After they returned to Oman they'd been kept in separate rooms in a warehouse on the northern tip of the island.  Except for a visit a day when a guard would leave some water and a small amount of food and then change the slop bucket, they'd been left alone, each in their own windowless cell, each alone in their own heads, left to cope with it using whatever inner resources they had.  The idea was, Jolie thought, to cow them, using isolation, fear, and hunger.  She refused to follow up on the though too far.

As far as she could tell, it must be getting close to time for the auction, but she had lost all real sense of time very quickly.  So she just laid on the cot and stared at the ceiling going over everything Joyce Christianson had told her about eclampsia and how to handle an emergency c-section if it came to that, and what to do if it was too late for a c-section because one baby was already in the birth canal.  She went over how to stabilize Dinah's blood pressure and what to do if Dinah were having seizures.  Then she began going over in her mind the procedure for an emergency c-section, seeing in her mind the vertical incision she'd probably use as the cut through the skin and muscle and then the high vertical cut into the uterus.  She visualized doing it, every step of the procedure from beginning to end.  Then she began to review the care the babies, preemies, would likely need, from pressurized oxygen to help dry their lungs to heated incubators.

She was still on that when the cell door opened and a man entered and jerked her roughly to her feet and then pointed to the door, an unmistakable order to go somewhere.  She stifled her impulse to resist and went with him.  He shoved her in a bathroom and then motioned with his hands and body, telling her to shower and get cleaned up.  She didn't need to be told twice, having been wearing the same clothes for the last two days.  She spent as long as she dared under the spray, soaping her hair three times and her body twice.  After she was finished she toweled off, used the brush that was there to get the tangles out of her hair and a wash cloth to clean her teeth as well as she could.  Then she looked around for clean clothes.  When she didn't find any she eyed the clothes on the floor with distaste and picked them up ready to put them back on when the door flew open and the man knocked them out of her hands and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her out of the bathroom and down the corridor where another man gave her a loose shift that she pulled over her head.  Then he tied her hands behind her back, put a hood over her head and manhandled her into the truck.

The ride to the auction was almost as agonizing as the ride to Oman had been, the road being only marginally better.  Eventually the truck stopped and she was pulled out and led into a building and then put in a room with, from the sounds of things, other human beings about to be auctioned off.  She was led over to a wall, her hands lifted high over her head and secured to the wall, while some else ripped the shift from her body.  The last thing they did was remove her hood.  The men who'd brought her leered at her as she blinked in the bright light, their hands all over her body, squeezing her breasts, twisting her nipples viciously and shoving their hands between her legs and up inside of her.  Carmine's men weren't there anymore and wouldn't be from then on she realized and swallowed the scream that wanted out of her mouth.  She shut her eyes tight and called up the picture of the emergency c-section, willing what was happening far away while she practiced what she might have to do to save Dinah's life in her mind.

Next to her Betty Jo was being positioned for display as well.  She focused her mind on Jolie, willing strength into her and away from what was happening, wanting none of it to leak out to Ian through the link.  After she made it through this, she thought, she'd be able to handle anything at all.  When the men finally left her alone, licking their fingers as they left, she looked around the room, at the others tied upright to the wall, naked and frightened just like she was.  She looked over and saw Jolie open her eyes and smiled at her.  "Hello, sister-friend," she said, her voice low and soft.  "How's it going?"

Jolie found a smile for her and said, "Hanging in there."

Betty Jo snickered and then giggled making the others look at her like she was crazy.  "Yeah, me too," she said.

The Vampire Prince of Italy had never wasted much time worrying about the finer points of morality. He was, after all, a vampire, even if he had once been a monk. But it had been too many centuries and too many deaths in between for him to dwell on it much any longer.

That he had such a tainted reputation had been a boon to him. He was able to deal with nearly every one this way, no one too evil or black for him.  That he would arrange things afterwards to right the few wrongs he chose to avenge was his own private affair and had nothing whatever to do with business, human or vampire. Thus he could party with angels and yet walk into a slave auction and no one thought it odd. He was Carmine Abrizzi, wealthy, ruthless, charming when he chose to be, deadly more often than not.

He was not known to traffic in slaves but this would not be the first time he'd ever thought to buy one. What became of the few he'd bought, well that was his business as those trafficking in slaves could care less once the money crossed their palms. For all they knew or cared, he kept dozens in his villa to snack on.

Eyes turned as he entered. He wasn't overtly flamboyant, it was just that the feel of him was different and the way he moved so unearthly and his personal magnetism and beauty so apparent in this company. Anyone who hadn't been aware that there were several pieces of merchandise to be offered this night that were extraordinary, well, they knew it now.

Carmine, dressed immaculately in a suit that had never sat on a rack even in an Armani storefront, swept onward toward where the special bidders, the ones who could afford to indulge all their whims, sat. Another vampire was with him-one whose eyes swept the people near them, and whose hand never strayed from near his waist and who would give his unlife for his Prince without a thought or a care.

Carmine ignored his buyer, a small expatriate Italian who tended to live in cycles. At one time he'd be riding high on good luck and yet the next month might be broke and drunk in some brothel in Bombay. The Prince cared not in the least. He needed a buyer he could trust, and it was known that Antonio, having been offered this situation, had jumped at it as many other buyers in the room would have happily done so too.

Other wealthy men were in place now, and there were even buyers there representing purchasers who would never deign to appear in such grim places, yet wanted what was on offer. And the man in charge of the auction knew and understood the dynamics of both sorts.

He waited until his most likely customers were comfortable, and struck a gong.  This wasn't the sort of auction that needed a catalogue.  Nor was it the sort where one worried about a reserve price.  He didn't need to explain the rules or hang up signs that said he didn't take checks.  Transactions were strictly cash and the house got ten percent on top of the bid.

