Emilija blows out a breath.
I set my jaw. “I’m going to have another talk with Sir Jonathan.”
“I’ll see what I can find out online,” Emilija says.
I leave my room and head for the elevator. I hear Emilija’s voice behind me. “Here, you forgot to take this.” She holds out my smartphone. “You do realize that Hristijan had half of the functions on it locked, right?”
“Um, no?”
“It took about three seconds for me to fix it all up for you,” Emilija snorts. “Oh, by the way, pro tip for a compound-raised tech virgin. If you record the conversation, then Watson can’t deny anything he said.” She presses one of the square icons on the screen. “Just use this app here.”
I’d be insulted, except I wonder why I hadn’t thought of that before. Only a few months ago, I’d never seen a smartphone; I didn’t even know they could do that, but still…I can have it out with Hristijan about the phone later. I’m going to take out Sir Snake-in-the-Grass once and for all.
***
It’s late. I barge into the British embassy. It looks like the receptionist is gone for the night. No one else is around, not even security, which is weird. I head through the ballroom and into the hall that houses the offices of the British Permanent Representation to the EU. I see an office with Sir Jonathan’s name on the door. It is open and there is a light coming out from it.
Sir Jonathan is on the phone. He is sitting behind his desk, looking almost relaxed. “Yes, Mr. Stanić, I assure you, I would like the operation against the buildings housing the EU institutions at Schuman to go forward as planned, despite the developments with the Maršal and your daughter. Other than them, no one yet suspects or has proof that you were the missing link between our branch of the Tory Party and the Islamic State.” He puts down the phone, looks up and sees me. Sir Jonathan leans back in the chair and crosses his legs. “Well, Elena. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“You know what you owe it to. I just heard you. UKIP’s accusation that Daesh is plotting something is true and you’re behind it.”
“Even if you overheard me, there is no way you can prove it.”
I reach into my pocket and take out my smartphone. “Not true. This time I recorded you conversing with a man who has known Daesh ties. That’s enough to implicate you.”
That’s as far as I get. Sir Jonathan reaches under his desk. He takes out some oblong device. Two blue bolts shoot out from it. I feel the current course through me. My body collapses, then nothing.
Drago
“Elena isn’t back yet. It’s getting late. I’m starting to worry,” I say to Afrim. We sit in a room that is normally used by a ten-year-old girl, still feeling a bit like we’re on eggshells.
“Come on, Drago, relax. Watson is just one old man. What is he going to do to her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“You never have a good feeling about anything.”
“Very funny. I’m going to talk to Emilija and see if she found out anything.”
“She’s right in the next room,” he reminds me. “I think she’d holler if she did.”
I get up from the white wooden writing desk I’m sitting at. The mirror on the wall behind it has stickers of princesses. I roll my eyes. “I know that, but it can’t hurt to check.”
I open the door and almost walk right into Emilija. Her eyes are wide.
“I just discovered something big. There was something to what Farage said. Daesh is planning to attack the EU institutions at Schuman tomorrow and they promise that a traitor to Islam and his entire family will be executed before the attack to inspire the fighters.”
“Were you able to find out who they are going to execute, or where this rally is going to be held?”
“No, but I found the address of the Croatian Permanent Representation to the EU—here—further back in the scheduling files. I think they’re after Hristijan and they’re planning to attack the residence.”
“But how would Hristijan be a traitor to Islam?” I turn back to Afrim, who is still lying on the mattress on the floor.
He sits up. “What?”
“Well, you’re the fan of all the conspiracies related to Hristijan and his friends’ role in the breakup of Yugoslavia, which apparently we now know are true. Do you have anything?”
Afrim nods, wheels turning. “It could make sense. Hristijan’s dad radicalized during the wars, fought with the Mujahedeen. Hristijan had to shoot out his dad’s knees to save the woman who became his first wife from getting shot in the head by his dad.”
