by Brad Taylor
He had given up and was now trying to escape. He broke the surface, coughing water and gasping for air. I grabbed his neck, the demon consuming me, the need for vengeance overpowering. He slapped his hands on my wrist, and I drove him back under the water. He struggled for a blissful amount of seconds, thrashing about, his legs kicking above the water while I held his head below, bringing me joy. The legs sank under the waterline, now only twitching. And then he stopped moving, his eyes staring at me from under the surface. Two small bubbles popped out of his open mouth and lazily floated upward.
I released my hands, feeling a tendril of shame at what I’d done. I’d let the blackness take me. Like an alcoholic sipping a drink, I’d failed. I crawled to the path above the canal, then collapsed, staring at the sky.
I heard running feet, then a shout. “Hey, you okay?”
I saw Knuckles on the bridge, bringing me back to the mission. Forcing me to be a team leader. The blackness could wait.
I remained on my back, saying, “Yeah, I’m okay. No thanks to your slow ass.”
He laughed and said, “Well, get up here. Koko’s got the kid.”
32
Amena sprinted back the way she’d come, her legs trembling in weakness at every step. The constant adrenaline and lack of food were taking a toll. Along with the deaths she’d caused. She reached the first bridge, crawled up the slope of the canal, and peeked out, turning her head left and right. She saw a couple with kids, a blond woman peering into a coffee shop, and two men of about seventy-five. She scrambled over the bank, then began walking rapidly down the street toward the train station. She didn’t care what was leaving or where it was headed, she was going to be on it.
She passed a candy store, and a door slammed behind her. She jumped at the noise, then reacted by instinct, her body immediately running like a rabbit in a field. She caught her head on an outdoor sign, tearing her scalp and flipping her onto her back.
She rolled upright and started crying, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth. She put her head down, her breath hitching. She closed her eyes, and saw nothing but slaughter. Her mother. Her father. Her brother. And the man who’d just allowed her to escape.
She no longer wanted to continue. She wanted it all to end.
Someone tapped her crown and said, “Hey, are you okay?”
She snapped her head up, seeing a tall blond woman with kind, liquid eyes. Her first instinct was to run, but the woman’s gaze held her in place. She remained mute, simply staring upward.
“My name is Jennifer.”
Amena said nothing. The woman persisted, saying, “Are you lost? Did you lose your parents?”
The simple declaration brought a well of tears, Amena unable to stop herself, the sobs uncontrollable.
The woman sat down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, saying, “Whoa, whoa. What’s that about? We can find them. Don’t cry.”
The words only increased her pain. The woman put her arm around Amena’s shoulders and whispered, “Shhh. Stop. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
It was the first bit of kindness from a stranger she’d experienced since fleeing Syria. Without conscious thought, she leaned in, burrowing into the woman’s side. She felt the woman rub a hand over her back, then wrap the other arm around her in a hug, saying, “It’s okay. Nothing is as bad as it seems.”
Amena sniffled, thinking, This is.
Her stomach growled loud enough to be heard ten feet away. The woman leaned back and said, “Was that you?”
The joke brought a weak smile to Amena’s face. She looked up and nodded.
“Are you hungry? You want to go get some food?”
Amena said, “You mean, with you?”
Jennifer smiled and said, “Yes, of course with me, silly. It’s called an invitation.”
Amena hesitated, wanting desperately to go, but not wanting to put the woman in danger. The men chasing her would kill Jennifer as easily as they would her. She said, “I . . . I don’t know. I should probably go. I have to get back.”
“Back where?”
“Back . . . Just back.”
“Well, you can go ‘back’ after you’ve had some food. Your stomach sounds like a lion roaring.”
Amena sighed, the thought of a full belly too much. She said, “Okay, but we need to eat quickly. I can’t stay long.”
Jennifer stood up and held out her hand, saying, “That’s fine by me. There’s a deli right down the street. It looked good.”
Amena took her hand, standing up, then realized something. “You’re American?”
“I am. And you?”
“I’m not American, but I will be.”
Jennifer laughed, an easy, relaxed sound that was soothing. They walked down the street and Amena heard her say, “Pike, Pike, this is Koko.”
Amena looked at her, and she said, “Sorry. My boyfriend’s wandering around here somewhere. I need to let him know where I am.”
Amena nodded, saying nothing. Jennifer listened to something, then said, “Hey, Knuckles, I’m headed to a deli with some precious cargo. I’ll shoot you the location when we get there.”
Amena scrunched up her eyes, and Jennifer said, “He’s a friend of my boyfriend’s. That jerk didn’t answer the phone.”
“His name is Knuckles? Is he American, too?”
Jennifer’s laughter floated out again, causing Amena to shyly smile, proud she’d caused the reaction. Jennifer said, “It’s a nickname. Don’t ask me how he got it. They seem to tease each other with them.”
They reached the deli, and Jennifer opened the door, letting Amena in first. Amena said, “Do they tease you? Do you have a nickname?”
