“But what about my dad? I can’t leave without him.”
Amelia ran her hand along Alyssa’s hair. “I know you miss him. And we can hope he stays safe. But you can’t stay here.”
“How long?”
“A few days at most, until I can get a pilot to get you home.”
“My home is with my dad.”
Ever since Kamila had taken her to Russia, in all the days since then, Alyssa never imagined going home without him. She had to wait for him. How was he ever going to find Alyssa if people kept moving her around?
“Do you have grandparents in America?”
“That’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not. But it means you are alive, and safe. And that’s what your dad would want.”
Alyssa pushed hard against the tears, but they came anyway. She had escaped Kamila, but nothing changed. She was still alone, far away from her dad. She had no say in what happened. Adults got to decide where she stayed, if she got to see her dad. The idea of running away briefly floated through her head. That would be stupid, she thought. And at least here someone spoke English. And it was safer than being with Kamila.
Kamila was gone, but for how long? The last weeks had taught her something about Kamila. She might be crazy, but she never gave up. Alyssa took a sip of cocoa to cover the sick feeling in her stomach as she realized that Kamila wasn’t done with her. She wouldn’t stop until she had Alyssa again. She wanted to wait for her father, but without him to protect her from Kamila, Alyssa still wasn’t safe.
Chapter 53
They had crossed the highest point of the pass and had begun their descent. The clouds grew thin, leaving an ominous gap between the sky and the earth. The sunset reached out to them briefly yet with overbearing brilliance.
Hassan’s voice cut through the picturesque scene like a jagged piece of glass. “We are near the place we must stop. We must refuel. And I need to know if it is safe to continue. We rebels control this area, but there are Russian patrols.”
“How long will it take?” Marcus asked.
“I will get you there,” Hassan said. His tone wasn’t reassuring.
“I thought your commander told you not to stop.”
“The old man does not rule over everyone from his little mountain hole.”
“But you are going to do what you were told, right?” Marcus repeated.
“You should learn some respect, American.” Hassan glared so intensely at Marcus that he began to creep off the road. Marcus reached over and corrected the wheel.
“Why don’t you just pay attention to where you are taking us?”
“Respect,” Hassan muttered, his gaze back on the road. “That’s what you need to learn.”
By the time they reached the village, a cluster of small buildings crowded around the highway, the sun had vanished and in the little valley, the night was as devoid of light as the sunset had been awash with it.
Hassan stopped at the gas station.
He put the fuel hose in the car’s tank and let it run. Before going inside, he stuck his head in the car. “You can stay out in the cold if you want.”
“I don’t trust him,” Marcus said.
“I agree,” Stormy replied.
“Not good, because one of us is right.
Marcus glanced across the street at the row of empty buildings.
“What is it?” Stormy asked.
“I thought I saw something move, over there.”
“Looks like a ghost town,” Stormy said.
“Must be lack of sleep. Imagining things.”
“Let’s go in,” Stormy said.
Inside, the air was filled with the odor of stale cigarette smoke. There was a small counter space near the door that sold cigarettes, gum, and candy. Hassan sat sipping a warm drink from a small cup, steam rising up over his face. There were two other men with him. One of the men was an Arab like Hassan. The other looked Chechen. The two new men gawked at Stormy as though they had not seen a woman in months. She glared back at them and they looked away like scolded dogs.
Stormy shifted her weight impatiently, and one of the men rose from his seat and motioned for her to sit in his chair. She hesitated and Hassan said something to him in a disgusted tone, then pulled the man by the shirt back down into the chair. Hassan shook his head, but did not look at Marcus or Stormy.
“It’s time to leave,” Marcus said.
Hassan did not look at Marcus. “I am not ready yet.”
“We are.”
Hassan turned slowly to Marcus. “Too bad,” he said, his Arab accent thicker now.
Marcus wasn’t going to let this little prick, rebel or not, stop him from reaching Alyssa. “You want to stay, good. Give me the damn keys—”
Hassan rose, pulling out a pistol from his coat pocket.
In the half-second he stood there, Marcus thought of a plan. Step one, calm the bastard down. Step two, take his gun.
He never had a chance to see if his plan would have worked.
From across the room, a panicked voice screeched through a two-way radio. Two, then three times, the voice repeated a phrase in Chechen. The Chechen at the table said something to Hassan then ran over to the radio and began talking to the man on the other side of the transmission. Hassan put his gun back in his pocket and turned to Marcus. “Infidels! I knew you were going to get me killed.”
“What?” Marcus started.
“Be quiet,” Hassan said, listening to the ongoing radio conversation.
When the talking stopped, the other men ran into a back room and came out with coats on, rifles slung over their shoulders. The man who had offered Stormy his seat returned with a large metal container. Opening it, he began assembling what looked like a surface to air missile launcher.
Marcus and Stormy followed the three rebels outside. The two men from the store ran across the street to a large military truck. Hassan stood back, watching as the rebels started the truck, drove about a hundred yards, then stopped in front of a wooded area where they jumped out and melted into the now dark forest.
