Читать книгу The Equalisers: A Soldier's Oath - Debra Webb - Страница 10

Wednesday, February 23

Aboard a flight to Kuwait

Spencer watched Willow Harris sleep. She had fought the need for hours before finally surrendering. Then she’d curled up in the window seat next to him. He was glad she’d given in. This might be her last chance to get any decent sleep until the mission was over.

Another hour and they would land at the airport in Kuwait City. He’d spent most of the travel time asking questions about the way she’d met al-Shimmari. The story went like most others with a similar ending. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy. Boy uses wealth and power to take advantage of girl who has not a clue how the cultural differences will eventually impact her life.

The adage love is blind was too damned true.

The story got somewhat muddy during the last year she spent in Kuwait. No matter how he’d phrased the questions or from what angle he had approached the subject, she’d found a way to dodge being completely forthcoming about that timeframe.

He didn’t understand her reasons for holding back. As badly as she wanted to regain custody of her son he had to assume that she would share any possible information even if only remotely relevant. That assumption would lead him to figure that nothing about that final year was significant. However, there was a strong probability that she couldn’t see past the emotional wall she’d built to protect herself from those final months of her marriage. She could be holding back information that would prove useful without even knowing it. That was the part that worried him.

Of course he couldn’t be certain that anything about her marriage, other than the clash of cultures, was pertinent to the current situation, but he had a feeling.

After a decade of diving into covert operations in various settings and under a wide array of conditions, he’d learned to trust his gut implicitly. His instincts had only let him down once.

Spencer leaned back deep into the seat, allowing his thoughts to wander back just over two years—something he rarely permitted. The mission had been as uncomplicated as they came, get in, retrieve the hostages and get out. He and his team had done it a hundred times before.

But that last time something had gone wrong. The hostages were already dead when the team arrived. Spencer had taken the fall for the intelligence leak that had led to the deaths of the hostages.

He hadn’t been able to prove his innocence, but neither had the military investigators assigned to the case been able to prove his guilt.

As far as he was concerned there was only one man to blame for what happened. Colonel Calvin Richards. Richards was retired now, but he’d managed to destroy Spencer’s career before taking that retirement.

Bitterness burned through Spencer. This was why he didn’t let himself think about that particular part of his past. His fingers tightened on the arms of his seat. He hadn’t deserved that kind of end to his career. Prior to the incident two years ago he’d been touted a hero. He’d never wanted the attention that went along with being labeled a hero, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected to be called a traitor.

“Would you like something to drink, sir?”

The flight attendant smiled down at him, ready to provide whatever refreshment he required. The answer to her question was no. He told himself to utter the single-syllable word but the thought of having a drink—just one—was almost overpowering. One drink would likely do the trick. He could relax… let go the tension now twisting his gut.

The other passengers seated around him in first class had been served already. Beer, wine, cocktails, bourbon. It would be so easy. Having a drink once they landed in Kuwait would be near impossible since alcohol was illegal.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wished he could work up the courage to just say no.

“I’ll take a soda.”

Willow’s voice jerked his gaze in her direction. She sat up a little straighter in her seat and gazed expectantly at the flight attendant. He hadn’t realized she’d awakened, much less moved.

“Nothing for you, sir?” the attendant prompted one last time.

“I’ll have the same as the lady.” That his voice was practically a croak made him even angrier, this time at himself for being weak as well as a fool.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks.” The attendant continued down the aisle.

“I can’t believe I slept so long.” Willow stretched her arms and torso, the motion as sleek and languid as a cat’s, the soft moan accompanying those movements sounding as satisfied as a contented purr.

“You were tired.” It was the only response he could dredge up from his preoccupied brain at the moment. He shifted his attention from her, careful not to focus on the alcoholic beverages being enjoyed by the other passengers, and gave himself a mental kick.

The attendant returned with their complimentary drinks. Spencer allowed the fizz of the soda to sit on his tongue before swallowing. He would not let his need to fortify himself screw up this operation. His mind was made up. The two years not withstanding, wallowing in self-pity had never been his style.

This was his opportunity to get his act together. He would not let defeat suck him in again. Willow Harris was counting on him.

