by S F Benson
“No. I have to finish this fucking mission so that I get have my life back.” I tip up the beer and drain the contents.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve never been in control of your life. You tried and failed miserably.”
“Fuck you!” I slam the bottle down so hard I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter.
Instead of Steve getting pissed off, he stays completely calm. “Have you forgotten I was at the funeral? I saw the pain you were in—still in. Asher, you can’t keep going like this. Eventually, you’re going to snap.”
Just then, Mama Sibley makes her appearance. Her hair is tousled, and she’s in her dark blue robe. “What the hell is going on in here? You want to wake the baby?”
Steve glares at me.
She notices the empty bottle. “Jesus.” Her gaze bounces to her husband before settling on me. “Asher, did you…?”
The last person I want criticizing me is my grandmother. I start to walk out of the room, but she cuts me off. “Sit the hell down! Steve, give us the room.”
“I’ll go check on Viyan.”
After his footsteps fade away, my grandmother joins me at the kitchen island. She picks up the bottle, tosses it in the trash, and then sits next to me. Instead of laying into me, she says in a soft voice, “Years ago, when Bernice insisted you live with her and Edward, I didn’t press the matter. But seeing you like this makes me think I should have. Only thing those people cared about were strict rules. You didn’t need laws. You needed love.”
Thinking back to the time I spent up under my grandpa’s roof and my recklessness, I’m inclined to agree with Mama Sibley. But I was a kid, and everyone else got to make choices about my life.
“Mama—”
“No. Let me finish.” She touches my arm. “Baby, you need somebody’s help. You’re no good to Rihana or that sweet little girl upstairs like this.”
My vision blurs, but I choke it all down. Like I’ve always done.
“Steve says you still owe a duty to the Alliance. We’re not quitters. Finish this damn mission and start living. When you’re ready, I have the name of a woman. She’s a good shrink—”
“No,” I protest weakly.
Mama Sibley’s fingers curl into my shirt sleeve, and she pulls me closer. “Yes! You will sit down and talk to her. Asher, you don’t have a choice. I won’t leave you alone with your daughter if you don’t do it. Understand?”
My heart skips a beat—and not in a good way. Being reduced to supervised visits with my own kid? That shit will kill me.
Facing my grandmother, I look into her dark eyes, hoping she can see what I’m too afraid to admit to even myself. I’m fucking scared that I can’t do this mission. I’m afraid I’ll fail—the Alliance, my family, myself.
My voice cracks when I try to answer her.
“Oh, baby, come here.” Mama Sibley wraps me up in a hug. “You’re a lot stronger than you believe. I know it. Your wife knows it. We all love you, Asher, and want to help you.”
I hug her back. “I know.”
Deep down I doubt if anyone can truly help me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Being Riza taught me about mistakes. Our blunders have consequences. Make the wrong decisions and you’ll have hell to pay, either now or in the future.”
—from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones
Morning comes too soon for a worn-out man. My addled brain struggles as I squint against the bright sunlight filling the small bedroom. I remember the nightmare, but the rest of it… The joy that can only be found with Rihana in my arms… Was that a dream as well? Rolling over, I reach for her but only find her side of the bed empty. Where the hell is she?
With the grace of a much older man, I shuffle toward the adjoining bathroom. Bloodshot eyes and dark circles greet me in the mirror. The sight is enough to send my ass back to bed determined to get at least eight hours’ worth of sleep. It doesn’t take long for me to get my reward.
—
Tiny kisses on my cheek wake me up. Flipping onto my back, I’m greeted by a pair of saucer-like eyes as welcoming as a cup of hot chocolate.
“Bav,” says the most beautiful little girl in the world.
I reach up and tousle her curls. Outside of her mother, Viyan is the best thing in my life. Speaking of which… The mattress dips, and Rihana sits beside me.
“Like, what time is it?” I ask.
“Noon. Are you hungry?”
Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I say, “Starved.”
Viyan stares at me, and then her big eyes settle on her mother. “Dê û bavê ji nav nivînan derkevim?”
“I don’t know, Viyan.” My wife glances down at me and says, “Our daughter wonders if you’re planning on getting out of bed.”
My gaze dips toward the sheets for a second before my eyebrows raise. “Um… Ree…”
Rihana quickly catches on that I’m not exactly dressed for company. Her face turns a pretty shade of red before she tells Viyan, “Go play. Daddy will be out in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” My daughter scoots off the bed and runs out of the room. I wait for Rihana to close the door.
As soon as it clicks shut, I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, planting kisses on her neck. “Shower with me, woman.”
“I would love to, but it is not good to leave Viyan alone for long. She is at that curious age.”
Being a parent is going to take some getting used to. I like having spontaneity. “Fine. Give me, like, fifteen minutes.”
Rihana turns around and touches my jaw. “Take twenty. You could use a shave.”
“Just for you, Ree.” I rub my stubbled face against her cheek. She giggles like a school girl. I’ve missed hearing her laugh. Damn, it’s good to be home.
—
The fragrant smell of lamb hits my nose when I step into the kitchen. Rihana ladles the savory stew with vegetables and a hearty tomato sauce into two bowls. Rice and flat bread are on a platter in the center of a small wooden table beneath the window.
