“I just want the girl . . . ”
“You’re going to steal her, my friend!”
“Of course not, you fool . . . ”
The irrational panic welled up in the Iraqi’s mind. He didn’t have that much to live for anyway. He could die now, he could die later, he didn’t care that much anymore.
The hateful pride inside him took complete control. “Kill her!” he screamed over his shoulder to his friend. “Kill her! They will take her. Kill her before they do!”
The man holding Azadeh tightened his grip on her throat. It was clear from the rage in his eyes that he was going to shoot her. He jammed the blunt end of the pistol into her temple, moved his finger for the trigger, and pushed her head down by his hip, not wanting to get splattered when he blew out her brains.
Sam heard the electric whiz of a bullet speeding by not more than a few inches from his ear, and the huge man suddenly slumped, a red dot on his head. The sound of the gunshot crashed from the trees half a second behind the sound of the shell. Sam instantly twisted the Iraqi’s wrist, hearing the bone snap in the night, and the Iraqi dropped his weapon and cried out in pain. Continuing the movement, Sam lifted his pistol and fired through the side window of the car, aiming at the shadow in the backseat. Another shot echoed from the trees behind him and the front window shattered, two bullet holes pocking the passenger side.
The Iraqi screamed, his face pulling in pain and fear. He knew he was dead. He bent down for his weapon, but Sam had already kicked it away.
Sam leaned toward him, twisted his broken wrist, and grimaced, unable to hold in his disgust. “You sell little girls!” he screamed, slapping the man on the head, his anger and resentment snarling his breath. “Little girls! Little children! What kind of sick man are you!”
The Arab fell over, holding the top of his head. He whimpered like a puppy that had been beaten with a stick.
Sam reached down and grabbed the Iraqi’s chin, jerking his head around until he was staring at his dead friend. “You couldn’t fight me. No! You couldn’t fight like a man! You had to go for the girl, and now look what you did!” Your friends are dead. You are alone here. So now, tell me, big man, what are you going to do!”
The Iraqi whimpered, begging, “My Sayid, my Sayid . . . ”
“Shut up!” Sam cried, releasing the grip on his face.
The Iraqi fell to the ground and lay on his stomach with his arms spread wide, a familiar position he had forced many others to endure.
Azadeh didn’t move. She was quiet. And a long way from tears.
She moved toward Sam, saying something in Persian that he did not understand.
He was five inches taller than she was and he looked down, holding her shoulders in his hands.
“You . . . ” Azadeh started, her face crunching as she struggled to find the right words in English. “You . . . remembered me,” she finally managed.
“Yes. I came for you,” Sam answered in joy.
“I,” she pointed to her chest. “I did what . . . you tell me.”
Sam broke into a wide smile. “You did good, my girl. You got to Khorramshahr. And now you are safe.”
Chapter Twenty
The woman rushed to Azadeh, sweeping her up in her arms while turning her head away from the dead man who lay crumpled on the dirt. Bono followed her quickly, his M-16A in one hand, the barrel pointing upward, his other hand on the holster that was strapped to his chest. Sam stood over the last Iraqi, who lay very still.
Bono moved to Sam’s side, breathing heavily. He studied the dead man, then turned away. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know you didn’t want this to happen. But he was going to kill her. I saw it all through my scope. Trust me, Sammy, it was him or her. I made the right call.”
Sam nodded grimly. “Yeah,” was all he replied. He looked down at the dead man, then placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Sam glanced at the car and the shattered windshield. The side window was so heavily tinted it was impossible to see through; the bullet had entered it cleanly, leaving a single, tiny hole. Sam had a good idea what was in there, and he didn’t want to look. He nodded toward the front seat. Bono shook his head. “He had a gun on you the entire time,” he said. “They were going to kill you, get the money and, as a bonus, keep the girl. They set us up. You know it. You could smell it. We’ve been here before.”
Sam didn’t argue. He knew it was true.