As he was about to signal for the first item to be brought in, a late comer appeared in the back of the room, dressed in the robes of the desert Bedouin and looking not much different from many of the inhabitants of the island.  He moved gracefully to the front of the room, ignoring most of the eyes that followed his progress, but acknowledging a few, a very few.  When he'd taken his seat he smiled at the auctioneer and made a graceful gesture, indicating that he could now proceed.

The auctioneer visibly clenched and unclenched his jaw and signaled for the first item on the list, a young caucasian male, with the Nordic coloring that was so much in demand these days.  He had a look of innocence about him, as if he were untouched.  He could have been anything from fourteen to twenty depending on the light, but the seller had sworn he was sixteen.  The auctioneer had no desire to run afoul of Interpol on any charges related to children and had examined the boy himself, insisting on x-rays and a dental check of his wisdom teeth before allowing the item to be entered.  Now, as he was led onto the stage by one of the handlers a stir went through parts of the audience.  He banged his gavel and began detailing the salient features briskly, and then opened the bidding.

The boy, considered quite luscious by many, started the bidding off briskly, as had been intended. The auctioneer had his first opportunity that night to consider the buyers and their patrons.  His eyes flicked around as the bids unfolded, remembering who was where, who signaled how, how to guess the intensity of interest in this particular bit of merchandise. The boy was sold quickly and the next human was brought forward. So it went for some time. The auctioneer noting that the most well known and wealthy patrons were waiting for something else entirely and were uninterested in the majority of the stock.  Ah well. He'd hoped to tempt several of them with regard to some of the lesser offerings. It was not to be. He moved on.

He signaled for the first of the special offerings, a young woman, in her late teens, with long silky brown hair that fell to her hips and enormous doe like eyes set amid thick, lush lashes; She kept her eyes downcast and those in the front rows could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts that signaled her fear.  As she mounted the stage, obedient to the tug of the handler who held her upper arm, a flush spread from her face to the tops of her breasts and a quiver went through her.  The auctioneer smiled unctuously and began the description of the item, ending with the fact that she was talented.  He did not offer a demonstration as he had personally verified that it was so earlier in the evening when he'd also verified the talents of the other special merchandise.  His buyers knew his reputation and he knew that if he swindled them his death was sure and would also be excruciatingly painful.

He banged the gavel and a bidder in the back opened the bidding at one hundred thousand.  After that it went rapidly, the wealthier and more discriminating of the patrons beginning to make their moves.  He sold the girl for a good price and then two more after her.  Then he signaled for the highlight of the night, the identical twins, talented and stunningly beautiful with long, thick, curling blond hair and deep azure eyes.  As they were led on stage together a hush fell over the room.

Carmine caught Antonio's eye. The look made it completely clear that Carmine's instructions were to be followed to the letter, not one ounce of deviation to be allowed. Antonio nodded, and gathered his energies.

Several others in the room began scanning the crowd a bit more carefully, wanting to ID the particular buyer who could eventually, they prayed, lead them to Angus McNeill and Dinah. The bidding began.

The gentleman in the front row leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing the two.  Then he made a slight gesture and one of the handlers rushed to his side, eager to be of service.  He whispered a few words and the handler replied.  Then the gentleman whispered a few more and the handler nodded and retired.  The gentleman made a more deliberate gesture in the auctioneer's direction and raised the bidding.

Two others in the room bid and then Antonio made a move.  The Bedouin gestured and after him another buyer entered the contest.

The auctioneer began sweating as the offers steadily increased. As these were men who understood such things, the bids were done calmly and with deliberation. Even so, the mere amount of the bids made the auctioneers heart pound and his fingers itch.

Jolie and Betty Jo dared not look up for fear of betraying something in their eyes. All they could do was stand there, naked, and bear the idea that there were men who wanted to own them and to do unspeakable things to them.

The Bedouin sat relaxed and completely at ease, his eyes rarely moving from the pair on the stage.  And he kept calmly raising his bid, seemingly utterly indifferent to the amount he was naming.  The two bidders in the back dropped out at two million, the buyer in front was made of sterner stuff and bid three three.  Antonio signaled a bid of three five and took a deep breath, waiting to see what was next.

The Bedouin hesitated, but signaled three seven. Antonio looked over at Carmine who sat at ease seemingly quite bored with the whole thing. Antonio, cautiously, signaled four even. More than one person in the room held their breath.

The Bedouin looked at the pair on the stage for a long time before, regretfully, shaking his head no.  The buyer in the front consulted with his principal and then also passed.

"Sold!" the auctioneer called, slamming his gavel down and thinking of the money he'd just earned. The crowd which had been breathless, for far too long stirred and there was much noise and confusion and discussion going on. No one had seen the vampires leave their seats. But then they were vampires and could move in ways humans could not. Carmine's body guard at a word from Carmine, walked to the side of the stage to hand over the cash and arrange for possession. As was quite often done, he insisted on escorting the Prince's purchases until they were released into the Prince's hands.

No one watching found anything surprising at any stage of this. Antonio was doing his best not to melt with fear. Instead he allowed all manner of his fellows to slap him on the back on his good fortune in winning such a prize for his patron. If any of them wondered about his reactions, they put it down to the exhaustion of such a deal, as that sort of luck came only once or twice in a small man's life.

Laz, holding up the wall in the back of the room, was trying to ignore the demand for answers coming from his earpiece from those who'd had live coverage of the event via the button in his shirt that was a camera and the transmitter tapped to his stomach. He kept his eyes on the Bedouin.  When it wouldn't let up and the Bedouin was starting to stir, he hissed softly where it would be broadcast back to the ops center Trevor had established, "Shut the hell up!"

