*
“Oh, Peter, you are the best. Truly, truly the best,” exclaims Mei as she lets out a moan, mounted atop Peter sitting in his chair while Alexander and Jean-Paul return to the room. Zara is turned away from them, shaking her head. Peter is drenched, as is Mei, as he buttons up her blouse while she still straddles him. The tube of lubricant lies at their feet, emptied. And they embrace one more time.
Zara turns and watches the two forced lovers melt into each other’s arms. Glaring at Alexander with her eyebrows set to fierce, her mouth ablaze, she yells, “Are you satisfied, Sasha? It is over. Let us all go.”
Alexander is watching on Jean-Paul’s MoxPad+ and moments later he stands and applauds. “Fabulous. I’ve never seen better,” he decries. “Better acting, that is. But tell me please, how do two lovers not have flushed skins, not have deep respiration, not have dilation of genitals? Well, at least one of you. Do not think you can fool me. Such a pity.”
Nervous like criminals caught in the act, Mei and Peter zip and button themselves up as Alexander turns to Zara and says, “My little Zara. You know the drill. Either do what Mei failed to do or take care of business. You reject him and Peter is of no use to us anymore.”
Zara stares at the PB gun in the box. Once guns were her next best friend after Peri. But no longer. If she picks it up, she will forever be lost. With no return. Forever into the darkness, with no hope for light.
A very loud snap of fingers focuses her back to Alexander, who is pointing to a screen. “There, those blue dots. Zara, those are the Turks’ F-16 fighter-bombers fueling preparing to bomb your new capital and your family’s city. One call and I can have the Russians declare the Anatolian Kurdish State a no-fly zone, just as they did New Kurdistan. And those helicopters in Georgia will supply your friend Peri’s military colleagues with everything they need to repel tank and air attacks.”
And before Zara can blink, he says, “But this offer is good for twelve minutes. The time it will take before my Russian friends’ T-50 fighters will not be able to intercept Turkey’s fighter-bombers. The fate of your people, your family, rests in your hands.”
Zara looks to Jean-Paul, “Please. Priest. You must intervene. This is not the path that God would want, is it?”
The former priest stands and looks at Alexander, who only shakes his head in disagreement back at the former member of the Vatican inner circles. In resignation, Jean-Paul lowers his head, hands together in front of him, lips moving as if saying a prayer.
His eyes, once reddened, are now dark black. Not even his pupils showing. The giant man yells, “Zara, you know what you need to do. You know what happens to all who fail me, who deceive me. Kill Mei first, but make it a leg wound so Peter can see her die in agony in front of him. He needs to learn the price for deceit.”
Aghast, Peter quivers. His lips want to cry out, but nothing comes out of his vocal chords. He looks to Jean-Paul. Another tall, imposing male who has the best chance of standing up to this monster he has signed a contract with. But the former priest still has his eyes closed, seemingly in prayer. And from Peter’s point of view, these are his last rites the priest is administering.
He looks to Zara. A woman distraught, in hesitation, indecision, in deep agony over the choices in front of her, seemingly in fear of the gun in her hand. He lifts Mei’s head and peers into her tear-ridden eyes. A deep, loving kiss on her forehead. And he says, “I would have loved to meet your mother.”
To her surprise, he rises, helping hold her dress down as he buttons the last open buttons. To Zara’s surprise, he steps over, respiration rate at max, and takes the gun from the box. Hands shaking, he hands it to her. “I love my family as much as you do. But I cannot be the reason for the suffering of your people.” And he stands in front of her, shaking, sniffling, eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable. He opens his eyes and says, “Pray for me. In case I’m wrong about our alien origins, then I’ll need someone to vouch for me with God.”
Zara stares at the gun in her hand. She aims it between his eyes as he shakes uncontrollably. Those eyes. Those eyes. Her babies.
Sasha will not get the satisfaction this time. This innocent boy from California is not the one who should die today. No more than Abram needed to die on Sasha’s yacht. It is time to make amends.
