Reconcilable Differences Page 2

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a headache, so I’ll retire for the night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, darling,” Robert said. His concerned look was a convincing act, but it was wasted on her.

  Trish stood up, and her knees buckled. Robert grabbed her arm before she could fall. “Let me help you, darling.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, jerking free from him. His touch repulsed her.

  “I insist.”

  Robert took her arm again. The room began to spin and she found herself unable to walk. Ali came over and took her other arm.

  “Let me be of assistance, my dear.”

  Trish had never felt like this before. She had no strength in her arms and her legs could not support her. Unable to walk, she was forced to allow the two men to literally carry her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. I feel as if I’m drug—”

  The truth hit her and she felt the rise of panic. “No, let me go,” she cried. “What are you doing to me?” She tried to struggle, but it was useless. By now she couldn’t even raise an arm.

  Robert laughed, and lifted her into his arms. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our gracious host, darling. He’s been looking forward to this evening for the past day and a half. Haven’t you, Ali?”

  Bin Muzzar laughed. “More like two years, my friend. Normally, Patricia, I’m not this patient waiting for a mere woman, but Robert promised me the wait would be worthwhile. Despite your current condition, I am sure, my dear, you will enjoy what is to come as much as we will.”

  She tried to scream, but even her vocal chords were paralyzed. Her voice was barely louder than a murmur. “Let me go. You can’t do this. Robert. Please.”

  “Since our marriage will be severed, darling, I can’t think of a fonder memory to carry with me when we go our separate ways.”

  She managed a weak scream when they reached her room, but it was drowned out by the laughter of the two men as Robert carried her to the bed.

  Trish felt herself slowly begin to slide into unconsciousness and prayed for the merciful darkness to overcome her swiftly. But for now she could only lie helplessly, staring up, horrified, into the lascivious faces of the two men who had begun to strip her of her clothing.

  They pivoted in surprise when the door suddenly burst open. Through her drugged haze she imagined the face on the tall figure in the entrance—an image that had haunted her conscience, as much as her dreams, for the last six years. Was he real or was this just a wishful figment of her imagination again?

  Dave! her heart shouted joyously.

  Help me, Dave. Please help me, Trish cried out in a soundless murmur before blackness enveloped her.

  Chapter 2

  Dave stared at the two men. He recognized bin Muzzar from his picture at the briefing, but the other man was not McDermott. From his coloring and clothing, Dave figured the second man had to be the American, Robert Manning. He was aware of a woman on the bed but ignored her. None of these three people were his target.

  Up to now, there was no way bin Muzzar would know he was an American. He wore dark clothes and his face was covered with greasepaint in the hope of not revealing his nationality, since the British government was after the terrorist as well as the CIA. The sheik would have no way of knowing for certain who was behind the raid. The less said, the better.

  In Arabic, Dave asked bin Muzzar which room McDermott was in.

  Bin Muzzar turned on Manning and issued a string of curses accusing him of betrayal. Manning attempted to deny them, but bin Muzzar did not believe him and warned Manning he’d pay for his treachery. He then strode from the room and Cassidy followed.

  The sheik was further incensed when he saw the rest of the squad. Their presence set him off into another tirade and, ranting violently about the armed invasion of his home, he led them to a closed door at the end of the hall.

  Dave didn’t like the situation at all. The mission was taking too long. It was too noisy. The whole damn palace had to hear bin Muzzar shouting at them. And they were on the second floor—a definite disadvantage if the sheik’s army became involved and put up a resistance.

  To shut bin Muzzar up, Dave made a threatening motion with his rifle, and the sheik drew back and quieted. However, by this time the damage had been done. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind that McDermott couldn’t have helped hearing the commotion, and would probably be waiting with a weapon in hand.

  Dave turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He shoved it open and then ducked back. When there were no shots fired, he cautiously peered in. The room was dimly lit, but it appeared empty.

  One by one the men slipped into the room. The bed showed signs of having been used, McDermott’s backpack was still in the room, but there was no sign of the Irishman.

