"Oh, no," I said. "When was the last time you saw her?"
"Right before she left. She'd been on the phone with her mother, begging her family to come to London. She'd offered to pay. Everything. But they were being stubborn. The civil war had largely spared their village, and the threat from Isis had yet to materialize. Rida was devastated, frantic. As I'm sure you can imagine." Angela took a sip of her drink. "She told me she was going to get them." She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes and catching her words, distorting them.
"Isis moved very quickly," I said.
"Yeah, quicker than Rida could have imagined. She flew back there with plans of dragging her sisters onto the plane, if nothing else, but within days after she left here her village was surrounded. And there was no way out." Angela looked up at me. "She called me." Angela swallowed, and swiped at her eyes. "The last time I spoke to her she said…she planned to kill herself rather than be taken prisoner."
I sucked in a breath. "No."
"I hate to think of that, but better than…" She left the sentence hanging, the horror of becoming a prisoner of Isis thickening the air between us. A shudder ran over me as I pictured my brave, brilliant friend at the mercy of those heartless zealots.
"That's terrible. Horrible," I said. We sat in silence for a moment, the gaiety of the bar around us almost insulting to the memory of our friend's struggle. "Rida never was religious, at least when I knew her. Do you think that changed?"
Angela shook her head. "You knew her. She wasn't a practicing Muslim. I mean, you know she had all that stuff in her head. The way we all do." Angela waved her hand in the air. "I mean, I was raised a Catholic. The guilt is overwhelming." She gave a small laugh. "But no, she never went in for that kind of stuff. It's half the reason she left Syria."
"She just never fit in there," I said, remembering our long talks about the countries we were from, and how they didn't fit us. How they felt like corsets, sucking our breath away.
"Exactly, she was so brilliant though." Angela took the final sip of her drink and then shook the ice in it. "You know," Angela said, looking up at me. "She was one of the best surgeons in the city, and so many fine surgeons," she raised her brow, "men in that profession, come to think of themselves as gods. But Rida was never like that. She always remained humble. Always stayed grounded." Angela looked back to her drink. "I miss her."
I bit my tongue. She may not be gone.
As I walked down the hall of the apartment building, my mind ran over my conversation with Angela. How could Rida change so radically? Is that what loss did to people? Could it change everything? Our very purpose?
I put my key into the lock of the apartment door, and it creaked open without turning the key. My heart rate spiked, and I stepped back, the blood rushing in my ears as I tried to listen for any sound of someone inside.
I know I locked it.
Scrambling in my purse, I pulled out my mace and my cell phone, the best weapons a woman in London can have.
I toed the door open, my mouth dry and heart hammering.
Light from the hallway threw an eerie yellow glow into the darkened apartment, casting long, sinister shadows. From the entrance, I could see into the kitchen, where light from a street lamp spilled in through the window. Pots and pans littered the floor, the cabinets all stood open, and the paper towel roll lay unfurled across the counter.
The place had been ransacked.
Should I go in? Or call 999?
I had no right to the general police services. I couldn't involve them. Couldn't risk them finding out about me.
Should I call Dan?
I listened hard, hearing only the traffic from the street below and the low whisper of a neighbor’s television. Holding my breath, I stepped into the darkened apartment and flicked on the hall light.
The bathroom door to my left stood open, the shower curtain ripped down, exposing an empty tub.
Raising my mace, I continued down the hall and turned quickly into the living room. Light from the street lamp shone through the big windows and bathed the place in its anemic yellow glow. Feathers coated the room, the couch cushions splayed on the floor, cut open. I flicked on a light, bringing it all into stark reality.
My eyes grappled with the situation. And my heart beat even faster as I realized that my laptop was gone.
Shit, shit, shit.
I moved forward through the living room, toward the bedroom. The door stood ajar. The mace still tight in my grip, my finger on the trigger, I pushed open the door and flicked on the light.
The closet doors were open, the contents spilled everywhere. My suitcase was ripped to shreds, as though someone had cut into it with a knife looking for secret compartments. They'd taken my laptop, but at least I still had my phone, cash and ID—which I'd kept in my purse with me.
I backtracked through the apartment and went into the kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of water, I gulped it down, my heart still racing.
The laptop was encrypted. Dan took these kinds of things very seriously. It was unlikely someone could break into it…but with time?
I dialed Dan's number and he picked up immediately.
"Dan, the apartment has been ransacked. My laptop is gone."
A beat of silence. "They won't be able to get into it. It has a self-destruct mechanism."
"I know, but..." What? "Who would do this? What the hell is going on?"
"Get the hell out of there. Get the hell out of the country. Go. Now. I'll arrange a plane for you out of London City Airport." His voice came out strained, harsh.
I didn't need to know who did this or why. I just needed to get the hell out of there.
I wasn't a part of the investigative arm of Joyful Justice. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be safe, helping control things from behind the shadows. One of the wizards behind the curtain.
I put the glass down on the counter, my hand shaking.
"Okay, I'm going."
I disconnected and turned toward the door, clutching at my purse. I stepped back out into the hallway, and closed the door. I turned the key in the lock, but the thing was broken. Adrenaline made my fingers shake. I had to go.