Lowering her aim, she places the gun in his palm and wraps his fingers around it. As he stares at the instrument in his hand, she lifts the barrel to her heart and says, “Even, smooth trigger pull. It will be quick. I won’t suffer.”
And there, Peter is frozen. As if he had been there for all of time. He quivers not. He quakes not. Only frozen. But he stares down the barrel into Zara’s well-covered breast. He mutters incomprehensibly.
“Illyana.”
Mei nods to Zara and then mouths something. Zara gets it and says to Peter, “Illyana. Illyana. I am your Illyana.”
And Peter begins to mumble again. “Illyana. Illyana. I can’t. I can’t kill you.”
Mei nods her head to Zara and mouths a kiss. To which Zara shakes her head no. And Mei gives her that “come on now” look. What she is asking is nothing more than what she had done before. If it will save the three of them, then maybe God will forgive her for this. And Zara leans into the gun and lightly dry-kisses Peter on the lips. She leans into his ear and whispers, “I am Illyana. I love you. I love you.”
And all Peter can mumble is “I’m so sorry, Illyana, but I couldn’t kill you. I couldn’t.” He stares into Zara’s eyes with his look of utter helpless innocence. And Zara remembers what he muttered to her in the prayer room.
She takes the gun out of his hand and gives the first moist kiss she has initiated in nearly a decade. Eyes closed, her lips feel the wet warmth and gentleness of his. And she feels something so very different from any kisses before. A warm, open white light, a peace emanating up and down through her inner being. She is losing herself. The old self and the new self both melting away, into something different.
Fearful she will become lost in this unknown, she pulls back enough to utter, “Nanshe. I am Nanshe. I love you. I love you.”
And Peter pulls his head into her headscarf and whispers, “Nanshe, Nanshe.”
Sensing his nose pushing on her head covering, Zara pulls her headscarf back, letting him smell her hair. And he inhales. “Nanshe, I will love you forever. But you must leave me to die. You must take the object away from here, away from the tail of the bird star, or all is doomed.”
He collapses into her arms muttering, “I will love you forever.”
Chapter 20
Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.
—Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī, thirteenth-century Persian Sufi mystic
5:55 p.m. GMT+1, May 15, 2021
MoxWorld EU Headquarters, Luxembourg
Finishing her Asr prayer, she straightens out her dress. She hopes she has Xwedê’s forgiveness for her transgressions with this man she only met for a few hours. For what is worse, that she kissed a strange man, or her straying interest in how she felt as she was doing so? Either way, she hopes, she believes that her prayers will help her move on from this moment as they have saved her from the atrocities of her past, like prayers did for her mother, her grandmother. But will God one day talk with her and tell her so? Then she could be sure. But until then, she continues to pray faithfully, as did her family before her.
She gazes at the black lamb’s wool headscarf as she re-wraps it around her head and thinks about Roza’s words to her. About modesty, respect, and men. Those words, “I will love you forever,” however sweet, like dewdrops on a budding spring flower, makes her quiver inside. That feeling he made her have inside. Peace as she has not felt since she was… And then she catches herself. Promises. Just as they all said. Even her father. Words, only to be broken when she needed them the most. She cannot and will not allow the hurt to come back.
She will te
ll Mei that Peter is hers to do with as she pleases. As the Kurdish saying goes, “Whoever is fond of cream should take the cow around with him.” He won’t mind, for Mei is very beautiful, and she not so much so. It doesn’t matter anymore. For she has by choice opted for celibacy. Her life is dedicated to her family and her renewed faith in Xwedê. He would of course be happier in the soft, smooth, lithe arms of Mei rather than in the roughness and wretchedness of herself. Not her skin, but what hides within her. He does not appear as a man of prayer, for only such a man might forgive what is within her.
But she is satisfied, as she received her reward, shortly after Peter’s revelation in her arms—MoxMedia’s breaking news announced that the president of Russia declared both Kurdish nations no-fly zones under the protectorate of mother Russia. One tap from Alexander. The world changes.
