Flock of Wolves

by Emily Kimelman

  "Why are they following us?"

  She swallowed, her elegant throat bobbing. "I'd guess that they don't trust you."

  Robert nodded. "It could look like I'm taking Mustafa's wife."

  "Seems that way," I said. My pistol still in my hand probably wasn't helping matters.

  "Stop!" One of them yelled. He raised a small machine gun from under his arm.

  I did as he asked. Robert and Angie turned as well. Robert pulled Angie in front of him.

  Blue's hackles raised as the four men caught up to us. "Everything okay?" Angie asked, her voice different—talking to the staff.

  "Ma'am. Where is Mr. Kilicli?" the lead gorilla asked. His English was accented. Silver at his temples and lines around his eyes made him out as the oldest.

  "Back at the house" she replied. "I'm just showing them out."

  "Ma'am, Mr. Kilicli did not want them to leave."

  "Really?" I asked. "Am I your prisoner?"

  My body tensed as I waited a beat for his answer. His dark brown eyes met mine and went slightly rounder as his lips parted. "Not you," he said. "Just him." He used his chin to gesture towards Robert.

  The other men moved wider, forming a semi-circle around us. They had not raised their weapons yet. Just Silverback, the muzzle of his weapon aimed low, not at any of us—if he fired it would go straight into the ground at Robert's feet.

  The sun heated my back, the lightning sizzling at the edge of my vision stayed at bay, the adrenaline in my system chasing it away, lending me the strength I'd need.

  "In that case, I'm gonna go," I said with a shrug.

  Robert didn't look at me. His one hand stayed on Angie's arm, the other loose by his side, right next to his pistol but not even tensed. It would take him a second to get it out. I could take out Silverback before he did. But there were three more. They couldn't risk hitting Angie, though. That's why we were still standing here talking.

  "You're free to go," Silverback said, holding my gaze. I turned and headed toward the helicopter, my steps slow, Blue by my side. My hand touched his rough coat and he waited. The helicopter sat about fifty yards away, the blades spinning, and the wind they created just reaching me. We were going to have to incapacitate the entire team. Probably kill them.

  A moment of hesitation—did they have children? Wives? Certainly mothers…I was about to break some hearts.

  Dropping to my knees, I spun around on them, the grass soft and pliant under me. My aim found Silverback's chest, and I fired. He stumbled back as my bullets hit their mark. I didn't have time to watch him fall, my aim already moving over to the next. His gun rose, but I was faster. The man's head arched back. My arm kept moving.

  The last two men were now only one—Robert's pistol was up and smoking. The last bodyguard fired his weapon, the quick rat-tat-tat sending clumps of grass flying right in front of Angie. I'm not sure if Robert or I killed him, but he dropped to his knees, blood pouring from between his eyes before slumping onto the ground with the rest of his team.

  Angie screamed. Blue barked. The helicopter thwapped. And thunder rolled.

  Adrenaline coursed through me, and I reveled in the feeling for just a moment before rising to my feet. Blue barked once before lunging forward, bounding toward Silverback. The bodyguard struggled to reach for his weapon, just a hand's distance away. Blue landed on him, his canines sinking into the man's wrist, stopping him from grabbing his gun.

  Robert took three fast strides, and standing over Silverback, fired into his skull, the shots somehow louder than the others.

  Angie's screaming stopped, and she began to collapse. I stepped forward, catching her before she hit the grass. Her face had gone slack, and the stillness transformed her beauty; she looked human and vulnerable lying in my arms, not some fantasy of what a woman should be.

  I laid her gently on the grass and glanced up at the fallen men. Blood pooled around them. Life goes quickly.

  "Let's go," Robert said, his voice as steady as ever.

  I turned away from the bodies and moved with him and Blue toward the helicopter.

  I recognized the pilot, Deacon, a big Texan with Special Forces training. He sat at the controls, his eyes covered in dark shades. He nodded laconically at me, apparently unfazed by the mayhem that had just happened on the lawn, and I returned the gesture.

