Reconcilable Differences

“There’s a problem,” Manning said. “She’s had too much to drink. She’s passed out.”

“Then carry her. We’re getting out of here now.”

Manning rushed back to the room and while they waited, Dave pulled the squad together.

“The mission’s fallen apart. Bin Muzzar’s probably alerted the palace guard by now. Most likely we’ll have to fight our way out. Addison, you’ll probably have to carry the woman. That SOB she’s married to isn’t worth a damn. Get Manning and his wife out of here now. If they’re not ready, leave them behind. Bledsoe and Williams, take the point.”

The two men moved ahead cautiously. The lower floor appeared deserted. Dave had no idea where the sheik had disappeared to. Undoubtedly he had gone for help.

“Bolen and Fraser, cover Addison,” Dave ordered when the others came out of the bedroom. Addison had the woman slung over his shoulder. Dave had started down the stairway when Williams gave them an all-clear sign. He was followed by Addison who carried the woman. Manning was beside Addison. Bolen and Fraser brought up the rear.

They made it out of the building without encountering any servant or armed opposition and moved cautiously toward the gate in the stone wall surrounding the palace. There was no sign of the gatekeeper.

Dave halted them in the cover of some trees in the garden. “Stay alert,” he ordered. “This reeks of an ambush.”

“Why not engage us before we’re out of the gate?” Bolen said.

“Most likely bin Muzzar doesn’t want any damage done to his palace,” Dave replied. “They’re probably waiting to hit us when we’re in the open.”

“Maybe the sheik hasn’t had time to organize his men yet?” Fraser said hopefully.

“We can only hope,” Dave mumbled.

“Why have we stopped? Let’s get out of here,” Manning blurted out, interrupting them.

“Shut your mouth, Manning, and get back where you belong,” Dave declared. He’d loathed the bastard on sight. His presence at the palace at the same time as McDermott was no coincidence. Bin Muzzar’s outburst had revealed Manning and he were involved in some kind of foul play. Financing terrorists, no doubt. On top of that, even though Dave was no moralist, the two of them playing sex games with the guy’s wife disgusted him, even if the woman had apparently cooperated. So much for the mother of your child. Maybe they didn’t have any children. A blessing if they didn’t. People were becoming sicker by the day. It was no wonder the world was so damn fouled up.

He shrugged aside his wayward thoughts. Why in hell was he moralizing? The damn fool things that went through a man’s head when he’s scared were ridiculous. Their sex lives weren’t his problem. Getting his squad out of this mess was.

“All right, let’s move out. Bledsoe, Williams.” The two men nodded and Dave watched them shift from tree to tree as they worked their way to the gate. Seconds passed like hours as he waited for a sudden outburst of gunfire. His grasp loosened on the rifle he clutched, and he wiped his sweating palm on his pants leg, then shifted the weapon to the other hand and did the same.

Williams reappeared at the entrance of the gate and waved them on. They moved out.

Once they cleared the gate, they broke into a run. The extra hundred-plus pounds Addison was carrying didn’t appear to slow his stride. Now it was a foot race to cover the five miles and get back to the extraction point. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind that bin Muzzar would pursue them. Fraser’s guess was right, he was obviously rallying his army.

At least the terrain was flat and they were making good time. They got another break when the moon disappeared behind drifting clouds. It was a temporary respite, but he welcomed any help he could get. They were nearing the coast when the moon’s silver rays once again streaked the countryside just as they heard the distant sound of approaching vehicles. AK-47 cartridges had begun kicking up puffs of dirt around them by the time they’d reached the cover of the rocky coastline.

“What in hell should we do?” Bolen shouted as bullets ricocheted off the rocks around them.

“Take cover and hold your fire.”

At that moment a rocket-propelled grenade exploded nearby.

“Now they’re launching RPGs at us and we aren’t supposed to shoot back?” Addison shouted.

“We’ve got no choice now,” Dave said. “We’ll have to take out the ones with the RPGs before they blow us apart. No spraying. Use your rifles’ laser low lights and thermo-sightings to pick your targets.”

A bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. “How are we going to get out of here?” Addison shouted, trying to be heard above the steady clatter of gunfire. “They’ll pick us off like fish in a barrel.”

