He smiled. “Not yet.”
Chapter 35
Marcus called the aunt and explained their situation.
“You said there was someone who could help us find your brother?” he asked.
“My nephew. On the side of my late husband. Some in his family have been very involved in what is called the resistance, so they are trusted by the rebels.”
The resistance meant trouble. They would attract the attention of the Russian military, not to mention the pro-Russian Chechen militia. But Kamila’s father was part of the resistance, and that’s where Kamila was headed. Kamila had taken Alyssa into one of the most dangerous regions on earth.
Marcus and Stormy packed their belongings and took a taxi to the apartment. They wouldn’t be returning to the hotel now, thanks to Dmitry outing them to anyone who happened to glance at the cover of the widely circulated newspaper. They were on their own, with a little help—they hoped—from Kamila’s family.
The nephew couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. He was taller than most Chechens they had seen, and unlike most men in the city, he was clean-shaven, revealing an acne-scarred complexion. To Marcus’s surprise, he was wearing a New York Yankees hat. The aunt said something to him in Chechen and he nodded and removed his cap and shook Marcus’s hand. This kid was the one who was going to lead them through rebel controlled mountains and Russian military checkpoints?
“Hello,” he said in Russian. “My name is Salman.”
“I’m Marcus. This is Stormy.”
Salman repeated her name and gave a nod, which turned into a slight bow.
“Salman knows where Kamila’s father is right now,” the aunt said. “He is taking great risk by showing you this place. The Russians will shoot anyone who they find is associating with people like Kamila’s father. They know him. Not that he is what you would call a terrorist. He only kills people with guns, meaning they have a chance to shoot him back, so it is fair. The second threat is my brother, Kamila’s father. He will not be happy that we are showing strangers the way to him. He won’t trust you and he may kill you. I have told Salman here that he is to give all reassurances to my brother that this is all my fault. If he wants to shoot someone, he can come and see me.”
They thanked the aunt again and she hugged them, giving each a kiss on the cheek. “You get that girl,” she said. “For Anna’s sake.”
She shooed them out her door and, just before closing it, pulled Marcus back by the collar of his coat. “Two things. If you were married to that woman,” she nodded at Stormy, “you could prevent these sorts of things from happening. Girls like Kamila will tend to think—,” she paused. “You know what I am saying.”
Marcus nodded.
“Number two, you need to pay Salman well. I promised him you would.”
Marcus looked at Stormy, then Salman, then smiled and nodded at the aunt and they left.
Salman’s car was a compact Lada, no larger than a Ford Escort. After a few tries the car started and cleared its throat in a plume of black smoke.
“Can this car make it into the mountains?” Marcus asked.
“Of course, many times.”
“You’ve been there before,” Stormy said. “How long will it take?”
Salman hesitated before replying. “This trip is even more of a risk, now that everyone who reads the big papers will recognize you. We cannot leave until tomorrow.”
“Why not?” Marcus said. “You said you could help us, and we need to leave today.”
“There are curfews, especially when you start going up into the mountains. We will never make it through the roadblocks. It must be daytime. Now that many people will know who you are, there is a risk of being kidnapped for ransom. Two Americans would be a nice prize.”
“Do you understand how many times we have missed Kamila—by days, hours, minutes?”
“I am sorry about your daughter,” Salman said. “It does not help that the lady’s photograph is in the newspaper,” Salman said, glancing sideways at Stormy. “You cannot go back to your hotel. They will come for you.”
“They who?” Marcus asked.
“Whoever gets here first. Rebels who have nothing to do with this kidnapping but will get blamed for it, or Russians who will find some reason to get rid of you. Take your pick.”
“Then we can’t go back to the aunt’s house either, because the Russians will get a hold of Dmitry, and he knows her address.”
“You need somewhere that he doesn’t know about. You can stay with my family tonight.”
“What if your aunt tells them where we are?”
“My aunt is harder than you think. Tougher than most women,” he said, turning his eyes to Stormy.
Marcus said, “My daughter’s life depends on this. On you getting us to the mountains.”
Salman fixed his eyes on Marcus. “You can trust me. My word is iron.”
A few minutes passed, and Salman asked, “This reporter, tell me why you trusted him.”
“He helped us.”
“How?” Salman asked, a little too direct for Marcus’s comfort.
“Ideas,” he said. “He knew more about the area than we did.”
“He knows about Russia. I know Chechnya. Maybe someday you will get your revenge on him. For now, no more Russians. If weren’t so windy today, I would roll down the window and spit,” Salman said. “Tell me, what good comes from Moscow?”
“I have no idea,” Marcus said, and he meant it.
***
Salman drove them to the outskirts of Grozny. The buildings were smaller and further apart, there were fewer apartments and more houses. Most noticeable was the lack of destruction. There were no bomb-sized holes in the earth or pockmarked buildings. On the way, Salman made a phone call to his family. He spoke in Chechen and Marcus couldn’t understand what he was saying.