The reason for the excitement became apparent within seconds. There was the sound of machine gun fire, followed by bright flares in the distance. They could not see the helicopters but could hear the blades whooshing in the cold night air.
The Russian military had found the rebels. If they stayed here any longer, they would all be killed.
Marcus’s eyes settled on Hassan, who had slid into the front seat of the car.
“Let’s go,” Stormy said. The helicopters were nearly on them now, the swoosh of the blades sending dust and dirt in a maelstrom around them.
“I’ll get the hose,” Marcus shouted. He had his hand on the gas pump when Hassan pressed on the accelerator. Marcus arched back as the gas hose, still inside the car’s gas tank, stretched then, with a pop, broke free of the gas station pump.
Their only means of reaching Alyssa had left without them.
“What are we going to do?” Stormy asked.
“Let’s get out of the line of fire,” Marcus said. They could find a ride later, but that wouldn’t do any good if the Russians spotted them. The sprinted for the abandoned buildings they’d seen earlier, directly across from the gas station. Safely hidden in the shadows, they turned their attention back to the highway.
“Look!” Stormy said, pointing.
Hassan had stopped the car in the middle of the highway. A military helicopter hovered above the road. The car’s dome light flickered as the door opened. Hassan leapt from the car, bullets nicking the pavement around him.
In the moonlight, silhouettes descended along ropes flung from the helicopter. As the first soldier reached the pavement, a flash erupted from the woods, where the two rebels were hiding with their surface to air missile. The explosion from the helicopter, first in the air as it hovered, and then as it crashed to the earth creating a second burst, briefly engulfed the stand of trees where
the missile had originated. The incineration lit up the sky, casting strange shadows against the buildings and nearby trees, a bonfire fueled by petroleum and dead soldiers.
“Come on.” Marcus led them around the back of the buildings across from the gas station. Even several hundred feet away, the heat was overwhelming. The acrid smell of the smoke began to fill the air. They pulled their coats up around their mouths but they were both hacking, wanting to breathe but unable to do so without sucking in the poison air.
They moved down the row of buildings until they reached the one closest to where the men had been hiding. The long grass between the road and the trees smoldered between pockets of more intense flame. Directly across from them, Hassan’s car sat haphazardly on the road. The lights were off but the engine was still running.
They had their ride back, and no more Hassan. If they moved fast enough, they might avoid the inevitable reinforcements that could arrive any second now.
They sprinted to the car, the heat searing. Marcus glanced at the tires. Not melted, but ready to blow any second. They got back in the car, the seats burning his legs and back.
Marcus pulled his coat around his fingers and wrapped them around the steering wheel.
Next to him, Stormy sat on the edge of her seat, as if to touch as little as possible of the car’s interior.
Marcus put the car in gear and punched the accelerator.
“Stop!” Stormy shouted.
“What the—“
She pointed at the man who had stumbled in front of the car. Marcus slammed on the brakes.
Hassan stared back at Marcus, hands holding his side.
“He’s been hurt,” Stormy said. “We should help him.”
“Are you freaking serious?”
“You can’t just run him over,” she said.
Hassan leaned on the hood of the car, approaching the driver’s door. Marcus didn’t notice the gun pointed at him until it was inches from his head. “Out,” Hassan grunted, his breathing shallow.
Marcus and Stormy exited the car as Hassan stepped back carefully, pointing the weapon at Marcus. “The lady will drive me,” he said. “Get behind the wheel.” Stormy looked at Marcus and he nodded. Once Stormy was in, Hassan limped toward the back seat and leaned down to get in.
Marcus took a step toward Hassan, hand outreached for the pistol in Hassan’s left hand. Hassan, sensing Marcus, swiveled quickly around and the gun was inches from Marcus’s abdomen.
“Step back.”
Marcus did.
Hasan fell into the back seat. Marcus made to lunge himself at Hassan, but was stopped short by Hassan’s next words.
“Try anything and I will kill her.”
The gun was pointed at the back of Stormy’s head.
“Marcus—”
“Go!” Hassan demanded, closing the back door.
“But—”
“Go!” he shouted, “Or I will blow his brains out!”
Stormy’s eyes were on Marcus as she slowly pulled away.
Chapter 54
Kamila had watched the car drive up and a man dressed like one of the rebels enter the station. Kamila went out the back door and around to the side of the shop to get a better look. She had the pistol in her hand, hoping Alyssa was with the soldier. Instead, a man and a woman left the car and entered the store. The man looked like—Marcus?
Had her father set her up—with Marcus’s help?
Marcus was here to kill her, and in a moment of clarity, it all came together in her mind: the aunt, her father, her father’s people, they were going to help Marcus find Kamila. But she didn’t have Alyssa anymore. Why was he still after her? Unless Marcus did still love Kamila.
But who was that woman with him? She didn’t look Chechen. Too tall, too skinny.
Kamila pulled the clip of the pistol and counted how many bullets she had. Enough to kill all of them. All of them except for Marcus, maybe. But the others, if she didn’t deal with all of them now they would never stop chasing her.