The Bedouin waited until the everyone else had congratulated the Prince on his win before moving with the same easy grace he'd displayed before in his direction.  He offered Carmine a languid smile.  "Truly a rare treasure is now yours," he said.  You are to be congratulated."

Carmine offered the slightest of bows. "It was a battle well fought. My condolences to your patron."  The Prince, with a nod to his bodyguard to collect his possessions, began to walk away.

The Bedouin, too, began to make his leisurely way towards the door, a step or two behind him.

Carmine paid him not the slightest heed. The women were bundled into a Land Rover and the Prince climbed into the front seat. Vitorio began to walk around the vehicle. Laz fearing an attempt at foul play, or perhaps hoping for it, positioned himself where he hoped to hell he could do some good.

The Bedouin made his way over towards where a limo was parked, the chauffeur at rigid attention, holding the door.  As he moved past the Land Rover he glanced toward Carmine, meeting his eyes, a slight smile playing around his mouth.  He inclined his head and continued on, bringing a portion of his head covering over the lower half of his mouth as if he were heading into the desert.

"Signore," Carmine said. The Bedouin turned.  "You are most skilled in the art. My own buyer not nearly as good. That he won me the prize a trick of Lady Luck rather than skill. Would you consider acting for me the next time I learn of merchandise that interests me?"

"You would be getting a poor buyer, monsieur, as I have failed my patron this night.  I doubt he will remain my patron, in fact."

"Ah, he is a short-sighted patron then. One cannot win every contest. Sometimes fate has other plans."

"Perhaps for you that is true.  He himself feels that he is above fate," the Bedouin replied.  "Or perhaps, controls it himself.  I shall count myself lucky to face no more than the loss of a patron, though I doubt it will be that simple."

"Ah. Perhaps then, we can come to an accommodation?  Would your patron settle for one twin? I myself bought them as an investment rather than out of personal interest. I could possibly agree to such an arrangement, were it beneficial toward future dealings."

"You are most gracious monsieur, most gracious.  Alas, my patron would only be interested in both of them, a total win.  But I thank you for your kindness."

"Ah, well, it is a shame then we cannot do business."

"It is, as I would be willing to pay an additional half on top of what you paid, monsieur, in token of your kindness and in hope for future dealing marked by such good will."

Carmine waved at Vitorio languidly, and Vitorio who'd been about to put the car in gear, sat back.  The Prince considered the Bedouin.   "And tell me, might you be interested in business beyond this market were I to wish a foothold in Oman?"

The Bedouin bowed.  "I would be honored to be of help to you in any way I could."

"Then, I believe we may have a deal," the Prince said offering the Bedouin his hand.

The Bedouin clasped his hand and bowed again.  "I as well, monsieur."  For the first time he allowed himself to look into the back of the Land Rover.  "I shall be but a moment," he said, returning his gaze to Carmine.  Then he moved swiftly towards the limo where he retrieved a bag and brought it to Carmine.  Four million, nine hundred thousand, pounds sterling of course."

"Vitorio," the Prince ordered. The bodyguard exited the Land Rover, and opened the back door, pulling Jolie and Betty Jo out of the truck with ease and tossing the two of them at the Bedouin's feet. With a bow, he took the bag from the Bedouin.

"Call me, soon," Carmine added, as Vitorio handed the Bedouin a card with a cell phone number on it.

"With pleasure, monsieur.  But I should mention I shall not be free until I deliver these treasures to my patron, two or three weeks from now."

"I thank you for warning me, signore. I will be patient. I look forward to hearing from you then."  Carmine waved at Vitorio and the Land Rover pulled off.

Laz, in the shadows watched the Bedouin help the women up and then put them in his car.  "They're moving," he said his voice low.  "Black limo, Oman tags and then he gave Trevor the tag number.  A moment later the limo followed the Land Rover out of the lot, heading towards the jetty, where he moved his treasures on board a ferry boat that had been standing by.  Once aboard they set out for the mainland.  On the shore across the Masirah Bay, Paul and Anja, and Tobie and Chance were waiting.  As soon as the limo was out of sight Laz moved swiftly to another car and headed back to Trevor's ops center.

Carmine and Vitorio were already there when Laz strode in, pulling the earpiece free and removing the transmitter, while he watched the display showing the blinking lights that were Jolie and Betty Jo.

Spence looked stoic, but pale. Ian looked murderous. Trevor hadn't been sure Ian would let the whole thing proceed when he'd seen the two women paraded up onto the makeshift stage for display. But perhaps the link Ian had to Betty Jo had helped him to hang onto his temper and not take the steps his temper had been demanding.

"I am considering whether to drain Antonio," Carmine was commenting. Vitorio handed the bag to Trevor, and Carmine added, "One hopes fingerprints or serial numbers will be of some assistance, although I rather doubt you will find either."

"Jesus, Carmine, I thought for sure we were done for," Trevor said, sinking into a chair.

Marc, who'd watched all this silently, merely followed the conversation.

Carmine, meeting his eyes, said, "Have hope, Marc.  We would not have known of the delay without the added complications."

"Where's Antonio," Laz asked.  "I've a question or two for him."

"In the back of the Land Rover," Vitorio replied. "I will have to revive him for you."  The two walked out to find Antonio sitting in the truck staring into nothing, having been vamp whammied. Vitorio leaned in and whispered something and Antonio came to life, looking terrified.

Laz snapped his fingers a couple of times saying, "Over here, Antonio."  When he had Antonio's attention he leaned in close and said, "Now why would a man who just paid upwards of five mil in pounds sterling, when the first buyer paid in dollars, be waiting two weeks or more to deliver his merchandise?"

