Free CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) by Paul Rodricks Page B

you alright?”
        “I have taken a bullet in my shoulder and shrapnel in the neck.  Jameel… he too is hurt… I can’t seem to concentrate for long…”
        “Alright, Jonathan.  Try to hold on.  We will get you out of there quickly.  Give the phone to the local contact. Jameel, is he?”
        “Right, Sir.”  He extended the phone to Jameel.  “Speak to the Station Chief.”
        “Jameel here, Sir.”
        “Are you hurt badly?”
        “No, Sir.  Just a nick across my forehead.”
        “Well then, listen, Jameel.  Do you know where exactly this farm house is located?”
        “The farmer tells me it i s Wadi Ain el Louis, a little down the rural road to the central Beqa’a valley.”   
        The station chief was nearly stunned.  That place was the haven of the Hezbollah
    extremists.  Jonathan Bradley was amidst the hornets’ nest. Alone and without local help, he was a candidate for kidnapping and certain torture and murder by the fringe Islamic elements.
        “OK.  Our people will know where that is.  Jameel, think carefully and reply.  Do you think that farmer can be trusted?”
        “I think so…,” Jameel hesitated, “but I can’t be certain.  We proposed to pay him in dollars too, and he appeared to like that idea. He has been helpful so far.”
        “OK. Pay him well. What about the other members of his family?” 
          “Only the farmer is with us.
    I do not know how many others are present in this house…”
        “Jameel, here’s what you could do.  I assume both of you have lost your cellphones.  Try to get the farmer sell or lend you his phone.  He will have a vehicle… everyone in Lebanon has one type or another.
        “Next ask him to drive you two to the nearest clinic or hospital, preferably the Beqa’a Hospital, while it’s still dark.  There will not be many people around, but you don’t need to go inside for treatment.  By then, our men will have arrived and you two will be taken care of.”
        “Will do, Sir.”
        “Ask… umm… Peter to call me after you have made the deal with the farmer.  Take care, both of you.”
        The farm owner had returned with a tray of three cups of steaming black coffee. 
        Almost an hour had gone by since they arrived at the farm house.  Jonathan’s watch showed close to 12.00 AM.
        Jameel had related to him what the station chief had proposed.
        While at ease and drinking the coffee, Jameel brought up the issue of the cellphone and their request for their drop to the hospital.
        “Ma ‘andi mobaile. I don’t have a cellphone.”
        He added that he did not like cellphones because he kept on misplacing or losing them. His two sons used them all the time.
         Jameel glanced at Jonathan, knowing that he was listening and keeping up with the colloquial Arabic, the farmer was speaking.
        “Andekum al-sayaara? Have you a car?”
        “Na’am. Yes. “ ‘ Andi el-Mercedes, sayyaara fatiiga . I have an old Mercedes.”
        “Tayyeb.  Fine.”
        Jameel turned to Jonathan. “Check your wallet and see how many US dollars you have.” 
        Jonathan was trying to access his wallet
    in his trousers pocket when he felt the slight tremors in his fingers and the whole of the right hand.  He instantly feared the worse, realizing that his shoulder wound was beginning to react. He would need proper medical attention soon.
        He, however,  got his wallet out and was counting, “I have mostly lira, the Lebanese pound. And, ah yes… about $700 dollars. ”
         “Give me the $700 and I will add a few hundred liras which I have on me.”
         Bradley passed on the money and Jameel added his portion and handed it over to the old farmer.  He took it hesitatingly, looking somewhat embarrassed as he uttered his thanks, “Shookran”
        “Tekram. You’re welcome,” ans