Mr. & Mrs. America, Aftermath

Fatima jumped into my arms and hugged me, calling me 'father' in Turkish, Kurd, English, Latin, and Farsi. It made me miss Polly and Jessica badly.

I talked the girls into going to my flat and gathering a few things I thought I'd need, explaining just enough about the strained relationship with my father to satisfy them. He was still there when they went, in full robes and head scarves, and he asked about me. They pretended they didn't speak English, answering in Farsi and Turkish. He pressed a letter into Fatima's hand, begging her to take it to me. He stayed three more hours before Lord Bevington showed up and asked him quietly to leave. They left the letter on the dresser.

...

We gathered at the drop off point, just over the border. Again, we were all in traditional clothing, except Said and Anatoli, who were in fatigues. Up until this point, they had been the only ones bearing arms, but even here there were insurgents, and everyone went armed.

Our local contact took us to a market, the main commodity being weapons. Fatima wouldn't touch the weapons, but Sherry had me purchase a pistol for her, a 9mm, standard NATO issue, and two boxes of ammo and extra magazines. Emil and Moshe took a couple of AK-47's. I looked around, I wasn't so good with long guns, but I found a Russian made twelve gauge pump shotgun, and fifteen rounds of buckshot, all they had. Anatoli managed to procure an M-4, a very effective weapon, four magazines, and a large box of ammunition.

I was about to take another 9mm for myself, when the vendor looked around, and seeing no one close, flipped a cloth back. Makarov's, with short silencers. I took the pair and two boxes of ammunition, again all he had. They came with a pair of holsters you could strap to your arms, underneath the robes. You appeared weaponless, but could draw and fire very quickly. We went out into the dessert, and ran rounds until we were satisfied. Sherry seemed to be the best shot with a pistol. I shot three rounds through the shotgun to make sure it actually worked, then filled the tube, ten shots, with one in the chamber. I think they were all surprised when I pulled the Makarov's, and hit everything I shot at with both hands. Of course, I didn't bang away with both hands because that was a sure way of hitting nothing, emptying one magazine before starting with the other.

I was intrigued that no one came to investigate, but our guide just grinned. "It is not unusual, listen."

Sure enough, you could hear small arms fire in another location. Satisfied, we went back to our quarters, where we slept in the same room, placing the girls in the middle. Both were attractive women, and women here had value for only one thing. We'd all heard the stories, how they would come into a village and take all the desirable women, then auction them off for sex slaves, where the new owners would abuse them terribly for a few weeks, before casting them aside and buying a fresher model. Some just killed them outright.

Ever an agnostic, I still held hands with all of them while they prayed to their God to keep us safe. It couldn't hurt.

We got to the location at ten, well after dark, trying to attract as little attention as possible. We had four trucks, two for people and the rest for the scrolls or whatever we found. I didn't think that we would need that many, but I didn't want to be in a position to decide which had to stay. We waited until midnight before slipping into an alley, going through a door that was so small it was hardly noticeable.

We turned on one flashlight, holding hands to keep pace. Then we went through a trapdoor, dropping down into a cavern. Catacombs lined the walls, and it seemed to go forever, well past the beam of our torches, as the Brits called flashlights. Walking for about ten minutes, we came to a dead end, and a locked door. Dust was thick, dust that hadn't been trod on in maybe centuries.

We managed to pry the door open. Scrolls lined the walls all the way to the ceiling. We quickly checked, it seemed it was a depository for Jewish, Muslim, and Christian scrolls, preserved because the property changed hands so much they could be used as bargaining chips. I picked one up and almost dropped it. A detailed copy of letters from Luke to Peter, some I'd never seen before, written in Greek, I thought. I could understand just enough to realize what they were. I nearly fainted, if the rest were like this it would keep scholars tied up for years.

Having no choice, we carried the urns one by one to the door. After discussing it, we decided to let Emil and Fatima carry the urns to the truck. It would just look like a father and daughter, moving things. It was the middle of the night of course, but they had already decided to tell anyone who stopped them they were in town for the market, and wanted to get a good spot for their goods. A reasonable story.

My skin had been crawling since we had crossed the border. This was by far the most dangerous thing we had ever done. There were few insurgents around, most were away to the north, where a battle was raging for control of a small city. Still too many around for me to feel comfortable.