Antonio gulped, his mouth working like he needed gills.  "He's making the rounds, and will take one shipment to where he's contracted to deliver it when he's done."

Laz patted him on the head.  "Very good.  Now, is he likely to park the merchandise or keep it close?"

"That guy?  He'll park it.  Nobody would mess with it."

Laz patted his head again and then nodded at Vitorio.  "Thanks, that's all for now."  Then he headed back to where the others were.  As he found a wall to prop up, his arms folded across his chest he caught Carmine's eye.  "You paid in dollars, didn't you Carmine?"

"Si. Why do you ask?"

"Because the Bedouin paid you in pounds sterling.  Remember what he said?  Four million nine hundred thousand, pounds sterling of course," Laz said, leaning comfortably against the wall.

"I made a very tidy profit, Laszlo."

Laz just looked at him.  He was nearly positive Carmine winked at him, but with vampires it was hard to tell.

Trevor spoke up then. "I'm fairly sure this is counterfeit, Carmine."

Carmine frowned. "One cannot trust anyone these days."

Laz fought to keep from laughing out loud.  "Well" he said, removing his shoulders from the wall,  "Antonio thinks the guy is gonna be making the rounds of other sales and that he'll park our girls somewhere safe in the interim."  He gave Carmine a jaunty salute, as he and Vitorio got ready to leave.  "I'll be in touch."

Trevor knew, just knew Carmine was up to something, but then his concern was for Dinah, so he just waved at the two vampires as they strode out.  Then he looked over at Marc. "I'm sorry. A bit more patience seems to be required."  From the look on Marc's face Trevor wasn't entirely sure the man could manage it.

Trevor sat in the Ops room monitoring the two dots that represented two women gravely at risk. Marc was pacing behind him. The teams were set, with two on the mainland awaiting the arrival of the ferry from Masirah Island.  Many of those who'd been at the auction were also crossing to the mainland on that ferry, including Carmine and Vitorio. No one acknowledged anyone else, it being a point of safety for all parties to wish a certain level of anonymity, particularly if Interpol might have gotten a whiff of things.

When the ferry landed, the women were still in the Bedouin's limo and it began racing to the north.  The two teams shadowed it, giving it a goodly wide berth. They also noticed the Land Rover with Carmine and Vitorio racing in the same direction, and reported it to Trevor.

Trevor and Laz shared a look and Trevor called the Prince. Once he'd ended the call Trevor reported to those in the room, "The Prince is heading toward the airport at Masqat. I'm betting our guy is too. Carmine has a private jet there and has agreed to lend it to us if we want to track him if he does fly out."

"And Carmine?" Marc asked sharply.

"He'll have Nicco come to zap himself and Vitorio back to Fiesole. The pilot of his plane is human, but completely loyal so he will do what his Prince requires of him."

Marc nodded. He didn't doubt that when Carmine trusted someone that trust was well placed.

An hour later the limo pulled up a private jet and the Bedouin boarded without delay, preceded by the women who'd been bundled in typical Bedouin garb.  Paul watched from a distance, relaying the news to Trevor while Laz coordinated with Carmine on his cellphone.  Five minutes later the Bedouin's jet began taxiing while Paul and the others boarded Carmine's private plane. Just before he boarded Paul zapped Vitorio and Carmine back to Trevor's op center and tossed the keys to the Land Rover to the mechanic, telling him to park it.  Then he went up the stairs, pulled them into the plane and closed the door.  Carmine's plane took off no more than ten minutes behind the Bedouin's.

Laz reported the take off and turned to study the blinking lights that represented Jolie and Betty Jo.

Trevor looked up and glanced from Laz to Carmine and back again. "I think I'll go get some air and stretch the kinks out," he reported to no one in particular but loudly enough to be sure everyone heard it. "Call me when I'm needed," he added as he poured himself a cup of java and headed toward the door.

"A wise man is Mr. St Cyr," Carmine commented.

"So," Marc asked without preamble, "tell us what you're thinking about the Bedouin."

Carmine sank gracefully into a chair. "As Trevor noted the bills are counterfeit, and our Bedouin was obviously making no attempt to convince me otherwise, else why the ease with which he paid me so much extra money. He is a businessman after all. Therefore, he was clearly sending me a message, and, included a very nice present in order to obtain my good graces. He presented me with the plates from which someone had struck the pounds sterling."

Laz grinned and picked a chair.  "A vamp's luck!"  He stretched his legs out in front of him and regarded Carmine with speculative eyes.  "So, you going into business Carmine?  Or you have something else in mind?"

"Oh, I am far too busy already to become a major player in the counterfeiting world. I was considering offering the plates to Blackheath - in return for a few small IOUs.  But more to the point, caro, is the Bedouin. I am thinking he is interested in far more than a business arrangement with me. Perhaps he is hoping for someone powerful enough to help him free himself of a burdensome business arrangement he cannot otherwise escape."

Laz clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, obviously settling in for while.  "Interesting thought."  He glanced at Marc and then smiled.  "It might be worthwhile for many reasons, then, to put someone on the Bedouin while we wait for him to start moving the women."

Marc nodded thoughtfully. At least he had something more interesting to think about than imagining horrible scenarios for Dinah. "So long as the women are stationary, I'd like it if we could keep at least one team on him. Carmine, I don't suppose..."

Carmine shrugged. "I will be delighted to be of assistance since he seems to crave some attention from my humble self.  Use the jet as necessary and if you need further assistance I will arrange it."

"Perhaps," Laz said, "You'd like to help us keep an eye on him, Marc?  We can leave Paul and the other three on the women and you and I and Natha can take the Bedouin."

