She didn't move.
The guard stepped into the room, his shoulders set in anger. He was going to kick her.
"Leave us," Robert commanded. The guard looked back at him, his eyes scanning the ice blue glint in Robert's gaze.
"I need information from this woman. Abu Hussein gave me permission. If you beat her more I'll be less likely to get anything out of her."
"She can tell you nothing. She is useless." He spit on the ground.
"That may be true—"
"It is."
Robert sipped air, keeping his breathing even. He wanted to punch this man, grab his gun, knock him to his knees and shoot him in the fucking head. But he found patience instead.
"Bring me some bread." He pulled out a wad of cash. The man's eyes latched onto it, a babe staring at its mother's exposed breast. Yes, all men had a price. Robert peeled off a bill and held it out. The guard took it. "There will be more when you come back with some bread…and water, too."
The guard left, closing the door behind him, setting the lock into place. A thrill of fear coursed through Robert as memories of his captivity crowded into his mind. He pushed them away, concentrating on the woman.
He crouched down, lowering to her level but giving her plenty of space. Her face was contorted with swelling and bruises. Her labored breath rasped. If she didn't get medical attention soon, she would die.
He needed information first.
"Hello, my name is Robert Maxim. I'm here to talk about the wolf inside of you."
The woman's eyes fluttered open. Thick dark lashes revealed warm brown eyes—a glint of power in their depths. This woman had faith. No one could harm her anymore.
"You believe in the wolf?" she asked.
"I want to hear about it."
A smile pulled at her blood-crusted lips. "Water."
"Yes, it's coming."
He moved closer to her. "How did you hear about the wolf?"
"It was always inside me."
"But who told you about it? Who named it?"
"I did. I am Her."
"Who is Her?" Robert clenched his fist, urging himself to find that patience, not to blow this. If he wanted to find Sydney, he had to go slow with this woman. Gain her trust the way he'd slowly gained Sydney’s.
"I am Her," the woman said again, her voice a whisper, her eyes sliding shut.
He waited, listening for the guard. He refused to push the woman more before providing water and food. Robert stood and went to the door. What was taking that guard so long?
The rat-tat-tat of automatic rifles ricocheted somewhere in the building. Fuck. Why did he let that fool lock him in? His desperation to find Sydney had put him in grave danger.
Who would be attacking this police station? The man's family, come to kill the wolf woman? Peshmerga fighters making inroads into this town, freeing it from Daesh control?
Either way, Robert needed to escape. He needed this woman alive. And he could not be found in a Daesh-controlled police station by Peshmerga fighters.
The door was made of steel, far too solid to break through. He could try shooting out the lock, as he had his gun on him, but the bullets could ricochet, hitting him or the woman. There was a tiny window that weak light filtered through, but it was too small to provide escape, even if it wasn't barred.
Boots running down the hall caused him to tighten his fists. The lock thunked, and Robert bent his knees, ready to draw his weapon. The door swung wide, revealing the guard, who was aiming a Kalashnikov at Robert. "Give me all your money."
Robert couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "This prison is under attack, and you’re robbing me?" he said in English. "Did it ever occur to you that this is the kind of behavior that's left you a miserable asshole working in this shit hole?"
The man pushed the rifle into Robert's stomach. Robert grabbed the barrel and twisted it up toward the sky, ripping it free from the man's grip. The guard's eyes went round with shock at how easily Robert disarmed him.
Maxim threw the weapons behind him, toward the woman, pulling his own sidearm. He whacked it across the man's jaw, sending him spinning into the wall, unconscious.
Robert aimed at the guard's head. "Cover your ears," he said to the woman before pulling the trigger. The body shuddered once. The smell of feces overpowered all the other repulsive scents in the room.
When Robert turned around, the woman was on her feet, leaning against the wall, holding the Kalashnikov. He grinned. She was stronger than she looked. "You want to get out of here?"
She watched him with narrowed eyes. "Why would you help me?"
"Because I want to see that wolf of yours."
"You can't."
"Why?" More gunshots fired; they were getting closer. They need to go. Now.
"You are a man. I can't trust you."
"I'm the only hope you've got." She didn't answer. "It's me, or stay here and face whatever comes through this door next."
"I'm not afraid."
"If you want to live, come with me. If death is your goal then I can help you out." He gestured with his gun at the dead man on the floor. Her eyes flicked to the corpse. Robert approached her, and she did not resist when he took her arm.
She stank of body odor, blood, and piss, her long skirts crusted with the mixture. But he wrapped her arm over his shoulder and took her weight, blocking out the stink of her, keeping the disgust at bay. He was doing this for Sydney.
The wolf woman would lead him to her.
And if she couldn't then at least he'd have a better understanding of how this prophet spread her message.
Smoke filled the hall and Robert heard the crackling of fire. They started up the steps and the smoke grew thicker. The woman's eyes were tight with pain. She stumbled, and he scooped her up into his arms. Her head lolled on his shoulders, but she was still breathing, and her fingers gripped the gun.
