"Is it because the prophet is a woman?"
Mulberry laughed. "No, it's because new religions don't just… I mean..."
"This is how they start, Mulberry, with one miracle."
"But, so, wait." He shifted on the rock to more fully face the Tigress. "You're saying that you think that this religion is going to take off? That Daesh soldiers will start to actually believe women are equal because a new prophet says so."
"Right now they believe that they have a right to enslave women, that they have a duty to commit horrendous acts of violence because a man says so." She pointed toward the cave she'd entered earlier. That's where she was keeping Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi.
"But Islam has been around for centuries."
"So had the ancient Egyptian religion yet many converted to Christianity, in part because the missionaries used the same imagery and stories, just changed the names.” Zerzan shrugged. “Jews became Christians and Christians become Muslims. This prophet does not disagree with the old texts. Just has a new interpretation, has a new message…from Allah. Same God, different idea."
"What do they call themselves?"
"Her. Laha. I am her. You are her. We are all ‘ana hi."
"Did you tell Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi about it?"
"We continued our discussion." She turned toward the horizon again, a small smile on her lips. "Soon he will be ready."
"Ready for what?"
She turned back to Mulberry. "To make his video. To change the world."
A chill ran up Mulberry's spine at the spark in Zerzan's eyes. They were playing with fire.
Hell burned because fire was terrifying…and exhilarating.
Chapter Eighteen
Nadia
Nadia unwrapped the phone from the shirt she'd used to sneak it back to the slave container. Farridah's breath caught in her throat when Nadia revealed the small tablet.
"It's a sign." Nadia stared down at the glinting screen. How long until her owner noticed its absence? "We have to try to escape."
Farridah's gaze jumped to Nadia’s, a blush of excitement brightening the young woman’s cheeks. "But where can we go?"
They did not know where they were, only that their owners guarded an oil field. Daesh-controlled territory could span hundreds of miles around them. How could they ever get out?
"We will have our burkas. We can pretend to be Muslim women." The masquerade felt wrong, like a pair of shoes too small, like the billowing dresses and burkas they had to wear when they prayed with the men. It wouldn't be any different, though…they wore the clothing given to them, they submitted to the men who owned them. Would pretending to be Muslim to escape be wrong? Yes. But not as wrong as remaining a slave.
Farridah chewed her lip. "It is hard to believe we can escape. But…I never believed that this could happen to us." She made a small wave with her hand, encompassing their enslavement.
Nadia nodded. "It doesn't make sense. We always followed the rules, prayed with honor in our hearts. So, why did God do this if not as a test?"
"Yes," Farridah cocked her head, thinking. "Maybe we are meant to escape this place, but not to run. Maybe…what if," she looked back down at the phone. "What if we are meant to spread the word of the prophet?"
Farridah's idea hit Nadia in the chest, and she stumbled back a step, the powerful truth of their mission suddenly so clear. "Yes, Farridah. That is it."
Farridah grinned, reaching out and holding Nadia's hands, both of them cradling the phone. "Once we escape, we can go from village to village, spreading Her word."
A wave of joy washed over Nadia. What a miraculous and wonderful purpose God had brought to her. Everything made sense now. "We will tell the others when they get back." Nadia wrapped up the phone and placed it under a mattress, then covered it in bedding.
They would bide their time and watch for more signs.
Three days later, as Nadia cleaned her owner's container, a high-pitched whistling sound brought her head up. An explosion rocked the ground, the windows blasted in and the shock wave flung Nadia onto the bed, glass raining down around her.
She blinked, looking up at the ceiling. Her head rang. Sirens began to sound. Another explosion further away. Smoke floated into the room and flames crackled outside. Nadia brought her head up and looked down at herself. Glass lay like dew on her dress. The acrid smoke made her cough. She sat up, brushing the broken shards off herself carefully.
None of them had penetrated. God protected her.
She grabbed her burka from where she'd left it on the bed while cleaning and drew it on before opening the door.
The guard who'd escorted her slumped against the wall, a chunk of stone imbedded in his chest. His breath came in rough gurgles. Nadia stared at him, their eyes locked. Terror shone in his gaze. Nadia's lips pulled up into a grin. "You're going to hell," she told him. He shook his head, and his eyes rolled back into their sockets. His breath stopped coming, and Nadia turned away.
Chaos reigned; fires raged in several buildings, rubble filled the streets, soldiers yelled and pointed as they tried to organize and douse the flames.
They would all burn.
Nadia picked up her skirts and ran toward the slaves’ container. It stood, unharmed, among the ruins of the compound. The guard who usually stood at its entrance was gone, probably helping with the effort to extinguish the fires.
She tried the door but found it still locked. A tapping on the window brought her attention to Farridah behind the glass. Nadia had to get them out of there.
She turned and scanned her surroundings. Bodies, twisted and bloodied, littered the ground. Nadia ran to the closest dead soldier and pulled his Kalashnikov free. Her father's face filled her mind’s eye, his broad smile after she hit the bullseye. He'd taught her well.
Nadia returned to the container. "Stand back!" she yelled to her friends. "I'm going to blow the lock."