Exiting the men’s room, Peter is relieved he could clean up and change. Even though those black slacks hid the stains well, having poured that lubricant all over left him sticky and messy. But that was nothing compared to the trauma of holding a gun to Zara’s chest. He had thought staring down that barrel on 157th and Broadway was terrifying. But that was nothing compared to holding a gun on someone. One false twitch of the finger and it is permanent. One can never recall a bullet after the hammer strikes.
Now that they know the object had been moved, all evidence points to Jean-Paul’s main hypothesis of Göbekli Tepe. They are preparing their gear to fly there immediately, before the Arabic Confederation forces overrun Sanliurfa, home to the world’s oldest temple. Peter is ready to move on and leave the horrors of this building as he moves down the hallway in deep reflection.
Smoosh. Once he opens his eyes again, he looks up to see Zara with her hands up against his chest and his around her. “It seems, Mr. Gollinger, you cannot keep your hands off me. Alexander’s gambit is over. You won. We don’t need to keep practicing his absurd notions of what you sick afflicted men need.”
“I’m so sorry, Zara. I didn’t mean to accost you again. I mean…”
She laughs and says, “Normally, men who touch me inappropriately suffer at least broken body parts. But because in your heart, you had the best in mind for me, and for Mei, I will spare you.”
Peter notices she is still wearing the banana slug earrings. He peers into her eyes. He can’t tell if she’s jesting or telling him the truth.
“You had me fooled back there, Peter. I thought you were only taking advantage of the situation so you could have gratuitous sex with Mei, with Alexander’s blessing. You should know, no one tries to fool Alexander and lives. I misread you. It won’t happen again.”
She removes his arms around her and turns down the hallway. The warmth of him around her again solidified her resolve. Never again will she be left vulnerable. And she says, “I am sure you and Mei will have a chance to develop a truly meaningful and deep relationship during our mission. If I were her, I would be emotionally, and perhaps physically, very open to you. We Kurds have a saying. Whoever is fond of cream should take the cow with him.”
Unsure of why she has said this, especially the part about him being a cow, or was it cream, Peter turns into the infirmary as Zara continues down the hallway. Mei is there, focused on sorting through vials in the refrigerator.
“Oh, Peter. I’m glad you are here. You can help me pack more vaccines for the trip.” She turns to him and kisses him on the cheek. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly earlier. I just wanted to get out of that dress right away. I mean, you and I were so sticky. Copiously all over.”
She kisses his other cheek. “You are a clever man, Mr. Banana Slug. I owe you my deepest gratitude for your gallantry, standing up to Alexander.” And she hugs him.
She shakes her head, though. “But I don’t understand it. The vaccine should have worked. The five algorithms should have worked.”
“But it did, Mei. Your work succeeded. We now know that the originators moved the object.”
“That so sweet of you,” she says, giving him another peck on the cheek. “But I’m not so sure how and why it came out of you. It makes the selection of which vaccine formulation to bring very daunting.”
Dimples ablaze, Peter places a very warm hand on her cheek. “Mei, I almost couldn’t come up with a solution back there. For a moment, the only way I thought I could save us was if I told Alexander I would marry you.”
Her anxious look melts as she tilts her head, peering at him, into those innocent eyes of his. “That is so sweet, Peter. A little rash, maybe. Not too logical for sure. But I appreciate, truly I do, what you did for me.
“You are so delightful, Peter,” she says before kissing him on the nose. “But this isn’t over yet. We haven’t found the object. And who knows what I will have to do to you to coax those memories out of your brain? But I’m afraid that vicuna nothingness of a dress he wanted us to wear won’t do out in the middle of the wilderness.”
His face starts flushing as he gazes upon her stylish version of khaki expedition wear. “That is so lovely, what you have on. You’re even coordinated with Rhonda’s evening broadcast. And how could I not love your banana slug earrings?”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” she says. “I design Rhonda’s outfits. Well, my team at the Shanghai-Paris Fashion Institute does, under my direction. I’m also vice chairman of that operation. Would you believe that there is a genetic component to what we find fashionable?”
His eyes light up. Another coincidence? Maybe she truly is the dark-haired woman of the dreams, of his pappy, of Michaela’s suggestion. And like the good big bro that he is, he says, “My sister would love to meet you. She’s been agonizing over how to get into that place. She’s doing her doctorate in material design at Shanghai University.”
