JET - Forsaken

by Russell Blake

  The man on the ground groaned, and the pair exchanged a troubled glance. The smaller of them shook his head.

  Jet took a step toward them, her eyes blazing. “Collect your buddy and move your camp. This is all the warning you’ll get.”

  “We’re not going to move,” the second Syrian spat.

  Jet’s voice was so soft they could barely hear her. “You’re either going to find somewhere else to pitch your tent, or you’re going to learn to get around with a couple of broken legs. Either way’s fine by me.”

  The man on the ground groaned again and rolled onto his side, holding his head with his good hand. Jet walked over to him, scooped up the length of wood, and hefted it as she turned back to the others. “What’s it going to be, boys? Move, or learn you picked the wrong family to screw with?” She gave the downed man a kick in the ribs to drive home the point on the last word, and he yelped in pain.

  The two youths walked to their tent and began dismantling it. Several older refugees had gathered around and joined in the spectacle. The youths were obviously unpopular with their neighbors, who muttered among themselves and occasionally jeered something derogatory as the punks broke camp. Five minutes later they were helping their friend walk away, their backpacks over their shoulders, the tent under one of their arms.

  Matt leaned into Jet and whispered to her, “Well, that went well. Glad you let me handle it.”

  “You scared them off. My hero.”

  “Think they’ll be back?”

  “They’re cowards. Probably not, although I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

  When the men were out of sight, Jet and Matt walked back to the tent and called for Hannah. The little girl poked her head from the entry flap, her eyes radiating fear. Jet knelt down and hugged her as Matt stood by with his hands on his hips.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Jet said. “They’re gone. They won’t bother us anymore.”

  “Really?” the little girl asked.

  Jet nodded solemnly. “They decided to go somewhere else.”

  Hannah’s soft features hardened for an instant. “Good.”

  Matt offered a smile and Hannah’s face broke into a grin. Jet held her to her chest and looked up at Matt. “Think it’s safe to go look for the mess area?”

  “I’d give it an hour or two to calm down. I don’t want to leave the tent and our stuff alone, just in case they decide to come back.”

  “Probably wise,” Jet agreed. “Although I’m pretty sure I read them right.”

  Matt frowned. “They lost a lot of face in front of everyone.”

  Jet cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “That can happen when you’re bullies and think you’re picking on a defenseless woman.”

  “One of the many reasons I never try.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Bet you could take me.”

  Matt glanced at the Syrian spectators who, now that the excitement was over, had dispersed and were returning to their tents.

  “Never know.”

  Chapter 13

  Szentmihály, Hungary

  Jet crept toward the fence encircling the refugee camp, her black cargo pants and long-sleeved top nearly invisible in the darkness. The stars and moon at two a.m. were obscured by a blanket of low clouds. She’d sat patiently, watching the patrols make their rounds, and after the last one had passed fifteen minutes before, had decided that there was no reason to wait any longer – she wanted to make it to Szeged while it was still dark, before there was likely to be any traffic on the roads, and if she delayed much longer, she’d be placing herself at risk.

  Her fellow refugees had long since gone to sleep. She and Matt stuck close to the tent, preferring to avoid any encounters with the thugs. Matt had ventured to the mess area with their coupons and brought back three containers of vegetable stew they’d picked at with little enthusiasm before settling in as the light went out of the sky. The young men hadn’t returned by the time the flood lamps shut off, so they’d gone down for the night with at least that danger suppressed for the time being.

  Jet had snatched a few hours of sleep and then had slunk to a vantage point near the fence to watch for the patrols. If any of the nearby tents had been aware of her passage, they hadn’t indicated it, and she’d drifted through them like a ghost on silent feet.

  Now she would have to overcome the first real obstacle – the noise her climbing the fence might cause. She hoped that if the refugees heard her, they’d keep to themselves rather than sound the alarm, one of their number making a break for it hardly a personal concern.

  She drew a deep breath and bolted for the chain-link fence, covering the final dozen yards of open ground in seconds. When she reached the barrier, she checked in both directions; seeing nothing, she climbed with slow deliberation. When she reached the top, she paused and then dropped to the ground below, thankful that the Hungarians had spared the expense of razor wire – finding something to cut it with would have been nearly impossible in the camp, and it would have slashed her to pieces if she’d tried to climb over it.

  Jet landed with a thump and was up and running in a blink, making for the cover of trees a hundred meters off, where a road ran toward the town, fields of crops on either side. The ground was moist from condensation and she slowed as she neared the grove, cautious now that she was away from the immediate danger of discovery by one of the patrols and not wanting to risk twisting her ankle from a slippery misstep.

  She neared the road and peered from the trees at the ribbon of black stretching into the gloom. She could just make out the lights of Szeged in the distance and cocked her head as she listened for any sound of approaching vehicles. The last truck she’d heard from the camp had passed two hours before; if she was lucky, the road would be empty until daybreak, when the agricultural vehicles began their day, carrying workers and supplies to the nearby farms.

