Dark Return

by DV Berkom

  The phone wasn’t there. His thoughts raced. Did he lose it back in the medina? No, the pocket was too deep for it to just fall out on its own. He thought back to his mad dash through the market and zeroed in on the old woman with the basket, then discarded the idea as soon as it emerged.

  The kid.

  He closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do. He was a dead man. They would never let him live after what he’d done. Sweat rolled down his neck and slid along his back. He lifted his hands, palms up, to show them he wasn’t armed. Too late, he realized it didn’t matter.

  The loud bang! echoed off the plaster walls, followed by searing pain that split him in half. He doubled over, clutching his chest. His hand came away wet and warm with his blood. He fell to his knees as the two thugs moved in, reaching him as he sagged to the ground. He opened his mouth, trying to suck in a breath, any breath, but all he could manage was a pathetically shallow gasp. The bigger gunman searched his coat and pants. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, the thug kicked him in the ribs, sending excruciating pain radiating through his body.

  “Where is the phone?”

  The man in the white suit sucked in one last, tiny breath. Blood bubbled between his lips as the light began to fade. The gunman said something else that he couldn’t understand. His voice sounded like he was speaking in a long tunnel...

  Then everything went black.

  JINN GASPED AND COVERED her mouth. The two men heard her and both looked up at once. Heart thudding in her ears, she tore away from the deadly scene and raced back toward the market. She’d be safe there. She’d memorized all its nooks and crannies, and a lot of the shopkeepers knew and liked her. Especially when she brought them valuable items they could sell.

  Her hand closed around the cell phone she’d lifted from the man in the white suit after he’d slammed into her. It was a newer model of a popular brand and would bring a good price. But the pick had been easy, too easy. She was a master of distraction, but he’d already been distracted. Now she knew why.

  Jinn was no stranger to violence—two years of living on the streets of Tripoli had taught her a lot about human nature, and it wasn’t all good. But she’d never seen anyone shoot someone down in cold blood.

  And now they knew she’d seen them.

  A fresh dose of fear spurred her on, giving wings to her feet, as she dove into the public market and the anonymity of the crowd. She weaved in and out of the throng of shoppers, not daring to look behind her for fear of giving herself away. She wasn’t very tall for her age and could disappear among the larger adults with little problem. Like a wisp of smoke, one of the shopkeepers had said when he described her, and she liked the comparison. It fit with her name, Jinn, the Arabic word for a group of magical beings.

  Genies.

  She made a beeline toward the rug dealer’s shop. There’d be plenty of places to hide and his vision wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, so he wouldn’t notice her slip past. She slowed as she neared the entrance, using the time to catch her breath. She was lucky today—Ebrahim was regaling a customer with tales of a tapestry’s origins and didn’t see her glide through to the back, past mounds of Berber carpets and imports from Iran and Afghanistan and the silver tea service with brilliantly colored glasses, reserved for a celebratory drink after a sale.

  She burrowed into a narrow channel in a mound of seconds that Ebrahim only sold to those customers uninitiated into the secrets of quality, stifling a sneeze from the dust motes underneath. Several minutes passed before the old carpet salesman’s voice grew louder as he walked near her hiding place.

  “I told you, I haven’t seen anyone matching that description come through here, but you’re welcome to look.”

  Jinn held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear, half-believing her own mythology. Jinn of the Marketplace, the other kids called her. She’d constructed a reputation for being lucky and smart with the lightest of fingers, but also for being fair in her dealings. She never stole from the vendors in the market, preferring well-off visitors as her targets, and would assist the older shopkeepers by carrying product and stocking shelves or watching a storefront while the owner had to leave for a moment or two. The reputation she’d established set her apart from the other street kids, and shopkeepers tended to like having her around.

  The sound of heavy footfalls grew near, hesitated a moment, and then circled the jumble of carpets where she hid.

  “What are these?” asked a gruff voice.

  “Those? Ah. You have outstanding taste, sir! Those are of the absolute highest quality. I have them on special through today only. I’ve had people tell me the price I quote them is almost criminal. Would you like to see one?”

  The gruff voice said something Jinn didn’t catch, and the footsteps receded. She let go of her breath, relief sweeping through her. She would wait a while more, just to be sure that he’d gone.

  Her hand closed around the mobile in her pocket. Obviously, the device held something of great value to the two men. They’d killed for it, hadn’t they? She wondered if her friend, Labid, would be able to unlock the screen so she could see what was so important. The tech-savvy computer repairman was known in the market for being able to hack into almost anything. She’d have to pay him a visit. Maybe its contents were more valuable than the phone itself. Carefully removing the phone from her pocket, she slid it between the folds of the carpets.

  She’d come back later, when she was sure the two men were gone.

  She waited a few more minutes before wriggling out of the dusty hiding place and making her way cautiously to the front of the store. She searched what she could see of the market for signs of the men with the guns but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Ebrahim was sitting in his chair at the front, smoking a cigarette and watching people go by. Jinn didn’t want to put him in a compromising position in case the men came back, so she slipped past him without saying a word and went the other way.