  Blue, Robert, and I climbed into the helicopter, and it rose up into the sky as the sun beat down on this spot of green paradise in a desolate desert. The bodies left on the lawn—four black forms and one woman in a red dress—looked as strange as the mansion’s architecture, as out of place as its trees and gardens.

  Robert spoke to Deacon, giving him directions.

  "Will Deacon drop us at the cave of the prophet?" I asked.

  "Not that close," Robert responded. "It's still Isis territory. We'll need to hike." He held out his hand. "Give me your gun."

  "What?" I tightened my grip on it, protective of my weapon, still hot from use.

  His cold gaze held mine. "You want to kill me. You can’t expect me to make it easy."

  "I don't want to kill you. I just saved your fucking life."

  "Part of you does."

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Nobody does." He threw my own words back at me.

  I smiled at him, holding his gaze. "Don't worry," I promised. "I've regained control. I'm done with that shit."

  The corner of his mouth rose. "You sound certain."

  "I am." My voice came out strong, as powerful as the ocean behind Robert's eyes…but my sea boiled hot while his was frozen over. We made one hell of a team.

  April

  My heart hammered as the phone rang. I wrapped the cord around my fingers, turning the flesh between them white.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes.

  I have value. I decide my value.

  "Hello?"

  Bill's voice traveled across the distance from where he was in Texas to where I sat, in a hotel in Istanbul. It was that rich baritone, as much as his fiery rhetoric, that had earned him his radio show, which had brought him so much fame and fortune.

  "Bill," I said, my voice coming out clear.

  "April?"

  "Yes, Bill, it's me."

  "Where have you been? I've been so worried about you."

  Lies. He wasn't worried about me. He was worried about his reputation. About the money I'd taken with me when I left. What it meant that his wife had unceremoniously disappeared.

  "Bill, you're going to help me." I stood up and paced away from the bed, my bare feet cool against the wood floor.

  "Of course, my love, I'll do anything I can to help you. Where are you? Let me come and get you."

  "No, Bill. Our marriage is over. It has been for…what would you say? Five years? Seven? How long after we were married did you start having affairs?"

  He stammered for a moment. Unrecognizable words followed finally by "That's ridiculous, April. Are you having a breakdown? Let me come and get you. You know I'm completely loyal."

  "You're not loyal. You don't even know what that word means."

  "Hey, now." He was getting angry, righteous rage raising his voice. He was so good at that kind of anger.

  "Don't worry. I have no plans to expose you...as long as you help me."

  "Expose what exactly? I'm a man of God. There is nothing to expose."

  "You think I'm so stupid. You think I didn't build in protections for myself? That I have no evidence of any kind?"

  I had no evidence of any kind. But Bill didn't know that.

  "Bullshit," he said. But I knew that tone—bluster disguising fear.

  "I need my own show. You're going to help me set it up."

  "What do you mean, your own show?"

  Bill had a radio show, a TV show, and gave live performances regularly. He made millions of dollars each year, which he squandered on fancy hotels, loose women, jewelry, and private jets. I wanted some of those millions, and I wanted to spread the message of
Her. And I was going to use his devilish ways to do it.

  "Let's start with a radio program—we should be able to get that going pretty fast. And then we'll bring in the TV show. Also, I'm ready to start doing live performances immediately."

  "April." Now he sounded kind, like he was letting me down easy. "You're not the star of the show, honey. You're...”

  "The woman behind the man?"

  "Yes, exactly." He seized on it. I understood.

  "I was. You're absolutely right, Bill. I was. The alcoholic who was saved by the man of God. The single mom who found Jesus and used his strength to push away her gay son. To alienate her liberal daughter."

  "Exactly."

  "Well, things have changed. I'll be in New York in three days. Meet me at the Omni Hotel. I'll lay it out for you in detail."

  I hung up the phone before he could respond.

  He had an event at Madison Square Garden in four days. And I was going to give a sermon. American evangelicals were about to get a taste of the prophet Her. I would spread the message.

