The Secrets We Live In: A Novel

by Fazle Chowdhury

  The rescue team attended to the injured men, who sat alive amid the rubble despite all odds.

  “We’ll rebuild this, Sir.” Salima smiled.

  Zain looked at her and shook his head.

  “The building should stay. It’s the furniture that needs to go,” he laughed.

  Then Pasquer strode into the ruin. He took out a cigarette and offered it to Zain.

  “For you, Monsieur.”

  He then turned to Salima.

  “For you, too.”

  They laughed as they spoke about how they would rebuild the mansion. Salima received a call and excused herself.

  “Is the ambassador safe?” asked the voice on the other end. Salima smiled.

  “He is. Thank you, Aphroditus.”

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  “You need me, and as long as I know, you can’t do anything!” laughed Thomas.

  With thick ropes around his neck with burns all over his sensitive parts, Thomas resisted speaking and answer to any of the questions his interviewers had.

  The two interrogators, women officers, had done their part, and there was still more. They knew, but Thomas's resilience stood now longer than he anticipated.

  “Ma, am, the Captain wants to see you at the CO office,” said the buzz cut corporal.

  She stopped her version of cross-examination, which essentially meant pouring a cloth covering on Thomas. His face was so wet from the hot towel where he found it hard to breathe through his breathing vessel passages. This version of drowning continued until he would reveal his chief source and the main reason he was in Askan.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” said the other woman.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The cell phone!” she said.

  “Oh my God, I keep forgetting this.”

  She kept it next to the chair where she had already kept, the bulk of her instruments—consisting of scissors, nails, injections, serums, screwdrivers, chains, three knives, plastic cups, a platinum Electric Knife Sharpener, a sewing kit, and a hammer.

  “I’m going to just leave this here with you!” she said.

  The phone, a black XCell Basic version two, was small enough to look like part of the instrument. Its color singled out among the rest. Her partner saw to it that it was within her sight. The sound of the door closing gave a steel echo that vibrated as she exited the cell.

  The other woman stayed on removing the bloodstains from Thomas. It was dripping slowly like a drool, but she gently wiped it from his face.

  “You are much gentler than Ivy, that lady that just left,” said Thomas.

  The woman smiled.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet from me.”

  Thomas was taken back.

  “I pay you a compliment, and you burn me more?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, John, by the time we are done with you, you won’t know the difference between pain and burn. It's like a loss of taste, sorry,” she said.

  In his state of pain, Thomas pondered how to get through to her.

  “So, what state are you from?” he asked.

  She paid little attention to him as she kept on measuring the alcohol content in her container.

  “Oh, I won’t tell,” said Thomas.

  She continued doing what she was doing.

  “Judging from your features, I want to say Texas…no, no, California, no your features, much too exotic, even for a woman with short hair.., you are from Florida, aren’t you?” Thomas guessed.

  She smiled.

  “Shows you what you know. I am a Jersey girl, Union City all the way!” she said.

  Thomas could not believe his assessment had been wrong. He was so sure.

  “Well, I’ll give you some points for guessing where everyone thinks I am from,” she said.

  “Cuban, right?”

  She remained silent.

  “You must feel at home here, centuries of family history only a few meters away,” said Thomas.

  At this point, Thomas was speaking all by himself.

  “I feel sorry for you, well not you, your family, having to leave your homeland because of a Marxist dictator. My family had no excuse unlike their cousins up north, they sided with the colonialists because they feared they would not co-exist with what was left.”

  She ignored him as he began to ramble more.

  “Say, this is like a model United Nations Prison!, you have inmates from everywhere…, a pity not anyone from Antarctica or the South pole..”

  She continued to categorize the needles with their respective disposable sterile syringes.

  “You know one day, when these guys get out, they might get together for a drink, and who knows what they will do to the likes of you,” Thomas laughed.

  She continued to open the plastic package, paying little attention to Thomas.

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if some autumn day, you were in New Jersey and some of the inmates here, released, roaming around, saw you? What do you think they would do?.. Perhaps, hug you with their legs,” said Thomas provocatively.

  Realizing he couldn’t get through to the woman, Thomas looked around. That day it was odd. Not too many screams, not too many inmates either, passing by or escorted in or out. Thomas thought, perhaps some of them died in the heat outside. It was possible. It happened a few times that he saw for himself.

  Thomas gazed at the cell phone. It was not too far away from where it was situated. He tested the movement of his left leg. It was better than his right. A rod had been supporting it but just barely. His hands were still tied to the rope, each locked with a minuscule wheel at two corners of the room. He could move his hands readily but could not untie himself, but he was getting close. Thomas preserved enough strength from his right hand to move his wrist in circular ways. His wrist was scarred, but his thin hands were only a few rounds away from being unleashed.

  “You never told me your name, officer,” said Thomas.

  She paid no attention to him.

  “So what is so special about this cell phone that your lieutenant could not take with her?” Thomas tempted.

