The Matriarch Matrix

by Maxime Trencavel

  “I can’t, Zara. How can you ask me that? How could I kill you? I love you too much,” says a mortified Peter.

  “Peter, listen to me. The time has come. My time has come. I am ready to meet my death with a contented soul and a faithful heart,” she says with eyes wide.

  Like the boy at the grave holding his mother’s hand, Peter holds hers, shaking before the darkness. “I cannot kill you. We are destined to be together. You and I.”

  With an aura of lightness surrounding her, she strokes his wet hand. “Please promise me something, Peter.”

  “Anything Zara. Anything but killing you.”

  With a gleam in her eyes, she asks, “My little lambs. I would be at peace if I knew they were safe in your care after I die.”

  Peter’s eyes search about for the right words. And the super editor speaks. “We are destined to raise your little lambs together, you and I. Know they will grow to be faithful sheep and we will raise their little lambs too. We can take them to visit my mother, who will be in joy over our children.”

  She snorts a little laugh. “You are so sweet, Peter. I could love you. My Little Boy.”

  As Zara rises to go to sunrise prayer with her family, she says, “But you must. You must kill me.”

  After breakfast, Peter sits catatonic while Zara discusses his dream with Jean-Paul. They both conclude they must meet Alexander with the object. It is clear what the voice is asking for.

  Peter breaks his silence. “We cannot win. He will kill all of us for betraying him.”

  And Zara’s killer face comes back in full force as she places her hands atop his cheeks, not the gentle touch of just an hour ago, but the firm, rough touch of a woman determined to meet her death. “Little Boy, I know Alexander. I killed for him. I set up meetings like the one he will want to have with us. I killed his meeting invitees. I know how he will set us up for our deaths.”

  Peter shudders. Somehow fate has mated him with the compassionate woman of mankind’s future peace, who can, in less than a microsecond, flip into a malevolent, merciless murderer.

  Zara walks off with Jean-Paul to discuss her plan. They come back later to see Peter sitting on the object, watching Sammy the Banana Slug singing and dancing on his MoxWrap. As he sits on the object, Zara sets up the 3-D videoconference with Alexander.

  Alexander’s image looks around at Jean-Paul, then at Peter, sitting on the object they said was destroyed, and finally at Zara. “My dear little Zara. You have found the object, haven’t you? I must presume, then, that you have heard the voice. What did he say?”

  Not expecting such a direct question about the voice, she checks with Jean-Paul, who gives her a nod. “Alexander, She said there is only one voice. And She seeks peace for us all.”

  “Come now, Zara. He must have said more. Please share what he said with your dear Sasha.”

  Peeved that he is not taking her gender specificity seriously, Zara replies, “She says emphatically you owe me what you promised. She will not take kindly to those who break promises.”

  Clearly not happy with her flippancy, Alexander states, “My child, you are like a daughter to me. Have I not always been there for you? Did I not pay millions in bribes to the Iraqis to free your father from captivity when you were little? Did your mother tell you I paid millions more in bribes to free him another time before you were born? Why would you deceive me now? Lie to me?”

  Zara almost flinches at learning another thing her mother never told her, but stands defiant and replies, “Alexander. State your terms and let us get on with this.”

  Sasha knows his dearest Zara and what her stance means all too well. So he takes his gloves off as well, and he throws his hardballs. “Tell me, my little Zara, did I not locate you after those men abducted you and mercilessly raped you and your sisters? And as soon as I found you, did I not get that message to you about how to escape and meet my extraction team? Did I not take care of you with the world’s best psychiatric and neurological care after we saved you? Did I not train you and equip you to hunt down those monsters and to punish them as mercilessly as they had defiled, denigrated, and destroyed you?”

  He pauses to let his words eat at her. He stares at Peter and then winds up his hardest hardballs. “Peter, ask Zara, did I not support her all her life? Through all her schooling? Did I not make sure she was assigned to the same Peshmerga unit as her boyfriend Zengo so they could fornicate all night long in defiance of her religion, in defiance of her family’s traditions? Did I not send her to Georgetown to chase her married boyfriend so she could cheat with him behind his lovely wife’s back and those adorable children of theirs? Did I not send her to Moscow so she could further learn the arts of intimate sexual seduction from the Russian Spetsnav?”