“Sit, Aza.” She sets the bowls down and goes to the fridge.
After a year of eating synthetic meats and MRE’s—meals ready to eat—I’m salivating over the typical Kurdish meal. I sit down as Rihana places a glass of mint tea in front of me and then serves the food. When she’s finished, she sits across from me.
“About last night…” she says in a restrained voice.
“Where’s Viyan?”
“Having her meal with Sibley. She is very fond of our daughter.”
Years ago, my grandmother left her family while she ‘found herself.’ Viyan is a second chance for Mama Sibley to be the parent she should have been.
I swallow a mouthful and say, “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have, like, accused you of anything.”
“And I should have told you everything.” She lifts a spoon to her mouth.
“What has Bashur said to you about me?”
“Tell me about the Michigan woman.”
Shit, we’re back to Ko. “That’s the past, Ree. She meant nothing to me.”
It was a small lie. At the time, I did think Ko meant everything to me.
“According to Raman, more happened than what you said.” She hunches over her bowl. “Just tell me the truth.”
“Fine.” I’m not playing games with my wife. She deserves better. “I told you what happened with Ko. We never had sex.”
Rihana murmurs, “Were you tempted?”
I drum my fingers against the table. The last thing I want to do is discuss what happened with Ko. It's hard to explain what I don't quite understand myself. “Like, what has that to do with Bashur?”
Rihana’s spoon clatters against the bowl as she drops it. She takes her bowl to the sink. “He said that you had an affair with her. Raman told me that you dishonored your vows to me, therefore, I didn’t have to stay married to you.”
I nearly choke on the food. “What the fuck?”
&n
bsp; “Raman said he would help me dissolve the marriage.” My wife bows her head before facing me. “He’s offered to help raise Viyan.”
“Like hell he will!” The chair scrapes the tile floor loudly as I push away from the table. I walk toward her, gesturing wildly as I speak. “Nothing happened. We’ve talked about this. You know everything, Rihana. What’s changed?”
My wife’s eyes widen briefly. Then she cocks her head to the side. “The pregnant woman… you rescued her. Was the Michigan woman with you?”
“Of course, she was. Tru was, like, Ko’s best friend. The Michigan woman, as you like to call her, got shot trying to help.”
Rihana’s chin trembles, and the color drains from her face. “Is that why you shared her bed?”
There’s a skunk in the midst, and it walks and talks like Mohammad Raman Bashur. Someone’s reporting my every move to this man, and he’s conveniently filling my wife in. But why?
I try to put my arms around her, but she stiff arms me. Tears curve down her cheeks. Her chest hitches as she clutches her middle.
This ain’t happening. I’ve spent too many days away from this woman to have someone else turn her against me. But I’m not about to force myself on her, so I give up the fight and back up with my palms out.
“Calm down, Rihana.” I exhale and try to follow my own advice. “Start at, like, the beginning. What has Bashur been telling you?”
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “He says you are a fraud. You converted to Islam because of lust, not because you are a believer. Raman says I deserve better than you.”
Suddenly, the air is too thin. My lungs hurt as I try desperately to breathe. Tightness grips my throat preventing me to speak against Bashur’s condemnation. He had no right to say those things to her. I flex my arm muscles and bare my teeth ready to strike. Unfortunately, I remember my promise to Fletcher. I can’t touch Bashur.
I reach out to Rihana, and she backs away. “Do not touch me.”
This isn’t the time for her to withdraw from me. Bashur won’t come between us. Gritting my teeth, I ask, “What else did Bashur say about me?”
“He has proof of your infidelity.” She sighs and folds her arms over her chest. “Be honest with me. Did you take the mission so that you could hook up with the cadet?”
“Hell no!” I rake my hand through my hair. “My contact was inside RMA. The relationship with Ko was simply a ruse. Something to make my frequent visits to the dorm seem plausible.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Who was your contact?”
“Someone named Jaba—”
“Jabari El-Hashem,” she says flatly.
“Yeah, that’s the name,” I acknowledge. “He, like, lived on Ko’s floor. How did you know?”
“He is the brother of one of Raman’s men. Jabari is a third-year cadet while the woman from Michigan…” Rihana’s voice trails off as she waits for me to connect the dots.
Slowly, my head bobs and I make the connection. “They shouldn’t have resided in the same area.”
I stumble backward, and my hip catches the side of the counter. Not once did I question Jabari’s dorm assignment—two doors down from Ko. How fucking convenient.
Rihana bites her lip. “Aza, what is it?”
Reality rears its ugly head. Adrenaline speeds through my body. “I was set up. Jabari told me he had no family. He said it was why he joined the Alliance.”
Another piece of the puzzle slides into place. This one confirms that Bashur has an issue with me. He’s had someone reporting to him. He’s been spoon-feeding Rihana information. Who knows—maybe he got to Ko? Okay, I’ll admit that might be stretching the truth to absolve myself. It doesn’t matter. Learning why this happened is more important.
“What are you saying?” She takes a hesitant step toward me.
