She stared into the tunnel, then gazed up at the museum. Suddenly she bent and double-knotted her shoelaces. Then she patted the holster at the small of her back, making sure her gun was secure.
“Talk to him, John. Whatever you do, don’t stop talking. Promise him anything and everything, but do not let him leave.” Instead of sitting up again, she remained hunched over and slipped out of the car.
John’s eyes darted her way, then he gave her a brief nod, understanding. He yelled into the tunnel, “I can get you a helicopter, man. Don’t be hasty. A car will only get you so far…”
This was the last thing Nora heard as she held her low crouch and slipped into the crowd of cars jamming Pennsylvania Avenue. She circled out, beyond the Somali’s field of vision, then began racing for the parkway. Her feet flew beneath her as she maneuvered through the already snarled pack of cars in Eakins Oval at the Benjamin Franklin Parkway’s northwest end. The ripple effect from the crash in the tunnel had halted traffic and brought angry honking from motorists. Nora sprinted along the foot of the museum steps, then dashed into the bicycle lane and up toward the Spring Garden Bridge. She couldn’t tell if the pounding in her ears was from her heartbeat or the thump of her sneakers against the pavement. Finally, she gained the opposite end of the tunnel.
She had to walk several paces in before she could see the Escalade. Asad had not yet reached the SUV, but was still little by little dragging the limp body of Ben Calder. Nora couldn’t see John Wansbrough, but she heard his deep bass voice resounding through the tunnel as he pleaded with the Somali: “Come on, man—You’ve got a decorated agent there. You walk outta here with him and the whole government will be on your ass. But leave him safely here and we can get you a jet to wherever you want to go. You pick the island, man. You can pick it!”
She prayed John’s voice was loud enough to cover the soft tread of her Pumas. She pulled her gun and then crouched low, gluing herself to the shadows on the side of the tunnel closest to Asad. If he turned, he could perhaps see her moving through the dimness. But the far side was on a lower grade, and filled with remnants of autumn leaves that would have given away her position immediately.
Am I close enough? She wondered, weighing the gun in her hand, squinting.
One shot.
Just one shot.
She heard Ben’s voice in her head. There is no other way to deal with him than to shoot him dead …
Asad had reached the car and was reaching for the door handle. Nora inhaled, relaxing her neck muscles, and rose to a full standing position to square her stance.
For a moment her mind brimmed with images of Ben and Basheera and six missing girls.
And then she knew perfect clarity.
And she pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 13
“I knew I hated coffee, but hospital coffee is impossibly bad,” Nora said. “I can’t believe how bad this tastes, and I’ve dumped in three packs of sugar and all this fake creamer…”
John looked at his own cup of hospital coffee and shrugged. “It’s called taking one for the team, Nora. You don’t want to be out prowling around for tea when Ben wakes up, do you?”
She looked back at where Ben Calder lay, his face covered with cuts and several sets of stitches. John had been down in intensive care checking on Eric Burton. Until John had walked in, she’d been holding Ben’s hand. Now she sat feigning calm in the taut blue vinyl recliner, trying to drink the coffee the nurse had brought her.
John had pulled a straight chair over so they could talk softly. “The men the SWAT team arrested told us how to find the rest of the girls,” he said. “They’re with Rahma at Children’s Hospital now—they’ve practically got their own floor.”
“What’s next for them, John?”
He shook his head. “Well, as victims of trafficking they can get T-Visas so they can testify, and eventually they can apply for permanent resident status. But it will take a while. They’ll be in limbo for a long time…”
“And what they really need is counseling and care,” Nora pointed out.
“We don’t yet have services in place for this kind of thing,” John said.
Nora considered this, then said, “I’m going to have a pull-out couch. IKEA’s finest.”
John looked thoughtful. “You’re a good egg, Nora Khalil. But that’s not even an eighth of an answer for what they really need.” Then he tilted his head, his eyes searching hers. “Your dad’s cool with you moving out? You two okay?”
Nora frowned, recalling the scene. Ragab was emphatically not cool with her moving out. But she shrugged. “He’ll find a way to laugh about it—save face. He knows I love him, and I know all the fuss is because he loves me. Plus, you know…”
“Yeah, I know, you got the gun.” He glanced at his vibrating phone. “Watt,” he said to Nora before answering it. He listened intently, nodded a few times, then thanked Monty and hung up.
