War Kids: Books 1 - 3 ( Young Adult Thriller Series

by HJ Lawson

  “You want to grab a coffee before we get there?” I asked.

  Gérard laughed. “Are you getting nervous? We can still turn back.”

  “Hell, no. Not a chance!”

  “I didn’t think so.” He smiled at me. “It’ll be fine. I’m here. He won’t hurt you, but you do need to keep your eyes on him. He’s a bit… of a ladies man, if you get what I mean.”

  Oh great, I thought, I’m going to meet a pervert! Wish I’d brought my gun with me. “How well do you know Makio?” I asked, a little worried about Gérard's last comment.

  “Don’t worry. We were in training together with your parents.”

  “Did you and he work together as spies?”

  Gérard fell silent. I’ve noticed that when I ask questions about his and my parents’ past, he always takes a while before he speaks, like he’s trying to hold in secrets. “Yes, he was my partner.”

  “Was my father your partner as well?”

  “Yes.”

  So my father was a spy too…

  “Why did you stop being partners?”

  Gérard turned white, as if this was part of what he was trying to hide. “Jada, I just don’t know. When we find him, that’s one of the questions I need to ask him.”

  I paused. “Were you partners with my mother?” Just saying the word mother brought a lump to my throat.

  Gérard looked over at me, squeezing his lips together. “We worked together on our last mission, fifteen-and-a-half years ago.”

  Jesus… so my mother was a proper spy as well.

  “What was the mission?” I whispered.

  “Top secret, Jada. Can’t talk about it.” Gérard leaned over and turned up the volume on the radio. “I love this song. It's not like the rubbish you kids listen to.”

  I supposed that was my cue to stop asking questions.

  We listened to the music and enjoyed the view from the window as we drove down the narrow street. It was lined with beautiful trees swaying in the summer breeze. Without thinking, words began to pour from my mouth. “Gérard, what did the letter say -”

  “Looks like we’re here,” Gérard cut me off before I could finish. He acted like he didn’t hear me and pointed to the wood cabin at the top of the hill.

  “Nice place!” I said sarcastically. It looked like a murderer’s house!

  “Nice and hidden; it’s the safest place for him. Remember, he’s fast, and probably knew we were coming even before we did.”

  Great… I thought he was a martial arts ninja, not a mind reader!

  Gérard pulled up the car in front of the cabin.

  BANG.

  “Argh!” I screamed out, and my heart skipped a beat. I looked over to Gérard’s window, where the sound came from.

  Gérard yelled. “What the hell, Makio!”

  An Asian man was standing at the window, laughing; I guessed that was Makio. Jesus, he was fast!

  “Sorry, Jada. I forgot to tell you he’s a bit of a joker! Stay in the car for a minute. I need to go kick his ass!”

  Still shaking, I nodded at Gérard. I hoped he would beat him good for scaring me half to death like that!

  Gérard quickly leapt out of the car, and Makio sprang away.

  “What the hell, Makio! You scared the life out of me! Come here, you sneaky little ninja… I am too old for your games!”

  Gérard stopped and raised his arms out for a hug… what was going on? I thought they were going to fight or something….

  Makio hesitated and then moved closer to Gérard. Gérard swung a fist toward Makio. Here we go! Makio reached out and, in one fast swoop of his wrist, Gérard was laid out on the ground, laughing. Makio stood over him and laughed also.

  I jumped out of the car. “You boys finished playing?” I walked over to Makio with my hand out in front of me… Zak’s trick. “I take it you’re Makio. I’m Jada, Mia and Léon’s daughter.” It was weird saying their new names; I’m still not used to the fact that they lied to me about their identities.

  “Mmm… sorry, yes I’m Makio. It’s nice to meet you.” He lowered his head and shook my hand.

  Makio looked over toward Gérard, but with his eyes still on the ground. “Damn, she’s just like Mia. Talks the same, looks the same, bosses me around the same…”

  Gérard nodded.

  “Sorry, Makio, I don’t mean to be rude,” I said. “I’m just impatient… guess I get that from my mother as well.”

