JET - Forsaken

by Russell Blake

  A few startled faces greeted her inside the camp as she made her way to her tent, but she ignored them, secure that the difficult part of her adventure was over. Now that she had the money, Olaf would get them out of there, and they would soon be on their way to Italy, only a day’s train ride from Budapest, which in turn was only a few hours from the camp by rail.

  Matt started awake when she unzipped the tent flap, and then his teeth flashed in the moonlight at the sight of her. Hannah was slumbering beside him, wrapped in her jacket, eyes screwed shut.

  Matt sat up and whispered to Jet, “You made it.”

  She made a face. “You doubted me?”

  “Never.”

  She crawled into the tent and lay beside him as he zipped the flap closed and then reclined next to her. Jet nuzzled his ear and whispered to him, “I got the money. Any trouble here?”

  “Nope. No sign of our friends, and we kept to ourselves. Luckily nobody’s talkative in the mess line.”

  She exhaled softly and kissed him, his arms around her all the welcome she could have wanted. When their lips parted, he murmured to her, “You tired?”

  “Beat.”

  “Then we should get some sleep.”

  “With Hannah here, that’s the only option,” she agreed, and closed her eyes, grateful to have made it back safely.

  Morning arrived in a blink, and when Hannah awoke to find her mother nearby, she squealed in delight and hugged her close. Matt let himself out of the tent to allow them privacy and trudged along a well-worn path to the latrines. When he returned, Jet was up, cell phone in hand, waiting for the gadget to acquire a signal. After a few moments she dialed Olaf’s number.

  The Hungarian answered on the third ring. Jet told him she had his fee, and he grunted approval.

  “I’ll be there in about an hour. The lottery posts at one. I’ll make sure your names are on it. Have you figured out where you want to go?”

  “Italy.”

  “Good choice. Nice this time of year. I’ll see to it.” He hesitated. “You definitely have the money, right?”

  “Correct. Where do I meet you?”

  “By the lottery board, at noon.”

  “I’ll give you half then and half when we’re at the train station.”

  Olaf was silent for several moments and then loosed a hoarse laugh. “Fine. As long as you’ve got it all. I can just as easily arrange for you to be stopped and investigated if you stiff me.”

  “Don’t worry. We didn’t come this far to finish in this camp.”

  She disconnected, leaving the phone on in case Olaf needed to reach them. Matt raised an eyebrow and she whispered a summary of her negotiation. He nodded when she finished and grimaced at the tent.

  “Then we’ll be out of here today,” he said. The trains departed from Szeged, where the refugees were trucked in the late afternoon, making way for new arrivals. The reading of the names chosen for travel took place over a megaphone after the list was posted, to avoid rioting by the board as desperate migrants fought for a glimpse of the roster.

  “If all goes well,” Jet agreed.

  He studied her face. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I don’t trust anyone, especially not a mercenary prick like him.”

  “Sometimes those are the ones you can most rely on. They have a motive to do as they say.”

  “We’ll know soon enough. Watch Hannah while I duck into the tent and count out the cash.”

  “Will do.”

  Breakfast was muted, the line endless, the food a tasteless and pasty glop unfit for pigs. Hannah made a face when she took a mouthful, and Jet winked at her and did her best to smile. “Just eat. Never know when we’ll get the chance again,” she said, and Hannah spooned another helping into her mouth, her distaste obvious.

  Olaf was on time, eager to collect, and Jet surreptitiously passed him the wad of euros as his men shielded them from view.

  “I’ll see you at the station for the rest,” he said, and then he and his men pushed through the crowd of refugees lingering around the board as though their physical proximity might improve their random odds of being selected for the trains. Jet turned to retrace her steps to where Matt and Hannah were waiting, and thought she saw the familiar face of one of the thugs before it vanished into the throng.

  She scanned the crowd without spotting him, but her steps were heavy on the way back to the tent. They were so close to getting out of the camp she didn’t want to risk another altercation, but if the men jumped her or her family, they’d be the losers for it.