  She’d almost made it to the end of the market when the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Slowly, she turned.

  Jinn had just run out of luck.

  3

  THE SHADE FROM the awning of the outdoor café was a welcome relief from the relentless sun as Leine sipped a glass of sweet tea and watched people hurry past. Her cell phone rang and she checked caller ID. Right on time.

  “Hey, Lou. What’s up?”

  “First off, congrats on taking the initiative and going after that lead we received this morning,” answered Lou Stokes. Lou was the director of Stop Human Enslavement Now, better known as SHEN, the organization Leine worked with. “If you hadn’t done that, we may never have found Chessa. Once she’s gone through the psych eval, she’ll be ready to go. Her mother and father are beside themselves and are on their way to Paris to meet her when she lands.”

  “That’s great, Lou.”

  “Yeah. Hey, I know I said you should come home for a while, but if you’re up for it, would you mind staying in Libya a little longer?” Lou’s voice had an edge to it that wasn’t normally there.

  “That depends. What have you got?”

  “There’ve been reports of missing children from a refugee camp near the Tunisian border. The cases are sporadic, but concerning.”

  “Izz Al-Din?”

  “Nobody knows, but that’s one theory. The children who’ve been reported missing are quite a bit younger than their usual fare.”

  “How young are we talking here?”

  “Under ten.”

  “Jesus.” Anger rose in her chest. She was glad that she still felt something after all the evil she’d seen. “Too young to be a bride, at least for the majority of fighters. Are they taking them young so they can raise them to terrorist standards?”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “So what’s my story?”

  “You’ll be traveling as Ava Yardley, a reporter for Slam. Rami will take you to the refugee camp.”

  Leine to
ok a deep breath as the memories of the last time she’d visited a Libyan refugee camp flooded through her. She’d lost a good friend and become embroiled in a deception with ramifications that reverberated through the upper reaches of both the Kremlin and the White House. Not something she wanted to repeat. But this was business. Compartmentalizing personal feelings was second nature for the former assassin. She’d deal with any fallout when she got back stateside.

  “And?”

  “You’re scheduled to interview the director of the NGO that finances the camp. The added bonus is that whatever notes you take will be given to an actual reporter for the newsmagazine to turn into a story.”

  “I assume Fatima has all the necessary docs at the office?” She’d need a new passport, as well as credit and business cards, press credentials, etc.

  “As we speak.”

  “Anything else?”

  He paused. “You should come home after this one, okay?”

  Leine stopped herself from telling him to mind his own business, that she was just fine, thank you very much. She sighed. No need to get into it on an international call. “No worries there, Lou. I’m pretty sure Santa would like that too.”

  “You sure you’re up for one more?”

  “Yeah. Absolutely. Besides, this sounds more like a fact-finding mission. I can share whatever information I gather with Fatima and the crew at the office for follow-up.”

  “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  She ended the call and set her phone down on the table in front of her. Lou was concerned about her, and he was probably right. All the warning signs of burnout were there. Her refusal to listen to other people when they expressed concern for her well-being. Her inability to sleep more than a few hours at a time, punctuated by nightmares that would only go away with ever increasing amounts of alcohol. How her personal feelings drove her actions, often resulting in a corpse. The main indicator, however, was the empty feeling she got when she took a life.

  And she’d been taking a lot of lives.

  She was having a hard time convincing herself that killing should be a last resort instead of her first response. She finished her tea and dug in her purse for money, which she left on the table. She was about to leave when a voice cried out.

  “Wait! No—”

  Leine tensed. Down the block, at the entrance to an alley, a young girl struggled against two big, burly men, each holding her by an arm. The endeavor was proving difficult for the men. The girl writhed and bucked and slipped an arm free before one of the men recaptured it.

  In a flash, the three of them disappeared into the alley.

  Leine sprang to her feet and sprinted across the busy boulevard. She slowed as she came to the corner of the alley and peered into the gloom. They were several yards away, partially hidden by shadow.

  “Let. Me. Go!” The young girl fought the two men with a ferocity that would have made a cornered lion proud.

  Leine walked toward them, her hand closing around the hilt of the knife concealed in her waistband. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in Arabic.

  “This is none of your business,” one of the men snarled before turning back to the girl.

  Without breaking stride, Leine pivoted and swept her leg in a low arc, forcing the man off his feet and sending him toppling backward to the ground. She delivered a sharp kick to his head, knocking him unconscious, before turning to the second man. A flash of anger crossed his face as he wrapped his arm around the girl’s neck and pulled her in front of him, while at the same time shoving a revolver under her chin. A third of his body was exposed and vulnerable to attack, including his head.

  She drew the knife free as she shook her head in mock sympathy. A split-second of indecision lit his face.

  “Nice try, asshole,” Leine murmured and threw the knife. The blade buried itself in his right eye, cutting short the scream in his throat. His grip loosened and the girl slipped from his grasp. She took off running as he collapsed to the ground.

