caught at a coffee shop with an unrelated female. It was not unheard of for women to be raped at the hands of overzealous men-punishing their lack of virtue. Such a thing defied understanding, but somewhere in the dark recesses of certain male brains, rape could teach a woman a lesson in chastity.
Up in the loft, cloth ripped. There was a muffled scream followed by a hateful chuckle.
“On your knees,” a rough voice spat.
“Tawfiq,” the girl sobbed. “Please, help me…”
More laughter. “Tawfiq knows his place.”
“I beg of you, sir…”
Quinn sprang up the ladder in three quick bounds. Months of working outside the wire in Iraq made moving in the loose, dresslike dishdasha second nature. He hiked it up with one hand as he climbed, like a woman wearing a skirt, chuckling in spite of the situation-if Thibodaux could only see him now.
At the top of the ladder, Quinn almost ran headlong into a dutiful member of the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice. The brooding Mutawwa towered over a young Saudi woman-barely in her twenties-who knelt, quaking before him on a pile of loose hay. Her black abaya was torn away revealing a white T-shirt and jeans. Without the heavy black robe, she could have passed for one of thousands of American college students. The man’s fist wrapped her long, ebony hair in a thick twist. A delicate chin quivered above her slender olive neck.
The beefy Commission man shot a surprised look over his shoulder, wrenching back the frightened woman’s head to bring home the point that he was still firmly in charge. He sneered at the new intruder, his teeth a white gash in a black beard. This Mutawwa was much taller than the two Quinn has seen at the hotel with flecks of gray in heavy whiskers.
“Peace be unto you,” Quinn said in Arabic as he hit the startled man in the face with the flat of his hand. The Arab released his grip on the girl’s hair and teetered in place like a great bearded tree before a strong wind. Without another word, Quinn heaved him headfirst over the short wooden railing to the tile floor sixteen feet below. The task was easy enough since the Mutawwa’s underwear was down around his ankles, providing the perfect hobble when Quinn rushed him. His pious skull cracked like a ripe melon when he hit the concrete.
One down, Jericho’s attention snapped to his second opponent. This one was shorter than the first, but with the broad shape of a fireplug. It was impossible to tell his true build under the full white robe, but a thick neck gave the man the look of a wrestler. He was younger than his dead partner, his black beard more sparse and wispy.
The squat Mutawwa pulled himself into a crouch, invoking a whispered prayer to Allah. “Who are you to interfere with Commission business?”
Quinn gave a humble shrug. “ InshAllah — Allah willing-I am the man who will end your struggles in this world today.”
The Mutawwa snatched up a pitchfork, fending Quinn off with the glistening points. In the stalls below, Arabian horses-a nervous lot in the first place-pranced and snorted at the commotion above them.
A block and tackle used to lift the heavy bales of hay swung on a thick rope from a pulley at the edge of the loft. In a fluid movement, Quinn sidestepped a futile jab with the pitchfork and rolled inside the other man’s reach, making it impossible for him to bring the deadly points to bear. He struck the Mutawwa hard, bringing the heel of his hand upward with all the force of his hips. Bone crunched and cartilage tore as the man’s nose all but disintegrated. Clutching the collar of his cotton robe like it was a judo gi, Quinn shouldered the handle of the pitchfork out of the way and gave him two brutally effective knees to the groin.
The Mutawwa sank toward the ground with a low moan. A smear of fresh blood covered his slack face.
Quinn grabbed the block and tackle, yanking it down to twist the hemp rope around the dazed man’s neck. “Murder… is a… capitol crime,” the Mutawwa gurgled, eyes bulging red.
Quinn kicked him over the edge.
“So is rape,” he said.
From the corner of his eye, Quinn caught the fluttering movement of a young student in a white Saudi thobe and red checked ghutra. Blood oozed from a split lip. The boy gathered himself up to flee.
Quinn put up a hand. “You will remain here.” His voice, still in clipped Arabic, was little more than a coarse whisper. The force of it pushed the boy back to the floor in a slouching, defeated pile.
Quinn knelt to help the embarrassed girl fix her torn abaya. “What is your name, child?”
“Huwaidah,” the girl whimpered. “He is Tawfiq.” She glared at her companion, who’d done so little to try and stop the men from the brutality they’d been about to commit.
Tawfiq, a skinny Saudi youth with a pronounced goiter, stared dumbfounded at the dangling body of the dead Mutawwa. He repositioned his mussed head scarf with shaky hands. “You… killed them,” he stammered. “You killed them both…”
Huwaidah clicked her teeth, her eyes flicking from terror to rage in the bat of a lash. Her name meant gentle, but there was no gentleness in her at the moment. Quinn remembered why soldiers from every army that had tried to conquer the Arab world were so frightened of being captured by the women.
“I am glad he killed them,” she spat. “They deserved to die.”
“But they were government officials…” Tawfiq swallowed hard, his goiter sliding up and down like a trapped Ping-Pong ball. His voice was a flaccid whisper, devoid of breath. “What will happen to us now?”
Quinn grabbed the wall and leaned over the edge, scanning up and down the shadowed alley. Horses snorted below, sniffing at the blossoming pool of blood from the dead Mutawwa splayed across the tile floor, then gazing up with white eyes at the one dangling over their heads. There was no one in sight. He knew that could change at any moment.
“Tawfiq is right,” he said. “We should leave at once. As long as we’re not discovered here-and you both remain quiet about what has occurred-things will be fine. There will be an investigation…” Quinn paused to let the youngsters realize the gravity of his words. “But no one need lose their head.”
Quinn followed the pair down the ladder. On the ground, he paused long enough to grab a canister of iodine crystals out of a horseshoeing supply box and stuff it into the pocket of his dishdasha. Horseshoers used the caustic stuff to treat infections of the hoof. Quinn was familiar with a few other, more explosive, uses that were bound to come in handy.
Once inside the shade of the neighboring barn, Quinn stepped closer to the young couple. “Now,” he said. “You must go your separate ways.” He gave a stern look to the girl. He was, after all, playing the part of an Arab male. “And cease to find yourself alone with men who are not related to you. It is an abomination.”
The pair nodded, heads bowed toward their feet.
“How may we repay your kindness?” Huwaidah muttered, her dark lashes fluttering like a wounded bird as the magnitude of what she’d just escaped crashed down around her.
Quinn smiled softly. It was a question he’d hoped she would ask.
“I am looking for a certain place… a place that I believe is also an abomination before Allah.” He paused to let her look him in the eyes. “A laboratory where very bad things take place.”
Tawfiq’s gaze shifted toward the girl. He shook his head, teeth grinding loud enough that Jericho could hear the crunch.
Huwaidah sighed deeply, blinking, coming to a decision. “Yes,” she whispered. “I have heard of such a place. The other girls tell awful stories. I thought they were to scare us and keep us from sneaking out at night.”
“Huwaidah,” Tawfiq snapped. “Mind your tongue. You will be killed.”
She ignored him, looking at Quinn with wide, green eyes-honest, resolute eyes that said she could amount to anything if she was not so beaten down. She covered her face with the torn abaya but squared her shoulders, looking toward the far end of the open barn, toward the bright patch of sunlight and blazing pink stone.
“I want to show you the place you are looking for,” she said. “You have saved my life, so it is now yours. I do not care if they kill me.”
Quinn fought the urge to put his hand on the poor girl’s shoulder. Instead, he sighed gravely. “I will not let that happen today.”