He turned to Azadeh, who was standing a few feet from him now. The woman still held her, her arms wrapped high around her shoulders, her hands covering her eyes. It was as if she wanted not only to protect her but to blind her as well, as if it would all go away if Azadeh didn’t see it.
But Sam could see that the woman was far more shaken than Azadeh. She’s new to this, he thought. Azadeh’s seen this, and worse. She’s been around now.
He walked slowly toward her, holding his hands out at his side. The woman kept her arms around her shoulders, but Azadeh had turned her head. She watched Sam carefully. He stopped three feet away. She pushed away from the woman, turning to face him again.
“Do you speak English?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Tiny. Tiny.”
He turned to the woman. She was thick and husky and wore a heavy jacket with a hood on her head. She had dark hair with light streaks of gray, dark eyes and dark skin. She too was an Arab. “Tell her,” Sam said. “Tell her who I am.”
The woman looked surprised. “Tell her? How much? What do you want me to say?”
“Tell her I remembered her from the village in Iran.”
Azadeh was listening intently, and she started nodding before the woman could speak. “American . . . soldier,” she said, pointing at Sam.
“Yes,” Sam nodded. “American soldier.”
Azadeh nodded again.
“Ask her if she is alone now,” he told the woman.
The older woman spoke in Persian. Azadeh answered in a low voice.
The woman looked at Sam. “She said these men took her from Khorramshahr. And yes, she is alone.”
“Tell her who you are,” Sam instructed.
The woman spoke quickly. Sam listened, catching as much of the conversation as he could. “My name is Amina,” the older woman began.
“Miss Azadeh Pahlavi,” Azadeh introduced herself.
“Yes, of course, I already know that,” Amina replied. She forced a tight smile, though it was clear she was still close to tears.
“I’m with an organization called No More,” Amina went on. “Have you ever heard of that, Azadeh?” Azadeh shook her head. “We are a private group based in London,” the older woman continued. “We work throughout the Middle East, some in Pakistan, some in India and Malaysia. We work to free children, both boys and girls, who are being bought and sold as slaves. We intercept them; we buy them and set them free. The slave trade is a nasty, nasty business.” Amina paused. “Do you understand what I mean?”
Azadeh pressed her lips and nodded, her eyes growing narrow, her forehead creasing tight.
“Do you realize, Azadeh, that’s what these men were going to do? They brought you here to sell you. To sell you as a . . . slave.”
Azadeh nodded grimly. “I know that,” she answered. “But I would have died before I would have let them do that to me.”
Amina was silent a moment. “Azadeh, I don’t think you really realize what they could have done.”
Azadeh shook her head. “No, Miss Amina, I do understand. I knew what would happen the first time I saw that man.” She nudged her shoulder toward the Iraqi who lay on the ground. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, though it was clear he was listening carefully. “He claimed he worked for my uncle.” She spit the words in his direction. “What a filthy, simple lie. I have no uncle, no family, no one who knows or cares. I knew what he had in mind. But I determined when I met him that he would not succeed.”
Amina held her tight once again. “You are brave,” she said simply.
“No. I am not brave. I am not strong. But if that was what was in store for me, then I didn’t want to live.”
Sam looked away. He had caught enough of the conversation to understand. He passed a hand in front of his face, rubbing his eyes.
Bono stood behind him, clearing his throat. Sam looked quickly over his shoulder. The lieutenant was standing guard over the Iraqi, a small pistol comfortably in his hand. He nodded anxiously, indicating that he wanted to go. Sam motioned to him, a barely noticeable move of his head, then turned back to Amina. “Tell her my name,” he said.
“No, you should not do that,” Amina said emphatically. “There is no good that can come if she knows. You endanger her. You endanger yourself. Some things are better left unsaid.”
Sam shook his head. “Tell her,” he repeated.
Amina hesitated, then put her hands on Azadeh’s shoulders. “This is Sergeant Brighton.” She nodded to the man who stood at Sam’s back. “That man is an American soldier too. They are friends. Close comrades. Do you understand?”
