Chapter Fifty

A HAND COVERED HER MOUTH.

Acacia jerked awake and drove her fists into the dark figure bent over her.

The room was black. Not even the lights from the courtyard were shining through the window.

The figure batted away her blows. “We’re here to rescue you. Keep quiet. Injuries?” he whispered in English.

“Concussion,” she whispered. “Bruised back. But I can walk.”

The man wore combat gear, which she could barely make out. He seemed to be accompanied by others. She wondered if they’d cut the power to her father’s compound. They appeared to be wearing night vision goggles.

The man lifted her to his shoulder and began to move. Acacia bounced as they exited the cell and jogged down the hall. He picked his way around a couple of bodies on the floor. She couldn’t tell if one of them was Ibrahim.

She heard a shout in the distance and the rattle of gunfire.

The man clutched her more tightly and began to run. Boots pounded against the concrete floor and over the mosaic tile in the courtyard.

Gunfire split the silence and a spray of bullets flew through the air. She heard the cries of someone who was hit and loud cursing in Arabic.

She heard more gunfire, and the man carrying her went down.

Acacia landed on the soldier, who tried to cushion her blow. She rolled off him and ducked for cover. “Are you all right?” she hissed in English.

The man swore and grabbed his thigh. Blood poured from underneath his fingers. “Goddamn it!”

A flashlight shone in her eyes. Someone grabbed her hand and jerked her to her feet.

She planted her feet, squinting to see who held her hand. As soon as she realized it was one of her father’s men, she didn’t hesitate.

She withdrew the spoon she’d hidden in her sleeve and jammed the handle into the side of the man’s neck. Blood spurted in a wide arc as he screamed in pain. He released her and fell to his knees as blood continued to spurt from his wound. He covered his neck with his hands, gurgling and gasping.

Acacia stared, frozen.

Another soldier began dragging her toward the door. “We gotta go. Now!”

Acacia turned to see the wounded man slump to the floor. He didn’t move.

Bullets whizzed by, and two other solders approached from in front of her, trying to provide cover to their fallen comrade.

Acacia struggled to keep up with the soldier who gripped her bicep. He pulled her out of the courtyard and toward a waiting Humvee.

Acacia vomited next to the vehicle.

“Jesus,” one of the soldiers said. He grabbed a cloth from inside the Humvee and handed it to her. “Is there more?”

Acacia didn’t answer. She vomited once again and doubled over.

“We gotta go,” another voice said from inside the Humvee.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, swallowing bile. She wiped her mouth with the towel.

“Are you sure?” the soldier asked. He examined her quickly.

She climbed into the Humvee, and he followed.

The armored vehicle pulled away, speeding down a rough, uneven trail.

“Status,” the man in the front passenger seat barked.

“The raven is here. She just emptied her stomach, and she’s covered in blood.” The soldier who’d helped her replied. He had an English accent and began running his hands over her arms and legs.

“It isn’t my blood,” she replied in English.

The soldier took note of her bandaged head and facial bruising. “She’s going to need a medic.”

“Copy that. There’s one waiting.” The man in the front sounded American. He seemed to be the officer in charge.

“Drink this.” The soldier on Acacia’s right handed her a bottle of water. He didn’t sound American.

She tasted the water gratefully, but was careful not to drink too much.

“Innis is down,” the English soldier announced.

“Is he the soldier who was carrying me?” she croaked. “Is he all right?”

“We’ll find out in a minute.” The officer’s tone was grim.

“I’m sorry.” A wave of emotion hit her.

“Honey, you got nothing to be sorry for.” The officer turned in his seat. He made eye contact. “This is our job.”

The communication link in the vehicle crackled to life. “Innis needs a medic. Taking him back to base.”

“Copy that. Out,” the officer responded.

He turned to the driver. “Location?”

“Out of range.”

“Good.” The officer hit a couple of buttons, and the com link crackled once again. “Ranger one to S-one. We’re out of range. Go get them.”

“Copy that, Ranger one,” a voice came over the com link. The accent was Middle Eastern, but Acacia couldn’t place it.

“Good luck, S-one. Over.” The officer pressed a button again, and the com link fell silent.

“Is there a NATO base nearby?” Acacia asked.

“Negative,” the Englishman clipped.

She was alarmed. “Then who are you?”

“Private contractors,” the man sitting on her right said.

Now she recognized his accent. “Israeli?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Mossad?” she asked.

“Ex-Mossad.”

“They thought I was Mossad.”

“No, they didn’t,” he scoffed. “If they had, they’d have tortured you and put you out to bid.”

Her eyes met his. If her father had captured him, things would have been far worse for him than for his American and British colleagues.

“I think I killed someone.” She spoke to him in Arabic, hoping he could understand.

The Israeli’s eyes flashed to hers. “Better him than you,” he replied in Arabic.

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I was trying to get away.”

He made a horizontal motion with his hand. “Someone puts a gun to your head, someone threatens you, you do whatever you can to stay alive. That’s self-defense.”

