Strike Force

“There’s a picture of him and his wife, from several years ago, and guess what? He’s only got four fingers on each hand!”

“He what? Are you sure?”

“That’s what it looks like…yep, definitely, just four fingers. He’s not even trying to hide it. I think that’s brave of him. Hey, doesn’t one of your cadets, the red-haired girl, have only four fingers on each of her hands?”

“Katelyn. Yes. It’s called bilateral hypoplastic thumb.”

“Well, I’ll take your word for it — it doesn’t mention it here. It’s like…hey, they have a picture of Mohammed’s father, in a British World War Two uniform, and guess what?”

“He has only four fingers too.”

“It’s a little hard to be sure in this photo, but it looks like his right thumb is real short and fused to his index finger. So it must be hereditary, like a royal birthmark thing, huh?”

“I guess.”

“Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if your cadet, Katelyn, was secretly related to this Mohammed, and living in exile in the United States, hiding out from the Iranian secret police? She’d be, like…”

“An Iranian princess,” Harlow muttered.

“Exactly. How cool would that be?” No response. “Hon, you still there?”

“Thanks for the info.” He thought for a moment; then: “Stay on the line for a minute or two, sweetie, just in case anyone else has any questions.”

“Sure, babe. As long as we’re not paying that satphone bill.”

“It’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. Hold on. Don’t hang up until I tell you to, okay?”

“What’s going on, Ed?” his wife asked, but he had already lowered the phone. Najar and Saidi looked at his stunned expression, then looked at the phone but made no move to take it away from him.

This is insane, Harlow thought, completely unbelievable — but he was beginning to believe it. He turned toward his waiting cadets and shouted, “VanWie! Over here.”

Katelyn trotted over, smiled at Najar and Saidi, snapped to attention, then saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” she said.

“At ease, Lieutenant. With me.” Harlow stepped several paces away from the others.

“Why are my parents here, sir?”

“No questions now, Katelyn,” Harlow said. He turned toward the helicopter and pointed at Hamilton. “Do you know that man over there?”

“He’s a friend of my dad. They work together at the finance company, I think.”

“His name?”

“Mr. Hamilton. I’m not sure of his first name.”

“How about the guy looking out the door of the helicopter?”

Katelyn looked, swallowed hard, then looked at Harlow. “He’s a friend of my dad’s too,” she said nervously.

“A ‘friend?’”

Katelyn looked a little anguished. “What’s happening, sir? Why are my parents here?”

“Katelyn, this is very important,” Harlow said, studying her eyes carefully. “What you tell me next will determine what I’m about to do in the next few seconds, but you have to be completely honest with me or I could do the wrong thing and…and put you in very great danger.”

“Danger?” The apprehension in her face melted away, replaced by concern and steely determination. “What’s happened, sir?” Her voice had changed — markedly so.

“Katelyn, yes or no, and be honest with me: are those two people really your parents?”

“What’s happened, sir?” she repeated, almost a demand now.

“Answer me, Katelyn, or I’m going to grab you and take you and the rest of the squadron back into the woods and call for help.”

“Something’s happened to my parents,” Katelyn breathed. “Hasn’t it, sir?”

“Are these your parents, Katelyn? Yes or no. Tell me.”

Katelyn realized she wasn’t going to get the answers she wanted unless she changed her tactics. “No, they’re not,” she replied. “They are Major Najar and Lieutenant Saidi.”

“What do they do?”

“They are specially chosen members of the King’s Palace Guards, assigned to protect me,” Katelyn said. Harlow’s mouth dropped open, and a roaring sound unrelated to the Black Hawk’s idling turbines began in his ears. “Now tell me what’s happened, sir. My father…?”

“Is missing. They said they’ve come to take you away from here. They…”

“Na baba!” Katelyn shouted in a voice Harlow had never heard from her before except in instances of extreme excitement or tension. “Fori-ei! I’ve got to do something!” She dashed off toward Najar and Saidi, who snapped to attention as she approached.

“Katelyn!”

The girl turned, then stood at attention and saluted. “Pardon me, sir, but I must leave. Thank you for all the precautions you’ve taken on my behalf, and thank you for your leadership and dedication. I won’t forget it.” She dropped her salute, then ran for the helicopter, with Najar and Saidi close behind. The two men inside the helicopter scrambled out and snapped to attention on either side of the Black Hawk’s right door. The last Harlow saw of her, she was pulling a headset over her fatigue cap, gesturing for Hamilton and Lawson to get inside, and pulling the Black Hawk helicopter’s door closed herself.

After the helicopter lifted off, Harlow raised the satphone. “It’s okay, babe,” he said. “I’m heading home now.”

“Ed, I heard some of that,” his wife said anxiously. “What’s going on out there?”