Terror Trail. Don Pendleton

Kerim began to walk away. He stopped and turned around.

       “Do this one thing for me, Ibrahim. Take charge of the American. Look to his injuries. Minister to him. Feed him. If we are to follow Allah’s intentions, then we need to keep this pig alive. Our brothers have had their thirst quenched for now. I will give the order that Lang is under your protection and he must not be harmed until I give the order. Allah is a compassionate God, so we must abide by his example.”

       “But he stays in the cage,” James said. “He must not be allowed the opportunity to escape.”

       “Again, wise thinking, my brother,” Kerim said. He handed James the key to the metal cage’s lock. “I trust you, brother. I know you will not disappoint me.”

       James watched Kerim cross to his hut and vanish inside. He hefted the key in his hand.

       Believe what you want, Kerim, he thought. In the end I am going to disappoint you big-time.

      CHAPTER NINE

      One of Kerim’s followers was the camp’s medic. Through Kerim the man was ordered to tend the beaten American. The terrorist did as he was told with a sullen attitude. He was of the opinion that Lang should be left to die, but his allegiance to Hand of Allah dictated he obey whatever Shaia Kerim instructed.

       James unlocked the cage and Lang was brought outside and propped against the bars. The binding cord was removed from his wrists. He was still barely conscious and the beating had left him slightly concussed. In the time since the assault his face and body had begun to show the extent of the attack’s brutality. When the blood and sand was cleaned from his face James was able to see how badly bruised the man was. Great blue-and-yellow swellings distorted his cheeks and eyes. His flesh had split in a number of places. When the medic opened his shirt Lang’s body showed similar discoloration. The way he winced when his ribs were checked suggested some were either badly bruised or possibly cracked.

       As he worked on Lang the medic carried on a mumbling litany of Arabic. James was unable to understand what the man was saying. The vicious tone in the man’s voice told James it was nothing pleasant.

       His work completed, the medic gathered his kit and left James with Lang. James had brought food and water for the CIA man. He raised a flask and tried to give Lang a drink. Most of the water dribbled down Lang’s chin, but some slid down his throat. When James leaned back he saw that Lang’s eyes were open and staring at him.

       “What’s this for?” Lang asked. “Strengthening me up for round two?”

       “No. I want you ready for when we get out of here,” James replied.

       “You want me to run so you can shoot me in the back? What is it with you bastards? Not enough guts to kill a man face to face?”

       “I can’t answer for Kerim’s men. I’m not one of them. Name’s Roy Landis. Undercover while I try to dig out information on Hand of Allah.”

       The CIA agent offered a cynical smile that looked all the more grotesque because of his swollen face.

       “Sure. And I should take your word for that?”

       “They see through my cover we’ll be sharing this cage.”

       Lang’s gaze flickered over James’s shoulder, and James picked up the sound of someone coming up behind him. He saw a shadow on the sand to his right.

       “Is he still alive, my brother?” James recognized Kerim’s voice.

       “By Allah’s good grace the infidel has not died. Praise be to Allah the merciful.”

       Kerim made a sound in his throat and strode by.

       “So why is everyone speaking English?” Lang asked. He stared at James through his good eye. “Is this some kind of psychological trick to get me on your side?

       “They’re all speaking English to get familiar with the language. There’s a series of strikes being planned by these guys on American soil. I need to find out about them.”

       James maneuvered Lang back into the cage. He placed food and water next to the CIA agent.

       “One of us is crazy,” Lang muttered. “I’m still trying to figure out whether you’re screwing with my head.”

       James managed a quick grin through the bars as he locked the door of the cage.

       “The rest of my team is waiting for a call to bring them boiling in here. You want to see crazy? Wait until that happens.”

       “What agency are you with?”

       “Not one you’ll find on any list,” James said. “But we get the job done. Lang, be patient. This might take time.”

       “Well, you’ve given me plenty to think about. Not like I’m going to have much else to do.”

      CHAPTER TEN

      Stony Man Farm

      “Is Hal back yet?” Kurtzman asked as Price approached his workstation.

       The urgency in his voice alerted her. “Not yet,” the mission controller said. “What have we got?”

       Wall-mounted plasma screens flashed up messages. Kurtzman used a pen-size laser pointer to highlight the sections he was interested in.

       “These are from Langley,” he said, offering no apology for the fact his information was from CIA data streams. “Been coming and going over the past couple of hours. Something’s gone wrong. And the other bad news is it seems to have originated from Sana’a in Yemen. A message from there, then acknowledgment from home. Since then no further contact with the Yemen source.”

       “Could you intercept the email from Yemen?” Price asked, feeling the question was irrelevant.

       Akira Tokaido swiveled his chair around and fixed her with a rueful stare. “Say what?” Then he laughed. “No problem.”

       He tapped his keyboard and the last email Henry Lang had sent flashed up on a secondary screen.

       Price scanned the text. Something about cover broken and a need to get out of Sana’a. And a reference to someone called Samir being compromised.

       “We ran a back trace to see if we could link up with the computer,” Tokaido said. “Couldn’t get a peep out of it. Server links are there but the terminal is gone. No connection. My guess would be whoever operated that computer has purged it.”

       “Probably after downloading what was on it to Langley,” Kurtzman added.

       “We’re searching for the most recent data dump,” Tokaido said. “May take awhile before we find out who sent it.”

       “I can tell you that,” a familiar voice said.

       It was Brognola. He had entered the room unheard while they were all focused on the wall screens.

       “Hal?” Price said.

       “The field agent in Sana’a was Henry Lang. Been there a couple of years. His front was as a dealer in regional antiquities. Local goods. Ran a genuine business and had extensive contacts in Yemen. The guy named Karam Samir was his partner. Part Yemeni. One of the assignments Lang was handling had to do with locating Hand of Allah. Week or so back he came up with a thin lead and went after it. From what we now know it looks like that lead turned around and bit him.” Brognola helped himself to coffee and perched on the edge of a desk. “That call I got was from the Man. I just spent an hour with him. He was updating me on the file he’d just had from Langley, informing him of the loss of a CIA team in Yemen. Sana’a in fact. He thought we ought to know because of the Stony Man operation in the area. Gives us a chance to let Phoenix Force know.”

       “We picked up CIA scuttlebutt,” Kurtzman said. “Yemen field office. A guy called Samir compromised.”