Then it happened. I got the details from Fatima later, but they got stopped, on their fifth trip, by a group of four or five, drunk and rowdy. When they found an attractive young woman, they were delighted. Emil tried to reason, then in a last ditch act of desperation, fight. He managed to down two of them before he was hit, passing out instantly. The urns had fallen during the fight, and the scrolls. They left Emil for dead, backtracked their route, and dropped a satchel of explosives down the trapdoor. One of our escorts was killed instantly. Two more were with us and got spared.

We were trapped, our one exit destroyed. Not knowing how much air we'd have, I got every one to sit still to preserve as much as possible. It was easy to see the terror in the eyes of our guards, and Sherry was almost hyperventilating. Said, it turns out, was claustrophobic, and Anatoli knocked him out when he started panicking.

Sherry, Anatoli, and Moshe talked it over, and it was decided Moshe and I would take all the torches but one, and seek a way out. We had a pry bar, a pick, and a spade, so we took them along.

It took seven hours, and we were getting really desperate. Everything we looked at turned into a dead end, with solid rock facing us. I slumped down, finally, about to give up, when I read the name on the catacomb in front of me. A Crusader, a noted leader and great warrior by the engraving, lay within.

I racked my brain, and it hit me. A lot of the more famous clerics and important people were often entombed inside the church, usually close to a pulpit. It took us twenty minutes to destroy the slab at the entrance.

The tomb was a surprise, fairly large, with the body laid on a dais in the center. Turns out he was a member of the Knights Templar, the paramilitary arm of the ancient Catholic Church. He was laid out in full battle dress, his sword clasped in his hand, mummified, his blond hair and beard still evident.

There was a plaque, in Latin, telling of his exploits in battle. Beside him lay two ornate Moorish swords, inlaid in gold and silver, one with a jeweled scabbard, spoils of battle no doubt. We had left the long guns outside. I had the Makarovs, and Moshe had his 9mm, but that was it. Without hesitation I took the most functional looking of the swords and strapped to my back, in typical style of the past. If I did get out of this and had to fight, I wanted to go out in style. Moshe looked at me for a moment before picking up the other, fastening it to his sash.

We found the top of the tomb, and by standing on the dias we reached up and pushed. It refused to budge. I sent Moshe back to fetch the rest, hoping our combined efforts would free us.

It took us ninety minutes, but we got it lifted enough to get the pry bar and pick wedged into the edge. Cool sweet air rushed in, and we paused to rest for a second, savoring it.

With a heave that took our last bit of strength, the top groaned and fell to the side, giving just enough room to scramble out one by one. Moshe went first, and I came last. I picked the knight up off the floor we'd moved him to, and replaced him back on the dias. He'd been given a warrior's funeral, and deserved our respect. We were in a small chapel two levels below the main floor. We found stairs, breaking locks on two doors, before stumbling out into bright sunshine. We had lost all track of time. Cleaning our clothes as well as we could, we worked our way back to the empty house we had taken over.

Some of our guards had found Emil, and at great personal risk carried him inside. He was shot, just below the rib cage. I suspected the bullet was still in him. A few of our guards, realizing the danger they were in, took one truck and left immediately.

Anatoli went to work on him, his training as a field medic coming in handy. He looked up at me, his eyes grim. It was really bad, and he needed professional attention, now. Emil woke while being treated, and told the story.

When Sherry found out Fatima had been taken, she fainted. When she awoke, the look on her face was grim. "It appears we will part ways, my brothers. Flee, now, before we are discovered. I will stay, and try to find Fatima. She is my life, and I refuse to go on without her."

We argued for fifteen minutes before we agreed over her protests to wait a few hours and try to find her. Emil gave as good a description as he could of the men they'd encountered, but it would have fit almost every one we met.

We spent two hours searching. Most people walked away rapidly when we asked our questions. About to give up, we rounded a corner. There must have been fifty men, shooting into the air, shouting and chanting. They were leading a large man, his face covered by a hood, and a small woman, dirty, obviously beaten, barely covered, into a large house. It was Fatima. Moshe gripped Sherry hard, to keep her from raising the shotgun I'd given her to carry. The barrel had been sawed off and most of the stock removed, so she carried it under her robes, slung from her shoulder.