Azadeh nodded as she stared at Sam.
“Now you need to understand something,” Amina continued in Persian. “What he did here tonight, he did on his own. The U.S. government had nothing to do with any of this. Nothing at all. In fact, Sergeant Brighton would be in very big trouble if they ever found out. It isn’t his purpose, it isn’t his mission, to try to save the local citizens from the effects of this land. But he came to me, Azadeh, a few weeks ago. He asked me to help him. I told him if he could get you out of Khorramshahr, I could take you from here. I helped him when I could, but it is mostly him you should thank.” Amina paused, then asked, “Do you understand, Azadeh?”
Azadeh nodded, lowering her eyes as if she didn’t dare look at him.
“Now listen, Azadeh,” Amina went on. “I’m going to take you from here. You are safe now. No More has the funds and organization. You are going to leave Iraq. We are going to send you to the United States.”
“The U.S.,” Azadeh repeated. She couldn’t believe it was true.
Sam watched her and bent down, reading the look on her face. “It’s true, Azadeh,” he said. “They’re going to send you to the U.S. There are people there who are willing to take you into their homes . . . ” Amina translated in a low voice, interpreting as quickly as she could. “You will be safe,” Sam continued. “You will have a new life there, a new start.”
Azadeh thought a long moment. Behind him, Sam heard the lieutenant stomp his feet on the ground. He quickly glanced at his watch. “Sammy,” Bono said, “we’ve got to be going. We’ve got to get back to camp.”
Sam lifted his hand, gesturing for his friend a minute or two.
Azadeh stared at him, her eyes wide. “Will you come with me?” she asked.
Sam shook his head and laughed. “I wish I could,” he said. “Believe me, Azadeh, there are plenty of days when I want nothing more than to get out of here. But I have other obligations. Remember, Azadeh, I am not here on my own. I am a soldier. I have a duty. This is where I belong.”
She nodded. “Who will go with me, then?” she asked.
“Amina has arranged it. She will go with you, introduce you to your new home, help you get situated inside the U.S.”
Amina touched Azadeh’s hand, and the girl shot a quick look at her, but then turned back to Sam. “But who will I stay with?” she wondered. “What will I do?” She did not look happy. She looked terrified.
Amina translated. Sam shook his head, pushing his dirty hands through his long hair. “I don’t have all the answers, Azadeh, but this much I know. You will happy. And free. You will be warm and fed. You will be placed in a home with someone who loves you and wants you to be there.”
“No,” Azadeh said. “They will not love me. I am not their child. I’m not one of their people. I do not come from their tribe. They might show sympathy, even kindness, but they will not love me, I’m sure.”
Sam listened to Amina translate, then took a step forward and knelt down in front of Azadeh. He stared up into her dark eyes and saw the loneliness, the sadness of being on her own. She was a young woman, but in that moment she looked like nothing more than a child. Lost. Alone. Full of deep fear. He wanted to hold her, to pull her to him. He wanted to help her.
That was why he was here.
“Azadeh,” he started. “I know this has been hard—”
Azadeh shook her head abruptly. “No, no. I am grateful,” she said.
“I know you are, Azadeh. But you still need to know. Your difficult path is over. You have walked through the dark. There are others now who will help you. You will not be alone.”
Azadeh kept her eyes down, staring at the black dirt under her sandals, not daring to look into his eyes. The night was quiet and, up the river, a loon cried, a long, mournful sound. She lifted her head and looked at the low moon, a dull yellow sliver against the Iraqi sky, then turned to Sam, her eyes crunching now. “But I will . . . I will leave my people. I will leave my home. If I go to your country, will I ever come back again?”
Sam hunched his shoulders and thought a long moment, wanting to say the right thing. He pictured himself in her circumstance, barely escaping with her life, losing everything along the way, her family, her possessions. Everything she owned had been stuffed in the burlap bag she was clutching under her arm. And now she was losing her country, her people, everything she’d ever known. He imagined himself in her situation at such a young age.