  When she was sure it was safe, she took off along the shoulder. The gravel beneath her boots crunched with each footfall, her gait fluid and easy, her breathing measured in the cool night air. It had been too long since she’d been able to do more than isometric exercises to maintain her strength, and after settling into a comfortable pace, she savored the responsiveness of her body to her demands, the exertion welcome after days of immobilization.

  Fifteen minutes later she slowed at a rumbling behind her, and she swept the area in search of a hiding place. She darted toward the nearest field to her right and threw herself flat near a wooden fence, hoping she wouldn’t be seen that far to the side of the road.

  Headlights bounced along and the shoulder where she’d just been running glowed in the beams; and then the truck was past, continuing at a moderate speed, no sign of it having detected her. She waited until its taillights disappeared before she rose and brushed the soil from her pants, cursing beneath her breath. She’d hoped to avoid arriving in town looking like she’d slept in a culvert, but if circumstances conspired against her, she’d make the best of it.

  She resumed her jog and over the next few hours was interrupted by three more vehicles – one personnel carrier from the border and two civilian work trucks loaded with produce, presumably for the town market. None spotted her, and she offered silent thanks as high neon peach and tangerine clouds streaked the eastern sky, the outskirts of the town now within easy reach.

  The trek from the edge of the city to the commercial section by the Tisza River took another hour and a half walking at a moderate pace, during which time Jet stopped repeatedly to brush off her pants and top, the moist dirt drying as the sun rose. By the time she arrived at the downtown area, she was largely clean and didn’t attract any undue attention from the locals as she ambled down the sidewalks in search of someplace to wait until the shops opened.

  She found what she was looking for in a sidewalk café that was just putting out its tables, and ordered coffee and a breakfast roll in Serbian. Jet waited as the owner prepared her modest meal, eyeing the colorful spires of a nearby chu
rch jutting into the morning sky and taking in the townspeople making their way to work, each no doubt consumed with private concerns that were invisible to their fellows. A part of her envied the masses: their ignorance of how the world actually worked, their inconsequential part in it, the safety they all felt. Her problem was that she’d seen too much and knew how dangerous reality actually was. Most had no idea there were people like her among them, carrying out operations that benefited special interests at the expense of the many, doing the unspeakable as a routine part of their job.

  The owner arrived with a steaming cup of coffee, and Jet banished the glum thoughts, choosing instead to focus on the simple pleasure of the strong brew and anticipation of her breakfast. It would do her no good to dwell on her situation, other than to find a way out of it.

  When the owner returned, Jet asked whether there were any high-end jewelers she could recommend. The woman eyed her doubtfully and tossed out a couple of names, her Serbian heavily accented and difficult for Jet to understand. Jet repeated the directions the owner gave her to ensure she’d gotten them right and then dug into her roll, starving after the hours of exertion. Another cup of coffee and a glass of water rejuvenated her, and she lingered over her drink, killing time and watching the world go by.

  At ten, she paid the bill and used the bathroom, retrieving one of the smallest stones from her pouch and folding it carefully in a paper napkin. She slipped it into her pocket and walked four blocks to the first shop, avoiding a pair of uniformed police at an intersection and taking a circuitous route on the off chance her escape from the camp had been discovered and there was a bulletin out.

  When she reached the jeweler, she studied the offerings in the display window and her heart sank – the rings were obviously cheap, and the watches sported pedestrian brands. There was little chance that the store would be able to come up with the kind of money she needed, but she went through the motions anyway and pushed a button by the door and waited for the staff to buzz her in.

  The shopkeeper was a woman Jet’s age in perfect makeup, her outfit inexpensive but flattering. Jet approached her and offered a smile, which the woman returned before saying something in Hungarian. Jet asked her whether she spoke Serbian or English, and she nodded.

  “A little English. From school.”

  “Do you buy diamonds?”

  The woman’s smile faded. “You mean from the public?”

  Jet nodded.

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I can call the owner if you want.”

  “Please.”

  The clerk fished a cell phone from her pocket and placed a call. After a rapid-fire discussion in Hungarian, she frowned and disconnected. “He says he doesn’t.”

  It was Jet’s turn to frown. “Do you know anyone that does?”

  The woman’s forehead creased as she thought. “You can try Luther’s.” She gave Jet directions to a shop near the river.

  “Is that a jeweler?”

  “Mmm, no, more like a, how you say, money lending?”

  Jet nodded. A pawnshop. Probably not what she wanted, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what the shop would give her for the stone – she had nothing but time until she could sneak back into the camp.

  “Thanks,” Jet said, and left, aware of the scrutiny she was drawing from the woman and wondering whether she still had mud on the backs of her legs. Once down the block she checked and was relieved to find her pants clean, and she set off for the pawnshop. The streets were busier now than earlier, providing welcome crowds into which she could blend.

  When she arrived at the pawnbroker, she wasn’t heartened by the array of sad baubles arranged in the window – scratched guitars, heirlooms of questionable value, old cameras, a scattering of cell phones, a tray holding cheap bangles. A terse discussion with the wizened man behind the counter made clear that he had no idea how to value a loose diamond and little ability to pay anything close to what the stone was worth. He offered to consign the stone without seeing it, but Jet politely declined and beat a path to the door after telling him that she didn’t have the diamond with her – something about the man gave her the creeps, and she didn’t want to contend with an attempted mugging after a call to a nearby accomplice.