Marc looked torn, but finally nodded, knowing he needed something to fill the hours. "Yes, fine."

Laz looked around and caught the attention of one of Trevor's helpers, sending him to find Trevor and ask him to join them again.  Then he called Paul and relayed the news that he and Natha were going to stick with the Bedouin while Paul took over watching the women.  As he finished, Trevor was coming in the door.  "I'm taking Marc off your hands for a while, there, Trevor."

Trevor raised an eyebrow and his was a relieved smile. "Ah. I'm delighted to hear it. Anything I should know about?" Trevor asked Marc.

"We thought it wise to keep an eye on the Bedouin as he continues on. Can't afford to let anything happen to him," Marc replied.

"True," Trevor said, frowning at Carmine.

"Caro Trevor. Do not look my way. I am the least of your worries at the moment."  Vitorio snickered.  Natha, working the phone to get things in place for Paul when he landed, based on the flight plan the Bedouin had filed, found she agreed with Vitorio.

"Trevor, can you start running the prints from the satchel and see what else you can turn up about the man?" Laz asked, already sorting through the logistics in his mind.

"I've already arranged it. I've also begun making inquiries, discreetly mind you, regarding recent counterfeiting operations around the world, preferring not to look like I was interested only in counterfeit sterling."

"Not surprised," Laz said.  "The flight plan is for Beirut and there's no way of knowing where he's headed next of course.  But I want to be there when they land, which looks to be about two hours from now, Marc."

"Let me collect a few things and I'll meet you, where?  Beirut airport?"

"Yeah, Natha and I'll be there, watching the planes come in."

It had been a scramble from the minute they hit Beirut getting ready to split the operation.  They didn't have a destination for the Bedouin until right before they took off the next afternoon which left Paul racing to get things in place in Mosul.  Stephen had eventually contacted Rimes again, who quipped they becoming closer than brothers what with all the chatting they were doing, to smooth things for them in Mosul, and ensure the US military stayed away.  They'd used Carmine's plane and his pilot had offered to chat up the Bedouin's pilot while they were gone, a plan Laz had endorsed doubtfully but agreed to because Carmine was unlikely to suffer fools in his employ.  They hung way back, using the dragons to track the Bedouin's car from the air until they could get close enough to place tracking devices on it.

After that they still kept back, but it was easier, while the dragons increased their altitude but still kept watch just in case.  Quinn had been delighted to have something productive to do that he could have fun with at the same time and Stephen was glad they weren't violating restricted airspace and startling the crap out of pilots like they'd been doing when they'd been just searching for Dinah.  Natha was driving and Marc was handling the scope with it's blinking lights while Laz was trying futilely to catch some sleep in the back, having been awake for close to thirty six hours except for two hours of zzz's he'd caught in the air on the way to Mosul, a god forsaken place if he'd ever seen one.

Finally he gave it up when his cell phone rang.  "Yo," was all he said, before moving his head and spitting a mouthful of dust out the window.  He put the phone back and listened to Trevor give him a bucketful of news, then he hung up.  "Well," he said, after he'd taken a drink of water and spit that out the window too, "His name is Nakim al Kahlil and he's been an item of interest to Interpol for a long time."  He paused to actually swallow some of the water.  "They like him for arms running, smuggling, assorted associations of questionable wisdom, and trafficking of course."

"Don't his sort usually specialize? I'd think if he were in the arms trade he'd keep well away from trafficking," Marc commented.  Natha, listening agreed.

"Trevor says its been only recently he's become involved in trafficking. So maybe Carmine is right, he's stuck and wants out," Laz explained. "Plus they think everything else is political."

"Well, let's hope we get some answers rather than just more questions," Marc replied, communing with the dragons for a moment, then confirming their observation on the laptop. "He's stopping we think. There's a small town there, near the border. We're going to be conspicuous if we drive in."

"Yeah, let's find a place and pull over," Laz said, who needed to take a leak anyway.

The Mosul area of northern Iraq was mountainous and had far more places to stay out of sight than the desert parts further south. They found a rutted track, probably used by smugglers of one sort or another and pulled off the main road. Laz took his leak, as did everyone else. They pulled out the sandwiches they'd brought and after some food they conferred.  Natha drew on the usual sort of burqua worn in the area and decided to go into town. Her accent would be off, but then there were so may refugees passing through it wouldn't be all that surprising, and as a woman she'd cause far less suspicion than any of the men would.   They got Natha as close to town as possible, left her to make her way in further and pulled back to watch events.

With Quinn directing her, Natha made her way through the twisting streets of Zahko, a small town just south of the Turkish border and jammed with refugees trying to get out of Iraq and into Turkey.  From Turkey it was an easy trip into Syria and then south along the Syrian border with Iraq where many had relatives where they could wait until it was safer to return to their homes or from which they could plan a new life somewhere else.  Others stayed in Turkey, living in the Red Crescent camps set up along the border, hopeless and forgotten.

Natha eventually found Nakim's black BMW parked outside of what looked like a clinic and orphanage.  She found an inconspicuous spot to watch from and settled back to wait, relaying the news to Laz.  When she could she chatted up a passerby, pretending to be a refugee, and learned that the clinic and orphanage were run by some Egyptian outfit she'd never heard of and took in mainly Kurdish children whom they resettled with Kurdish families in Turkey.  Natha thanked her informant and went back to waiting after she passed that along as well.

Laz got thoughtful when he heard it and was inclined to think that if Carmine ever gave him a stock tip he'd play it.

