Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  She got close and squatted to get a different angle and noticed a woman heading toward the building. She was dressed in a blue burqa, only her eyes visible as she approached and met Charlie’s gaze. Her nod was slight, and if Charlie hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed it completely. She pulled the camera to her face again and pretended to click off another shot.

  “Contact made. Please confirm GPS tracker is working.”

  “Tracker is pinging, C. You following the blue lady?” Luke’s voice crackled in her ear.

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t see too many full burqas these days,” Luke said.

  “What’s that mean?” Kenzie’s voice came over the radio.

  “A greater chance of these guys being the extremists we think they might be,” Luke said.

  “And that’s not good for our girl, right?” Kenzie said.

  “Nope. Not good at all.”

  “I thought all burqas were black,” Kenzie said.

  “No, there are four colours, black, white, yellow, and blue. The blue is common to the Afghanistan Muslims, but the Pashtun tribe covered the northern regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan. So it’s not uncommon here.”

  “Do the colours mean anything?”

  “The blue is supposed to be about hope and heavenly paradise, and it’s supposed to ward off the evil eye.”

  “Are you serious?” Kenzie laughed.

  “Totally serious.”

  “Christ.”

  Charlie tuned out Kenzie’s incredulity and followed the woman, snapping photographs as she went. She followed her through the bazaar and stood next to her as she purchased roti bread and went to the grocery stall. She filled the basket she was carrying with fresh fruit and vegetables before leading Charlie to an alley around the back.

  “You are from embassy?”

  “Yes. Amira?” The woman nodded. “My name’s Charlotte.”

  “You have come to help Hazaar?”

  The casual mention of her name made Charlie shiver. “I will do everything I can.”

  “I do not have long. If Abu suspects I have done this…” She let her voice trail away, but Charlie didn’t need her to fill in the blanks. She knew that Amira was risking her own life. Amira pulled an envelope from under her tunic and handed it to Charlie. “You will need address.”

  “I have that already. Who is going to kill her?”

  “Abu.” She shook her head. “Father-in-law. He say burn to cleanse family name.”

  “How badly is she hurt?”

  “She need doctor. Shoulder not right, bleeding from head. She breathe badly, hurt here.” She pointed to her ribs. “Her hands not good. Bones sticking out of skin. He burn feet too.”

  Charlie felt sick. How could anyone do that to another person? “What about Hazaar’s husband? What does he say?”

  “He very angry at his father for hurting Hazaar. Say he should not have touched, that it his place to speak to own wife. Not for someone else to decide.”

  “Is he going along with the honour killing? Do you know when they’re planning on doing it?”

  Amira shrugged. “I not hear and I not see before I leave this morning.”

  “I understand.” The news that Yasar had confronted his father about his treatment of Hazaar confused Charlie. Why stand up for her but not get her medical attention? Why pretend like you care and then not take care of such basic needs? What was going on? She wished she had time to drill down with Amira into the family dynamics, not only to try to understand what Hazaar’s life had been like these past three years, but also to figure out the best way to negotiate with these men. She needed to understand what was in their heads and the best way to use that to save Hazaar’s life.

  “You come get her now?”

  “I wish it was that simple.” Charlie tucked the envelope into her pocket.

  “But they will to kill her.”

  “I will do all I can. Who should I talk to about her release?”

  “Talk? You cannot talk to them. They will know.” Amira’s voice became shrill and she clutched at Charlie’s arm. “Please.”

  “I have to try and talk to them, or at least one of them, to negotiate for her release.”

  “If you talk to them, they will know I am speaking to you.”

  “Amira, this is how we work.”

  “And this is how he work.” She held her hand out, fingers curled into a fist. Charlie held her hand out and caught the small item Amira dropped. “You talk, not do, this happen to both of us.” She turned and walked away.

  Charlie opened her hand and stared at the twisted hunk of blackened, melted metal. It was difficult to make out the shape or the details, but Charlie didn’t need to. She knew what it was. She saw the details exactly as they had been in the shop when she bought it. She saw the way the fading sunlight had bounced off the metal as she’d fastened it to Hazaar’s neck. She saw the chain intact rather than the broken, twisted, and melted string that hung from the edges of the warped wings.

  Charlie hurried to catch up with her. “How did you get this? I mean, how did it end up like this? You said she was still alive?” Please don’t let me be too late. Please. Not after all this time.

  “She is. He threw in fire after he burn feet.” She looked over her shoulder. “I go in to give water and she beg me take this. She beg me give to bring you to help.”

  “Why are you helping her? You know that by doing so you are risking your own life, so why?”

  Amira straightened her shoulders. “She have little girl. She need mother.” She frowned as though she was trying to find the right words. “When I little my mother to kill by her father. She bad wife and shame family. Should make all good when dead, but they not like me after this. It was difficult time, bad time, and it not good for girl child. Hazaar love child. She good mother. Baby deserve good life.”

  “I understand.”