But maybe we are not so different, he then thought. He considered his own father and mother, who had beaten and deserted him by the time he was ten. By age thirteen, he had fully expected to live his entire life all alone, with maybe short visits from his addicted mother or occasional brawls with his old man.
His mind flashed back to the evening when he had been taken to the Brightons’ house, the next stop on a long list of temporary homes. He fully expected this visit to last not more than a few days—maybe a week, if things went unusually well. And even now, he remembered what it felt like to be a terrified little boy, standing in the hallway of a stranger’s home, looking around him, a young animal in a new cage, always expecting to take another blow, another heartbreak, another push back down the road. Yes, he remembered the feeling. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget.
Looking at Azadeh, he saw himself in her eyes. He remembered. And it hurt him, feeling the loneliness again.
But somehow, in ways that even now he didn’t understand, God had led him to the family that had been waiting for him. Once he understood that, it had changed everything.
Could Azadeh be so lucky? He really didn’t know. Most weren’t. He knew that he was one of the lucky few.
But he couldn’t help but think of how he had felt the first time he had seen her. He could picture it so clearly, Azadeh hiding in the brush and dirt, the smell of death and the smoke of destruction all around. He had known her. No . . . he knew her. This was his sister, he was sure.
He didn’t believe that their meeting had been left up to chance. He didn’t believe that, out of all of the places he could have been sent in the world, he had been sent to her tiny village in the mountains of Iran out of pure happenstance. And he didn’t believe, he couldn’t believe, that he’d be able to save her only to send her off on her own and never see her again.
A long moment passed. Azadeh watched him all the time. Then he finally looked up. “Azadeh,” he started. Amina translated quickly, whispering in Azadeh’s ear. “Sometime you will understand. Until then, you’re going to have to believe me when I say that I know what you are going through. I have been where you are. And I know, I understand, I remember how hard it is. But you live. You always live. And as long as you live, then you fight. You live and you fight, and it gets better. I can promise you that.”
Azadeh nodded slowly as Amina translated the words.
“You live and you fight,” she answered. “That’s something I can understand. And I will believe you. I will trust
you. I will do what you say.”
Sam smiled and pulled her close. “Go with Amina,” he whispered into her ear. “She will help you. She is your friend. Trust her. Keep your faith and it will turn out okay.”
Sam felt her head move as she nodded. Although he had spoken in English, it seemed she had understood.
Pulling back, she touched his shoulders. “Will I ever see my home again?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, Azadeh. Maybe . . . but probably not. The world is changing quickly. The days are growing shorter, and there is evil all around. Events have been put in motion that will never come to a rest. Where it leads, we don’t know; sometimes all we can do is hang on. But this much I can tell you: It is not in our hands. So have faith, and be hopeful, and maybe you will come back here again.”
Sam stood up and nodded to Amina. It was past time to go.
Bono walked to him. “What do we do with him?” he asked, pointing to the Iraqi on the ground
Sam thought, then moved forward and nudged the man with his boot. “Stand!” he commanded in Arabic. The Iraqi pushed himself to his feet.
Sam glared in his face. “You were going to kill me here tonight, weren’t you, my friend?”
The Iraqi returned his cold stare, a deadly rage in his eyes. “I would kill you even now if I were given the chance.” He spoke in a guttural, almost animal sound. “Give me the chance, you harâmzâde Yankee, and I would reach down your throat and crush your heart in my fist.”
Sam stood back and smiled. “Yes, I suppose that you would. And maybe one day, if you’re lucky, you just might get the chance. But until then, let me give you some advice. I have friends. We have ears. We have eyes. We have feet. We get around. We listen and we watch. And I will be listening and watching for you. And know this, my merchant friend, if I ever hear your name, if I ever hear even a whiff of a rumor that you are back in business, I will send you to your master who is waiting for you in hell. I will hunt you and kill you. I promise I will.
The Great and Terrible Page 71