Her little boy was counting on him as well, though he didn’t know it yet and might not appreciate it for years to come. The next couple of days would determine the course the boy’s young life took. Would he be raised as an American with his mother’s influence affecting his daily life? Or would his future lie in a different world with a man who very well could be associated with terrorists?

To Spencer’s way of thinking, under normal circumstances both parents should be involved with the rearing of a child. But, if there was even an iota of truth to the rumor that al-Shimmari had ties to terrorists, the man had no right to shape the life of his child.

Proving al-Shimmari’s ties to illegal activities was not Spencer’s job. His focus was reuniting the boy with his mother. He would, in fact, be attempting to steal the child and to smuggle him out of the country with a fake passport. If they were caught, they would face stiff penalties, including jail time.

It was common practice in these cases for one parent or the other to attempt to regain control over their child’s destiny. In this case, the key was to have the child on American soil and in the care of the mother in order to claim jurisdiction for legal purposes. On his own ground, that was exactly what Willow’s ex-husband had done. He, in turn, would fully anticipate that she would retaliate in kind. Unfortunately none of her previous investigators had been successful.

Spencer considered that at least one man may have died in his attempt. This gave him all the more reason to believe that al-Shimmari might not be on the up and up.

Whether he was or not made no difference to Spencer. It did, however, greatly influence the lengths the man would likely be willing to go to in order to protect his continued possession of the child. Possession was extremely important to maintaining legal custody. The American courts generally ruled in favor of the American parent. Willow had, in fact, gained a court order granting her temporary custody months ago. The Kuwaiti courts had chosen to ignore that order. No surprise there.

“I brought along a khimar to wear. I didn’t know if you would think it was necessary, but I’m leaning toward that extra layer of precaution.”

Spencer wrestled his attention back to the present. “I brought one as well. I planned to suggest that you wear it to ensure as much invisibility as possible.” He’d hoped she wouldn’t have a problem wearing the scarf. Though it wasn’t necessary as a western visitor, any steps they could take to ensure she wasn’t identified by anyone from al-Shimmari’s circle of family, friends or business associates would be a good thing. He hadn’t brought it up before in an attempt to avoid giving her anything else to worry about. He’d felt certain she would agree to the last minute suggestion.

Maybe he’d underestimated her determination to cooperate.

“Funny,” she said quietly, “I never wore them before.”

She didn’t look at him as she said this, instead she stared out the window at the passing clouds or maybe nothing in particular.

“An act of defiance?” Was this how the marriage had started off? Or had her husband at first permitted her to cling to her western ways?

“Our relationship was different in the beginning.” Her gaze shifted to the back of the seat in front of her as she spoke. “There was mutual respect. His mother didn’t like that he allowed me to be American, but he seemed perfectly happy with the me he’d married.”

“When did things change?” They’d covered some of how things started to deteriorate, but maybe if he persisted along these lines she would delve into those final months. He settled his half-empty glass on the tray and waited for her to go on with her story.

“After Ata’s birth.” She held her soda in both hands as if she feared a sudden bout of turbulence would catch her off guard. “It was as if he grew ashamed of me. The pressure to stay home and out of the public eye was at first subtle, but then I started to feel like a prisoner. God knows that fortress he calls a residence is more like a prison than a home.”

She placed her drink on the tray above her lap, but didn’t let go of the glass. “Everything about Ata became an issue. I wasn’t holding him right. I wasn’t feeding him properly. Half the time Khaled’s mother was in charge of Ata’s care. They just pushed me aside and did things their way, as if I had no say in the matter.”

That couldn’t have gone over very well. “How did you put a stop to that?”

For the first time since the conversation began she looked him square in the eye. “I pitched a fit. For a while things were better.”

“But that didn’t last long.”

She shook her head. “Then my ex-husband found business to occupy my time.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “To keep me away from our son as much as possible. I didn’t recognize the tactic at first. I was so happy to be involved with my husband’s pursuits I didn’t see the hidden agenda.”

This was the first he’d heard of her being involved with any of al-Shimmari’s work. “What exactly did you do for the family business?”

