Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) (27 page)

She stepped back to get a better angle and stumbled, her hands instinctively grabbing a hold of the rope to keep herself upright. But the knotted line suddenly gave way, and she landed on her rear end with a loud thump, still holding the rope in one hand. It took her a moment to realize the rope had come untied. She quickly scrambled to her feet and loosened the rope around the chest. A moment later, she lifted the lid.

As quickly as possible, she pulled out all her aunt’s clothes, tossing them by her feet. Finally she reached the fitted board Yusuf had inserted near the bottom of the chest. But much to her surprise, she couldn’t grab a hold of it. The edges were right up against the side walls of the chest. She couldn’t get a finger between the plank and the chest wall. In a near panic, she pushed down on one end, hoping the other end would tilt enough that she could slip her fingers through. But the panel didn’t give at all.

Feeling the sweat drip between her breasts, Ghaniyah desperately worked every edge of the wood, searching for a sliver of a gap. Nothing. She stood upright, her back aching. Breathing heavily, she told herself to think. There had to be a way to get the board out.

Suddenly the house door creaked open and the rancher stepped outside. Ghaniyah instantly ducked below the cab, her heart racing. Silently, she stretched herself out across the truck bed. Something sharp dug into one hip. Realizing it was her empty suitcase, which she had hoped to hide the poison in, she awkwardly pushed it aside. Now lying on top of her aunt’s strewn clothes, flat on the bed of truck, she tried to control her heaving breaths which sounded like thunder to her. She knew she was completely hidden from a casual glance. Unless the rancher peeked into the truck bed.

Her mind raced. Did he know she had crept out of the house? Had he checked her tiny room and found her missing? Then she remembered that she had left the chest lid propped open against the back of the truck cab. It would be plainly visible if he looked! Where was he? She couldn’t hear anything now except the thumping of her own heart beating wildly. Willing her mind to quiet, she strained to hear. Where had he gone?

Then, the sound of a match being struck. Just off to her right somewhere, surprising her. She hadn’t heard him approach from that direction. He was close. Very close. She heard the distinctive exhale of cigarette smoke and then smelled the tobacco. A moment later she heard him relieve himself on the hard dirt.

She made herself take long, slow breaths, the cigarette smoke drifting over her in waves. No choice but to wait. The rancher coughed a few times. After what seemed like hours, but she knew was only minutes, she heard a foot stomp on the ground a few times. He was putting out the cigarette. She could hear the door creak again, then it was quiet. She let out a sigh of relief, but continued to wait, lying still in the truck, waiting. But there were no other sounds. It was quiet again.

Slowly, she sat up, automatically adjusting the knife in her boot, which had shifted when she had dived into the truck bed and was painfully digging into her ankle bone. Feeling the knife, she had an idea. Suddenly excited, she withdrew the knife, anxiously tearing off the coarse paper towels around the blade. Crawling to the chest, she quickly forced the blade between the plank edge and the chest.

It worked! She steadily pulled the blade upward against the board. The plywood was lifting! She momentarily lost her grip and the board fell back into place. Unfazed, she promptly inserted the knife between the board and chest again. She pulled up. Slowly. A little more. Finally, she could fit her fingers between the board and the chest. Tipping the board to one side, she felt the bottom of the chest for the plastic bags of poison.

But the chest was empty.

Adnan had told Aref to keep the apartment lights off, not wanting to attract attention. He now sat on the sofa, his back to the large window above the couch, resting comfortably. Finally feeling safe, he started to relax.

After leaving the other two men a block away from the hospital, Adnan had quickly made his way to a small marketplace, now shut down for the night. It was just an hour until curfew and not many people were out. However, there had been some taxi drivers mulling about, solving the world’s problems by arguing loudly. He had asked one of the drivers to take him to Jadida.

Close to the pharmacy, he had spotted two soldiers parked in a Humvee across the street. That meant that his apartment, directly above the shop, was similarly out of bounds. Not surprising. The driver had then followed his directions, zig zagging through the quiet streets until they neared Aref’s apartment complex. Adnan had carefully peered into the dark night, but there were no signs of surveillance. He had gotten out, telling the driver he would be right back.

