“Of course not,” he said and turned to see if Stormy was looking at him. She wasn’t.
“That wouldn’t be so unusual in some places,” the aunt said.
“Not where I live,” Marcus replied.
Ignoring the comment, Stormy prodded the aunt, “So she was upset, then what happened.”
“I told her I was going to call the police. Not that I really would. But then, Kamila hit me.” As the aunt turned her head, they could see the blue-purple blemish along the side of her cheek.
“I will tell you something else. As she was leaving, there was a knife in the sink and she stopped and looked at it, and I swear she was going to stab me.”
Kamila was capable of killing, he knew that now. But threatening a relative…that was different. If she were willing to hit her aunt, an old woman, what would she do to Alyssa?
The aunt continued, “When you live in a place such as this, full of murder and destruction, you know the look of death in a person’s eyes. Kamila has that look. She is going to kill someone, if she hasn’t already.”
Marcus glanced at Stormy and stood. “We need to know where she went. Now.”
The aunt clasped the scarf between her frail, withered fingers. She crossed her feet, pulling them closer.
“Kamila wanted to know how to find her father.”
“And you told her.” Marcus said.
She lowered her head. “Yes.”
“Where is her father?”
“It is not easy to find if you are not from Chechnya.”
She seemed to be taking her time, as though none of this mattered. She was an old woman who wanted company more than to help them save his daughter. He exhaled and, for the moment, decided to let Stormy do the talking.
“I can write out directions, but I cannot go with you,” the aunt said. “You will need help. I can find someone to show the way. It is the least I can do.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Marcus said. “We have a guide. He’s a Russian but has spent many years covering Chechnya.”
“Covering? A reporter?”
Marcus nodded.
“A Russian reporter?”
“He helped us find you.”
The aunt pressed her lips together. She didn’t like the idea, but wasn’t going to say anymore.
She copied a long list of instructions, directions to Kamila’s father, out of a notebook, adding her phone number. “I haven’t seen my brother in a long time. I don’t go up into the mountains any longer. Too dangerous.”
“Thank you,” Stormy said. She slipped her arm under the aunt’s and held her hand. “You are a good woman.”
Marcus took the directions from the aunt. As he did, the aunt glanced at Marcus’s wrist, her eyes wide. “Your daughter, she has the same cloth bracelet.”
“She made one for me too.” He suddenly felt sorry for being so impatient with the old woman. “They are called friendship bracelets.”
“Friendship. So you are close with your daughter. You love each other very much.”
“Yes. Very much,” Marcus said, staving off the wave of grief that threatened to bear down on him.
“Then you are lucky. It is not always so.”
“I am more than lucky.” He turned to Stormy. “Let’s go get Alyssa.”
Chapter 33
With the information her aunt had given her, Kamila knew the way to her father’s encampment, but she still needed a ride there. She found one at the open-air market, where all it took was a sad story about her and the girl and a truck driver already headed back to the forests and farms around Vedeno, the closest town to her father’s hideout.
Everything was going to be better now: she was on her way to her father, and she had even discovered a stash of money under her aunt’s bathroom sink, the same place she had hidden it when Kamila was a child.
Kamila knew how to take care of herself. She would remind her father of that when she saw him. He would know what to do about Alyssa, would help Kamila take care of Alyssa and raise her the way a girl should be raised.
But there were risks. The Russian army and the Chechen militia loyal to the Russians were still a threat. If Kamila and Alyssa were caught, they’d kill her and take Alyssa. Maybe kill Alyssa too, or worse.
Suddenly, Kamila thought of Marcus. She was running from him. But now, giving in, letting him find her no matter what he did to her—that seemed the right thing to do. Marcus could be her safety, protection. If only he would do the right thing.
But Marcus had lied. He wouldn’t protect her, he would take Alyssa and leave her here. No matter what she felt, she couldn’t let him do that.
The truck dropped them off in Vedeno, and Kamila waited for three hours until she spotted two men walking into the market, just across the highway from where she and the girl sat. Kamila knew they were Chechen rebels, not by a uniform or weapons, but by the bravado, the proud defiance that comes with being targeted by the entire Russian Army.
When the rebels left the store to get back in their jeep, Kamila approached them as if they were expecting her, told them who she was and who her father was, and told them they were going to take her to him. They looked at each other, and both seemed reluctant to take the risk of denying the rebel leader’s daughter a ride.
They capitulated, just as she knew they would.
On the way to her father, they passed out of the village, the jeep struggling up the rock-strewn hillside. They were avoiding the main highway. The small road transformed into a series of gravel cutbacks and the trees grew closer together. They were in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains.
The child had fallen asleep next to her. They had traveled so far. Kamila was so close to her goal. Now, minutes away from seeing her father for the first time in years, she wondered again if she had done the right thing. The child’s words, like another disembodied voice, spoke clearly, you are doing to my daddy what they did to you…stealing what is most precious to him.