When he’d finished talking, he said, “It took some convincing. You can stay tonight and in the morning we leave to find Kamila. Also, I told my father you were both supportive of the Chechen fight for freedom.”
“I’m supportive of what gets my daughter home safe.”
“That’s very American of you,” Salman said. Marcus did not reply. Now was not the time to burn bridges with the one person who could get him to Alyssa.
“You have a very nice house,” Stormy said as they parked along the street. Two older model Mercedes were in the driveway.
“It is my father’s house. He has done well working in the oil industry here in Chechnya.”
They followed Salman into the home and, like him, removed their shoes at the door. The front room was dimly lit but densely decorated with family photos, antique furniture, and wall hangings. An intricate Persian rug covered the floor. Salman led them into the kitchen, where they were greeted by light and warmth and the aroma of chicken and potatoes with overtones of garlic and onions and some other spice Marcus didn’t recognize. Marcus’s stomach prodded him.
“This is my mother,” Salman said. She looked up from the stove and nodded slightly before returning her attention to the chicken she was pulling apart. She was a thin woman with thick eyebrows and long hair tied up loosely.
“And this is my father,” Salman said. The man at the kitchen table stood and shook Marcus’s hand forcefully. He was nearly a foot shorter than Salman.
“Welcome,” he said in English, with a British accent. “My name is Abdul.”
Marcus introduced Stormy and himself. “We appreciate your kindness.”
Abdul looked at her as if out of courtesy only. “Stormy. Very interesting name.” He turned back to Marcus. “I understand your daughter has been abducted by my sister-in-law’s niece. We would like to do what we can.” He paused and glanced at Salman, then turned back to Marcus. “Within limits. You understand the risks.”
“We appreciate your kindness. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the newspaper article revealing who we are and what we are doi
ng—”
“Yes, and the article is why I must ask you to leave in the morning,” Abdul said.
“We plan to leave at sunrise.”
Abdul turned to his son. “Did anyone follow you?”
“No.”
“You are sure?”
“Of course I am sure,” Salman snapped.
“Show them to their rooms then.” Abdul gave Marcus a wry smile. “So hard to get respect out of them now days.”
“It’s a global problem I hear,” Marcus said, returning the smile.
“Indeed.”
“You will be staying with my sister Madina,” Salman said to Stormy. “That is our way, since you are not married.”
“Thank you,” Stormy replied, conspicuous in the offense she took at Salman’s implication. She continued, “That is my way too—thank you very much.”
“You stay in my room,” he said to Marcus.
Down the hallway, Salman knocked loudly on a bedroom door and opened it quickly. “Madina! Pay attention. This woman will be staying in your room tonight.” Alyssa lying on the bed looked up from her laptop and forced a smile in Stormy’s direction.
Salman said, “She may have your bed.”
“That’s not necessary, I can sleep on the floor,” Stormy said.
“Not acceptable,” Salman replied. “My sister must learn hospitality.”
Stormy set her bag down and nodded dismissively to Salman and Marcus. “Don’t mind us girls. We’ll figure out how to survive without a male looking after us.”
Standing behind Salman, Marcus shook his head, a smile crossing his lips. Stormy rolled her eyes at him, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.
Salman’s bed was larger but his room was not. A large flag covered the wall above his bed. “It’s the real Chechen flag,” he said. “I got it from one of the freedom fighters.”
His father spoke from the doorway, “Our guest does not want to hear about freedom fighters. Come, it is time to eat.”
“Maybe he does want to hear. I told you he was a supporter—”
“I know what you told me. Do not think I allowed this because I believe every person who says they support an independent Chechnya. I would in fact be more wary of the person who said so.” He looked at Marcus. “Come.”
They sat down at the table and Abdul said a prayer in Chechen. There was chicken with some sort of grain and a green vegetable. Marcus cleaned his plate quickly and Abdul’s wife motioned for him to take seconds, which he did.
Salman’s sister Madina responded to questions from Stormy about school, occasionally glancing at her mother for approval. Marcus asked Abdul what he did for a living.
“I work in the petroleum industry. Rosneft is a Russian controlled company.” he said. “It is the only reason we are able to live outside of the city.”
“The pay is good?”
“By our standards, yes.”
“If they pay you,” Salman interjected. His mother shook her head almost imperceptibly in his direction. Abdul looked at his wife, then his son, before addressing Marcus. “There are times, especially times of conflict, when control of our natural resources is in question.”
“Meaning,” Salman said, “That the Russians are in control, or worse, the Chechens controlled by the Russians are in control.”
“Silence,” Abdul said. “You speak of what you do not understand.”
“Our oil should benefit the Chechen people. Working for the Russians…it is like aiding the enemy.”
Abdul wore the expression of a man who was feeling both sorrow and anger. “You see, my own son calls me the enemy. This is what the extremists teach.”
“They are not extreme. They want freedom from oppression.”
“Freedom? No, they want chaos and control. Most of them are Arabs who have no care for the interests of the Chechen people.”