  “Dammit!” Dave cursed when he discovered that bin Muzzar had slipped away, too. A quick check of the remaining rooms on the floor produced the same results. No McDermott or bin Muzzzar. They were all empty except for the one that Manning and the woman were in.

  “What now?” Don Fraser asked.

  “We get the hell out of here,” Dave said.

  “Shouldn’t we search the rest of the palace for him?” Addison spoke up.

  “How long you figure that would take, sonny?” Bledsoe asked.

  “We’ve wasted enough time. Grab McDermott’s pack and let’s get out of here.”

  At that moment Manning came running down the hall. “You’ve got to help me. Ali thinks I’ve double-crossed him and that I’m working with you. I know him, he’ll kill me.”

  “Suck it up, pal,” Dave said. “In the future, I’d be more selective whom you pick for a friend.”

  Manning looked desperate. “I can tell you’re an American. My name is Robert Manning. I’m an American citizen. I demand your help.”

  “We’re not the Red Cross, Manning.”

  The whole mission had turned into a disaster. But, no matter how Manning was involved with bin Muzzar, Dave knew he couldn’t leave an American citizen to the mercy of the sheik.

  “What about your wife, Manning?”

  “Ali won’t hurt her,” Manning said.

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s the woman in the bed.”

  “You mean the woman you two were about to…? Seems we spoiled your plans for the night.” He couldn’t stand to look at the bastard. “Hurry up and get her out here.”

  “There’s a problem,” Manning said. “She’s had too much to drink. She’s passed out.”

  “Then carry her. We’re getting out of here now.”

  Manning rushed back to the room and while they waited, Dave pulled the squad together.

  “The mission’s fallen apart. Bin Muzzar’s probably alerted the palace guard by now. Most likely we’ll have to fight our way out. Addison, you’ll probably have to carry the woman. That SOB she’s married to isn’t worth a damn. Get Manning and his wife out of here now. If they’re not ready, leave them behind. Bledsoe and Williams, take the point.”

  The two men moved ahead cautiously. The lower floor appeared deserted. Dave had no idea where the sheik had disappeared to. Undoubtedly he had gone for help.

  “Bolen and Fraser, cover Addison,” Dave ordered when the others came out of the bedroom. Addison had the woman slung over his shoulder. Dave had started down the stairway when Williams gave them an all-clear sign. He was followed by Addison who carried the woman. Manning was beside Addison. Bolen and Fraser brought up the rear.

  They made it out of the building without encountering any servant or armed opposition and moved cautiously toward the gate in the stone wall surrounding the palace. There was no sign of the gatekeeper.

  Dave halted them in the cover of some trees in the garden. “Stay alert,” he ordered. “This reeks of an ambush.”

  “Why not engage us before we’re out of the gate?” Bolen said.

  “Most likely bin Muzzar doesn’t want any damage done to hi
s palace,” Dave replied. “They’re probably waiting to hit us when we’re in the open.”

  “Maybe the sheik hasn’t had time to organize his men yet?” Fraser said hopefully.

  “We can only hope,” Dave mumbled.

  “Why have we stopped? Let’s get out of here,” Manning blurted out, interrupting them.

  “Shut your mouth, Manning, and get back where you belong,” Dave declared. He’d loathed the bastard on sight. His presence at the palace at the same time as McDermott was no coincidence. Bin Muzzar’s outburst had revealed Manning and he were involved in some kind of foul play. Financing terrorists, no doubt. On top of that, even though Dave was no moralist, the two of them playing sex games with the guy’s wife disgusted him, even if the woman had apparently cooperated. So much for the mother of your child. Maybe they didn’t have any children. A blessing if they didn’t. People were becoming sicker by the day. It was no wonder the world was so damn fouled up.

  He shrugged aside his wayward thoughts. Why in hell was he moralizing? The damn fool things that went through a man’s head when he’s scared were ridiculous. Their sex lives weren’t his problem. Getting his squad out of this mess was.