  “You save them both.”

  “I will.” Charlie slid what was left of the pendant into her pocket. “You have my word, Amira. I will help.” She watched Amira walk out of the alley.

  “You don’t know that you’re going to be able to do that, Charlie. You know better than making promises you might not be able to keep.” Al’s voice was gruff over the comm line.

  “I know my job, Al.”

  “Yeah? Then act like it.”

  She pulled the bud out of her ear and walked toward the van. She went over everything that Amira had said, and the only thing that was unexpected had been the information about Yasar and how he had responded to his father’s assault of Hazaar. She wished she’d asked Amira if he been violent toward Hazaar. The answer would have been very revealing, but she had an inclination that he wouldn’t have touched her like that. That he would consider it beneath him to lose control in this way. She didn’t know how she knew; she just did.

  She pulled open the door to the van and climbed inside. “I need everything on Yasar Siddiqi. And I do mean everything. I want college records, dissertations, public speeches, the works. I want to know how this guy thinks, and I need it yesterday.”

  “I’m on it.” Luke was already on the line to Hillary.

  “Kenzie?”

  “Boss?”

  “Just how good a profiler are you?”

  She turned in the front seat and grinned over her shoulder. “I’m very good.”

  “Just what I needed to hear. Go over everything Luke digs up and tell me everything you can about this guy. Why did he confront his father about him beating her? Something tells me this is pivotal.”

  “On it.”

  “Al, do we have a map of the area?”

  “We do. How accurate it is, well, that’s a whole other story.” He tossed a roll of paper at her. “Take a look. The alleyway that you disappeared into isn’t even marked on here.”

  “Right. Looks like we need a recon of the area then.”

  “Charlie, we aren’t sanctioned to do that.”

  “I just want to be pr
epared, Al.” She glanced up at his scowling face. “All I’m talking about is taking a little walk around the area. See what it’s like. That’s it.”

  “Yeah, and I’m Mother Teresa.” Luke and Kenzie sniggered. “I know you.”

  “I’ll be good. I promise.” His scowl deepened. “I swear.” She crossed her fingers over her chest. “Want me to pinkie swear too?”

  “Funny.”

  “Look, Al—”

  “I get it. Just don’t get us killed, and I’d like to keep my job too, if you can manage it.”

  “Working on it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The North of England, then

  Hazaar stared at the stick resting on the bathroom counter. Two pink dye lines showed clearly in the tiny window and the instruction paper shook in her hand. Six months. I’ve only been married six fucking months and I’m pregnant already. She shook her head and tried to focus. I haven’t even finished decorating the house yet. She tossed the instruction pamphlet in the bin and leaned against the counter. She ran the tap and splashed water over her face.

  Stupid questions ran through her mind repeatedly despite the fact that she knew the answers. Questions like, “why me,” “how the hell did this happen,” and “what the fuck am I going to do now?” plagued her. Her legs felt weak, like they wouldn’t support her, so she dropped the lid on the toilet and sat down. She put one hand across her lower abdomen and tried to remember the details of her sisters’ pregnancies. How big would it be now? She’d missed one period and put it down to the stress of the wedding, the house move, losing Charlie, and getting used to her new life, but being late for the second month in a row wasn’t something she could ignore. Two months, baby, how big would you be? Are you a boy or a girl?

  She tried to picture what her child would look like, something her mother had talked about over and over since first seeing Yasar. Her mother was certain he would give her beautiful children who were tall, strong, handsome boys and beautiful girls for her to raise. Hazaar had ignored her ramblings, not wanting to think about it in any way. She wanted to forget his touch, not linger on the thoughts of what it would create. Now she had no choice. She hadn’t wanted to admit that it was only a matter of time before it would happen.

  Yasar was a strong, virile man. He wanted a family and he was looking forward to it. Now she tried to picture the baby’s face, the little fingers and toes. Would it have hair when it was born, or would it be bald? She rubbed her stomach slowly, soothingly, like she was stroking the child’s back as it slept soundly and waited for birth.

  What will you be like, baby? Will you love music as I do? Will you want to choose your own life or will you be content with the life you’ll be given? One chosen for you by your father.

  She pictured the son that he could be, growing strong in his father’s image. She had learned in the past six months that Yasar had his own code, his own set of rules that he lived by, and he was comfortable with that. He was sure of himself and he would protect what was his, no matter what. His business was simply that, business. He would raise his son to follow in his footsteps and teach him his trade, to live the same life that he was happy and content with. Smuggling drugs and being a part of a family dynasty that would order the execution of people who knew information about his business would be normal for her son as it was normal to Yasar. Just like any other day at the office.

  She rubbed her stomach again, this time higher up. She moved quickly and managed to get the lid of the toilet seat up before she vomited. She hung her head over the bowl and waited until the room stopped spinning.

  “Are you okay?”

  She twisted her head to the side and looked up at Yasar as he stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m not surprised. I could hear you downstairs.” He squatted beside her to rub her back. “Something you ate, maybe?”

