by Eve Rabi
“And you’re a fucking asshole. I hate your guts, you bastard! I’m keeping Wyatt, just you watch.”
“I’m done with you.” Furious, he slams the door so hard, Wyatt wakes up and starts screaming.
“Like hell you’re done with me – I’m done with you!” I shout childishly at the shut door, then more adultly, “I need you to understand, please Reed … please …”
I run over to my baby and pick him up. “Didn’t mean to throw the vase at daddy,” I say as I try to soothe Wyatt. “Didn’t mean to say all those terrible things to him. I’m so stressed about leaving you, I can’t think clearly. Going crazy just imagining life without you, baby.”
***
It’s forty-eight hours since our fight. My feigned anger has morphed into genuine misery. I ache for him, and a shimmer of jet lag, even though I’ve flown nowhere, descends upon me.
How could this happen? I turn my back and the next thing I know, wham! I’m pining for an insurgent, a rapist, a man I have no business pining for.
It’s 2 p.m. yet I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling, hovering on the cusp of misery and tears. A good bawl will make me feel better, but I don’t give myself permission to.
Reed won’t even make eye contact with me. He still sees our baby, but Shaida is his courier.
Doesn’t he miss our long midnight talks? Our long goodnights, the laughter and jokes we shared? The times we lay in bed with our only begotten between us and took turns to marvel and brag about how he was the most beautiful boy we’d ever seen?
In the ward, I sneak peeks at him. Doesn’t look unhappy or troubled in the least. So strong, so unmoved by our fight and our separation. Makes me realize my feelings were sadly one-sided. Fool that I am.
As the day drags, the shimmer of jet-lag balloons into a shroud of depression.
Heartache sucks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m in the boardroom, wearily pouring over another inciting speech. Mechanically, I brace myself to deliver whatever crap they want me to.
The door opens and a man with piercing blue eyes strides into the room, followed by Omar and his posse.
“Megan Saunders!” he says as he walks over to me, hand outstretched. “How nice to meet you. Finally. May I say that you’re even lovlier in person?”
Instantly, I recognize him from the prior military briefings we’ve had. Lawrence Moore, late thirties, born in Ohio, converted to Islam about five years ago, and now a full-blown jihadist. An educated terrorist – PhD in banking and economics from some university in England, and a cold-blooded killer. Worked as a university professor in Ohio and has ties to Tampa, Bali, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq and the US.
His aliases are Yahiye and Mahmood. Oh, and we have something in common – both of us have made the FBI’s most wanted terrorist list. He’s number three on the list, mainly for his involvement in the 9-11 disaster.
“I’m Mahmood. But you already know that, don’t you?”
I smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Mahmood.”
I allow him to pump my hand as I take in the strawberry-blond beard, the thick mustache, the black-and-white checkered scarf, and the grey tunic. Mutton dressed as lamb kebab.
“Megan, today Omar wants to do things differently, and I’m to … well, call me,” he smiles, “director. We’re going to do things differently, shake things up a bit.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, not daring to question him about anything.
More men stream into the room and Mahmood shouts directions in fluent Arabic. Then he turns to me. “Megan, I want you to pretend you’re at a cocktail party in New York and you’re really working the room. Just stop by the men sitting around … say a little something to them … smile … then turn around and wave at someone …” His eyes scan the room. “Fiaz!” he calls. “Stand to the left of the camera, will you?”
With a nod, Fiaz shifts over to the left and grins.
“Lose the smile, Fiaz,” Mahmood says.
Fiaz immediately stops smiling.
“Now Megan, wave to Fiaz as if you’re unaware of the camera. Okay?”
I look around at the staging. This footage is even more incriminating than any of my previous inflammatory speeches. It suggests that I am being filmed unawares, and alludes to deeper, voluntary involvement with the militants.
Smart of Mahmood and Omar. Sure to dispel any theory that I was in any way coerced into being a jihadist.