Nora looked a question at him.
“That hunting knife that killed Kylie. They just pulled it out of the ashes of Rashid’s workshop.”
Nora sipped unhappily at the now-cold coffee. “Honor killing? Or vengeance for exposing family secrets?”
John had no answer. He had already told her about the traces of blood they’d found in the Escalade—a combination of Windex and peroxide had been used to try to wipe them away, but the blood was clearly Kylie’s. As for Hafsa, several strands of curly black hair had been pulled out of the SUV; some from the passenger backseat, suggesting she had ridden there alive when she was taken from the mosque; other hairs were found in the rear storage area.
John said, “Well, add that to the blood-soaked carpet that was pulled out of the restaurant’s Dumpster, and a restaurant basement that matches the shards of lime and lye under her toenails…” The SWAT team had found the Ethiopian family who ran the restaurant living as prisoners. Their primary role had been to shelter and feed the Somali gang. Nora was relieved that it would not be her job to prosecute the group of seven for their crimes against the family and for the murder and human trafficking charges.
“So … we’re done…” John said.
“And busier than ever,” Nora said thoughtfully.
“Who’s done?” came a whisper, and both agents turned to see Ben looking at them.
They jumped to their feet and went to stand at his bedside.
“You okay, Ben?” John asked. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Nora searched for her voice but couldn’t find it. She contented herself with resting her hand on Ben’s and squeezing it repeatedly, unconcerned that John saw.
“Eric?” he asked.
John answered, “Eric’s gonna need a lot of physical therapy, but he’s gonna be okay. Two broken legs. He’s downstairs until they can get the internal bleeding under control.”
Ben swallowed and looked down at his own body. “How about me? Everything make it through?”
“Broken arm, lotta stitches. Pretty face ain’t so pretty anymore.”
“What happened? Did we get him?”
John Wansbrough looked at Ben with a wide smile. “Well, he almost abducted you to use you as his ticket to freedom. But … my rookie blew his head off.”
“No way,” Ben said, gazing at Nora with shining eyes.
“Way,” Nora said softly, unable to prevent the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
John Wansbrough said, “I think I’ll go get us a little more coffee.”
EPILOGUE
The light pouring through the living room window was warm and bright. Nora sat on a nubby blue area rug, surrounded by open IKEA boxes and a scattering of screws, bolts, and plywood.
When the doorbell rang, her chin jerked up, and she frowned, alert. She brushed her fingertips over her Glock, which hung from her shoulder holster on the coat stand, as she peered through the peephole. When she saw who it was, her shoulders relaxed, and a slow smile worked its way across her features.
“Hi, Ben,” she said, pul
ling open the door.
“Officer Khalil,” he said. “Although I did just hear a rumor you have an application in to the FBI … So maybe it will be Agent Khalil soon?”
She grinned. “Well, I heard that federal officers were … what was it? ‘A breed apart’? ‘More sensitive’?”
Ben laughed. “It’s true, I swear!”
“We’ll see. Schacht said if I really want to work on human trafficking cases that’s the best way to go. And now that I’m out on my own, the decisions are mine. So if I get in, the apartment may be pretty temporary. But it’s perfect for now.” She looked him over. “Would you like to come in?”
He nodded. “That would make it easier to give you this housewarming present,” he said.
Nora grinned as Ben took a rolled poster tied with a bow from his arm with the cast and handed it to her using his good arm. “For me?”
“I knew you’d be suffering from bare walls.”
She looked from the gift to Ben. “Should I open it now?”
“Well, you could offer me weed tea or something. So much for Arab hospitality.”
She laughed. “My bad. But since I’ve already breached etiquette, I’ll just be opening this first.” She tugged at the bow and unrolled a vintage poster of Umm Kulthoum. Nora gasped.
He tapped the poster with a smile. “You don’t know how hard it was to find that.”
Nora shook her head, laughing. “eBay?”
“Amazon.com.”
“And the hard part was?”
He looked sheepish. “Figuring out how to spell her name.”
She grinned. “Typical.”
“But, once I did, I ordered CDs, too. And I’ve been listening. I have.”
“You need a coach, silly. Someone to translate the words. The poetry is the magic.”