Natha had been watching for close to three hours when a large truck pulled up outside and parked.  Another hour had passed during which Natha slipped a tracker on the truck just in case, when Nakim appeared and had an extended conversation with the driver while a group of children were brought out and loaded into the truck, accompanied by three women with infants and a quartet of men with guns. A fifth armed guard climbed into the passenger seat as Nakim finished his discussion with the driver.  The driver slapped Nakim on the back and climbed into the driver's seat.  Nakim headed back into the building while the truck pulled out and returned a few minutes later, shaking the hand of someone and getting into his BMW where he was joined by a driver and two men who looked like they knew one end of a gun from another and where to find it in a hurry.  She waited until the car disappeared after the truck and leaving Quinn and Cola to track them, she zapped back to the jeep.

"Women and children," Marc repeated thoughtfully. "I was thinking he was trafficking in kids and wondering how to stop Trevor from going nuts."  Trevor, they all knew, had worked on Interpol's Task Force on the Trafficking of Children and Child Sex Rings and had quit because he couldn't stand the thought of finding one more dead, or worse, child.

They pulled out pondering what they'd seen. "Well, we'll learn more soon," Natha offered. "I did not get the sense this was to do with trafficking. Their affect was all wrong for that. The women and children were not frightened, well, not too much, and certainly weren't of al Kahlil at any rate."

They trailed al Kahlil's BMW which caught up with the truck quite easily. They followed staying well off, the dragons giving them status and the situational details ahead of them. They pulled over and got into a line of vehicles attempting to cross the border.

Marc, who'd been driving, pulled over well back and turned to the others.

Laz rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully, eying the situation ahead.  He was having trouble believing Nakim really intended to cross the border legally, but he'd seen stranger things in his day.  He wasn't worried about getting himself and Marc and Natha across if he had too, they could just zap themselves.  He watched silently, ignoring Marc's look, as the truck inched forward.  It stopped at the barricade and the driver handed the guard some papers while another guard circled around the truck where he lifted the flaps and shown a flashlight into the back.  In front the driver was engaging in what looked to Laz like an animated discussion with the guard holding his papers.

Laz started to swear.

Then the driver handed the guard another stack of papers, while the guard in back turned and surveyed the BMW.  Natha stirred in the passenger seat and then stilled again when the driver started to roll up his window and the barricade lifted while the truck pulled through.   Laz let out a heavy sigh of relief and watched as the BMW stopped for the guard.  After a few words, Nakim got out and opened the trunk for the guard who riffled through it before selecting a valise and confiscating it.  Nakim protested, or so it seemed and the guard laughed and slapped him on the face a few times, while walking him back to his seat.

The BMW sped through finally in pursuit of the truck.  "Bribe?" Marc guessed. "Is he assisting refugees?  Is that what's going on here?"

No one answered because they were as unsure as Marc was. They pulled off down an side road and zapped themselves and the jeep past the border and were back to shadowing  the truck and the BMW.  They didn't have to go very far, because the truck was pulling into a Red Crescent refugee camp and the women and children were disembarking.  Nakim spoke with some men from the camp and the truck was driven off.

Natha was called on again, and she dressed and headed into the camp.  She made it her business, guided by the dragons, to find the women and children Nakim had brought and under cover of standing on line for clean linen and tent assignments as well as food ration cards struck up a conversation with them. They were enthusiastic in their thanks for a man who had helped them escape the madness that was modern day Iraq.

Meanwhile Laz, dressed suitably, was skulking through the camp in search of the truck, Marc helping with directions from the tracker they had on it.  He found it pulled into what looked like a mechanic's bay, being gassed up while crates stamped with words like fragile, glass and peaches in English were loaded into the back of it.  It made him wish he'd gotten there five minutes earlier.  When they were done the truck was driven back to where the BMW was parked.  Then followed by the BMW it headed back towards the border.

Laz joined Natha and Marc in the jeep and they picked the truck and BMW up a few miles outside the camp and followed it as it made its way south.  They crossed back into Iraq, and kept way back as the truck and BMW passed Zahko and continued on towards Mosul.

Natha and Laz were asleep in the back seat when Marc called out to them. He'd pulled over off the road.   "The dragons report what looks like a possible rendezvous ahead," Marc reported. They watched the blip from the truck come to a stop and suddenly they heard gunfire.  Laz grabbed their weapons from the floor and threw one at each of them and the three zapped ahead to a place the dragons had marked as a place to observe what was going on. Gunfire rang out sporadically.  The sun was nearly down and the resultant twilight made things difficult for the combatants below where Laz, Natha and Marc lay on a rock outcropping. Nakim was pinned behind a boulder, blood leaking from a shoulder wound. The truck driver lay dead in the dirt.

The dragons reported a dozen men moving in on the two vehicles, where the armed men Nakim had taken with him were still holding them off.  As Laz watched the attackers picked off two more and were starting to circle towards the sides.  He swore viciously and then said, "Okay Natha you take the right side, work your way down fast and I'll take the left, while Marc covers us.  When we're in place, Marc try to get to Nakim and get him outta there."

Marc nodded and lay down a covering fire for Natha and Laz completely befuddling the attackers as well as Nakim and his armed guards, wondering who had decided to butt in. Laz and Natha were moving so quietly and well they were in place before anyone on the ground suspected there were more than just one gunman up on the rock.   The attackers, whoever they were, were too busy trying to figure out how to get to Marc that Laz as able to easily take out two at his end and Natha a third near where she was. Marc moved then, zapping himself down to Nakim, grabbing him and zapping out of there as Natha, Laz and the two guards with Nakim mowed down the few left within range, The others, the dragons reported, were beating a hot retreat and getting the hell out of dodge.

