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She could do something real and substantial in the fight against looting and trafficking and funding terrorism.
The US and their allies didn’t even know Rafiq was alive. But she knew. She’d spoken with him. And if she played her cards right, she could lead a team of special forces operators right to wherever he’d been hiding out since his supposed death.
But to do that, she couldn’t be rescued now.
In Arabic, she spoke to her captors. “Remove the knife from my neck, and I’ll get us out of here.”
“He will shoot me if I move the knife.”
“You cut open my throat and you’ll be shot.”
“What did you tell him?” the SEAL asked.
She met her would-be rescuer’s gaze. She suspected both Jamal and Bassam spoke English. They would understand if she spoke of Rafiq and her plans to lead the US military to his door. All she could do was look into the man’s eyes and say with utter calm and conviction, “Let us go.”
His eyes narrowed. “I can’t do that.”
She couldn’t move her head, but her hands were free. She shifted her position so her left hand was clearly visible, pressed flat to her chest below the knife-wielding hand.
She deliberately tucked her thumb to display four fingers, wiggling them slightly. She slipped her thumb between her middle and ring fingers and used the thumb to tap the place where a ring would be. She couldn’t be sure he saw it, so she made the motion again. As she moved her fingers, she mouthed the words, Trust me.
Chapter Six
Trust me. Had she really mouthed those words?
Trust her?
He’d learned the hard way to never, ever trust a hostage.
They were terrified and irrational. And sometimes they didn’t want to be rescued.
The look in Dr. Edwards’s eyes told him she was one of those.
What the hell was wrong with her? And what was it with her flashing four fingers like that repeatedly?
He radioed to his team to stay back, and that was when he realized he was dealing with dead air. Behind him, crouched in the tunnel, Kramer said, “Radio’s not working.”
Chris cursed. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that on this side of the wadi there was a signal jammer of the kind he’d come across in Washington last January. Were Russians in bed with this terrorist cell?
With signals jammed, he couldn’t call in a Seahawk to swoop down in the nearest clearing and whisk Dr. Edwards to safety.
He and Kramer were on their own in this standoff.
Two against two would be fine, even if one side had a vehicle and hostage, but it appeared the hostage had sided with the terrorists.
Which made it three against two.
How deep was Edwards in this? Was she the type to pull a weapon and start shooting?
Chris watched her hands. He would do what he had to if she went for a gun.
She spoke softly to her captor in Arabic. From her tone and cadence, he guessed she was negotiating with him.
Or was she giving him orders?
He wished he spoke more Arabic, but his focus the last several years had been learning Russian and other languages from Eastern Europe. The ops he was sent on from Coronado had been focused in that region. He’d spent time in the Sandbox, but not as much as he would have if he’d been based out of Little Creek from the start of his tenure.
Was she planning their escape?