  “Is my cooking that bad?”

  He laughed. “No, my darling, it isn’t.” He reached for some tissues and handed them to her.

  “Thank you.” She wiped her mouth.

  “Let me get you some water.” He stood and paused over the sink.

  Shit, I didn’t throw away that damn test stick.

  “Hazaar?” He held it up, his eyes wide, a smile starting on his lips. “You are pregnant?”

  She nodded as he pulled her up off the floor and spun her around in his arms. “Oh no, don’t. I’ll be sick again.”

  “Sorry.” He put her down and crushed her in his arms. “I’m so happy. You have made me so happy.” He kissed her head. “A father.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to be a father.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bedroom, where he laid her gently on their bed. “Let me get you that water, my darling.” He went back to the bathroom. “How long?” he asked as he came back to the side of the bed.

  She took the glass he handed to her. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll call the doctor and make an appointment.” He pulled out his phone and clicked a button, and within minutes he had an appointment set up for her and had cancelled a meeting for the afternoon. “I’ll take you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I know how busy you are.”

  “I want to. I’m your husband. I swore to look after you, to protect you, and you’re pregnant with my child. It’s my honour.” He looked so happy and so sincere, so proud of himself, and of her. He put his hand on her belly. “Our child.”

  “Yes.” She sipped her water with her eyes closed.

  “If it’s a boy I’ll name him in honour of our fathers. Perhaps Isam Tazim Siddiqi?” He kissed her hand. “And a daughter will be yours to name.”

  She looked at him, surprised by the unexpected concession. It was traditional for the first son to be named after their grandfathers, either entirely or their second names, but allowing Hazaar total freedom in the naming of their daughter wasn’t something she had expected. She had thought he might take her choice into account, but not like this.

  “Do you have a name in mind for a daughter?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.” She hadn’t considered giving birth to a daughter. She hadn’t considered giving birth at all. She didn’t want to think about it, but now she couldn’t stop. Should the child be a daughter, she had no doubt that Yasar would be devoted to her, that he would love her and care for her. He would teach her, and eventually, he would marry her into the same life that Hazaar had. Her daughter would have few, if any, choices in the world she would be born into. She looked down where his hand rested on her belly, possessing not only her but her unborn child too, and she knew she couldn’t do this anymore.

  In a choice between the life of her unborn child and her father’s, there really was no contest.

  Chapter Thirty

  Pakistan, today

  “Kenzie, tell me good things about this guy.” Charlie stared at the picture, the image of Yasar and Hazaar on their wedding day. He was smiling broadly into the camera, one arm around Hazaar’s waist and the other holding a piece of fruit to her lips. Hazaar’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “How long do I have?”

  Charlie raised her eyebrow and closed the folder she was holding.

  “Not long, got it.” She tossed Charlie a cheeky grin. “Okay, this guy is complicated, smart, and dedicated.” She pointed at the tablet in front of her. “He wrote papers during college about a huge variety of things, but his way of thinking is very clear.”

  “Kenzie, give me bullet points.”

  “Bullet points. He’s well educated and has a well-developed code of ethics that he lives by.”

  “Ethics? The guy’s a drug smuggler.”

  “I know. He wrote a paper on the Atlantic trade routes of the sixteen and seventeen hundreds, where he posited the opinion that they weren’t just slave traders but also the drug traffickers of their day, supplying sugar and tea around the Empire to the addicted Brits and reinforc
ing the slave labour workforce as they did so, to continue to supply their habits. That they’re condemned as slave traders when all they were doing was supplying a product that was in demand. That they were business men and sought only to earn a living and provide for their families to the best of their abilities.”

  “Sick,” Luke said.

  “Well, not really, no. He makes some very valid points, and while I don’t agree with slavery or condone it in any way, he’s right. Had there been no demand for slaves, there would have been no trade. They were men who filled a need that society at the time had called for. Business men.”

  “Surely you can’t agree with that?” Luke was staring at Kenzie.

  “Agree with slavery? No. Never. I already said that. But I do agree with the point he made. It wasn’t the traders who created the societal culture that allowed slavery to flourish. They merely made the most of the opportunities they had.”

  “Luke, Kenzie, we could debate this till the cows come home, I’m sure, but I don’t quite see what this is telling us about Yasar.” Charlie tapped her fingers on her leg.

  “It tells me that he sees himself as a business man who is vilified for reasons that he feels are unjust. It has made him angry and all the more determined to succeed and be the best he can be.”

  “The best drug dealer, you mean?”

  “Yes. But it also tells me more about his motivations.”

  “Such as?”

  “This is how he provides for his family. He is competitive and wants to provide for them the best way he can. He wants the world to see how well he is doing for himself, and for his family. He is also loyal, resolute, and intractable. He is a man who would be devoted to his family, take his responsibilities toward them seriously, and as such, he would expect complete loyalty in return.”