  I had value.

  Chapter Ten

  Cause is our Effect

  Anita

  I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, holding it over my face, letting the hot steam swirl around me.

  Rida Dweck.

  How could she be the prophet?

  Her face came to me, narrow and serious. She wore her long, dark hair pulled back into a braid and always carried a notebook...she liked to write down ideas, to observe people.

  How had she gone from such a circumspect observer to a prophet?

  In the Hindu tradition we do not believe in prophets as Muslims and Christians do. Enlightenment can be achieved by all of us, not just a chosen few—so in a way we are all prophets.

  I shook my head, roughly drying my body. That was ridiculous...

  Could Rida really believe she was hearing the voice of God? Had she gone insane?

  Why did she return to Syria in the first place? I stepped out into my room and picked up my iPad, navigating to the report Dan had sent me.

  Rida returned right before Isis took control of Raqqa. While at the time it was known that Isis existed, the full extent of their power wasn't evident. They hadn't yet swept through western Iraq and northeastern Syria, leaving a trail of destruction, fear, and death in their path.

  Rida must have gone home to try to pull her family out when the uprising began against the Assad regime. And failed. Was she imprisoned by Isis? Is that what changed her so radically?

  I flipped through the report. It was a collection of loosely related facts: the dates she left London and arrived in Syria. Her school records. Her professional accomplishments. She was as brilliant as I'd always supposed. Rida had been so modest though. So...shy, really.

  I'd watched the Her video repeatedly and seen nothing of my friend's mannerisms. The voice was distorted by technology and so I didn't recognize it either.

  I dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, then made my way downstairs. We had another council meeting; it was time to decide what to do with the video.

  The elevator carried me ten floors underground and opened into the command center. I spotted Dan immediately. He was leaning over a console, pointing to the screen. The man who sat in front of him nodded, the blue light of the computer glow reflecting in his glasses.

  Dan looked up, his gaze catching mine, and he gave me a soft smile and a small nod. He'd meet me in his office.

  I went up the spiral staircase and let myself into his space. It smelled like the salty freshness of the ocean and the plastic of computers. Five monitors filled the large desk that pressed up against the tinted glass wall looking down onto the command center. A laptop sat on the black leather couch. Books and files flowed across the coffee table and onto the floor in a chaotic, organized mess.

  A quote from Einstein was taped to one of the monitors…if a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind then what is an empty desk a sign of?

  I smiled. Dan's mind was most certainly not empty.

  He came in a few minutes later. I'd made myself comfortable on his couch and was flipping through our YouTube channel, checking on the latest comments. They were the classic mix of vile hatred and empowering statements.

  The power of the Internet, all contained in the thin tablet I held in my hand, wowed me. In the last decade the power structures of the world had shifted so violently that it felt almost like an earthquake.

  When I was a girl, growing up in Gujarat, there was a massive quake. The earth shook for a full three minutes, and when it was done many of the homes around us were rubble. My family’s house, over four centuries old, still stood.

  The crumbling of structures and loss of life were just the beginning of the mayhem, though. In the wake of the quake, as resources ran out and the authorities were overwhelmed, riots between Hindus and Muslims broke out, tearing our city apart...but it was all eventually put back together.

  The Internet was now tearing our world apart. I believed it would all be put back together. I wanted to be one of the architects.

  "So…" Dan sat in his swivel chair, his long legs out in front of him. He shifted back and forth a few times, as if loosening up his lower back. "Are you ready?"

  We still had ten minutes.

  "I want to go to London and ask around."

  Dan's eyebrows rose. I hadn't left the island in some time. I'd stayed pretty well isolated since the...attack…and its aftermath.

  "What do you hope to accomplish?"

  I flinched at his question, and Dan cocked his head. "What?"

  "Sorry." I shook my head, staring down at my iPad.

  You bitches will all rot in hell, God will punish you.