Jennifer followed her and rolled her eyes, saying, “Yes, unfortunately, they do. But I don’t let them use it unless we’re on the phone.”
“What is it?”
“Koko.”
They reached the counter, and Amena said, “Like the talking gorilla? The one that does sign language?”
Jennifer’s face flashed surprise. She said, “Yes. That’s exactly what it is. How did you know?”
Miffed, Amena said, “I can read. When she died a few months ago it was all over the web.”
Jennifer appraised her for a moment, then looked up at the menu on the wall and said, “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”
Amena did, buying much more food than she could possibly eat. Jennifer said, “Is that it? Or do you want to order something for the town as well?”
Amena grinned and said, “And a chocolate milkshake.”
They took a seat, waiting for the food to arrive, and Amena said, “Why do they call you a gorilla?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s talk about you.”
In that moment, Amena wanted to tell her everything. Put herself in the hands of someone who might help. Relieve herself of the burden of survival. But she didn’t. She couldn’t place anyone else’s life in danger. She’d been the cause of death for too many already.
“I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Why not? I’d like to know where you’re from. You know I’m from America, what about you?”
Amena stared out the window, and before she could stop herself, she said, “I’m from nowhere. I have no home.”
Her eyes welled up, remembering the American who’d helped her. The one she’d run from. The one now dead because of her.
She started crying and said, “I saw someone killed today. He was helping me, and they killed him. They might kill you, too. They kill everybody.”
She felt Jennifer take her hands, and looked up. Jennifer showed no surprise at the statement. Only pity for the pain Amena felt. She said, “He’s not dead.”
Amena pulled her hands away, shocked. How would she know that?
And the realization
hit her with the force of a punch. She’s with them.
33
Amena leapt up, saying, “I have to go. Right now.”
Jennifer said, “Wait, I don’t even know your name.”
Amena turned to run, and the predator came through the door, his left eye swollen almost shut, his cheek torn and bleeding. Behind him was the man who had saved her in the park. The one with the shaggy black hair.
She started to back up, her head flicking left and right. Jennifer stood and said, “We aren’t the enemy. You know that.”
She spat out, “Then why are you chasing me?”
The predator advanced, towering over her, and she defiantly looked him in the eyes. She saw no hate. Only kindness. And sadness.
He said, “We weren’t chasing you. We were chasing someone else. We just found you in the middle of it.” He held out his hand, saying, “My name is Pike Logan.”
The food arrived, breaking the tension, the waiter looking at them strangely. Pike said, “Not going to waste that, are you? ’Cause I’m a little hungry.”
She sat back in the booth, eyeing them warily. Jennifer sat next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and saying, “It’s okay.”
Pike and the black-haired man sat across from her. Pike pulled out a couple of French fries and popped them in his mouth. He said, “You wait any longer, and I’m devouring this stuff.”
She reached for her sandwich, not saying a word, but keeping her eyes on them. She saw Pike glance at Jennifer, and Jennifer raise an eyebrow, then smile. It was genuine, and she could see the affection.
He really is her boyfriend.
Jennifer said, “I have to tell you, you looked a hell of a lot better this morning.”
Pike looked at Amena and said, “I had a little issue at the canal.”
And it dawned on Amena what had occurred. If the predator was eating her French fries, that meant the killer was . . . what?
She interrupted for the first time. “Where is the man you fought? Is he . . . Can he find us? Did he follow you?”
Pike looked embarrassed. He said, “No. He won’t find us. Ever.”
Amena slitted her eyes and said, “Did you kill him?”
“No, no. I just made sure he couldn’t follow us.”
Amena leaned back, looking at the ceiling, her voice flat. “He killed my father. Cut his throat right in front of me. And he broke my brother’s neck. Murdered them both.”
She dropped her head and looked the predator in the eye, waiting.
He said, “Yes. I killed him.”
Jennifer exclaimed, “Pike! That’s not necessary for her to hear.”
He glanced at her and said, “Yes it is.” He turned to Amena, his eyes boring into her soul. He said, “He will never harm you again. He’s gone, and so is his partner.”
Amena slowly nodded, saying, “Did he suffer?”
She saw Pike’s face twitch, reliving what had happened. He said, “Yes. He did.”
She saw the pain and felt a connection she couldn’t explain. She said, “Thank you.”
He said, “Eat. You must be starving.”
And she realized she was, in fact, ravenous. She started tearing into the sandwich, and the door opened. She saw the black man and his partner from the alley. Her mouth fell open.
Pike said, “Don’t worry. They’re just more friends.”
They walked up and introduced themselves. She said, “Do you guys have nicknames like everyone else?”
They glanced at Pike, then the black man said, “Yeah.”
“What’s yours?”
“Uh . . . Blood.”
She scrunched her eyes and said, “Because you’re black? Is that an American gangster thing? I’ve seen it on YouTube.”
