Ten minutes later, Jones finished his phone call. “Where were we?”
“My daughter,” Marcus replied, in the calmest tone he could muster.
“Yes,” Jones said. Then, as if noticing her for the first time, he ogled Stormy with a salacious grin. “Who do we have here?”
The thought of thumping Jones again came to mind, but he needed the man’s help. “This is Stormy. She’s a co-worker.”
“Co-worker? Hmm.” Jones took her hand. “Let’s go back to my office.”
The same photographs of Jones’ young children, as though they had not aged in a decade, were still on his desk, except the ones that had included his wife. Those were absent. Marcus glanced at Jones’s bare ring finger.
Jones sat down behind his desk.
“I am sorry to hear about your wife, what was her name?”
“Anna,” Marcus said. Jones knew her name, knew that she had died, and probably where she was buried. Even in his department, where the focus was supposed to be on trade, people knew things.
“That’s right, Anna. So, why don’t you tell me what brings you to the Embassy today?”
Marcus explained that Kamila, Anna’s sister, had absconded with Marcus’s daughter, that they followed her trail to Moscow but needed any help the Embassy could give.
“I’m sorry to hear you’ve had some…domestic issues, Marcus. Last person I’d expect to have that sort of trouble. I mean, if my daughter ran away—”
“She didn’t run away,” Marcus said. “Her aunt kidnapped her.”
Jones said put his fingers together, tapping them on his chin as if deep in thought. “If I recall, that family was Chechen.”
“You know they were Chechen. That’s—”
“I have to say, Marcus, I told you so.” Jones gave a twittering, feminine chuckle.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with finding Marcus’s daughter,” Stormy said.
Jones rose an eyebrow. “You’ve got yourself a fiery one here, Marcus.”
Marcus was letting Jones get under his skin. They were here to get help finding Alyssa, not relive the past.
“Are you going to help us or not?” Marcus asked.
“I apologize. You didn’t come here to show off your new girlfriend. I have to say, though, she is an improvement over your wife.”
Marcus stood, put his hands on Jones’s desk, knocking over the picture of his children.
Jones slid his chair back, bumped into the wall. “Wait a minute Marcus, I just meant, you know, at least she’s not Chechen.”
“Not helping,” Stormy said.
“Anna was a saint. She was beautiful, and she was a better person than you ever will be. You sit here pushing papers, cutting deals for yourself. Leaving here was the best thing I ever did. That and knocking you on your ass.”
“Hold on. I’m not the one who kidnapped your daughter.”
“Are you going to help?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want to do.” Jones ran his fingers down his tie. “There’s nothing I can do for you. Honestly. I mean, I’ll ask about having the local authorities put out the word. If you have a photo of the aunt—”
Marcus sat down. “I have a picture of Alyssa. Not Kamila.”
“Fine, fine. Have my assistant make a copy and we’ll distribute.” Jones sighed. “But besides that. There’s nothing else we can do. The local police—”
“You expect the Moscow police to care about a Chechen woman dragging around an American child?”
Jones paused as if considering a solution to Marcus’s problem, then shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn’t worth the effort. “I’m sure they will try to the best of their abilities. Besides, the local boys would love a reason to knock off a Chechen. Not that they usually need justification.”
That was true, but the Russian’s desire to rid themselves of a Chechen like Kamila only put Alyssa in more danger.
“There is the possibility that Kamila might come here for help,” Marcus said.
Jones scoffed. “The aunt? Here? I mean, if she does, we’ll notify you first thing. Give my assistant your contact information.”
Jones stood, held out a hand. “I’d love to chat more, Marcus, but I have another appointment in just a few moments. I hope everything works out for you.”
Marcus did not return the handshake, and Jones closed the door behind them.
Chapter 15
Kamila stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hair with the one worn, rough towel the motel had provided them. The girl was on her bed, pouting, doing everything she could to not look at Kamila.
Let her pout. What do I care? At least I keep her fed and warm at night.
It could be worse—a lot worse.
Kamila had taken a portion of the money Jones had given her and paid the per-week rate at the motel. The next day, she started at the escort service Jones referred her to. It didn’t take long to learn that the service was owned and operated by Jones. Not publicly—he had a cover, of course. On the street, the face of the company was an old lady who scheduled girls and made sure the customers got what they wanted.
That was almost a week ago, and Kamila had made more than enough to buy a ticket to Chechnya. But there were other things to buy too. Food. Rent. And now that she wasn’t covered by insurance, she had to buy her own Xanax. At street prices. She had spent more on the pills than on rent and food combined. But she would catch up, soon. And Jones had promised her more money. More than she was making now. As far as she was concerned, he hadn’t fully paid her for the personal “favors” she had done for him over the past week.
The last time they met she let him know she wanted the rest of her money, and if he didn’t give it to her, she was going to make a scene, let everyone know what he was doing with her. He threatened her, said that if she came back he would have her arrested.
In the meantime, she worked.
Kamila wasn’t that kind of person, had never been like that. But this was about staying alive. And keeping Alyssa safe, for now.