  "I'm not sure." I forced myself to meet his gaze. Dan had seen me at my worst. He'd held me when I'd cried, screamed and beat at his chest—a friend, a trusted and loyal man who held me without crossing any lines. I'd needed that so badly. And he'd given it to me. And he never brought it up.

  A spark of rage ignited in my stomach, and I tried to put it out, but it quickly kindled into a blaze. "You never talk about what happened," I accused.

  Dan's brow furrowed. "Huh?"

  "Between us."

  Dan slowly sat forward, his elbows coming to his knees, his hands clasped, his gaze holding mine. "Can you elaborate? We've been through a lot together."

  I saw Sydney break your heart. And you saw me broken. You saw me lost. And you held me.

  "You..."

  My face grew hot, and I turned away. Coming to the island was a bad idea. I'd hoped that I'd finally feel safe. That being in this isolated place with Dan would bring me comfort, but my bed was made of broken glass and I had to lie in it.

  "I'm listening," Dan said, his voice even, his eyes still on me.

  I couldn't hold his gaze. "You saw me at my worst."

  "Your bravest, you mean?"

  My gaze jumped to his. "What?"

  "I've seen you at your bravest." His chair rolled a little toward me. "You're strong, and powerful, and that's how I've always seen you."

  Tears burned my eyes, and I shook my head. "I'm a mess, Dan." The words came out choked, the truth burning my throat.

  He smiled, small and forgiving. "I like messy."

  I hiccupped a laugh and swiped a hand across my eyes, forcing the tears away. "Well, I like organized and orderly." I looked back at him. "And that's why I want to go to London. I need to understand how Rida could change so much."

  He nodded. "You think it's totally out of character?"

  "Yes. I mean, Dan—" I sat forward and almost grabbed his hands but caught myself. "She was so shy, so studious. She just wanted to be the best surgeon. She wasn't trying to change anyone’s mind."

  "Wasn't she? In her own way?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, a woman from the Middle East being the best surgeon in her graduating class, getting one of the most prestigious positions in her profession...don't you think
she changed some minds?"

  "But she wasn't trying to do that. She was just trying to live her life."

  "Like you were?"

  "No." I was on the edge of the couch now, my fingers tight around my iPad. "I always wanted to affect people. That's why I was a reporter. I wanted to expose the evil in this world."

  "And now you want to destroy that evil."

  "Yes!"

  He smiled, like I'd just proved his point. I pushed my hair behind my ears and checked my watch. We only had another minute before the call. "If you want to go to London, you should."

  I looked up at him from under my lashes; he was turning toward his bank of monitors. "Thanks."

  "But just remember," Dan said, as he began to type. "People do change. Often, drastically."

  I'd been a brave, brash, reporter dead set on exposing truth. Now, I was a timid, frightened, communications director determined to rid the world of evil. How much had I really changed? How much had those men done to me?

  The screens glowed to life and soon Lenox and Merl were up on the monitors. We said our hellos and Lenox updated us on Mulberry's condition. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but his button-down shirt was freshly pressed.

  "He has amnesia," Lenox said, frowning. "His memories stop a decade ago. He still thinks he is married." Dan stiffened next to me. "The doctors have called his ex-wife, and she's agreed to come over."

  "So, he doesn't remember any of us?" Merl asked, his voice rough with concern.

  "No."

  "Have you mentioned Sydney to him?" Dan asked.

  Lenox shook his head. "I have not told him about anything, except that we are friends. That we work together. And that it's top secret." Lenox scratched at his jaw. "He may think we work for the government—I have not been at all specific, and an organization like Joyful Justice isn't something he'd consider."

  "He's changed a lot in the last decade," Dan said, not looking at me.

  "Maybe this is a chance for him to return to who he was before," I said. Everyone looked at me. "I'm just saying, maybe he can, I don't know, return to a normal life." My cheeks heated. I sounded like an idiot.

  "He won’t be ready to return to active duty for some time,” Lenox said. "While I don't think we should push him, his memory could come back at any moment."