldn't have to make anything up.

—Keep going if you know what's good for you. And don't try to take time to make it up as you go along.

She read his mind. She never did cut him any slack, but that was a good thing. He didn't want any.

—Ali called me because he didn't want to involve Mike. He wouldn't tell me everything on the phone because of all those American listening agencies, but I got enough to know he needs some help. He was practically begging me.

—And you can never turn down a friend in need.

—Well, you were in on the last episode with Ali. After what he did for us, would you say no?

—You're right.

—Before this is over I want you to put that in writing and sign your real name.

—You only wish.

—There's one other thing. That second phone call that came in at the house–

Sasha held a questioning expression on her face. He hesitated, but only long enough to know he would have to come clean.

—It was Eloria on the other end. It's been a long time since I heard her voice, but yes, it sounded like her. She's not dead by a long shot.

—Then what was Mike–

Sasha's voice trailed off.

—I don't know. That's why we're here. And no matter what went on, no matter what we'll be walking into, Mike and Barbara must never know. Is that understood?

Sasha took a long time contemplating her answer. Harry knew the two women were closer than sisters, closer than best friends, closer than he and Mike had ever been. Their adventures kept them even closer. Neither one of them had ever told anyone about their escapades before the four of them got tangled up. Harry hadn't asked any questions either. He never would.

—Well?

—You bastard. You're forcing me to cross Barbara, aren't you?

She gave him a hard look, and he knew he was into it with her now, whether he wanted to be or not. Then the look softened.

—All right. I promise. And both my hands are in plain sight so you can see no fingers are crossed.

—Good. Now come over here and give me a hug. It might be the last chance we get for a while.

Harry swept the clothes off the bed and pulled her onto it.

—It's not a Jeep, but we'll just have to make do with what we've got.

She pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

—Yes, we will.

**Harry pulled the** covers off of his wife. His eyes roamed up and down a body that kept him just as interested now as he had been when he first met her.

—Hustle it, girl. We've got ninety minutes to make the airport.

Sasha left the covers down and sat up. She enjoyed Harry's eyes enjoying her.

—You never did tell me what happed yesterday.

If we're going to make that plane, cover up, woman. You know my weaknesses.

Secretly pleased that her body still excited him, she did as he requested, at least with the sheet. She used her forearm and her long, dark hair to shield her breasts. She grinned at him.

—Is that better?

He ignored her, as she knew he would. He was all business now.

—I set us up for two scenarios. I pretty much figured I had to. We could end up with four people to get out of there. And I'm counting on you to be one of them.

—How so?

—I'll tell you in the cab. Now let's get it in gear.

—Harry. What's this?

She held up a small chip.

—Don't tell me. That was in your bag. I'd better take a look in mine.

—Now what?

—I think we can pretty much figure on attaching those things to the taxi. What do you think?

—I think we're into it now, whether we want to be or not.

They zipped their bags.

—Come on. It's time.

Harry loaded the bags in the taxi and pushed the bug behind the seat.

—That'll have to do for now. Did you flush it?

—The passport? Yes.

—Good. We're headed to Schipol. After a bit of a layover we'll hop on a milk run into Frankfurt and then deadhead to Nairobi.

—And once we get there?

—Well, initially I wanted a plane, but I had to settle for a boat of some sort. I'm out of my element there, but someone promised a knowledgeable crew.

—And if that doesn't work out?

—I'm depending on you to see that it does.

—Me? What are you talking about?

—You're the smarty-pants that came up with the plan to board that yacht down in Mexico. Now you're going to be my new captain of the merchant marine.

—Shit, Harry. I haven't seen hide nor hair of a boat since then. And if I knew how to sail one, I'd have climbed on board before I ever crossed paths with you two Baja bums.

—Look at it this way–you're just starting out and already you're a captain. At least you know enough not to wear spike heels and that your bottom should be covered up with just enough cloth to give the boys something to daydream about.

She dug an elbow into his ribs.

—You won't be so happy when I put us aground on some Indian Ocean shoal.

—Your knowledge of geography is astounding. Apparently it's an old tub that was salvaged and refurbished. I hope you won't be upset when I tell you that there'll be a small crew already on board.

—That's good to hear. I can't wait to have drinks served while improving my tan.

—I don't want to be the one to throw cold water on the vacay of your dreams, but more likely you're going to be the one doing galley duty.

**The power came** back on the airliner's engines and Sasha knew that meant a landing was coming up.

—We can't be close to Nairobi yet. It's too soon.

The Captain's voice came over the PA to make the announcement.

—Ladies and gentlemen, there's going to be a slight delay on our arrival in Nairobi. Presently we're setting up for our approach into Entebbe. We should be ten minutes on the ground and then we'll be airborne for Nairobi.

—I thought this was going to be a direct flight.

—It is.

—But–

—Is your seat belt fastened?

She knew better than to ask again. The jet banked left to line up on final and Sasha watched the runway lights flicker three times, then go out. They must have come back on, because once the jet touched down, she watched the field go dark again.

—It's pitch black out there. Not even the terminal is lit up.

—I told you. We're on a direct flight to Nairobi. Now relax and enjoy the spectacle that's about to unfold.

Wing lights turned on as the jet taxied into the darkness. The dark, ramshackle old terminal building was illuminated. Light reflected off the glass. The jet pulled even with an old hangar and braked. The lights went dark. The engines continued to run, humming through the fuselage.

The front door on the jet opened. A stairway bumped against the plane's fuselage. A man in a long overcoat entered the cabin. He walked the length of the passenger deck, dispensing the contents of two spray bombs. He did the same on his return trip down the aisle to the exit. An attendant closed and secured the door behind him.

A vehicle's dim headlights cut a path through the dark night. It was accompanied by a forklift carrying a large wooden box. The huge jet shuddered as a heavy pallet slammed down into a cargo compartment. The cargo door slammed shut and the engines spooled up to power the plane to the end of the strip.

The plane turned to line up with the airstrip. The runway lights illuminated. The engines spooled up, the plane accelerated, and they were airborne again. Under the wing Sasha watched the lights go out the instant the wheels left the ground.

—What the hell was that all about?

—We'll find out in NBO if we got everything we need.

—Christ, Harry, when are you going to tell me what you did over here?

Sasha had never asked about what he and Mike did during their overseas adventures. Harry had never once asked her about the years she and Barbara had spent on the Baja. They both sensed there was no use dredging up things that had long been put behind them.

—When you volunteer to tell me about what you were doing down on the Baja all those years.

—Touché. You're never going to ask, are you?

—No. And neither are you.

—I have a feeling I'm not going to have to ask. I think I'm about to find out first-hand.

**The captain announced** their Nairobi arrival. After landing, he taxied the passenger jet to a halt on an empty stretch of tarmac far from the NBO terminal building. He switched on the PA and made the second unscheduled announcement.

—Ladies and gentlemen, we're making a brief stop on the north end of the airport for cargo delivery. The passenger door will open momentarily to deplane two. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened until we can proceed to the Nairobi terminal building.

The flight crew cabin door opened in time to greet Harry and Sasha. The gray-haired older man with four bars on his shoulders looked at Harry and then flicked his eyes over Sasha. Harry smiled.

—This is for you, Harry. I received it in-flight.

He handed Harry an envelope.

—Good luck, you two.

—Thanks, Don. We're going to need it.

Sasha smiled warmly at the man and followed Harry down the airstair. Warm air greeted the pair as they stepped onto the tarmac. Harry put his arm around Sasha. He looked up the stairwell in time to see the wave before the door closed. It would be another few minutes before the plane would be able to taxi in the direction of the NBO terminal.

He eased Sasha in the direction of the forklift already hoisting the pallet out of open the cargo bay.

—Climb on and we'll ride with the goods.

A hangar door slid open and the forklift disappeared into the brightly-lit, cavernous space. Harry collected a pry-bar to lift the tops off the crates and ran through the inventory he had in his head.

—RPGs. Good. Shells. Good. Four Kalashnikovs. Mags. Grenades. Personal packs. Vests. A sat phone. A GPS each. We're good to go.

Sasha regarded Harry as he listed the details of his haggling.

—I'm afraid, Harry.

—So am I. It's natural. It's also good to keep busy. Let's get this armament loaded on the truck.

The forklift operator hoisted the crates on the back of the dilapidated two-ton he had made arrangements for with his Africa connections. He finished and they shook hands.

— _Merci_ , Jean.

— _Pas de problème_ , Harry. The truck doesn't look like much, but I went over it myself. She will be ##bonne all the way to Mombasa at least. I have the cell phones, too. They're charged and ready to go. _Bonne chance_.

Harry handed Sasha the envelope the pilot passed to him earlier. She withdrew a single piece of paper.

—Phone numbers. Two of them.

He turned on one of the phones and sent a text to the first number.

—Ali will get my number from that. You should do the same.

He dialed the second number and handed back her phone and watched her type, ##Sasha is here too.

—Good. Now he'll have us both.

Harry turned on his GPS, scrolled over to Mombasa and marked a dock in the port as their destination.

—Do the same for yours.

—So then it's Mombasa to pick up a boat and head north? What about an airplane?

—About that. I had to change plans in England. No plane.

—You're going to be a fish out of water.

—Pretty much. Except for the water part and the boat waiting for us in Mombasa.

—Shit, Harry. We don't know anything about boats.

—I don't know anything about boats. You, on the other hand, do.

—I know just enough not to wear spike heels and when to put on a bikini, remember?

—That might just be enough. Now come on. You're driving.

He had already made that decision. It would allow her to worry about something other than their mission. Whatever the hell it was.

—Pick up Mombasa Road. It's the A109. Stay on it until we hit water 400 kilometers away. And turn off your phone. We don't need to be tracked, in case anyone is looking.

Sasha followed Harry's directions and turned left into the black night, driving on the wrong side of the road. It was the right side as far as she was concerned.

—Eventually this four-lane will go down to two. Don't forget you should be driving on the left-hand side.

This late at night, there were no headlights bearing down on them in the heavy truck.

—The left side? That doesn't seem right, somehow.

She wrestled with the unboosted steering wheel and swerved into the ditch and onto the opposite side of the roadway.

—Are you sure?

—I'm sure. Carry on.

Harry caught the side-eye in the reflection from the dash lights. He smiled, knowing how feisty this woman beside him could be.

—By the end of the 400 kilometers to Mombasa, you'll be accustomed to driving the wrong side. It'll be second nature.

—If you say so.

—One more thing. The 109 dwindles to two lanes. It's a dangerous road. We'll be on it at night all the way to the coast. Don't hesitate to take the ditch and head cross-country if you see the need.

—After all those miles on the Baja road to nowhere I'm not going to end it on some highway to hell in the middle of Africa. You can take that to the bank.

Harry opened Sasha's backpack and rummaged through it. He found her passport and stuffed it down the front of her pants.

—That hurts! What the hell are you doing?

—Don't go anywhere without it, even to the bathroom at the tail-end of this truck. Having my name with you might make all the difference.

—Yes, master.

Harry teetered on the edge of putting the woman over his knee. He immediately tossed that thought out of his mind. He already knew it wouldn't do any good.

—You're not on the Baja any more. It's not a day-long drive to get to the safety of home. You're in unknown territory. If anything happens to me, you'll be screwed. Probably in more ways than one. Don't listen to me at your peril. Understood?

—Yes. I understand.

A crestfallen face regarded Harry.

—Good. Now stop looking so miserable and cheer up, partner. We've got a lot of miles to cover and I don't want my driver thinking about quitting on me all the way to Mombasa.

Harry grinned as he watched Sasha squirm and adjust the passport stuck in her pants. She grimaced and gave Harry a dirty look. Grudgingly, she knew he was right. She was on his ground now.

She would do whatever she had to make sure they got home safely with the human cargo they were on the way to retrieving.

**In the unfamiliar** vehicle, Sasha wrestled with the steering wheel. She struggled to keep the ancient truck on the strange road in the dark. There was no power steering. The brakes barely worked. The dim light put out by the headlights caused her to squint into the darkness. She finally gave up and halted the truck by the side of the road.

—Harry, this road is blacker than Toby's rear end. I can't see a damned thing. I think a headlight is out.

Harry sighed and walked around front. He manhandled a fender, finally kicking it into submission to direct the headlight onto the roadway.

—We're wasting time. We need to make Mombasa by sunrise.

—Is that another one of your deadlines?

—No. Most of the streets are unlit and too narrow for vehicles this size. I don't want you wedging this thing between buildings in the middle of a donkey path.

Sasha sighed and checked the mirror as she wrestled the two-ton back on the highway.

—There's something following us. Another truck, I think. I don't know if he's been following us for a while.

—Pull over and let him go. I'm going to get in the back.

Harry vacated the cabin and climbed into the canvas-covered back of the truck. He opened the bag with the AKs and took out two. He checked the actions. In the darkness he felt around for the mags and picked out two.

He loaded mags and passed an AK through the driver's window. It bumped Sasha's shoulder hard. The truck swerved and straightened. She yelled back to him.

—Christ, are you trying to knock me out?

Her voice was lost in the diesel truck's engine noise.

—No banana mags for you, dearie. You'll have to do with a single. I'll be staying back here for the duration.

He dug out a couple of grenades and stuffed them in his vest pockets. He loaded more mags and sat them by his foot. ##Just in case, he told himself. He settled in and fell asleep in the wake of diesel fumes, serenaded by the whining engine and its diesel fumes on the bumpy road.

Sasha brought the lurching truck to a sudden halt in the middle of the dark road and killed the lights. Harry's head bumped against his knees, waking him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stuck his head out from beneath the canvas, and leaned through the window.

—Why are you stopping?

—There's a vehicle across the road in front of us.

Sasha adjusted the muzzle of the AK across her lap and pointed it towards the door. She made sure to push the safety full down.

—Go slow. I'll stay out of sight back here.

The headlights barely illuminated two men crouched by the orange glow of a fire on the side of the road. They left its warm comfort and cautiously approached the two-ton. AKs hung carelessly off their shoulders, obviously unprepared for an argument.

— _Nzuri asubuhi nyeupe mwanamake_.

Uncomprehending, Sasha yelled.

—English!

Startled, the men stepped back.

—What are you doing all alone in the dark, _mwanamke_?

Harry poked his head out from behind the boxes. The AK registered immediately with the men. He stood and covered them off with the muzzle of his own pointed in their direction.

— _Kiasi gani kupita?_ How much?

—Nothing for you, _b'wana_. Pass by.

The men stepped aside and waved the truck through. Sasha shifted into first gear and the truck groaned into the ditch and past the makeshift checkpoint. Harry followed the two men with his eyes until they were out of sight in the dark.

—You handled that like a pro. You're hired, girl.

—Hired or not, you're stuck with me. According to you, the odometer says there's another eighty klicks to Mombasa. Go back to sleep.

