Kate led them down a dusty, deserted alley. They were all dressed in
civilian Iraqi clothing; Mac and Kate wore loose fitting dresses and head
scarves, while Harm wore a brown tunic over rough baggy pants. Dust and
grime covered their faces, and there were dark circles on their eyes from
two days of searching.
Their search had led them out of Baghdad before nightfall on the first day. They'd travelled into the desert, and now they were in a small village. Kate stopped at the end of the alley, looked up and down the street, and then walked purposefully up to the building across the main street.
"What are you doing?" Harm asked, when he and Mac caught up with her.
"Quiet," she hissed, "Don't say anything."
Mac was surprised by her sudden sharpness, but a moment later she understood. A rectangular viewing space opened in the door, and a pair of menacing eyes stared out at them. "Who are you?" a deep voice, that Mac could understand, asked.
"Mr. Abib, it's Catherine Grey," Kate answered, and Harm stared at her.
The viewing space closed and they were forced to wait in suspense. They listened and waited. After a few seconds they were rewarded with the clicking of locks springing open on the other side of the door. Abib stood before them and motioned them inside. They were soon seated on the floor around a low table, Kate sat more forward than Harm or Mac.
"Miss Grey, you are out of place," Abib told her coldly. He looked pointedly at Harm.
"My friend doesn't speak the language, Mr. Abib," Kate said superiorly.
"English, then," Abib said, and Harm understood what was going on.
Kate stared at Abib, her displeasure evident, but she pulled her lips together tightly and didn't say anything. She rose from her seat, indicated that Harm should take it, and then she plopped sourly down beside Mac. Mac, seeing Kate anger, put a steady hand on her knee.
Harm now sat facing Abib. Both men were eye the other up. Abib was as short as Harm was tall, but he had the same arrogant aire about him. Harm tried to look as submissive as possible, trying to lure Abib into a false sense of security. Abib got up and returned to the table with a tray laden with glasses and a pitcher. He poured drinks for everyone and then returned to his seat. Harm was hesitant, but when he saw Kate take a sip out of the corner of his eye, he drank from his own glass. He coughed and sputtered.
"Too strong for you?" Abib asked playfully, a cheshire grin on his face. Harm put his hand to his throat as he exhaled quickly, trying to clear the burning taste of the drink. "Don't worry, Commander, most westerners can't handle the taste."
A palpable silence descended upon the room. "How do you know that?" Harm asked him.
"Mr. Webb has often spoken of you, Mr. Rabb," Abib answered. "And you Miss Mackenzie," he added in Farsi.
"It's Colonel, and how do you know Mr. Webb?" Mac bristled at Abib's careless address. In fact, he ignored her completely.
This rude action did not escape Harm's notice, but he refused to let it show. "Mr. Abib, how long have you known Mr. Webb?"
"I met Webb on his first visit to the area," Abib told him in a greasy tone. "That was many years ago."
"When was the last time you saw him?" Harm asked, turning his glass absently in his hands. His mind seemed sluggish.
"I have not seen Mr. Webb in two weeks," he said in the same smooth, candied voice. "I am worried that he may not be doing well."
"What do you mean?" Harm asked, his speech slurred. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, and his vision. Distantly he heard a thud behind him.
"I heard he was in trouble," Abib answered, but Harm couldn't process the information. Abib had gone fuzzy around the edges. Harm swayed and fell over; the last thing he remembered were Abib's feet and the feel of the coarse rug.
Their search had led them out of Baghdad before nightfall on the first day. They'd travelled into the desert, and now they were in a small village. Kate stopped at the end of the alley, looked up and down the street, and then walked purposefully up to the building across the main street.
"What are you doing?" Harm asked, when he and Mac caught up with her.
"Quiet," she hissed, "Don't say anything."
Mac was surprised by her sudden sharpness, but a moment later she understood. A rectangular viewing space opened in the door, and a pair of menacing eyes stared out at them. "Who are you?" a deep voice, that Mac could understand, asked.
"Mr. Abib, it's Catherine Grey," Kate answered, and Harm stared at her.
The viewing space closed and they were forced to wait in suspense. They listened and waited. After a few seconds they were rewarded with the clicking of locks springing open on the other side of the door. Abib stood before them and motioned them inside. They were soon seated on the floor around a low table, Kate sat more forward than Harm or Mac.
"Miss Grey, you are out of place," Abib told her coldly. He looked pointedly at Harm.
"My friend doesn't speak the language, Mr. Abib," Kate said superiorly.
"English, then," Abib said, and Harm understood what was going on.
Kate stared at Abib, her displeasure evident, but she pulled her lips together tightly and didn't say anything. She rose from her seat, indicated that Harm should take it, and then she plopped sourly down beside Mac. Mac, seeing Kate anger, put a steady hand on her knee.
Harm now sat facing Abib. Both men were eye the other up. Abib was as short as Harm was tall, but he had the same arrogant aire about him. Harm tried to look as submissive as possible, trying to lure Abib into a false sense of security. Abib got up and returned to the table with a tray laden with glasses and a pitcher. He poured drinks for everyone and then returned to his seat. Harm was hesitant, but when he saw Kate take a sip out of the corner of his eye, he drank from his own glass. He coughed and sputtered.
"Too strong for you?" Abib asked playfully, a cheshire grin on his face. Harm put his hand to his throat as he exhaled quickly, trying to clear the burning taste of the drink. "Don't worry, Commander, most westerners can't handle the taste."
A palpable silence descended upon the room. "How do you know that?" Harm asked him.
"Mr. Webb has often spoken of you, Mr. Rabb," Abib answered. "And you Miss Mackenzie," he added in Farsi.
"It's Colonel, and how do you know Mr. Webb?" Mac bristled at Abib's careless address. In fact, he ignored her completely.
This rude action did not escape Harm's notice, but he refused to let it show. "Mr. Abib, how long have you known Mr. Webb?"
"I met Webb on his first visit to the area," Abib told him in a greasy tone. "That was many years ago."
"When was the last time you saw him?" Harm asked, turning his glass absently in his hands. His mind seemed sluggish.
"I have not seen Mr. Webb in two weeks," he said in the same smooth, candied voice. "I am worried that he may not be doing well."
"What do you mean?" Harm asked, his speech slurred. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, and his vision. Distantly he heard a thud behind him.
"I heard he was in trouble," Abib answered, but Harm couldn't process the information. Abib had gone fuzzy around the edges. Harm swayed and fell over; the last thing he remembered were Abib's feet and the feel of the coarse rug.