Before he knew what was happening, Bahira had moved back and was unfastening her robe.
Khalil watched her and listened for signs of danger. If they were discovered now, they were dead. He heard her saying, "Asad. What are you waiting for?"
He looked at her kneeling before him. She was completely naked now and he stared at her breasts, then her pubic hair, then her thighs, and finally back at her face.
"Asad."
He pulled his short tunic over his head, then slipped his pants and undershorts down to his ankles and kicked them off.
She stared at his face, her eyes avoiding his erect penis, but then her eyes glanced downward at him.
Asad didn't know what to do next. He thought he would know-he understood the position they would assume, but he was not sure how to arrive at it.
Bahira again took the initiative and lay down on her back on the prayer mat, her garments beneath her head.
Asad nearly lunged forward and found himself on top of her and felt her firm breasts and warm skin beneath his own. He felt her legs parting and sensed the tip of his penis touching warm, wet flesh. In an instant, he was half inside her. She cried out softly in pain. He thrust further, past the resistance, and entered her fully. Before he could move, he felt her hips rise and fall, rise and fall, and between two heartbeats he released himself inside of her.
He lay motionless, catching his breath, but she continued the rising and falling of her hips, though Asad didn't know why she continued after he was satisfied. She started to moan and breathe heavily, then began saying his name, "Asad, Asad, Asad…"
He rolled off her and lay on his back looking at the night sky. The half-moon was setting in the west, the stars seemed dull over the lighted compound, a poor, pale imitation of the brilliant stars over the open desert.
"Asad."
He did not answer. His mind could not yet comprehend what he had just done.
She moved closer to him so that their shoulders and legs were touching, but the desire was gone in him.
She said, "Are you angry?"
"No." He sat up. "We should get dressed."
She sat up also and put her head on his shoulder.
He wanted to move away from her, but he didn't. Unhappy thoughts began to creep into his mind. What if she became pregnant? What if she wanted to do this again? The next time they would be caught for sure, or she would become pregnant. In either case, one or both of them might die. The law was not clear on some things, and it was usually the families that decided how the disgrace was to be dealt with. Knowing her father, he could imagine no mercy for either of them. For some reason that he couldn't comprehend, he blurted out, "My mother has been with the Great Leader."
Bahira did not reply.
Khalil was angry at himself for revealing this secret. He didn't know why he had and didn't know what he felt for this woman. He was dimly aware that the desire for her would return again and for that reason he knew he should be polite. Still, he wished he were anywhere else but here. He eyed his clothing at the far end of the prayer mat. He noticed, too, a dark stain on the prayer mat where she had lain.
Bahira put her arm around him and with her other hand stroked his thigh. She said, "Do you think we would be allowed to marry?"
"Perhaps." But he didn't think so. He glanced at her hand on his thigh, then noticed the blood on his penis. He realized he should have brought water for washing.
She said, "Will you speak to my father?"
"Yes," he replied, but he didn't know if he would. A marriage to Bahira Nadir, daughter of Captain Habib Nadir, would be a good thing, but it might be dangerous to ask. He wondered if the old women would examine her and find that she had lost her virginity. He wondered if she were pregnant. He wondered a lot of things, not least of all if he would go unpunished for this sin. He said, "We should go."
But she made no move to leave his side.
So they remained sitting together. Khalil was getting restless.
She began to speak, but he said, "Be still." He had the disquieting feeling that something was happening that he needed to be aware of.
His mother had once told him that like his namesake, the lion, he had been blessed with a sixth sense, or second sight, as it was also called by the old women. He had assumed that everyone could sense danger or know that an enemy was nearby without seeing or hearing anything. But he had come to understand that this feeling was a special gift, and he realized now that what he had sensed all night had nothing to do with Bahira, or the military police, or being caught in fornication; it had to do with something else, but he didn't know what it was yet. All he knew for certain was that something was wrong out there.
Chip Wiggins tried to ignore the streaks of tracer rounds sailing past his canopy. He had no point of reference in his life or in his training for what was happening. The whole scene around him was so surreal that he couldn't process it as mortal danger. He concentrated on the display screens that made up the flight console in front of him. He cleared his throat and said to Satherwaite, "We're on the money."
Satherwaite acknowledged, with no inflection in his voice.
Wiggins said, "Less than two minutes to target."
"Roger."
Satherwaite knew he was supposed to kick in the afterburners now for a power boost, but to do so would cause a very long and very visible trail of bright exhaust behind his aircraft, which would draw every gun muzzle in his direction. There wasn't supposed to be this much ground fire, but there was and he had to make a decision.
Wiggins said, "Afterburners, Bill."
Satherwaite hesitated. The attack plan called for the extra speed of the afterburners, or he stood a good chance that his squadron mate-Remit 22-who was only thirty seconds behind him, would be climbing up his ass.
"Bill."
"Right." Satherwaite kicked in the afterburners, and the F-111F shot forward. He pulled back on his stick and the nose rose. Satherwaite glanced above his flight panel for a brief second and saw an elaborate display of lethal trajectories pass off to their port side. "Those assholes can't shoot straight."
Wiggins wasn't so sure about that. He said, "On track, thirty seconds to release."
Bahira held her lover's arm. "What is wrong, Asad?"
"Be quiet." He listened intently and thought he heard someone shout in the far distance. A vehicle started its engine close by. He scrambled toward his clothes and pulled his tunic on, then stood, peeking over the parapet. His eyes scanned the compound below, then something on the horizon caught his attention, and he looked north and east toward Tripoli.
Bahira was beside him now, clutching her clothes to her breasts. "What is it?" she asked insistently.
"I don't know. Be still." Something was terribly wrong, but whatever it was could not be seen or heard yet, though he felt it now, very strongly. He stared into the night and listened.
Bahira, too, peeked over the parapet. "Guards?"
"No. Something… out there…" Then he saw it-incandescent trails of bright fire curving up from the glow of the city of Tripoli into the dark sky above the Mediterranean.
Bahira saw them, too, and asked, "What is that?"
"Missiles." In the name of Allah, the merciful… "Missiles, and anti-aircraft fire."
Bahira grabbed his arm. "Asad… what is happening?"
"Enemy attack."
"No! No! Oh, please…" She dropped to the floor and began pulling on her clothes. "We must get to the shelters."
"Yes." He pulled on his pants and shoes, forgetting his undershorts.
Suddenly, the ear-splitting shriek of an air raid siren filled the night air. Men began to shout and run out of the surrounding buildings, engines started, the streets filled with noise.
Bahira began running barefoot toward the stair shed, but Khalil caught up with her and pulled her down. "Wait! You can't be seen running from this building. Let the others get to the shelters first."