—One more thing before I do, sweetie.

Sasha concentrated on keeping the truck on the road in the pitch black. Busy and annoyed, she asked.

—What's that?

—You can turn your lights on now.

Harry returned to his nest in the back of the truck. The sound of gunfire only minutes later brought him back.

—What we passed was probably a sentry for the main checkpoint up ahead. Be prepared to motor through whatever is in front of us. I'll do the talking.

Sasha doused the lights a second time. Not wanting to chance anything, she steered the truck off the road into the shallow ditch. Headlights and a fire pit winked in the distance. In the back of the truck, Harry loosened his belt. He tucked two RPG rounds into it before arming himself with the RPG he already had loaded.

—Get back on the road. Leave the lights off. Go slow and keep your head down. I'll be staying back here.

—We need another driver.

—You're doing a good job, dear.

—You're only saying that because you don't have anyone else to say it to.

—No. I'm saying it because you're doing a good job and I love you. And because there's no one else that needs a compliment right now.

The safety on Sasha's AK came off. She was prepared for the worst.

—I don't like being all alone up front.

—Get used to it. We're almost in Mombasa. There can't be much more of this.

—You forgot to add, _Unless someone is tracking us_.

—Well, yes. There's always that.

Rounds twanged through the rusted cab. Sasha ducked and kept on towards the fire. Harry launched an RPG round in the direction of the blockade. He sent his reload towards the fire pit. The twin explosions quieted the gunfire. Only the glowing fire remained.

For spite, he unloaded another round, but there as nothing left to hit. He tightened his belt and climbed into the cab.

—Keep driving. Don't stop for anything until we're in the city.

Sasha walked the truck through the smoke past Harry's RPG carnage. She sniffed the air and, unseen in the darkness, made a face.

—What's that sweet smell?

—Burning flesh.

**Sasha bumped the** truck through a ditch, realized what she had done, and followed the shallow depression back onto the 109.

—I can't see a damned thing with the sun in my eyes.

—Then slow down. Mombasa is right in front of you.

The brakes on the rusty two-ton screeched as she brought it to a halt and climbed out.

—If you can do it better, have at it.

—Are we about to have our first fight on this trek?

—I'm tired. I'm a nervous wreck. You're going to drive this tank to wherever the hell you want to park it.

—Well why didn't you say so?

—Don't bug me. I just did. I'm going to try to get some sleep. See if you can wrangle this thing through the streets without bumping and grinding, okay?

It pleased Harry to see Sasha upset with him. She was coming along nicely. In fact, she passed the test.

—Si, madame. You did a great job driving through those checkpoints. I didn't expect you'd keep going, but you did. I'm happy to know I can depend on you.

Harry hugged Sasha and kissed her on the mouth like there was no tomorrow. If they weren't in the middle of the highway-

He slapped her rear and watched as she climbed into the passenger seat in her tight fatigues. Damn but she was hot. When had she changed into them?

—Harry.

—Yes?

—Stop staring at my ass and get in. In case you forgot, it's your turn to drive.

Harry entered the city and eased the truck along a narrow street towards the Indian Ocean and the sun already up. He stopped about a hundred meters from shore. No dock. He stopped and rummaged through his backpack for a map. He left Sasha, curled up on the seat and sleeping.

He walked the narrow streets, searching for where he thought the dock should be, trying to find a way through the congestion for the big truck. By the time he returned, Sasha wasn't curled up on the seat any longer.

Goddammit, where did that woman get to this time? He yelled her name. There was no response. He turned in the direction of a whistle and she appeared, bags in hand and sporting a different top.

—This time I wanted to actually go shopping. I was getting smelly in those old clothes and thought I'd try and track down something lighter.

—You do know how to worry me half to death, don't you? If anyone had been curious about what's on board the truck, we'd be begging in the street to replace it.

—No, we wouldn't.

She pulled up her shirt and the butt of a handgun peeked out of the top of her jeans.

—Besides, the shop is just there. I've got warm, fresh bread and cheese and cold water. What more could a woman want going on an Indian Ocean cruise with the man she loves?

Harry grinned. It was all he could do. Damned if she hadn't gotten the better of him yet again.

—In that case, let's eat. The boat can wait. It won't be going anywhere without us.

They wolfed down breakfast, hardly tasting it in their haste to find their way to the wharf. In the mirror Harry kept his eye on a man leaning against a building. In itself, it wasn't unusual. The man shuffled his feet from time-to-time, looked nervous, walked back and forth, but never looked in the direction of the truck. That wasn't usual.

—We're being watched.

—By that man in the blue shirt?

—Christ, Sasha, how long has he been there?

—I noticed him when I came out of the shop.

—And you didn't say anything because–

—Because we'd have missed breakfast. And I was right, too. He hasn't done anything except stand around and look innocent.

Harry climbed in and weaved the noisy two-ton through the narrow streets in the direction of the wharf. Unseen, the watcher took out a phone and began talking.

**Black smoke drifted** over the harbor above the buildings.

—Harry?

—Yeah. That's where we're going.

He steered the two-ton in a roundabout way towards the rising column of smoke. By the time he made it to a clear view of the docks, it was plain where the smoke was coming from.

The boat was attached to the dock by its mooring lines. It wouldn't be going anywhere. It lay on its side. Smoke poured from whatever openings weren't submerged. There would be no boat in their future. He backed the truck up and turned around.

—Now what?

—So much for the crew of mercs I hired. Now it'll be our famous plan B.

—You have another plan?

—It's called the ##be adaptable plan. It's the airport or nothing. We'll pick up a plane.

—A plane? How do you know there's something there that will do the job.

—I don't. We'll stake it out until we have a likely prospect.

—In that case, we'd better lose whoever is following us.

Harry backed the two-ton around for the second time and pointed it north along the coast.

—Are you drunk? We passed the airport on the way into town.

So she was paying attention after all.

—We're not going to that airport. We're making for Bamburi. It's a no-service strip, exactly what we're looking for. Survey pilots prefer it because it's close to the kinds of resorts they like to stay in when they're on someone else's dime.

—So there could be a plane there? How do you know it'll be the right kind.

—We're looking for a Twin Otter or a Porter. If we're lucky, it'll be a Twin with tundra tires. We'll need something like that to haul what we've got in the back of this truck.

He'd have to make a move to lose their tail before he took the turn for the road to Bamburi. He halted the truck on a turn and manhandled it into position, blocking the road. The Willys couldn't brake in time. It rammed into the rear of the heavy truck. The driver flew into the street. Harry picked pushed him into the cab with Sasha.

—Wrap some of that tape around his arms and legs. That ought to be the end of whoever is following us for now.

—We can't take him with us. Can we?

—We'll dump him in the bush on our way to the airport. In the meantime, if you pass a sign announcing the road to Butterfly Park, you've gone too far.

—While I'm doing the driving, what the hell are you going to be doing?

Harry climbed into the back of the truck and started loading mags for the AKs.

—You'll get spare mags when I'm done. It'll give you something else to tape if you remember how. Now don't bug me. I'm busy.

**Sasha eased the** truck over a slight rise. The end of the strip came into view.

—Harry. We're here.

—Drive onto the asphalt and follow it until you see a building on the right. That'll be the old hangar.

—Harry.

—Jesus woman, what is it now?

—That looks like one of Mike's Twin Otters.

Harry put down the AK and stood up. He almost lost his head when Sasha ground to a halt beneath the wing.

—It is one of Mike's Twin Otters. We just hit the jackpot.

—Are you sure?

There was no time to waste with talking. It was go time. If the survey crew showed up, he'd chase them off somehow. He hoped he didn't know any of them personally. It would make it hard to explain to Mike. If Mike caught wind. He was hoping he wouldn't.

—Back us up to the cargo door and we'll unload. If we can't lift it, it stays behind, minus the weapons. While you're doing that I'm going to check the fuel.

—Who was your last slave?

Harry ignored her and climbed on board the Twin. He made his way to the cockpit and flipped the battery switch. The gage indicated low fuel. He switched off and went back to help Sasha.

—Come on, woman, lift that barge. Tote that bale. We have to get out of here before someone I know shows up to talk me out of this and let Mike know I tried to steal his airplane.

Harry started the gas pump to fuel the plane.

—Hand me that nozzle, will you?

—If you wanted a slave–

—I love you too, dear. Now hop to it or we'll never get back home.

Harry topped off the belly tank and dropped the nozzle. He made his way to the cockpit and barely settled into the left seat as he started number one. Sasha shut down the generator and moved the truck out of the way. She pulled the wheel chocks, threw them into the back, and gave Harry thumbs up.

A van drove onto the strip, blaring horn unheard by the occupants of the Twin Otter. Two men jumped out and ran towards the plane. It was too late. Sasha leaned out the cargo door, grabbed the latch, and pulled it shut just as one of the men took a picture.

Harry continued taxiing over the rough ground on one engine. He pointed the nose towards the downwind edge of the strip. By the time Sasha got the cargo door locked, Harry had number two started and he was turning into wind with throttles set for takeoff.

Sasha struggled to climb over the cargo on her way to the cockpit. She settled into number two's seat and fastened the seatbelt. The Twin Otter accelerated down the bumpy strip.

Harry pointed to a lever above the control panel on the Twin.

—See that control? Crank it until the indicator lines up with 30.

Sasha did as she was told. The overloaded Twin Otter lifted gently off the runway and became airborne.

The men looked at one another.

—Did you see what I just saw?

Their boss wasn't going to be happy when he heard what they had to say. One of them took out a phone and called to report the theft. At the end of the conversation he mentioned that the woman appeared to look like Harry's wife. The man on the other end wasn't convinced.

—We're sure. We both saw her. I'll send you a picture.

—What direction did the plane go?

—It stayed low enough to wash the wheels and headed up the coast.

Mike hung up and called Barbara. If anyone knew what the hell was going on with Sasha, it would be her best friend.

—Has Sasha left Harry?

There was a nervous laugh on the other end.

—What?

—You can do better than that. What the hell is going on with Harry and Sasha? He's been gone for two days, and now I've got a survey plane missing in Kenya. By the sound of it, Sasha is involved.

—That's impossible. She doesn't know how to fly.

—Whoever was doing the flying could taxi on one engine and start number two while lining up for takeoff. Does that sound familiar?

**The fuel stops** required by the heavily overloaded Twin Otter took up most of the day. At each one, they shared the routine. Harry went in search of the fuel truck and an operator while Sasha stood guard with an AK slung over her shoulder.

If there was no one to do the fueling, Harry drove the truck. When he finished, he put it back where he found it. He left a substantial amount of cash on the seat. Whoever found it would be richer than they had been for a while, but he didn't want to leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth. White men had been screwing people for long enough.

It wasn't only that, though. In the event he had to come back through, retracing his steps, he didn't want to end up in jail for theft.

So far, through it all, no one showed up to challenge them or to make an attempt to take the plane and its cargo.

They were at their final stop. As with the others, no way did Sasha take a chance on deplaning until she knew what was waiting for her. She picked up one of the AKs, slammed a mag home, racked, and climbed out.

Equipped for any eventuality, she felt comfortable on the warm tarmac. A slight breeze blew her long hair. She turned to face the wind and shook her head to move it off of her face.

Harry had been able to radio ahead for fuel. It had gone so well up to now, she was already complacent when she heard the fuel truck's engine start. The bowser approached and she followed it with an easy laziness, the rifle slung off her shoulder.

If someone planned on anything more than giving up a little fuel, she'd be prepared. Refueling went quickly after the men figured out who was supervising and who was working.

Harry stuck his head out of the cargo door.

—How's the refuel coming along?

—It's done. Thankfully, those two don't work for me or I'd have fired them by now.

—Don't sweat it. Africa time. You'll get used to it if you're over here long enough.

—Did you get the cargo secured?

—I did. We should be good for 500 feet now, no problem. I'd take on less fuel, but I don't know the availability from here on. We're going to be crossing some ground that I'm not familiar with.

—At the rate we're going, it took us all day to get this far.

—That's all right.

He grinned at her.

—Africa time, remember?

Harry stayed crouched in the cargo door, looking at his ex-wife, still happy to be checking her out after all these years. The wind caught her hair and it shimmered in the light. She still kept it long, the way she had it when they first crossed paths on the Baja.

Perhaps there was a silver strand or two now, but she was still the same beautiful woman. Even better looking as far as he was concerned. A little older. So was he. She had learned to be more patient, too. Damn but he was falling in love all over again. He reached down and offered his hand to help her into the plane.

—What are you grinning at? Suddenly I have the feeling that I'm being checked out by a pervert.

—You might be right, but we don't have time if we want to make Galkayo before dark. We have to go.

Harry ran through the pre-start checklist as Sasha settled into the right seat. He advanced throttles and taxied towards the strip. He stepped on a brake, and the Otter shifted and straightened into position to initiate a rolling takeoff.

—Flaps ten.

Sasha reached to dial it in and repeated the call when she had it. Neither were in a position to see the technical chasing after them on the takeoff roll. The Otter lurched into the air. Harry kept it as low as he dared until he disappeared over a dune. They were on the way to their final destination.

It was almost dark when he lined up for the Galkayo strip.

—Why are you lined up with the dirt? It looks like the strip is paved.

—We're wearing tundra tires. I don't want to risk damaging them on shitty broken asphalt.

Harry taxied onto the dirt tarmac and shut down in a cloud of dust. A parade of technicals and SUVs surrounded the plane and waited. He was too exhausted to question why it was Waheed and not Ali, the old man, who met them.

—Greetings. You have made it safely. I am Waheed, son of Ali. He sends his greetings to you both.

—Nothing the two of us couldn't handle. Where is Ali?

—My father is unable to meet with you at this time. He is ill. When he recovers I will take you to him.

Sasha came up behind Harry. She leaned into him.

—Do you see her?

Waheed was busy insisting on unloading the arms as soon as possible. He directed a truck to the cargo door.

—I have a place for the two of you to stay in town. You will be safe there. My men will guard you.

He made no further mention of his father. Sasha wasn't convinced his offer was genuine.

—It sounds more like we're being kept under guard.

Waheed regarded the woman through narrowed eyes. He wasn't accustomed to being questioned, especially by a woman. A white woman, at that.

—Perhaps. But you have no alternative. Come. Let us go.

Waheed escorted them to a truck.

—I don't like this, Harry.

—Neither do I, but we're here now. And no, I don't see her. I wouldn't expect to until tomorrow, maybe.

He still believed Ali would come to meet with him. After all, the whole reason for this little get-together was because the old man had asked for it. It was unlike him to not be there to greet him.

Waheed's convoy stopped at a primitive hotel where they were relieved of their weapons, searched and shown to their room.

—I'm still not liking this. What do you suppose has become of Ali?