“That sounds like enough to be considered a traitor by them.” I walk out into the hallway and go one door over to where Lucija’s room is. I bang on it. Erika opens the door with Rada by her side. I expect that she will freak out if I break this news in front of her, so I say, “Lucija, can we talk to you outside for a moment?”
“If you must.”
She walks out into the hallway and shuts the door.
“All right, what is it?”
Emilija tells her what she just learned from her digging on the internet.
Lucija bolts for Hristijan’s office and opens the door. “There’s a terror threat against our entire family. A credible one. I’m getting you to the airport and on a flight to Croatia, stat.”
“But, I’m needed here on the Committee of Permanent Representatives…” Hristijan protests. A big booming sound cuts him off. The whole apartment shakes as the first explosion hits the pane of what fortunately looks like bulletproof glass. Lucija and I crouch over to the window, just in time to see a man with his face covered in a black mask raise a bazooka to his shoulder, next to a streetlight.
“Everybody hit the ground!” Lucija and I yell at the same time.
Everyone dives for the floor. The resulting explosion shatters the glass. Erika comes running out into the living room. Rada is by her side, barking.
“What’s going on?” Erika asks.
Lucija swears and then snaps at her. “Do as you’re told. Grab your passport and head for the staircase next to the elevator. That goes for all of you.”
Erika stays rooted in place. Tears start to run down her face. “But why? Who broke the glass?”
I can tell that Lucija is about to yell at her, which will probably just make her more scared. I remember being in that situation when I was just a little older than her. I didn’t understand what was going on, until the next thing I knew my parents were dead. Afrim apparently remembers too, because he steps forward and kneels down in front of her. “Some people are really mad about something your dad did when he was a bit younger than we are. They’re coming after him. We need you to be brave so that your older sister can help you and your parents run away. You can do that. Okay?”
“What about Rada?”
“Rada will be fine. We’re going to need to borrow her for a while. Elena might be missing and Rada knows her scent. Is that fine with you?”
Another explosion rocks the building.
Erika nods at Afrim. We all grab our passports and bolt for the door to the stairwell.
We make it to the level of the lobby. Through the door, we hear the people shouting in some mix of French and Arabic. One of them opens the door, gun raised. Lucija shoots the gun out of his hands. “Run,” she commands.
The lights go out as we run down the final flight of steps. Lucija swears. “Damn it. They cut the electric.”
We make our way into the garage and Lucija runs over to Emilija’s Porsche.
“Do you mind?” Lucija asks. “It’s faster than any of the diplomatic cars.”
“Nope,” Emilija pants, flipping her the keys.
The entire family climbs in. I look over at Afrim, Emilija and Rada. We get ready to take off on foot for the UK’s Permanent Representation. A sudden fear that something might have happened to Elena hits me like a wave, stronger than my fear of getting shot by the goons outside. I can’t remember feeling like this
before. Even as I know I have to resist, it pulls me along. I’m caught in its grip. It is too strong to fight.
Lucija
I guess it’s true what they say: be careful what you wish for. When I said I wanted to get my hands dirty, trying to save my entire family from getting beheaded, and stopping an imminent terrorist attack on the main institutions of the European Union, was not exactly what I had in mind.
But here I am, in the driver’s seat of Elena’s prissy friend’s car, getting ready to bolt for it. I press the remote that will open the gates in the underground parking garage. The gates don’t retract. Of course they wouldn’t, I kick myself. They need electricity to do that.
I pull the gearshift back and then to the left, locking the transmission in first gear. “All right, everybody hang on. This is going to be rough.”
I jam the gas pedal to the floorboard. The tires screech and the car shoots forward. There is a sharp jolt as the car hits the gates, knocking them off of their hinges, denting the front bumper and cracking the windshield. We go up the ramp, which launches us into the air. Erika screams as the car hits the ground with another jolt.
I put the car back in drive and mash the gas pedal. We shoot onto the ring road, out into the darkness, skidding to the right and knocking our attackers into disarray. We go down into the tunnel in front of the residence, swerving past the slower-moving traffic. The SUV comes up the other side of the tunnel. Two cars block the lanes. I bring the right edge of the Porsche’s front bumper up to the car on the right’s left one. I jab the gas pedal forward for a second. The two bumpers tap together. The car on the right goes skidding out of the way.