  He pauses while Peter’s forehead furrows and lips quiver. “Peter, did she tell you the sordid details of what she did with them? My boy, my son, have you not wondered why she did not perform upon you all those delightful perversions which she had given to those men, who are, in my opinion, so much less deserving than you? And Peter, why is it she denies her body to you, the man who has loved her the most?”

  As Alexander’s image seemingly gets darker and darker, he turns to Zara again and demands, “Tell him now. Tell him exactly what you did with these men. What you withhold from Peter. Tell him and see if he still stays with you. Tell him he should go back with his Sarah, who you know deep inside would be better for him than you could ever be.”

  Zara’s face shows no reaction other than to bespeak her determination to bring this mission to its final resolution. She stares back into his dark and piercing eyes with her equally dark and piercing eyes and firmly says, “Sasha, none of that matters. You owe me what you promised. This is all that matters. I delivered these two to the target and then to one more. This was all that was required of me.”

  Alexander shows an insidious smile as if proud, like a father, and turns his back to them. He says, “I had a dream last night. My little Zara set up a meeting and tried to double-cross me as she has done with so many others.”

  He turns and stares at each of the three, one by one, ending with Zara. “I possess the other half of the object. They are meant to be together, the same as two halves of the same apple are meant to be together. So destiny calls me to have your meeting so you can double-cross your dear old Sasha. And your Peter will kill either me or you. And I know you know this to be true. These are the coordinates of where you will meet me tomorrow at four p.m.”

  Zara shakes her head no. “Alexander, we will meet you there at four forty-five p.m. Send your helicopter to pick us up at these coordinates at two thirty.” And she terminates the call.

  Both she and Jean-Paul begin tapping on their MoxWraps. She peers at Peter, who grimaces back at her, very deeply scared of her again—this time for many new reasons.

  Zara steps towards Peter, who steps backwards in deep apprehension. Her eyes are as dark and ominous as Alexander’s at his worst moments. And using the voice of the Zara whom Peter first met in Luxembourg, she says, “Everything he said is true. I am not the woman you think I am. I am not the woman you wish I were. I have been very bad, and you will need to kill me tomorrow. And you should not think anything of it other than Xwedê wills it.”

  Chapter 42

  I warn you against shedding blood, indulging in it and making a habit of it, for blood never sleeps.

  —Saladin, Kurdish founder

  of the Ayyubid dynasty

  1:15 p.m. GMT+3, June 16, 2021

  Hills around Siirt, former Turkey, now Anatolian Kurdish State

  Finished with her last Dhuhr prayer with her family, Zara rises to leave the prayer room in her beloved great-grandmother’s home. She searches to find the courage within, to find the right words within, for the time has come to say her final goodbye to her mother.

  As the menfolk wait for her outside with the object already loaded onto her pink truck, Zara brings her mother into her brother’s room, the memory of his fat
e so symbolic of the same death she faces today. Her mother looks at her daughter with great curiosity as to what she has to say privately, hoping this will be the day.

  “Mama,” says Zara, “the time has come for me to leave you.”

  Maryam’s expression turns to one of joy as she clasps her daughter’s hands, so happy for her. She says so lovingly, “Yes, I knew this moment would come.”

  Zara peers back at her mother, more than a bit confused. “And you are understanding what must happen to me today?”

  And to Zara’s surprise, her mother cries and hugs her. But these are not cries of sadness, of impeding grief, but ones of a mother overjoyed for her daughter. “Yes, my little Zara. For you have grown to be my big Zara, ready to leave with your husband to live with his family as women do in our tradition. I will miss you so, but maybe you could arrange for me to visit often. I have heard California is a beautiful land.”