—I know he's sick. He's probably too weak to show up tonight. I'm hoping we'll get to see him tomorrow. By the look of it, Waheed is in charge. I wonder how that's working out.

—We need to get that woman and get the hell out of here as soon as we can.

Harry hesitated before replying to his ex. What were the chances that both Eloria and Irit could be alive? He didn't know, but whoever remained, they would be coming out with him.

—There might be two women, remember?

**Large trucks bouncing** and groaning past the motel whipped up huge clouds of dust. The sounds woke Harry in the primitive motel. The dust drifted into the rooms through missing doors and windows long considered unnecessary in the desert climate.

The action had to be caused by oil-company big-rigs on the move with trailers loaded with drilling equipment. They'd be looking for a place to settle and bore the next dry well. The locals were still being sold the bill of goods that there was oil underground. From what he had been able to glean so far, Waheed was convinced. He was able to convince his followers into believing it, too.

It was all pie-in-the sky, but no one would be able to convince anyone of that. Oil companies threw around plenty of cash. It was almost as though they were seeding with it. Money always bought more arms than happiness. He wondered which of the oil companies were responsible for this latest madness, until he saw the logo.

CAN-AL.

Obviously, CAN-AL was key to the madness that had taken over. CAN-AL had to be the one that had convinced Waheed to buy into the prospects of oil in the region. Lots of cash handed to the right people probably hadn't hurt. Payoffs were common in the oil business. In fact, it was standard operating practice. Hell, he'd done his fair share over the years too.

Harry stopped caring about it when he realized that Sasha hadn't returned to the room. Surely to hell she hadn't wandered off. He opened the door and checked the hallway. The chair was empty. The guard was gone.

He walked to the end of the building and came across a second guard.

—Go back to your room.

Harry did as he was told. He waited a few minutes before climbing out the window to disappear down an alley towards what he hoped would be the local market. It occurred to him that Sasha just might have gone on another one of her shopping excursions.

It was that, or she'd been take to Waheed's compound in the town. Failing that, perhaps his compound outside of the city. He knew he'd have to find her on his own. Damn but he'd be chasing her shadow again. That woman would be the death of him yet.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

A little girl wearing a garland of bougainvillea around her neck peered past a doorway and motioned.

—Mr. Harry. Come. Come.

The girl spoke in heavily-accented English, barely understandable. He approached and she retreated into the shadows of the alley.

—You are Mr. Harry?

—Yes.

—I am sent to bring you. You must come. There is someone who wants to see you.

Harry had trouble understanding the girl. She spoke with an accent he had never before heard. He hoped the girl would lead him to his ex, shopping spree or not. That, or he was being led to a mugging.

As he approached, the waif grabbed his sleeve and led him on a journey through the narrow streets and back alleys. They blurred into one as though she was leading him in circles. When someone approached that the girl was unsure of, she pulled him out of sigher into the shadows.

—Are you taking me to Sasha?

—Sasha? Who is Sasha?

—Sasha is my wife.

—I know nothing of her. I cannot say where is your wife. What has become of her was not our doing. Come. We are almost there.

The girl continued to lead him until she came to a walled compound. She let go of Harry's hand and opened the gate. She pushed him through the opening and slid the bar into place behind them. She grabbed his hand again and took him across a small courtyard into a darkened room.

The sole occupant stood up and pushed the scarf away from her face. Harry couldn't believe his eyes.

Eloria

**IN THE MERC** base camp, Eloria could barely make out the call coming over the static crackle of the team's radio. Background noise made the call for help barely audible.

—... under attack ... pinned down ... aircraft destroyed ... pilot-

The staccato of automatic fire and the boom of grenades left no doubt about the trouble their comrades were in. There was no time for doubt or hesitation. She slapped Irit on the shoulder.

—Come on. We need to get ready.

She ran to Mike's tent and shook him awake.

—You have to get up. Now!

Mike, still fatigued, groaned and rolled over. His shirt was covered in sweat in the warm tent.

—What the hell is going on?

He sat up, groggy with sleep.

—A call for support just came in from the airstrip Harry is working. There's so much gunfire in the background I could barely make out what they were saying.

Mike scrambled out of his cot and pulled his pants on. He flipped his boots upside-down and knocked them together. Eloria allowed him time to splash water on his face before physically dragging him to the ops room.

The status updates came in spaced five to ten minutes apart. Waiting for the next only increased the tension. The situation didn't sound good. Gunfire and explosions continued to be broadcast along with the reports. Reportedly, the mercs were holding their own, but they were pinned down and taking heavy fire.

Irit and Eloria disappeared and returned with packs and enough supplies to get the three of them to the site. She called out to the mercs and got no response. She aimed her Galil highs and fired several rounds into the air. Not one of the mercs volunteered to accompany them on the mission to extract. It would be the three of them or nobody.

—What's in your pack, Mike?

He opened it to show her the rations and AK magazines.

—Throw in some smoke, too. And grenades. Do you have a radio?

He shook his head.

—No.

—That's all right. We have two.

Mike laid his compass on the chart on the ops room table and took a bearing to the strip. The three of them exited the tent. No mercs confronted them to attempt to talk them out of heading into danger. None volunteered to accompany them, either.

They turned their backs on the mercs remaining in camp and followed Mike as he headed off on the compass bearing, Eloria first. Irit followed a close third. The ground cover was sparse and uneven. It made for easy walking. They made good time.

As they drew closer the gunfire became more intense before growing sporadic. She worried about the condition of the men. Either both sides had settled and were secure in their positions, or it was game over and the attackers were mopping up. She didn't let on to Mike.

Eloria forced him to stop at the edge of a thicket and sat him down behind cover of a tree trunk. She and Irit walked on to flank two thickets separated by twenty-five meters. They disappeared into the brush. They reappeared in minutes brandishing bloody knives.

Eloria looked at a slack-jawed Mike. His demeanor was different, too. He had to be finally waking up to the fact that the women he and Harry had spent the night with were capable of more than drinking and screwing around. It pleased her to know that he knew it.

—Follow me, Mike. Do what I tell you.

He nodded curtly and fell in behind her. She was secretly pleased that he obeyed her orders without question. Maybe he wasn't such a softie after all.

She caught a glimpse of Irit off to the left. The woman crouched low and gestured towards another thicket surrounding a much bigger tree.

—Irit is saying the rest of them are where she is pointing. When I signal, pull the pin and throw.

A sheen of sweat covered Mike's face. He pulled a grenade out of his pack and gripped it, white-fingered. Before he had time to think about what he was doing and freeze, she instructed him to throw the grenade.

—Now. Throw it now.

Mike hesitated only for an instant and then pulled the pin and tossed. It fell short, thumped the ground and bounced into the thicket. Five men scrambled out as the grenade exploded. One by one, the girls picked them off before they could run off and disappear.

She headed in the direction of the thicket, gave it a visual and then finished off the men, one at a time, with her shotgun. Irit did the same with her pistol.

—Stay away from there. You don't want to see it.

Once again he did as he was told. She smiled to herself. He would make it.

Irit whistled and the three joined up. Then someone whistled back from where they suspected the downed crew was located. They walked towards the sound. The job was finished.

—It is safe now, Meeka. We are here.

She had difficulty pronouncing Mike's name. She called him Meeka from the very beginning.

**Irit fussed over** Harry while he made a feeble attempt to convince her his shoulder wound was no big deal. She told him to shut up and take his medicine while going into first-aid mode. She re-bandaged the shoulder that had been already treated by the mercs. She cleaned his bloody head wound and bandaged it.

—You have a concussion. There's nothing I can do for that.

It worried her, but time would take care of it if it wasn't too serious.

It became obvious to Eloria that Mike knew he would have been helpless in the firefight and subsequent mop-up completed by the two women. That he took the time to express his gratitude for coming along to do the dirty work was a plus in her view.

He was humble. Eloria liked that about him. He was all business, too. She could see that when he pulled the map sheet from his pack and began looking for an escape route. He wasn't about wasting anyone's time.

What she wasn't prepared for was the reluctance of the rescued mercs to acknowledge that they had been freed by two women. They refused to contribute anything, and after a brief discussion among themselves, one cowed son of a bitch approached them and as much as said so.

Mike hadn't been happy with that, either. He called them cowards and demanded that they leave some ammo before they left. The only thing left to do was to laugh at their antics. Although, their routine with the fingers and Harry's response turned out to be pretty accurate, even if no one knew it at the time.

At first there was confusion as to whether the foursome should return to base camp or try to make their way out to a road. When Mike pulled the aerial photos and the map from his pack, the decision was made for all of them.

He pointed at a clearing on one of the photos. Harry came to long enough to volunteer that it could be a mine. It didn't look to be far away, and if it was a mine, it could provide them with a vehicle to make good on their trek to civilization.

—We're going to need some traveling money. Maybe the mine will have a safe.

—Is Harry going to be able to keep up?

Mike didn't hesitate.

—If he can't, I'll be staying with him until he can.

That sealed it for her. She knew now that Mike could turn out to be a keeper–if only they didn't get stuck in this mess.

She and Irit made a joke out of it, but they let the guys know that they'd be marching right along with them. Whether or not Harry was capable of keeping up wouldn't be an issue, because they'd live or die together.

Mike's response came quick.

—Damn. I hope not.

**They made good** time through the light ground cover, even with Harry in tow and limping along. Late in the afternoon they came up on a pool of water deep enough to swim in. Agreement came quickly to end the trek for the day. To go further would jeopardize their safety, especially if a shortage of water became an issue.

She led them to a small bit of high ground overlooking the water. It would give them a vantage point over any big animals wanting to drink.

—We will stop here. It's a good water source. If nothing comes along to eat us we will be in good shape for tomorrow.

Mike quickly agreed, but she made sure to give him a dirty look when he made a joke and suggested that the women prepare something to eat while he lounged around the clearing. Instead she told him she was going for a swim. He wasn't so sure about that, and she had to convince him to come along.

—Don't be afraid. I'll stand guard for you. If nothing comes along to eat you, then I'll take my turn in the water.

It worked, and she spent the early darkness making love with Meeka in the full-moon shadow of the bushes along the shoreline.

No other animals came along to interrupt the celebration.

**The group struggled** to untangle themselves in the cool, damp, morning air. They'd spent the night huddled together to share body heat in order to stay warm. Harry was the worse for wear. His shoulder and arm stiffened overnight, and as well, they neglected to wake him regularly.

Nevertheless, they managed a reasonably early start, and the added motion served to get the kinks out of their muscles and get them warm and moving. By mid day, the sun and the heat of the day took over. Clothes were stuck to bodies with sweat. Perspiration ran down faces. Flies got swatted away, only to return instantly, drawn by the heat and the moisture.

Early afternoon brought them to the edge of a low escarpment overlooking their destination. The mine lay at the bottom. Eloria went ahead while the group paused to give Harry a chance to rest. She scouted the way down, marking her trail as best she could. Harry would have a tough time of it, but with all three of them helping, he would make it.

She trained her scope on the open pit and its surroundings, looking to count people and armed guards involved in the operation. Satisfied, she turned the scope towards the blockhouse guarding the only access road.

She returned the scope to her pack, shouldered it, and made her way up the rough trail, returning to the group the way she had descended. Irit left Harry and moved to greet her at the top.

—How many?

—Two guards at the blockhouse. A swing gate blocks access into the mine. I didn't see any fencing. No perimeter.

—Any vehicles we can use?

—Mostly heavy trucks. There's a Rover. The rest look to be junk.

—A Rover is good. We can trade it for traveling money once we get to civilization.

Mike stood by, listening.

—Maybe there's a safe in the blockhouse. That would make it easier.

—If they're stupid enough to keep anything there, it would.

—You're right. They'd want to get their profits off the property as soon as possible.

Irit regarded Mike. She liked her friend's lover. Both of these men had treated them well in the short time they came to know them.

—We will chance it, in the case there is something of value.

Irit's plan was a simple one. She would be the one to move towards the blockhouse and secure it. If it was needed, Eloria would provide covering fire to enable Mike to make his way to the vehicle. He would get it started while the two women kept watch for anyone that might come up on them.

The guards were unaccustomed to being on any kind of alert. Irit overheard them talking and laughing as she made her way towards the blockhouse. She interrupted their card game when she stuck her Galil and her head around the door. She quickly subdued with tape she wrapped around their hands and ankles.

The safe was old and rusty. The grenade she taped to the dial exploded and blew off the dial. She slipped a finger into the opening and twisted it to move the tumblers into what she figured was the correct position, pulled on the handle, and the door swung open.

Eloria and Mike arrived with the open-top Rover. Irit moved Harry from the shade where she left him by the side of the road and helped him into the back.

—What news?

—There was nothing. A few shillings on the guards.

She waved the paper. It was almost worthless.

—They need it worse that we do.

She tossed it on the floor.

—In that case, we're wasting time. Let's get the Rover going.

**Mike climbed behind** the wheel. Eloria rode shotgun up front. Irit sat in the back with the wounded Harry. She ignored the now constant groaning as best she could as her eyes roamed the surroundings they left in their wake for anyone who might be chasing after them.

So far, it appeared as though they would be home-free.

It was tough going on the rough and tumble access road leading to the main highway. The Rover jostled and bounced its way towards the main highway. At the junction, Mike pointed the Rover north to the border with Kenya.

On the much smoother road it became much easier for Irit to keep Harry from bouncing around in the back. Even so, she worried about his condition now that he had stopped waking up.

The RPG round whooshed and smashed into the tree directly above the Rover. It exploded and branches scattered and flew into the Rover.

She looked into the back and saw the branch sticking out of her friend's chest.

—Irit! Irit!

No answer. She jumped into the back and tried to resuscitate Irit. It was no use. Her sister had no pulse. The branch impaled her just above her heart.

She stayed in the back of the Rover and took up a position facing backwards, hoping, praying that whatever, whoever was behind them would show themselves. She was rewarded in only minutes that seemed like hours as a Jeep rounded a corner. It was gaining on them.

She pressed her forearms against the Galils in her lap to hold them secure in the bouncing Rover. She wrestled with the pin on a grenade and tossed it from the back of the Rover. It exploded ahead of the pursuing Jeep. She popped smoke and handed Mike the shotgun, yelling over the screaming engine.

—It's loaded. Take it.

She popped a second smoke and jumped out of the moving Rover. she hit the ground and rolled into a kneeling position. She stayed down, shouldered her Galil and began measured fire in the direction of the pursuing Jeep. It came at her, bearing down fast. She tossed a grenade, listened to it rattle as it landed in the Jeep, and got lucky when it exploded only ten feet past her position in the road.

She had no time to finish off the occupants. Instead, she popped two smokes in quick succession. Her concern was for another that might be coming up behind. She was proved right. She ducked out of the way in time to avoid the second Jeep.

