Read Online Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) by M. H. Sargent, Shelley Holloway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M. H. Sargent, Shelley Holloway
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spraying his pants. Be reasonable, he told himself. No one had seen his face. And he had taken off his shoes, socks and all the clothes he had worn for the beheading, even his underwear, put them in a plastic shopping bag and tossed it in a dumpster behind a nearby restaurant.
He had had no idea what else was in that dumpster, but it smelled hideous which gave him comfort that no one would rummage through it. He also knew the trash would be picked up the next day. Electricity may cut in and out at random in Iraq, but the trash was picked up on time. Another strange phenomenon of the war.
More banging and a muffled voice calling his name. He quietly slipped out of bed and stood frozen, listening. Another pounding. There was no point in hiding, Adnan reasoned. They would just break the door down. Or wait him out. Better to open the door and act surprised. Innocent. He grabbed a pair of pants from the end of the bed, put them on, and went into the main room.
His heart in his throat, Adnan opened the door. It was Aref. Holding a blood-soaked cloth tightly with both hands. Adnan didn’t see any police or the Americans. Strange. He abruptly stepped past Aref and stood on the narrow second-floor breezeway. But it was quiet. No one else around. A car passed on the street below. Then it was gone.
“Adnan?”
He turned to face the old man. “What’s going on?” he asked, showing his annoyance at being awoken.
“I cut myself. Fell off my bike.”
Adnan finally noticed the bloody hand. “Let me see.”
Aref peeled away the bloody cloth that was stuck to his ring finger. Adnan carefully looked at the deep cut which still bled. Aref explained, “It stopped for a while. I went to bed. Then I woke up and it was bleeding again, you know?”
“You need stitches.”
“That’s what I thought,” Aref agreed.
“Just a minute.”
As Aref waited by the door, Adnan disappeared inside his apartment, then came out carrying a ring of keys. He shut the apartment door and headed toward the stairs at the end of the breezeway. Aref followed.
Living above the pharmacy had its advantages and disadvantages. Being disturbed after hours was definitely one of the disadvantages, but Adnan liked the old man, so he really didn’t mind. Besides, he knew the man didn’t trust doctors. As they headed down the narrow walkway between the pharmacy and the building next door, Adnan said to the old man, “You should see a doctor. In case of infection.”
Aref waved him off with his bloody hand. “No, no. You’ll clean it up good.”
At the side door to the pharmacy, Adnan slipped a key into the deadbolt lock. A moment later, he opened the door, flipped on the lights and went inside.
Heisman held his breath. He had been about to leave through the side door when he had heard voices and quickly took cover. Then he heard a key slide into the deadbolt lock, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that he had had the presence of mind to flip the deadbolt back in place after he had entered. From his hiding place he had then seen two men enter, one older, holding his hands together, the elbows bent in front of him. The other man was younger. Neither man said a word as they walked to the back of the pharmacy.
His knee ached as he now squatted behind a free-standing display case near the front of the building. When the lights had come on, Heisman had scrambled toward the front of the store, further away from the two men. The problem was that with the interior lights on, he was now exposed to anyone on the street.
He wouldn’t be able to keep his position long.
Sitting in the passenger seat of an old Toyota, Peterson used powerful night vision binoculars to scan the street. It was quiet. As it should be. It was after one in the morning. “No signs of traffic. Repeat, no signs of traffic,” he said into the tiny microphone on his wireless headset. Since the lights were on inside the pharmacy, he picked up a regular pair of binoculars to look
He had had no idea what else was in that dumpster, but it smelled hideous which gave him comfort that no one would rummage through it. He also knew the trash would be picked up the next day. Electricity may cut in and out at random in Iraq, but the trash was picked up on time. Another strange phenomenon of the war.
More banging and a muffled voice calling his name. He quietly slipped out of bed and stood frozen, listening. Another pounding. There was no point in hiding, Adnan reasoned. They would just break the door down. Or wait him out. Better to open the door and act surprised. Innocent. He grabbed a pair of pants from the end of the bed, put them on, and went into the main room.
His heart in his throat, Adnan opened the door. It was Aref. Holding a blood-soaked cloth tightly with both hands. Adnan didn’t see any police or the Americans. Strange. He abruptly stepped past Aref and stood on the narrow second-floor breezeway. But it was quiet. No one else around. A car passed on the street below. Then it was gone.
“Adnan?”
He turned to face the old man. “What’s going on?” he asked, showing his annoyance at being awoken.
“I cut myself. Fell off my bike.”
Adnan finally noticed the bloody hand. “Let me see.”
Aref peeled away the bloody cloth that was stuck to his ring finger. Adnan carefully looked at the deep cut which still bled. Aref explained, “It stopped for a while. I went to bed. Then I woke up and it was bleeding again, you know?”
“You need stitches.”
“That’s what I thought,” Aref agreed.
“Just a minute.”
As Aref waited by the door, Adnan disappeared inside his apartment, then came out carrying a ring of keys. He shut the apartment door and headed toward the stairs at the end of the breezeway. Aref followed.
Living above the pharmacy had its advantages and disadvantages. Being disturbed after hours was definitely one of the disadvantages, but Adnan liked the old man, so he really didn’t mind. Besides, he knew the man didn’t trust doctors. As they headed down the narrow walkway between the pharmacy and the building next door, Adnan said to the old man, “You should see a doctor. In case of infection.”
Aref waved him off with his bloody hand. “No, no. You’ll clean it up good.”
At the side door to the pharmacy, Adnan slipped a key into the deadbolt lock. A moment later, he opened the door, flipped on the lights and went inside.
Heisman held his breath. He had been about to leave through the side door when he had heard voices and quickly took cover. Then he heard a key slide into the deadbolt lock, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that he had had the presence of mind to flip the deadbolt back in place after he had entered. From his hiding place he had then seen two men enter, one older, holding his hands together, the elbows bent in front of him. The other man was younger. Neither man said a word as they walked to the back of the pharmacy.
His knee ached as he now squatted behind a free-standing display case near the front of the building. When the lights had come on, Heisman had scrambled toward the front of the store, further away from the two men. The problem was that with the interior lights on, he was now exposed to anyone on the street.
He wouldn’t be able to keep his position long.
Sitting in the passenger seat of an old Toyota, Peterson used powerful night vision binoculars to scan the street. It was quiet. As it should be. It was after one in the morning. “No signs of traffic. Repeat, no signs of traffic,” he said into the tiny microphone on his wireless headset. Since the lights were on inside the pharmacy, he picked up a regular pair of binoculars to look
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