Mike chuckled at the ‘secret SEAL’ remark then asked, “I thought the US government was footing all the bills, in addition to the fighter jet. Isn’t that the deal you made with them?”
“With a mole in the organization, I’m not about to send a message asking them to transfer money to a retired SEAL in Saudi Arabia. Right now, everybody thinks we’re dead. Better to keep it that way.”
“You can print your own money, so it should be no problem. Zap up a few more BITCHCoins and we’re all set.”
I gave Mike my ‘bad news’ face. “That’s not a good idea. Activating more coins would be a last resort. With Mason out of commission for the near future, there are too many obligations out there for me to handle.”
Mike shrugged and grinned. “Well, I’ve been broke before. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
“Maybe I’m overanalyzing this. I can make more money—gold coins if not BITCHCoins.” I took a deep breath and smiled. “I tend to worry about money too much. It comes from growing up poor.”
A dark SUV pulled up next to the plastic-bag flag and stopped. It was an older model GMC Suburban with a large decal on the side, a blue and orange circle with Arabic and English lettering. The part I could read said “Saudi Electricity Company.”
Mike’s satellite phone vibrated in his pocket.
Mike hesitated for a second. “It might be better for you to wait here until I’ve talked to Manny.”
Irritation flashed at this delay, but Mike knew this part of the world and his friend better than I did. I nodded shortly and he jogged down to the road.
Manny exited the SUV and shook Mike’s hand. After a whispered conversation, Mike looked down the empty road to ensure no cars were coming, then waved me down to join them.
Manny was an older Latino man with short-cropped graying hair. Several inches shorter than Mike, he had the shoulders of a weightlifter. All his weight was resting on his right foot and his left arm was curled near his stomach. An infrared scan showed the excess heat associated with inflammation in his wrist, knuckles, and left ankle. Arthritis?
In the distance, a truck appeared, and the headlights gave Manny an opportunity to see me. What did he think of the tall, olive-skinned, long-haired woman in combat fatigues, carrying a huge backpack?
“Hi, Manny,” I said. “I’m Luna. Nice to meet you.”
I was expecting a joke or an attempt at flirting, from Mike’s description of Manny’s character. Instead, I just received a grunt in acknowledgement.
During our walk, Mike had told me some unbelievable stories about his adventures with Manny. Everything from drinking bouts and barroom brawls to cathouse crawls, always with a smile on his lips or a quip ready. It was hard to reconcile Mike’s stories with this grunting old man.
Manny pulled Mike over to stand beside him, obscuring any view of me from the oncoming truck. The truck whipped past, stirring up a blast of sand.
Manny opened the rear door of the SUV, which turned on the interior light.
Manny stared for a second, then snapped, “Get in the car!”
I was unnerved by the stare and prepared a sharp comment.
Manny held up a hand in brusque apology. “Sorry, lady. It’s shocking to see a woman out in public without an abaya.”
“A what?”
Manny pointed to the rear door of the SUV and gestured me in. “Never mind. Get in before another car comes by.”
I slipped out of the backpack and handed it to Mike. I slid into the rear seat and looked around. Wire coat hangers hung from the interior coat hooks, holding clean shirts with the Saudi Electricity logo embroidered on the back. The interior was worn, the odometer read 197,000 kilometers, the engine was idling roughly, and the rear compartment was stuffed with supplies.
Still, it beat running through the desert. My inner wolf nodded agreement.
I queried her about Manny, trusting her instincts over mine. She soundlessly indicated that Manny could be trusted.
Manny pulled up the rear hatch and made room for our packs. His left hand was useless, and he performed the packing one-handed. Mike moved to help, but Manny refused.
He grabbed a bundle of black cloth and handed it to me over the seat. “Abaya. You’re going to have to wear it.” While he and Mike got in and belted up, I tried to make sense of the bundle. It was like a black long-sleeved robe that would cover me from shoulders to feet. I was thankful it had buttons up the front. My wolf side didn’t like clothes I couldn’t remove in an instant. There was a separate head-covering I left for later.
Manny put the SUV in gear and drove away. I took a long breath, happy to be moving faster, mixed with a bit of sadness at leaving my oasis behind. Maybe I could visit it sometime.
I peeled off my jacket and shirt, leaving only the olive-green T-shirt over my pants. I debated pulling them off too but decided against it. If I needed to move fast, the robe would be the first thing to go, and I didn’t want to race around naked.
I looked up and saw Manny’s eyes flicking back and forth between the road and the rear-view mirror.
I gave him a reproving look. “Eyes on the road, Manny,” I said.
“It’s not that, lady.” Manny sniffed in disapproval. “I’ve seen a woman before.”
I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic, then had a sharp premonition of danger. Distracted by talking, Manny wasn’t paying attention to the road—an oncoming vehicle was straddling the center line, apparently oblivious to our presence.
“Watch out, Manny!” I ordered.
Manny jerked the wheel, but was hampered by his weakened arm. The right front wheel hit something solid and the vehicle jerked and tilted. I extended my claws and grabbed the seat backs in front of me.
We skidded to a stop about twenty meters further down the road.
