The caption of the email jumped out at him. Please respond immediately. Your start date will be in two weeks.
Heck yeah, he’d reply. His fingers bounced over his phone’s keyboard as he typed. Maybe he should fly right from Iraq to Taiwan.
Mosul, Iraq 10:16 a.m
The arid Iraqi air blew around Kaleb as he paced past the airstrip just north of Mosul.
Above him, a buzzing noise sounded, but this time it was a passenger plane, not a drone. Another half hour until he and Ava boarded the small plane that would take them to Baghdad. From there, they’d get on an international jet to home. Kaleb ducked inside a garage decorated by the Peshmerga’s flag.
“Anyone know where Joe Csontos is?” He needed to thank the man for everything he’d done to help Ava. When he’d asked about Jessica this morning, no one had known anything, so he assumed she was already in the process of being extradited.
“Joe, you say?” One of the Peshmerga fighters stood. The short man raised one eyebrow as he spoke in heavily accented English.
“Yeah, the American working with one of your commanders, Ali.”
“Ali has left. He and his bride got green cards to Canada.” The Peshmerga fighter nodded to himself.
Okay, tangential, completely useless non-sequitur. “I want to see Joe Csontos,” Kaleb said.
“Joe, yes, Joe.” The Peshmerga fighter pointed to the right.
“Thanks.” Kaleb headed toward the neighboring garage. He grabbed the door handle and walked in.
Joe looked up from a desk surrounded by paperwork. He sprang to his feet. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Why?” Kaleb blinked as his eyes adjusted to the indoors, away from the blinding Iraqi sun.
“Did you know Jessica Walker’s been tried and found guilty by the Iraqi government?”
Poor Jessica. Kaleb gulped. “Can I put in a good word for her or anything before she’s extradited?”
“You don’t understand. The British don’t want her.” Joe had dark circles under his eyes.
Not want her? Kaleb narrowed his gaze. What did that even mean? Jessica was supposed to live in Iraq instead?
“Look, you saved our tails out there calling in locations for the airstrikes. I can arrange for a special marriage license to be expedited for the two of you and get Jessica an American passport.”
“A marriage license?” Kaleb stared at the CIA agent who had just gone rogue, and not like sensible rogue. Insane rogue.
“Your agreement with the Iraqi government says all your female relatives will be pardoned. But you’re going to have to be legit married to Jessica and live under the same roof for at least two years or Customs and Immigrations will sue your and my butts off for faking a marriage license for visa purposes.”
Marry a twenty-year-old he’d met three weeks ago, in ISIS, no less? Kaleb’s mandible sagged. Ava would be dead right now if not for Jessica. What the heck did Joe think he was going to do with Jessica in downtown Denver?
Had the girl ever even obtained a driver license? Jessica sure didn’t have one now. She hadn’t even finished high school. She needed a GED, college classes, some kind of trauma counselor . . . She needed medical insurance.
This was stupid and insane and totally not happening. Kaleb’s voice rose. “I have a job offer in Taiwan in one of the best hospitals in the world. They do cutting edge practice surgery and are able to experiment with new research that hasn’t made its way to the U.S. Isn’t there another way?” Any other way where Jessica avoided jail time in Iraq and he didn’t need to upend his entire life.
“I can offer you, well assuming the State Department cooperates, a U.S. visa for Jessica. If you want a Taiwan visa,” Joe raised his hand with a shrug. “I don’t even know how you start that process.”
No. This was absurd. He didn’t want Jessica to serve time in jail, but he wasn’t just going to marry her. Marry! “I’m going to Taiwan for this research fellowship.” Guilt slammed into Kaleb. How many months or years did Iraq mean to imprison Jessica? Sure she’d joined ISIS, but she’d also saved his and Ava’s life.
“Okay.” Joe turned back to his computer. Pulling up another screen, he opened some webpage full of Arabic text. His phone beeped.
Joe hit Unlock. Kaleb’s gaze wandered to the phone screen.
