'When night falls over this land, the sky gives back in beauty the sweat and blood stolen from a man's brow...' or so says an old desert folksong I once heard. I know a little about music. It's always been an interest of mine, but I've never really developed much skill for it-- writing or playing-- beyond a few songs on my old acoustic guitar. It sounds good to me, but I'm too shy to play for other people.
If I had the skill, I'd write a song about this night... it was just right-- darkness melting all the shapes and shadows together, pooling over the land while the sky above glowed with an almost milky light. Perfect for a little illusion... and a little intrusion... and hopefully a lot of elusion!
Hmmm. I should write that down when I get a chance.
It had taken a while to figure out the timing but we managed it, and soon we had a plan. By the time night was full and the guards were drowsy, everything was in place and I was ready to go in.
It was risky... yeah, I know. If I had wanted to stay safe, I'd have never left Minnesota. If things worked out, we'd all be home soon. If it didn't work...
Well, I have been accused before of being a chronic optimist.
Unbreakable Camelschapter eight, The Good, the Bad, and the Mac
Angela said nothing as she was led away from the mission. She answered no questions or responded to any jibe or insult that was said to her. In fact, she didn't hear anything said to her at all. She was numb and terrified. With all the dignity she could muster she held herself together, refusing to allow anyone to see how frightened she really was.
Rafe taunted, threatened, and leered at her. Yet he had not dared to touch her, nor had any of the men who followed them to the Fortress. Father Deigas had once told her that here was a superstition among the men of the desert lands. For all of the apparent disregard for women as individuals, there were strong social and religious taboos concerning intimacy-- especially with white christian women-- and because of this, it would be unlikely that any desert man would try to take advantage of her. It was the Western and European men that she should be most wary.
Because of those things that Father Deigas had said, and because of the quality of her own character, Angela was not afraid for herself. She feared for her charges, the helpless men and women in her care, who were not capable of taking care of them selves. She worried about the children who came to her for learning and for a decent meal at least once a day. Who would take care of them?
She was afraid for MacGyver, and of what Rafe and le conchon would do to him if they captured him. She tried hard not to think about him because when she did, tears burned her eyes and panic crowded her thoughts. She just knew he was going to do something foolish and get himself caught, and it would be her fault.
Angela followed calmly as she was led through the gates of the Fortress. They were made from wrought iron, strong and forbidding. Crossing the courtyard, she turned her face away from the sight of a bloodstained slab of stone. Cutting off the hand was still the accepted punishment for stealing another man's property. Angela had heard that beheadings, as well as firing squads, were also part of the local legal system. The barbarism of it all horrified her, and she was grateful that a veil concealed her face from her captors. She struggled to get control of herself as they marched her down the drafty stone corridors toward the dark, unfurnished side of the Fortress compound.
They took her directly to a small room with a high ceiling and locked her inside. Through the bars in the window she could see the night encroaching on the sky, gray as a prison wall. She sat down on the rickety wooden rack that served as a bed and bowed her head, finally allowing her tears to fall.
xxx
Rafka Sri wandered around in Ryerson's office in the Fortress, picking up objects from the shelves and desk and examining them as he gave a verbal report of his capture of Sister Anne Christine. Ryerson wished he'd keep his filthy hands off of his things, but he said nothing. If he interrupted the man's report, then it would take longer to hear what he had to say.
Dave Ryerson wasn't interested in spending any more time in Rafe's presence than absolutely necessary. He considered Rafe an unpleasant, uncouth bottom-feeder, but a useful tool that he needed to cultivate. In his line of work, the more people he had to do his dirty work for him, the less dirt he got on himself. And Ryerson liked to stay as clean as possible.
Making a mental note to have his secretary come in and clean everything that Rafe had touched, he pasted on a big smile and nodded as Rafe bragged and exaggerated, waiting patiently for his chance to speak. Eventually, the man would run out things to say about himself.
When there came a break between his boasts, Ryerson spoke. "Congratulations! Arresting a nun is such a dangerous pastime... you were lucky to come back alive!" he laughed to take the sting out of his sarcasm.
Rafe puffed himself up angrily but controlled his temper.
Ryerson knew that Rafe was under orders from the magistrate to cooperate with him. Unable to resist goading the proud man when he couldn't retaliate, Ryerson added, "Too bad you let the real spy slip through your fingers."
Rafe scowled at him. "I will capture the Englishman. My men will find him."
Ryerson shrugged as if it were merely a matter of time and of no consequences. "I'm sure you will. I have sent every available man to form a parameter around this hamlet... he cannot escape. He can only hide for so long before he must try to cross the boarder into Pakistan or head back out across the desert."
"I wonder if the magistrate would approve of you leaving his fortress in the care of a mere handful of guards? Maybe I should send for my men to come here and reinforce security until he returns from the Capitol?"
Ryerson's smile faded a little. "That is not necessary. This fortress can easily be held secure with the guards I have retained. Your men have had a long journey and deserve to rest. As do you."
"I will rest when I have killed that Western spy."
"You will... you will." Ryerson said silkily. He sat back in his comfortable chair with his hands behind his head and a satisfied smirk on his face. "It's just a matter of waiting. And you know that I am a man who can wait."
"Yes, your patience is legendary," Rafe said, lifting a large brass statuette of a rearing horse from Ryerson's desk and paced as he turned it over in his hands. "My patience is not so vast, however." He set the object down on a side table. Ryerson gritted his teeth and said nothing. "I think that we should question the woman. She will tell us where he is hiding."
Ryerson laughed and waved a hand in dismissal at the idea. "The nun? She doesn't know anything about him."
"Why then did you send me to bring her in, if there is nothing of value that she can tell us?"
Ryerson wove his fingers together and settled his hands across his stomach and gave Rafe a condescending look. "Because that is what will bring the spy to us. He must have come to Jiru to make contact with Deigas. With him dead, he'll probably try to talk to his assistant instead. I had her checked out by my people... she's just a civilian-- peace corps in a skirt-- but if what I've been led to understand about his man you've been chasing is true then I'm certain that he'll attempt to rescue her. Especially if she's innocent."
"The magistrate will not be pleased when he learns of the priest's death. He was supposed to be held, not eliminated."
Ryerson frowned. "That was unintentional. How was I supposed to know he had a weak heart?" With an effort, he forced himself to smile again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The magistrate probably would have had him executed when he returned."
"If you say so." Rafe remained unconvinced, but he let the subject drop. "And what will you do if this spy does not appear as you trust that he will?"
"Oh, he'll come... don't worry! " Ryerson stood up and came around the dest to Rafe's side. He slapped him heartily on the back as if they were old friends. "Never under-estimate the brainless heroics of a do-gooder. He stuck his neck out to rescue a total stranger back in Cairo. For a woman, he'd do it hundred times!"
Rafe fingered the large knife thrust in his belt and growled, "If he-- as you say-- 'sticks his neck out' here, then it will be the last time he does it in this life."