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

50s, with salt and pepper wavy hair and green eyes, he had retired from the U.S. Army several years ago and now worked as a journalist for one of the American cable news companies. With his good looks, he was quite popular in the States. With his no-nonsense expert military opinion, he was also popular with America’s top military leaders in Iraq.
    “Pretty,” Colonel K.C. said in English, sipping his beer. While the colonel was fluent in Arabic, whenever the two met in a public setting it was better to speak English and avoid being overheard. Dr. Lami noticed the colonel’s beer was almost empty and motioned to the waiter for another.
    “I want to know who she is,” Dr. Lami said.
    “She had the head?”
    “Yes. She was arrested. I have talked to everyone I know, but it is like she doesn’t exist. No one can tell me anything.”
    The colonel smiled before finishing off his beer. It wasn’t as good as American beer, but it wasn’t all bad either. “So you’re fishing.”
    Dr. Lami nodded. “I can print the photograph, but I want to know who she is first.”
    “Print it,” the colonel said with a shrug. “She deserves it. Pretty or not.”
    Dr. Lami studied the photograph for a moment before speaking. “She is pretty, yes. But I feel there is something more.” He glanced up at the colonel just as the waiter brought the second beer. After the waiter had left them, he added, “Did you know that there was something in the dead man’s mouth?” Colonel K.C. glanced up sharply. “I can print that too. But ask yourself this. Why have the head go to a checkpoint? Why not just throw it away? Because there was something al Mudtaji wanted the Americans to see. Something he put in the dead man’s mouth.”
    “I hadn’t heard that,” the colonel admitted.
    Dr. Lami again pushed the photo toward the colonel. “I gave you some information. Return the favor. Find out who the woman is. Her connection to al Mudtaji.”
    “So you can publish it.”
    “Yes,” Dr. Lami responded. “So I can publish it.”
     

Chapter Four
Jadida, Iraq Wednesday, April 12th 8:24 p.m.
    Once the Americans invaded and some Sunni groups decided to fight back by using improvised explosive devices, commonly called IEDs, the Iraqi people quickly learned to recognize the signs of an impending roadside bomb. It wasn’t hard. Basically, all activity in the area ceased. Market place stalls emptied, store shops suddenly had no customers, children were no longer playing outside and most noticeably, the streets were devoid of normal pedestrian traffic.
    That was what Aref was looking for that evening as he rode the old bicycle through the streets of Jadida, a neighborhood of Baghdad that had been his birthplace, where he had gotten married more than fifty years ago now and where he had buried his beloved wife. If he had it his way, he’d die in Jadida. Preferably sooner rather than later. But sadly, there were no signs of any impending attack. Too much activity. Even though the sun had just dipped below the horizon and his vision wasn’t what it used to be, he could tell from the foot traffic alone. He was out of luck.
    Not for the first time, Aref wished he knew exactly when and where some American soldiers would patrol. Then, if he could see all the signs of an imminent attack, and with luck, timing it just right, he could be blown to bits along with an American convoy, and finally be reunited his wife. He wasn’t sure exactly what happened after death, but he believed with all his heart that once again they would be together. Whether it was heaven or hell, he didn’t care. As long as they were together.
    Suddenly an American Humvee pulled out of a side street ahead of him. Aref felt a thrill of exhilaration and rose off the saddle, pedaling hard, doing his best to catch up. Vehicle traffic was heavy and he pushed hard. The stoplight ahead turned red and he took advantage, passing cars on the right as fast he could. His legs had already