By the time she oriented herself in the cloud of smoke, her only line of sight was in the direction of the disappearing Rover. Not wanting to risk hitting Mike and Harry with her fire, she began jogging along the road towards the border.

She knew she would make it.

It would be that, or she would die trying.

**Eloria heard the** third Jeep speeding towards her before she looked over her shoulder. It came straight at her and it didn't slow down. She'd already given her shotgun over to Mike. Out of ammunition, all she could do was run. She managed to veer off the road, cross a shallow ditch, and head cross-country in her attempt to escape.

She was overtaken fast in the open grassland. The Jeep circled wide and pulled around in front of her. Exhausted, she struggled against them unsuccessfully as they piled on and knocked her unconscious. She came to as hands searched her for weapons and then began beating her.

She parried the blows as best she could but there were too many captors with too many boots kicking at her. Rifle butts landed blow after blow. She finally collapsed in the tall grass and passed out. The beating didn't halt.

She regained consciousness in the back of the Jeep. Blindfolded and trussed up like an animal hauled to the slaughter she continued to struggle. She felt every bump the Jeep took as it bounced over what had to be a dirt trail. Beyond knowing that they were off the main road, she had no idea where she was or where she would end up.

She passed out again.

When she came to, the Jeep had halted. Still bound and blindfolded, she wiggled toes and fingers and tried moving limbs to assess the state of her injuries. Everything worked. She was incredibly sore and bloody. She considered herself lucky to be alive.

With the damage assessment over, it became time to figure out what she could do to escape her captors. Blindfolded and tied up as she was, that would be impossible for the present.

Instead, she concentrated on making herself aware of her surroundings. Muffled voices, birds, animal sounds. Shuffling. Snuffling. Roaring.

Hard as it was to believe, she decided she had to be in someone's private game preserve. Possibly the animal compound, judging by the sounds assaulting her from all directions. What the hell was going on? Who wanted her there, and why?

Above all, why hadn't she been killed and left for animal feed?

### ~ THREE ~

Changes

**HARRY STRUGGLED TO** see anything in the dim light. He barely made out a dark form in front of him. He reached out, offering a hand. Someone in front of him took it and held it gently in both of theirs. The hands were warm. He felt warm breath and then soft lips kissing them.

—Eloria? Is it you?

—Yes. We have been waiting for you.

It had been ten long years since Harry last laid eyes on Eloria. In Tanzania. During the trek through the bush to the mining camp. That was a long way from where she stood now. Not only that, he had believed her to be dead. She had to be. Mike had told him it was so.

—What the hell? What are you doing here?

Harry's eyes grew accustomed to the darkened room. The little girl moved from his side to stand beside the woman. In the darkened room and with her face obscured by a scarf he was unable to get a good look at the woman. The little girl spoke up immediately.

—Mr. Harry asked about his woman.

Eloria removed the scarf covering the girl's face. She regarded her for a moment with a look of pride before touching her chin and gently turning her face towards Harry.

—I would like you to meet my daughter. This is Meeka.

She pronounced the girl's name in the same manner as Harry recalled her saying his friend Mike's name all those years ago. The little girl smiled up at him.

Eloria turned on a light and Harry did a double take. How long had it been since their Tanzanian adventure? Nine or ten years? The girl was tall and gangly and had a grin that resembled Mike's more than he wanted to admit. To say she was a spitting image wouldn't cover it. She was the man's younger twin.

Memories of their trek across the Tanzanian bush came flooding back. The downed aircraft. His rescue by Mike and the two women. The almost two-day overland trek to the tanzanite mine. Stealing the truck and attacking the blockhouse. The race to the border to escape the gunmen chasing after them.

That chase was the sketchy part. By then his concussion had kicked in for the worse. He was left with no memory of that part of it.

How was he going to tell Mike about this? Even worse, how would Barbara take it once she found out? If she found out. He had completely forgotten that he was now searching for his own wife in all of this.

—Get Mr. Harry a chair, Meeka. He looks like he will fall down soon.

Harry didn't pass out, but he thumped into the chair and his breath escaped in an audible groan.

—We have a lot to talk about, Eloria.

—Yes, Mr. Harry. But first you must eat. Meeka, bring Harry some _chai_ and _rooti_.

The girl set the tea and warm bread in front of Harry. She pulled a chair close beside him and sat down to watch him devour the food she had brought.

—She likes you already. That is good.

He spoke through a mouthful of bread washed down by the chai.

—Is it?

—Yes. I will explain everything after you are finished eating.

**Harry pushed the** empty plate away and eased back from the table, moving his chair to face Eloria. The little girl did the same. She placed her elbows on the table and held her face in the palms of both hands.

—Just so you know, Eloria. When I found out who was on the other end of the phone I couldn't let it go. I owe you and Irit everything for getting me out of that mess at the airstrip. The fact that you were alive and asking for help had me cashing in every favor anyone ever owed me to get to you.

—Your wife is here, too.

—Yes. She is a very strong-willed woman. When she learned that it was you, I couldn't keep her away. It's not the first time she's backed me up.

—I know all about you. Ali has told me many stories about the three of you. And of Barbara's bravery also.

—I didn't tell Mike I was coming here. Mike's wife, Barbara, and Sasha are best friends. They have been for a long time. I made Sasha swear that she wouldn't tell her or Mike what we would be up to over here–not that we had any idea.

—Why is that?

—Because I don't want to threaten their marriage. I have no idea how Barbara would take news of you being alive. Initially, I thought it was you and Irit who wanted our help. Now I know that it's you and your daughter–Mike's daughter too, by the look of it. Irit was killed that day, wasn't she?

—Yes, she was.

—You were not, and now I think it is time for you to tell me what's going on.

The noise of a truck approaching the courtyard charged the atmosphere in the house instantly. Eloria motioned to Meeka and she scurried into a back room.

—Meeka. One for Mr. Harry also.

The girl returned cradling two AKs. A familiar-looking old shotgun hung off of her shoulder. Harry took the second AK and moved to the shadows in the dimly-lit room.

—You must come this way.

Meeka took Harry's hand and pulled him into the back.

Sandals slowly slapped their way across the hardened dirt towards the door. Eloria stayed in the front room. She needed to see for herself who would be outside when the door opened.

—It is Ali. I am coming in.

Eloria didn't relax until Ali was inside and the door was closed.

—I have heard rumors that a visitor has come our way.

Meeka took Harry's hand and led him into the front room. Harry slung the AK over his shoulder and greeted the old man with a warm handshake and a hug.

— _Sala'am_ , old friend. It is good to see you.

Harry regarded the man who was his friend. The passage of time hadn't been good for Ali. He looked pale and weak in the dim light. His hands shook. When he sat in the chair, he almost collapsed.

—And you, Harry. I am glad you could be here on such a short notice.

—As I told Eloria just minutes ago, nothing could keep me away when I learned who it was that needed my help.

—I have some news of your wife.

—Yes, Harry. Why is your wife not with you?

So Eloria hadn't known his wife was missing. Perhaps that would bode well when he asked for her help to find her.

—Sasha is pretty capable of taking care of herself. I didn't want to burden you with my problems until I listened to what yours might be.

**Eloria touched her** daughter on the shoulder and smiled down at her.

—Meeka, make fresh chai for us, please. I think we will talk for a while.

—Yes, mother. Would you like rooti, Ali?

—No, child. Thank you for the offering.

—Come, Ali. You must tell Harry what has become of his wife. Surely you will not make him wait any longer.

Harry immediately got the idea that perhaps Eloria knew more about the whereabouts of his wife than she was letting on.

The old man sighed and shifted in the chair. He knew his friend wouldn't be happy with the news he had of his wife. He also knew that Harry was not a man who sat idly by when threats were made against his family. He had learned that about him when he had asked for his help to rescue the man's wife a year ago.

—My son has taken your woman. He has taken your Sasha.

—Waheed. How do you know?

—Eloria's child followed him and saw your Sasha being delivered.

It surprised Harry to learn that Eloria's daughter could be so knowledgeable.

—It seems you've been teaching Meeka what she needs to know to survive in this place.

—I think you are right. But I am hoping that she will not be here much longer.

Eloria retrieved a burnoose for Harry.

—You will need this to blend in. Unfortunately, I can do nothing for the color of your skin.

—In that case, I'll just have to keep my eyes open and stay lucky.

She disappeared into the bedroom and came out with a handgun and ammunition. A k-bar in a sheath and a belt and holster appeared.

—You've been stocking up.

—It is necessary for a white woman and her daughter. People know not to mess with either of us. It helps to be aligned with Ali also.

—By the sound of it, that might not be such a good thing any more.

—You are right. That is why I called to ask you to come here.

—Ali, why did Waheed kidnap my wife? She has nothing to do with his problems.

—I think he wants to put pressure on you to ignore our friendship. He thinks you are here to help me convince our people that the oil companies are not good.

—We both know that to be true.

—Waheed has fallen in with oil companies and their treachery. He believes their lies about underground oil reserves in our clan territory. He thinks he will become rich beyond his dreams.

—But there's no oil here. Every hole has come up dry since drilling began decades ago.

—You are right. Even so, they are telling him that there is oil here in the ground. I tried to explain how the companies have been pretending to look for oil for a generation, yet they have found nothing. It is a front for American interference in my country. Now even a company from Canada is in on the trickery.

—Damn, Ali, we were all here when the last round of exploration was going on. There was nothing, not even water. Only dust.

—Waheed doesn't believe it. He has taken the side of the oil companies and their interfering leaders. He has let them come here and do as they wish.

—You will become another arm of American interventionism. Do you want that?

—No, Harry, I do not. But there is worse to come.

**Harry pushed back** from the table and stood up at the table. He didn't like the sound of that.

—How so?

—For some time now, my son has had a liking for Eloria. Unfortunately, he has no use for her child.

Tears welled in Meeka's eyes and she went to her mother across the table.

—Will you leave me, mother?

Eloria's arms surrounded Meeka. She hugged her close and tight.

—No, my daughter. I will not. Never in my life will you be here without me if I have to die to keep you safe.

—Did Mr. Harry come to help us go away?

Harry thought back to the promise he made a decade ago in the Tanzanian bush at the site of his downed aircraft. The appearance of the women earned his respect and undying gratitude when they rescued him. He knew now that he would do anything for Eloria and her daughter. Anything at all.

—When I learned both of you had been killed, I was devastated. I've been haunted knowing that I would never get the chance honor the pledge I made. You are going to get everything I promised myself I would deliver to you, and then some.

Harry turned to the little girl, still surrounded in her mother's arms.

—Meeka, I promise to you. You will not be left here by yourself.

—The little girl moved to Harry's side and took his hand.

Eloria smiled and nodded.

—Thank you, Harry. It means much to me. And to Meeka.

She took Harry at his word, and had no doubt the man meant what he said.

—Ali, you are with us, are you not?

—Yes.

With that settled, Harry could put his efforts into finding his wife.

—Now then. You must tell me where Waheed has taken Sasha. Before you do, you'd better know that I am not happy to learn that he has my wife as a prisoner, for ransom or for any reason. I promise I will move heaven and earth and kill anyone who gets in the way or harms her.

He looked directly at Ali. The old man sighed and stood up.

—I am afraid of that. So be it. My son is now a grown man. He must answer for the sins of his actions.

He steadied himself against the table. His attention moved to Eloria.

—She knows where your woman is. Inshallah, you will have her soon.

Harry's gaze shifted to Eloria. This was news. He gave her a hard look.

—You didn't tell me.

—Forgive me. I had to know where your allegiance lies.

—Now you do know. There is no reason to doubt any longer.

**Sasha only wanted** to get some relief from the hot, stuffy room in the motel where they had been keeping her and Harry since their arrival. She dressed and walked to the courtyard, passing by the guard on the way. He followed her. He had to have thought she was attempting to escape.

He grabbed her hair and dragged her out into the street. Unable to keep her balance, she fell to her knees. He pulled her up by her hair and kept on dragging and pushing her. She stumbled and fell to her knees again and bumped head-first into a truck. Semi-conscious, she could no longer struggle. Two men loaded her into the middle seat.

When she came to they found out they made a mistake. Sasha doubled up on her attempt to escape, flailing her fists at the men. She managed to land a couple of half-hearted punches, and for her efforts she was rewarded with a single punch to the head. She slumped against the seat, quieted at last.

The truck made its way out of town on the dark, narrow streets and wound its way towards Waheed's isolated compound north of the city. When she came to for the second time, the truck was stopped. The men were trying to dig it out of soft sand. She jumped out and tangled with one of them. He smacked her with a shovel, tied her feet and carelessly dumped her into the back of the truck.

—If she were my woman I would leave her out in the desert to die of thirst.

—I think this one will follow you home and kill you.

—Perhaps you are right. Why does Waheed want this woman?

—I do not know. I do only what he tells me.

—Let us go. I want to be rid of her. Sooner is better. She will be Waheed's problem.

Until then, Sasha had no idea where they were taking her. After hearing Waheed's name, she knew who was responsible. She hoped whatever was going on that put her in this predicament didn't have anything to do with Harry's friend, Ali. If that was the case, there'd be hell to pay.

**Waheed waited within** the walls of his compound. He paced back and forth waiting for the woman to be delivered to him. He would use her to distract the woman's husband and prevent him from giving assistance to his father. The oil companies were willing to pay plenty of money to someone who could help them obtain their leases. He wanted as much of that money as he could get his hands on.

The truck arrived and the men dropped Sasha at his feet. He grabbed her hair and dragged her to his hut.

—If you promise not to try to escape I will untie your feet.

His knife sliced through the rope. Sasha used the opportunity to take inventory. There was nothing. She slowly got up and leaned against Waheed for support. Her hand moved to the knife stuck in his belt. He caught it, twisted, and slammed his fist into her stomach. She went down again, unable to breathe.

This time she stayed down.

_There will be a time soon enough_ , she thought.

—You have been brought here alive at my orders. Do not try that again. If you behave, you will be treated well. If you do not, I will leave you to starve and die of thirst in the desert. The vultures will pick your bones clean.

Sasha caught enough breath to reply.

—Not if I see you first.

The expression was lost on him, as she knew it would be.

—You will be guarded. You must not attempt to leave my compound. If you do, my men will shoot you. If you make it out to the desert, you will be tracked down and killed. Your body will not be found. Do you understand?

—I understand, all right. You must understand something, too. If harm comes to me, your father's friend, Harry, will hunt you down and kill you and all of your wives and children.

Waheed considered the possible outcome only for a moment. Then he laughed.

—No one will get in here and live. Were I to write this Harry's name in the sand, it would blow away in the wind like so much dust before he will take you away from here. He will not rescue you. He will die trying.

—You forgot to add _Inshallah_.

—I do not need God's will.

He turned away from her.

—You will find out that God and Harry are two very different things.