"Go!" Farridah shouted back. Nadia shredded the wood around the lock. Raising her leg she kicked the door open.
Light filled the dank space, and her friends rushed forward. They wore their long black dresses, but no burkas covering their faces Nadia ripped hers off, the humid, smoke-filled air caressing her sweating face. She could see so much better without it. Fear rippled through her; why hadn't she thought to take it off sooner? What did that mean?
Taking a deep breath she called on God to help her remember her value.
She shoved the burka into her pocket and led the way over to more fallen soldiers. Each of the five women grabbed an AK. With Nadia leading, they moved toward the entrance gate.
Staying in a single line, they ran down the chaotic streets. None of the soldiers they passed attempted to stop them--they were too busy trying to help the injured and quench the blaze, which was quickly engulfing the entire encampment.
They reached the gate, a tall metal structure controlled by a switch in the guard house. Through the broken windows of the small building, Nadia saw her owner, yelling into his radio. The cords in his neck stood out the way they did when he raped her.
His scent filled her nostrils, the memory of the stench of him suddenly so real. A rush of adrenaline rushed through her, and fear tightened her gut.
Nadia stopped, the other women fanning out behind her. She raised her gun and aimed, just the way her father taught her. The Saudi stopped yelling and turned slowly, his eyes widened when he saw her. She took a breath. He dropped his radio and fumbled for his weapon.
Nadia fired.
The Saudi's body jerked, blood exploded from his chest, and he stumbled back, knocking into the desk, triggering the gate. She fired again, his head arched back from the impact and he lay dead, splayed across the radio, his blood soaking into the paperwork that littered the small office.
Nadia did not experience relief or regret, just a strange and yet familiar glee. As if this murderous intention had always been inside her, and now was finally released.
Farridah pulled at Nadia's arm. "Let's go!" She pointed to where t
he other girls were climbing into a pickup truck. Nadia ran after Farridah and helped her up into the back of the truck. Berfin and Jihane crouched in the bed, their weapons up, ready to defend the truck against anyone who tried to stop them.
"I don't know how to drive!" Shayma yelled as she struggled with the gear shift. Her twin sister, Soughayla, sat in the passenger seat.
"Let me," Nadia pushed in and Shayma moved closer to her sister. Nadia’s brother, Khalid, had taught Nadia to drive, and as she manipulated the gears, easing them forward, she heard his calm voice. Now the clutch, shift, that's it. The truck roared through the open gate, and Nadia heard Khalid's delighted laughter…the way he'd laughed when she'd driven in the mountains, where no one would see her.
He'd saved her life and the lives of these women, and they'd just thought they were having fun.
Another sign they were on the right path.
God was with them.
Nothing could stop them now.
Chapter Nineteen
April
April recognized the feeling: the nausea, the throbbing headache, the taste on her tongue. All signs of a bender.
She blinked her eyes open. Bare, yellow walls greeted her, a window with dirty, flower-printed curtains drawn, sunlight on the other side.
She was sweating and deeply dehydrated.
April rolled over and found the other half of the bed empty. There was a depression in the pillow, though, and a few dark hairs. She'd had sex—could feel it in her naked body, in the looseness of her limbs and the ache between her thighs.
April covered her face with her hands and breathed in deeply, smelling liquor. The scent both revolted her and awoke that dragon inside. It wanted more.
She sat up quickly, her stomach lurching and threatening to empty.
Where was the money? Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a small, black duffel. Some of her clothing spilled out, and she hurried to it.
April yanked the clothing out, tossing it on the bare, cement floor. Relief washed over her when she found the false bottom intact. April bowed her head, sucking in air. Baggage with secret compartments was something Bill had taught her about years ago. When they'd first started the circuit, before the metal, locked briefcases and high-end hotels, they'd needed a way to hide all the cash they brought in.
Footsteps in the hall got her moving. She shoved her clothing back in the bag, and returned to the bed, pulling the sheet up over her chest. Did her lover know that she wouldn't remember him? Had he taken advantage of her? Or had she been the aggressor, as had happened so many times in the past?
The door opened, and a man her age wearing just a towel walked in carrying a steaming mug. When he saw her he grinned, his cheeks brightening. Dark hair spritzed with silver covered his chest.
Pouches under his eyes and red blood vessels lining his nose identified him as a drinker. The crinkles around his eyes and the way he smiled at her gave him an air of kindness.
"Good morning." His accent was thick, his deep baritone almost a purr as he passed her the mug.
She smiled. "Good morning."
"I found a way across. We can move you tonight. Did you get a hold of your friend?"
She didn't even know what day it was.
"I'm not sure, have you seen my phone?"
His eyes jumped to the side table, and she followed his gaze, seeing the phone right there, right next to her. She picked it up and flipped it open. The date and time glowed on the screen. It had been over a week.
Oh, shit.
Ten days.
She sipped the coffee he'd brought her, feeling the hot liquid traveling down her throat and landing with a thunk in her alcohol-soaked stomach.
"Haven't heard anything." She turned back to the man, squeezing a smile onto her face.