After four takes, it’s a wrap. When I’m done, I walk away as I usually do. To my surprise, one of Omar’s men blocks my path with his rifle and jerks his head towards Omar.
“Oh, Megan!” Mahmood says. “Let’s chat for a bit, shall we? In here.”
“Sure. Can I fetch –”
“Your baby’s on his way.” As he finishes speaking, Bygone appears with Wyatt in his arms, and although my arms are outstretched, he hands my baby to Omar.
Omar carrying my baby? I frisson with alarm.
Mahmood gestures to a chair. “Please …”
Disturbed, I take a seat opposite him and Omar.
“Everything okay with you?” he asks politely.
“S …sure,” I say as I look at Omar with Wyatt. A ruthless killer with an automatic weapon dangling from his arm holding my newborn baby – I’m freaked out.
“Okay, let’s get down to business.” He looks directly at me. “Omar – he wants you to stay and fight with us.”
“Fight with …? But I am, Mahmood. I don’t under –”
“Of your own volition, not coerced.”
I’m flabbergasted by this request. “But … but … stay, Mahmood? Shariff said I could go home when –”
“Shariff is dead.”
I gasp. “What?!”
“Terrible tragedy. Shoot-out with coalition forces.”
“Oh God!” I cover my face with my hands.
Seeing my distress, he adds in a gentle voice, “Terrible loss for all of us.”
I don’t for one minute believe that Shariff was killed by coalition forces. I believe he was killed by the prick Omar, but once again, I keep my mouth shut.
“O … okay … Mahmood. How … like, how does it work? Like, what do I do?”
“Well, you will become a female version of me – help recruit … convert supporters, interested persons from the Western world. That’s who we’re targeting, and we think you will build quite a following in no time. In return, you will get a certain amount of freedom and privileges.”
He had me at freedom. I sit forward in my chair, a spark of hope igniting in me.
“You will be moved to a different location where you and I will work as a unit.”
“Oh?” Hope dies a sudden death.
“And you will be required to wear full traditional dress at all times.”
“I see.”
“You and your baby will be well taken care of, Megan.”
My mind races as I fast forward. “Okay, but Mahmood, what about Reed? He’s the father …”
“Loose cannon, Megan!” Mahmood blurts.
At the mention of Reed’s name, Omar’s nostrils flare.
“He’s not included in our plans,” Mahmood says. “Any of them. We believe you’re either with us, or you’re against us. And if you’re not with us – you have absolutely no business being here. None whatsoever!” For impact, he slams his fist on the table, causing Wyatt to jerk.
With a snarl, Omar draws his finger across his neck, freaking me out. I remember how they slit Stall’s throat, and I know when these men say they will slit your throat – they will slit your throat. To disguise my terror at his words and gesture, I nod vigorously and lose eye contact with both of them.
“What if I say no?” Crap! That slipped out. I was thinking aloud here.
Mahmood sighs and looks at Omar. Omar rattles off in Arabic to Mahmood, his eyes bulging as he loosens his hold on Wyatt.
Mahmood nods, and as he listens, his eyebrows knit. For a few seconds, he seems to have difficulty meeti
ng my eyes.
Finally, he says, “How do we put this …? Okay, in a nutshell, Megan, if you agree to help us, Omar will let you keep your baby. If you don’t, he will take away the baby for … let’s call it safekeeping.”
I jerk back in my chair. “S ... safekeeping?!”
“Megan,” Mahmood sits forward, “you have to understand – you are our prisoner – so is your baby. Sorry, but that’s the way it is here.”
Dread oozes through me as my eyes flit between Omar’s and Mahmood’s.
As if he understands the threatening environment we’re in, Wyatt starts to whimper. Omar glares at Wyatt as if he’s some rabid rodent.
My distress with the whole situation must show because Mahmood says, “We can continue this conversation later this evening, if you like?”
I grab the lifeline. “That would be great, Mahmood. Thanks for understanding.” Quickly, I stand up and reach out for Wyatt. To my relief, Omar does not stop me from taking my baby.