“Just hold them back until I can get us some help.”

Dave pulled out the encrypted cell phone. Knowing that everything he said would be scrambled into code during the transmission, he identified himself and their coordinates, and then shared the bad news.

“We’re in the rocks and taking heavy fire from RPGs and AK-47s to our west.” Another grenade exploded nearby to reinforce the seriousness of his report. “We need close air support. We have two American civilians with us. Repeat. We need close air support.”

“We’re gonna be out of ammo before any help can reach us,” Addison mumbled a short time later as he changed the clip in his rifle. “This is my last clip.”

“What are we going to do?” Robert Manning cried out. He appeared on the verge of hysteria.

Dave tossed Addison one of his remaining clips, and then glanced with loathing at Manning huddled behind the shelter of a boulder.

Addison had placed Manning’s wife under the same shelter. She was lying unconscious on her stomach. Her cowardly husband wasn’t making any effort to protect her body from a possible ricochet.

“Was she hit?” Dave asked.

“No, sir,” Addison said. “She’s been out cold since before we even left the palace. I ain’t seen her move a muscle or heard a peep out of her.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer. When I contacted them, they’d already launched a couple of F/A-18s from a carrier in the Mediterranean.”

Dave had no sooner uttered the words when two low-flying jets screamed past, the red glare of their backburners welcome fiery beacons overhead. Dave flashed the signal to identify their position and the jets circled and flew past again.

“What if they start firing at us?” Manning said. “You hear about friendly fire all the time.”

If the bastard didn’t shut up, it sure as hell wouldn’t be friendly fire that killed him.

“Don’t sweat it, Manning. They’ve got a GPS fix on us now.”

“What’s that?” Manning asked.

“A global positioning satellite,” Kurt Bolen said quickly to shut Manning up. “Those pilots know exactly where we are now.”

Infrared sights exposed the position of the attackers and the pilots opened up with their guns, spraying the ground ahead of them with a warning hail of bullets.

It was enough to rout the pursuers. Before the jets could circle again, the roar of the retreating car engines signaled the battle’s end.

Dave had just gotten the all-clear sign on the phone when the sudden whir of rotors announced the arrival of a helicopter.

Within minutes they were airborne, and Dave contacted Mike Bishop.

“The mission was a bust, Mike. The target escaped.”

“Did you all make it out okay?”

“Yeah. No casualties.”

“Why in hell did you kill bin Muzzar?” Mike asked. “He wasn’t your target.”

“He’s dead? It wasn’t intentional. We were taking heavy fire from RPGs and AK-47s. All we were doing was holding them off.”

“According to our sources the sheik died at the palace. His throat had been cut.”

“Then it wasn’t one of us.”

“Maybe McDermott killed him. Figured it was a double cross.”

“Could be. Bin Muzzar accused Manning of one before the sheik disappeared. That’s why we had to bring out Manning and his wife. We did bring McDermott’s pack with us. Maybe it will turn up something.”

“Glad you’re all safe. See you when you get back.”

“Right. Roger and out.”

Dave hung up the phone and shifted back to join the others. A couple of the men had already fallen asleep. Manning was sitting with his back against the wall chewing on his lip. He’d have a lot to explain when they got back to the States. He’d been consorting with a known terrorist. He was certain to pull some jail time for that. Dave hoped the government would lock Manning away and lose the key.

He wiped the greasepaint off his face and shifted over to Addison’s side. The kid had done good. Followed orders and kept his cool under fire. But he looked so damn young. Right now Dave felt as old as Methuselah—or at least ancient enough to join the Rolling Stones.

“How’s the lady doing?”

“She’s been sleeping peacefully, sir.”

“Through the whole thing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Manning said she’d been drinking heavily and passed out.”

“That’s what he said, sir. But it sure doesn’t seem right to me. She never moved a muscle even on the run.” Addison glanced down at the woman. “She’s the hottest woman I’ve seen in a long time. I’d have thought she could do better than that jerk she’s married to.”

“Birds of a feather, kid. You saw what we walked in on. Let this be a good lesson. Looks can fool you.”