  She remained silent.

  Realizing he wasn’t getting far, he had another idea.

  “Ok, enough of my chit-chat. Can I please have your attention over a sensitive matter?” he asked.

  She did not respond to him.

  “Look, my right toe is really itchy. Can you do something?” he asked.

  Still, she did not respond to him.

  “You don’t have to scratch it, just dump some warm water, and it will be fine.”

  Again, she did not respond to him.

  “Look, it's really bad. I don’t ask you for favors like this.”

  She stopped doing her duties as she brought a plastic cup from what was in front of her and poured some water from the outside tap.

  She came close to see the right leg. It was pretty bruised.

  “Don’t just splash the water. Please pour it,” he said.

  She came closer.

  “Just pour it gently.”

  She situated herself to do so.

  “Please, pour it slowly.” he said.

  She began to pour water on his right toe and the other fingers.

  “Oh, that’s it, that’s it. Thank you, thank you!” he said.

  She looked up at him, and, at that moment, Thomas struck her with his left leg, right in the middle between her nose and forehead. She was down instantly and remained unconscious.

  Thomas untied himself and took the cell phone as he made his way out. His objective was to get out of the building he knew called itself Camp Delta. Close to the Caribbean sea, the water was his only real exit from the site.

  As he limped, he realized no one was on the floor. It was emptier than empty. What happened to everyone? He asked himself. After a few stops and real
izing that not even the guards were at the front desk, he realized something was wrong. He turned on the cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Evans group, how can I help you?” said the voice at the other end.

  Thomas couldn’t understand why he got what he dialed. He dialed again the same number he previously believed was wrong.

  “Evans group, how can I help you?” again said the voice at the other end.

  What is going on? Thomas asked himself. He dialed one more time. The phone went to voicemail.

  “Shahaan, Shahaan, I need to see you. I’m in Detmo. Send me some of your diplomatic cover. I can give you all I discovered at Askan, but you need to get me out of here first!” said Thomas in desperation.

  Thomas approached a door. An exit that was only a few meters away from the Caribbean sea. He could just jump into the ocean and hope the waves take him to Port-Au-Prince or anywhere near would work to his benefit.

  Thomas tried to unlock the door, which would lead to the dry cliff overlooking large Caribbean waves. It was his freedom that awaited him. As he tried to unlock the handle, he found it stuck. Thomas looked behind him. The entire hallway with the adjacent room remained empty. He tried again, then banged his elbow against it again and again without success.

  “You might want to try the key that’s on the floor,” said the woman whom Thomas had injured only moments ago.

  As he turned around, he saw the wound on her forehead. As Thomas bent down to reach for the key, he heard a sound. A click. He looked up. Several soldiers were now present, with none of them pointing a gun at him.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Hit it!” said a voice.

  Thomas ignored to view what could have been prevented. A corporal sat on a wooden chair and connected an electric cable to the wall. Thomas was zapped in electrocution. As others watched, he stood like cardboard for a moment until collapsing on the floor. When he did, every observer went their separate ways.

  “Take him to the cell next to the new inmate,” the Lieutenant ordered.

  Two corporals took Thomas away.

  “You all right,” asked the Lieutenant to the woman Thomas struck.

  “I’m ok,” she said.

  “You’ll be better than ok after Ferdash sends you one of his packages,” she said.

  The two watched as Thomas was dragged to a cell where he knew little of lay ahead of him. While the likelihood of Thomas seeing the light of day is slim, it would also be a chilly day in the hot spot down below before anyone would see his release. For now, Thomas, unable to defend against the new waves of assault charges coming his way at a military court, had more problems than before. That, too, was realized as the two women saw the look on his face. An expression of horror what he saw next.

  “Shahaan is that you?” he asked, looking to the man next to his cell. The explosive impossibility rattled his belief.

  The lieutenant made the call through another cell phone she was handed down by the woman Thomas had struck. She was recovering from his terrible kick of a blow.

  “Ferdash! Yes, it's me. In a few moments, I will be sending you the phone records of confirming calls from Thomas to Evans Group and Thomas to Bagratuni”.

  The voice on the other side appeared delighted. The Lieutenant ended the call with a smile.

  “How did you get Thomas to call to the Evans Group?” the injured woman asked the lieutenant.

  “Oh, that was easy!”

  There was a pause.

  “Well? How?”

  “Oh, it was the only number the cell phone could dial to,” she laughed.

  “And Thomas’s confession link with Bagratuni?”

  “Even Easier!” she said.

  She pointed to the recorder inside the phone, which had been on since she left it near Thomas.

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  The sounds of airplanes rumbled overhead as passengers exited Charles De Gaul airport terminals, which opened in the same year as one of the passenger’s birth. But far younger of a head-turner arrived from Los Angeles on a cold and luminous winter night was Brianna Blakensoff, who took a long, deep inhale as she took in the crisp winter air, a stark contrast to what she left behind in warm, sunny Los Angeles, where her daughter was completing her studies. Much to her chagrin, this trip in Paris would be short. Then her phone rang. It was her husband, Edward.