My phone pinged and I glanced down at it. Everything stopped moving. My eyes zeroed in on the screen.
"April Madden Gives Rousing Sermon at Madison Square Garden—Claims to be Mother of the Miracle Woman."
I unlocked the screen and a video popped up: Sydney Rye's mother in front of a massive audience.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
I had to go right now. I could look at all of this on the way to the airport.
I turned and slammed into a hard body. A man's arms wrapped around me, and I screamed.
Her
Do you think your story will be told? Have you done enough to warrant this moment? To explain your existence? That is what we are all fighting for. The answer to why am I here?
Chapter Sixteen
Tempest
Sydney
The sound of distant gunfire reverberated through my mind, punctuating the rolling thunder that crashed over me, wave after wave. Candlelight flickered in my vision. Water dripped onto stone. The iron-y tang of blood and the sharp pain of my injuries overwhelmed my senses.
My lips were moving. I was speaking.
We decide our own value. God has sent me to tell you this.
A woman's face came into focus above me. Brown, intelligent eyes and hollow cheeks. Her skin was almost the same color as the sandy stone of the ceiling. The candlelight flickered off of it in the same undulating waves. She saved my life.
Lightning crossed my vision, and my Savior disappeared behind it.
"Sydney! Sydney!"
Robert's voice broke through the storm. His fingers, digging into my biceps, ripped me from the memory—or was it a hallucination?
Blue's nose pushing into my hand anchored me to reality.
I blinked, and Robert's face came into focus, his green-blue eyes glinting in the
low light of the cave. The only illumination came from the beam of his flashlight, which now lay on the cave floor, lighting one wall, as if waiting for dancers to enter the stage.
"Sydney," Robert said again, his voice lower. He could tell I was back. "Sydney, where did you go? What happened?"
I didn't answer him. I didn't know. Was it possible the voice I'd heard inside my head, the one I thought was the prophet…was actually my own?
No. I wasn't the prophet. I was the Miracle Woman. I was the lie, not the liar.
"Sydney." Robert's voice dropped low, serious. "You are ill. I need to get you to a doctor."
I shook my head, breathing in the desert air. It was cold and dry, and the deep breaths helped to clarify my vision, helped to chase away the lightning.
But what had I seen? I had to go on.
"I need to find out," I said.
If it was possible that the prophet was somehow my creation, I had to know. I couldn't just go back to Miami or wherever it was that Robert wanted to take me. I couldn't just let him take care of me.
Not yet.
My knees buckled, and I fell against Robert. He held me tight to his chest. His lips brushed my forehead as he pleaded with me. His voice faded, and I drifted away. Drifted to that other cave. To that other place. To that other woman.
The voice you hear is not my own. I am a messenger from the Lord. I have come here. Come back from the dead in order to bring equality to this world.
My Savior nodded as she replaced the bandages on my side. I felt no pain, only a kind of floating—like I was high on pain killers. I dragged in a breath, my lungs rattling, and smelled the musky scent of dogs.
Blue pressed his nose to my cheek, and I turned to look at him. He licked my nose, and I laughed, the sound strange—ill—mirthless. My eyes focused beyond Blue and saw a white dog, gigantic and beautiful. Perhaps an albino of some kind. I'd never seen anything like it.
More bodies moved, and I sensed that there were dogs everywhere. There was a pack around me, sent here to protect me.
"They are here to protect me. For I am the voice of God. But also his hand. And you." I turned back to my savior; she paused in her ministrations and found my gaze, blinking, as she waited for me to continue. "You will be my voice. You will be my shield. I will transform the world, and you will be my instrument."
Blue's whimpering made me turn my head. But he wasn't whimpering—he was just lying on the ground curled up with the white dog, the cave around them glowing and flickering with firelight. His whimpering reached me again. And then the sound of gunshots. I turned back to the woman, and she flickered in the candlelight, her face changing from my serene, placid savior to Robert Maxim's furrowed brow and bright eyes.
I blinked, and shook my head.
I sucked in a breath, smelling at once the dogs and the cave and the desert night and Robert Maxim, but also the acrid scent of gunpowder and the musky scent of sweat.
The floating sensation left me, and I could hear Robert. "Sydney, Sydney come back."
"I'm here," I told him.
"I'm getting you out of here. I'm getting us straight back to the States. You can't argue with me anymore. I will not continue this madness."
I almost laughed.
He didn't know how mad it was. He didn't know how deeply, deeply mad it was.
I didn't argue with him, though. I had my answer.
The woman who had saved me, the surgeon who had performed a miracle by saving my life, was guiltless.
My hallucinations, the drugs she must've had me on, made me lose it and come to believe I was an instrument of God.
I had set out to stop her. Only to discover that I was Her.
Robert
I held her close and she trembled against my body. So vulnerable. The scent of her wafted over me; sand, sweat, blood, and grit.
"Sydney, are you okay?"
She nodded against my chest. "Yes, just..."
"Just what?" My voice came out harsh, I wanted answers.
