One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [74]
JENNIFER SPENT THE NEXT COUPLE OF HOURS staring out the window, savoring the fact that she was still among the living. She couldn’t control the thoughts and images flying through her head—her kidnapping, how close she was to being violently gang-raped by a bunch of savages, the vivid punishment Pike had brought to those same savages, the murder of her uncle—all competing for attention in her conscious mind. She turned on the radio of the Cutlass, looking for an outside diversion. She got nothing but static or Spanish music. That figures. What I wouldn’t give for an iPod right now. Wait a minute . . .
“Hey, you still have my MP3 player? I’d like to use it if it’s handy.”
She saw Pike look out the window and waited for him to answer. After a few seconds, she thought maybe she’d said something wrong, but couldn’t figure out why.
He finally said, “I don’t have it. I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Huh? Where is it?
“Man, who gives a shit about the MP3 player? In the end, it didn’t matter what was on that thing. I said I’ll buy you a new one, for Christ’s sake.”
“You don’t have it? Seriously? What happened to it? Did you sell it or something?”
Pike sighed. “I was mugged, okay? It was stolen. I don’t want to talk about it.”
What? That’s absolute bullshit. . . . There’s another story here. She waited to hear it. After a moment of silence, she said, “Really? Are you telling the truth? You got mugged?”
“More like an attempted mugging. A couple of Arabs attacked me at the central market. Probably trying to get enough money to pay for some flight lessons. I chased them off pretty quickly, and they didn’t get my wallet or watch or anything else valuable. All they got was the MP3 player. Let it go. I’m pissed off enough.”
Jennifer started to ask another question, then thought better of it. “Hey, I don’t care. I wasn’t trying to get you mad. Let’s drop it.”
A lost thought tickled the back of her brain. Something about the theft of the MP3 that she wanted to follow up on, but hadn’t. Like a person who just set her keys down and now can’t find them, it tugged at her subconscious, an itch begging to be scratched.
45
Exiting the bus in Flores, Sayyidd was anxious to start looking for the temple. After checking in, he set about cataloging the belongings that Bakr had packed. He began to search at a faster past, clearly upset about something.
Bakr said, “What’s wrong? What’re you looking for?”
“I’m missing a shirt and a pair of American workout pants. Didn’t you pack them?”
“I didn’t have time to search the entire room. I took what was in front of me. I didn’t see any other clothes, but they might’ve been there. I myself couldn’t find my sandals. Don’t worry about your Western disguises. We can replace them.”
Sayyidd debated telling Bakr why he was concerned. In the end, Allah would either protect them or not. Did it matter whether he said anything? Insha’Allah guided his life. If God wasn’t willing, then He wasn’t willing. Nothing Sayyidd could do would alter that. Even so, it wasn’t in his nature to hide things.
“I understand that I can purchase more clothing, but there’s something in the shirt that we’ll need. I had a scrap of paper in the pocket with the emergency e-mail addresses on it.”
Abu Bakr’s face contorted in anger.
“You wrote down the e-mail addresses? What were you thinking?”
“I know—it was stupid, but we aren’t in the Land of Two Rivers, and nobody is actively hunting us. I did memorize them, but this mission was too important to rely on memory. I knew we wouldn’t have the opportunity to conduct a meeting if we forgot them. They were our lifeline! Either way, didn’t you say everyone was dead at Miguel’s? It shouldn’t matter. Allah has guided us to this point, and He will still guide us.”
“You’re proving to be an idiot. One of the dumb little neophytes who believe everything told them, driving a truck full of TNT because they’re told they’re delivering groceries. They make good martyrs but