“Sir, please don’t call me ‘kid.’”

“It’s a deal providing you quit calling me ‘sir.’”

Addison grinned. “Clear, sir…ah, Dave.”

“Now why don’t you grab some shuteye? It’s been a long day.”

“Guess I will.” Addison looked down again at the sleeping woman. “But she sure is hot, sir. ’Bout the prettiest I’ve ever seen.” He shifted over, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Other than a quick glance in her direction when he’d entered the bedroom, Dave had not had a close look at Patricia Manning.

Curious, he leaned over to see if Addison had exaggerated. He sucked in his breath from the sudden punch to his gut when he recognized the face that had haunted him for the past six years.

Bombarded by memories, Dave stared transfixed at the woman. How often had he gazed down at that sleeping face? Caressed the softness of it. Breathed the intoxicating essence of her or tasted the sweetness of her lips?

Gradually, reasoning pierced the barrier of shock. He glanced around guiltily, thankful that no one appeared to be watching him. He knew he should move away, but he couldn’t resist the tempting draw.

His gaze clung to her face. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the cabin. His fingers itched to brush aside several strands of jet-black hair that clung in silky tendrils to her forehead and cheeks.

Six years had not marred the patrician perfection of those same high cheekbones, delicate jaw and full lips. And he knew that beneath those thickly tipped lashes lay the most incredible blue eyes he’d ever looked into. Eyes that could mesmerize a man’s soul as much as they haunted his mind, pierced his heart.

But this no longer was the woman he had worshipped from the moment they met. The woman who had lain in his arms as they planned their future together—pledged their love to one another with their words and bodies. The woman whose memory he’d fought unsuccessfully to exorcise from his mind and heart.

Trish Hunter no longer existed.

Now only this pathetic facade of that woman remained.

This woman was the wife of a loathsome cad. This woman consorted with terrorists. Indulged in sex orgies. Drank herself into oblivion.

This Patricia Manning was a stranger to him.

A faint roar slowly penetrated the dark void that swaddled her. The sound heightened as blackness slowly faded into a grayish haze and Trish struggled through it to regain consciousness.

With this slow return of her sensibilities came a feeling of uneasiness. Fright. Why? She strove to remember. Then the horror of it swept through her as leering images of Robert and Ali bin Muzzar swirled around in the muddled confusion of her thoughts like demonic specters.

The need to scream rose within her and a responsive spasm racked her spine. Overwhelmed with panic she opened her eyes. The scream froze in her throat, but this time it wasn’t drugs that prevented the outburst; it was stunned recognition. She stared into the eyes fixed on her. Those beautiful, compelling brown eyes she remembered so well, had imagined before she passed out.

“Dave,” she murmured softly.

There was shocked recognition in his eyes as he stared back at her. Was he all part of the same hideous nightmare?

“Manning, your wife’s awake,” he said, and moved away.

She’d know that voice anywhere—and that same hard tone he’d used the last time they’d spoken six years ago.

Trish closed her eyes and felt the salty sting of hot tears on her cheeks.

When Trish next awoke, the effects of the drug had worn off fully, and she became aware that she was in a helicopter about to land. For several minutes she remained lying still, trying to distinguish in her mind what had been real and what had been part of the nightmare.

She jerked up to a sitting position and looked around when she recognized Dave’s voice. But what was happening? What was he doing issuing orders to a huddled group of men preparing to disembark. Could she still be dreaming?

She closed her eyes and pinched herself hard. It hurt and she opened her eyes. He was still here. She hadn’t imagined it. It was true. Dave was here. Close enough to touch.

Shifting to her knees, she felt a thousand needle-pricks in her arms and legs. Now there was no doubt. She wasn’t still dreaming, that was for sure. The pain was too intense to be imagined. She started to get up to shake it off.

“Ma’am, it’s best you remain seated until we touch down,” the man who sat beside her said.

“Where are we?”

“Rheinmein Air Base, ma’am, in Frankfurt, Germany.”

“Germany!”

Their voices attracted Dave’s attention and he glanced over to them. “Trouble, Addison?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Manning is awake and wanted to know what was happening.”