I keep swerving through the traffic, mostly not hitting any other cars. The cops aren’t anywhere around, which tells me that something else is going down. We turn onto the Chaussée de Louvain and then jog to the left, the wheels skidding. After that I turn to the right, getting us onto the R21 highway and then the N2 that will take us to the airport. Two vans make the same turns behind us.
“Crap, we’re being followed,” I grunt back to Hristijan. As brazen as our pursuers are, I don’t think they will risk the high-profile disturbance of attacking us once we reach the departures level of the airport. They aren’t that emboldened. Not yet.
The airport is in sight and the vans are losing ground on us; Emilija’s Porsche can go faster.
Then, out of nowhere, a third van comes shooting out of a cross street; it hits the side of the Porsche, knocking us onto the side street, near to where I think the airport parking garage is. A lot of the airbags go off. Looking into the rear-view mirror, I see that the rear wheel well is a mess.
“Everyone out,” I order. We pile out of the car. I draw my gun and point it at the driver’s side of the van that rammed into us. The driver appears injured enough not to get out. He doesn’t have to. The other two vans are approaching.
“Is anyone hurt?” I yell.
Hristijan hobbles on his prosthetic leg. “I think that my arm is broken but everyone else looks fine.”
“We’ve got to run for it,” I yell.
Hristijan shakes his head. “No. I’ll just slow you down. You’ll have a better chance if I stay and hold them off.”
I never thought I’d have to do this but I make the decision I know I have to make. Whatever issues I may have with my family, they are still the only one I have. This is the duty I have to them, the sacrifice that I want to make for them and our entire region.
“No,” I tell my father. “You guys go. I’ll hold them off.”
Lara steps forward. She is holding onto Erika by the hand. “No. You don’t have to do this. No matter how you may feel about me, I consider you my daughter. Who knows what they’ll do to you.”
“I have a pretty good idea; I know I may have trouble expressing it sometimes, but you were always a pretty good mom, even though… Screw it, this isn’t the time for sensitive human emotions. Get moving.”
I take my pistol back out and point at the approaching vans. I crouch behind the open driver-side door of the wrecked Porsche, using it as a shield. I hear Erika behind me.
“My sister is my hero.”
Their voices grow more distant as I hear their footfalls, my father’s slower and unsteady, getting closer to safety. I hear Lara’s tearful voice. “You’re right, honey, she is.”
The vans arrive. I pull the trigger, taking shots at the windshields. The safety glass in one of them shatters. The men start to get out. I shoot at them. They crouch behind the van’s open doors. We exchange fire like that for the next moment or two in a standoff. The nine rounds that are left in my gun get used up. There’s no point in resisting anymore. My family has probably made it most of the way to the airport by now. I drop my gun and allow Daesh’s goons to take me hostage. No matter what they do to me it was worth it. When it came down to it, I spoke with my actions not my words, like I always do. They are the only thing that matters.
Drago
We make it to the British Permanent Representation to the EU and find it in disarray, swarming with cops. Sir Jonathan is sitting on the floor outside his office. It looks like it has been ransacked.
I run up to him with Afrim, Emilija and Rada on my heels. “What happened? Where is Elena?” I demand.
Sir Jonathan shakes his head. “I am afraid I have no idea. I was alone, working late. I had dismissed the staff a few hours prior. Elena showed up here, apparently convinced that I had something to do with the attack that Mr. Farage announced IS was planning. I told her that I had nothing to do with it, that her imagination was running away with her again.” He sighs. “That was when IS militants attacked the embassy. They did this to me with that taser.” He points over at another object lying on the floor. A gloved police officer reaches down and examines it.
“What happened? Where is she?” I yell, not to anyone in particular.
“As I said, I have no idea. They took her.”