The lobby Robert had passed through twenty minutes earlier was a hellscape. Where there had been orderly benches for waiting, and armed, uniformed officers working at nearby desks, now was a chaotic landscape of overturned furniture and scattered papers with a fire raging at the entrance. Bodies littered the floor, and figures moved through the swirling smoke. Robert crouched close to the wall, hidden by an overturned desk.
The large, closed windows that lined the room, contained the smoke which pressed against them. Sweat poured down Robert's back.
He shook the woman, and her eyes fluttered open. "Shoot out that window," he ordered her, using his chin to indicate the window in front of them. Her gaze was glassy as she turned to look at it. Should he put her down and do it himself? "Fire now," he growled, his voice deep and powerful, a tone that brokered no argument, that had inspired men to act in battle throughout his life. It worked on the wolf woman, too. She raised the Kalashnikov and pulled the trigger, the window exploding out onto the street.
They were only a half-story up. Robert kicked out as much glass as he could, then lowered the woman out the window, dropping her the last few feet. She cried out when she landed, and rolled away, her face a grimace of pain.
Robert leapt out after her, landing in a crouch, his bad knee protesting but holding. "We have to keep moving," he said, helping the woman up, but she collapsed, so he threw her over his shoulder.
He'd carried a friend through the jungle like that. When they'd finally escaped the FARC he'd carried his friend for days…he'd died on Maxim's back.
Robert jogged away from the battle, the woman moaning, the sounds of gunshots fading as he navigated through the alleys.
The wolf woman couldn't die yet. He needed her to find Sydney.
Chapter Twenty-four
Nadia
They moved mostly at night, their long dark cloaks hiding them in the shadows of nature. The American, April Madden, whose slate gray eyes almost glowed in the dark, kept up. The cuts on her hands and knees marred soft flesh…April had never scrubbed a floor on all fours.
She never complained either. April
traveled over the same rough land as the younger women, but with only one shoe and a body thirty years their senior, her mouth set into a determined line.
Eventually, they bought her a pair of boots and a burka so that she could blend in like them. "I was a preacher’s wife," she told them. "I know how to spread the message."
Clearly, April joined them for a reason.
Nadia, Farridah, Souhayla, Shayma and Jihane had been walking for days when they met April, the mother of the miracle woman.
The pickup truck got them to the mountains, putting as much distance between themselves and the oil field as possible without facing any checkpoints. Women were not allowed to drive, let alone six of them.
The first night, they broke into a store in a small village and stole supplies, food and water, enough to last a few days. Then the Lord had provided more villages. In those places they had found not only sustenance for their bodies, but also their souls.
In their burkas, shuffling as if they were old women, they were invisible to Daesh soldiers. Of no more interest than a stray cat, though probably not as useful; cats could at least catch mice.
Those men could not see the weapons hidden under their dresses.
They had the Kalashnikovs they’d taken from the dead soldiers who had once owned them, as well as several handguns from the pickup truck. The weapons brought peace to Nadia. No one could hurt her now.
Nadia's heart still ached for her family. It wouldn't stop. She knew her value. Knew that she was worth more than this mortal plane believed. But she still dreamt of her mother and little brother. She grieved for her father and older brother and prayed that they had found peace in heaven.
The women spent their nights walking, sleeping for a few hours of the darkness into the early gray of dawn, then went into the closest village. At the markets, they whispered to women, letting them know about the word of the prophet. Many of them had heard the word already and had seen the video of the prophet.
They practiced shooting, as well. Nadia was determined that they all learn to kill. As her father taught her. Their religion would go on.
April's first lesson started one day as the sun reached the apex of the sky. They were staying in a cave outside of a village dominated by Sunnis. They didn't have enough bullets to waste on practice, so Nadia worked on April's stance with an empty gun.
"Hold your chin up. Shoulders back." She gently pulled April's shoulders. The older woman stiffened her spine, the weight of the gun steady in her hands. "Good. Now aim down the barrel."
April squeezed an eye shut and aimed. "Imagine a Daesh soldier. Imagine his body. The center of him. Aim for his chest. It is the biggest, easiest target."
April aimed at a nearby bolder where Farridah had drawn a circle. The girl sat behind them, watching. The desolate landscape, dominated by golden sands, swelling hills, and large boulders, like giants had tossed them around for fun, glowed hot under the bright sun.
"Now squeeze." April followed her command, though the resulting gunshot could only be imagined.
Jihane came out from the cave, stretching from a nap and smiled. "Looking good, April," she said in Kurdish, and Nadia translated.
April blushed.
Nadia enjoyed using her English. Her whole life, she'd prepared for this. Her love of language and teaching had combined in a totally unexpected way but they were just more evidence that she was striding down the correct path.
Farridah shifted and Nadia turned to see her climbing up the hillside, loose stones tumbling behind her. "Come and look at this." She waved at Nadia, pointing.
Nadia, April and Jihane climbed up the hill to where Farridah stood next to a large boulder. An image of wolf's profile, with a woman's silhouette set within it, was painted onto the stone.
"What is it?" Jihane asked, leaning forward.
"It's the miracle," April whispered.
Nadia turned, looking around, but the artist couldn't be close. The paint had dried and they were a mile from the closest road. However, the cave had been used by the Yazidi on their pilgrimage to Lalish for centuries. Others could be using it for shelter.
