Chapter 17 #3
“I no longer had any family there. I had no desire to go back,” Madrene said. “Except for a need to avenge myself against that evil Steinolf, but then my brother Torolf took care of that.”
“’Twas different for me,” Hilda said. “I was drawn two ways, wanting to stay here, but believing I was needed in the past, at The Sanctuary.”
“And what decided you?”
“Love,” they said as one.
Britta’s heart wrenched at that message.
Partly because she suspected she was falling in love with Zachary, and partly because she feared he only lusted for her.
“I am so confused. I do not want to go back, but I keep having these strange dreams. My father and brothers are attacking the abbey in some of them, and there is so much blood about. But in other dreams, it is the nuns who are attacking my father and brothers, led by some warrior nun, and the ruthless men are the ones lying in their own sword dew. Either way, I feel almost a physical pull to return to the abbey.”
Madrene and Hilda stared at her. It was a compelling dream...and obviously different from their own experiences.
“Dost think the warrior nun is you?” Hilda asked.
“Nay. She has coal-black hair. And unusually vivid blue eyes.”
“How does Pretty Boy fit into all this?” Hilda asked.
“Like a thorn in my backside.” Her flip answer garnered grins from her friends. Then she added, “’Tis his fault I am here. I think. He wish-prayed me here.”
“My father believes he was wish-prayed here,” Madrene told her, “and look how well things turned out for him and Angela at the vineyard.”
Madrene’s father Magnus Ericsson was married to a woman who owned Blue Dragon Vineyard somewhere here in California.
“You say that you blame Pretty Boy, but you aren’t unhappy to be here, are you?” Hilda inquired.
“I am content to be here. Mayhap I was destined to travel here to learn these new military tactics, as I originally thought. But what if Zachary is the reason for my being here?”
“Would that be so bad?” Madrene asked.
“Yea, it would. Who would I be then, except an appendage to some man? I have always identified myself as Britta the Warrior. If not a warrior, what would I be?”
“Lover, wife, mother...or any job you choose,” Hilda said. “This really is a remarkable country for women.”
“Lover? I am already that. I think. But wife...or mother?” She shook her head decisively. “Ne’er did I expect to see myself in those roles. I always considered myself too big and unfeminine, with none of the maidenly graces.” Although an image flashed into her mind of holding Sammy earlier tonight.
“I don’t know.” Hilda grinned. “Pretty Boy doesn’t seem to have a problem with your size or femininity.” She turned to Madrene and told her, “Pretty Boy was smitten with Britta from the start. Could not keep his eyes or hands off her.”
“Pretty Boy?” Madrene glanced Britta’s way. “Pretty Boy does not chase women; they chase him. You must have something.”
“Well, I do let him perform perversions on me,” she admitted.
Both women choked on their glasses of mead.
Some ladies at a neighboring table stopped eating and gazed at her with sudden interest.
“You’d better explain yourself,” Hilda said with mock severity.
And Britta did, much to the ever-dropping jaws of her two friends...and their neighbors.
“Oh, I do not think that is so perverted,” Hilda said, “except mayhap for that wheelbarrow business.” She leaned closer to Britta and Madrene and confided, “Torolf taught me how to pleasure myself. In front of a mirror.”
“Do not dare stop now,” Madrene said.
Already, Britta was picturing herself in such situations...with Zachary, of course.
“And you both know about chocolate body paint, do you not?” Hilda inquired.
When Hilda finished relating the purpose and method of chocolate body paint, Britta said, “Can we stop to purchase some on the way back?”
“I’ll second that, and mayhap strawberry, as well. Ian is partial to strawberries.” Madrene had a considering expression on her face. “And, by the by, I think my brother Torolf wins the prize for most perverted.”
“I will tell him that.” Hilda smiled.
“Oh, no, please do not,” Madrene said.
They all stood up, preparing to leave, when Hilda said, “So, anyone game for The Horny Toad?”
“The what?” Madrene inquired.
“A sex shop.”
“Hilda!” Madrene was laughing. “You shock me.”
“Hah! There is naught that could shock you, Madrene,” Hilda contended. “You are the one who gave me edible underwear for a bridal showering gift.”
Edible underwear? Eeeew! A sex shop? Eeeew! “Uh...I do not think I am interested in purchasing sex,” Britta said. “I get enough from Zachary.”
Everyone laughed at her then, including the people at nearby tables.
The plot thickens...
Mullah Ahmed Arsallah sat in a San Diego hotel suite watching a TV screen showing remote access pictures of that bastard Floyd’s home, twenty miles away.
“Everything is in place?” he inquired of his assistant.
Daoud nodded. “Our operatives are in place in the house across the street. Six of them.”
“And the occupants of the house?” He addressed Hakim, who was sometimes referred to as “The Executioner.”
“Disabled and will not awaken for hours.” Hakim would have preferred killing them all, including their hostages-to-be, something which might yet happen.
“And Lieutenant Floyd...are we certain he will not return in the midst of our...um, mission?”
“He and seven other SEALs are occupied with that bomb threat we devised. In a place called Pennsylvania. Even if he were warned now, it would take half a day for him to return. By then, we will be gone, including the boy, Allah willing.”
Arsallah nodded. “Number of guards inside and outside?”
“One inside, two outside,” Hakim said. “Plus, there is a woman inside with the boy, as well. A military woman from WEALS.”
Arsallah frowned his confusion.
“Rather like a female Navy SEAL.” This explanation came from Daoud, who exchanged stony looks with Hakim.
The two men had no love for each other, which was just as well.
Arsallah did not like his comrades to develop strong bonds with each other.
Their whole allegiance should be to him.
“It is a new military unit for women,” Daoud elaborated.
Arsallah and Hakim both sneered, as did others sitting about the lavish three-bedroom suite where they had been staying these past two days, waiting for the right opportunity.
“American women are immodest. Harlots for the most part,” Arsallah postulated.
It made no difference that they had all watched an X-rated movie on the television the night before.
Actually, it probably contributed to that opinion if all American women behaved in that manner.
“Take the female SEAL, too,” he ordered.
“She can help with the boy, make him more manageable.”
“We will use silencers on our weapons outside,” Hakim told him. “Inside, shall we use drugs or tasers?”
Arsallah shrugged. “Just do not harm the boy and woman in any way that will show on the outside. Once we are on the return flight, a reporter and cameraman from Al-Jazeera will interview me. I do not want any human rights or U.S. government officials crying mistreatment.”
“Shouldn’t we wait a day or so then, till we are certain the boy and the woman will say what we want?” This from the more logical Daoud.
“They will do as told,” Hakim answered for Arsallah with a harsh laugh.
Arsallah agreed with his henchman. “Especially that spineless grandson of mine. I should have had him shot at birth, along with his traitorous whore of a mother. Leastways, now, Samir can be used for our benefit. First off, we use him for a bargaining tool to have every Taliban prisoner released from CIA prisons.”
“Can we threaten to kill the boy, or cut off a body part, if the Americans do not comply?” Hakim practically licked his lips with anticipation. Not so long ago, Samir had kicked Hakim in the balls when ordered to get rid of a mongrel dog that had been bothering his sleep.
“Threaten, yes, but get my permission to follow through.”
Both Daoud and Hakim studied him carefully, probably thinking that he was getting soft on his grandson. He was not. As far as he was concerned, Samir’s diluted blood merited no familial consideration. But he did want to rein in control of this volatile situation.
“And then...after the negotiations are complete?” Daoud asked. “What happens to the boy...and the woman soldier...then?”
Arsallah knew, but he was not about to share all information, even with these old comrades. No one could be trusted, really.