  The final jewelry store, in a tony section of town, appeared at first blush to be more promising – the inventory was reasonably expensive, at least. Jet entered the shop and was met by a young man in a suit with slicked-back hair.

  “Yes. May I help you?” he asked, his gray eyes alert behind contemporary designer glasses.

  “I’m interested in selling a diamond.”

  The man regarded her for a long beat, and then the hint of a smile played across his lips. “We’re not normally buyers of stones from the public.”

  “This is an exceptional example.” She paused. “Are you the owner?”

  “No. But I’m familiar with his policy, and I can assure you–”

  Jet cut him off. “Is he here?”

  The man’s expression hardened. “I’m not sure he’d appreciate being disturbed.”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Please get him.”

  The salesman frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t leave the showroom.”

  “If only there was an invention that enabled you to speak with people remotely,” Jet replied, eyeing a telephone handset behind him.

  The man rolled his eyes as he moved to the phone and pressed the intercom button. After a murmured discussion, he turned back to Jet with a triumphant smirk. “As I thought, he’s otherwise occupied at the moment, but thanks you for your interest.”

  She checked her watch. “I’ll wait.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t do.”

  “I’m shopping for jewelry. Is my patronage not welcome? You’re a jewelry store, aren’t you? I’ll just look around, and if he happens to free up, then the stars will have aligned.”

  The salesman’s expression was a blank. “Was there anything in particular you were interested in?”

  It was Jet’s turn to smirk. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  She perused the display cases, humming to herself as the salesman stood by, his posture rigid. After an hour of scrutinizing every piece in the store, an aged man with a potbelly and dress slacks held in place by suspenders stuck his head from the rear of the shop. “Anton?” he called, and then spotted Jet.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize we had a customer.”

  Jet beamed a smile at him. “I’m actually here to see about your interest in a diamond. An amazing example,” she said.

  “Really? What makes it so amazing?” the older man asked, clearly interested.

  “Near perfect color, clarity, and cut.” She paused, eyeing Anton. “But I thought you were too busy to see me?”

  The man appeared puzzled by her statement, and Jet’s suspicion that Anton had faked the call was confirmed.

  The man approached her. “No…Do you have the stone with you?”

  She removed the napkin from her pocket and carefully unfolded it, revealing the diamond, which glittered under the high-intensity showroom lights. The jeweler bent to look at it and then asked Jet, “Do you mind if I inspect it? Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “Certainly not. But I can’t let it out of my sight.”

  The old man nodded. “Come back to my office.”

  Jet glared daggers at Anton as she collected her stone and trailed the jeweler into the bowels of the shop, passing through a narrow hall before arriving at an office with a workbench outfitted with a microscope and an array of tools.

  “Have a seat,” the old man said. “I’m Aram, by the way.”

  “Laila,” Jet responded, handing him the stone.

  Five minutes later, they’d agreed upon a surprisingly fair price in euros – easily enough to cover Olaf’s fee with several thousand left over, although far below what Jet knew it was actually worth in the open market.

  “I’ll have
to go to the bank to withdraw it,” Aram said, when she insisted on cash.

  “That’s fine. I can go with you and we can do the exchange there, where there’s security.”

  He nodded and refolded the napkin before handing it back to her. “I’d prefer if you carried it. I don’t own it until I pay for it.”

  She pocketed the diamond. “Your man Anton pretended to call you about my interest instead of actually doing so,” she said. “I had to wait almost an hour for you to come out.”

  Aram scowled but seemed unsurprised. “He’s my nephew, so he can overstep. I apologize. He probably thought he was saving me from an unpleasant encounter.”

  “Just thought I’d mention it so you can have a word with him.”

  “I will.”

  They drove to the bank in Aram’s car, an older BMW that shuddered over the cobblestone lanes. The manager offered to allow them to use her office to count the funds and do the exchange, and less than half an hour later Jet was hurrying along the street, putting distance between herself and the bank, eager to find a quiet restaurant where she could begin her wait for nightfall. Once darkness had descended over the town, she would return to the camp and sneak back in without any drama. Her study of their patrols had revealed that they weren’t particularly alert to begin with, and the last thing they would be expecting was someone trying to enter the camp.

  At least, that was her hope.

  Chapter 14

  The moon glowed overhead as Jet raced in a beeline toward the fence, the patrol she’d watched vanish into the ground fog five minutes earlier no longer a threat. She’d chosen the same section that she’d scaled on her way out, figuring she’d be able to find Matt and Hannah more easily from that spot.

  The afternoon had passed slowly as she’d waited in another café, and after a hearty dinner she’d taken the road south, again dodging any vehicles so as to leave no trace of her passage. Now, just past midnight, she was looking forward to seeing her daughter and Matt again, the thought fueling her dash across the open perimeter and her climb up the tall chain-link fence.