  “All right, let’s move out. Bledsoe, Williams.” The two men nodded and Dave watched them shift from tree to tree as they worked their way to the gate. Seconds passed like hours as he waited for a sudden outburst of gunfire. His grasp loosened on the rifle he clutched, and he wiped his sweating palm on his pants leg, then shifted the weapon to the other hand and did the same.

  Williams reappeared at the entrance of the gate and waved them on. They moved out.

  Once they cleared the gate, they broke into a run. The extra hundred-plus pounds Addison was carrying didn’t appear to slow his stride. Now it was a foot race to cover the five miles and get back to the extraction point. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind that bin Muzzar would pursue them. Fraser’s guess was right, he was obviously rallying his army.

  At least the terrain was flat and they were making good time. They got another break when the moon disappeared behind drifting clouds. It was a temporary respite, but he welcomed any help he could get. They were nearing the coast when the moon’s silver rays once again streaked the countryside just as they heard the distant sound of approaching vehicles. AK-47 cartridges had begun kicking up puffs of dirt around them by the time they’d reached the cover of the rocky coastline.

  “What in hell should we do?” Bolen shouted as bullets ricocheted off the rocks around them.

  “Take cover and hold your fire.”

  At that moment a rocket-propelled grenade exploded nearby.

  “Now they’re launching RPGs at us and we aren’t supposed to shoot back?” Addison shouted.

  “We’ve got no choice now,” Dave said. “We’ll have to take out the ones with the RPGs before they blow us apart. No spraying. Use your rifles’ laser low lights and thermo-sightings to pick your targets.”

  A bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. “How are we going to get out of here?” Addison shouted, trying to be heard above the steady clatter of gunfire. “They’ll pick us off like fish in a barrel.”

  “Just hold them back until I can get us some help.”

  Dave pulled out the encrypted cell phone. Knowing that everything he said would be scrambled into code during the transmission, he identified himself and their coordinates, and then shared the bad news.

  “We’re in the rocks and taking heavy fire from RPGs and AK-47s to our west.” Another grenade exploded nearby to reinforce the seriousness of his report. “We need close air support. We have two American civilians with us. Repeat. We need close air support.”

  “We’re gonna be out of ammo before any help can reach us,” Addison mumbled a short time later as he changed the clip in his rifle. “This is my last clip.”

  “What are we going to do?” Robert Manning cried out. He appeared on the verge of hysteria.

  Dave tossed Addison one of his remaining clips, and then glanced with loathing at Manning huddled behind the shelter of a boulder.

  Addison had placed Manning’s wife under the same shelter. She was lying unconscious on her stomach. Her cowardly husband wasn’t making any effort to protect her body from a possible ricochet.

  “Was she hit?” Dave asked.

  “No, sir,” Addison said. “She’s been out cold since before we even left the palace. I ain’t seen her move a muscle or heard a peep out of her.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer. When I contacted them, they’d already launched a couple of F/A-18s from a carrier in the Mediterranean.”

  Dave had no sooner uttered the words when two low-flying jets screamed past, the red glare of their backburners welcome fiery beacons overhead. Dave flashed the signal to identify their position and the jets circled and flew past again.

  “What if they start firing at us?” Manning said. “You hear about friendly fire all the time.”

  If the bastard didn’t shut up, it sure as hell wouldn’t be friendly fire that killed him.

  “Don’t sweat it, Manning. They’ve got a GPS fix on us now.”

  “What’s that?” Manning asked.

  “A global positioning satellite,” Kurt Bolen said quickly to shut Manning up. “Those pilots know exactly where we are now.”

  Infrared sights exposed the position of the attackers and the pilots opened up with their guns, spraying the ground ahead of them with a warning hail of bullets.

  It was enough to rout the pursuers. Before the jets could circle again, the roar of the retreating car engines signaled the battle’s end.

  Dave had just gotten the all-clear sign on the phone when the sudden whir of rotors announced the arrival of a helicopter.

