Laz looked at his people, hand picked and highly regarded and summed up.  "Jolie and Betty will be inserted into the aid station tomorrow and Fish will grab them tomorrow night.  I want us in place before they, Jolie and Betty, get there.  Cal has rigged it so we can track them in the field, plus we'll be in constant contact with the ops center.  They'll be two days on the road and one in Oman before the auction.  Trevor has Oman set up already and his people are in place.  If he can find a way to put a man inside the auction he will.  Otherwise Carmine and Vitorio will go in alone with Fish as a potential buyer, just to make sure no one else buys them.  After the auction we play it by ear.  Questions?"  When there weren't any, given they'd gone over it a dozen times before, he said, "Six o'clock wake up.  Have a nice night."  Then he looked at Anja and made a sign asking her to wait.

She gave him a slight nod acknowledging his request and stood near the door as the others filed out. Tobie gave her a look but continued on out with the others. Everyone felt that something had happened in Thailand, probably a disagreement over tactics. Still it was none of their business, even if they were curious about it. Asking either Anja or Laz was worthless.

When everyone had left Laz leaned back against the desk and studied her face.  It never gave him the slightest clue about what she was thinking or feeling, but every once in a while something would flash in her eyes that he could translate.  Unfortunately nothing was flashing there now besides her infinite patience.  It made him want to groan.  As women went, she was more enigmatic than most, at least to him.  He found himself wondering if she knew that and then he pushed the thought away.  It didn't matter.  What mattered was getting Dinah back.  "I should have asked earlier," he said finally, "but I didn't.  If you'd be more comfortable paired with someone else I can arrange it."

She studied him for a moment, a frank and open look. "I am fine with it. Are you?"

He wanted to groan again.  She had a way of doing that to him, of turning things around on him that he found frustrating, that made him uncomfortable with himself, like he was behaving badly.  And there was no way he knew of that they could talk about it.  "No or it wouldn't have been this way to begin with."  He hesitated a minute before continuing.  "How are you doing?"

That brought a spark of something to her eyes. "I am healing. Are you?"

"I'm living with it," he said after a long silence he desperately wanted to be able to end some other way than with him answering her question.  "If you needed anything, would you tell me?"

"No.  But then I doubt you would tell me. Laz," she added, "what happened is what happened. It cannot be changed. It was necessary at the time. Let it go."

"It would depend on what I needed, I think," he said.  "I'm not nearly as self contained as you appear to be or think I am."

"There is something I would like to say to you, but I do not wish to offend you, or ...  I think our ways of thinking are very different and I am unsure if you would wish to hear it."

He nodded, "Go ahead.  I'm always willing to listen I hope, especially to different points of view."

She nodded, and looked down as she composed herself, although she seemed pretty composed already. Finally she said, "I do no hate you for what happened. I hope you do not hate yourself. I do not blame you and I hope you can get past taking on the burden of what happened."

"The day you can look me in the eye and tell me you're past it, that you've healed and the scars aren't a problem, the day you and I can be friends without it sitting there between us like a great, gaping hole, the day you stop treating me like a blank wall...I'll let it go," he said struggling to control the sudden savagery he felt.

She looked up and met his eyes. "I am sorry I seem to be hurting you further. I do not mean to. My training is such that emotion is to be contained and controlled. It does not mean that I do not feel."

"It's not that you're hurting me, it's that I haven't got the faintest idea if I'm hurting you.  And, when we get out in the field again, I need to be able to know what's going on with you so I don't have to take the time to ask if something goes down.  It's one thing to be unemotional when it's needed, but, jesus..."  He stopped himself suddenly, running his hand through his hair.  "Look I'm sorry that I'm not handling things like maybe you would like me too.  But it's because, damn it, you matter to me and the only word I have for what happened to you, for what I did to you, is rape."

Anja mentally closed the door to the room to give them more privacy.  "I never once thought of it that way."

"Then you've got more imagination than me, Anja, because that's the only way I can think of it," he said.  "And now, on my advice two woman who also matter to me.." He stopped himself again and then said, "Oh shit, never mind, it is what it is, as you pointed out so well."

"Laszlo, rape is not the act. It is what is meant by it. It is a way to control, to hurt, to cause fear and humiliation in the victim. None of those things were present in your mind."

"No?  But you were feeling them, I'll bet and it sure didn't take me anytime at all to get it up and get it done, now did it?" he asked, his voice harsh.