He waggled his eyebrows. "I guess we have time to play some more then."
A spiral of desire twirled up her spine, chasing away the hangover, the aches and pains, the nausea and the shame, promising her a dangerous pleasure that could heal her.
She put the coffee down next to the phone and turned back to him. "I guess we do."
He fell sleep afterwards. April climbed out of the bed and pulled back the curtain. A small, fenced garden filled with flowers and a vegetable patch glowed in the moonlight.
It gave her no information about her location.
She tiptoed around the bed, looking for the man's clothing, and found a pile crumpled on his side. He let out a big snore as she reached into the pocket, and she jolted away, fear racing through her veins.
She was so vulnerable.
This wasn't April's first time waking up in a strange man's bed, having lost memories. But, back in the States, she could look out the window or find a newspaper, and figure out where she had ended up.
April didn't even know if she was still in Turkey.
She rummaged through her lover's pockets and found an ID. He was a Turkish border guard. April sat back onto her heels, staring down at the ID.
She must've convinced him to somehow get her across the border. To continue her search for Joy.
Was the friend she was trying to reach Bobby? April returned the ID and wallet to the man's pants and then went back to her side of the bed. The last three calls on her phone were to the number that Bobby had given her.
Apparently tonight she was going across the border. To get into the country where her daughter was last seen. Though without Robert's help, what was her plan? How could she find Joy on her own?
She took a deep breath and clasped her hands, lowering herself to kneel beside the bed.
The Lord would help her.
And if he didn't listen to her pleas, then the devil would.
The border guards’ giant guns sent a chill down April's spine. Her lover smiled at his friends from the driver’s seat and spoke to them in Turkish. April reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around the small plastic cube of her phone. She'd texted Robert. Told him she was coming. Saying that he better meet her.
Then she lied to her lover and told him that Robert wrote back and had agreed to pick her up. He seemed to believe her. But there was nothing except his moral code between her and death…or worse.
The car’s headlights illuminated the dusty road ahead of them as they passed through the checkpoint. A matte black Humvee was pulled over down the road.
The door opened, and a shadowed figured stepped out.
At a movement from his hand, the other doors opened, and three large, bulky shapes appeared. "Your friends?" her lover asked, his voice high, fear tightening his usual deep baritone.
The headlights reached the Humvee, gliding up its chassis and illuminating the man coming around from the driver side.
Robert Maxim. In the flesh.
He wore all black, his jacket bulky from the bulletproof vest underneath, his pants tucked tightly into combat boots. His men carried large guns, but Robert just had a side arm.
His eyes, aqua blue, glinted in the headlights, but he didn't shy away. His mouth was set into a hard line. Her lover pulled over, and April gripped her duffle bag.
Robert approached April's door, opening it and offering his hand. "Mrs. Madden." His voice sounded just as flat as on the phone.
She cleared her throat. "Yes, nice to meet you." April had spent a lot of time meeting and greeting strangers. She could handle this man. He owed her something--what exactly neither of them knew but why else would he be here? Why else would he call her about her daughter? Keep her informed all these years?
She took his hand. April noticed the well-shaped fingers, the confidence in which he pulled her up. He had incredible strength…instinct told her it was far from just physical.
There was an aura around Robert Maxim. Was it the way the three armed men watched him while also scanning the road? The way he so clearly ruled them even though he was the smallest?
Her lover came around to them, and April fumbled with her bag, trying to get out the envelope of cash s
he'd prepared for him. Robert put his hand over hers, and she stilled. He turned to her lover. "You know who I am?"
He scanned the Humvee, the men, then returned his gaze to Robert. "Private contractors."
"Do you know why she wanted to meet me?"
"Her daughter is missing."
Robert nodded. A shot rang out, April's lover’s eyes widened, and he looked down. Blood seeped through his shirt, and his mouth opened. His voice did not follow. The man dropped to his knees, and two of Robert's men grabbed him, dragging him off the road.
Robert's fingers gripped April's arm like a vice and propelled her toward the Humvee.
Shock let him take her.
Her mind whirled.
The last person she'd seen die was Joy's father. He passed slowly, his breaths coming further and further apart until finally there was nothing left. His heart stopped, the machine beeped, nurses raced in, and April stood there, her mind numb.
Just like now.
Except that man wasn't the love of her life. He was a means to an ends. But their mutually beneficial encounter shouldn’t have cost him his life!
"Why?" She managed to get out as Robert pushed her into the back seat.
"You did that," he said, his voice low, flat. Terrifying.
"But..."
"I told you not to come."
He climbed in next to her and moments later the other men joined them. One of them taking the wheel, Maxim staying in the back with her.
"I can't believe you did that."
"Shut up."
April gripped her duffel. Robert stared into her eyes, his expression softening. When she opened her mouth to speak he shook his head slightly, a warning to keep quiet.
The Humvee brought them to an official-looking building, and Robert escorted her into the small interior. "You're going home," he told her. "We are going to have a little chat and then my men will take you to an airbase, and you will fly home."
Rage flushed through her. "You might be used to telling people what to do, but I don't work for you."
In Sheep's Clothing Page 9