Working meant she had to leave the girl alone. The good thing was, Alyssa didn’t speak Russian, and no one at the motel knew English.
Kamila explained that her father had been delayed by a court case, that he had told Kamila to tell Alyssa not to worry. Alyssa knew she was lying and demanded to talk to her father. But Kamila had no idea where Marcus was. Had he even tried to find them? Did he care enough about Kamila to come looking for her?
Eventually, she was going to have to do something about Alyssa. If she could just get to Chechnya. Her father would know what to do. But even then, he was a stubborn man and might refuse to help.
If that was the case, Alyssa would have to fend for herself.
It seemed cruel, but wasn’t that what Kamila had done? Fought and survived. Killed when she had to, if that’s what it took, to protect herself. Alyssa was strong, too. Like Kamila, she would learn to survive.
“I’m going out again,” Kamila said. “You are not to leave this room, for any reason.”
“You say that every time. Why don’t you tell me where you are going?”
“It's not your business where I work—”
“Work?”
“Whatever.”
“Why do you have to work if we are just on vacation?”
“I told you, there’s a mistake with the credit card.”
“Then call my dad.”
“I said stop saying that!” Kamila shouted. Alyssa wouldn’t stop talking, saying the same thing over and over. Her hand twitched at the thought of putting a pillow over Alyssa’s mouth. “Your dad can’t help me…us.”
“He has money. If you just let me call. ”
Kamila impulsively looked at the bare plug in the wall where the motel phone had been. She had hidden the phone under the bed so Alyssa wouldn’t try anything while she was out.
“I told you, he doesn’t want to talk to you right now. He’s to
o busy for you.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” Kamila demanded, feeling all of a sudden as though she were a mother hearing her daughter talk back for the first time.
“Liar,” Alyssa said, crossing her arms.
“Let me tell you about liars. Your father is the one lying.”
“No he isn’t!”
“He promised me I could stay in your home...OUR home.”
“It’s not your home...”
“Who takes care of you when your dad isn’t around? When he goes out on dates—”
“He doesn’t go out on dates.”
“What was last week?”
“One time?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kamila said, pacing the narrow strait between the beds. “He promised—”
Mocking…more mocking.
Slow down, be calm. “What’s important now is that you are going to be with your real family now.”
“I want to be with my father.”
“He doesn’t understand...”
“You said this was a visit. A vacation.” Alyssa rose from the bed and stood before Kamila, her arms crossed, face scowling. “You act like you hate my dad.”
“This is an opportunity for you to learn about life the way it should be. For one thing, your father is an infidel.”
“What’s an infidel?”
“Anyone who doesn’t follow Allah.”
“You hate him because he goes to a different church than you?”
“It doesn’t matter. The Russians—”
“My dad’s not a Russian.”
“All the Russians did was rape and steal everything—”
“Rape?”
Kamila closed her eyes, and visions of Russian soldiers closing in on her swirled, and her wrists and arms ached in the shapes of the palms, fingers, knees that had pinned her down. The musty smell of abandoned rooms and filthy men and the rank filth they left behind. Ghost pains—that was what the psychiatrist had called them.
Alyssa touched Kamila’s hand. “Are you okay?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kamila answered, wetness covering her face, coating her throat. She pulled Alyssa towards her, stroking her hair. “Nothing. It means nothing.” They remained there, Alyssa letting Kamila hold her, and Kamila imagining that she loved the girl and the girl loved her. “I have to go. I’ll bring you back something nice.”
Chapter 16
Marcus had Jones’s assistant make a copy of Alyssa’s picture to give to the local police, not that he believed Jones would follow through on the idea. He gave her his cell phone number too.
The visit had been a waste of time. They would have been better off keeping their original appointment—anyone was better than Jones. All these years later, Jones still got under Marcus’s skin. He was as slimy and corrupt as ever. Jones didn’t care about helping Marcus find Alyssa, wouldn’t give either one of them a second thought. The good news was, that meant he wasn’t going to try to stop Marcus, either.
As long as Jones didn’t see you as a threat, he left you alone.
Marcus would make another appointment at the Embassy when they returned to the hotel. In the meantime, they’d canvass the streets, do everything they could to get information about Alyssa and Kamila.
They were almost to the main lobby when someone called out after them.
“Marcus! Oh my gosh!” He turned and saw a petite woman with dark, shoulder length curly hair and a wide smile. “It’s me, Jen.”
“Jen,” Marcus said. “You look different…”
“It’s the weight,” she said. “I won’t say how much I’ve lost.”
She winked at Stormy.
“Well you look great,” Marcus said truthfully. “So, you’re still here huh?”
“Someone’s got to clean up the messes made by half the staff around here.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Besides, I’m one of the few women at the Embassy who refuses to sleep my way to the top. So, they’ve got nothing on me.”
“You have to sleep your way to the top?” Stormy said.