Kamila crossed the highway. She stood back from the window and peered inside. Her father’s man was at the table with the other two rebels. Marcus—it was him—stood next to a tall, American looking woman. She was attractive. Is this the woman Marcus chose to replace Anna, to replace her, Kamila, as well? This made sense now too. This American, she was the reason Marcus wanted to send Kamila back to Chechnya.
The American woman would die too.
Kamila had her hand on the door, when the distant but familiar sound of helicopter blades echoed off the mountainside. She had to hurry. She checked her gun, made sure the safety was off. Kamila turned the door handle but paused when someone shouted through the station’s radio. Panicked, the soldiers had their weapons now. If they saw her first, they would kill her.
Kamila ran around the side of the gas station and hid. Two of the men crossed the street to the truck and drove away from the gas station. The other soldier pulled the gas hose out of the car and went in the same direction. Marcus and the woman were alone. Now was her chance. She rounded the corner only to see Marcus and the woman leaving the store. They ran across the street toward Kamila’s hiding place.
Kamila stepped forward, aiming the gun at the woman first. She would have to hit her target the first time. There were only so many bullets. She squinted, tried to focus on the woman, but the beating of helicopter blades was overwhelming, pushing her away from her target. The helicopter passed over her. Down the road, the car that Marcus had arrived in had stopped, its driver sprinting for safety.
The stupid rebels had done something to draw attention to themselves. It was no wonder. Kamila could have easily killed them in their sleep while they were supposed to be on duty. Men were so cocky, always thought of doing things the easy way. No thinking. She thought again about the women who had sacrificed their lives in the fight against the infidels. A handful of sisters and daughters had done much more in a few suicide attacks than a full unit of rebel men could ever do.
Kamila looked up at the helicopter and saw, not for the first time in her life, Russian Special Forces soldiers descending for an attack.
Where had Marcus and the woman gone? Kamila ran back toward the gas station, but before she reached it, the sky lit up in a fireball and the blast threw her to the ground. She closed her eyes waiting for fire to engulf her, for the soldiers to kill her.
Kamila opened her eyes, felt the hard pavement under her back. She flexed her fingers and felt that the pistol was still in her hand. They would not capture her. She would blow her own brains out before she let that happen. Kamila rolled over and saw that the helicopter was gone—incinerated, and the Russians with it.
She sat up and felt her side. It ached but there was no blood. She listened as well as she could through the roaring of the fire, but couldn’t hear any other helicopters in the area.
Was Marcus dead too? Down the highway she could not see past the burning remains of the helicopter. She crossed the street, and from behind the abandoned buildings she started the jeep she had hidden when she arrived. As she pulled onto the highway, the vehicle filled with the stench of melting plastic, the heat from the fire burning and consuming everything around it. The steering wheel was hot and her skin felt sunburned in an instant.
Staying close to the buildings, she steered as far away from the blistering wreckage as possible. When she came around the other side of the highway, the flames behind her, she saw the other car—the one Marcus had arrived in, drive away, leaving Marcus alone on the highway. Marcus glanced around but did not see Kamila. He began walking toward the forest.
Marcus, alone.
She wasn’t prepared for this. She could convince him to take her back, to forgive her. Make him know the truth, that Kamila was only doing what was best for everyone.
He wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t forgive her.
He’ll give you to the Russians. Or kill you.
Kamila pointed the je
ep at Marcus, then pushed the accelerator to the floor and held it there.
Chapter 55
Marcus watched Stormy and Hassan drive away. He might be able to catch up with them if they stayed on the main highway. This was the reason he hadn’t wanted Stormy along. Now he had two people to rescue. The problem was, he had no idea where Hassan was taking her. And Alyssa was his first priority.
He had to find transportation, and a weapon. If he’d had a rifle, even a handgun, he wouldn’t be standing here now. First, he had to get off the highway. He headed for the forested area where he’d seen the two rebel men go. If he could convince them that he was on their side, that he had been sent her by his father-in-law, a rebel leader, they might help.
Marcus did not hear the jeep racing toward him. Nor did he see the headlights, flooded as the highway was with flames. It was instead a sense of danger, a keen awareness of something behind him, a different kind of threat than that which was driving away with Stormy. He turned just enough to discern that whatever it was, it was fast and coming right at him. He ran, and as he reached the edge of the forest he kept running past the first tree, then the second and third.
There was a crush of metal and then the only sound was the ongoing mutter of the helicopter’s burning wreckage. Marcus stood, half hidden behind a large tree. The twisted hood of the jeep had been flung back against the car’s front window so that Marcus couldn’t get a good view of the driver. Whoever it was that had tried to run him down, he doubted they were alive, but he wasn’t going to wait there and see what came next, at least not without a weapon in his hand.
He thought again of the two rebel men. They would either kill him, or help him, a risk he had to take.
Marcus ran parallel to the highway, one tree to the next, until he reached the point from where he had seen the rocket launched. He found the rebels only a few feet from each other. Marcus bent over one body and touched the man’s arm. It was warm—too warm. He was dead, that was clear, but the heat from the fire was keeping him from going cold. Marcus pulled the rifle off the man and wrapped it around his own shoulder. The other rebel, just as dead, lay on his back, the rocket launcher across his chest.
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