Once out of the boardroom, I clutch my baby to my chest and resist the urge to break into a run.
I throw open the door and to my surprise, I see Reed sitting on the bed, shoulders hunched. He stands up when he sees me.
“Megan, I’m sorry about …”
“Reed! Oh God, Reed! You need to leave the bunker, Reed.”
“Wha …?” He reaches over to take Wyatt from me. “You playing games with me, Megan? You fought with me because I want to take …”
“Reed, listen to me – you’re in danger and they … Reed,” I struggle to control my panic, “They want to take Wyatt unless I help them and …” I grab my head with my hands. “Reed, you need to take Wyatt and leave. Today. Now!”
“Megan! Who wants to take Wyatt? I don’t …?”
“Mahmood the American, and Omar.”
“Did they say…?”
“He and Omar … Reed, Omar, he did this,” I swipe my finger across my neck, “when I mentioned your name.” Eventually, in spurts, the story tumbles out of me.
Looking more concerned than he’s letting on, Reed places Wyatt on the bed and turns to me. “Calm down, baby,” he says as he puts his arms around me. “It’s going to be okay.”
I shrug off his arms. “No! You don’t understand, Reed!”
“Megan, Shariff won’t let that …”
“Shariff’s dead. Shot. They blame coalition forces, but ….”
“Dead? Shariff?”
I nod.
“You serious?”
“Yes!”
Reed quietly sinks onto the bed and stares at the ground.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know you liked Shariff.”
No answer.
“Somehow, you have to take Wyatt and leave. I’ll stay, I’ll do as they say till something comes along. You just take care of Wyatt and make sure he’s okay. You … you have to bottle feed him and …” I clear the lump in my throat as I fight to stay focused. “He’s going to miss …” I clam up and turn away, unable to stop the vice grip around my heart. I reach for my baby, hold him to me, and squeeze my eyes shut.
Just then, Bygone enters and signals that Omar wants Reed.
Maybe Omar wants to send Reed away this minute! Oh God!
As if reading my mind, Reed puts his hands on my shoulders. “Just keep it together, okay?”
I nod and try to.
Fifteen minutes later, he slowly walks in.
“What? What?”
“I’m to be out of here by Friday. They’re taking you to an unknown location.”
“Friday?” My heart sinks. “That’s in two days’ time!”
He nods, a grim look on his face.
I turn away from him and grow quiet. Even though we had that huge fight, the thought of losing Reed breaks my heart.
“Megan,” he whispers behind me.
Slowly, I turn around to look at him.
“I’m going nowhere without you. We’re in it together. I can’t just leave you to them.”
“Reed, you have no choice.”
Reed stares at me, and after a long silence, he gently cups my face with his hands. “I can’t take Wyatt away from you, Megan. I mean, I thought I could, but …” He shakes his head from side to side. “I can’t do that to you, baby. I’m sorry about our fight. I thought about it. It’s your first baby. It should be a pleasant experience and I want it to be that way for you, but I’m scared about Wyatt’s future. I guess I don’t want to live knowing that a child of mine is out there without his parents. After losing two children – children I couldn’t keep safe, I couldn’t protect – I don’t trust anyone with him.” He smooths down my hair. “I’m sorry for fighting with you. Without you, Megan, I’m so lost. I’m ashamed of myself for being so weak but … that’s how I feel.”
In spite of my fears and my anxiousness, I smile. Beautiful words – exactly what I longed to hear considering how miserable I was without him.
Nestled in his warm embrace, I’m torn between the desire to be angry at him for refusing to leave and to love him more for not high-tailing it out of here with Wyatt, which is what he wanted for so long. How the tables have turned.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs unconvincingly.
No, it won’t. It’ll get worse – I know that for a fact.
I rest my forehead on his chest as helplessness shrouds us.
For the rest of the afternoon, even though we’re near each other, we barely speak to each other. Neither of us stray far from our son.