Aref had quickly agreed to pay the taxi bill, going to the car himself to pay the man. Adnan had been in the small bathroom when Aref came back inside. The older man had dozens of questions for him, but Adnan waved them off. He had asked if there was anything to eat, and Aref served him some lentil soup.

Now giving Adnan a concerned look, Aref said, “They didn’t let you go.”

Adnan shook his head. “No.”

“Why you? What did you do?”

Adnan gave him a tight smile. “I fell in love.”

Aref nodded, as if he understood, but Adnan knew he didn’t know about Ghaniyah. No one did. Except his sister Daneen and Thamer. And now the Americans. Aside from that, it was a secret. He found himself chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Aref asked.

“Nothing.” Adnan waved him off and leaned back, closing his eyes.

“I have something to show you.” Aref scurried off to his closet, rummaged around a bit and then returned with a large poster board. He held it up in front of Adnan. In the dim light coming through the window, Adnan saw the large scripted Arabic letters which read, “
Make Iraq a government of the people, by the people and for the people
.”

Disappointed that Adnan showed no reaction whatsoever, Aref explained. “‘Of the people, by the people, for the people.’ You know where that came from?”

Adnan shook his head, fatigue from the long day finally catching up with him. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

“An American president. I have it. The boy downstairs? He found it. On the Internet.” Aref went to a nearby cluttered desk, found the paper. “Abraham Lincoln. President of the United States during their civil war.” He glanced at Adnan. “They had a civil war. I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”

Adnan wearily shook his head no.

Aref went on. “Well, they did. Very bad. A lot of people died. But this is what that president said after a big battle.
‘Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal...’
”

Aref eagerly looked up to see the younger man’s response.

But Adnan was fast asleep.

Ghaniyah double-checked the knots. She was certain she had secured the rope over the furniture just as Yusuf had done. Confident that nothing was out of place, she picked up her empty suitcase and climbed out of the truck. She stopped at the passenger side of the cab and opened the door. An overhead light came on, startling her, but she quickly opened the glove box. The work gloves were still there, along with some papers, just as she had seen when Yusuf had opened the glove compartment as they had pulled into the gas station. Ignoring the documents, Ghaniyah swiftly grabbed the two gloves, feeling them with her hands. One was definitely thicker than the other. She reached into the glove and pulled out the roll of cash.

Although tempted to take it all, she knew it was better to be prudent. She peeled off three large bills, a total of nearly 400 dinars. She stuffed the money into her bra, put the remaining money roll back into the glove, and put both gloves back as she had found them. She shut the glove box and then softly closed the truck door. Carrying the suitcase, she quietly made her way around to the side of the house.

She had left the house by using the side entrance that was closest to her tiny room and most importantly, further away from where both men were sleeping. Dejected that she had failed to secure the poison, she started to enter the house when someone on the other side of the door suddenly yanked it open. Jumping back in fright, Ghaniyah nearly screamed in terror.

It was the young girl.

With her heart beating wildly, Ghaniyah watched as the girl came outside, pulling the door closed behind her. Pressing a finger to her lips for quiet, she led Ghaniyah a good twenty feet from the house, then whispered, “You want the magic food, don’t you?”

At a loss for words, Ghaniyah just stared at the girl.

“I saw you in the truck, but Papa already took it.”

Ghaniyah frowned at the girl, not comprehending.

“The magic feed,” the girl whispered with annoyance.

Still taken back, Ghaniyah finally managed to mutter, “Feed?”

“I came outside and saw him. He got mad. It’s magic feed for the goats. To make them make more babies.”

Her heart finally finding its normal rhythm, Ghaniyah asked, “In plastic bags? The feed is in three plastic bags?”

The girl nodded. “Papa hid them. I’ll show you.”