I get up and run out of the embassy, fearing the worst.
Emilija comes up next to me. She puts a hand on my shoulder, slowing me down, like I now know Elena wouldn’t.
I shake it off and turn away from her. “I’ve got to find her. I have no idea where to even start looking now.”
“Calm down. She’s my friend too. We’ll find her,” Emilija tries to reassure me.
“Hold on, Drago. Take a moment to think it over,” Afrim says. “If Daesh took her, she’d likely be in or near Molenbeek. That’s where we should start.”
“You’re right.” I go running down the street for the nearest tram with Emilija, Afrim and Rada in tow. They have her. The girl I told myself I had to stay away from. Now I need to find her, and she could already be dead.
***
I walk out of Avdi’s house and rest my head in my hands, massaging my forehead. “There isn’t any sign of her. Avdi doesn’t know anything and he says that al-Qadir doesn’t either, but al-Qadir could just be telling him that,” I whisper to Emilija and Afrim. Rada trots along next to me. I walk down the street in a daze. The sun is starting to rise. “Are you okay?” Emilija asks.
I stop and turn to her. “No, I am not okay. She’s missing and I have no idea what to do. It’s like I can’t even think straight.”
We head back toward the canal. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone poke his head out from the side of an alleyway next to a rough brick building.
“Hey, Drago, over here.”
My eyes narrow and I bolt toward him. “Ayoub. You almost got us killed in Kosovo!” I raise my fist at him. He curls up into a ball on the alley’s concrete and puts his hands up in front of his face.
“Drago!” Afrim grabs my arm. “He’s just a ten-year-old kid. We’ve known him practically since he was a rug rat. You try to punch him out and you’re as bad as al-Qadir.”
I flinch.
Emilija puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. Afrim walks over to Ayoub, who peeks out from behind his fingers. I was so angry and wound up that I only now notice
he has a black eye.
Afrim helps Ayoub up and looks at the black eye. “How did this happen?”
Ayoub shrugs. “My dad. He caught me reading a book that wasn’t the Koran. I’m sorry for passing that intel to you guys and not telling you it was a trap. Al-Qadir and my father made me. I was scared. I didn’t want to tip off your friend to that factory.” He looks over at me. “That girl who was with you when Afrim went missing, she is your friend, right?”
“Yeah, you could call her that,” I rasp.
“You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, Daesh took her somewhere, but they’re so well hidden I have no idea where to start looking.”
Ayoub looks at us like we’re the biggest idiots on the planet. “Daesh didn’t take her.”
“What?” I blurt.
“Look. I’m telling the truth this time. I was playing in Laeken Cemetery yesterday when this white guy pulled up in a van with diplomatic plates. He dragged her into the abandoned crypt.”
It hits me like a ton of bricks. I should have realized it earlier. I really am not thinking straight. Sir Jonathan said that Daesh tasered him. Daesh beheads people. Nothing about Daesh says ‘taser.’
“This guy, describe him,” Afrim orders.
“Gray hair with glasses. Grumbled to himself in English with a British accent. It seemed like he was barely fit enough to drag her.”
“Sir Jonathan,” Afrim huffs. “Elena was right. He must be in on it.”
Suddenly I feel both sorry and grateful for our ten-year-old informant. I take out my wallet and hold up most of what’s left in it—a ten-euro bill. “Here, go have a triple gelato. Your dad doesn’t have to know about it.”
His eyes light up. Ayoub goes running off. I run in the opposite direction, hoping that there is still time to save her, now that ten-year-old Moroccan mini-me has told me where to look.
***
We make it to the cemetery. It’s deserted. I walk over to an inconspicuous-looking, falling-down chapel. I push one of its white wooden doors. It creaks open. I walk down the stairs into the catacombs beneath the cemetery. Also deserted. Everything is falling apart and mildewed. I remember from when I was younger that the corridors go on and on. According to Ayoub, she’s got to be here. I shake my head as I stand there underground in almost total darkness, even though it’s now daytime.
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