She traced the droplets of water forming on her glass. “Since my training was in trading stocks and evaluating investment potential, he pretended to want my advice on his financial portfolio.”

If Spencer had been surprised before, he was outright shocked now. Why would a man like al-Shimmari allow her access to his financial records? Sure, she’d been educated in finances, but she wasn’t a seasoned pro by any means. “What do you mean he pretended to want your advice?”

She shook her head slowly from side to side. “God, I was such a fool.”

Spencer didn’t rush her, he just let her talk. He sensed that what she had to say next would prove key to new and vital information about al-Shimmari.

“The entire portfolio I’d evaluated for hours and hours, days really, was a hoax. What he allowed me access to was nothing more than a fake set of financial records created specifically for my entertainment.”

Tension roiled through Spencer. “What tipped you off?”

“We were in his office at home. I was pointing out a problem I’d discovered when he was called out of the room for a moment. His computer screen was open to what I thought was the same data system I accessed from my own small office. So I sat down at his desk to print out a page I’d somehow failed to print. The differences in his database and the one I was permitted to access were glaringly obvious.”

Spencer’s tension escalated to a new level. “Did he catch you at his computer?”

She laughed, the sound dry and wholly lacking in amusement. “He didn’t have to catch me. I confronted him about the differences.” Another laugh choked out of her. “I was totally convinced that someone was keeping a second set of books, so to speak, in order to skim his finances. It never entered my mind that he was the guilty party.”

Spencer could imagine what happened next. None of it good.

“He was furious,” she went on. “He accused me of making up the data he claimed didn’t exist. I was never allowed even to speak of his work or his finances again. Two months later I broached the subject of a trial separation. I’d gotten so frustrated with the way his mother kept Ata away from me and with his indifference I was ready to take drastic action.” Her attention turned back to the window. “I thought maybe if I shocked him with that news that maybe he would turn back into the man I’d married. I had no idea that he’d already made plans of his own. A few days later I found myself in LAX with no ID or money.”

Spencer touched her arm, the one closest to him. “Those months must have been very difficult for you.” Being so far from home with no support network, surrounded by people who didn’t want her, had to have been a nightmare.

She looked up at him, her green eyes filled with that haunted look that tugged at his emotions. “The hard part came when they wouldn’t let me see my son again.” She grabbed his shirtsleeve when he would have moved his hand away. “You have to get my son back for me, Mr. Anders. I can’t keep living this way.” She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. “I dream about him, only to wake up and realize that I’m alone. Do you know how that feels? To be completely alone? So alone that nothing matters to you anymore?”

A single tear trekked down her cheek and he couldn’t resist touching her again. He swiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. No one should have to go through this kind of hell. She loved her child. She only wanted the things any mother would want. The man she’d loved and trusted had taken that away from her.

“I’ll get your son back.” He didn’t answer the other question. “No matter what else happens, I will see that you get your son back.”

The crackle of electricity between them startled him at first. But he couldn’t draw his hand away from her sweet face. She needed him. No one had needed him in so long. More than that… he needed her just a little.

The sound of the flight attendant’s voice over the speaker system shattered the moment. “… Seatbelts should be fastened and trays should be placed in their upright position in preparation for landing…” Another of the flight attendants hurried along the aisle to reclaim empty refreshment containers and any other trash from the passengers.

Willow kept her gaze straight ahead as the plane started to descend. He had wanted to ask her if she’d found anything in al-Shimmari’s finances that sent up a red flag for her. Obviously there was something her ex-husband had wanted to hide from her. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted her to know the true extent of his assets. But why bother to hide those? As a non-Muslim she had no rights to his holdings. If he hadn’t gotten so caught up in touching her he might have asked the question.

Later, when they’d gotten to the hotel maybe he’d ask her to elaborate on what she’d found. For now, they had to concentrate on getting through customs and the airport without incident. Operations of this nature were best accomplished one step at a time.

When the plane bumped along the tarmac, Willow felt her tension start to climb once more. She’d spent the past forty-eight hours bracing for this moment and still she felt ill-prepared for what was to come.

What if Khaled learned that she was here?

