Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected

by Vikki Kestell

  “And AGFA’s hideout?”

  “Reconnaissance of the coordinates you provided show that the separatists have occupied a defunct mine. Old blueprints of the mine, obtained by the Russians, indicate only one way in or out of the mine. However, because we believe AGFA has occupied the mine for three or more years, we cannot guarantee that they haven’t found or made another point of egress. Certainly they have done extensive tunneling to accommodate the size of their militia.

  “When we land in Grozny, we will meet and spend the afternoon reviewing plans and tactics with our counterparts, then spend the night on their base. The operation will commence zero four hundred tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. If we’re ready, let’s go. Time’s wasting,” Wolfe said.

  “Uh . . . sir?”

  “You have something more to say, Mr. Fenelli?”

  “Yes, sir, two things. First, because you’re the boss and can stipulate that you and Marshal Tobin accompany us to the drop, you will be geared up and armed. However, as Wolf Pack’s team leader, I won’t endanger the lives of my men by ordering them to babysit two untrained participants. I will insist, sir, that you and the marshal observe from where I tell you and obey every command without discussion or hesitation.”

  “Understood. Second?”

  Fenelli chuckled uneasily. “Just wondering how in the world we wrangled up a joint op with the Russians on their own turf. Not exactly SOP—or even precedented.”

  “Let’s just say that someone with enough pull owes one of my people a big favor, and I’m calling that favor in.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Fenelli shouted to his team. “Wheels up! Let’s go, let’s go!”

  THAT EVENING, ASMEEN and Mariam dropped two slices of bread to them—the bread taken from their own dinner plates. Ksenia devoured her slice. When Laynie saw her looking at the other piece, she gave it to her.

  Laynie was grateful for the jugs of water Asmeen had lowered to them, but she soberly considered that she and Ksenia would soon suffer from lack of nourishment.

  “Dear one, listen to me. We must tell Asmeen and Mariam not to give us their food,” Laynie whispered. “They receive barely enough for themselves as it is.”

  Ksenia didn’t answer, and Laynie knew the girl was facing the ugly truth of their situation—that starving was a horrible, lingering way to die.

  It would be better not to drag out the suffering.

  A while later, Asmeen called to them. She carefully lowered a water jug tied to her veil, which was tied to Mariam’s ratty veil.

  “They say we are to empty this water into one of our jugs. They will share their water with us.”

  Ksenia reached up high to untie the jug. She couldn’t quite reach it, but Laynie could. She stretched and stared all the way up the cistern wall to where Asmeen’s silhouette hung over the edge. Laynie was about to untie the jug when, from out of nowhere, an old memory surfaced.

  Ahead of them loomed the wall.

  Fifteen feet high.

  “How do we get you two up and over?” Black asked.

  “Stand back while I make a stirrup.”

  “You don’t need to lift me; I’m pretty sure I can sprint toward it, jump, and catch the edge.”

  “It’s not for you. I’m going to throw Red.”

  Laynie’s problem-solving ability, the part of her that operated on its own and presented fully formed solutions to her conscious mind, slipped into overdrive. Frowning at her churning thoughts, she handed the jug to Ksenia.

  A moment later, the answer arrived—an idea, a series of steps so daring that Laynie trembled.

  She let go of the tail end of the lowered niqab. But Lord? I would be putting their lives at risk.

  A whisper in her spirit floated back. This is according to my word. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. Asmeen and Mariam, too, have chosen me. Trust me with them—for their lives are mine.

  Laynie exhaled. “As you say, Lord.”

  Ksenia had emptied the jug into one of theirs and handed it back to Laynie. Before Laynie retied it to the niqab, she took Ksenia’s hand.

  “Ksenia, I believe the Lord has shown me a way out of this cistern and out of this place. I need you to tell Asmeen and Mariam to come together to talk to us when they return from the soldiers late tonight. They should wait until the other girls are sound asleep. If we are asleep, too, they are to awaken us. Please—tell them it is very important.”

  Ksenia relayed Laynie’s message. Asmeen thought on it for a moment, then promised to come.

