Thanks so much for the reviews of Ch. 35! :-)
...
THE DATE
CHAPTER 36
Peter Quinn checked his watch. Out of the forty eight hours that Saul had granted him to look for Rudy McCoy, he only had sixteen hours and twenty three minutes left. He was determined to stick to the time frame that Saul had stipulated and felt that it was the least he could do, given the dubious evidence that he'd presented to convince Saul that his trip should be authorised.
Quinn hadn't slept since he'd landed in Lebanon and he had already met with three useless assets. Then two local Lebanese agents, with direct orders from Saul, had assisted him in getting across the border into Syria. Quinn and his two new Lebanese sidekicks had just met with another asset, a Syrian hotelier from Qatana, who had been extremely helpful in advising who they should try and meet next.
...
As their grimy white SUV bounced and veered along the winding, dusty track up a steep incline, Quinn closed his eyes and tried to ignore his fatigue and ever-increasing motion sickness. He hoped that the lead they'd just been given by the hotelier would prove useful in discovering the fate of Rudy McCoy. Images of his friend filled his mind. Random flashbacks of the times they'd spent together.
My long drive up to Lac Selby with McCoy loudly singing Taylor Swift and One Direction songs all the way.
Creeping through the woods together towards the cabin where Brody was holed up.
Waking up in the Penthouse of the Ritz-Carlton in Philadelphia to find that McCoy had appeared during the night and restrained me on the four-poster bed with pink, fluffy handcuffs.
McCoy's amazing pencil drawings; his fondness for karaoke; his love of geek-chic and hatred of moccasins; his head massaging skills... oh his fucking amazing head massaging skills that almost lead to something more, if fucking retarded Max hadn't disturbed us in the office...
McCoy on Skype and licking that damn orange ice popsicle... and making me so fucking hard that I hated him for it. McCoy begging me to strip for him... and calling me Frosty Pants... and my response "... stay the fuck away from me."
Quinn sighed sadly. The text message I sent him that he never got; I'll giv it's a go if u show me what todo xxx
...
Quinn swallowed the build-up of tears and muttered to himself under his breath, "McCoy, I swear..."
"Pardon, Sir?" The Lebanese Agent on the back seat leant towards Quinn. "Did you say something?"
"Sorry, no, nothing..." Quinn took his sunglasses off and discreetly wiped his stinging eyes. "It's this fucking dust."
The Agent shrugged and went back to examining the map he was holding. He barked some instructions in Arabic to the driver.
Quinn turned and looked out of the rear window. The Syrian vista behind and below was desolate and beautiful. Green patches interspersed the dusty, rocky plains. A vague thought about Carrie drifted through his mind. He hadn't said goodbye, or had any communication with her since he'd departed for Lebanon and Syria. She hadn't texted him or anything. Too busy with Brody I expect. Quinn tried to decide whether he gave a shit or not anymore. He still felt like it irked him somewhat, but not as painfully and certainly not as all-encompassing. Perhaps I'm getting over her? He smiled to himself, but wasn't convinced. Perhaps all this hunt-for-McCoy stuff is just a distraction? Maybe I've just swapped one obsession for another? I really need to go and see Juila and John when I get home... it's been too long...
What if McCoy is dead, though?
What if I can't find him?
What if nobody ever finds him?
Fifteen hours, that's all I've got left before I need to abandon finding McCoy and go to see Nadiyah el-Zaid and ask if her late husband Abdul ever did business with Abu Nazir.
I can't abandon you, buddy. Fuck Dar Adal and Saul and the job. I'm not stopping 'til I've found you in some shape or form.
Quinn screwed his eyes tightly closed and tried to doze whilst he still had the chance. It was also the best way to keep his rising nausea at bay from the roller-coaster ride of a SUV journey up into the Syrian hills.
This is not the time to be making life-changing decisions...
...
A ringing cell-phone disturbed Quinn and he jolted awake when he realised that it was his own ringtone. It was a blustering Danny Galvez on the line. "Sir? Any news on the hunt for Rudy McCoy's body?"