The text was from Joe’s wife. She’d sent sonogram images and at least five dozen links to parenting advice books and baby name guides.
Apparently, Joe’s wife had gotten over the initial dismay and had now transformed into the high-strung pregnant wife stressing about colors to paint the baby nursery and throwing out all the cleaners in the house to replace them with natural products. Poor Joe.
Why did people have children anyway? It all sounded horribly inconvenient and didn’t get one ahead in the world at all.
“How long is the trial period for Jessica?” Kaleb gestured over Joe’s desk. “Can I write a letter to the embassy? Can you? Surely we can work on staying the sentence. She was underage when she joined, you know.”
“The penalty in Iraq for joining ISIS is death. Considering how many of these Iraqi soldiers around us lost brothers, sisters, parents, spouses, or children to ISIS, I don’t actually have a problem with them beheading her. If Jessica was in Al-Khansaa, I’m sure she pulled the trigger herself a time or two and is responsible for civilians’ deaths.”
“Beheading?” Kaleb stared at his friend. No! Iraq meant to behead Jessica?
“Not my call.” Joe flipped over another page in a manila folder full of gibberish sheets. “Iraq is a sovereign nation and their court system makes its own decision.”
What?
Joe reached for a water bottle and took a sip, as if oblivious to the fact that Jessica was getting beheaded. Beheaded! “Honestly, I shouldn’t have even offered to try to pull strings to make your agreement with Iraq cover her as well. I could easily be admitting another terrorist to the U.S., but I thought you loved her.”
Love Jessica? He’d been sexually attracted to her a bit, who wouldn’t be? But that had kind of died in the reek of dead bodies and smell of gunpowder and desperate race from murderers. Kaleb clenched the desk lip. “Jessica’s not a terrorist, well she kind of is, well was. She’s not a danger to America.” His voice bounced off the metal ceiling beams, echoing back against him.
A beheading? Jessica’s head lopped from her body. That couldn’t happen!
Joe turned to the Arabic characters on his computer screen.
Jessica had saved Ava’s life at the risk of her own, and not even blinked an eye to do it. Love takes sacrifice, she’d said, and happily laid down her life to rescue his sister. He could see maybe a fifty-year-old father of six risking his life to save his wife because hey, who actually wanted to raise six kids alone, but risking your life for a mere romantic partner just because you loved them?
Did the Iraqi jail cell Jessica was imprisoned in reek of unwashed bodies and filth like the one the Peshmerga had thrown him in? Was she still trying to fast for Ramadan and make obeisance to Allah to preserve her in the afterlife, or was she just quaking in fear as every tick of the clock brought death closer? Did she have the same look Ava had when his sister had been hemorrhaging during an airstrike?
Kaleb groaned. “Expedite the marriage license. I’ll do it.” How exactly did he add a wife to his insurance plan? She’d need follow-up care for that bullet wound and possibly for the PTSD too. Of course, he didn’t have an insurance plan anymore because he’d lost his job.
With a clap, Joe threw the translation papers on his desk. He gestured up, a look of utter frustration on his face. “I knew you would. You’re not a total ####, you just talk like one sometimes.”
“You just swore at me, church-boy. When you were our corporal, you didn’t let any of us say more than ‘darn,’ using some archaic military law against foul language. I found out later the law only actually applies to officers, by the way.” Kaleb stared at the concrete garage wall.
; What was he going to do for a job in Denver? He’d lost the ICU job and he’d just agreed to reject the only job offer he had. He did need to pay rent and get health insurance for Jessica.
“You were talking about letting the girl who called in the airstrikes, saving who knows how many thousands of civilian and coalition forces’ lives in Mosul, as well as personally saved your sister, get beheaded.”
“Technically, I called in those airstrikes. And since Jessica did all that, can’t you get her a pardon or something?” He was giving up the only job offer he had to get married. Married! #### married to some girl who a terrorist had decided to throw into his house three weeks ago. This had to be a scene from a really bad romantic comedy.