**Sasha pushed and** pulled and fought the two men dragging her ever closer to the building. Arms flailed. Legs kicked out. Her struggle was rewarded with another punch to the head. Stunned into complying, she became a more willing subject. Waheed addressed the men fighting with her.

—Prepare this woman for the trip to the brothel. See that she has the clothing.

Someone tossed a robe at her. Still defiant, she let it drop at her feet.

—If you do not put it on, we will force it upon you.

She reconsidered. So far, her struggles had gained her nothing. She complied and the men turned to allow her some measure of privacy. She covered her face with a hijab. It was secured about her neck, probably because the men thought she would rip it off, given the chance.

Once her body was completely covered, her wrists were secured and she was shoved into the truck. Seated between two men, they all drove off, headed towards the outskirts of the town.

Confused, her mind reeling, she couldn't have heard right. A brothel? What did a whorehouse have to do with anything? She had to have misheard. Where she was going, she had no idea, but a whorehouse had to last be on the agenda.

She thought she should at least make another escape attempt, but the shovel to the head she took on the last truck ride convinced her otherwise. There was nowhere for her to go, and she wasn't about to take another fist if she had any say in the matter.

—Why am I being taken to a whorehouse?

—A white woman will command huge fees from the oil workers that come to visit.

As if she needed further explanation, the second kidnapper chimed in.

—Christian men are not allowed in Muslim brothels. All of the women in Waheed's brothel are Christian. There are no Muslim women allowed to work there.

Well, at least now she knew why Waheed was so interested in her. He was going to pimp her out for the benefit of his bank account. She wondered how much a white woman went for in a whorehouse these days. She also wondered how long it would take Harry to find this whorehouse on the Horn of Africa that was her new job description and rescue her expensive white ass.

She muttered to herself. _Son of a bitch, but I'll never hear the end of this_.

—What was it that you said?

She didn't get a chance to answer. By now they were at the bunkhouse. The men dragged her out of the truck and into a back room. A window on the opposite side was shaded. It contained a bed and a washstand. There was a frilly pink top and short-shorts on the bed.

—At least you got the props right.

One of the men pushed into a chair and held her down. A man wielding scissors approached. She thought it best not to object while he cut her long hair into something resembling a close-cropped mess.

—How many women are here?

—You are number four.

—Is it busy?

—Very.

—How do they pay?

—With U.S. dollars.

_Damn you, Harry, get your ass over here_. The sooner the better, before those oil workers ruin me for life.

With nothing else going for her, she changed her tack and pretended to play nice. Perhaps she'd be able to figure out where they kept the cash. She didn't get much time to do it. Someone turned out the lights.

Sasha ended up pushed hard into a corner of the darkened room. She bumped into a wall and slid to the floor. The door closed and a bar slid into place.

**A burst of** gunfire aimed through an open window ricocheted through the room in Ali's compound. Harry hit the floor and pulled Ali with him. When the noise and the muzzle flashes ended, Ali moaned and lay still beside Harry. He grabbed the old man's wrists and dragged him into the safety of the bedroom.

—You must take Eloria and her daughter to safety. They do not deserve this.

The old man gasped for breath before exhaling his last breath. Harry was beside himself. He came all this way to help Ali with his problem and he had ended up getting him killed in the process. One problem down, another one to go, but there was no sense losing sight of the objective. He would have to track down his wife without Ali's assistance.

But first he would need more obvious help.

Harry searched through the room looking for a weapon stash. He found an AK and some ammunition and an old backpack. He filled the pack with mags and a couple of grenades. The RPG came with three rounds. He took those, too.

He took a quick look outside. Every time he turned around there was a truck parked in a street. When he needed one, there was nothing. Word must have gotten out to stay away from Ali's place.

Instead, he inventoried the weapons, checking and re-checking the condition and the actions. All were well-used but freshly oiled. Ali knew how to keep things functioning, and he was glad for that. Next on his agenda was locating Sasha.

Piece of cake–except for one little thing. He had no idea where to start.

**Harry wandered Ali's** house, searching for Eloria. Unable to find her, she had to have slipped away when he became distracted with the weapons. He didn't know if her disappearance was intentional, but it meant that he'd have to search for Sasha by himself. Everything he tried to do in this place was becoming impossibly difficult.

Ali's death certainly freed him from one obligation. His second, to Eloria, now seemed to have receded into the background since her disappearance. He was left to wonder if, by her sneaking off, his obligation became one of getting her daughter–who he now knew without a doubt to be Mike's daughter–out of this place.

That could be considered kidnapping if the child's mother wasn't in agreement. He had no stomach for that, even though Meeka had turned about to be his friend's daughter. He just couldn't put himself or Mike and Barbara in that situation.

—Mr. Harry.

It was Meeka.

With everything else going on, he'd forgotten that the girl was still in Ali's house. Could she be a help, or would she turn out to be a hindrance? Given how competent he knew her mother to be, perhaps she had passed on some of her abilities to her daughter.

—We need to get out of here, Meeka. Now that Ali is gone, this place will get taken over by Waheed and his followers. Do you know where your mother went?

—No. I do not know.

Harry was betting that wherever she went, a trail of death and destruction would follow in her footsteps until she avenged Ali's death to her satisfaction.

—Is it possible that she might have gone looking for Ali's killer?

—Yes. It is possible.

Just great. He had been left alone to babysit a ten-year-old. How the hell would he ever find his wife if he had to drag a child around with him? That he was calling her his wife even though they weren't yet married pretty much told him what he had to do.

—I think we had better start to look for Sasha on our own. Do you think you can help me do that?

—Yes, Mr. Harry. I will help you.

At least one of them was confident. Not so much for him.

—Where do you think we should start?

Shit. Now he was attempting to come up with a plan based on a child's reasoning.

—I think we should go to the girl place.

_The girl place?_ What the hell?

—Where is that, Meeka?

—It is a building beside a hill on the way to the airport.

It was looking more and more like he would be postponing any plans for a wedding until he could come up with his bride. Christa wouldn't be a happy camper if he ended up coming home without her mother. Not to mention what Barbara would do to him, probably when he was wide awake.

Damned if he didn't know how he got to where he was. Sasha had disappeared. Eloria was nowhere to be found. He was stuck with a ten-year-old. Well, perhaps stuck wasn't the right word, but that's how he felt. What the hell would he do with her while he was trying to track down his wife? He answered his own question when it suddenly occurred to him yet again that Meeka was his best friend Mike's daughter.

—Meeka.

—Yes, Mr. Harry?

—Would you like to go back to your house to wait, or do you want to come with me?

There was another problem. He had absolutely no idea where the hell he had to go in this hot, dusty hell-hole of a town. He made the decision on the spot.

—Instead of that, perhaps you would like to be my guide.

He regretted his words immediately.

**Harry's problem became** one of not putting the daughter of his best friend in any more danger than absolutely necessary. How the hell could he manage that while searching for two women?

—Meeka, I need a guide. Do you know anyone?

A last-ditch attempt at keeping her safe. If she knew someone-

—I can show you, Mr. Harry. I have learned the streets very good. My mother taught me that I should put everything inside my memory.

—In that case, we need to sit down and have a pow-wow.

She looked up at him. He squatted down beside her and they sat together.

—What is a pow-wow?

—It's kind of like a meeting to figure out what's going on. Where we need to go. Who we need to see to get there.

How would he be able to make rescuing his wife a priority over finding the girl's mother? In his mind he already knew what he had to do. How would Meeka take the decision? Instead, what came out of his mouth was the complete opposite of what had been running through his head.

—We're going to find your mother.

_No little girl should be without her mother_.

He wasn't being entirely honest with himself. He already knew that having Eloria on his team of one would be a huge bonus. The trek across Tanzania the four of them made the day his plane was shot up had taught him that. Without her and her friend Irit, he and Mike would have been dead meat in short order, food only for the screaming hyenas.

Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get it in gear for the girl's sake, hit the proverbial road and locate the women, all while keeping the girl safe. If he could pick up the Eloria's trail of death and destruction in her attempt to avenge Ali, they should be good to go.

Piece of cake.

—Here's what I think we should do, Meeka.

**Harry knew he** had to get it together in short order if he was going to find Eloria and his wife. Shit, now he had to worry about Sasha being number two on his honey-do list. If he ever made it out of this alive he'd better not ever admit that to her. She'd remind him until the day he died–which might not be that far off if how things had gone up to now were any indication.

He had no clue where to begin. Ali was dead. There'd be no help there. Someone had mentioned a mysterious brothel. Why would Sasha be shipped off to a brothel? In this country, men wanted women of their own faith. A man wouldn't be out looking for a Christian woman to screw.

Then it dawned on him. Waheed. He had been bought out by the oil companies. Perhaps he had a side business servicing the roughnecks. It made more sense than anything else he could come up with. Could his wife have been forced to work in a whorehouse?

At least now he had ammunition for when she accused him of putting her in the number two spot on his list of things to do before he died. Speaking of which, that damned woman might still be the death of him yet. If he hadn't been left with a child to take care of, he'd be a lot keener to get started.

If only he could track down Eloria. He was convinced things would get a lot easier. Well, perhaps not a lot easier. A little easier, maybe.

Which wasn't saying much.

Eloria

**ELORIA SLOWLY CAME** to on a metal floor in some sort of metal building. The steady drone of engine noise began to penetrate the fog created by the multiple beatings. Groggy and hurting behind belief, she finally realized she was on board an aircraft.

She wiggled her hands and flexed her ankles again and again to get the blood flowing. Everything appeared to be working. She wasn't so sure before she passed out after the last beating. It had to be hours ago now.

The stripped interior revealed the bare metal insides of the aluminum tube. It resembled Harry's interior on the plane he flew, although this one was much larger and had twin engines.

No seats. No belts. Heavy-looking wooden crates were piled on each side of a makeshift center aisle. She recognized them as boxes containing arms. She had to be on a flight to deliver guns and ammunition. But where?

The engine noise subsided and it reminded her of Harry doing the same in the plane that took her to the job in the Tanzanian bush. She hoped she wouldn't be subjected to the same gut-wrenching approach Harry had put her through. Even though she wasn't hung over, the beatings left her weak and confused even now.

She wrestled with a pack on the floor beside her with one hand. She rummaged through it looking for anything she could use to put up a fight. There was nothing. Instead she doused herself with the bottle of water she came up with and that helped bring her around.

She groaned and managed to force herself upright against the bare metal. She twisted her neck and managed to get a look out a cabin window. There was nothing but dry desert beneath her. Before she could get a better look, wheels bumped onto sand.

The opposite window revealed some kind of four-engine plane parked on the side of the sand strip. The old plane taxied past and halted beside a dilapidated, tin-roofed outbuilding.

Wherever she had landed was surrounded by even more desert.

The cargo door opened from the outside. She didn't get a good look, but it appeared there were many technicals surrounding the plane.

Someone unlocked the chain securing her wrist to a box. She was dragged to the open door and pushed out. She fell on her back onto the sand. Even with that as a cushion she almost passed out again until she finally managed to catch her breath.

Where had they taken her? Why was she still alive?

**Eloria pretended to** be weak rather than to show the defiance she almost couldn't hold back. She had to figure out what where she was and what was going on. Her life probably lay in the balance. She had to keep alive as long as she could. If she could do that, perhaps there was a chance of escaping. For the time being she didn't concern herself with where that would lead.

Once the crates hit the ground they were opened and the contents delivered to the trucks surrounding the airplane. AKs, bags of magazines, boxes of ammunition, grenades, mortars, RPGs–all disappeared. When the job was done, the trucks moved away in a cloud of blowing sand and dust.

The two men left behind tied her arms and feet and threw her into the back of the remaining truck. It caught up to the others and followed them along a rough trail to a paved road. She passed a crude, hand-lettered sign and a village came into view.

The sign didn't help. She'd never heard of the place. She still had no idea where she was.

**The crowd of** men surrounding her parted and a tall, regal man approached. He looked her over, appraising her. Others in the crowd deferred to him. No one spoke unless he addressed them. Eloria began to feel the vague beginning of fear.

The man was obviously a leader. What would he do with her? Was she to be his wife? How many did he have already? A mother to his children? Babysitter? She wondered how many babysitters there were in this neighborhood. Probably not many–if any at all.

She would have to wait before showing her hand.

The man untied her and handed over a bag of clothes. He grabbed her, hauled her up off the ground, and yanked her in the direction of a tin-roofed building without windows. She would have no chance to escape.

She ended up pushed into the building. In the dark, she undressed, took the _niqab_ out of the bag, and put it on over her head. The man appeared pleased when she came out in the clothes he had given her, so she took a chance.

—Where am I?

—You are in northern Somalia.

—Who are you?

—I am Waheed, son to Ali. He is the leader of the clan to which I belong.

—You speak English well. Where did you go to school?

—In Kenya, on the outskirts of Mombasa.

—Your family must be rich if they could afford to send you there.

—Perhaps. But that is not important.

He spoke a name and a woman appeared.

—She will take you to get clean.

The woman motioned for Eloria to follow her. In another room she stepped into a tub and hot water surrounded her. The water soothed her injuries. She relaxed and washed away the dust and dirt of the last several days. It was a welcome relief, and she forgot all about her troubles until it was time to get out of the tub.

The woman led her to a kitchen and fed her. The bread and hot chai helped bring her around. Her one worry was how long she would have to stay here by herself.

How long would it be before she found a way to escape?

**Waheed turned Eloria** over to the women in his camp with instructions to nurse her back to health. For the most part she was left alone. She was allowed to wander around the small town unaccompanied. She used the time to get her bearings. By the time she had committed the streets and back alleys of the town to memory, she was moved to Galkayo. That was where she met Waheed's father, Ali.

That was also where she learned she was pregnant.

She hid it from everyone until the last month. By then, it became impossible to arrange the flowing robes around her rapidly enlarging belly. The pregnancy gave her a degree of status. Everyone thought the baby would be born into Waheed's clan.

It was not to be.

Without a doubt Eloria knew it to be Mike's. When they met that night in the bar, she had trouble pronouncing his name. She took to calling him Meek. He didn't care, and she liked him right away. Now it all seemed so long ago.

When the baby girl was born, she named her Meeka. From that day on she was never without a weapon to protect her daughter. If she ever had to fight for her life, the result would not be a pretty sight by the time she was finished with whoever threatened either one of them. That never happened, and she was able to roam the city freely, accompanied by her daughter.

As the girl grew older, Eloria taught her the skills she would need to become self-sufficient in the event they became separated. That's the word she used to tell Meeka about it. What she meant was that she could be killed, or moved, the same way she had arrived here. She lived in constant fear that the two of them would be separated.

Ali, Waheed's father, kept his eye on Meeka. He liked both her and her mother. He showed it in his manner and his way of talking with them. They became regular visitors to his compound, and eventually ended up moving into a place the old man provided for them. She felt more secure there than she had with Waheed.