"I'm not looking for his body." Quinn rubbed his eyes and took a mouthful of tepid water from his bottle. "I'm going to visit a local Doctor. About an hour or so ago, I met an asset who said if McCoy was injured rather than killed, then this weird, secretive Doctor might know something about it. He's a bit of a mysterious loner, a weasly humanitarian character." Quinn perked up, pleased to remind himself that he did actually have a lead that might prove useful. "He's a money grabber apparently, who keeps his mouth shut and will treat anyone for the right price. Locals, foreigners, spies... Even terrorists... or their hostages."
"It's not Doctor Syed Bacho is it?" asked Galvez, excitedly.
Quinn bit his lip, annoyed that even though Galvez was almost six thousand miles away, he appeared to be one step ahead of him. "Ummm... Yes it is."
"Apparently our local agents have been watching Doctor Bacho for numerous reasons for quite some time." Galvez sounded proud that they were all working together as a team, despite the distance.
"What?!" Quinn couldn't believe his luck, "Well, that might be useful."
"The rumour from local sources is that Doctor Syed Bacho is desperate to escape from Syria with his wife, Hana and their young family. He has enough money, but is too scared to leave and unable to get a safe passage out because a local jihadist group has started watching him closely. He has acquired too much valuable information about them over the years." Galvez lowered his voice. "We believe that Doctor Bacho may even know where several western hostages are being held. The terrorists are afraid that if he leaves Syria then he might sell or share his secrets and we believe he would too."
"Can the CIA offer Bacho a safe passage out in return for all he knows?" Quinn's mind was racing.
"We don't know yet. Possibly. Anyway, first things first. You said you're going to see this Doctor Bacho about Rudy McCoy?" Galvez sounded nervous. "Dar Adal hasn't gone looking in his direction, but he's not looking for McCoy alive anyway."
"I'll look for Rudy's body once I have proof that he's dead, but in the meantime I'm looking for him alive and kicking." Quinn was resolute.
"Sir, it's almost a week since Rudy McCoy went missing." Galvez tried to curb Quinn's enthusiasm, "Saul told me that McCoy was shot by Hezbollah guerrillas and probably burned in the fire at the ammunition warehouse."
"Does Saul have any physical evidence to support his theory?" snapped Quinn.
Galvez sighed, "Only what Dar Adal has told him..."
"Exactly." Quinn frowned, "I've got to go Galvez, I think we're here."
...
Quinn and the two Lebanese Agents headed towards the Doctor's rustic house with it's makeshift surgery attached. The Doctor's tiny and timid wife, Hana Bacho answered the door, two little girls in hijabs clutched at her long, flowing green and beige abaya. She said that her husband Syed was not there.
The Lebanese Agents spoke kindly to her, explaining that they knew of her husband's desire to leave Syria and hinting that they could help. Hana was extremely scared and refused to talk at all for the first thirty minutes, but after some explicit threats and lottery-like promises, she admitted that her husband, Syed had been dragged out of their house in the middle of the night, a week ago by a gang of rough-looking men.
"Syed was shaking when he returned. He confided that he'd been asked to treat a westerner in quite bad shape." Hana glanced up at Quinn nervously. "Syed told me that some bad men found this westerner by a roadside outside Qatana and they weren't sure what to do with him, but they wanted to keep him alive. He might be worth something to somebody."
He's worth something to me, thought Quinn angrily, before he spoke to Hana in Arabic. "Has Syed seen him since?"
"Possibly." Hana's eyes darted nervously around the room. "The same gang collected Syed in their rusty truck last night and he took his medical bag. He was out for a few hours."
Quinn's heart was racing. It's got to be McCoy. It must be! He's injured, but he's alive somewhere!
Hana spoke softly, "Syed is not a bad man. He's a good Doctor and he cares for everybody. He doesn't like some of the bad people he has to deal with sometimes, but he gets forced... threatened." Her eyes brimmed with tears and she embraced her children tightly. "He's so afraid for our little girls... I am too. Please help us..."
Quinn nodded, "He's got to help me first."