Nakim, his eyes huge, was standing with a weapon pointed at Marc's gut. Marc held up one hand and dropped his weapon at his feet, standing still, waiting for Nakim to catch up to events.

Laz moving silently was coming up behind Nakim.  When he was about ten yards off he said, "The Prince sends his regards."

Nakim jerked and spun around, allowing Marc to tackle him, getting his gun and then helping him up, while Laz and Natha closed the distance.

"The Prince"?" Nakim asked, looking at first Marc then at Laz as he approached and lastly at Natha, who calmly pulled Nakim's shirt away from the bullet wound in his shoulder and slapped a prepared bandage she'd drawn out of her vest onto it.

"That'll slow down the flow but it needs further attention," Natha commented, as she zapped off to the jeep to get the first aid kit.

Nakim wobbled and then Marc sat him down.

"What's in the truck?" Laz asked as he found a rock to lean on while he waited for the first aid kit.

Nakim, glassy eyed from shock just shook his head.

Laz took the kit from Natha and knelt beside Nakim.  "Man, do I look like I fell off the turnip truck this morning?  Just tell me what's in the truck.  My money's on guns and ammo under the canned peaches," he said as he ripped Nakim's sleeve and lifted the bandage, exposing the wound.  "I'm getting ready to take this bullet outta here pal, and I'm sure you don't want me distracted by having to tell you to stop acting like I'm a moron while I'm doing it," he said, as he poured betadine on the wound, making Nakim hiss and clench his teeth.

"You are from the Prince?" Nakim asked through his teeth, bracing himself as Laz picked up a pair of forceps and began probing for the bullet.  Then he went white, holding himself rigidly still while sweat formed on his face and began running down it.  Finally Laz said, "Got it," and with a swift, practiced twist of his wrist lifted the bullet out.

"Prince Carmine seemed to think you were worth keeping alive. I wouldn't disappoint him," Marc commented conversationally as Natha took over and bound up the wound. "He seems to think you are a fairly bright fellow. Don't prove him wrong."

Laz pulled a flask out of his hip pocket and held it to Nakim lips, who was still white and starting to tremble.  "Drink," he said.  Nakim took a swallow and choked as it went down, but the color began to return to his face, and the lights went back on in his eyes.  Finally he said, holding his arm against his side, "You are correct.  It is guns and ammunition."

The armed guards were getting antsy looking around for Nakim, who hearing one of them call him answered in rapid fire Kurdish. At Laz's look he said, "I have told him to wait. That I am fine. What do you want of me. My guns?"

That made Laz laugh.  "No man, I got my own.  I'm just here to keep you alive another day.  Why'd you give the Prince counterfeit bills and a set of originals?"

Nakim suddenly decided the middle distance was an interesting prospect and locked his eyes on it.  "A whim," he said eventually.

Marc sent out a subtle probe of the man's mind. Nothing overt, nothing too coercive, just a tiny spark sent into Nakim's mind to try to decide how far they could trust him.  Then he offered, after leaning back more comfortably against a rock, "The Prince thinks you were asking for help. If that is so, now might be the time to be a bit more explicit about what sort of help you are hoping for."

Nakim took his time before saying, "It is true I thought perhaps it was possible that he and I might be of some mutual help to each other.  He is man, it is said, whose stock in trade is favors."

Marc nodded. "It is true.  And he appreciates the favor you have done him and is prepared to assist you if he can."

"And is it also true, as I have sometimes thought that his relationship to human trafficking is somewhat, shall I say, ambivalent?" Nakim inquired carefully.

Laz, thinking of what he knew of McNeill was watching Nakim intently.  "I too have thought that," he said.  Nakim swallowed hard and considered the ground in front of him.  Laz let him for a moment and then said, "This is a come to Allah moment if there ever was one, pal."

Nakim raised huge, haunted eyes from the dirt, looking at Laz and then Marc.  "I...my patron...my son...the trafficking, it is not something I do from choice, buying for my patron," he said, after a long pause.

"Because he holds your son?" Marc asked.

Nakim, a hit of hope suddenly showing in his eyes, nodded. "I have no choice.  I must if I wish my son to live."

Marc and Laz let the silence lay there for a full minute. Then Marc offered, "And if we, and the Prince, offered to help get him back for you?"

"Then," Nakim said humbly, "All I have would be yours."

"Then go, deliver your arms and contact us when you are done." Marc handed him a card with only an international cell phone number on it.

"May I hope?" Nakim asked.

Marc closed his eyes for a heartbeat. "Hope is all I have.  I will do what I can to assist you with yours."

They watched him scramble unsteadily down the slope.  One of the guards took over driving the truck and the BMW and the truck sped off.

Marc met Laz's eyes, Natha was watching the small convoy pull away.

"Perhaps we've stumbled on a little hoped for prize," Marc commented, almost afraid to believe it might be so.

"Perhaps, but while we ponder the possibilities, let us also repair to our chariot and be away...somebody could still kill the poor bastard," Laz said.

Once it had been called the Paris of the Middle East. A multicultural and beautiful city, situated on the sparkling Mediterranean, home to coffee houses, theaters, the arts, museums. That was before the civil war that broke out in 1975 and did not end until 1990.  Then, only last year, the Israeli incursion brought back all the horror the city had been trying to erase from its psyche.

There were still some rubble strewn streets, and the streets seethed in anger at times, mainly because there were thousands of refugees on the move from war and violence and hatred and many of them filled the street side cafes and reminded the residents how quickly war could once again return.

Nakim al Kahlil had a pleasant house on the beach. It had been spared the bombings, and although not luxurious by American standards, it was glorious by Lebanese standards. The garden was well tended and peaceful, and the pool glistened in the sunshine of a Middle Eastern mild winter. It was even heated. The rooms were spacious, the ceilings high, and windows opened on the view.