Another peck on his nose and she says, “Then, my banana slug man, we’ll just have to fly to Shanghai to meet your sister. And if you are nice, maybe my mother as well.”
*
Out in the lobby, Alexander and Jean-Paul are having their last face-to-face briefing before the mission team takes off. Jean-Paul is shaking his head. “Alexander, I still don’t know what came over you, pulling Mei from the mission. We should reconsider and put her back on the team.”
Alexander shakes his head too. “No, I have arranged too many other elements that are now in motion. Intel shows we have competitors to worry about. My enemies, my customers. We have a limited window to go in and get the object before others grab it first. Time is running out. We can’t afford the risk of Peter being confused by two women on this trip. And you witnessed the results of my test back there. Peter was willing to save both women. But who rose to the occasion to save Peter? Not your precious Mei, who could not compromise her illusion of bodily honor. But my little Zara, she was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Isn’t that what your translations of the afflicted’s traditions said about who would find the object?”
Alexander beams with pride. “Let me talk with Zara in private about what she needs to do on this mission. She will come through. She is my little Zara, after all.”
Jean-Paul, still shaking his head, implores, “You should tell her. You haven’t yet. She should know about her DNA cluster.”
With a stern look from his piercing eyes, Alexander commands, “Under no circumstance will you tell her. Nor my Peter either. Do you understand, Father Sobiros?” Jean-Paul nods. “If my little Zara were to know, it might change her outlook forever, perhaps in ways detrimental to our end objectives. Father Sobiros, you and your pope have your theories of what will happen when they encounter the object, and I have mine. Let me handle Zara.”
“One more thing, Alexander. You were right, Peter needed Zara’s DNA to stimulate the object dream vision we needed. But you were wrong that they needed to have vaginal sex with him. In fact, Zara never had sexual contact with him. Either you or I should clarify this finding with Zara.”
“Priest, you do not know that for a fact, only mere speculation. We cannot endanger our tim
elines by you acting on your so-called morality and falsely assuring my Zara that diluted physical contact will get what we need from Peter during this mission. She is a big girl, and do not let her fool you—she is no virgin. She knows well how to handle a man adeptly in these regards. Better than Mei, as we saw.” And the giant smiles lasciviously as he says, “Trust me. I know exactly how bad she really can be.”
As Jean-Paul exits the building, with fist tightened, he turns and clarifies, “And, Alexander, for the record, the Vatican’s official record, I rescinded my vows. For you, I rescinded my vows. As with everyone close to you, I crossed my ethical lines for you. It should have been me, not Peter, who intervened on Mei’s behalf earlier today. So, it’s just Jean-Paul. Simple, humble Jean-Paul, who failed someone when she needed him the most.” He frowns and leaves, taking his gear, looking more like combat packs, out to the private car that waits for him, just him.
As Zara exits the building carrying two combat-looking packs, her battle-ready combat face comes back as she sees Alexander. How could he take Mei off the mission team at the last second? He will soon find out she will not take care of him. She can’t. She won’t. She’ll make that boy’s life so miserable, he’ll shrivel up at her touch.
As if nothing had happened earlier, Alexander opens his arms for a goodbye hug. But Zara only says, “Not happening, Sasha. You burned up all your hug credits when you put that specific gun and sash in the box. You are a sick man. It’s over between us. And I’m not taking care of your boy in Mei’s absence.”
Every sheep is hung by his own leg. And Alexander hangs this sheep by her leg. “My little Zara, you can fool everyone but me. I am the only one in your life who knows your whole life history. I know you are intimately capable of doing what Mei was tasked with, and much, much more.”
Biting her lip, she tries to restrain her welling emotions, which this monstrous man has unleashed with his cruel intimations of the past she has worked so hard to suppress. “Sasha, it is bad enough you sent your Russian goon squad to rip me away from my family, deprived me of my treasured Sugar Festival, and forced me to renege on my promise to put down arms.”
The Matriarch Matrix Page 24