I hailed a passing rebel, asking what the shouting was about.

"We've captured an infidel, an American! The bitch is a spy, caught stealing scrolls. Our leader is going to behead them, as soon as the equipment is ready. Alas, our technician was killed in battle, so we must wait for another, to set up the computer. Then it will be glorious!"

He staggered on, obviously high on something.

Moshe saw an opportunity. "We can offer Anatoli as a technician. We'll say you're an Iman, and wish to bless the proceedings. Here," he said, pulling the jeweled sword from under his robes, "give him this, as an homage to his bravery."

It was an idiotic plan. We were way over our heads here. Except for Anatoli, Moshe, and Said, we were just scholars. This was the real deal. If they had tortured Fatima and she had broken, they knew who we were, where we were, and we were as good as dead. We were scared shitless, every one of us.

Then it hit me. This was what I had dreamed of my whole life. Here was the action and adventure I felt cheated out of. Didn't seem as much fun as I thought it would be. I walked over to the house they had taken Fatima in. Two men, very dangerous looking men, guarded the door.

"Allah Akbar! Blessings on your noble cause! We are on our way to Mecca, but wish to pay respects to your illustrious leader. We bear him a gift."

I went on for a few more minutes, spouting every platitude I could think of, a mini-sermon on the glory of their work, their assured places in Paradise, the rewards they would receive. I was half believing it myself, there at the end. After a few minutes, one slipped inside. He came back with their leader.

I recognized him instantly. On the videos he called himself the Sword of God, and he had executed at least a dozen people in the last year alone, all broadcast live on the internet. My knees instantly turned to jelly.

He questioned us fiercely. It made me very glad I had most of the Koran memorized. I had done the same with the Bible and the Torah, for research purposes. I answered everything I could without giving us away. Finally convinced I was a spiritual leader, he asked about my companions.

"My first wife, I've brought her along for comfort. She is a very good wife." I pulled Sherry forward, where she stood with bowed head, not looking him in the eye.

"My personal servant," I pointed at Moshe, who bowed slightly, also with eyes down. He looked past, at Said and Anatoli.

"My two bodyguards, a necessity, I'm afraid, in these troubling times. Who would ever think a minister of the faith could not walk among his people without protection! We have heard of your great feats for our cause, and would like to give you this, a small token of our gratitude."

I presented the sword, with the jewel inlaid scabbard. His eyes widened as he took it, drawing it from its' sheath and swinging it expertly, testing the balance.

He looked at me, still holding the curved blade. "A fine weapon, Iman, and ancient as well. How do you come to possess it?"

I was thinking on my feet now. One wrong word and we were all dead. "I bought it from a street urchin this morning, Eminence. I fear your sacred dome has been violated. Perhaps you could have a few of your men guard it, before more treasures are discovered and stolen."

He bought it. "Yes, we have had some trouble with looters recently. Foreigners and infidels, stealing our history. I think I will keep the sword, to make sure it stays in the right hands. Thank you, Iman."

I bowed low. "It is a pleasure. I must go now, I do not wish to interfere in you doing God's work."

Moshe had moved in close, Anatoli had moved to one side, Sherry stepped back, gripping the shotgun under her robe. We intended to down the guards and push inside, hoping we could neutralize the guards there. It was a long shot, but the only one we had to get Fatima.

The Sword of God, grinned. "Iman, If you would allow, I have a treat for you. We have an infidel and a traitor inside, and we intend to show the world the fate any who defy our holy purpose. I invite you to watch. Sadly, our technical expert fell in battle, and we await the arrival of his replacement."

I grinned. "Allah has indeed smiled on you, my son. One of my bodyguards is an expert at computers and electronics. May I offer his services?"

After a small discussion with Anatoli, he seemed satisfied. "Your man will be allowed to assist us. Again, I would like to show my appreciation for your help and the fine gift. Would you like to witness the might of our cause?"

Well, there it was, an engraved invitation. I accepted, eagerly. There was a catch, however. Only Anatoli and I would be allowed inside, and only after he gave up his weapons. He surrendered his rifle and side arm. I knew he had a wicked fighting knife in his boot, but I didn't know how much help it would be. I raised my arms and opened my robe, showing them I carried no weapon, the whole time the Makarovs rode safely strapped to my arms. Hesitant to touch a man of God, they allowed me in.

