they have brought you to this pigpen, Cooper, then you must be an enemy of these dogs, as I am.”
Bolan smiled at that. “No doubt about that, Ali bin Sharif. I am their enemy.”
“Then we are allies.”
“How did you come to be in this place?”
“Two of my fellow warriors and I stumbled across this place. We rode in asking for water and we were attacked. My friends were shot down in front of me even though we came in friendship.”
The Bedouin had moved to stand and stare out through the tiny square in the wall that served as the only window in the cell. Bolan sensed he was stifled within the confines of the room, longing to be back in his wide, clean desert.
“If we stay, they are going to kill us,” Sharif said as he turned, reluctantly, from the window. “I know this. They took great delight in telling me I would die when they poison me with the weapon they plan to use against the Israelis.”
Bolan tensed. “Tell me what you have heard, bin Sharif. It is important that I know.”
“Did you see the stone building standing on its own? Just beyond the wall?”
When he had arrived Bolan had made a silent appraisal of the camp’s layout. Recon was important when it came time to effect an escape, something always at the forefront of Bolan’s mind whenever he found himself disadvantaged. Thinking ahead and formulating an escape route could make the difference between staying free—or failing completely.
“Look beyond the window,” Sharif said. “At the eastern edge of the camp. Do you see the wall?”
Bolan nodded. “And the square stone building thirty feet out?”
“Yes. In there they store weapons. Guns and ammunition. Explosives. And the weapon they will kill the Jews with. Those Iraqi dogs who yapped at Hussein’s heels showed me. They delivered it here for the Iranians to use. They said it would make me scream like a child as I died. Ha, they must not be aware I am Rwala, of the Bedu.”
“What did this weapon look like? Liquid? Was it gas in cylinders?”
“In round glass balls. Big enough to fill my palm. Inside was a green-colored liquid. One of those Fedayeen laughed in my face when he told me one drop would spread all across my body and eat me alive.”
A reactive bioagent that became active when it made contact with living tissue. Bolan had heard about the varying strains of biological weapons, created in labs by men to use against other men. Another of the vile products of the endless search man immersed himself in to destroy his own kind. He wondered briefly where the Iranians had gotten hold of this particular strain. Not that it mattered right now. The where could come later.
“Did they say where it would be used in Israel?”
He shook his head. “If they send it into Israel it will set this whole region alight. Iraq. Iran. Why cannot these fools be satisfied with what they have? When will they be content? Only when we are all fighting each other? Or dead and the desert is rid of us all?”
“Ali, we can stand around all day discussing the worst. Or we can get out of this place and stop what these men are planning.”
The Bedouin thought about it for only a moment. “You are right, Cooper. So what is your wonderful plan that will release us from this miserable dung pit?”
“The truth?”
“Always.”
“I have no plan.”
Sharif smiled, stroking his dark beard and said, “Then we must do it anyway.”
“Do they feed you?”
Sharif laughed. “If you can call it food. I believe it is the slop that even the camp dogs refuse to eat. But they say I must eat to keep up my strength. So that when they use their chemical I will be strong and resist better.”
“That suggests they’re not sure of its power. They need to test it.”
“Is that good?”
“It means they may not have worked out how to use it. So there might not be a date for attacking Israel. It gives us an edge.”
Sharif frowned. “An edge?”
“Time to destroy the cache.”
Sharif grunted, deep in his own thoughts. “If we could break free and gather my brothers, we could return and attack this place.”
“My own thoughts exactly.”
“You have seen the helicopters they possess. They would track us.”
“The Bedu aren’t afraid of helicopters,” Bolan said.
Sharif slapped him on the shoulder. “Of course not. If you believe that then I am not the only mad one in this cell.”
They waited. According to Sharif, midday was when his food was delivered. Bolan’s watch showed they weren’t far from that time.
He sank down on his heels, his back to the wall, and let his body relax, conserving his energy. He still hurt from the punishment he had received from Yusef. The only good thing to come from his recent confrontation with Kerim was being locked up with Sharif. Kerim deciding to delay his interrogation might yet prove to be Bolan’s way out of his current situation. While his body rested, his mind was busy, evaluating the information he had gathered since becoming fully involved in the convoluted twists of the mission. There was a repeated strain of deceit embedded within the relationships he had come in contact with. Mistrust permeated every strand. No one was comfortable with the next in line. It loosened the secrecy that should have knit the whole thing together, allowing Bolan to extract information with less effort than he might have expected. It also meant those involved were acutely nervous and liable to hit out unexpectedly. Sudden violence was chosen as the swiftest way of resolving problems. Bolan was always aware of that during mission time so he never took anything for granted. There were still times when even his keen awareness failed him. He had only to look around the cell to confirm that.
“Cooper.”
Bolan glanced across at Sharif. The Bedouin nodded in the direction of the cell door. He picked up the soft whisper of footsteps moving in the direction of the cell, a murmur of voices.
“We have a choice. Die of poisoning from the execrable food they are bringing, or the cleaner death from a bullet.”
Pushing to his feet Bolan lounged against the rough wall, head down, and he remained in that position as the door was unbolted and pushed wide. Sunlight streamed into the cell, bright, with swirling dust motes in the hot shafts. Then the fall of light was partially blocked by a man carrying an AK-47. He paused to check the position of the two prisoners, then stepped aside to let a second man enter. This one carried two wooden bowls of steaming food. He bent and placed them on the floor.
Sharif began to berate the two guards in wild, explosive Arabic. Bolan didn’t know what he was saying, but the tone and phrasing suggested he was delving deep into his knowledge of his language’s obscenities. The unexpected outburst delivered