  After Asmeen had pulled the jug up and disappeared from view, Laynie said to Ksenia, “Remember when I told you that I had special training to work as a spy?”

  “Yes, Mader. Fighting and . . . and other things. I have seen you fight. You fight better than some men.”

  Laynie laughed a little. “Thank you. I had training for other things, too, like how to escape from difficult places such as this. Now I am going to train you.”

  “Oh?”

  For the next hour, Laynie worked with Ksenia, explaining, then slowly showing. The work was scary and demanding for the girl who’d had little opportunity to develop athleticism. She cajoled and ordered Ksenia to do things the girl had never dreamed of. At the same time, Laynie had to grind her teeth and push herself beyond the agony of her bruised ribs and infected arm.

  Lord, even though this idea is from you, and I do believe it is, it will be difficult.

  Laynie closed her mind against the tentative ache of a fever making itself known in her bones.

  That infection in my arm? Please, Lord, hold it back. Don’t allow me to sicken before I get my little chicks away from this evil place. I will need all my strength for what is ahead.

  KSENIA FELL ASLEEP that night huddled against Laynie’s side. Laynie was glad Ksenia could sleep. The girl was exhausted from the grueling exercise Laynie had put her through—on an empty stomach.

  Laynie was just as exhausted, but she couldn’t trust herself to sleep. What if Asmeen and Mariam called down to them and couldn’t rouse her?

  Laynie shivered, but not from the cold of the cistern. Her arm had swollen and was weeping. It was wrapped, and she had dampened it with what vinegar water they could spare.

  She must have dozed off anyway, because the distant sounds of the girls as they were released into the cell startled her. They took their normal time relieving themselves before settling into sleep.

  She prayed. “Please, Lord Jesus. Please help Asmeen and Mariam stay awake—and, oh God, strengthen them. They will need to be braver than they have ever been if they undertake the dangerous thing I will ask of them.”

  Perhaps a half hour later, several pebbles bounced off the floor of the cistern. Laynie looked up. She saw only the outline of Asmeen and Mariam’s heads.

  “Ksenia, wake up. I need you now.”

  Ksenia jolted awake. “I-I’m ready.”

  Laynie hugged her. “Good. Now, you must tell Asmeen and Mariam exactly what I say.”

  Laynie’s instructions were short and straightforward. Four steps. That was all. Convincing Asmeen and Mariam took longer.

  In the end, they agreed.

  ASMEEN AND MARIAM RETURNED to their mattresses and the cold remains of their earlier campfire. Mariam glanced at the mattress that, until two evenings ago, had been Laynie’s, then at Asmeen. Asmeen nodded.

  Mariam crawled across the mattress and found the rock Lay-nee had told her about. She reached behind it and felt along its base. Yes, there was a hollow where a bit of the rock had chipped off. Her fingers found the key Lay-nee said would be there.

  She and Asmeen tiptoed to the gate. They stared into each other’s faces in the faint light.

  “Oh Jesus, please hide us,” Asmeen whispered.

  “Amen,” Mariam echoed. She reached through the bars and slipped the key into the lock. Turned it. The gate made a soft, metallic cry as it swung open.

  The girls froze, their eyes se
arching the darkness of the cell where the others slept. When no one sat up or cried out, they slipped through, closed the gate without locking it, and scurried down the tunnel. At the junction where it joined the next tunnel, they were usually led to the right. Lay-nee, through Ksenia, had told them to turn left and watch for other cells on their left.

  And she had warned them. “At each cell, tap the key gently on the bars. Some cells may be empty. Others may be occupied by someone else. Do not show yourselves or speak a word until you are certain it is the right cell.”

  BLACK HADN’T BEEN ABLE to sleep more than an hour at a time. He had no idea when Sayed would choose to deal with him, but the next time his cell gate opened would be the last opportunity he had to escape this place. The problem though, was that the route was through one or two guards and Sayed himself.

  I’ll take the chance, whatever the odds. I won’t go down without a fight.

  So he held himself ready for whenever they came for him.

  Late in the night, he heard the thin tap of metal on the cell gate. He flattened himself against the wall beside the cell door. Raised the jar that held his water, ready to bring it down on the first guard through the gate.