  Matt was more relaxed about it than Jet when she reported back. “Doesn’t matter. We’re history. All we have to do is keep our noses clean a few more hours, and this is all a bad memory.”

  “Doubtful they’ll try anything in broad daylight, anyway. That’s not how bullies work,” she agreed.

  “No. If they come, it’ll be at night, and we’ll be long gone.”

  The roll call took place at one and lasted an hour, and toward the end of the thousand names theirs boomed from the speaker. They were to be at the south gate with all their possessions at four, and once their IDs were checked against the list, they’d be on their way.

  The queue at the gate snaked through the tents, and they shuffled forward as the guards verified each refugee’s identity. Eventually it was their turn, and once through the gate, they were directed to one of fifty senile school buses, where they climbed aboard with their backpacks, the tent left at the camp for new owners. The original seats had been replaced by hard wooden benches, and they settled onto one near the rear, the acrid stench of unwashed bodies overpowering in the cramped quarters. Matt struggled with the window to get some ventilation, but the plastic safety latch came away in his hand. Jet shot him a warning look as he pulled at the window a final time, and he resigned himself to a miserable ride, breathing through his mouth.

  The journey took the longest hour of their lives, and by the time they pulled to a stop at the station, Jet was choking down vomit. They gulped air when they descended from the bus and followed the others to where the soldiers directed them. Jet caught sight of Olaf and he nodded to her, but kept his distance as they herded into the station past barricades to one of four platforms already clogged with migrants waiting to board the trains.

  The soldiers again checked their papers, and then Olaf materialized next to her, his bulk unmistakable among the rail-thin refugees. He pulled her aside and palmed the second half of the payment as he surveyed the chaotic scene.

  “That’s it, then. Good luck. You’ll change trains in Budapest and be in Milan by morning,” he murmured.

  He gave her a final silent appraisal and then walked away, leaving her amid the crush to find her way back to Matt and Hannah, who were standing by the door of the passenger car they’d been assigned to.

  The soldiers were growing more agitated as the platform continued to fill, and barked orders in Hungarian, pointing at the train, their meaning clear. Jet reached Matt and they pushed through the wall of bodies and ascended the steps, where another soldier indicated they should file into the car.

  There were no seats left, so they stood, crammed together as they waited for the train to move. The only relief came from the open windows, which after the bus seemed like an almost impossible luxury. Hannah looked up at her mother with worried eyes, and then the train inched into motion with a roar from the locomotive far at the front of the column of cars.

  “We’ll be in Budapest before you know it,” Jet whispered to her daughter, holding her close as the train rocked out of the station.

  “Okay.”

  An older Syrian man eyed them suspiciously and then looked away, reminding Jet that they were still far from safe. She squeezed Hannah’s hand reassuringly and then stared ahead, her eyes unfocused, resigned to several more uncomfortable hours before they boarded their final train to Italy.

  Budapest turned out to be worse pandemonium than they’d yet experienced; theirs was onl
y one of a dozen refugee trains that had converged on the hub for night trips out of the country. Conductors yelled indecipherable orders to them as they stepped from the car, and the ever-present armed soldiers directed them to a registration point for assignment to an appropriate platform. After another long wait, a red-faced official snapped a demand at them in Arabic, and Jet replied with their destination. The man waved a hand at one of the trains and then looked over Jet’s shoulder at the next refugee with the long-suffering stare of someone who hated his job.

  They moved to the platform, where a tall woman with the face of a buzzard confirmed their paperwork and told them to load into the nearest car and find seats wherever they could. Jet frowned but guided Matt and Hannah forward, glad that they’d used the bathroom on the prior train before it arrived – the next hours portended new levels of discomfort and unpleasantness, to judge from the appearance of the antique carriage and the number of people crowding aboard.