The room was small, a table to the side, and a straight back chair close to a wall. The man we had seen outside was strapped to the chair, the hood still over his head.

"He dies first. The harlot doesn't deserve to be shown, but we think she is a part of a group that loots our mosques, stealing at will. We will use her as an example, to show what will happen when we catch the others."

Anatoli worked quickly, setting the camera, starting the generator, checking the wires, making sure the internet connection was secure and working. The Sword of God checked the monitor, smiling into the camera. He patted Anatoli on the back.

"Excellent! Perhaps I can persuade you to stay with me. You'll be doing God's work, and the benefits," he kicked Fatima, "can be really pleasurable." Anatoli looked at me, and I held out my arms to him.

"You should accept! Allah Akbar!"

"Allah Akbar!," he replied, grasping my arms, slipping the Marakov out of my left sleeve.

It was easier than I thought possible. He stood in front of the monitor, ranting about infidels and the unfaithful, and the price they would pay for resistance of the true path. The guards were listening intensely. He raised the head of the prisoner up, brandishing the sword. Just as he was about to pull the mask off, I slid the pistol out of my sleeve and shot the guard beside me in the head. He dropped like a rock, dead before he hit the ground. I hit the other one in the eye, just as he was raising his rifle, and again in the heart as he fell. I heard four small coughs, and the other two guards crumpled, blood blooming like flowers on their foreheads.

Anatoli shot the executioner just as he was about to yell, putting one through his right shoulder, causing him to drop the blade. The guards outside must have heard the bodies falling, because they turned towards the door. Sherry put the twelve gauge against one and pulled the trigger. It made very little noise, and almost blew him in half. The other guard turned back, to get a knife through the throat from Moshe.

They immediately dragged the bodies inside. No one seemed to notice.

The leader started to shout, but a hard blow over the head with the Makarov shut him up.

We should have left then, but Sherry was not to be denied her revenge. We sat the leader in the chair, secured him, gagged him, then woke him up. The internet had been streaming the whole time.

Said stood behind him, holding his head up. "Behold! Your great leader, your Sword of God, laid low by the wrath of the true believers! Witness and cower, dogs! We come for you next!"

He'd spoken in Kurdish. Anatoli said the same thing in Russian, Moshe in Hebrew. I stepped up and spoke in English.

"This is a lesson to you. We walk among you, and can strike at our choosing. Is your brother really your brother? Sleep with one eye open, you bastards. Your time comes, soon."

We had freed Fatima, and she clung to us in turn. Sherry stepped in front of the camera.

"No dog among you is safe, not even from a woman, if she is in the right. "Rapists," she said, surprising us all by pulling the knife she knew I carried in the small of my back and slashing rapidly at 'the Sword Of God', as he writhed and screamed into the gag, then holding up his balls for all to see, "will be punished here on earth. He will go to whatever fate await him as an eunuch. Their other crimes," she said quietly but loud enough to be heard, glancing at the jeweled sword, "will be atoned for in front of their maker." She picked up the sword and swung mightily. Oddly enough, as I watched his head fall off his shoulders, I marveled about how sharp it was after centuries inside the tomb. Blood spurted from his neck and Fatima, finally upright, dipped her hand in it, walking behind him and smearing a message on the wall. "S7".

All this took less than five minutes. The man they were to execute still lay on the floor. Anatoli pulled the hood off, and I found myself staring into the eyes of a ghost. Mike. It couldn't be. He was dead, wasn't he? I snatched the gag out of his mouth.

"Oh man, am I glad to see you guys! Untie me, and let's get the hell out of here!"

I spoke to them in Latin. "I know this man, and he is not to be trusted. Leave the cuffs on him for now."

Moshe spoke up, again in Latin. "We must leave this place, now! Fatima is in no shape to walk, one of us must carry her."

He turned to Mike and spoke in English. "Our companion is hurt and must be carried. We must carry the dead leader out, and show his headless corpse. Fatima, I'm sorry child, but we have to bathe you in blood if we are to convince them you are dead.