"What I was feeling at the time, was ... I was praying you could go through with it and that both of us would get out of there alive."

"Then tell me, what is it you're healing from?" he asked her, his eyes hard on her face.

"From the fact that I wanted to kill them."

It stopped him cold. He had nowhere he could go with that, and nothing at all he could think of to say in response.

"I have studied to be a warrior monk. I have three years to decide if I will take the vows. I am trying to deal with the reality that I am not worthy of doing so.  I know you think differently, but for me killing in anger is ... a sin. Yet, I still cannot stop thinking that given another chance I would, without hesitation, kill them."

"If asked, I would have to come down on the side of not killing in anger either.  I'm a little fuzzy, though," he said, "about what's wrong with wanting to take the life of people who can do what they do to other people, without hesitation do it and all so they can turn a profit or because they're so warped it takes that sort of thing to get them off."

"My master once told me that being puzzled is the beginning of wisdom. I failed the lesson."  She took a breath and added, "It is not mine to judge them. Stop them, certainly. But their lives are not mine to hold in my palm and decide, live or die. I'm sorry, that is the best I can explain it. I am not very good with words."

Anja," he said softly, "I'm not judging them, I'm judging what they do.  As for the rest, if that's how you feel, why are you in this business?  Because, before it's all over, there'll be plenty of killing and some the result of a deliberate act of judgment.  There's nothing on earth that will stop Marc from killing McNeill if he has Dinah, and if he doesn't, I will.  And I'm willing to take the responsibility for deciding whether he lives or dies, if it falls to me to do it.  Even the pope acknowledges that capital punishment is morally acceptable in some cases."

"It is fortunate then I won't have an audience with him," she replied.  She hesitated and then explained, "I came here to be Dinah's bodyguard, not to hunt down and perhaps kill those we would both call evil. I am here to find Dinah and bring her home. What happens to those who hurt her.. I do not wish to decide that. So far as I can see there are enough who will do that by choice."

"I meant the warrior monk thing, which, based on the little I know, strikes me as being a merc with a layering or two of philosophy and maybe theology.  By definition it's a profession that includes killing."

"Since I am an admitted failure at being a warrior monk, perhaps you'd best ask those questions of one who accepts the rules and lives by them."

"Accepts the rules?" he prompted.

"Takes the vows. The usual. You know."  The corner of her mouth was curving up ever so slightly.

"Poverty, chastity and obedience?  If you were to talk to Clem, and anyone else living under vows in the Christian expression of it, they'd tell you two things.  No one who ever makes vows is worthy of them which is why is they talk about being called to do it as opposed to applying for a job, and second the point of them is that they're tools, a means to an end, not an end in themselves," he said watching her carefully as he spoke.  "So if your feeling of unworthiness stems from what happened or what we did afterwards, then possibly you should reconsider."

"Possibly," she agreed. "Please, what happened afterwards is the least of my worries. I .. "  she coloured and stopped abruptly.

"I?" he prompted again.

"I should go," she said and turned toward the door.

"No, you shouldn't," he said, not moving from where he was.  "Unless you're that afraid of that question."

"Which question would that be?" she asked.

"The question that asked what it was you were going to say that you didn't say because it made you feel vulnerable enough, uncomfortable enough to cause a blush," he said.

Her chin went up. "I was going to say I enjoyed the sex and that is not a problem for my decisions regarding my vows."

"Oh?  And there wasn't something else," he asked, his skepticism plain.  "Though if you're interested, I enjoyed it as well, enough to regret it probably won't happen again."

"There was nothing else."

"Then what is it about the rules that you don't accept, don't live or both," he pressed.

"As you say, it is a calling. If I have doubts then I cannot take the vows. If you must know my main problem is obedience."

He grinned suddenly.  "Yeah, I have a lot of problem with that myself."

"Such a surprise," she murmured.

"Ain't it just," he agreed.

"Am I free to leave now?" she asked.

"Be my guest," he said.  "I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded and let herself out the door.

Jolie put the last of the medical supplies into her bag and closed it.  She'd give it to Laz in the morning.  Then she sat on the bed as she looked again at the sigil on her palm that Marc had put there a few days ago when he'd given her the Siol'Ster gene sequence and then he'd re-engineered her own genetics to make her like the Awakened.  She didn't like it, she thought, but it wasn't forever.  On her other palm were two smaller sigils, that would be invisible until she activated them by whispering a word in her head.  The one on the right was the emergency eject sigil that when used would zap her back to the Refuge, and the other was a sigil that would make who ever was trying to assault her suddenly unable to stop laughing long enough to get an erection.