When relations between the old man and his son became strained because of the tensions relating to oil company business in the region, Waheed began staying away from his father.

By association, he stayed away from both of them, also.

**Over time, Eloria** and her daughter gradually became accepted in Ali's camp. Years passed and Meeka grew like a desert flower, always under the watchful eye of her mother. She taught the girl how to disassemble and clean firearms. She took her out into the desert to teach her how to load, hold and fire those same weapons.

In time, the young girl became a proficient equal to the rebel children photographed with automatic weapons slung over their shoulder that became popular in the mainstream press. There was one difference between the photographs of the rebel children and Meeka, however. When Eloria was finished with her, Meeka could hit her targets. In fact, she rarely missed. That, and she was white.

The changes slowly overtaking the region were being forced on the people by the oil companies and the clan leaders they paid off and bought out. All of them were trying their best to buy their way into being permitted to drill for the black gold. The companies had convinced almost everyone that unlimited riches were buried underground.

So much money was changing hands with the various clans that the situation had deteriorated into open warfare. While her mentor Ali was in favor of maintaining distance from the greed and outright lies and trickery of the foreign oil companies, his son, Waheed, was in bed with them and selling out to anyone with the cash.

As a result, much strife between father and son ensued. Eloria believed the status quo would not be maintained for much longer. She began to search for a way out of the situation that wouldn't jeopardize the safety of her or her daughter.

She kept her eyes and ears open, but it wasn't looking good.

**As Meeka got** older, Eloria began taking her daughter to Ali's campfire in the evenings. She would help the old man wrap himself in his blankets against the cool desert evenings. He would first pour each of them his sweet, hot chai, gather the blanket against the cool air, and tell stories of his adventures in northern Somalia. Sometimes Ali began with tales of enduring massive drought that caused entire villages to be relocated into huge relief centers.

He spoke of owning the many camels that made him a rich man. He told them of leading camel caravans along ancient trade routes that were still in use.

It was during one of those story-telling nights that he began a story of two men who had come back into his life from long ago. The three men had began their friendship and gotten to know one another while they were employed by one of the first oil companies that came into the area.

Long after they had left the region to return home, Ali had received a phone call asking for help in recovering the wife of one of the men. The man, Harry, had asked Ali if he could provide some assistance in the form of a couple of technicals and some men to operate them in a trek across the desert.

The two men, accompanied by a woman who he later discovered was Mike's wife, arrived by plane at their old landing strip located west of Eyl. He had met the plane as requested, and discovered that it had been modified and outfitted as an airborne technical with twin .50-caliber weapons pointed out the cargo door.

When the men arrived, they came complete with fresh arms for Ali's men. It impressed him that they had come equipped to do some serious damage, consequently he lent his full support to their undertaking.

By the time Ali's story was brought to an end several nights later, Eloria was convinced the two men he spoke of were the same two men she had met in Tanzania in the bar. If that was true, Ali knew the father of her daughter.

She had much to think about over the next weeks. The identity of the woman that had accompanied the men on the rescue mission had to be Mike's wife. That meant that there would be no way she could involve him in getting her daughter away to safety.

On the other hand, she had come to Harry's rescue in the bush after his plane had been damaged. Perhaps that meant that he could be talked into returning and helping her.

After all, he owed her his life. It was long past time to collect.

### ~ FOUR ~

Gone But Not Forgotten

**WAHEED KICKED THE** door to the brothel open and shoved Eloria into the room. She collapsed on the floor and he slammed and locked the door behind her. Someone yelled and another door slammed. A vehicle drove off and the brothel went quiet again in the cloud of dust that drifted over it.

Sasha moved to comfort the woman groaning on the floor beside her. She waited for her to quiet before helping her into a sitting position beside her against a wall. In the darkened room, it was difficult to discern anything about the woman.

—You're safe for now. I don't know what they expect of us.

The woman responded with an accent so strong it was difficult for Sasha to understand.

—English woman. What are you doing here?

Sasha took an educated guess.

—Eloria?

—Yes. I am Eloria. What are you called?

—Sasha. I'm Sasha.

—Sasha? You are the wife of Harry, are you not?

The woman's response took her by surprise. Her confused brain went into overtime, trying to come up with why they were both in so much trouble. It was put aside when she recognition finally dawned. Sasha reached for the woman and hugged her.

—We've been looking for you. Did Harry finally find you?

She almost said, _Both of you_ , meaning her daughter also, but she caught herself.

—Yes.

—What did you do to end up in here?

—My friend and protector Ali has been killed. I wanted to go in search of the enemies who put an end to his life. In order to do so, I left my daughter with your man. I think he will take good care of her.

—You're right. He will.

With Eloria on the floor beside her, Sasha wondered if Waheed would end up searching for her daughter and Harry next.

—Welcome to the crowbar hotel, girl. I knew we'd meet up eventually.

Eloria wondered at the words.

—What do you mean?

—Crowbar hotel. Jail. Prison.

—Ever since I learned that Waheed has his eyes on Meeka, my daughter, I have been wondering how long it would take him to lock me here. Now I know.

—Do you know where Meeka and Harry have gotten to?

—The last I saw they were together.

—You can be sure he'll take good care of her.

—I think she will take care of him also. He needs someone who knows the way. Meeka knows all of the streets and alleys of this city. I made her learn. I told her to learn the best vehicles also.

—I don't think a Benz is the way to go here.

—You are right. A technical is better. She is able to drive one.

—She must be just a bit short to reach everything.

—Not at all. She does so while she stands up.

—Good grief. You've kept her a busy girl.

—I try to keep her out of Waheed's sight the best I could. I thought that to send her off to discover things for herself was the best way. I think it was a good thing to do.

—I hate to change the subject, but how are we going to get out of this aluminum jail?

Eloria got up on the bed and motioned for her to hand her the chair. She climbed onto it, reached for the roof vent and pushed it open. She stuck her head through.

—I do not see any guards. I think we are the only people here.

She reached under her jilbab and pulled out a knife.

—I knew that this tent I have been forced to wear would become good one day.

Eloria began working at the thin aluminum with the blade as she sawed back and forth on the trailer's roof. Her attempt to enlarge the opening was successful after only a few minutes as she produced an opening large enough to climb through. She pulled her head down and motioned to Sasha.

—Push.

Sasha went from steadying the chair to assist Eloria as she struggled to climb up through the hole. With her upper body successfully above the roof, she pushed with her hands. The robe caught on the sharp aluminum, halting her progress. From below, Sasha tugged and had enough success to allow Eloria to climb out onto the roof.

Eloria reached down to take Sasha's wrists in a strong grip. She huffed and managed to pull Sasha's torso through the opening. She got a knee on the roof and pushed and she was beside Eloria on the roof. The women held out their arms to greet the strong breeze. It blew out their robes, making them appear to float above the trailer.

—You're right. There is absolutely no one around. Now what the hell are we going to do?

—We need to find weapons. Can you fire a gun?

—I'm mildly familiar with an AK-47 and a rocket launcher.

—Harry married well.

—We're divorced.

—I think you will not be apart for long if he values talents such as those.

—To tell you the truth, I never thought of it like that.

Eloria regarded the woman standing beside her.

—Then perhaps you should.

**Harry put his arm** around Meeka and hugged her close, as if to say everything would be all right. She smiled up at him and he knew he had won her over unconditionally. His heart melted and he knew he couldn't disappoint her. If only he felt as confident in the final result of his decision as he appeared to her.

—Are we going to look for your woman now, Mr. Harry?

—No, sweetheart. We're going to find your mother.

The little girl's face beamed up at him. Considering what Eloria had done for him in Tanzania, he had to find her first. He knew too from the look on Meeka's face that it was the right thing. Sasha would have to wait.

—There is a truck we can borrow.

—That won't be much use. I can't drive and shoot.

—I can drive.

What the hell? He had to see this.

—Then let's get started on our quest.

Meeka took Harry's hand and pulled him down the maze of streets past narrow, shaded alleys fronted by dark doorways. When he stopped for a better look, she went back and dragged him away from whatever had caught his attention.

—Mr. Harry, we look for a truck. This alley is too narrow.

Harry regarded the girl. As with both Mike and her mother, once committed, Meeka didn't stray from the objective.

Meeka took them to a square at the end of a street surrounded by squat rows of shops, all closed. Siesta. Everyone was off chewing _khat_ or sleeping away the oppressive afternoon heat. Two technicals parked under a shade-tree with no one around called his name.

—Which one do you like, Mr. Harry?

There was no one to object as he retrieved ammo and an RPG left behind in a beat-up wreck of a technical.

—This one. It looks to be better maintained.

An obvious lie, given how dilapidated they appeared.

—Come on. You're driving, Meeka.

It was almost like Mike was here with him. The girl turned the key and the small truck stuttered and groaned reluctantly to life. He climbed in beside her and she floored the clutch as she balanced precariously with her legs against the seat.

Meeka white-knuckled the wheel with one hand and worked the shift lever with the other. She let out the clutch and the truck jerked into first and began porpoising down the street. By the time Meeka hit second she had it down, all while standing up behind the wheel. Her mother would be proud.

So would Mike.

—Where do you think we should start, Meeka?

—Waheed would like my mother. She did not want to do anything with him. Perhaps he would put her in the girl place.

—Girl place? What's that?

—Yes. Sometimes I follow him there and wait behind a hill. It is where himself likes sometimes to go.

Harry had no clue what she was talking about. Girl place?

—Perhaps you should take us in that direction.

Meeka wound the truck through the narrow side streets she was accustomed to walking by herself. Sometimes she'd miss a shift but she recovered and carried on as if it was normal.

—Who taught you to drive, Meeka?

—My mother. Sometimes she takes one of these for me to practice. She wants me to learn. She says I must prepare to take care of my own self when she is sent away.

Well, Eloria had definitely gone away. Now it was up to the two of them to find her. Finally he felt as though he was doing something, even if he was being chauffeured around town by a ten-year-old.

**A cloud of** dust trailed Meeka and Harry in the technical as she drove them, bouncing and bumping, towards the outskirts of the city. She took a turn off of the main road and ended up on a sand trail that followed along the back side of a hill. In no time they were on the city's very edge.

—The girl place is past here.

Meeka gestured through the hill.

—We must go to the top.

Harry wanted to get eyes on the place before he moved on it. He worried more about Meeka than what he would have to do. Mike would never forgive him if something happened to her.

—Then we'd better check out the high ground first.

Meeka steered the technical, keeping it behind the edge of the crest overlooking the trailer. They got out together. Harry took Meeka's hand. He wanted to make sure she didn't become visible against the backdrop of the blue sky.

The brothel's tin walls shimmered in the late afternoon sun. It would be twilight soon. Darkness would provide good cover for their operation. He wondered if it would provide the same cover if the women he was looking for weren't inside.

A cloud of dust drifted behind a van that stopped in front of the trailer. The CAN-AL Oil logo stood out on the door. Half-a-dozen men exited. Laughing and back-slapping, they were eager to get down to business. They almost ran towards the trailer. Harry had to move fast if he was going to shut this thing down and retrieve Eloria.

If she was even here. He had no idea.

He fired a burst in the direction of the truck. The rounds ricocheted through the cheap aluminum of the trailer. That wasn't so smart.

He readjusted and directed a couple of single-fire rounds at the air conditioner on the roof. The sounds were amplified by the sound bouncing off tin walls.

If that didn't get them moving, nothing would.

The door slammed back against the trailer and men stumbled out into the open. To keep them going in the right direction, Harry fired a few single rounds to kick up sand around them. Before long the truck disappeared even faster than it had arrived. In its wake only a cloud of dust remained to announce that it had been there.

Two armed men exited the trailer and it was time to get down to business. He squeezed off single rounds and picked them off one after the other. Nothing else moved. Then, from the rear of the building, another walked into view followed by a second.

It looked to Harry like they were making their way towards town. Something twigged and he motioned for Meeka to drive the truck over the hill. He leaned on the horn to draw their attention.

They halted and looked up at the crest of the hill. Damn if it wasn't the women. Harry waved.

—It's your mother, Meeka. Sasha too.

The girl leaned on the horn and jumped up and down, waving her arms and screaming at her mother. The woman waved back and started towards the hill.

Puffs of sand began to walk their way towards the women. The shooter found his mark and one of them stumbled and fell to the ground. The second bent over the downed woman. She looked up and scrambled for cover.

Harry couldn't be sure. He tried to remember what Sasha was wearing the last time he saw her. A head covering. A robe. What color? Dammit. He was almost certain that was her laying in the sand.

Harry pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it in the direction of the gunfire. A satisfying whump followed and a sea of red-tinged sand exploded into the air. A direct hit.

One down. A whole lot more to go.

—Come on Meeka, let's do a quick run along the perimeter to check for bad guys and then get our rear ends down the hill.

Harry climbed onto the back to man the .50 caliber. He scanned ahead as they worked the edge but there was nothing.

—All right, let's get down there.

He was scared to death of what he was certain he would find.

The woman pulled off her hijab and Harry tossed an AK at her. He jumped out of the truck and bent over the woman on the ground. Already a thick pool of blood formed in the sand beneath her. Harry bent to listen to her difficult breathing.

—Meeka. Come here. Quickly.

He pulled Meeka down with him. Eloria's lips moved. The head covering muffled her words. Harry cut it off and the two of them listened to her mother's final words, barely audible through her shallow breathing.

—Yes, Eloria. Meeka will be safe. I give you my word.

He turned to the little girl crouched in the sand beside her mother.

—Did you hear your mother?

—Yes. I listened.

—What do you think?

—I think we must do that, Mr. Harry.

Harry reached to close Eloria's eyes and carried her lifeless body to the truck. He checked for a pulse one last time. He had to be sure. Meeka watched him cover her face. The girl seemed unsure of what to do.

—Do you want to say goodbye?

—I did that, Mr. Harry.

—Then let's go. You're still the driver.

She wiped away a tear and smiled. Harry turned to Sasha.

—We'll be off to a rough start, but once she gets going it will be smooth sailing. Get in beside your goddaughter.

Sasha hesitated.

—I'm not ready yet. Give me a minute.

**Sasha took Harry's** pack out of the back of the technical and handed it to him.

—I want to see that photo again.

—What's the problem?

He pulled out the picture of Eloria and her daughter.

—We can't leave Meeka here. Ali is too old to take proper care of her. His son isn't the swiftest camel in the desert. We're going to have to get her off of this continent and take her with us.

—Ali is dead. And now her mother, too. I'm taking the girl to Mike and Barbara.

—Just like that?

—Just like that. If they won't have her, we will.

—Somehow, I don't think that's going to be a problem.

—It had better not be, but I think you're right.

Harry couldn't suppress his grin any longer.

—What are you looking at?