“You couldn’t have done it without Jessica. And I tried for about twelve hours last night, and only managed to stay her execution until noon today. Iraqi courts are sovereign from U.S. influence.” Joe rubbed his hand over the dark circles under his eyes.
Kaleb groaned. He’d just apply to some pediatrician’s office full of puking kids. They were always hiring. Wait, noon! Outside the garage, the sun already moved up toward its zenith. “We’ve got to save her!”
Kaleb paced in front of the jail as Joe and the guard spoke in rapid Arabic. Soon, the guard nodded. Joe placed an 8 ½ by 11-inch piece of paper on the guard’s metal desk.
Taking the proffered pen, Kaleb scrolled his signature across the marriage certificate, each heart-stopping letter of his name appearing in black on that line. Unlike the ISIS marriage certificate he’d signed, this one actually counted in a court of law. He felt light-headed.
Joe handed the paper to the guard and the man disappeared through the door. “The guard’s going to have Jessica sign it, then he’ll release her to you as her new male relative.”
“I don’t ever want to hear the word male relative again.” Kaleb almost swore, but caught himself. Old habits die hard, and as corporal, man, had Joe enforced the no-swearing rule. Joe had also ordered bi-monthly drug screenings rather than the regular yearly ones, which, looking back, had been just what he needed at seventeen.
The metal of the desk felt cold against Kaleb’s fingers. What would Jessica think of all this? His breathing rate increased as he watched the metal door. The glow of a naked lightbulb reflected off the metal, the only bright thing in this dreary office.
With a creak, the door exploded open, smashing against the desk.
Taking a running leap, Jessica jumped into his arms. “Thank you. Thank you!” She clung to him, her arms twisted around his neck, the sleeves of her robe falling down to her elbows. Her chest heaved as her dirty hair hung down over her rancid clothes.
Kaleb wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman. When he held her in his arms, something stirred inside of him.
“I will be ever such a good wife to you.” Jessica spoke through tears that made clean rivulets on her dirty cheeks. “I’ll cook you fish and chips and blood pudding at breakfast time. I make ever so good walnut layer cake. I will bear you many sons. Do you like dinner at six or seven p.m.? What do you like packed for lunch?”
“I’m marrying you to save your life and you’re moving into my Denver apartment so Customs and Immigrations doesn’t sue us.” Kaleb extracted her fingers from around his neck and gently placed her a foot away from him. “We’ll live separate lives and pursue a divorce as soon as we wait the required two years.”
Jessica fell back a step.
“And you’re going to college, not ‘bearing me sons.’ ” Kaleb groaned. What kind of medieval language had the girl learned in ISIS? She needed a trauma counselor skilled in brainwashing deprogramming. Perhaps he could refer her to whatever counselor Mom found for Ava.
“Shh,” Joe glared at him and extended the marriage certificate. “I can only pretend I’m not hearing this so long. According to the U.S. Immigration Department, I’m signing off on this marriage because I believe you are both entering into it in good faith and not just to get Jessica a green card.”
“Or so she doesn’t get beheaded? Doesn’t the fact that Jessica has the option to get married or be beheaded send off some warning bells for Customs and Immigration officials?” Kaleb quirked up one eyebrow as he took the marriage certificate.
“Could we date at least?” Jessica hiccupped, accenting the clear skin of her pale throat, which no sunray had touched for three years. “Maybe if you end up liking me, we could stay married and not get divorced?”
Tears welled in Jessica’s eyes. Not tears for barely escaping beheading. Not tears for witnessing three years of carnage imprisoned inside ISIS territory. Not tears for getting shot at and enduring airstrikes. Oh no, she was crying that she couldn’t have her blasted happily ever after like some romance novel.
The girl had spent her teenage years in ISIS. She’d never even dated. Once she healed from the trauma, she’d come up with some much grander ambitions than getting pregnant as fast as she could before even reaching legal drinking age, (or legal pot age since, hey, they’d be in Colorado), and keeping house for some guy seven years older than her. For the record, medically speaking, recreational pot use was a horrible idea and he wasn’t recommending Jessica try it.
