Page 18 of Out of Control

Maybe, if there was a God, they were still alive. Probably not the father, though. If the rebel militias hadn’t sucked him into the raging civil war, the military surely had.

“Kitchen’s this way,” Drago murmured. “I’ll have to light the pilot light on the propane water heater, and we’ll need to give it an hour. But then we’ll have nice, hot showers.”

Spencer lit the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. The electric grid had undoubtedly collapsed long ago, and who would come to a place like this to repair it?

They reconvened at the kitchen table over the golden glow of the lamp. “While we wait for hot water, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Drago announced. He moved over to one of the cupboards. “I’ve got a stash of real food. Unless, of course, you like your food as dried out and shriveled as your soul.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

Drago pulled out cans of baked beans, peaches in syrup, and a precious can of tuna, and plunked them on the table.

“Wow. What a feast.” Drago looked up sharply at him, and Spencer held up his hands. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’ve been around long enough to know real food is rare in war zones like this.”

Using their pocket knives, they each opened a can and commenced eating. The silence was interrupted only by occasional, distant sounds of gunfire and artillery shelling. But none of it was close.

Night fell outside, along with deep quiet. Nobody went out after dark in a war zone.

“Who’s attacking this place?” Spencer asked.

“Syrian government. Last I heard, a group of rebels has taken over the east part of the city and is proving hard to root out. They dug a tunnel network in a residential area. Those are always a bitch to find and destroy. Meanwhile, rebels can pop up, attack, and disappear before the government can react.”

“Smart tactic by the rebels,” Spencer observed. He ate a little more and added, “I hate clearing tunnels. Easy to trap and nowhere to hide.”

“I thought you SEAL types prefer working in the dark.”

He shrugged. “The dark isn’t the problem with tunnels. There’s no room to maneuver in them.”

“Note to self: Spencer’s claustrophobic.”

It was more complicated than that. He didn’t usually mind small spaces. But crappy, hastily constructed tunnels that might collapse on him and bury him alive at any moment? Yeah. Those messed with his head a little.

“Who was I supposed to see at that meeting, Dray?”

Drago pulled out his cell phone. He talked while he scrolled through pictures. “He’s calling himself Kurbaj these days.”

“Kurbaj? Arabic for a whip?” Spencer mumbled.

“Yeah. Like a scourge. Or a lash. Or a punishment.”

“Jeez. That’s a grim name.”

Drago pushed his cell phone across the table. “Recognize him?”

Spencer looked down at the picture of a middle-aged man in dark trousers and a white dress shirt. Black hair. Short black beard. The golden skin of a local in this part of the world. Medium height, lean build.

Spencer frowned. “Should I recognize him?”

“Look more closely,” Drago said quietly.

Spencer picked up the phone and zoomed the image in on the guy’s face. The camera adjusted and the image came into sharp focus.

Those eyes.

He flung the phone down to the table.

Then he looked up at Drago in horrified disbelief.

Drago nodded grimly.

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