—You in that robe. Damn, woman, who outfitted you in that getup? And what's underneath it?

—If you know what's good for you, you won't say another word.

—Nice hair. I'd do you.

—You won't ever again if you're not careful.

—How much were they asking?

—In my estimation, not enough. Can we get out of here?

—Can you walk on your own, or do I have to carry you?

Sasha kicked sand in Harry's direction.

—In these parts I don't think that's how the women are known to treat their men. Come on, it's time.

She picked up an AK and a second mag and followed Harry to the technical. Meeka took them a hundred meters before Sasha instructed her to stop.

—We can't stop. We have to get going, Sasha.

—What about the others? Are we going to leave them there?

—Others?

Harry armed the RPG and fired off a round in the direction of the trailer. Aluminum and sand settled in a huge cloud of dirt and dust.

—My responsibility is to you and to Meeka and her mother. Do you want to pile on more? We need to be getting out of here. There's another truck behind the trailer. It's free for the taking.

—Since you put it that way-

She didn't hesitate for long.

—I was afraid I wouldn't see you ever again. What the hell took so long?

—After Ali was killed, Eloria disappeared. I wouldn't be surprised if she left a trail of bodies on the way to the brothel in her attempt to avenge his killing. She left Meeka with me. It took us a while to find a truck, and we sort of wandered our way here.

—You got lost?

—More like momentarily displaced. The faster we get out of here, the less we'll have to deal with it and the better off we'll all be.

—What's the plan?

—Where have I heard that before?

—Meeka, Harry isn't so good at planning. What do you think?

—I would like to look for my father now.

—If that's good enough for Meeka, it's good enough for us.

**Sasha rode shotgun** beside Meeka. It gave her a chance to keep an eye on the girl as she drove the technical. How a ten-year-old could do it standing up the way she did was foremost on her mind, even if the girl had trouble keeping the thing moving without jack-rabbiting down the streets.

—Meeka can really handle this thing, Harry. Who do you think showed her how to do it?

—Why don't you ask her?

—My mother showed me how to do it.

She turned her tear-stained face and smiled through a look of pride at Sasha's compliment.

—We are going to Ali's house on the long way. It will be dark when we arrive.

—How's your AK, Sasha?

—Full of sand.

—No problem. They're reliable that way. That's why they're the weapon of choice in these places. That, and they're cheap.

Ali's compound came into view. Meeka brought the technical to a shuddering halt as she released the clutch. No light escaped the windows. Harry got out and looked in, but he could see nothing of value in the dark.

—I didn't think there'd be anyone. What's our situation with munitions?

—I've got a couple of partial mags.

She wanted there to be more. She had grown accustomed to handling the rifle over the years despite all her objections. After Harry taught her how to use one on the Baja, it had proved to be a pretty reliable weapon, even for her. That she had become accustomed to it surprised her even more.

—There's one can for the .50 and a single round for the RPG.

—I have this.

Meeka pulled back her jacket, revealing a shotgun. Sasha gasped, taken aback, unsure of how to deal with a ten-year-old carrying a gun.

—Don't let it worry you. There are children younger than Meeka who routinely walk around with AK-47s across their shoulders.

—I've seen pictures of those kids.

She looked closer at the shotgun in the dim moonlight.

—Is it my imagination or just the poor light? I know it's been a while, but that sort of looks just like Mike's old sawed-off.

—You're right. It is.

—How did it get here?

—Where do you think Mike got it the first time?

—All this is too much for me right now. Let's get out of here. You have a plan, right?

—Yes I do.

—Are you going to let us in on it, or are we back on the Baja?

—Woman, we're divorced, remember? I don't want any back talk.

—Mr. Harry, you told to me that you would marry Sasha.

The cat was out of the bag now.

—Oh Mr. Harry, you're turning into such a romantic under the desert stars in the dark of night.

—I haven't asked you yet, woman.

—There are no priests in Galkayo or Garowe. They are killed.

—See? That's why I don't have a ring for you.

For the time being, Meeka was the only one who hadn't forgotten about her mother in the back of the truck.

**One problem remained** for Harry–what to do with Meeka's mother in the back of the technical. It was more than he was prepared to deal with when he arrived. He thought he'd be getting her off of the continent. Now he was rescuing her daughter. Mike's daughter. One is traded for the other.

In a way he was grateful for that. At least he wouldn't be presenting a woman Mike thought long dead, too. With Barbara-

He hadn't been able to save Eloria. He had her daughter. He had his wife. Mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned. The only thing left was to get them out as fast as he could. He tossed it all out of his head.

One thing at a time.

—We're going to the airport. Can you take us there, Meeka?

Her reply was matter of fact.

—Yes. I know how to go there.

Meeka turned the technical around and headed towards their new destination. She wound her way through the dark, deserted streets and alleys illuminated only by the technical's misaligned headlights.

—Meeka, can you pull over for a minute? There's something I need to do.

Harry got out, smashed the lights and did the same to the brake lights. When he finished he climbed up to the .50.

—Your young eyes are good. There's no sense drawing attention to us if we don't have to.

—Yes, the moon is good. No one will see us.

Harry had his hopes pinned on Mike's stolen Twin Otter still sitting unmolested and in one piece on the concrete pad where he left it. If it was shot up, there's no telling what shape it would be in.

In his mind he was already running through images of leaking fuel tanks, failed electronics and engine damage from gunfire or worse. If the Twin wasn't airworthy, for whatever reason, it would be a long truck ride to Djibouti to collect plane tickets home for the three of them.

Sasha checked her two mags and racked the AK. She yelled at harry through the technical's missing back window.

—Do you think we'll have trouble?

—I'm hoping that the strip will be unguarded. During daylight hours someone will punt an artillery shell or a mortar and get lucky when it lands close–mostly misses. I'm counting on the plane being serviceable if it hasn't been looted.

—Dammit, Harry, we can't make an overland trip in this thing. Isn't Djibouti five hundred miles north of here? It's probably longer by dirt road. And gas. We'll need gas and water and food.

—I know that. That's why we're headed to the airport. We'll fuel up and be airborne in no time.

If only. He mouthed a silent two-word prayer. The condition of the plane was a big if, and he'd be taking a chance. They'd have to wrestle with the fuel bowser and get it to the plane.

If there were guards asleep in the outbuildings, they couldn't alert them. Gunfire would sound the alarm for more of them to come to the airport to see who was attacking.

Their chances were slim, there was no doubting it. ##Accept it and move on, he told himself.

—Harry. There's something else you might want to think about.

Before he answered, he ran through everything he could. They had Meeka. Unfortunately, misfortune and a well-aimed bullet guaranteed that Meeka's mother wouldn't be making the trip. They had some armament left over in case shooting started. With luck it wouldn't be a prolonged gun battle.

A quick DI would tell him if the plane was serviceable and capable of becoming airborne to complete their escape to Djibouti. That the plane needed fuel was a huge problem. If they could just get the fuel truck up to it without alerting anyone. Of course, there could be a chance that someone would be awake and paying attention.

What could go wrong? And what did he have to think about beyond getting them all out of here and on the way to Djibouti?

—What's that?

**Sasha didn't hesitate** to question Harry. She never did. It was one of the things he liked about her in these situations.

—I don't like to be the bearer of sad tidings, but we have Eloria's mother. Have you forgotten?

—Not likely.

—You have a plan, right?

—You betcha.

—Are you going to tell us, or are you going to put us even deeper in the dark than we currently are in this hellhole in the middle of the night?

—Meeka, pull over for a couple of minutes. I want to spank your Aunt Sasha.

—That is not good, Mr. Harry.

Harry's grin was barely visible in the moonlight.

—Don't you worry, Meeka. Your Aunt Sasha has an AK in her lap. And Mr. Harry, if you please, don't be saying things like that when your goddaughter is within earshot. You could get more than a measly AK up your rear end.

Meeka looked at Sasha, knowing that she had talked back. She ignored it because it seemed as though it was expected.

—What is god-daughter?

There was no time to explain. Already Meeka was pulling the technical off to the side of the road. Harry let go of the .50 and jumped down.

—Here's the plan. Meeka, you'll drive us to the fuel truck as quickly and as quietly as you can. Sasha will get out and start it while I stand guard. If it goes well up to then, we'll convoy to the plane.

The girl looked at him.

—Convoy?

—Yes. Convoy. It means we will drive the trucks together.

Sasha wasn't convinced.

—That's too easy.

—Maybe. But it's the best we've got. Meeka, this is important. You don't have any lights, so you must watch out that you don't drive our truck into the airplane. If you do, it could hurt it.

—I watch, Mr. Harry.

—Do not stop the technical past the plane or in front of it. We need to have a clear view of the buildings in case there are people who want to stop us.

If they were lucky, no one would have an RPG to launch up their asses while they were stuck on the ground refueling. Once airborne, it became another matter entirely.

—Once I start the gas pump, Sasha will fuel the plane. I'll stand guard with the .50.

—What are you leaving out?

Harry didn't have a ready answer.

—It's time.

Meeka circled away from the dilapidated buildings. She kept the engine as quiet as she could in order not to disturb anyone inside. Standing up to drive the truck didn't make it any easier for her, even with Harry's encouragement.

Sasha struggled to get the bowser started. The engine caught and she did a jack-rabbit start with the clutch, copying Meeka's driving habit.

The heavy truck bounced and jerked its way to the Twin Otter. She hit the brakes. Nothing happened. She twisted the wheel and let out the clutch and the bowser lurched to a stop a few feet from the wing. Fuel sloshed in the tank as the truck rocked back and forth.

—Good job. You're learning. Another couple of trips over here and we'll get her trained up in no time, right Meeka?

Even Meeka knew better than to agree with him.

—Mr. Harry, I think Sasha has carried a rifle over her shoulder before right now.

They girls clasped hands and Sasha did a dance around Meeka while Harry started the gasoline engine on the bowser.

—I'll be busy doing the DI. Keep an eye out in case anyone shows up.

**Sasha squeezed the** nozzle to release fuel onto the ground. It would clean any sand and dust that might have found its way inside.

—Harry, the fuel doesn't smell right. It's hard to tell in this light, but I don't think it looks right either.

Harry handed her his flashlight.

—It looks pink.

—Don't worry about it. Pink will do. I'm going to load Meeka in the right seat. When you're done fueling, climb aboard. Don't forget your AK. And grab that shovel on the fuel truck and bring it with you.

Harry lifted Meeka into the Twin Otter and led her by the hand to the cockpit. He strapped her in and sat beside her in the left seat. He left her there to go back and load the body of her mother into the plane. He went up front to join Meeka.

The girl's eyes were big as saucers. They grew even bigger when he switched on the cockpit lights, overwhelming the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

—Is Sasha coming with us, Mr. Harry?

—Yes, Meeka. Your mother is coming, too.

He put a headset over her ears and she giggled when she heard him talking to her.

—Do you think you might like to call me just plain Harry?

She looked at him and nodded her head. She watched in wonder as Harry's hands moved through the switches and dials. With no time to pull out the checklist, he worked quickly from memory. When he finished, the start sequence was complete. He fired up number one.

Sasha finished fueling, dropped the nozzle on the ground without shutting it off and climbed aboard. She grabbed the headset by the cargo door and screamed into it.

—Go! Go! Go now!

Harry firewalled the throttle. The Otter eased off the concrete pad and pulled away from the fuel bowser. Sasha stumbled and fell against the door frame, righted herself, and fired a burst into the fuel spilling on the ground. The bullets ricocheted into the fuel tank and ignited the fumes. She fired another burst into the tank for good measure.

Engine draft from the powerful PT-6 fanned the flames and forced them in the direction of the tanker truck. Harry began taxiing towards the end of the strip on one engine. On the way, he started number two. They were good to go. With both running, he turned and firewalled the throttles.

Sasha struggled against the slipstream to close and lock the cargo door in time as the Twin Otter gently became airborne in the moonlit sky. He kept as low as he could until the orange flames disappeared from sight behind a low hill.

Sasha sighed into the headset. ##Finally.

She leaned back, trying to relax from the adrenalin rush of forcing the cabin door closed. She pushed up against something soft. What the hell? She flipped on the cabin light for a better look and screamed into the intercom for the second time.

—Harry!

—Yes, my sweet?

—Don't give me that my sweet shit. There's a body back here.

—I know dear. It's Meeka's mother. Did you remember the shovel?

—Yes.

—Good. Now relax. Find a seatbelt, strap your fine little ass down and enjoy the ride across the moonlit desert. Meeka, how are you doing?

Still grinning, she looked across at Harry and nodded her head.

—I'll be busy over here for a while. It's kind of like when you were driving the technical all by yourself. She nodded again and turned away to look out the window at the desert passing underneath.

—How are you doing back there, my sweet?

—I'm good. Are we headed for Djibouti?

—We are. But first we're going to find a good place for Meeka's mother to rest.

Meeka turned back to Harry and nodded.

—I would like that for my mother.

**Sasha heard and** then felt the plane shudder as Harry pulled back the throttles. Through the intercom she listened to Harry describe the flap setting control to Meeka, and then explain how to turn it in terms she could understand.

When he finished, he pointed to the numbers, and then called for her to set flaps ten. It sounded like he'd be walking her through all of the settings. Good. That would take her mind off of what would happen when they landed.

—Have you got a spot, Harry?

—We're headed for the road by the old campsite. Remember that?

—Oh I remember it all right. There should be a burned-out old Beech 18 and a pair of some guy's shit-stained pants there somewhere.

—Well you're pretty harsh, aren't you?

—Who is the man with dirty underwear, Harry?

Finally. Meeka was over the mister part of his name.

—He was an old boyfriend of your aunt Sasha's. She sort of dumped him here after she shot the hell out of some land pirates. The poor guy has probably never been the same since.

—Harry, this isn't about me. It's about Meeka now.

—I know. I was only trying to lighten the atmosphere. Speaking of which, Meeka, you can set flaps twenty now.

Harry looked up to check Meeka's handiwork as she stretched in the seat to complete the job.

—That's it, just like that.

He reached for her shoulder and squeezed his encouragement. When the Otter stabilized he called flaps thirty and Meeka reached up again.

—That's very good, Meeka. Okay everyone, stay buckled up until I give the word. It's going to be a bumpy landing.

Sasha waited, knowing Harry would soon throttle back to allow the Otter to mush onto the sand. Before shutting down he worked the throttles to position the plane, pointing it in the opposite direction. It would allow him to use the same familiar ground over which they had just landed in order to take off.

The engines went quiet and he made them wait until the props windmilled to a standstill.

—Come, Meeka. It's time.

He took her hand and walked with her to the cargo deck where Sasha waited.

—Meeka, I brought you here because it's one of your father's old places. It's an old place for me and for Sasha too. It's quiet and peaceful and far from the roads. Camel caravans and nomads still pass by. The wind doesn't blow too hard. The sand moves very slowly. Sometimes it will rain a little and beautiful flowers will bloom for a couple of hours.