Ghaniyah allowed the girl to lead her by the hand. Her mind was racing. Surely the rancher knew the bags contained some sort of poison, but why had he stolen it? Or did he steal it? Did Yusuf tell the rancher to keep it and that’s why she was to stay behind?

The girl led her past Yusuf’s truck to a small shed she had hardly noticed before. Sliding the door open, the girl stepped inside. A moment later she reappeared holding one of the bags. She presented it to Ghaniyah as if it were a fine gift. Kneeling before the girl, Ghaniyah took the bag, saying, “I can’t explain everything right now, but I need to keep these bags with me. And it must remain a secret.”

“You’ll give it to the goats, won’t you?”

“I can’t, dear. This stuff isn’t really good for goats –”

“That’s not what Papa said. He said it–”

“I know. But I’m telling you the truth. If you fed this to the goats they would get very, very sick.”

The girl looked baffled. “Then why does Papa want it?”

“I don’t know. But you’re going to have to trust me. I need these bags. I need to take them with me and–”

“What? Where?” the girl complained in a loud voice. “You can’t leave–”

“Shh,” Ghaniyah scolded her. “Quiet. Listen, I have to go away. For just a bit, but–”

“No,” the girl protested, her voice still more than a whisper. “You’re to live here. With us!”

“Shh,” Ghaniyah hushed. “Shh. I will come back. I promise. But I have to leave first. Then I’ll come back.” Ghaniyah felt a twinge of guilt knowing that if she had it her way, she would never be back. Before the girl could ask more questions, she said, “Get the other two bags.”

The girl complied and watched as Ghaniyah laid them in her suitcase.

It had been a long night. McKay now sat on a chair near Peterson’s desk, her feet up on another. She had never felt so tired. Gonz was lying on the floor nearby with a pencil in his mouth, his eyes closed. But he wasn’t sleeping. Or even resting for that matter. He was concentrating. Chewing on the pencil with intensity. He removed the pencil and asked, “What’s that reply again?”

Turning his attention to the computer monitor, Peterson read the translated text. “
Tomorrow will be seven days from Sunday. Tomorrow will be a new day. You will see. You will not be disappointed
.”

Pacing behind Peterson, Heisman said, “Okay, okay, wait a minute. Let’s think.”

“We need a time and a target,” Gonz reminded him grumpily. He hadn’t been in a good mood since they had discovered Adnan missing. After combing the entire hospital top to bottom and coming up empty, Gonz had extensively questioned the Special Forces soldiers. At first it was thought that Adnan had gotten away before they had arrived since only three groups of people had left the hospital while the Special Forces were watching: A husband and wife with a small child, the husband very short and squat, ruling out it was Adnan; two female nurses who were promptly picked up by a man driving a small Nissan, and three men using the south exit.

However, after the two Special Forces soldiers had described the three Iraqi men quite well, Gonz had felt certain that Adnan had been the younger man. The question was, how did he get the new clothes and who were the other men? Had he gotten help from the inside? Compounding his frustrations, by the time he had determined that Adnan had indeed escaped, the curfew was in effect and the streets were deserted.

Adnan was long gone.

“Let’s roll the dice,” McKay offered. “Let’s talk about Ghaniyah.”

“Ghaniyah?” Heisman asked skeptically.

“Think about it. She has the ricin, right? We know that.”

“That’s about all we know,” Gonz pointed out. “But what are you thinking?”

“Why not spook him? Tell him that Ghaniyah’s going to work with us. You know, whoever we’re posing as.”

This got Gonz’s attention. He sat up.

“Then what?” Heisman inquired.

McKay shrugged. “We can offer a deal. Maybe we just want cash. We’ll trade the ricin for some cash. Get him to come out of hiding.”

“It’s good because it shows we’re in the know,” Gonz announced. “We know about Ghaniyah, we know about the ricin. It’s good.” He put the pencil back in his mouth and started gnawing on it.

“They’re not going to meet us and show their faces,” Heisman argued. “They’re not that stupid. Plus, for all we know, he could be in touch with her.”

“Or not,” McKay said. “It might be tricky for her to make contact right now. We don’t know.”