The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

resist the urge to kiss her but failed as she met him halfway.  Their embrace lingered.  Each aware of the other, they finally separated as Corbett rose then helped her to her feet.

“Better head back to camp.”

“Right.”

Collecting the empty wine bottle and the cardboard box from supper, they killed the lights then using the flashlight started for the lift.

*****

The night air was warm, filled with the rhythmic sounds of the night.  Making their way down the mountain toward camp, Corbett and Ella fell silent, each lost in thought.

Troubled by the rough and tumble of recent events, Corbett found himself thinking of Tariq and Amaia, once his closest friends, now alienated by events over which neither he nor they had had any control.  Given what no doubt lay ahead, Corbett found himself regretting the role he now must play in tearing them apart.  What were their chances for any kind of life together?  And what of their daughter? Would she ever see her father again, much less get to know him?  Like so many millions of others, their lives pointlessly sacrificed on the altar of war.

As for Ella, the truth was, she excited him.  For the first time since those early days with Amaia at Oxford, he had actually felt something.  Yet in reality, there were so many things she did not know and that he could not possibly tell her.  Better not to look beyond the immediate but simply seize the moment and let the future take care of itself.

Walking beside him, Ella tried to ignore their proximity.  The way he smelled.  The memory of his touch.  The taste of his mouth on hers.  Attempting to be completely honest, what had just occurred between them had been everything she could have possibly wanted from such an encounter.  Spontaneous, intense, and limited with no commitments.  What was it, she wondered, about older men?  While continuing to work with him over the next several weeks might prove awkward, she had meant what she had said.  She had no illusions.  Lo que será, será.

By the time they reached the base camp, it was nearly midnight.  The rest of the company could be heard gathered in the cook tent, drinking and eating and singing folk songs both in Spanish and in Basque, oblivious to the ironies of their respective politics.  Corbett walked her to the entrance of her tent then turned to face her.

“Listen.  What you said back there…” he began, “about fate – that whatever is meant to be will be?  I agree. No regrets.”

“Meaning…?” Looking up at him, she cocked her head to one side.

“No matter what.”

“I think I can handle that,” she said with a small smile. Then impulsively cupping his face in her hands, she softly kissed him. “Whatever happens, tonight was… unforgettable.”  Then kissing him again on the lips, she quickly turned, slipped into her tent and was gone.

Fighting against an unexpected rush of emotion, Corbett quietly made his way to his own tent.  Entering, he sat on the edge of his cot and removed his boots.  Swinging himself onto his back, he attempted to relax and close his eyes.  But his mind was too cluttered to sleep. He lay there awake, staring into the darkness remembering what had transpired between them. It was nearly three before he finally drifted off.

*****

Having taken part in the evening’s revels in the cook tent, Karim had eventually managed to slip away unnoticed.  Moving swiftly through the shadows, he reached the back of the canvas-covered two-and-a-half-ton truck to find Antonio waiting.  As with their previous assignation, the two men embraced then quickly scrambled into the back of the truck before anyone might see them.  Purely carnal, their coupling was intense and lasted barely ten minutes before they had satisfied each other’s needs. At last, they lay there together, spent.  Saying nothing, they silently listened to the sound of the singing still coming from the cook tent.  It provided a convenient excuse not to talk.

At last, Karim arose. Straightening his clothes, he explained that he had to be up early in the morning.  Antonio nodded, saying he understood then watched as the smaller man slipped off into the night. Alone at last, the Spaniard finally stood, zipping up his trousers and tucking in his shirt.  Then climbing down from the bed of the truck, he headed off to rejoin the revelers.   The night was still young.

At the same moment, Karim entered the tent he shared with Roberto.  Filled with self-loathing, he tried to shake the feelings of guilt that crowded his mind.  Relieved at discovering Roberto had not yet returned, he unrolled his prayer rug and knelt in the darkness. Praying silently to Allah for forgiveness, he began to strike his chest repeatedly with both fists.  Then rolling up his shirtsleeves, he reached into his toiletry kit and removed a single-edged razor blade.  With practiced precision, he carefully slashed at his upper forearms, inflicting superficial wounds and drawing blood.  From the scar tissue visible on both arms, it was clear this was not the first time.  But despite the fact that these wounds were not life threatening, he meant them as a sign of the depth of his sincerity.  Allahu Akbar…!  True, he had again been weak and lost his way.  But swearing in the sight of God he would never sin again, he promised to atone for his transgressions if only Allah, the merciful, would show him the path to redemption.  Finishing at last, he quickly bandaged his wounds and rolled up his prayer mat.  Then climbing onto his cot, he covered his body with a sheet.  And drawing his legs up into a fetal position, he fell into a troubled asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWENTY-THREE

C orbett had awakened at dawn as thoughts of Tariq and Ella intruded on his dreams.  They were running somewhere, urging