  Leine extracted her knife from the second body of the day and raced after the girl.

  4

  LEINE CAUGHT GLIMPSES of the kid’s short brown hair and dirty green shirt as she appeared and disappeared and bobbed and weaved her way through the crowded back streets. At one point Leine thought she’d lost her in the busy market, but resumed the chase when she darted out from behind a table filled with purses.

  The girl cut a quick left down a deserted passageway, and Leine followed. She rounded the corner and stopped. The space was empty. The girl had vaporized. Leine pivoted, searching for a hiding place. A large piece of rusted sheet metal leaned like a lopsided A against the crumbling plaster wall, a pile of rubbish at its base. Leine edged closer, intending to check the area underneath, when the girl exploded from behind it, sending the metal careening toward her. Leine warded off the blow with one hand and just managed to grab the kid by the collar with the other.

  “Let. Me. Go.” The kid struggled against her captor, twisting and flailing her arms, but Leine held tight.

  “Stop struggling. I’m not going to hurt you.” Leine secured her grip on the wiry little fighter’s upper arm, wary of exerting too much pressure.

  The girl eventually stopped and grew quiet. “What do you want?”

  Leine relaxed her hand slightly. “Why were those men after you?”

  She remained silent. Leine bent down so she could look her in the eyes.

  “Why were they after you?” she repeated.

  The kid scowled, clearly not happy with the turn of events. She tried to slip free, but Leine tightened her grip.

  “I can help you, if you give me the chance.”

  Fuming, the girl avoided her gaze, her slim body coiled tight. Leine continued to hold her but remained quiet. She was afraid the kid would spring past her if she let go. They stood in an uneasy détente until the girl finally realized she wouldn’t get free unless she cooperated. Incrementally, the tension left her body.

  “I don’t know why.”

  Not quite trusting her surrender, Leine kept a hold on her arm. “Any guesses?”

  She shook her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. “No. I don’t know. Please, let me go,” she said, her voice dripping with emotion.

  Leine wasn’t convinced that the tears were real, but she let go of her arm. Warily, the girl backed away, out of her reach. Leine didn’t make a move toward her.

  “I’m Leine,” she said and held out her hand.

  The girl considered her for a moment, as though deciding whether she could trust her. Seconds passed. Convinced she was going to bolt, Leine let her hand drop to her side, hoping it would defuse the tension between them. The inquisitive brown eyes studied the former assassin. Then, surprisingly, she held out her own hand.

  “I am called Jinn.”

  “Like the genie?” Leine smiled as she shook her hand. “Well, you certainly know how to disappear like one.”

  An answering smile flickered across the girl’s lips. Now that Leine thought about it, she did resemble a pixie. Her almond-shaped eyes tilted at the corners, and a small, upturned nose punctuated the delicate bones of her heart-shaped face. Her short hair revealed small ears that peaked slightly at the top, giving her the distinct appearance of an imp. She was small, but wiry and tough. And, judging by her attitude when she tried to get free of her would-be abductors, she wasn’t afraid to fight.

  “Jinn, do you have a home?” Leine looked around the area where they stood. “Or is this it?”

  She shrugged.

  “How long have you been on the street?”

  “Two years.”

  Leine detected a hint of pride in her voice. “That’s a long time on your own. Where’s your family?”

  She looked away. “They’re...gone.”

  “Gone? As in moved?”

  Jinn shook her head. Leine didn’t press. She dropped to a crouch so that she was eye level with her.

  “Look. I work for an organiz
ation that helps people like you. If you want, we can find you a place to live.” She didn’t want to spook the kid by offering too much at once. The ones who lived on the street for any length of time developed a healthy mistrust of strangers, especially adults. Leine couldn’t blame them. A lot of the time, adults wanted some pretty bad things. She studied her for a moment. She didn’t have the same haunted look Leine had seen in children who’d been trafficked for sex.

  “How about we get you a good meal and talk about your options?”

  That brought a spark of interest. “I have options?”

  Leine smiled. “You do now.”

  “AREN’T YOU WORRIED the police will be looking for you?” Jinn asked around a mouthful of lamb. They were seated at a table in a small eatery. Jinn was in the process of demolishing the tagine special along with a mound of freshly baked bread and a glass of iced tea. Leine sipped her own tea, enjoying her dinner companion’s robust appetite.

  “Not really.” Leine removed a tan button-down blouse from her shoulder bag and shrugged it on over her T-shirt. Then she flipped her scarf to reveal a dark green side, and put it over her head, draping the ends over her shoulders. Finally, she took her sunglasses from her bag and slid them on.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Good,” Jinn said approvingly.

  Jinn had turned out to be ten years old, almost eleven, although when Leine pressed her she wouldn’t say when her birthday was. Not surprising, since street kids often didn’t know. When Leine asked her how she ended up on the streets of Tripoli, she shook her head.

  “I don’t talk about that. It’s bad luck,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Why were those two men after you really?” Leine asked.

  Scowling, Jinn picked at her food. “They think I have something that belongs to them.”

  “Do you?”