“This isn’t a romantic thing.” He placed his hand over hers. “You’re marrying me to not get beheaded. I’m marrying you because . . .” He owed her one?
It was more than that though. He just couldn’t let her die, not from a sexual, or romantic, or some stupid love song kind of thing. Just because he couldn’t, and he wanted her to succeed and heal from her trauma. He wanted to help her.
“Not listening to this,” Joe said.
“At least I’m not getting beheaded, I guess.” Jessica shivered beneath the ridiculous black robes she still wore. Honestly though, after being subjected to three years of ISIS’s terror, it was amazing she was coherent at all.
Kaleb groaned. “Did you ever take trig?”
“What?” She flickered her gaze up to him. A teardrop hovered on her eyelashes.
“For the GED. Am I going to have to tutor you through the whole book or are you good at school?” She sure acted smart back in Mosul. She’d saved his life by pulling that trigger on Omar.
“You can’t make me go to college.” Jessica took a step back. Her back rammed against a file cabinet as she crossed her arms.
“I just signed away two entire years of my life and a job at one of the best research hospitals in the world to spare you execution.” Kaleb grabbed her hand before she gashed the back of her head on the metallic edge of that file cabinet. “I can make you do whatever the #### I want. Start thinking about what major you want to take.” And get her mind off this crazed notion of ‘I want to have your babies and keep your house’ that ISIS trauma had impressed on her.
Jessica dropped her arms, uncrossing them. “I’ll be a nurse.”
Wow, she’d given in quick. “Why?” With her love of kids, he’d thought she’d pick teacher or something like that.
“Because then I can work with you.”
The mental health therapist was going on speed dial!
Jessica’s slender throat bobbed in and out as she swallowed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I do appreciate it, Kaleb. I’m so sorry you lost a job because of me and my choice to join Islamic State.”
He watched as another tear rolled down her cheek.
“I am responsible for these deaths.” Jessica waved her hand at the barred window that looked out over the Mosul landscape where each breath of wind carried the scent of rotting flesh. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying in some small measure to make it up to the world.” She reached out and touched his hand, her fingers so slender inside his.
Something radiated up his arm, and it wasn’t because she was sexy. The black ghost outfit enshrouding her, combined with the jail stench exuding from her, pretty much eliminated that. And it wasn’t because she was witty and came with no strings. He’d just signed away two years of his life and the best job he’d ever been off
ered for her.
No, it was a kind of … well, an almost holy feeling, if one believed in holy. Maybe he needed to join a synagogue or pick up the Torah. Maybe like Jessica said, or Joe always had when he’d been in Joe’s unit, he was missing out on a part of life by focusing merely on material gain.
“Won’t it be like dodgy and awkward to be married and living together for two years, but not actually romantically involved?” Jessica looked up at him.
“No,” he touched her back and guided her out of the jail’s office toward the tarmac, where he could only hope he could purchase another seat on the plane. “What’s going to be weird and awkward is trying to un-impound my truck and find a job before my next credit card bill is due.”
Jessica stepped outside of the jail. She stumbled down the dirt incline.
He grabbed her arm. “They did do surgery to get that bullet out, right?”
Teeth biting into her lip, she shook her head. Pain radiated across Jessica’s face.
He swung her up in his arms. No woman with an AK-47 bullet lodged in her femur should be walking.
Jessica’s rancid black robes fell around his arms as he shifted her weight. He’d commandeer a hospital room somewhere in this bombed-out city and operate. He knew a good physical therapist in Denver if there had been muscle damage.
With a sigh, Jessica slid down against him. Her eyes looked cloudy and she spoke slowly, as if disassociating from the moment—not surprising with the amount of pain that bullet damage had to be causing. “I don’t have any money for school though.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He needed to find her some morphine. Jessica nestled her head against his shoulder, absolute trust in her eyes.
He’d fulfill her trust these next two years and do whatever it took to get her back on her feet, after all that ISIS had taken from her. In two years, she’d be an independent woman.
Veiled by Choice (Radical Book 3) Page 21