“Gross, I know,” Jen said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well, still waiting for prince charming to come along and sweep me off my feet.” Jen’s expression grew somber. “I’m sorry to hear about Anna.”
“You heard?”
“You know how it is around here. No secrets. If I had known how to get ahold of you, I would have called. If you need anything, Marcus—”
“Right now, I need to find Anna’s sister. She has my daughter.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
Marcus explained what had happened over the last several days, including his conversation with Jones.
“I’m so sorry,” Jen said.
She gave him a long, tight hug and Marcus breathed her in. She still wore the same body lotion as when they’d been together. A primal memory flooded his synapses, sensual but vague. The memory was powerful, but very old, and he pulled back, acutely aware of Stormy’s presence.
She let go, resting her hand on his arm. “Mr. Jones couldn’t help at all?”
“Hates me as much as ever,” Marcus replied.
“I think he hates just about everyone, including himself. He’s gotten worse.”
Jen took Stormy’s hand. “I’m Jen, by the way. Marcus and I used to work together here at the Embassy. That is, before Anna stole Marcus away.”
Marcus smiled coyly. “Well, it wasn’t like that.” For a brief moment, Marcus and Jen’s eyes caught each other. Then, aware of Stormy’s scrutiny, they both looked away.
Marcus’s body recalled feelings he and Jen had had for each other, even if long ago, long before he had met Anna. He was new at the Embassy and Jen had already been there six months. Back then, Jen had everything planned out for herself: get experience at the Embassy, move back to the states, get married, have kids. Advance her career. It sounded like, a decade later, she was still on step one.
“No one stole anyone,” he said, and it was as though he were telling a lie and everyone in the room knew it.
Stormy stepped over the imaginary fence encircling Marcus and Jen, “It was nice to meet you, Jen. Maybe you two can catch up some other time.”
They both stared back at Stormy. Marcus said, “Um, yes. It was good seeing you again.”
Jen’s smile lessened just slightly as she turned her gaze from Marcus to Stormy. “Hold on, there’s something I wanted to give you.”
“Oh, good,” Stormy said.
Jen shot a telling look at Stormy. “Wait here.”
She returned with a business card. “This guy might be able to help you. He’s a friend. A local guy who works for an anti-Putin newspaper. He’s Russian, so he knows the area, and he’s been to Chechnya a few times to cover the war. He knows people.” She handed Marcus the man’s business card. Dmitry Alexandrov. Under his name was the title of the newspaper, Novaya Gazeta.
Jen touched the card in Marcus’s hand and gently turned it over, revealing a hand written phone number on the back. “And in case you need anything while you’re here, let me know.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. She glanced around Marcus’s shoulder to where Stormy was standing behind him. “Nice to meet you,” she said.
Outside the Embassy, Stormy said, “You didn’t tell me you had ex-girlfriends all over Moscow.”
“We dated for a while.”
He shrugged his shoulders, working hard to feign disinterest. Marcus knew that some women run closer to you when threatened. Others just walk away. If he had to guess, it would be that Stormy was in the latter category.
“Maybe. But that was a long time ago, and I decided not to be with her.”
Stormy eyed him suspiciously. “It’s your business. I’m just here to help find Alyssa.”
“I didn’t know Jen was even here.”
“Right,” Stormy said.
Marcus hailed a t
axi for a ride back to the Metropol.
They slid into the backseat of the taxi. Stormy pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped Marcus’s cheek.
“Lipstick,” she said, looking disapprovingly at the tissue in her hand. “This shade is not a good color for her.”
Marcus felt his face flush red.
“Metropol Hotel,” he said to the cab driver.
“So, what’s the plan?” Stormy asked. “Do we call this Dmitry and ask for help?”
“He works for Novaya Gazeta,” Marcus said. “An anti-government news organization. They’ve had editors murdered.”
“We could at least talk to him.”
“Maybe,” Marcus said. “In the meantime, we should put up posters with Alyssa’s picture and my contact information, like we planned.”
“We could check at the hotel for a print shop close by.”
“Right then. Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
Kamila stopped on her way home from work and bought Alyssa a hamburger. It was past eleven, but Alyssa was still awake, watching Russian television, even though she didn’t understand the language.
She watched the girl eat. Kamila could sense that their time in Moscow was coming to an end. She had made good money that evening, and had saved almost half the cash she needed to pay for their air tickets to Chechnya. Getting there by car wasn’t an option. There wasn’t anyone she trusted that could drive them. There had been a train that went to Grozny, but—Alyssa’s chomping made it impossible to think. How could a person make that much noise eating something so small?
Kamila had to stay focused, not let the little things distract her. It was hard enough trying to ignore the voices, the horrible things they said about Kamila, and Alyssa.
Alyssa finished her food and played solitaire with a deck of cards she had found on the airplane. She looked up at Kamila.
“You want to play?”
“Play what?”
“Rummy…it’s easy.”
Alyssa dealt out the cards and explained the rules to Kamila. She had only agreed to play to keep her quiet, but after the first hand she regretted the decision. The girl kept correcting her on how to play the game.
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