She shook the thought from her mind. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Kamila was counting on her father understanding, even appreciating what she had done. She had escaped America, brought his only grandchild home to him. But when had he ever appreciated anything Kamila had done? It was always about Anna. Even though Anna was the one who ran away and married an American.
What was the worst he could do? Reject Kamila, call her foolish? Hit her? Nothing he hadn’t done before. But what then? How would she survive if not with her father, her only remaining family? She was suddenly aware that her breath was shallow, her lungs near empty, the oxygen just out of reach. Maybe it was the altitude. Her ears began to ring at a screeching pitch. She was dizzy.
Kamila looked for a distraction, something to focus on, but the view to the left opened as the hillside plummeted to a small stream thousands of feet below. There were no guardrails. The driver swerved to avoid a small boulder in their path and Kamila nearly screamed.
She closed her eyes. Now she was like Alyssa, mumbling under her breath, praying.
The grade leveled and the driver took a side road leading into a patch of forest. Away from the cliffs now, he quickened his pace. The wind whipped across Kamila’s face, forcing air into her lungs, calming her, making her grasp ahold of control again.
Back on the main road, the driver slowed to a stop. He put the jeep in neutral, got out and began calling out to someone in the forest. Two men emerged, one from each side of the road. The driver spoke to them for a few minutes and, before leaving, he bummed a cigarette. He returned to the jeep, lit the cigarette, and continued up the road, slower than before.
Soon they were on a small plateau with a prospect of the valley below. Somewhere down there was Grozny and the rest of Chechnya. They reached the main highway, but after a short while turned down a dirt road that led into the forest. A tattered but sizable house sat on the part of the plateau nearest the mountainside. Several jeeps were parked in a field of d
irt and wild grass. There was a barn and other buildings off to the right.
Kamila hadn’t been here before, but the location was like so many others her father had used, temporary encampments, sometimes surrounding a barn or home, other times deep in the forest. If the Russians discovered them, the rebels and all of their equipment would be gone in less than two hours.
It wasn’t the ideal place to raise a young girl, but what mattered was she was home, safe again. After all these weeks, running from Marcus, selling herself to find shelter and a few bites of food for her and Alyssa, killing to protect herself from the Americans.
The driver turned the jeep off, leaving the keys in place, and walked up to a guard near the front door. The guard at the door stood to talk to the driver, and after a few words, looked up at Kamila.
Their eyes met, and a strange sensation raced through Kamila, a tingling down the back of her neck and through her body to the tips of her fingers. The feeling was like an old memory, vague and unsure. This was the boy who had, many years ago, had a crush on Kamila, said he was in love with her. Back then, she had laughed at him, thought him a stupid boy.
He was not a boy any longer.
His eyes darted away, still as shy as ever. She smiled, but when he looked back at her, his eyes were stony and uncaring. The other soldier left, but still her old friend would not look at her.
Kamila was here to see her father, not some old flame. But she was drawn to him, and wild ideas flashed through her mind, of him raising the girl with Kamila, of having children of their own, of him being in love with her as he always had been.
It was nonsense, but she approached him now as if he was the whole reason she’d come here. What was his name?
“Anwar!” she said. “It has been so long.”
She stood on her toes and put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. He pulled away, his face flush with embarrassment.
“Did you miss me?” Kamila asked.
He looked over her head as if she wasn’t there.
Kamila glanced at Alyssa, and thought she might say to Alyssa, “This boy used to follow me around everywhere I went.” Instead, she said, “What are you looking at?”
“Your father is upstairs,” Anwar said. “You should go see him now.” He turned his back to her. He was just being stubborn. Kamila would have time with him later, after she spoke with her father.
Kamila stepped through the front door. There, in front of her were the stairs that led to her father. Her stomach tightened. She turned, looked out the front door and back toward the long driveway that led to the main road. Maybe this was a mistake. Coming here. Bringing Alyssa. She could turn around, take the girl and go somewhere else. Or leave her.
She narrowed her eyes, clenched her fists. She was his daughter whether he liked it or not. She would face him.
She commanded Alyssa, “Come.”
Chapter 34
For the first time since Alyssa’s disappearance, Marcus knew Kamila’s next steps. She was going to see her father. Thanks to the aunt, they knew her father’s location, too. They were two days behind Kamila, but it was more than likely that once she reached her father’s home, she would stay there. Marcus wasn’t sure, but now it seemed that reaching her father had been Kamila’s goal all along. With Dmitry’s help, they would find the father in a day or two.
Dealing with the father was another problem, an unknown factor. Was he somehow involved in Kamila’s plan to kidnap Alyssa? If so, why now after all of these years? Anna had mentioned that her father would never forgive Marcus for taking her to America. But what did that have to do with Alyssa? He would deal with the father when the time came for that. First, they had to get to him.
They arrived back at the motel to get their belongings and hand over the directions to Dmitry. His knowledge of the Chechen countryside was the reason they had brought him along.
“I hope he hasn’t had too much to drink already,” Stormy said.
“Sober or not, I’m hauling him out of here. I’ll call for a rental car too.”
They parted ways as Stormy left to pack her things.