He rolled his eyes, then stared at Pike, saying, “Noooo . . . but that’s sure as shit what everyone thinks.”
She giggled, then said, “And you?”
“It’s . . . well, it’s Veep.”
“Veep? What does that mean?”
Pike cut in, saying, “It’s an inside joke. That’s all.”
She could tell he was hiding something. She continued eating, then said, “Why would you help me? Why did you follow me, protecting me?”
She saw them all look at one another, and knew they were trying to come up with a story. It was the same thing she used to do with her brother when they were confronted by her father.
Pike leaned back, running his hands through his hair. Finally, he said, “Funny you should ask. You don’t, by chance, have a cell phone on you, do you?”
The phone.
She snapped her head to him, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Why would you ask that?”
He said, “Because I know you do, and I know it’s not yours.”
She continued chewing, not saying anything.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t care if you stole it. In fact, I’m pretty sure you were going to sell it, and I’m here as a buyer.”
She put the sandwich down and said, “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m willing to pay top dollar for your phone. Better than any fence will.”
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern. Can I see it?”
She cocked her head, then pulled out the phone, setting it on the table. She said, “It’s brand-new. I haven’t done anything to it. Just used what was on it.”
Pike said, “An iPhone Ten? Impressive. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you retail for it right now. One thousand American dollars.”
The amount floored her. The most she had expected to get was one hundred, knowing the fence would pocket the rest. It was the price she paid as a refugee with no other options. With a thousand dollars, she could travel anywhere. She could actually sleep in a bed. Her voice excited, she said, “You have that much? Right now?”
“No, but if you wait here for fifteen minutes, I will.”
She could have everything she wanted. She could get to Germany, and maybe all the way to the United States. And then it dawned on her. They were Americans, and they wanted her phone. They didn’t want it because it was a new iPhone. They wanted it for something else. Something she didn’t understand, but they did.
She said, “No. That’s not good enough.”
Exasperated, Pike said, “What the hell do you mean?”
“I want to go to the United States. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want your pity. I want to go to the United States.”
Pike scoffed and said, “That’s insane. Look, I have no power to get you to the United States. You might as well ask for a spaceship. Take the money, and that’s it. We leave, and you go do what you do. You’re safe now.”
She sagged back, realizing her gambit had failed.
Jennifer said, “Pike, we can’t just give her money and then throw her into the street.”
Pike glared at her and said, “Yes, we can. We’re not running an orphanage. With a thousand bucks and her smarts, she’ll be fine.”
Jennifer leaned forward, and Amena could feel the heat coming off her. So could the other men. They backed up, not wanting to be in the fight.
Jennifer said, “No, she won’t be fine. This is ridiculous.”
In that moment, Amena fell in love with her. But she knew she had lost. Whatever Jennifer said wouldn’t alter Pike’s decision. He was here doing something else, and he needed the phone to complete it. Amena was just a distraction.
And what Pike had said earlier clicked. We weren’t chasing you. We were chasing someone else.
Pike started to snarl something back at Jennifer and Amena said, “Wait. You don’t want that phone, you want the man who had it, don’t you?”
Pike closed his mouth. Every single person focused on her. Nobody said a word. She said, “I don’t want your money. Just
let me stay with you for a few days. Take me with you, wherever you go.”
Pike glanced at Jennifer, then at Knuckles, and said, “Why would we do that?”
“Because I want to go to America.”
Pike started shaking his head, and she said, “And because I know what the man who owned this phone looks like. A Syrian. A member of the regime that killed my mother. I know him on sight.”
She saw Pike’s eyes widen, and felt a smile leak out, realizing that the cursed phone had just saved her life. She looked into the predator’s eyes, not flinching, holding her own.
She said, “Since you were chasing me, a thirteen-year-old girl, I’m assuming you don’t know who he is, but I do. Is that worth a few days with you?”
34
Yasir took a seat at a corner table on the patio, putting his backpack under his feet and watching for a moment. He didn’t want to be inside, where his escape options were limited, but being outside held its own risks—namely that anyone in the small square, from any of the numerous restaurants or apartments, could see him and those he was meeting. Since he’d already been paid for the mission, he preferred the outdoor seating. Better to be able to escape than worry about whatever trouble he might be causing his new friends by someone watching.
After seeing nothing but students and the occasional tourist couple milling about, most under the age of twenty-five, he pulled out the burner flip phone Periwinkle had given him, secretly satisfied that he was tainting it with this call, leaving the CIA to explain how his sole contact with a case officer was also involved in terrorist activity. One more mirror he wanted to build in the wilderness.
Someone answered, and he said, “I’m here.” Nothing more. There was no way he was going to discuss operational details on a cell phone provided by a CIA case officer.
The other end said, “On the way.”
Yasir heard a bleat from a horn, the noise causing him to whirl. He saw a bunch of college kids playing in the square, one juggling, another blowing into what looked like a fake seashell, both annoying a driver trying to complete his delivery.