  “I’m waiting for you to come join me at my party at Fauchon,” he said.

  “Edward, I’m sorry, darling. I need to take a detour, but I’ll get there soon,” she said in her honeyed tone.

  Blakensoff knew better. He knew Brianna was tired from her long trip, so he didn’t persist. And he couldn’t be annoyed. She specifically mentioned she needed to destress from everything before she saw him. She had declined his offer to have his driver pick her up and his VIP concierge to help her with her bags at the airport. She specifically requested no welcome gifts. Blakensoff could not blame her for that, but little did he know what his wife was really up to. He did know that when she arrived at his hotel, she would be present. She would be all his, and that was what he really wanted.

  Brianna walked to the departure terminal parking lot, where she knew someone was waiting for her. She bypassed several people dragging out their goodbyes, and they paused when they saw her. Maybe it had to do with the way she tied her hair. Maybe it was what she was wearing, or maybe they thought she was a celebrity of sorts. The cold weather could be unkind, but Brianna was comfortable with it. She smiled softly and walked at her own pace to enjoy the steps to come.

  She turned her phone off indefinitely, hoping she would not have to speak to anyone as she was set out to do what she wanted. The town car arrived. The driver helped her with her bags and opened the door for her to situate herself comfortably. Brianna did. Back in his seat, the driver looked from his rearview mirror. The car drove off.

  “Welcome to Paris!”

  “Your handler sent this over,” he said, indicating a brass box with a newspaper on top.

  Brianna smiled.

  On the front page of the tabloid, the headlines read, “Ranking Nazi Johannes Heidricht captured”. Brianna read the article. It was a satisfying end to what she believed to be something that was a long time coming. Next to the story was another article. Less attractive from afar, but as she read what was stated as “A Historic Deal,” she grew interested—accompanied by pictures of Ambassadors and their respective Foreign Ministers. There was another photo, a close-up of Ambassador Avinov, Zain, and the newly appointed Prime Minister Alice Derrida, celebrating with a man she did not recognize.

  “His name is Simon Eldan, in case you were wondering,” said the driver.

  Brianna looked up.

  “Aphroditus likes him. Says he can get things done.”

  The press had praised Eldan as the youngest Ambassador to Paris since Edward Rumsey Wing in 1869. Several news media organizations reported that Eldan was a firm favorite amongst a few notable politicians and was part of a robust foreign policy team known as the “A-team.”

  Brianna flipped to the next page. The title read, “The First Group of Refugees arrives.” The article said that the Mayor of Winnipeg and the provincial minister welcomed the arrival of the new immigrants and wished them well as they wove themselves into the fabric of their society. Among the consortium of companies that facilitated the move was Hildam Holdings. Brianna laughed, knowing Zain had a hand in this. His former company, in which she was sure he kept his old networks, was leading a campaign to serve as a timely reminder to reject vulgar depictions of a vulnerable community at a time when unity took precedence in helping to rebuild lives.

  “I could stop at a café…” said the driver.

  “It’s ok, Dash. Keep going— I’m kind of short on time,” she said, an air of nostalgia in her voice.

  The car sped up
through Rue Saint-Honoré, a beautiful strip where people window-shopped the displays of celebrated stores.

  Each time she passed this road, she would think back to that evening at du Chemin-de-Fer, the restaurant overlooking Lake Geneva. Zain was prepared to throw away everything, but she was not. She had her dreams, and they did not include him. How could she love him and still live her dreams? Now, reflecting, she deceived him, but deep down, she could feel his longing for her even now. Conflicted, she still longed to be his arms, but only briefly. No longer that seventeen-year-old, she is a different woman now.

  But as the car drove through an intersection, she saw a teenaged couple. The boy put his arm around the girl and watched to ensure she was safe crossing the street. The girl gazed into his eyes as if they were the only two people in the world. Or so she thought. They were firmly in the moment, with no mind to the future. Like them, she thought, she had always imagined it would be Zain and her, but instead, she was with an older and richer man, who possibly adored her more. He provided a life that Zain may not have. Then the car stopped.

  “We’re here. At the Solstice,” said Dash.

  “How do you want us to do this?” asked the man in the seat next to him.

  Brianna put on a mask to cover her mouth and nose. She also gave masks for the two sitting in front. She leaned back and opened the small brass box. It contained a small, thin tube.

  “There are too many cars upfront. I have to move,” said Dash.

  “Wait,” said Brianna.

  She gently placed the tube back into the box and then closed it. The car rolled away from the location.

  “Can you get closer, Dash? I just want to be able to see near to a light,” she said.

  Dash looked at his partner in crime and, with some difficulty, maneuvered the car a little closer. Still far from security and the restaurant parking but close enough for a viable signal.

  “I don’t want the car to move for the next ten minutes,” she ordered. The two men understood.