Marcus opened the door to his motel room. The curtains were closed and the room was dark. Was Dmitry sleeping? Passed out? Marcus turned the lights on and saw that the beds were neatly made. He glanced around the room and none of Dmitry’s belongings were there. The bathroom was empty too.
Returning to the room, he noticed a piece of paper on the bed. He unfolded it. A note from Dmitry. “Dearest Stormy and Marcus. Thank you for the excitement, but I have to be going. Have a big story to follow back home. Now that you have your aunt you will be fine. Best wishes. Dmitry.”
Best wishes? Marcus looked around for something to throw. Instead, he crumpled the note and chucked it across the room.
There was a knock at the door.
Marcus let Stormy in.
“Where’s Dmitry?” she asked.
“Gone.”
“When’s he coming back? We’ve got to get moving.”
Marcus bent to pick up the crumpled note, but noticed something else on the floor. A jump drive.
He handed Stormy the note. She read it, shook her head. “That jerk. He’s our only chance of finding Kamila’s father.”
“I found this,” Marcus said, holding up the jump drive.
“Dmitry’s?”
“Probably, but I’m not going to track him down and return it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“What I’m thinking is we just lost our guide,” she said. “What are we going to do?”
They needed someone capable of finding the rebel location. Even locals familiar with the area would be resistant to getting mixed up with the rebels. “Let’s ask the hotel manager. He looked shady enough to have connections, someone willing to take us up into the hills, for enough cash.”
“Who’s to say they don’t kill us once we get out of the city?”
The road to saving Alyssa wasn’t going to be safe, no matter who helped them. But their safety wasn’t the point. He would make sure Alyssa got home safely, unharmed, no matter who tried to get in his way. Marcus held back the urge to tell her she could go home now if she didn’t think it was safe. Hell, he’d rather she went home, not because she wasn’t helping, but for her own safety. But he knew Stormy wasn’t going anywhere, and there wasn’t anything he could say or do that would change that.
The motel lobby was empty. Marcus called out but no one answered.
“He’ll probably be back in a minute,” Marcus said.
“You have that jump drive?” Stormy asked.
“Why?”
Her eyes landed on the computer reserved for motel guests. “While we’re waiting.”
Marcus handed her the jump drive.
She sat down, plugged it in.
“Not even encrypted,” Stormy said.
There were several files and folders. “Sort by most recent,” Marcus said. She did and at the top of the list, there was a file named Story Due. She opened the file and they read its contents. The story, written by Dmitry, detailed Alyssa’s abduction and how Marcus and Stormy had pursued her to Moscow and now Grozny.
They had trusted him, counted on him to help find Alyssa. Instead, they were just another story. Now half of Chechnya would know about Alyssa and Kamila.
“A lot of people read that newspaper,” Marcus said. “Russians and rebels. Everyone from here to Moscow is going to be looking for us.”
“But why would they care about a couple of Americans and their—your—daughter? Maybe they’ll want to help.”
“It puts Alyssa more at risk. If Kamila ever loses her, it means she could be ransomed. And then there’s the government—an American girl kidnapped by a rebel leader’s daughter will draw attention from the outside, and that is the last thing either side wants. It makes the Russians look bad and the rebels look even worse. We need to get to Kamila’s father now, before this g
ets printed.”
“Too late,” Stormy said, turning the computer monitor toward Marcus. On the Komsomolskaya Pravda news website was the headline. Chechen Woman Kidnaps American Girl. The line below read, Father and Love Interest in Pursuit. Exclusive…
“Exclusive my—” Stormy said.
“How did he get your picture?” Marcus asked.
“I let him…”
“You what?” Marcus exclaimed.
“He took it when I was trying on head scarves at the airport. It was supposed to be a joke. I had no idea he was going to publish it. Not looking like that.” She scrolled down the page. “At least there’s one good thing about this.”
“What?”
“It mentions Jones’s involvement in helping Kamila escape.”
Dmitry’s article implicated Jones in aiding Kamila in kidnapping Alyssa and his connection with events that led to the death of one of his staff. With Jones on the hot seat, his pursuit of Marcus was over. The only question to remain was how devastating this notoriety was going to be to their pursuit of Alyssa.
After all these years, Jones finally got busted. That would be something to smile at, if Marcus’s daughter wasn’t still missing.
“I don’t get how this story is published in the Komsomolskaya Pravda. I thought he worked for that smaller, liberal paper,” Stormy said.
“Don’t you remember how he kept saying all he needed was a big break?” Marcus said. “This was it. He could have been working with them all along. All he cared about was the story.”
“Still, he got us this far,” Stormy said.
“We got us this far,” Marcus retorted. “Now we need to find a way to get to Kamila’s fathers before anyone finds us—or Alyssa.” He looked around the lobby. “And where the hell is that manager?”
Stormy grabbed ahold of Marcus’s arm. “Kamila’s aunt! She told us she could have someone show us the way to Kamila’s father.”
“You’re a genius,” he said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You mean you’re not ready to get rid of me yet?”
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