"I can draw that." Farridah traced the lines of the wolf's teeth with her finger.
April was nodding. "Yes, of course, this is the next step. We must have imagery."
Farridah's face lit up and she turned to Nadia. "We should buy paints tomorrow."
Nadia nodded slowly. Leaving images behind them created more opportunity to be caught. "Okay, but we must then prepare for the possibility of being seen." A thrill ran over Nadia's body. She would join her father and brother in heaven soon.
Chapter Twenty-five
Robert
"Can she talk?" Robert asked the doctor. They spoke quietly in the shadowed hallway of the man's house. The door to the wolf woman's room stood slightly ajar, and he could hear the doctor's wife speaking softly to her.
"She is a fugitive?" The doctor asked, his eyes glinting with greed.
"Don't worry about your fee. If I get what I need from her you'll get what you deserve."
The man wet his lips. "She can talk, but if you want her to live she will need more care."
"Whatever she needs. Consider it done. But let me speak with her now."
The doctor stepped aside, and Robert took a deep breath before pushing open the door. The woman lay under a sheet, her body so still…she must be on drugs for the pain.
In the light from the window, he could see her wounds more clearly than in the prison cell. She was a storm cloud of bruises, punctuated with bloody scabs. Poor thing. Jesus. His stomach quivered, but he forced the empathy from his body. Robert must stay focused if he wanted to find Sydney.
The doctor's wife, with bleached blonde hair and wearing a white nurse’s uniform, looked up at him. She stepped aside without him asking. A woman like that was used to moving out of the way of powerful men. Another slight shudder passed over Robert. What would Sydney say to him now? She'd tell him to let this woman rest. To fuck off. If she wanted to see him, she'd let the doctor know.
He pushed the thought away. Robert didn't know what was happening with Sydney. She could be a prisoner. His mind raced to a slave market he'd seen in Mosul. The way Daesh treated women would get them killed by Sydney Rye. No matter how injured she was, that woman would murder the lot of them. Or die trying. She couldn't die!
He sat in a wooden chair next to the wolf woman's bed, smoothing his mind into a placid sea. The nurse left the room, softly closing the door. The room was stark, painted bright white and empty except for the bed, chair and some medical equipment. A monitor beeped softly, tracking the woman's weak pulse.
She opened her eyes as the chair creaked under him. A small smile caressed her lips. "Hello," she said in Arabic.
"How are you feeling?"
"Terrible." She laughed and winced, her body tightening under the sheet.
"I'm sorry." The words popped out, true but dangerous. He didn't have anything to apologize for; he saved this woman.
"Thank you."
"I'd like your help."
"You want to find the prophet."
His heart picked up its pace. "Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"I…she…the miracle, the woman the prophet brought back to life, is a friend of mine. I'm worried about her."
The woman smiled again, closing her eyes. "Worried about her?"
"Yes." A note of anger twisted the word into something aggressive.
"You want to help her?" She sounded like she didn't believe him.
"I do."
"Or do you want to own her?"
"Own her?" Robert sat back, the chair creaking again. "No one can own her." A note of sadness crept into his voice, because he would like to own her. To keep her in a box, safe from the ravages of the world…but she'd lose her luster then. He wanted her so badly because she fought so hard not to be owned.
He took a deep breath, rubbing his knee. "I want to find her. Will you help me?"
"No one can help you." She was damn cryptic, wasn't she?
"How did you meet the prophet?" He tried another tack.
"I didn't."
"How did you hear her words, then?"
"There is a video."
"The imam, Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi?"
The woman laughed, a soft, pained sound, her eyes screwing up at the hurt. "No, not him." Her voice was tinged with disgust. "That animal. I'd never listen to him."
"Who then."
"Me. Her."
"What?"
"Google I am Her."
Maxim stared at the woman: her ashen skin, her dark hair fanning out over the pillow, the wounds swelling her face. The wolf woman kept her eyes closed, sipping shallow breaths.
He pulled out his phone, following her instructions. A YouTube video came up. He hit play. The woman spoke in Arabic, but there were English subtitles. He scanned down the screen, seeing that the video was available with subtitles in twelve languages…all posted by different users.
The completely covered woman held her finger to her temple. "We must all believe in our equality. It is the only way."
He watched until the end, glancing up at the woman in the bed. A satisfied smile tugged at her swollen, split lips. "Let the wolf out." The woman ended her sermon.
"She's preaching violence," Robert said, his voice tight.
"She is preaching freedom," the woman rebutted, not opening her eyes. "Violence is happening. Every day of my marriage, my husband beat me. He raped me. He treated me like livestock. Except most would not treat even an animal the way he treated me. So I let the wolf out. My husband beat me to avoid Allah's wrath in hell. I killed him to end my time in purgatory."
And now you are beaten worse than ever. Robert didn't speak his thoughts out loud. He made it a policy not to argue with the religious. It wasn't worth it. They believed there was a God, and Robert didn't. It was like arguing with someone who thought the world was flat. He couldn't make progress, so didn't try. Religious people were easy enough to control and manipulate.
In Sheep's Clothing Page 12