“Baby, don’t be afraid of me.”
Her posture stiffens. “I’m not.”
Rihana’s tone is less than reassuring. Keeping my hands to the sides, I ask, “You trust me, Ree?”
“Always.”
“We have to find out what Bashur is up to. Play along with his scheme. Meet with him. Let him think he’s right.”
She leans against the counter. “Aza, I don’t… I don’t trust Raman.”
Wait, I’m confused. When I met Rihana, she introduced me to Bashur. She’s always had good things to say about him whether he deserved it or not. Something’s happened. I know it has.
“What did he do to you?” My head rocks back, and I look at her.
Rihana drops her gaze. “It is not what you think.”
Clenching my fists, I fight to maintain some semblance of calm. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”
“He”—her voice lowers, and the words tumble from her mouth—“he kissed me. Raman caught me off guard one night. He told me all those hateful things about you, and then he kissed me.”
She doesn’t have to confirm it. I see it. She let him kiss her. I scrub a hand over my face. Of course, the news has me seeing red, but how could I judge anything she has done? I did my fair share of kissing with Ko, but still, Mohammad Raman Bashur has some serious explaining to do.
“Aza, I am sorry. It shouldn’t have—”
Against my better judgment, I pull Rihana into my arms. Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me. “This isn’t your fault. I’ll finish this mission, and then I’m done. No more Riza. No more Alliance.”
Rihana stares up at me. “What do you mean by finish? Aza, I thought you were done.”
I shake my head. “No. Bashur, like, wants me to find the Helix.”
“The clone program?” she asks, astonishment in her voice.
Damn! Am I the only one just learning about the government experiment?
Rihana steps away and takes a seat. “You are not going anywhere without me.”
Sorry. That’s not happening either. My wife knows tactics. She can hack a computer. According to Mama Sibley, she’s even handy with a weapon. None of that prepares her for what happens in the field.
“No. It's too dangerous. Besides, Viyan needs you.”
“She needs her father, too. With me, you might finish sooner.”
“With you, we both might end up dead.”
Rihana’s eyes narrow. “You don’t believe I can handle myself? I’ll have you know—”
“It’s not about you, baby.” Not completely anyway. “This is about Bashur. If he wants me out the way, he won’t stop at eliminating me.”
“All the more reason for me to go with you. He will not hurt me.”
“Like, exactly why is that?”
“He wants me as his bride.”
Over my fucking dead body will that happen. I jump up from the table and make a beeline for the door.
Rihana hangs off my arm. “Aza, no! Stop!”
Whirling around, I shout, “No. He’s not getting away with this. He sent me away from you for a fucking year just to get you alone. That asshole set me up, and then watched me like a damned science experiment!”
“Think, Aza.” Her hands cup my face as she locks eyes with mine. “Confront him now, and you do not learn what he is up to. You kill him, you answer to Allah. What will you say to your grandfather?”
I don’t speak.
“Raman set you up. Let’s set him up.”
“Okay.”
My wife puts her arms around my waist.
“He wants a meeting.”
“Then give it to him.” She squeezes me tightly. “Give the traitor what he thinks he wants.”
Nuzzling Rihana’s neck, I contemplate the many ways I might kill him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Do you not realize that selfish living is for the dead? Do not live for those things you can only see. Allah promises greater and bigger things than what is before us.”
—from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,
Kurdish political & religious thinker
By the time I reach the main house’s kitche
n, I’m seeing red. And much like the proverbial bull, I’m ready to take out the first person who gets in my way. Fortunately, that person is my step-grandfather. His eyebrow lifts when he sees me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bashur!” I realize I’m too loud, but I can’t help myself.
Steve grasps my elbow and leads me to his study. Once the door is closed, he asks, “What did he do?”
“Forget that for a moment. Why is he, like, here?”
Steve runs a hand through his hair before perching on the corner of his desk. “Your wife.”
My brow wrinkles. “I don’t follow.”
“When you contacted us about relocating the Fakhourys, Bashur was with them. He insisted that his men escort the family to the territory. Rihana said the man was like family, so they remained.”
My hands clench and unclench while blood pounds in my ears. “No, that asshole is no more family than the dead president! He’s after Rihana.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“He, like, told Rihana that he wants to marry her.”
“Damn.” Steve passes a hand over his mouth and then strokes his chin. “From the looks of you, I’m guessing you’re ready to kill the man?”
“No shit, but…” I take a deep breath and continue pacing the floor. “Rihana has a better idea. The Alliance wants Bashur and his philosophy gone. When the organization began, it only wanted to return democracy to the country. Then the group splintered…”
“That’s when Bashur wormed his way in with the rebels.”
“Right. The earlier principles are gone.” Stopping in front of Steve, I realize something. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t—”
“Don’t go there. You did what you had to do back then, son.”
“No, I—”
Steve folds his arms. “Asher, no one’s blaming you for anything. The past isn’t important. Right now, we have to figure out how to stop Bashur.”
I nod while understanding the fault in my step-grandfather’s thinking. The past can’t be ignored. It defines us, determines the choices we make—good and bad, and sometimes it seals our fate.