This time tomorrow she'd be in Fish's hands with Betty Jo and on her way to Oman to be sold.  She was sure there were people for whom the scenario she was facing would represent a fantasy come true, but unfortunately for her nerves she wasn't one of them.  She'd refused to let Julian put the spell on her that would make her look exactly like Betty Jo until tomorrow morning just before they left.  She wanted this last night before she left, and maybe never came back, with Spence to be with her like she was and not like she'd be for the next week or more.  She sat there worrying her lip for a moment or two, and was about to go looking for Spence when he came into their bedroom looking for her.  "Hi," she said softly, smiling at him, drinking in the sight of him and storing it up for later.

"Hi." he walked over to sit beside her on the bed. He took her hand in his.  "Anything I can do? Other than the usual?"

"Tell me you're going to be okay while I'm gone and then be okay," she said.

"I'll be okay while you're gone. I'll worry, but I have faith in you and everyone who wants to keep you safe, so I'll be fine."

She nodded.  "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

"Me? Yeah, I get to sit around the decadent Riviera and maybe nap by the pool. You should be sorry."

She smiled.  "You know what I mean.  But thanks."

He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. "Yeah, I know. But you worry about you. And Dinah. That's the important thing. Get her home and in one or maybe three pieces."

"I wonder if they've picked out names yet," she said for lack of anything better that wouldn't have her all emotional and crying.

"Marc says Hell and Spawn,"  Spence replied. "I suggested those might be hard for the kids to live with in high school."

"Bet he'd try anyway, if Dinah'd let him," she said resting her head on his shoulder.  "Julian seems all excited by the prospect of a chance at a little adventure."

"I know. He's kinda nuts that way. I still love him though. He'd give his life for a cause without a thought.  He'd far rather be on the auction block than see you there."

"And covers it up with the party hardy and devil may care facade.  He's pretty good at it too.  I believed it for a couple of days at the hotel when I met him."  She sighed then and said, "I'd like it if we could go to bed and you just held me for a while.  Would that be alright with you?"

"I can't think of a thing I'd rather do. Well, maybe one."

"We can do that later, I promise, and all night long, right up until I leave," she told him.

"Dang it you guessed. No fair..." He pulled back the covers and stripped and helped her undress.  Then he pulled her down onto the bed and wrapped her up tight in his arms.  She reveled in the warmth of him, soaking it up like a sponge while he held her against him.

"So, uhm, can you like zap around now?"

"So I'm told, and read minds and do all that sort of stuff.  I don't think I like it though, and Marc says he can probably change it back after we finish," she said.

"Well, the zapping stuff seems pretty cool. Maybe you can keep that part."

"Maybe," she said, stroking his arm.  "I just like being normal, you know.  I don't think I'm cut out for all those powers.  Would you want them? Maybe I can get Dinah to play with your genes when she's back."

"I dunno," he said, frowning. "I kinda like being normal too. God knows we need a few of us around here."

She laughed.  "Keep Julian in line, anyway or as much as that can be done.  Still I can see where people would get used to having them.  Never having to clear security at an airport again, for example, is an awful tempting thought."

"Oh yeah, you know it.  Not to mention driving in Paris traffic."

"Hmm," she said.  "Dinah says the sex is better, too."

"Yeah? You wanna test it out? I'm game. " His hand was already heading downward.

'Sure," she said, creating a linkage between them, so that he felt what she was feeling.

"Oh my," Spence said. "That's what it's like. Crap... Let's see what the whole enchilada is like."

She giggled, and then added a linkage that let her know what he was feeling.  "Crap is right!  I dunno about the enchilada but the sausage is pretty good."

He arrived right on time, dressed in a tux, regardless of the fact they had no plans to go out.  He'd suggested she might like to spend the night with her sisters, but she'd invited him anyway.

He looked tense and far from happy, but he managed a smile anyway. And he produced dinner.  "Indian. Vindaloo. Hot as hell. Guaranteed to scare off anyone."

It made her giggle madly, the picture of her carrying it with her and whipping it out in extremis.  But then so had the idea that the sigil they'd come up with was a laughing spell, not something that would hurt some guy's penis.  "I'll get plates, she said, handing him a cork screw.  But uhm, if you'd set that stuff down I want a kiss first."