  Zara takes a deep breath. She knew this day would be emotionally challenging, but her mother has just made it even more so. She puts her hands on her mother’s cheeks. Maryam is surprised her little Zara’s soft warm hands of only yesterday are now so chilly, cold and rough. Zara says, “Mama, today is a good day to die. Today I leave for my death. I want you to know how much I love you for all that you are and all that you have done for me and my brother.”

  Maryam puts her warm hands around her daughter’s frosty ones, trying to bring back the warmth into her being. “Zara, do not talk this way again. These are the words of the Zara of four years ago. What you and Peter have done together is nothing short of a miracle. You, the Zara you have sought to find again, to touch again, to be again, have returned with the arrival of this man. Whatever it is you are going to do, he will be there to protect you. To save you. It is his destiny.”

  Taking her mother’s hands off hers, Zara stares down and sadly replies, “Mama, you do not understand. Peter will kill me today. That is his destiny. That is why Xwedê brought him here.” She kisses her mother for the last time. “But do not be sad for me, Mama. For my death today will make the world a better one. Make your future a better one.” And Zara leaves for her truck.

  *

  Her MoxWrap shows 13:57 hours as she follows the telltale signature of an inbound helicopter on her MoxWrap’s satellite surveillance app. Around the encampment, she has deployed her four most trusted former YPJ friends, Peri, Firya, Beri, and Sana, who stand guard armed with Russia’s best MANPAD handheld missiles, equipped of course with Alexander’s latest electronic warfare tech. With the pink pickup truck, the good priest waits with the object and with arms around his AK-74XM, ready for the eventuality of things to come.

  And Peter. He stares into the skies, extremely pensive, still bewildered at his last conversation with Zara. She has not talked with him directly since asking him to kill her yesterday. Is this why he was destined to be here? To find her, to help her find herself, and just when she has, to cold-bloodedly kill her? How could it be God with whom the object links us? She would not be so cruel to us. It must be the aliens playing with us as if we were mere toys at the whims of their pleasure and displeasure.

  As the helicopter arrives, Peter identifies it as a Russian Mi-28NM, a low-radar-signature attack helicopter that can fly at speeds up to six hundred kilometers per hour and was introduced only a year ago. Of course, as with all things of war today, it is equipped with Alexander’s latest tech. Whatever is about to happen, Zara’s plan brings to bear the best firepower in the world on her side.

  He watches a sole Russian officer, bold, bearded, and broad, exit the craft carrying a large case. Zara goes up to greet him and, much to Peter’s surprise, he looks down and puts his hands under her headscarf, open-mouthed kisses her, and then, lowering his hands, squeezes her buttocks tightly, pulling her into his charged warm loins.

  Zara pulls back, pursing her lips. The Russian removes his sunglasses and gazes at her with eyes of deep familiarity.

  “That is all, Anatoly. That kiss was your payment,” says Zara. “A little reminder of why you owe me.”

  He tries to hug her, but she pushes him back, saying, “That Zara does not exist anymore.”

  Dejected but not yet deterred, Anatoly relents. Zara points to the case he has brought and says, “Show me the goods.” She waves Jean-Paul and Peter over.

  With Zara’s clear signals that this Russian is friendly, Jean-Paul lowers his assault rifle and comes over. Peter on the other hand has watched this Don Juan Russian with keen eyes. But he no longer bears that F on his forehead as he did encountering Sam with Sarah. F now stands for Focus. And his focus is on one idea only. Zara. And he is ready to step in if she shows any sign of becoming hurt by her past. Peter puts Rohat’s gun into the front of his pants and follows.

  Anatoly glares at him and laughs. “Yankee, you are going to shoot off your wee-wee with that little gun placed like that.” He laughs some more, turning back to Zara while pointing at Peter’s crotch.

  A microsecond and Peter dallies with the full and deep agony of Sam all over again. But the idea evacuates his mind as he focuses on the only person who matters as he replies, “Just do as the woman has asked of you. We all owe her our faith and obedience.”

  After a quizzical glance at Peter, Zara signals for her former Russian paramour to open up the case. On one side is a kilo of Semtex, a highly malleable plastic explosive. Anatoly points to the other side and says, “And as you have requested, three kilos of trifluoroheptanitrocubane, the most advanced malleable explosive Russia can offer, which means the best in the world.” Happy to see Zara finally grinning, he points to the object and adds, “I had these made in the color you had specified. It matches your stone there perfectly.”