Outside the plane, crewman swung the door open, and several of the men jumped out. The revolving red light of an emergency vehicle flashed through the opening and someone outside handed a stretcher into the helicopter.

“If you lie down, ma’am, we’ll get you out of here.”

“I don’t need a stretcher,” Trish said. “I’m fine, now.”

She moved to the door, and as she tried to step down, her knees buckled. She fell forward into Dave’s outstretched arms.

For a hushed moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and she fought the urge to fling her arms around his neck and never let go.

“Mrs. Manning, there would be less chance of your getting injured if you would lie down on the stretcher,” he said.

“I’ll be fine. I just have to shake off the numbness.”

Dave released her, and joined the squad who were piling into a military vehicle. Addison led her to a sedan, assisted her in and then joined his squad. Robert and two other men climbed in after her.

The car pulled out and the military vehicle followed behind. They drove to a building located right on the base.

Once inside, Trish was taken to an office where two men and a woman were waiting.

“How do you do, Mrs. Manning,” one of the men said. “Please sit down.” He nodded to the woman and she turned on a machine.

The woman identified herself, announced the date, time and location, and then said, “The following is an interrogation of Patricia Diane Manning. Present are Agent Roger Reteva, Agent William Moore, and Mrs. Patricia Manning.”

To Trish’s further surprise, the woman followed it with her father’s Georgetown address. Why would these people know her father’s address?

“Mrs. Manning, I’m Agent Reteva,” one of the men said. “And this is my associate William Moore. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Who do you represent, Mr. Reteva?” Trish asked.

“I don’t think that’s germane to the issue, Mrs. Manning.”

“I’m afraid I do. If you expect me to answer any of your questions you will have to answer mine first.”

The two men at the table exchanged meaningful glances. “We’re with the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States, madam.”

Trish gasped in surprise. “The CIA? What is this all about?”

Reteva’s lips curled in a slight smile. “That’s what we are trying to find out, Mrs. Manning. Your name is Patricia Diane Manning?”

“Yes.”

“Your maiden name was Patricia Hunter, and you’re a citizen of the United States?”

“Yes, I am,” Trish replied. “Will you kindly tell me why I’m being interrogated?”

“It is our understanding you were a house guest for the past two days at the home of Sheik Ali bin Muzzar. Is that correct, Mrs. Manning?”

“Yes.”

“Was this a business or personal visit, Mrs. Manning?”

“I was told it was a business trip,” Trish said. “Although, the sheik and my husband were classmates at Harvard University. It has been my impression that they have maintained a friendship since then.”

“Were there any other guests present at the time?”

“Yes, a Mr. Colin McDermott.”

“Had you met Mr. McDermott previously to that time?”

“No,” Trish said.

“Was Mr. McDermott also a Harvard classmate of your husband?”

“I have no idea.”

“A business associate?”

“I’ve never heard the name before, but it doesn’t rule it out since I’m not active in my husband’s business affairs.”

“Your husband is a vice president at the firm of Hunter International Banking Incorporated in Washington, D.C., is that correct?”

“Yes it is,” Trish replied.

“And your father Henry Jonathan Hunter is the president and majority stockholder of that firm. Is that also correct, Mrs. Manning?”

“The last I heard he was,” Trish said lightly, to disguise her irritation. She was thoroughly confused. Why was she being interrogated like a common criminal?

“It is our understanding that as American citizens, your life and that of your husband would have been threatened if you had remained at the home of Sheik bin Muzzar. Is that correct?”

“I don’t know. I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a helicopter and on my way here.”

“Before you ‘passed out,’ Mrs. Manning, did you witness any business exchange, conversation or threats between your husband, Ali bin Muzzar or Colin McDermott.”

“No. On the contrary, my husband and bin Muzzar were close friends. I only met Mr. McDermott for the first time at dinner that evening. He retired to his room early because he said he intended to leave the following morning. I did the same.” She could not embarrass herself by telling these strangers what had actually transpired between her and those two degenerates after McDermott had departed.

“And that was the last you saw of Mr. McDermott?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Manning, you’ve been most cooperative.”

The woman turned off the machine, and the two men stood up.