A flood of tears streamed down Meeka's face as she listened to Harry describe her mother's final resting place.

—I think my mother will like it very much. I am glad you brought us here.

—Come, Meeka. Let's gather some rocks to prepare your mother's resting place.

Harry dug a depression in the shifting sand. He carried Eloria wrapped in the shroud from the back of the Otter. Sasha helped him place her gently in the opening. He collected her dog tags and left the second behind. He was surprised she still had them after all these years.

Old habits. He had more than a few of his own.

—Meeka, your mother would want you to have this.

He handed her the metal tag.

—When you're ready we'll be by the plane.

**Harry and Sasha** watched over Meeka as she sat by her mother's grave.

—She's a tough little thing.

—She had to be judging by what her mother had to put up with when she was raising her.

—All that is about to come to a crashing halt. I wonder how she'll handle the change.

—Without too many problems I hope. I'm getting attached to her just like you are.

They both knew how difficult it would be for the little girl once they got Meeka home. She'd be out of the environment she was most familiar with and dropped into one completely unknown and unfamiliar.

—It's time to check in. See if the sat phone is in the tail compartment.

Sasha retrieved the phone and dialed voice mail. There were half-a-dozen messages. She put the phone on speaker and played the last one first.

Barbara's voice came over loud and clear, and she wasn't happy. By the time the Sasha's friend talked herself out and hung up she was sputtering into the phone. The bad connection didn't help.

—Well, I guess that's that. If we want to get home, we'd better get it in gear or we'll be off to Bamburi with the Twin to finish that job. We only have until noon. Can we make it, Harry?

—We'll make it. Wait. What day is it? And when did that call come in?

—I lost count. I'll call her and find out where they are, just in case.

—I'll do it. I think you should be with Meeka.

Sasha joined Meeka beside her mother's grave. She put her arm around her and pulled her close. She trembled and Sasha hugged her tight, wanting her to know she wasn't alone. She was uncomfortable interrupting the little girl's mourning, but they didn't have a lot of time left to get airborne and en route to their rendezvous with Mike and Barbara.

Come to think of it, she was with Harry on that. There was going to be hell to pay with Barbara and Mike. Finally, Sasha couldn't wait any longer. It was past time to get moving.

—It's time, Meeka.

—I am ready.

She stood up and took Sasha's hand.

—Would you like to sit with me for a while? When you're ready I'll take you to the front to be with Harry.

—Do you think he will be able to fly the plane without me?

—Maybe for a little bit. Let's see how it goes.

—You climb into your seat beside mine. I'll be there in a minute.

Sasha steadied her as she climbed the ladder.

—What's the word?

—They're waiting. Same spot we took up the last time we rolled into Djibouti. And she's spitting mad.

—If Barbara is angry at you, just imagine what Mike is feeling when he found out he had to do another trip overseas in the jet just to bring us home.

—I think he'll change his mind about that when we show up with his daughter. Do you think he told Barbara everything?

—That's none of my business. I hope you don't make it yours, either. I think that if Barbara wants to tell you anything, she'll do it. Otherwise, my advice would be to stay completely away from that part of the equation.

—You're right. I just hope Mike and Barbara don't have a lot of trouble taming the girl. I think she could turn out to be a handful.

—I'm not concerned with that. We're going to be paying this off until we're dead.

—You think?

—Nah, it's all good. Let's go.

This time, Harry worked his way through the full pre-takeoff checklist. He called to Meeka for flaps, forgetting that she was in the back with Sasha.

—Clear for takeoff, ladies. Hang on. It's going to get a little bumpy rolling over the sand until we get airborne.

At five hundred feet he dialed in JIB on the GPS and proceeded to level out at ten thousand. Four hours later they were on final.

Meeka, sitting proudly beside him, dialed in the flap setting one last time. Harry looked across at the little girl. He patted her shoulder, smiled, and gave her a thumbs up.

—Maybe one day in the future you'll have the seat I'm occupying.

**Mike and his** crew watched from the door as the Twin Otter crept up to the parked jet. He checked his watch.

—Not even noon. He made good time.

—There's no one in the other seat.

Worried about not seeing her, Barbara squeezed Mike's arm hard.

—Where's Sasha?

Harry turned the Otter and Sasha's flying hair came into view. She waved from the open cargo door.

—I'm going to kill that woman.

—That's nothing. I had accounting send out a bill for use of the Twin. Wait until that shows up. They won't be able to deny it, either. I included a printout of the photo one of the guys took of Sasha hanging out the cargo door in Bamburi.

—Harry will know you aren't serious.

—I know that, but I'm going to enjoy knowing that for just a glorious split second I have him at my mercy.

Barbara walked Christa down the airstair towards the Twin Otter. Sasha waved and went up front for Meeka.

—Everyone is here, dear. It's time for us to go.

Barbara grabbed Sasha and hung on for dear life. Harry took Meeka over to Mike and introduced her to her father. When she let go of Harry's hand, Christa grabbed it and took it in her own.

—Who's this?

—That's your cousin. Her name is Meeka.

Christa looked from Harry to Mike and back.

—She looks just like Mike.

—She does, doesn't she? That's because Meeka is his daughter.

—Where's mom?

—I think Barbara is lecturing her out of sight behind the plane. That's all right, though. They'll get everything straightened out eventually. Let's go see how they're doing.

The two women stood toe-to toe, in deep discussion. They both had their hands on their hips, and he knew the stubborn wasn't over yet. It didn't seem to Harry that either was winning. Then Barbara giggled and he figured he'd better find what the hell was going on if he knew what was good for him.

—Did I hear you right?

—What right?

—That you're pregnant. When were you going to tell me?

—Well–

Harry yelled at Mike to get his ass in gear. When he showed up with Meeka he pulled the ring out of his pocket and got down on one knee.

—Will you marry me? Again?

—And be Mrs. Delaney number two? I like the sound of that, especially since I was Mrs. Delaney number one.

Harry wasn't about to let that slide.

—You know what they say about number two, don't you?

—I think I'm about to find out.

—Number two tries harder.

—Yes, well, I'll try to remember that about you when we have our first disagreement.

—Wait a minute. How did I get to be number two? Is that a yes?

—Yes.

Mike shook his friend's hand.

—I'm glad to see you're trapped again, just like the rest of us.

Harry tried, but he couldn't ignore Mike. He kept looking back and forth at his two planes that shouldn't be sitting on the same tarmac in a foreign country.

—Stop worrying. I brought a pilot over to get the Twin back to Kenya. Will you all please get out of the way so he can get moving? I need to start making money to pay for this flying circus.

**Mike waited for** the Twin Otter to depart before closing up the jet. He joined Harry up front and took the right seat.

—All aboard, Captain. Let's get airborne.

—Airborne it is.

A party atmosphere began to develop in the cabin. Sasha had been forgiven. Instead of being angry, Barbara was intent on hearing the story of her adventure with Meeka and Harry.

—Even better than that, Harry had Meeka in the right seat on the Twin Otter. I think she's going to make a pretty good pilot if it turns out that's what she wants to be.

—Christa, maybe you should take Meeka up to the cockpit and show her what her father and Harry actually do up there.

—I have seen it already. Mr. Harry wasn't very busy. He made me do all the work.

The two women looked at each other and began laughing.

—You're right, Meeka. There's always someone up front to do all the work while the other one rests.

The women high-fived.

—We are so going to be in trouble if they find out we said that.

—What's with the we? You said it all by yourself.

There was one thing left for Sasha to do.

—Meeka, do you still have that thing under your jacket?

—Yes.

—Can I have it?

—Yes. I will have no need now.

Meeka took her jacket off, unslung the shotgun from her shoulder and broke it to eject the shells.

Barbara jumped out of her seat and hurried up front to the cockpit. Mike wasn't upset. He was used to the antics of the women now. He sighed and resigned himself. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before. When Barbara returned she was more relaxed.

—He says to take it apart and put it in someone's luggage, and not to hide it anywhere in the plane. He could lose it for that. Shit. Here comes Harry.

—Don't worry about it. Whose bag are you going to put it in?

—I'm going to put it in mine, Harry. I don't know what I'd do if Mike lost the plane on account of it. I never thought to check her for anything like that.

—Well, we can't fault Meeka. She didn't know any better.

—But we should have known. Now it's too late.

—It could be too late for Meeka too. Barbara, we don't have any papers for her.

—The one thing I did before we left was to ransack your house for Christa's old passport. Fortunately, in the mess I left behind, I found it.

—I wish I had thought of it back in Djibouti. We could have had papers there for anywhere in the world.

—What are we going to do?

—Brazen it out. Now go take off your bras and ice up your nipples.

—Shit, Harry, I've been doing that for years and look at what I ended up with.

She knew better than not to grin.

—The intent isn't to bring the immigration department home with you, sweetheart. It's to encourage them to take eyes off the documents. And try not to distract your flight crew while you're doing it.

—Harry, if there was sand on this floor, my foot would be kicking it in your direction.

—I know, dear. That's why I proposed to you on the tarmac.

**Harry and Mike** took the jet into Naples for refueling before beginning their trans-Atlantic flight. Sasha took the opportunity to stretch her legs before the five-hour flight.

—Come on, Christa. We're going for a walk.

She took her daughter's hand and they strolled across the tarmac in the warm sunlight. They picked up some souvenirs from the charter operator's office and walked back into Barbara's crosshairs. The women had been friends for too long to hold anything back.

—You knew you were pregnant before you left, didn't you?

Sasha knew her friend wasn't about to cut her any slack. She was forced to admit it.

—And you went anyway. I always knew you were nuts. You just confirmed it for me. What the hell is wrong with you, woman?

—I needed some adventure in my dull life. Speaking of which, you'll have an adventure of your own with Meeka in your family now.

—I know. It's going to be a tough few months until things settle down. And with Mike being away a lot, you know where the burden is going to lie.

—Tell me something I don't know about raising a child when the husband is always missing. I'm there for support if you need me, Barbara.

—I know. Thank you.

—The thing is, I wasn't about to let Harry go alone. Neither of us knew what we'd be getting into. Mike and Harry both believed Eloria to be dead. Harry didn't know if it was her or someone pretending to be her. Ali didn't tell us much on the phone. Then the woman called a second time. That and her accent convinced Harry it was the real deal.

—You've got me there. There's no holding either of those guys back once they make up their minds. Nothing ever goes smooth for the four of us, does it?

—No, it doesn't. Speaking of which–

—Oh-oh. Now what?

—This is between the two of us.

—You're swearing me to secrecy for a second time after what you just put me through?

—I thought I saw one of our old Baja friends showing just a little too much interest in the plane and who was on it.

—Meaning us.

—Yes.

—Are you sure? Is that even possible? You'd think they'd have forgotten about us by now. It's been years since we were down there.

—They're everywhere, Barbara. Who knows, someone might still be harboring a grudge. We did take off with cash and carry, remember? In the process we broke a few hearts. And don't forget Harry and Mike weren't exactly innocent in all of it either.

—That's true. They had their own reasons for running up the Baja. I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. I'm more concerned with Meeka and Mike right now.

—You're right. It's not the time to be worrying about it.

—She sure looks like Mike, doesn't she?

—Yes, she does. We always wanted children. I know you and Harry are here for us–when you aren't getting yourself in trouble and dragging his ass all over the world to save it.

—Well, all right. You have me there.

Up front, Harry received his clearance and the jet taxied onto the runway. Unseen by anyone on the plane, a man and a woman followed the departure with binoculars until it lifted off on its long journey home.

— _Las drogas_.

— _Si. Canadá. El avión es registrado en Canadá_.

###

**About**

Peter Duke has been an aviator and fire pilot, business owner, aircraft mechanic, and motorcycle rider. He has roamed the world from Africa to the Americas and places in between. His fictional short novels are based on some of the people he has encountered and the experiences he has had while traveling the world, both for work and for pleasure.

http://pxduke.com

author@pxduke.com

**More**

Twisted Sisters

Detective Jim Nash has a problem. He has a murder victim in an alley and a dead woman in his bed. His own homicide division wants to charge him with murder. To say he's got serious commitment problems would be an understatement. He's on the lookout for twins, but he doesn't want to date them. He wants to know who murdered them. A collection of three modern pulp short stories.

Dreams Die Fast

Frank is headed home after spending a long winter on the Baja. When his motorcycle breaks down, he's trapped in an old ghost town on the west side of the Salton Sea. A woman takes pity on Frank and invites him over for a home-cooked meal. Before he knows it, Frank is knee-deep in cartel drugs with a woman itching to pull the trigger on the gun she's pointing at his back.

Dreams Die Hard

Frank is back on the road with a reformed junkie on the run from a cartel hit squad riding bitch on the back of his motorcycle. When the duo end up working at a strip club, the seedy edge of the city finally catches up, forcing Frank to dig deep within to triumph over drugs, greed, arson and murder. Some adult content.

Dreams Never Die

Frank Ross has had his fill of the big city and its bright lights. On his way to the Colorado, he catches sight of a diner in a small high-desert town while he's passing through. His decision to stop in for pie and coffee is rewarded when the friendly waitress tells him about the job posting next door. He fills out an application for a part-time job in the old-school bike shop, and his life is forever changed when he accepts.

Fast Food Slow Waitress

A biker hits all the high spots (or the low spots, depending on your point of view). These short stories find him at a peeler bar off the 15 in Montana; encountering a hitch-hiker off the 10 in New Mexico; being sweet-talked by his landlady; romancing a truck-driving sweetheart in a sleeper at a California truck stop; flirting with a waitress in a restaurant in the high desert. This is an updated and revised version of First Time and other stories previously published.

Dead Reckoning

During a well-deserved R&R on mainland Mexico, Harry picks up something he doesn't own that forces him to flee across the Sea of Cortez to the Baja. While hiding out on an isolated beach, two mysterious gringas show up to complicate Harry's life by attempting to implicate him in their own scheme, resulting in a mad dash up the Baja to escape the consequences of their actions.

Long Way Home

When Harry's ex-wife, Sasha, and their daughter accompany her oil-company boyfriend on a working vacation to Africa, the trio goes missing. They get out a call for help that will lead Harry on an air and ground chase across the Horn of Africa to rescue his family before kidnappers can move them to their den on the Indian Ocean.

Out of the Past

Harry's comfortable family life is turned upside down when he gets a phone call from a former comrade he thought long dead. When the second call comes in an hour later, the caller asks for his help. He knows his life will never be the same until he can learn what happened to the woman who launched a rescue mission to save his life after his plane was destroyed during a firefight on a bush landing strip in East Africa.

Dead Man's Hand

One man's intricate ring becomes another's folly in this short strange tale of a dead man who was unable to rest in peace.