He carried it to the sink, explaining he was unwilling to trust the finish on her furniture to any spill. Then he pulled her in and kissed her. She melted into him, responding instantly, and refused to let him when he tried to lift his head.  Instead she took the kiss deeper, becoming demanding while her hands found their way under his jacket and to his back.

His hands found the zipper on her dress and then unhooked her bra. She stepped back long enough to let him slip her dress off her shoulders while she worked on the buttons on his shirt and then shoved it and his jacket together to the floor.  When he tried to steer them towards the bedroom she said, "No.  Here," against his mouth and went to work on his trousers and sending them and his shorts pooling to the floor while he toed off his shoes.

He picked her up and sat her on the counter so he could slowly peel off her stockings. When they were gone he pulled her forward so she was sitting on the edge of the counter. She watched then as he slowly entered her, watched every instant of it, thrilling in the feel of it, then watched as he withdrew again, moving even more slowly while her breathing went wild and her hands clenched convulsively on his forearms.  When he was almost totally outside of her, he waited until she looked up and met his eyes and then he repeated the movement, first in and then out, excruciatingly slowly, holding her eyes with his.

She convulsed with the beginnings of an orgasm and she begged him to speed the movement up. He didn't. Slowly, a soft sort of torture, painfully wonderful, and totally focused on her pleasure.  She orgasmed again, and he covered her mouth with his so she wouldn't scream.

When she could breathe again she wrapped her legs around his hips and moved closer, tight up against him as he moved inside of her and then she lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes again, sending a tentative thought into his mind.

At first she found nothing at all there, then it was as if his mind irised open for her. She felt his passion and desire, saw his growing sense of connection with her. And then he pounded into her and all she saw was stars.

When she came back to reality she was slumped against him, his head resting on hers.  "Hot as hell is right," she murmured.

"Wait ‘til you see what I have planned for your welcome home."

"Oh mah," she said, reverting to her southern accent.  "Ah just can't wait, sugah, 'cause ah just know it'll be a whole lot better than biscuits and gravy."

Laz took his breakfast tray into the dining room and looked around for a seat.  Over by the wall, one of the few people in the place this early, Marc sat alone, a tray of uneaten food in front of him and a cup of coffee growing cold between his hands.  Laz headed that way.  "Mind if I join you?" he asked, remembering a conversation they'd had not all that long ago when Marc had asked him the same question before asking him to watch Dinah's back at Caer Kista.

Marc looked up and nodded, so Laz set his tray down, picked up the other one and the coffee cup and came back a minute later with a fresh plate and some hot coffee.  "Try that," he said, as he sat down.

Marc looked better than he had the last time Laz had seen him. He was a bit more rested, and apparently had been eating something, if perhaps not enough. He still looked a bit haunted though.   He watched Laz eat for some time and took a few bites of his own, before saying, "I gather things were difficult in Thailand. I wanted to thank you for doing what was necessary to at least get a lead on her."

Laz looked at him as he swallowed some eggs and then drank some coffee. Eventually he gave a sharp nod and smiled.  "Yeah, well...it's what you pay me for," he said.  "Besides, what's easy is usually worthless.  How are you holding up?"

"I'm mostly fighting myself. I want to go to that auction and tear the place to bits and grab anyone there and make them tell me where she is. Primitive man, that's me."

"Makes perfect sense to me, man," Laz said, pushing his plate aside and leaning back in the chair.  "You're joining Trevor in Oman when?  Today?"

Marc nodded. "He said he'd cue me when they were ready for me.  Jeezus I can't stand feeling helpless."

"You're welcome to tag along with us if you want," Laz offered, after thinking about it for a while.  "Not that there will be much to do, I expect, until we get to Sur Masirah in Oman."

"I appreciate the offer. But you've got your teams arranged and I'd rather not get in your way. But there is one thing you can do for me."

"Sure, what?" Laz said.

"If we get close, and things begin to go pear shaped, and I know where Angus is, I'm not pulling back. I'm going in, if I have to go in by myself.  And I'm not coming out alive without Dinah, even if it means killing everyone else there.  I want you to help me make sure I get that chance."

Laz gave a low whistle and looked at Marc.  "Well, I can't say it isn't what I'd do myself in your shoes.  So yeah," he said after thinking it through, "I'll help you, we all will, but you need to understand those two women get clear first."