When we do make eye contact, I see worry in his eyes.
My own thoughts are plagued and troubled by the future – it looms and threatens to become more sinister than it ever was.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s late Thursday afternoon when nine men, injured in a shoot-out with US soldiers, are rushed into the bunker for medical treatment. All of us are summoned to help with their injuries. To Reed’s consternation, two of them die within minutes of arriving at the bunker. One badly injured militant is Omar’s brother, Sallah.
Omar immediately orders Reed to stop attending to any of the injured men and focus solely on his brother.
Reed does as he’s ordered and fights to stabilize Sallah.
I don’t see him for almost twenty-four hours.
Mahmood, Omar, and the men are too distracted to bother with me, so I’m left alone.
But when Friday afternoon comes around, I get antsy. Reed is supposed to have left the bunker by now. Obviously Sallah’s injuries are keeping him here for a while longer. I’m hoping Sallah doesn’t die, I’m hoping Sallah doesn’t recover too quickly, I’m just … hoping. Anything to keep Reed here longer.
I wake up Saturday morning and Reed is still at the bunker.
Midway through the morning, I see Omar take him aside and talk to him. A few minutes later, he shuffles into my room, looking bleary-eyed and exhausted. When I see his jacket in his hand, I hold my breath. Has he come to say goodbye?
“Omar wants me to stay longer.”
We got our stay! My relief is such that I burst into tears.
Reed takes me into his arms and squeezes me to him. “I love you, Megan,” he whispers.
Those three words … I suspected he does, but to actually hear it. I sob louder, harder into his chest.
“I love you too, Reed. I love you so much.”
He smiles at me as he brushes my tears away. “You actually love me?”
I nod my head.
His smile broadens as he leads me to the bed where we lie in each other’s arms.
“Marry me, Megan,” he says. “Let’s somehow escape together and just … just be together.”
“Wha …?” I raise my face to look at him.
“I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple of days and I don’t want to … I mean, how can I just walk away from you after all the … the crap we’ve been through? How can I simply leave and go on with my life? I’ve been toiling over it and I’ve been picturing it and … I don’t …”
he shakes his head slowly. “Megan, I want to be with you. Always.” His openness and vulnerability right now makes me feel even closer to him.
“Reed, honey … I don’t want to live without you and Wy –”
“Then stay with us. Marry me, be my wife and ...”
“Reed … gosh, the thought of living with you and Wyatt – man that is so good, so beautiful … it’s like a dream come true, but honey, there are so many practical things to think –”
“Like what?”
“Like … Reed, I’m not yet divorced and …”
“To hell with all of that.”
“Well, I won’t be safe in Iraq.”
“We’ll move – Dubai, Bahrain, Sweden, Timbuktu – anywhere you like, baby. When you wake up in the mornings, you will have me on one side and Wyatt on the other. Imagine that?”
“Oh my God, what a thought!” I cock my head to one side. “We could live in America! Get my name cleared and spend our lives …”
He tenses up. “Not America.”
My eyebrows disappear behind my fringe.
“Megan, America …” He takes a deep breath. “Americans killed my kids, my wife. I will never live in the US. I mean, already I feel like I’m betraying my family by loving you, the enemy. Everyone around me thinks I’ve sold out, and they’re on my case about it all the time. They’re right, and that’s why I tried so hard to avoid you, not to give in to the feelings I had for you, but I’m weak and …” He smiles. “I want you.” Another three words that make my heart sing.
I rest my head on his chest. “I can just imagine it – you, me, Wyatt … it’s Christmas … we’re exchanging gifts … I buy you an expensive but fugly watch to replace the one I damaged, and you … you give me a locket with a photo of the three of us in …” My voice breaks.
He jerks up. “Let’s make it come true. I will try my hardest to make you the happiest girl in the world.”
“That sounds reeeealy nice, Reed. I want that so much. But …”
He puts his finger over my lips. “Think about it. Just think about it, okay? Please?”
I nod and kiss his finger.