  “Hey, no worries; I like it.” Makio laughed playfully.

  Gérard took a handful of dirt from the ground and threw it up at him. “Back off, mate!”

  “Calm down, Gérard. I’m only playing. Sorry. We’re both old enough to be her father.”

  Gérard squinted his eyes angrily. He really was protective. I could see then why Father wanted me to find Gérard first.

  I reached out my hand to Gérard to help him up. “Thank you, Jada,” he said. “I’m getting too old for this crap!” He smiled, and he looked so handsome — rugged and manly.

  “I've been out here on my own too long; I’ve forgotten how to play nicely with others.” Makio shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Then he waved his arm in the direction of his home. “Welcome to my palace.”

  We stood there and watched him as he walked away. He stopped and turned back to us. “Are you coming?”

  Gérard and I looked at each other, and we followed him toward his small, creepy cabin. When we got there, we stood in the doorway in shock — it looked completely different on the inside.

  The whole place was so bright white, it was almost blinding.

  “Please, can you take off your shoes and place the slippers on? I like to keep my home clean.” Makio laughed.

  “A bit white,” Gérard smirked, as he put on the white slippers. I quickly took off my shoes and did the same.

  How could anyone live in such a white house? It would be impossible for me to live here; there would be stains everywhere!

  “Anyone for a drink?” Makio asked.

  “Ha ha!” I laughed out loud.

  “Something funny, Jada?” Makio asked me.

  “Jada’s a bit accident-prone,” Gérard said, and he chuckled. I just shrugged my shoulders in response.

  “Don't worry, Jada, we’re going downstairs,” Makio explained.

  “Whew, okay then, can I have a soda if you've got it? It was a long drive.” After moving to America, I became addicted to Coca-Cola.

  “No worries, I think I may have one. Gérard, coffee?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Makio walked into the kitchen and pointed to the door. “Head on downstairs.”

  Gérard and I stared at each other, and we made our way down to the basement.

  The basement looked like a high-end karate studio. The floor was covered with a soft cushion mat and with karate dummies. I touched the torso of the one next to me; the skin on it felt real.

  On the wall hung beautiful samurai swords, their silver blades shining in the artificial basement light. Would Makio teach me how to use these?

  “Gérard, can you help me with the drinks?” Makio yelled down to us.

  “Coming,” Gérard yelled back. “Take a seat.” Gérard pointed over to the sofa as he ran upstairs.

  I could just make out their mumbled voices; I moved closer to the doorway to hear what they were saying.

  “Jesus, Gérard… how the hell did you find her? And Mia and Léon were alive and together? Wow, mate, that’s rough! All these years, you thought they were dead, and then you find out they were shacked up together!”

  What? He thought they were dead?

  “Makio, hush… I told you, Jada doesn’t know anything about that. Will you help me find Léon? I have to know what happened.”

  What didn't I know? What was Gérard hiding from me? I had to read my mother’s letter.

  Their voices became louder as they headed back downstairs. I scurried along to the sofa so they wouldn't know I was listening at the door.

 
“Wow, Jada, look at this cool stuff!” Gérard said as he came back into the basement, staring at all the samurai swords.

  “Cool, aren’t they?” Makio beamed, drinks in his hand. They both sat down next to me.

  “I guess this isn’t a long-lost reunion. So what do you guys want from me?” Makio asked bluntly. Gérard and I hadn’t spoken about the plan. I knew what mine was. Time for me to take the lead. This was about my father, anyway.

  Gérard and I started talking at the same time. He laughed. “Ladies first.”

  “I want your help to go back to Syria and help me find my father.” I turned and looked at Gérard. “Help from both of you.”

  Makio nodded.

  “And I would like you to teach me martial arts, and how to use the swords,” I added.

  “You don’t want much, do you?” Makio smiled.

  “Jada, it will take a lot of planning just to get back into Syria, since all the airports are closed.”

  He was right. After we left Syria, the U.S. sent in their troops, against the request of the United Nations. The war had been raging uncontrollably for a month, and other counties were protesting against the U.S. being in Syria.