Marc nodded. "That's what I want you to do, under those circumstances. You get them out. And I don't care how."

"Yeah, I figured you would."  He looked at Marc for a while, while they both drank their coffee and thought their thoughts.  "Since it's never gonna be me," Laz said abruptly, "I'm glad it's you."

"I'm sorry about that, Laz. But I also know if I get her out of there and I don't make it that you'll keep her safe for me."

"Man, don't go getting all maudlin.  It's way too early in the day.  Besides, there's nothing to be sorry for, really.  She's punching you in the jaw, not me."  Laz shook his head, his grin suddenly disarming.  "Gotta love that temper."

Marc managed a smile. "I think she punched my jaw within two minutes of first seeing me."

"If that," Laz agreed, "And called you a jack-ass.  When you get her back, smack her butt for me, will you?" he asked, getting ready to leave.  "She hates it."

"Be glad to. And thanks, Laz. For everything."

"Sure," he said.  "Like I said, it's what you pay me for.  See you in Sur Masirah.  Too bad we won't be able to surf while we're there."

Marc watched Laz saunter away, guessing perhaps more than Laz would have liked him to.

They'd zapped them as close as they could, which meant Kuwait City and after that it was a plane ride into Basrah Province in Iraq and a jeep ride along bumpy, dusty roads to the mission station being run by the World Health Organization and Doctors Without Borders.  Stephen had promised unnamed future favors to Rimes for the right passport stamps and then entree for them into Iraq, while Jolie had cajoled her old colleagues at Doctors Without Borders and they'd finally gotten on board.  So she and Betty Jo had driven into the mission in the early afternoon of the Monday before the auction on Friday, in a jeep loaded with medical supplies and food, part of the bribe they were paying.  Liam had been inserted as a Catholic Charities liaison earlier in the week.

On the short flight from Kuwait City neither of them had talked much, each blocking off the ties to what was behind and clearing a space for what was ahead, trying to find a box big enough to hold the uncertainty and to ignore every thought about what might happen.  Their best course, they'd both decided, was simply to take each moment as it came and let the next bring what it brought, to be deal with then.

On the plane with them were Tobie and Chance, a Brit couple ostensibly with jobs in the oil fields that they were returning to after a holiday at home in England.  That they would follow them into Iraq and on to the aid station was something both women knew, but not how.  Details that might give them away hadn't been shared with them, only the details they needed to know.  Like that Laz and the others where already on the ground around the station, watching the road and waiting.  And, presumably, Fish was on his way from Carmine's dungeon cells with a handler supplied by Carmine to keep him in line.  Trevor and his team were already at Sur Masirah, or Masirah Island off the coast of Oman where the auction wold take place, Friday night.

So Betty Jo put the jeep in park, flashed Jolie a grin and some dimples and swung out of the seat.  "Well, sister-friend, we're here."

"Yeah, so I see." Jolie said, beating the dust out of her khaki's.  "Why don't you stay with the jeep while I go find who ever runs the place.  Then maybe we can get some lunch."  Betty Jo nodded her agreement and leaned back against the jeep, surveying the aid station.  Small and humble, not much more than a collection tents out in the middle of the desert, distributing food and providing medical care to the local population, it had been built about three months ago and chosen by Laz and Trevor because it was the closest to Oman.  As it was they'd have a two day trip by truck and then the ferry ride to the island to deal with before they got to the auction.

As it was, for Betty Jo anyway, it was the auction that loomed the largest in her mind, the major hurdle to get over.  The idea of being displayed naked, as would probably happen, she knew, for a roomful of people who'd be poking, prodding and otherwise putting their hands on her where ever they wanted was the stuff of nightmares.  Simple rape seemed, by comparison, much less violating.  But it was something she was trying hard not to think about and so she focused her mind on the children playing a pick up game of soccer across the road while she waited for Jolie to get back.

When she finally returned, they turned the supplies over to the mission and were shown a room where they could wash the dirt off and change, then fed some lunch.  After Jolie went off to play doctor for a few hours and Betty Jo started helping in the food distribution tent, to pass the time as much as anything else.  Finally at dusk, she headed back towards the administration area and waited for Jolie.  When she arrived they exchanged a look and a twisted sort of smile.  "Wanna take a walk down the road before dinner?" Betty Jo asked.  Jolie agreed, saying she'd enjoy some air after being inside all day and wasn't it cooling off nicely.  Then they headed down the road at an easy pace, talking about men and how dumb they were.  When they hit the main road, such as it was, they decided to turn to the right and walk for another ten minutes or so before heading back.  They'd gone about six minutes worth of distance when the sound of a truck was suddenly there, loud and headed their way.  So they moved to the side of the road and turned to watch it pass.