  The trip to Italy stretched through the night, the train moving at barely more than a crawl much of the way, or so it seemed. A blood-red sun was climbing into the sky when they clattered into the Milan Central Railway Station. They were all exhausted after the long trip, the number of passengers making it impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

  The train lurched to a stop and the process of disembarking began. Jet held Hannah back as everyone rushed the exits at once, eager to be rid of the train’s confined space. When the crowd had thinned to a safe level, they stepped from the train, where Italian police and soldiers prodded them toward a checkpoint, beyond which lay freedom. When it was their turn to be scrutinized by the immigration officials, they stood motionless while the men scrutinized their passports – and then they were stamped and through, part of the crowd moving against the early morning rush of workers headed for commuter trains.

  The station was vast. They followed the rest of the migrants toward the main exit, where a group of soldiers eyeballed them with hostile glares. Outside they crossed to a plaza where hundreds of pigeons strutted in confused solidarity by a towering fountain. As they neared the water, Jet leaned into Matt and whispered a warning.

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  Matt’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look around. “Thieves?”

  “Could be. Let’s head for the boulevard. More people there.”

  They picked up their pace, and then they heard running footsteps approaching from behind. She grabbed Matt’s arm in alarm. “Take Hannah and run. I’ll buy some time.”

  “I’m staying,” he protested.

  “Get Hannah out of here,” Jet snapped, and then spun to face the threat on their heels.

  A trio of young Syrian men was bearing down on her, led by one of the migrants from the rail car that had carried them from Hungary. She felt at the pouch around her neck, slid the lanyard over her head, and tossed the diamonds to Matt. “Get going. I’ll handle this,” she said, her tone dangerously calm. Matt didn’t budge, and then two of the men rushed her, coming in low, the flash of blades in their hands the only warning offered.

  Jet whirled and parried the first man’s clumsy thrust, blocking him with her forearm and rabbit-punching him in the throat with her free hand. The man dropped his knife with a gurgle and clutched at his voice box, and his companion slashed at Jet, nearly eviscerating her as she jumped back. The man recovered his balance from the foiled attempt, and his friend closed on her from the far side, his face twisted with a grimace.

  A whistle shrieked and the pigeons took flight as one, flapping into the air in a gray and black cloud. “Matt, run,” she yelled, and dodged another attempt to stab her by the nearest attacker before spin kicking him in the chest. She heard the snap of ribs, and the thug clutched at his sternum and wheezed. The whistles were joined by shouts in Italian as a pair of policemen came at a dead run. The migrant collapsed just as they arrived, Beretta 92s drawn, and stopped with their weapons trained on Jet and the downed pair.

  Jet caught a glimpse of Matt hurrying across the street with Hannah out of the corner of her eye, and slowly raised her hands. “I’m unarmed,” she said in Italian.

  “What happened?” one of the cops demanded, his pistol unwavering.

  “They attacked me.” She paused. “I think they wanted to rape me. Or maybe rob me.”

  The man she’d kicked in the chest coughed a spray of bright red blood, and the policemen took a step back. One of them raised a radio to his lips while the other held his Beretta on the downed attackers, the third migrant standing frozen nearby, also with his hands in the air.

  A minute later a motorcycle cop rolled up, followed by a cruiser with its siren blaring. An ambulance arrived shortly after one of the officers cuffed Jet and the man from the train. The other two Syrians were in bad shape, judging by the expressions on the paramedics tending to them.

  “Why are you cuffing me?” Jet demanded. “They’re the ones who attacked me!”

  The cop who’d cuffed her looked at her hard and then shrugged. “That one doesn’t look like he’s going to make it. We’re going to the station. We’ll let my sergeant figure this out.”

  “Am I under arrest? What for?” she asked.

  “Lady, I don’t know what happened here, but I’ve got one man looking like he’s about dead and the other with his windpipe crushed. Like I said, we’ll let my sergeant decide how to proceed. For now, I’d keep quiet, because anything you say can be used against you.”