When Jolie and Betty Jo found themselves here, rather than in some filthy cell frightened for their lives at first they thought it a hallucination.  On their arrival they were given comfortable rooms, with baths that gleamed of marble. They both of them showered trying to wash away the horrors they'd experienced oh so recently, not to mention the betrayal of the hope that had sprung up in their hearts for the few moments they were with Carmine, wishing, despite themselves that it was over. The shock of him handing them off, even though they knew why, had left them in miserable depression, even if they both had agreed to it.

The guards were insistent but courteous. They had the run of the house, and could even lounge by the pool. High stucco walls surrounded the area but they could see the Med from their bedrooms. They were given food and despite fears of the food being drugged, ate for the first time in days. Then they slept, exhausted.

Trevor and his team had repositioned their ops center in Beirut the moment they'd heard that's where Nakim had settled the women. They were several streets away and from the roof even had a view of the pool area.  Trevor, Paul and Anja were taking turns on the comm, although truth be told, all three of them tended to hover in front of the control panel, checking in with Laz, Natha and Marc, keeping the Refuge informed, monitoring the dragons and gathering what other information they could from their contacts around the world.

Anja, having been on watch all night, was tired, but hopeful, given the news regarding Nakim. And, given what they'd seen of how the women were being treated, real hope that this operation would go well was beginning to lighten hearts just a bit at least. She yawned over what she hoped was the last cup of coffee she'd need before she'd have six wonderful hours of sleep.

Paul came into the room looking rested and smiled at her.  "Morning munchkin, ready for a break?" he asked cheerfully, making a fresh pot of coffee.

"Indeed. It has been quiet, I am pleased to report. Both Jolie and Betty Jo are sleeping comfortably from what I can see. The guards are in their normal positions and have made no move to bother them. Nakim is on the move toward Baghdad and Marc, Natha and Laz are still staying with him to make quite certain he remains alive."

"Thanks," he said, as he took his place and logged on, indicating he'd taken over for Anja.  'And ain't it amazing how things are turning out?"

Anja smiled at him. "Oh, for the first time I am thinking we will get her out successfully and perhaps save others as well. We have more information that we had hoped for. And even an ally."

Paul grinned.  "I'm not sure I'd call him an ally just yet, more like a potentially helpful source, but then I'm pessimistic that way, unlike the boss."

"Well, the sun is coming up on a beautiful day, we are all safe at the moment, so I will choose to be optimistic."

"Good.  So what are you going to do with the day?  Besides sleep?" Paul asked, scanning the feeds before checking in with Laz.  "You should go to the beach if you can.  Then you can rag Laz about how he missed the surfing."

"Ah, I did not know he liked to surf although I have seen his house on the beach.  I should have guessed."

Paul laughed.  "He says it's therapeutic, that it clears his head.  He's surfed all over the world, most recently in Oman."

"Well, I am glad he had the chance there if it is good for him."

Paul gave Laz an update and then turned to Anja.  "Yeah, he needed it.  But then the trip down didn't hurt either."

She frowned, confused as to what he could mean. "I don't recall him finding the trip relaxing.  Rather the opposite I'd have said."

He raised a skeptical brow.  "No? Well he wasn't tense when we got to the island, certainly not like he'd been before we left."

"Yes, well, things got ... difficult in Thailand, so perhaps I read more into things than I should have. You know him far better than I so I bow to your more complete understanding of him."  She hesitated, then added, "I hope you are right."

Paul just looked at her.  Then he shrugged and said, "Those hotel walls were pretty thin, I thought."

She blushed scarlet. "I...  It seemed to help him so I.."

Paul studied the blush and then, feeling it didn't matter, said, "He isn't the type that does therapeutic sex; that's why he surfs."

She went from scarlet to pale white and sat down abruptly. "Does he give therapeutic sex to his team members?"

"No," he told her bluntly.  "In fact, he thinks that sort of thing isn't a good idea at all if you might end up in the field with someone.  It can screw up your priorities."

"Oh," she replied barely loud enough for him to hear. "I see."

Paul cocked his head and gave her a funny look.  "You really don't get it do you?" he said, wonderingly.  "I don't know what happened with you two in Thailand and I don't want to know.  It isn't my business.  But I've known him long enough to know what ever it is that's between you two, it means something to him, no matter where it started from."

"Thank you for telling me that," she said, although he wasn't exactly sure she found it all that much a gift.  "I do not understand him, this I freely admit."

"He's pretty easy to understand, Anja.  He's not a complicated guy in most ways, even though he seems that way sometimes."

"I believe that it is so for you," she replied seeming to find her balance again. "Perhaps I will go to the beach," she added, as she stood.

"Hang a minute," he said.  "What is it you don't understand?"

She rolled her eyes. "Pretty much everything with regard to him."

He leaned back in his chair.  "Dinah?" he guessed.

"Yes, I understand he is in love with her. So I do not see how what you say with regard to his .. our night together can be true."

"He's been in love with her almost as long as I've known him, and as long as he's known her which is about ten years.  Funny thing about that, when I think about it, though...he's starting to look at you the way he used to look at her and hasn't since last summer."

"He has?"

Paul nodded his head.  "He likes to look at you, his eyes follow you when you're together...and yeah, it's that sort of watching, that sort of looking.  Trust Uncle Paulie here, honey, he's speaking truth."

"Well, I thank you for that. I will... keep it in mind. Have a good shift. I'm going to sleep and then, perhaps hit the beach."

"Have fun," Paul said, watching her leave.  When she was gone, he shook his head. "Women!" he said under his breath.  "Dumber than rocks sometimes."