  “We cannot get into Syria by plane; we’d have to cross the borders on foot. The borders are open to the refugees. We can blend in with them.”

  Makio nodded. Was he agreeing with my plan?

  “Okay, Jada. I said I’ll help you find your father, but it will take time,” Gérard explained.

  I slumped down in my couch, defeated. My heart felt like it was breaking. I just want my father back, and I want him now. I don’t want to have to keep waiting!

  “Maybe Jada’s not like Mia?” Makio said.

  “What?”

  “Jada, your mother would never give up. Your parents were dear friends of mine, and when Gérard informed me that your father was alive, I decided to do everything I could to find him. I expected you to be the same way.”

  “Of course I am!” I yelled, a little too loudly.

  “Good, because I’m bored of hiding in the woods. It’s about time I have a new mission. I already got in touch with Christian.”

  Gérard rolled his eyes when Christian was mentioned.

  “Come on, Gérard, if anyone can find him, Christian will… don’t tell the jerk I said that!” Makio waved his hands in the air.

  “Yeah, you’re right. What’s he found out?” Gérard asked, tensing his jaw.

  “Christian just started looking last week, but he’s bored as well. No family, no life, seems like you’re the only one with a normal life, Gérard. He’s going to call me once he finds something.”

  Gérard placed his arm around me. “Jada, Christian will find something. He’s like a rat sniffing the rubbish out. It may just take some time.”

  “Thank you for helping me… it's just… you know… I was hoping we’d have found him by now.” I needed to be strong, so I took a deep breath as I held the tears back.

  “Sorry, Jada, but this will give you more time to train. Did your dad teach you any martial arts? Gérard told me you’re pretty good with a gun.” I supposed Makio was attempting to cheer me up… and it was working.

  “Yeah, I’m not too bad with the gun… I need to continue my training, Gérard, if you’re up for it?”

  “Of course.” Gérard smiled.

  “Makio, will you teach me martial arts and sword fighting?”

  Makio began to laugh. Damn, did he not think I could do this? Screw him! I jumped up, ready to leave.

  “Jada, you’re too hot-headed! Chill, girl, you’ll end up having a heart attack. What are you going to do, come back here every night after school, take a nice flight, a long drive, and then train with me? Then hop back in the car and the plane? Oh, and don’t forget to do your homework,” Makio carried on, laughing at me.

  He was right, of course, but did he have to be so cruel? I wouldn't stay put for this!

  “Makio, you jerk! Jada, wait,” Gérard called out, as I marched toward the stairs.

  “Wait? For what, so he can laugh at me some more?” My blood was boiling, and my eyes began to twitch with anger.

  “Jada, come back. I’m not meaning to laugh at you. I’ve set up training for you in New York, closer to your home, with the best instructors. They’ll teach you everything,” Makio explained.

  I stopped walking and felt a small smile starting to form on my lips.

  *****

  Last night I read the letter. I wish I hadn’t. My life will never be the same.

  “Jada, are you listening to me? Jada?!”

  Ouch, what the…? Kyra’s prodding my ribs.

  “Did you hear anything I said?”

  Whoa, I’m still on the school bus. What was Kyra talking about?

  “Jada, are you okay?” she asks me, and Zak immediately turns around.

  “Sorry, Kyra. My mind was running away from me. What were you saying?” I mumble.

  “Nothing important… it’s okay.” Kyra smiles at me with an understanding look. “Did you see the news last night?” she continues. Lately it seems like the news is all we talk about. It’s hard to get away from it.

  When we first came to America, the news was filled with weather stories and local happenings. News on the Syrian war was only on BBC America; but, after a few weeks, the Syrian Civil War was on every channel, because the USA had entered the Syrian War.

  Chapter 9

  My Greatest Day.

  ETHAN

  “It is time,” Kiana’s voice rings through my ears like my very own alarm clock. This morning I didn’t need her to wake me up. I’ve been awake all night in anticipation of today.