He tilted his head. “So you’ll translate for me, then?”
She nodded. “I would consider that a noble use of my skills.”
“Deal.” He took in the light-filled room. “I like your place,” he said.
“Me too,” she answered, looking around again as though seeing the small Chinatown apartment for the first time.
“I hope I get to see a lot of it.”
“Well … I guess that depends on how many posters you’re willing to give for the cause.”
“As many as it takes,” he said, holding her gaze.
Nora smiled, feeling heat rising in her cheeks despite her best efforts.
“Does this mean you’re gonna give us a chance, Nora?”
She swallowed, not answering.
“Nora?” he said softly, taking a step closer and slipping his good arm around her waist.
“I guess I decided that putting labels on you is as wrong as accepting them on myself.”
He leaned in. “I like that decision,” he said, his breath warm against her skin.
She looked away, then back at him, allowing herself to be pulled into his eyes.
“So what now?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Nora inhaled his scent, her eyes fluttering closed, then she met his gaze with a smile. “Well … I know this cute little café that now serves halal cheesesteaks…”
POSTSCRIPT
Half the Sky, by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, details the obstacles that women and girls across the globe face in their daily struggles for survival. Sex trafficking and sexual slavery exist as far away as Cambodia and as nearby as L.A. and Nashville and St. Paul, while honor killing and female genital mutilation compete in the intensity of their tragedy with the aborting of female fetuses or the starvation of female children in order to privilege their brothers. The number of “missing women” on the planet today ranges between 60–107 million, with two million vanishing as a result of gender discrimination each year.
The authors call for real leadership in the global fight against slavery generally and sexual slavery and forced prostitution in particular, as well as sustained international focus on educating the planet’s women and girls and granting them economic opportunities that can lead to the advancement of entire communities. Because the book is geared toward answering the question, “What can I do to make a difference?,” the appendix to Half the Sky lists many organizations and websites where we can transform our energies into tangible change. In that spirit, please explore the following:
• Polaris seeks to eradicate modern slavery networks and raise awareness worldwide.
www.polarisproject.org
• Apne Aap battles sex slavery in India, including in remote areas in Bihar that get little attention. Apne Aap welcomes American volunteers.
www.apneaap.org
• Campaign for Female Education (CAMFED) supports schooling for girls in Africa.
www.camfed.org
• ECPAT is a network of groups fighting child prostitution, particularly in Southeast Asia.
www.ecpat.net
• Equality Now lobbies against the sex trade and gender oppression around the world.
www.equalitynow.org
• International Justice Mission works tirelessly against human trafficking by focusing on victim relief, perpetrator accountability, survivor aftercare, and structural transformation.
www.ijm.org
• Made by Survivors seeks to empower women by giving them job training skills and also sponsors individual children at risk for being trafficked.
www.madebysurvivors.com
• Shared Hope International fights sex trafficking around the world.
www.sharedhope.org
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Carolyn Baugh holds both a master’s (2008) and a doctorate (2011) from the University of Pennsylvania in Arabic and Islamic Studies. She is an assistant professor of History at Gannon University in Erie, Pennsylvania, where she teaches courses in Middle East and world history and also directs the Women’s Studies Program. Her graduate research focused on minor marriage in early Islamic law, while her translation work includes the Sufi treatise of the celebrated fourteenth-century jurist and scholar Ibn Khaldun.
Dr. Baugh codirects the Erie Voices refugee oral history project geared at collecting the stories of Erie’s diverse refugee community for purposes of increasing tolerance and understanding between cultures. She is faculty advisor for Students United Against Human Trafficking and the Muslim Students Association.
She is a failed concert pianist, a psychotic soccer mom to two indomitable girls, and the only one in the house who feeds Oreo the Cat.
www.carolynbaugh.com. Or sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY CAROLYN BAUGH
Quicksand
The View from Garden City
Thank you for buying this
Tom Doherty Associates ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Two
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part Three
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Postscript
About the Author
Also by Carolyn Baugh
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
QUICKSAND
Copyright © 2015
by Carolyn Baugh
All rights reserved.
Cover photograph © Shutterstock Cover design by Daniel Cullen
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-7560-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-4780-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466847804
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First Edition: September 2015
Quicksand Page 26