  Chapter 15

  Matt was breathing hard when they reached the corner and turned to see the police arrive with their guns out. He debated going back for Jet, but knew that if she were taken into custody and they ran her prints, there was a good chance that she’d trigger Interpol, and then they’d all be cooked. Whether he liked it or not, his first duty was to keep Hannah safe – he and Jet had discussed every eventuality, and if one of them landed in hot water, the other’s priority was the little girl. Jet was resourceful enough to be able to talk her way out of the situation – at least, he believed she stood a good chance, given that it was one woman who’d been attacked by three men.

  Then again, her papers said she was a refugee, so she might be treated differently because of her immigration status. Matt didn’t know how the law in Italy worked, but if the way the soldiers and officials had looked at them was any indication, it was unlikely to be kind to troublemakers fresh off the boat, regardless of who was at fault.

  A police car screeched to a stop by the plaza, and he watched as a pair of officers leapt from the car, one with a submachine gun, the other with handcuffs. When the one with the bracelets approached Jet, that decided matters for Matt, and he pulled Hannah by the arm.

  “No! Mama’s in trouble!” Hannah cried, and Matt tightened his grip on her.

  “Hannah, we need to go. Mama will be fine, but I promised her I’d make sure you’re safe. Come on. Now. Before they see us.”

  “But Mama–”

  “Hannah. Move.”

  His heart ached as he half dragged the little girl around the corner, and then he was jogging with her in his arms as she sobbed against his chest. He didn’t stop for two blocks, and when he did, he set her down gently and knelt to bring his eyes level with hers. “Hannah, you have to help me, okay? We’re going to find someplace to stay, and then I’ll go help your mother, understand? Don’t fight me on this. I need you to cooperate.”

  Hannah blinked away tears and snuffled as she nodded, her gaze accusing him of abandoning her mother, no matter what he claimed. He ignored the look and rose, offering his hand. She took it, and they walked east along the wide boulevard, Matt’s thoughts a jumble of doubts, Hannah’s sobs a reminder of his failings.

  The first two hotels he tried claimed to be full, although the unfriendly and dismissive way the staff delivered the news made him doubt whether it was true. The third place, a run-down multistory affair in a questionable district, was happy to take his money after a cursory glance at his papers; the s
urly desk clerk showed no curiosity about why a refugee spoke American-accented English. The bellman escorted them up two flights of stairs to a long corridor and held the door of their room open for them with an expectant look. Matt slipped a five-euro note into his hand, and he muttered something in Italian before slouching off, leaving Matt and Hannah to themselves.

  Matt locked the bolt and carried his backpack to one of the twin beds. He set it down and helped Hannah remove hers. “You want this bed, or that one?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

  “I want Mama.”

  He sighed and nodded as he placed Hannah’s pack on the bed closest to the window. “Me too, Hannah. But for now, let’s get you showered and then we can grab something to eat, okay?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Matt recognized the obstinate tone and elected not to fight that battle. “Let’s see what the shower looks like,” he said instead, and walked to the partially open door.

  Like most European hotels, the bathroom was tiny, the stall barely large enough for him to stand in without his broad shoulders bumping against the glass door, but Matt forced a smile and opened the wall taps until a stream of warm water rained from the showerhead.

  “This isn’t so bad. Go ahead and get out of your clothes, and call if you need anything,” he said, unwrapping a small bar of soap and placing it on the tray by the glass door, and then left her to her ablutions and sat by the window, pondering what to do next.

  He turned on his phone, cursing himself for not remembering it earlier, and stared at the screen, hoping to see a missed call or message icon, but instead got only the roaming alert. He checked the charge and was relieved that it showed three-quarters full, but still ferreted in his backpack for the charger and plugged it in.

  The bulge of the diamonds in his pocket reminded him to drape the lanyard around his neck for safekeeping, the weight of the stones trivial compared to their value. He counted his cash and was relieved to find over three thousand euros – plenty for the time being, even at the exorbitant rate the hotel was charging. The clerk had feigned contrition when he’d explained that there was a fashion show coming up, so all the hotels were full and charging premiums for any available space, but Matt had no fight left in him and gladly paid what was asked, his mind elsewhere.