  Most nights I only sleep for two hours… each day blurs into the next, confusing reality with my nightmares. The nightmares are my only indications that I’ve slept at all.

  Kiana is the closest thing I have to a mother, simply due to the fact that she is the oldest female in my life. She is the person who makes sure I’m fed and have clean clothes, and who acts as my teacher.

  “I’m ready,” I announce to Kiana.

  I pull the blanket off and place first my left, and then right, feet on the cold stone ground, gripping the side of the bed with my hands.

  I cannot fail. I was born to do this. This is not the time to question myself! It is time to be a man.

  I glance around the room I was sleeping in. I am not going to miss it. A naked light bulb hangs from the ceiling. Old curtains block out the morning light, and there’s a small mirror. Nothing personal… nothing of mine. We don’t believe in possessions.

  “Time to get ready,” she says. I can already feel the adrenaline.

  I am ready to prove my worth. The journey has begun; it's time to make myself look ready.

  I close the bathroom door. Stripping off my Western clothes, I reveal my pure body. My body has not been corrupted by the Western women… they repulse me. They have no respect for themselves or for God.

  I like the release of urinating in the morning and expelling the poison from my body – the first part of cleansing my body.

  Kiana places the wrapped soap on the sink, the same routine since I met her. I don't like change; I don't like it at all! Kiana understands that and respects my need for order.

  Unwrapping the soap like a prized gift, I peel the paper apart, careful not to rip it. I fold it in half, then repeat until it is a perfect square.

  I toss it into the waste paper bin, and it's the only thing in there. Kiana will empty the bag and clean the bathroom once I’ve finished.

  I take one of the freshly-laundered face towels and fold it in two, placing it down on the side of the sink. Then I carefully set the soap on top of the hand towel lining. The thought of my soap touching the sink or bathroom floor is repulsive, and I’d have to go over the routine again!

  Next, toothbrush. I peel away the wrapper with the same care as the soap.

  Americans call this obsessive-compulsive behavior. I call it organized. They just l
ove to live in chaos.

  First I brush my teeth, then discard the toothbrush. Then I shower, scrubbing my body until it burns, cleaning my hands and face last. I’ve followed the same routine for as long as I can remember. Then I remove any trace of my presence in the room; I will not leave them a single clue on how to find us.

  Forcing my pure body into clothes made in China rips my soul in half each time I put these garments on.

  Underwear first... I pull them over my lanky limbs, which are covered in thin, dark hair. Then socks. My toes flex out in reaction to the coarse material. My arms are just as lanky as my legs. I place my arms into my tank-top; in America they call them ‘wife beaters’; even their clothing disrespects females. I pull the top over my chest, covering my freshly grown-in chest hairs.

  Right leg, left leg, into the trousers, which I then fasten with the cold, metal button.

  I put my leather belt through the loops, tightening it to the last hole which Kiana added for me. America's obsession with food means the standard size of clothing is made for obese people.

  It repulses me that half of the world is starving, and the other half is indulging in every aspect of life. They disgust me.

  I push the front of the shirt into my pants, then repeat the process with the lower back section.

  I step over to the dresser, and this is the moment I hate even more than putting on the clothes — I hate seeing the way I look.

  Gritting my teeth together, I brace myself for what I will see, as I take a fresh tissue from the box placed on the dresser.

  I place the tissue onto my nose; even my body has a routine. It is as if it’s repulsed by the sight of me. I can feel the coppery taste filling my mouth, right on cue.

  I raise my head to face the mirror, and blood fills my nose at the sight.

  I am one of them.

  I am a US airman.

  NO!

  I AM NOT!

  I AM MOHAMMED!

  I AM NOT ETHAN!

  I AM FROM AFGHANISTAN!

  I AM NOT FROM THE USA!

  I AM NOT A US AIRMAN!

  I AM MOHAMMED FROM AFGHANISTAN DOING MY FATHER’S WORK!

  Lowering the crimson tissues from my bloody nose, I hover it just below my nose, catching the remaining drops. I will be happy when this is over.