She steadied herself and pulled back from me. Her eyes found mine in the darkness. She assessed me for a moment. "I promise you, I'm all right." Liar. "Let's move deeper into the cave."
I schooled my frustration. She was right. Once the US operatives had dealt with the Isis fighters, they would search for us. We needed to stay hidden. We might even be able to find another way out.
I held my flashlight, illuminating a path, and Sydney stepped carefully as we navigated deeper into the cave.
It grew narrower, and the ceiling lowered. A tunnel split off, and I aimed my light down it. The sound of water dripping and the fresh scent of an underground stream wafted on a soft breeze. Blue whined and began toward the sound.
Sydney and I followed Blue, having to drop to our hands and knees to crawl through the narrow passage after him. It opened up suddenly into a large cavernous space.
I grazed the light around us and saw stalactites in the ceiling far above—their strange shape alien under the torch's bright beam. A stream passed through the cavern, slipping over smooth rock. Blue trotted down to the water's edge. "We could probably follow this out," Sydney said.
I grunted in agreement. "But we should rest first—it's safe here."
Sydney nodded before heading to the stream. She knelt by the water's edge and washed her hands and face before cupping a handful to her lips.
"You can rest," I said, dropping my pack to the stone floor. "I'll keep first watch."
We need to wait at least eight hours before returning to the outside world. Even then we needed to be careful. They wouldn't give up looking for us. While I didn't fear for my own safety, if Sydney fell back into Martha's hands, I might not be able to help her.
My influence with Martha, while strong, was not limitless. Martha wasn't easy to control. I had no dirt on her. She was in no way vulnerable to me. No husband or children. A sister who'd passed away several years ago. No close friends.
She was the perfect counterintelligence operative.
She would make an incredible asset. I'd offered her work before, and she'd turned me down. I'd have to offer her more money…or perhaps power is what she wanted.
Sydney and Blue curled up on the ground, their backs pressed together. I washed in the stream, the freezing water making me gasp. When I turned off the flashlight, pitch blackness enveloped us.
The night ebbed away, the soft, slippery swish of water running over rock and the occasional sound of Blue or Sydney shifting in their sleep the only sounds. My watch, its face lit up in toxic green, told me that dawn had broken, but no light reached into the cave.
When Sydney woke, she said my name. "Yes?" I answered, my voice coming out rough.
"Where are you?"
"I'm right here." I'll always be here for you. I turned on the flashlight, illuminating a path through the darkness—though the shadows around us stayed true black.
Sydney came to sit by me, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.
"You go ahead and lie down, get some sleep," she said.
"I'm fine."
She looked over at me, those gray eyes searching my face. What did she see? "Okay, let's follow the water, then, and see if we can find a way out."
We ate protein bars from my supplies and then followed the stream. The water sparkled in the flashlight’s beam as it ran over smooth, sand-colored rock.
Blue walked next to Sydney, his nose rhythmically tapping her hip.
"What will you do when you find her?" I asked, my voice echoing in the chamber.
"I'll talk to her. I'll ask her what happened after she rescued me," Sydney answered quietly, not looking over at me.
"So you no longer plan to kill her?" What changed?
"I'm not sure." She stopped and turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. I couldn't read her.
"Did you remember something?" I asked her.
"No." Her answer came too fast. She was lying.
"You can tell me, Sydney. I want to help you."
/> Her laugh echoed in the giant chamber. "No one can help me Robert. No one."
Sydney
Our footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, the sound of water running over smooth rock a welcome constant.
I followed Robert's flashlight beam, carefully placing my feet so as not to slip. My senses were on high alert, my body tingling with fear and my mind uncomfortable with the new realization.
It was my voice I was hearing.
Not some woman claiming to be a prophet from God, but my own voice.
Thunder rumbled in my mind, and Blue's head twitched toward the sound. I heard the thunder again, and Robert stopped walking. "You hear that?" he asked me.
"Hear what?" I asked, confused. Did he mean the stream? Did he mean our footsteps? Could he mean the thunder in my mind?
"Sounds like a storm."
A giggle escaped me, and Robert turned, the flashlight landing on the water and sparkling there. "What?" His eyes narrowed. "You okay?"
I stifled a laugh. "I hear thunder," I said…all the time.
"This could be to our advantage. If there's a storm, it'll make us harder to track. Give us a better chance to escape." Robert started walking again. "It's also a good sign that we can hear it. Must mean there's an exit coming up."
We walked on in silence until the flashlight beam landed onto the entrance of a dark tunnel leading off the cavern. Thunder rolled again, and Blue's ears perked toward that passageway.
"That must be the way out," Robert said, headed toward it.
When we stepped into the space, the temperature dropped, and a shiver ran over my skin. Soon, a glow appeared at the end of the tunnel, and wind whispered along to us. It carried the scents of thunderstorm and sand with it.
"It might be a haboob. It's the season," Robert said.
"A haboob?" I asked, quirking a brow, managing to find the word funny even in this dire situation.
"Yes, it's when a thunderstorm picks up sand and basically creates a wind, rain, and sand storm. They're pretty normal around here."
Flock of Wolves Page 15