  Within minutes they were airborne, and Dave contacted Mike Bishop.

  “The mission was a bust, Mike. The target escaped.”

  “Did you all make it out okay?”

  “Yeah. No casualties.”

  “Why in hell did you kill bin Muzzar?” Mike asked. “He wasn’t your target.”

  “He’s dead? It wasn’t intentional. We were taking heavy fire from RPGs and AK-47s. All we were doing was holding them off.”

  “According to our sources the sheik died at the palace. His throat had been cut.”

  “Then it wasn’t one of us.”

  “Maybe McDermott killed him. Figured it was a double cross.”

  “Could be. Bin Muzzar accused Manning of one before the sheik disappeared. That’s why we had to bring out Manning and his wife. We did bring McDermott’s pack with us. Maybe it will turn up something.”

  “Glad you’re all safe. See you when you get back.”

  “Right. Roger and out.”

  Dave hung up the phone and shifted back to join the others. A couple of the men had already fallen asleep. Manning was sitting with his back against the wall chewing on his lip. He’d have a lot to explain when they got back to the States. He’d been consorting with a known terrorist. He was certain to pull some jail time for that. Dave hoped the government would lock Manning away and lose the key.

  He wiped the greasepaint off his face and shifted over to Addison’s side. The kid had done good. Followed orders and kept his cool under fire. But he looked so damn young. Right now Dave felt as old as Methuselah—or at least ancient enough to join the Rolling Stones.

  “How’s the lady doing?”

  “She’s been sleeping peacefully, sir.”

  “Through the whole thing?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, Manning said she’d been drinking heavily and passed out.”

  “That’s what he said, sir. But it sure doesn’t seem right to me. She never moved a muscle even on the run.” Addison glanced down at the woman. “She’s the hottest woman I’ve seen in a long time. I’d have thought she could do better than that jerk she’s married to.”

  “Birds of a feather, kid. You saw what we walked in on. Let this be a good lesson. Looks can fool you.”

 
; “Sir, please don’t call me ‘kid.’”

  “It’s a deal providing you quit calling me ‘sir.’”

  Addison grinned. “Clear, sir…ah, Dave.”

  “Now why don’t you grab some shuteye? It’s been a long day.”

  “Guess I will.” Addison looked down again at the sleeping woman. “But she sure is hot, sir. ’Bout the prettiest I’ve ever seen.” He shifted over, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  Other than a quick glance in her direction when he’d entered the bedroom, Dave had not had a close look at Patricia Manning.

  Curious, he leaned over to see if Addison had exaggerated. He sucked in his breath from the sudden punch to his gut when he recognized the face that had haunted him for the past six years.

  Bombarded by memories, Dave stared transfixed at the woman. How often had he gazed down at that sleeping face? Caressed the softness of it. Breathed the intoxicating essence of her or tasted the sweetness of her lips?

  Gradually, reasoning pierced the barrier of shock. He glanced around guiltily, thankful that no one appeared to be watching him. He knew he should move away, but he couldn’t resist the tempting draw.

  His gaze clung to her face. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the cabin. His fingers itched to brush aside several strands of jet-black hair that clung in silky tendrils to her forehead and cheeks.

  Six years had not marred the patrician perfection of those same high cheekbones, delicate jaw and full lips. And he knew that beneath those thickly tipped lashes lay the most incredible blue eyes he’d ever looked into. Eyes that could mesmerize a man’s soul as much as they haunted his mind, pierced his heart.

  But this no longer was the woman he had worshipped from the moment they met. The woman who had lain in his arms as they planned their future together—pledged their love to one another with their words and bodies. The woman whose memory he’d fought unsuccessfully to exorcise from his mind and heart.

  Trish Hunter no longer existed.

  Now only this pathetic facade of that woman remained.

  This woman was the wife of a loathsome cad. This woman consorted with terrorists. Indulged in sex orgies. Drank herself into oblivion.