Only it didn't pass them by.  It slowed and then suddenly slammed on it's brakes and went into reverse, grinding the gears and blowing dust everywhere.  It stopped parallel to them and so it began, with men jumping out of the cab and a couple from the back of the truck surrounding them, jabbering away in Farsi and Italian depending on who they were.  They circled them, touching and stroking their hair, while Betty Jo shifted until her back was against Jolie's and just watched them, making no effort to hide the fear she felt.

One man seemed a bit more reserved than the others. And he seemed to be giving the orders, in a mix of Farsi and Italian, from what Betty Jo could tell. He used the butt of a rifle to knock one guy who'd gotten a bit too free with the merchandise, to the ground and then ground the butt of the rifle into the man's groin, making him scream. The others were suddenly less inclined to prod and touch the women in any way other than to bind their hands behind them, gag them, and put filthy and smelly burlap bags over their heads. Jolie and Betty Jo felt themselves tossed into the air; both landed with a thump hard enough to knock the wind out of them.  The truck, moving over the rough terrain was agony for them.  There was no padding on which they lay, it was hard and hot metal and tossed them up off the truck bed only to land again on it after each rut or pothole the truck passed over. Betty Jo had hoped to keep track of how long they traveled or even to hear something that might be useful afterwards. She found instead, darkness, when her head, colliding too hard with the bed of the truck knocked her senseless.

A mile or so away Laz played one of his least favorite games, watching the blinking light, while Anja drove, keeping them parallel to and somewhat behind the truck.  Paul and Natha were in a comparable position on the other side of the truck, while Tobie and Chance were on the road behind them, Brit oil workers headed for the Iraqi fields if anyone asked.  Laz had all four vehicles on the screen and an open line in his ear to Paul and Chance.  Today, the women were driving while the men rode shot gun.  It was a thought that brought a grin to his face.

"They'll keep on straight through the night, stopping where they can for gas, unless something happens," Laz said to Anja.

Anja, her hair darkened again, her skin tone darkened too, nodded. She was slender enough that a glance at her would make most people think her a young man. Watching her drive out of the corner of his eye, he knew she was focused and ready, and was not wasting time on any other thoughts or concerns.  He flowed with the bounce as the jeep hit a dip in the ground and came back up again, bracing the laptop computer in his lap more securely.  Occasionally Paul or Chance would check in with a comment, occasionally he directed Anja to adjust their position relative to the truck, but for the most part the hours passed in silence, while the moon rose and then set.  They stopped twice while the truck gassed up and Laz refilled their tank with the petrol in the back.  Around three in the morning he passed Anja an energy bar and held out the canteen for her, just as he'd done a few hours earlier and just as he'd do again in few hours.

They crossed the border out of Iraq and into Kuwait without difficulty, and again from Kuwait into Saudi Arabia.  Rimes had cleared their path the whole way south, just as he'd arranged the visas for Jolie and Betty Jo.  No doubt Stephen had promised him the bank and Laz had mentioned in passing that it was tab he'd help pay off, if and when the time came.  He was just glad they hadn't had to deal with the jokers at Langley.

In the truck the women were given water and a chance to relieve themselves. No food, as the idea was to keep them weak and passive. The brief time Jolie had been free of the burlap bag over her head she'd ID'd the guy who was along with them for protection. It was merely for a moment.  He treated them as roughly as any of the others, but he'd stepped between one man and her very quickly when it had looked as if the guy might have something on his mind about sampling the merchandise.   The fellow who'd tried it ended up tossed in a ditch along the roadside, his throat silt.  Not that Jolie knew that, only that at the next stop for fuel, he'd been missing, and that was the last time any of them laid a hand on the women other than on orders by their superiors, and for other than absolute necessity.

By dawn they were just north and west of where they'd cross the border into Oman.  The truck pulled off the road and into the cover of some abandoned buildings while the other three vehicles tracking them found their own spots.  Laz took the first watch while Anja slept.  He woke her and traded places about five hours later and then came awake instantly when she shook his shoulder to tell him it was time to move again.  He nodded, took a fast leak and then climbed back into the passenger seat, checking in with his radar screen and with his troops.  He switched the channel briefly and exchanged news and a few quips with Cal in the ops center and then went back to watching the blinking light.  The night passed like the one before and by dawn they were pulling back, letting Chance and Tobie make the ferry crossing with the truck.  On the other side they'd break off and Trevor would pick them up and stay with them, while the rest of them waited for the next ferry, five hours or more away.