  Nonplussed about her former lover who has come back into Zara’s life at her beck and call, Peter has stood fast until now. But anxious concern sweeps into his voice as he says, “But won’t this blow up in our faces before we get to Alexander? I’m not a suicide bomber terrorist!”

  Anatoly laughs at him again and taunts, “You cute American. Trifluoroheptanitrocubane is extremely stable. That is, unless detonated by a highly focused explosion such as this Semtex will provide. Other than that, maybe a trillion watts of electricity might do it, but where are you going to find that around here? You planning on blowing up a power plant?”

  Peter shrivels. But not his testicles this time. The little boy holding his mother’s hand. The scared little boy shrivels away and in his place arises super editor, who retorts, “Nice alliteration. But you used the word ‘that’ three times across two sentence. Might I suggest a few alternatives?”

  Anatoly, jaw down with a vapid stare, is pulled at by Zara, who says, “Stay to task, soldier. Time is burning.”

  While this Russian Casanova cozies up to Zara as they apply the explosives around the object, filling in the pocked indentations, Peter watches intently as Zara touches her old lover’s hands, which are full of explosives. Alexander’s words begin to permeate his inner vocabulary. She and Sarah are so much alike. They love muscles and guns but won’t be honest with themselves about it. Why else would she have shut him out yesterday? Going from touching him so compassionately to switching off suddenly just before she called her Anatoly back into her life again.

  Peter flexes his muscles, thinking that he will show her. He will shoot Alexander, save her, and be her hero again. But it is a new, different gene in him that speaks out saying, Love her for who she is and stand by her.

  He walks up to Zara, who is playing patty-cake with her Sam-like Russian boy toy. Peter has found the resolve to rise above all this, as he still cares deeply for her. He asks Zara if she could step aside for a minute.

  Zara walks with him and says, “If this is about Anatoly, you should not think there is anything between us other than that he owes me and is paying up now. And if you angsted because you think he was my lover and still may be, then I have grossly underestimated you.”

  Ashamed of what he thought for but a moment,
he stares down at her feet. “No, not that. Please understand. I have come to understand you are a fiercely free and independent woman. And I love you for it. I would never ask of you to restrain or restrict what you wish to do in life.”

  Zara is taken aback, for no male who is not family has ever said that to her. But she knows she needs to be prepared for what must happen, no matter what declarations of love he may be making.

  Peter peers into her dark eyes. “I just thought we should talk about what happens if the object is destroyed. If we blow it up, will you still have contact with the voice? I can only surmise that your relationship with the voice is growing. If we blow it up, you’ll never know what she really wants from us to create world peace.”

  Staring back into his big puppy eyes, Zara reminds herself that every time she has let a man get close, bad things have happened. No matter what she might even think she might feel for Peter, she cannot let herself go there.

  “Peter, you have a long life ahead of you,” she replies. “Many women more deserving than me want to be with you. You have the blessing of having so much choice. And if not them, then there will be many more, I am sure. For I know how kind and gentle your heart, your soul, your very being is. I am sure you will know love all your life.”

  Peter is not at all comforted by her words. Sensing this, Zara takes his hands into hers as she says, “I will always love you for opening up my soul to the beauty I once knew. For teaching me how to let go of my darkness. For bringing me back to my mother as her little Zara. Back to Roza and Sara as well as their little Zara. You will be forever in my heart.” She tries to kiss him, but no longer as brave, he turns away, walking away with his hands in his pockets.

  With her mission face back on, Zara returns to finish business with Anatoly, who followed her interactions with Peter with great interest. Anatoly purposefully touches her hands in a way that reminds Zara of what he hoped they once were together. He holds her hands, about to say something, but she puts her fingers to his lips, saying, “You better be about to tell me that you have brought the rest of the gear I asked for.” Anatoly shakes his head in final acknowledgment, glum, dour, and disappointed.