“Until Sheik bin Muzzar’s death is cleared up—”

“Ali is dead?”

“Yes, Mrs. Manning. Until we have all the details, you will have to remain in our custody. We will be returning you to the United States tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Reteva, am I under arrest?”

“Mrs. Manning, there has been a crime committed, so for the time being consider yourself under our protection. If you have been straightforward with us, you have nothing to worry about. Enjoy your brief stay in Germany, madam. If there is anything you need or wish, we are at your disposal.”

Trish was taken to a reception room where several of the squad were playing cards. There was no sign of Robert, but Dave was stretched out on a bench in a far corner with his eyes closed. She wanted some answers and wanted them now. She strode over to him.

“Dave, I want to talk to you.”

He opened his eyes, gave her a disgruntled look and then sat up.

“What do you want?”

“What happened at bin Muzzar’s palace after I passed out?”

“Hmm…let me think. Oh, yeah, your husband and his friend invited us to join the party, so the whole squad jumped you.”

His sardonic smirk made her angrier than his words. “Your attempt at humor fails miserably, General Cassidy. I once believed that kind of humor was beneath you.”

“I might say the same about you, Mrs. Manning. So it would seem we were both wrong about each other. By the way, it’s Agent Cassidy. I’m not in the military, Mrs. Manning.”

He lay back down and closed his eyes.

“Agent? You mean you’re one of these CIA agents, too?”

With a resigned sigh, he opened his eyes and sat back up. “I work for the CIA if that’s what you’re asking, Mrs. Manning. I’m not with intelligence.”

“I think I have a right to know what went on there, since the CIA apparently believes I’m involved in the murder of Ali bin Muzzar.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Manning, you weren’t. Bin Muzzar was still alive after you passed out. I informed them of that during the debriefing. Now, if you don’t mind.” He stretched out on the bench again and closed his eyes.

“I suppose your squad killed him?”

He stiffened with annoyance and sat up. “No, my squad did not kill him. Ask your husband, Mrs. Manning, maybe he can tell you.”

“Are you saying Robert killed Ali?”

“I didn’t say that. I can only tell you that the last time I, or any member of my squad, saw bin Muzzar he was still alive.”

At that moment Robert Manning came into the room and took a seat. Trish made no move toward him, but went over and sat down on an empty chair.

They waited another half hour until all the squad members were debriefed, and then they were driven to a hotel.

Chapter 3

Trish balked when they started to assign her and Robert to the same room. She insisted upon a separate one and won the argument.

Once alone, she flopped down in relief on the bed. Despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, the hardest thing to bear was the change in Dave.

Seeing him again had been the answer to her prayers. But he was so different from the man she remembered. Granted, he had good reason not to greet her with open arms, but remembering the love and tenderness they had once shared, it was hard to believe he held so much bitterness toward her.

She yearned to sit down and just talk to him again. After all, even if they were ex-lovers, they also had been good friends. They had always enjoyed each other’s company. They had not only loved each other, they had liked each other as well.

But now, she could see the loathing in his eyes when he looked at her. And that hurt. That hurt badly. She was helpless to avoid reacting negatively to it, so they’d ended up snarling at one another.

As if that wasn’t staggering enough, there was all this mystery surrounding Ali’s death. Could it be that Robert had killed Ali?

Trish shook aside the thought. Ali was probably the only friend Robert had. And although she held no one in lower esteem than Robert, she couldn’t see him in the role of a murderer. Liar, conniver, rapist, yes. But murderer, no.

A light knock sounded on the door and the chambermaid came in.

“Frau Manning, I am Helga, the chambermaid. The gentleman in the next room told me to bring you these items.” She handed Trish a brown paper bag.

“Thank you. Helga, I’m so sorry,” Trish said, embarrassed. “I don’t have a purse with me. Perhaps I can put a tip on the bill.”

“That is not necessary, Frau Manning. The gentleman has taken care of it. If you need anything else, just ring for me. Have a pleasant evening, madam.”

Trish gratefully dumped the goody bag on the bed and out dropped a plethora of useful items: a comb, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, a compact of pressed face powder, a tube of lipstick, a pair of panties and a bra. There was even a black and white jogging suit in her size.