The two women were awake now, relieved by the far softer tossing of the waves hitting the ferry after the pain of the desert crossing. They were exhausted, terrified and alone, neither one allowed near the other. For all either of them knew, the other one was dead. Jolie clung to the knowledge that Carmine's man was with them, and that he was making quite sure that Betty Jo was as all right as he could make her.

Anja stood with a hand over her eyes, watching the ferry grow smaller, a frown on her face. It had been grueling but so far the plan had held.  She glanced over at Laz awaiting information on their next move.  When the ferry was gone from sight Laz glanced around, watching Paul and Natha pull in next to them.  "Breakfast, I think," he said to Anja, "don't you?  There is, I'm told, a fairly decent hotel just up the road that serves food.  Trevor, I'm also told, reserved rooms so we can shower and change before we cross over."

Breakfast was mostly silent, each of them too tired for much conversation, and far too into the mission to risk a loose word.  The food was passable, but at that point nearly anything was great if it was hot and not an energy bar.

After breakfast they got their rooms. It being a small place each team shared one room, which was also a way of protecting each other as one could rest and the other keep watch if they felt it necessary.  Laz let Anja shower first while he checked in with Trevor and then with again with Cal back at the ops center.  Then he traded places with her in the bathroom, shaved, showered and walked back into the room in his underwear.  "I'm going to sleep for a couple hours.  You might want to as well," he said, picking one of the twin beds and pulling back the covers.  Then he set the alarm to go off in two hours and lay down on the bed, his hands behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling.

She wore the same or at least a similar shift he'd seen her wear before. And he watched as she slipped a Bowie size knife under her pillow. When she realized he was watching her  she commented, "I sleep better with a weapon handy."  She too lay down but did not fall asleep immediately.  Although her face was as unrevealing as it ever was, at least to Laz, he thought he saw the tension in her body, that kept her awake.

"For now they are safe," he said softly, his eyes on the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the paint from the brush that had put it there.  "Or is something else bothering you?"

"No. What keeps you awake?"

He considered prevarication for a moment and decided what the hell.  "You," he told her.

She turned on her side and propped her head up on her hand. "Have you found my performance wanting?"

He thought about asking which performance she was referring to and didn't, being too tired to bandy words with her.  "No," he said finally.  "I'm wondering if that's the bed you prefer," he went on, his eyes still on the ceiling.

She opened her mouth to say something then abruptly closed it. Then a few heartbeats later she whispered, "And if it isn't?"

"There are alternatives available," he said, finally looking at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"Ah," she replied. "Perhaps I should consider my options."

He turned then, propping his head on his hand and gazed at her.  "I want you.  So your options are this bed or that one, no pressure, no hidden agenda."

"If there is a next time you will come to mine," she said as she slipped into bed beside him.

"Maybe," he said, gathering her to him, smoothing the hair away from her face.  "Depends on the quality of the bed, don't you think?" he asked before kissing her.

As the kiss ended, she replied, "Considering where we are, a lack of bedbugs is the best we can hope for."  She guided his hand to where she wanted it to go.

"Probably," he said, rolling her onto her back, "But we won't always be here, will we?" he asked lighting fires under her skin as he learned it anew with his mouth, taking care to keep his hand where she'd put it.

She was demanding this time, far more so than she'd been in Thailand. He gave her what she wanted, and when she turned her attention to him he let his own needs drive hers yet again, until they both climaxed, her head buried in the pillow, his between her breasts, the bed soaked in sweat, the sheets more on the floor than on the bed.

Then he held her as they both slept until the alarm went off.  They showered together, swiftly, laughing at each other and were dressed and downstairs, checking out as Paul and Natha joined them.  By the time they were in the jeep, him driving this time, things had returned to normal, he realized, if by normal one meant professional and cordial but never a hint of anything that had ever passed between them.

The ferry crossing went without incident and reports from the island were heartening. The two women had arrived, so far as anyone could tell, and Carmine reported it as if he would have known otherwise, unmolested if bruised, battered and exhausted.  It was the best they could hope for at this point.