“I would rather trust them than the oil companies,” Salman said. “When the time comes, they will get rid you…of all of us. As long as the Russians live, we will die.”
“Stop!” The mother slapped her hand on the table. “Our guests do not need to hear this.”
“It is true, if they didn’t need my expertise they would have rid themselves of me by now.”
Abdul said to Marcus, “Although my son does not have a problem living under my roof. A home provided by money from the enemy, as his friends say. It seems as though Salman cannot wait for the day the Russians come and take me away. At least then he could say he was right about something.”
“That is not what I said.”
“You have nothing but scorn for me while you praise the extremists who would kill school children or send women to blow themselves up in train stations.”
Abdul’s wife rose and removed the plates from in front of Abdul and Salman. “You are finished. Leave and take this elsewhere.” She said to her daughter, “Come help me clean up.” She then looked at Marcus and Stormy. “You may continue your meal.”
Salman rose, and they heard the front door slam as he left.
“I am sorry,” Abdul said in English. “We have not been very good hosts.”
“Every family has conflict,” Marcus said.
“Not every family has their son being recruited by terrorists.”
Stormy excused herself and began helping the mother. Marcus said, “Does Salman have any other dreams or goals? What does he want to do?”
“For my sake he says he will consider the university. He could be anything he wants—if he just got his mind off of hatred.”
“Does everyone feel this way about the Russians?”
“Many do, but are afraid to say so. Others benefit from the Russians being here. Some, like me, just accept what the situation is. I have tried to do the best for my family despite the wars and corruption. I thought I had done some good. But now, I don’t know.”
“He’ll understand. Eventually.”
“I know I am hard on him,” Abdul said. He took a handkerchief and wiped his forehead and the top of his head where his hair had receded. He folded the cloth and repeated the sequence. “But he must learn before it is too late.”
Chapter 36
Stormy sat on Madina’s bed watching the girl listen to what looked like an iPod knockoff. She noticed Stormy staring at her and turned the other direction.
“Sorry about taking your bed.”
“Huh?”
“I said sorry about the bed. You can take it after everyone goes to sleep. I won’t tell anyone.”
Madina did not respond.
“What are you listening to?”
“Nothing you’ve heard of.”
Is this what all teenagers were like? Was she this bad herself—almost twenty years ago? Madina was stubborn, but then again so was Stormy.
“How do you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’ve never heard of the music.”
“It’s rock. You’re too old.”
Too old? “I am barely over 30,” Stormy said.
Madina snickered as though Stormy had proven her point. “It’s Linkin Park.”
It was Stormy’s turn to laugh now.
“What’s so funny?” Madina demanded.
“I went to one of their concerts—in my younger days, of course.”
She perked up. “You saw them in concert?”
“Totally,” Stormy said. “Like I said, a long time ago.”
Madina’s shoulders sank. “Oh. Not that anyone ever tours in Grozny. My parents wouldn’t let me go to a concert anyway.”
“I’m surprised they let you listen to—”
“They don’t know the difference or even how I get music…online.” Madina sat up. “You’re not going to tell my father are you?”
Stormy smiled. “No.”
Madina relaxed. “Good. Besides, I’m not the only one doing stuff. Salman does online gaming all the time.”
“What kind of
games?”
“Fighting…killing…the usual.”
“Your parents don’t mind?” Stormy couldn’t imagine Salman’s father approving of any game involving violence.
“They don’t know. I figure they worry about him enough. They think he’s going to go get himself killed fighting with the resistance.” Madina’s expression turned to one of concern. “I worry about him too.”
Stormy tried to sound reassuring, despite her own doubts. “Maybe Salman will change his mind about all of that…”
Madina took the headphones out of one ear. “So is he your boyfriend?”
“Who? Marcus? No…I mean, kind of.” Was that a blush she felt on her cheeks?
“Have you kissed yet?”
Stormy’s eyebrows perked up. “What do you know about kissing?”
Madina shrugged her shoulders. “Not much, unfortunately.” When she noticed Stormy’s doubtful gaze she said, “I’m serious. I wish I did.”
“The longer you wait before getting involved with boys the better. It’s not all fun and games, sister, trust me.” Stormy thought of all she had put up with over the years. And, she had caused a few problems herself.
“But he’s different?”
Stormy considered her answer before responding. “Sort of different, sort of the same. You come to learn that no one is perfect, and you just have to accept some things.”
“So you’re different, then.”
Stormy glanced up at the girl who had transformed from snotty teen to seasoned therapist. “You sure know a lot about relationships…”
“I watch a lot of movies online. We get the Russian translations.”
Stormy grinned. “Don’t tell your father, right?”
“Exactly.” Madina beamed. “So what’s it like?”
“Kissing?” She hoped that’s what Madina was asking.
“Yes.”
“It’s hard to explain. You have to do it to understand. Not that I’m suggesting that you do kiss anyone. Not right now at least.”
It’s not like the boys are knocking on my door.” Madina pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.
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