  The tapping came once more. He frowned. Remained quiet.

  Then, the breathlessness of padded feet. Moving away. He leaped to the bars and spotted the swishing hem of an abaya disappear from view.

  “Hey! Hey!” he hissed.

  The padding halted. Crept back toward him. He heard whispers but saw no movement.

  He called under his breath, “Magda?”

  Two forms appeared in front of his cell. One of them slipped a key into the gate’s lock.

  The other, a young girl, said three words to him. She spoke in parroted, highly accented English. “Come. Black. Magda.”

  “Magda?”

  The girl nodded vigorously.

  He eased out of the cell, and she motioned to him. “Come. Black. Magda.”

  They led him down the tunnel toward the main junction near the cavern. More than halfway there, they turned into the side tunnel to the kafir women’s cell.

  The grate across the tunnel was unlocked. The girls put their fingers to their lips before stepping inside. When Black didn’t immediately follow, one of them returned to his side and took his hand. Tugged on it.

  “Come. Black. Magda.”

  LAYNIE PEERED UP TO the edge of the cistern for the hundredth time. Time. Time was ticking away, and the edge of the cistern was out of her grasp.

  O Lord, I plead with you to cover my little chicks, to hide them, lead them to Black, and bring them back here safely.

  Ksenia shivered inside Laynie’s arms.

  “It will be all right, my little daughter. I trust Jesus.”

  Do you hear me, Lord? I trust you! I believe you—and like that man in the gospels, I’m asking you to help my unbelief.

  Pebbles dropped onto the floor. A large silhouette hung over the edge.

  “Magda?”

  “Oh, dear God! Thank you!” Laynie breathed. “Yes. We’re down here.”

  Laynie could barely hear his answer. “How do I get you out?”

  “I’m going to toss her up to you.”

  Silence for ten tortured beats of her heart.

  “What’s her weight?”

  “Think of Red.”

  “Got it. Wait one.”

  Laynie envisioned Black evaluating the situation, instructing the girls to sit or lie on his legs as a counterweight, then hanging as much of his body over the edge as was feasible.

  She turned to Ksenia. “This time, I’m going to toss you higher than before, as high as I can. When I do, I need you to keep your arms pointed straight up. Fly as high as you can and reach for Black. He will catch hold of you and pull you out.”

  “Wh-what if he doesn’t? What if he misses my hands?”

  “Then I will catch you the way I have before. You will not panic. You will fold up as I taught you, and I will catch you. I will not let you fall.”

  During the past day, Laynie had asked Ksenia to remove her cumbersome abaya and her sandals. She had put her own back against the wall and taught Ksenia to stand within her intertwined fingers, to crouch with her arms held straight over her head, and to spring up only when Laynie tossed her like an arrow, up, up, up toward the edge.

  But their practice during the day had been more technique than execution. Laynie had tossed Ksenia only a few feet—and caught her every time she came back down. This time, Laynie would be throwing her as high as she could, using all of her strength.

  The reality was that Laynie’s strength was sorely diminished by her swollen, inflamed arm, and every throw and every catch had tugged and torn at her raw, burned skin.

  If Black missed his hold on Ksenia and she came back down? Yes, Laynie would catch her—even if it was the last thing she could manage.

  Black’s voice floated down to them.

  “All right. We’re ready.”

  “One sec.” She said to Ksenia, “Give me your sandals.”

  Ksenia took them off. Handed them to Laynie.

  Laynie whispered up the cistern. “Catch!” One at a time, she tossed Ksenia’s sandals up to Black’s waiting hands. It took several tries to loft them to within range of his grasp, but they got it done.

  Could she really do the same with Ksenia? On the first try?

  Then Laynie took Ksenia’s trembling hands in hers. “Lord Jesus, we are calling on you. Please help us do this right.”

  “Ready,” she told Black.

  She grabbed Ksenia’s shoulders and, because they could not see each other in the dark cistern, placed her forehead against the girl’s forehead and spoke earnestly to her.

