Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) by M. H. Sargent, Shelley Holloway Read Free Book Online Page A

ask him.”
    “Okay,” Gonz quietly said in her ear. “Why did she do it? She suicidal or something?”
    “So you brought us the head,” McKay continued. “Why?”
    “As I said before, opportunity.”
    “Opportunity for what? To get caught?” McKay laughed, scoffing at her. “Yes, that was a good opportunity.”
    “Exactly,” came the young woman’s quick reply.
    McKay stared at her for a moment. “You must’ve known we’d put you in prison.”
    “Maybe, but you would question me first, yes? That’s what we’re doing. I just thought it would be in the Green Zone. Not... Where are we, may I ask?”
    “I can’t reveal that,” McKay replied, a little unnerved that she didn’t know herself. Regrouping, she said, “Okay, so you wanted to speak with us. Delivering the head would get some attention and you could speak. So speak.”
    The young woman took a deep breath. “I want it to stop.” When McKay gave her a puzzled look, she continued, saying, “I want you to stop him.”
    “Al Mudtaji?”
    “Yes.”
    McKay was taken back. “But you work for him. You–”
    “No!” she thundered, her face suddenly dark. “No! He took me! From my home. My life. He took me so it would be better for him, yes? You are looking everywhere for him, yes? Looking for him among maybe some men, yes? Probably not looking for a man and a woman. Dressed as you.” She gestured with her hands again. “Not like that. Army clothes, but Western clothes, yes? Dressed nicely, looking European, maybe. Looking like maybe we are married?”
    McKay was surprised by her outburst. “He kidnapped you?”
    Her eyes lit up. “Yes! Exactly!”
    “When?” Gonz asked in her ear.
    “When?” McKay repeated. “When did this happen?”
    “January 24th. He had asked me to work with him, I had told him, no. I hate him. Hate him! So he blew up the restaurant where I work! Five people died! That day, he took me!”
    “And you’ve been with him ever since?”
    “How can I be free? If I go out, he has people with me or follow, yes? He’s a terrible man. Terrible! You must stop him!”
    “Why you?” McKay asked. “Why’d he pick you?”
    “He is my brother,” the Iraqi woman answered without emotion.
    “Shit,” Gonz muttered in her ear.
    When McKay just stared in surprise, the Iraqi woman explained, “My half-brother. His name is Mohammed. Mohammed Monla. His real name. Older, by two years. His father, my father. Not same mother. Our father, he hates the West. Hates, understand? He filled al Mudtaji’s head with hate for Americans. Hate!”
    McKay shook her head slightly, as if to clear the cobwebs. “But why–?”
    “The first Gulf War, yes? My father was in that war. Republican Guard. He was hurt. By a bomb. Lost both legs.”
    “Shit,” Gonz grumbled again.
    “I’m sorry,” McKay told her.
    “I don’t care. He is not my father.” When McKay gave her a baffled look, she explained, “How you say? Biological father, yes. He is not a true father – one who would show love for me. For my mother.”
    “Where is your mother now?”
    “She died. After the war started. This war. She was very sick for long time. Then she died.”
    “And your father?”
    “Here.” She realized her error and stated, “Baghdad. I never talk to him.”
    “Does al Mudtaji?”
    “Al Mudtaji?” she repeated, seeming surprised. With a shrug she said, “Not in person. No, no. Too dangerous. Al Mudtaji sends a man to talk to our father. Or father gets word to al Mudtaji. Not in person, no. I don’t know, but I think my father helps him. But maybe not. I don’t know for certain. But I think, yes, my father helps.”
    “Let’s take a break, McKay,” Gonz said in her ear with a heavy sigh. “Offer her some food. Water. Take the handcuffs off.”

Baghdad, Iraq Wednesday, April 12th 8:22 p.m.
    Dr. Lami removed the photo from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. The man across from him was simply known as Colonel K.C. Now in his