What if one of his many spies saw her?

She chewed her lip and fought the panic. He wouldn’t find her. Mr. Anders had taken care of a passport under an alias. She would wear the khimar. Khaled would not know she was in the country. She and Ata would be gone before he suspected she was up to anything. He surely thought he’d foiled her attempts to retrieve her son when he captured or murdered Mr. Davenport’s man.

If she and Spencer succeeded, Khaled would retaliate, but she’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

This was the only way.

Willow resisted the urge to look at the man next to her. There were other things she wanted to tell him. But she couldn’t. She’d sworn never to tell. If she breathed a word of what she knew, Khaled would not rest until she was dead. If she were dead there was nothing she could do for Ata. His well-being was first and foremost in her mind.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

Khaled’s business dealings were not her problem. There were government agencies responsible for catching men like him. She couldn’t be that kind of martyr. Not when her son’s life hung in the balance.

She knew exactly what would happen if she told Spencer Anders or Jim Colby what she knew. They would do the same thing any of the others she’d hired would have done had they learned her secret: go straight to the FBI.

As much as she loved her country… as much as she longed to do what her brain told her was the right thing, her heart wouldn’t let her do anything that would jeopardize her child’s safety.

Khaled had told her what he would do if she ever told a soul. The fact that he hadn’t simply killed her had been surprise enough. At first, she had been so happy that he hadn’t executed her on the spot, that she had stupidly thought maybe he still loved her. But he hadn’t, not the way a man was meant to love a woman in any event.

So, she’d had to muddle through alone. Her family had disowned her. She had no friends. The few she’d had before moving to Kuwait had gone on with their lives. There was no one to help her except this stranger she’d hired with the last of her savings.

She could say or do nothing that would alienate him in any way. He could never know she was keeping such a horrible secret. He was ex-military. He would not understand her reasoning.

Every step had to be carefully planned. Every word cautiously chosen.

When the seatbelt light had gone out and the flight attendant announced that they could deplane, Spencer stood and stepped back for her to exit before him. Willow dragged the khimar from her purse and wrapped it around her hair as she moved down the aisle. She had lightened her hair just a little and she’d lost some weight. She had to believe that no one would recognize her. Otherwise she might just have a nervous breakdown before they got out of the airport.

As they walked along the corridor that would take them into the terminal, Spencer moved closer, but he didn’t touch her. Apparently he understood that acts of affection or touching in general were not well-perceived in this country. His apparent knowledge of the country prevented any awkwardness.

God really had been looking out for her when he’d led her to the Equalizers.

Her heart started to pound harder when they moved into the crowded terminal. She tried not to scan the crowd. She wanted to look like any other arriving visitor. If she appeared suspicious or apprehensive someone might notice.

As they approached customs, she found herself holding her breath. If they made it through this security checkpoint, they would be home free.

Several other passengers lined up in front of them.

Anders leaned down. “We’ll be fine,” he whispered softly.

She prayed he was right.

Working hard not to study the faces of the customs officers, she rested her gaze anywhere but on the activities going on directly in front of her.

Stay calm, she told herself over and over.

There is no reason for anyone to be suspicious. Her papers were in order. She had nothing in her possession that would raise questions.

Five more minutes and this part would be over.

One of the officers motioned for her and Anders to move forward. It was their turn.

She walked slowly up to the counter and placed her purse and small carry-on bag there. Somehow a smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

“State your business in our country.”

Anders answered in spite of the fact that the man looked at Willow when he asked the question. “We’re appraising real estate for one of my clients.” He smiled down at Willow before turning his attention back to the man. “And doing a little vacationing.”

How could he sound so calm and cool?

The officer continued to review their passports and belongings. Willow noted nothing even remotely familiar about him. He looked to be in his forties. Medium height and weight with a bit of gray in his dark hair. His tone was brusque when he spoke, but that was typical.

Just when she’d decided she could relax marginally, the officer motioned for another man to join him at the counter. He passed Willow’s passport to his associate. Her heart lunged into her throat.

The second man, who wore a similar uniform to the first, looked at Willow and said, “Madam, you will need to come with me.”