  “You must do your very best, my daughter. You must fly as high as you possibly can. I will only be able to do this one time.”

  “Because of your arm?”

  “Yes. So, I am counting on you to put your trust in the Lord and in what I’ve taught you. Trust God. No fear.”

  “Y-yes, Mader. Trust God. No fear.”

  They both looked up. Black was on his stomach, hanging far past his armpits, his arms extended.

  Laynie stripped off her abaya and asked Ksenia to do the same. Laynie pressed the small of her back against the cistern wall. Folded into a squat until her weight was centered over her legs and she was in a near sitting position with the wall providing balance and stability.

  She motioned to Ksenia. The girl stood in Laynie’s twined hands and flexed her knees. Laynie began to gently bounce, warming and readying the muscles of her legs.

  “Here we go. One. Two. Three!”

  Laynie’s legs thrust her body upward while her hands and arms did the same, using all her reserves to launch Ksenia into the air.

  The girl flew up, up, up toward Black’s outstretched hands. There was a pause, a moment of silence . . . before Ksenia’s little shriek told Laynie that she hadn’t flown high enough, that Black had missed catching hold of her.

  “I will catch you, Ksenia! I will!”

  Oh, Lord Jesus! Please help me!

  All Laynie could see were flickers of shadows as Ksenia’s body hurtled toward her—but she had prepared herself to catch the girl, no matter the cost to her own body. Laynie collapsed and crashed onto the cistern’s stones, taking the brunt of Ksenia’s fall.

  Ksenia climbed off of Laynie.

  “Mader! Are you all right?”

  Laynie bit back a groan and answered, “I think so.” But when she sat up, she realized the skin on her infected forearm arm had split open. Fluids now dripped from the veil she’d wrapped around her arm.

  “Magda! Mags!”

  “We’re all right,” Laynie called softly.

  “Listen, we’re not done. We’re . . . we’re going to lower the girls’ veils to you. Tie yours and Ksenia’s veils to them. We’ll bring them up, make a rope, and haul her up that way.”

  “The veils won’t hold, Black. The fabric is old. Rotten
.”

  “Send us what you’ve got. We’ll tear them into wide strips and braid them into rope and reinforce the worst places. We’ll make it work! Besides, Ksenia doesn’t weigh much. Like you said, ‘Think of Red.’ She weighs, what? A buck ten, right?”

  Asmeen and Mariam’s veils, tied together, came down. Laynie, gritting her teeth against the pain of using her injured arm, tied Ksenia’s two veils to the end and added her own veil, the one she’d wound around her waist before defying Bula’s men.

  Laynie staggered to the cistern wall and leaned against it. “Take them up,” she whispered.

  Ksenia was quiet while they waited for Black and the girls to braid a rope.

  Too quiet, Laynie finally realized.

  “Ksenia?”

  A sniffle. “I am sorry, Mader.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Ksenia. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out yet. Trust God. No fear. Remember?”

  Ksenia didn’t answer.

  Laynie caught herself dozing off. She slid down the wall and gave in to her fatigue.

  Must rest while I can . . . make sure Ksenia gets out.

  It may have been only minutes or it could have been an hour before Black’s hushed voice floated down to them.

  “Heads up.”

  A braided fabric rope snaked down the cistern. Laynie caught it, felt the toe loop in its end. It hung near her chest.

  “Ksenia? Give me your hand.”

  She felt Ksenia’s fingers and led them to the loop.

  “This loop is for you to put your foot in. I will squat against the wall again. I need you to stand on my thighs, put your foot in the loop, then latch onto the rope, up high. Can you do that?”

  “I will not disappoint you again, Mader.”

  Laynie grasped Ksenia and hugged her close. “You have not disappointed me, sweet girl. This is a problem to solve, like many of life’s problems. The Lord will help us figure this out.”

  She backed into the wall. Squatted. “Come, now. Climb onto my thighs.”

  Ksenia scrambled up and perched herself, wobbling a little, on Laynie’s thighs. Laynie handed her the rope.

  “Put your foot into the loop. It will be uncomfortable but only briefly. You’ll be up and out in a few seconds.”