Acacia took a drink of water, trying to process everything that had just happened. She thought of the man in the courtyard, blood spurting from his neck. She thought of the soldier who’d carried her, clutching his thigh and swearing.

Her father had caused this. He’d kidnapped her from her home and killed Kurt, her protector, in the process. The killing and injuries that resulted from the kidnapping were her father’s fault.

Damn his soul, she thought. Her body shook.

She put her hand over her heart. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said in Arabic.

“You’re welcome.”

Acacia was grateful they could understand one another. She didn’t want a large audience for her words. “May peace be upon you and your household.”

“Peace be upon you, as well.”

“What are you saying?” the officer broke in sharply.

“She’s giving me beauty tips,” the Israeli replied in English.

Laughter erupted in the Humvee.

“Injuries?” He leaned closer, still speaking Arabic.

Her hand touched her bandage. “Concussion. Head wound. Facial bruising. Blunt force to the lower back. I think they hit me with a rifle when they kidnapped me.”

The Israeli’s expression tightened. He shifted the gun that rested on his lap.

Three military vehicles appeared out of the darkness and sped past them, heading in the opposite direction.

“There won’t be anything left by the time they’re done.” The Israeli jerked his chin in the direction of the other vehicles, speaking to Acacia.

“Who are they?”

“Syrian special forces.” He turned to face forward.

Acacia hugged herself in an effort to stop her body from shaking. If the Syrians knew about her father’s connection to the Damascus bombings, they’d kill him.

She remembered Nicholas telling her about the intelligence he’d acquired about her father. The Damascus bombings had not been included in the dossier.

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

She’d been the source of that information. She’d only passed it along to one person, which meant…

She removed her hand from her mouth. “Are the Syrians going to kill everyone in the compound?”

The Israeli turned his head. “I don’t know their rules of engagement.”

Acacia felt like she was going to be sick again. She covered her mouth.

“Put your head down.” Careful to avoid her bandage, the Israeli guided her head between her knees. “Breathe in through your nose, slowly.” His hand rested lightly between her shoulder blades.

Acacia did what she was told. She put her guilt and horror aside to focus on her breath, visualizing her emotions like a wave that crashed over her and spilled onto the floor of the Humvee. In her mind’s eye, she watched the waters recede.

“If it’s either you or them, you choose yourself,” the Israeli whispered. He kept his hand to her back and lowered his head so he was almost at eye level. “Every time.”

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” she whispered.

“They chose death when they kidnapped you and killed your bodyguard. Actions have consequences.

“They can’t bomb people into oblivion and turn around and expect judicial process. That is not justice.”

She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, her lungs the only thing tethering her to the moment.

“Everyone wants justice,” she mumbled. “But does anyone know what justice really is?”

The Humvee made a sharp turn and increased its speed. The Israeli withdrew his hand.

Acacia lifted her head. Lights in the distance lined what appeared to be an airstrip. She saw a small jet.

The Humvee pulled alongside the jet, near another Humvee. Several armed soldiers were guarding the plane.

“There’s your ride,” the officer announced over his shoulder.

The Israeli helped her out of the vehicle and held her arm as he escorted her to the plane. Her legs shook, and she stumbled.

A man stood at the foot of the staircase that rose to the jet’s door.

Rick.

Without a word, she went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She hugged him as if he were a long-lost friend.

To her surprise, he enveloped her in a bear hug.

Tears pricked her eyes. She’d never thought she’d be so happy to see him.

“I’m sorry we’re late.” He released her.

“Concussion, head wound, facial bruising and lacerations, and blunt trauma to the lower back. She vomited on the way out,” the Israeli reported. His expression was stoic.

Acacia had forgotten he was there. “Thank you. Thanks to all of you. I’m so sorry about what happened to Innes.”

“He’s going to be fine.” The officer stepped forward. He shook hands with Rick. “You need to get out of here.”

With a nod, Rick walked Acacia up the stairs and into the plane. He lifted the staircase and closed the cabin door.

Acacia quickly surveyed the inside of the cabin.

She turned to Rick. “He didn’t come?”

Rick shook his head, his face blank.

“But he sent you for me?” Her voice grew hoarse.

Rick nodded. He looked uncomfortable.

“My father thinks Nicholas is Mossad.” Acacia blinked back tears. “Others may think the same thing. You have to warn him.”

Rick’s eyebrows shot up. “Your father mentioned Mossad?”

She nodded.

Rick cursed and pulled out his cell phone.

A middle-aged woman wearing surgical scrubs moved from the back of the plane. “I’m Doctor Büchi, from Geneva. Let’s take a look at you.”

Acacia sat on a low couch and turned to look out the window. In the light provided by the makeshift landing strip, the soldiers clustered around the Humvees.

She said a prayer of gratitude for her rescuers before taking a moment to mourn the loss of life at her father’s compound.

“Whoever kills a soul—it is as if he had slain mankind entirely. And whoever saves one—it is as if he had saved mankind entirely.” She recited the words from the Qur’an in her head.

A tear fell.