Cold flashed across Jessica’s fingers. Her head swam as the scent of blood penetrated her face veil.
The man in a black skull cap slapped Omar’s back. “Not as good as last month. Remember when you fed that mother the flesh of her own baby? Should have seen the expression on her face when you told her.” Bakir guffawed.
A whistle sounded as Omar sliced his scimitar through the air in a practice motion. “Even children participate in a family’s treachery.” A little grin twisted up his unkempt mustache. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked toward the prepubescent girl. “The whole family should die.”
The girl froze in the bloody street, her dead mother to the left, her dead father beneath her feet. With a scream, she threw herself at her mother’s body. Omar grabbed the collar of the girl’s dress and yanked her off the ground. The girl kicked her feet through the air as she lunged for her mother’s lifeless arm. Omar raised his scimitar.
“No!” Jessica head-dived toward the child. Her weight knocked Omar off-center. He lost his grasp of the child as she and the girl plunged toward the gutter.
Rotting corpses broke their fall. The smell of death surrounded Jessica, her body the only barrier between the child and Omar’s scimitar.
Omar glared down at Jessica, so close that his breath penetrated her face veil, bringing the scent of cinnamon. He gripped the handle of his scimitar.
Jessica closed her hand around the little girl’s wrist as she crouched over her. Blood stained her abaya and her knees sank into decomposing flesh as she stared up at the ISIS mujahideen.
Evil gleamed in Omar’s black eyes.
With a cry, Jessica sprang to her feet and pulled the girl after her. The child weighed almost nothing, the hardness of bones protruding through her emaciated flesh.
Jessica’s abaya twisted about her ankles as she scrambled away from Omar, dragging the child with her.
The girl’s dark hair fell in strings around her chin. Her pale mouth widened in an uncried scream. Little pieces of rotting flesh now clung to the girl’s olive dress.
Jessica’s pulse pounded against her neck. Once she got the girl into the Al-Khansaa barracks, then Omar couldn’t touch her. “Run,” she shouted and grabbed the child’s frozen hand. Jessica’s black sneakers pounded against broken concrete as she sped down the alleyway with the girl.
A line of black brought her to a halt. The Al-Khansaa women blocked the alley, their black gloves on their AK-47s, the same as their male counterparts. Umm Sultan stepped out of the group. Her massive boots vibrated against the concrete. The high-rises on either side shook with each step Umm Sultan took.
“Give the girl back to Omar,” Umm Sultan said. Her words fell like mortar shells, each syllable exploding and blazing a trail of destruction.
Fear stopped Jessica’s heart. She couldn’t see straight. Her breath came in gasps. She’d watched Umm Sultan rip a live girl’s intestines out with her bare hands and mutilate woman after woman who had refused to obey her decrees.
The child dug her fingers in Jessica’s abaya and clung to her, so much trust in those little fingers.
Reaching down, Jessica clasped the girl’s hand in her black glove. Though her knees knocked against each other, Jessica forced her chin up. “I refuse.” Her voice broke. Sweat poured through her clothes.
A pace behind them, Omar snorted. In his hand, he held the severed head of the child’s mother. His gaze didn’t fix on the child though, but on Jessica. He stared at her.
Fear stabbed through her churning stomach. She fumbled for her face veil. Surely she had it down. She tugged her gloves on tighter. Still, Omar’s gaze tracked her, his black eyes digging through the face veil to scorch her skin.
“Give me the child, Jessica.” Omar’s voice was deep, with a power in it to send the enemies of Islamic State falling to their knees. He stabbed his bloody scimitar back into its sheath, his stocky muscles bulging with the motion.
Behind him, a ring of mujahideen gathered, their grenades and knives gleaming on their belts.
Jessica’s feet cemented to the concrete as her every muscle went stiff. She glanced to the Al-Khansaa women a pace ahead of her whom she’d eaten, bunked, and worked with for nine months now. “How does he know my name?” she breathed.
With one reverberating footstep, Umm Sultan stood in front of her. Her black face veil created a tower of darkness so monstrous that sometimes Jessica wondered if it even covered a person. “The emir agreed that you will be Omar’s wife.”
No! Grabbing the child, Jessica streaked into the crowd of black robes. The Al-Khansaa women drew back. Jessica stood exposed on broken concrete as Omar focused on her.
“I won’t marry him.” She only barely kept her voice to the ISIS-approved whisper for females out in public, rather than raising her scream so loud the entire street would hear.
Taking a step toward her, Omar held the dead woman’s head high. Blood dripped down her husband-to-be’s arm, his fingers already stained red. He flourished the severed head in front of the child, inches from Jessica’s face.
The child gasped. Jessica clenched the girl tighter as all breath left her own body. Her gaze riveted on her husband-to-be.
Omar met her stare through the three face veils.
Fear slithered through Jessica’s drenched limbs as her sweat soaked every layer of the abaya. A shiver ran through her body.
“Let him kill the child.” Umm Sultan slammed her hand into Jessica’s shoulder blade, throwing Jessica to the ground.
Her gloves dulled the impact as the concrete cut into her legs. Clenching the mute child’s hand, Jessica scrambled back to her knees. “Please, Umm Sultan. I will raise her like a daughter. Did not the prophet, peace be upon him, say to do good to the orphans?”
Tears streaked down Jessica’s cheeks as she clung to the orphaned child who just fifteen minutes ago had been a cherished daughter. Islamic State was evil!
The girl dropped to a crouch and touched Jessica’s arm. The hot breeze blew through the narrow street between onlookers.
Umm Sultan glared down at Jessica. The most decorated fighter in Mosul clenched his scimitar, a lethal look in his eyes, and the circle of Al-Khansaa and ISIS fighters drew the knot tighter, capturing her between their weapons.
Behind them, civilians watched from street corners, doorway enclaves, and cracked windows, but none said a word of protest.
Huddling over the girl, Jessica closed her arms tight around the child as she protected her with her body.
“Very well. The girl will live.” Omar stepped back and lowered the severed head. A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd as the onlookers fell back.
The adrenaline seeped out of Jessica’s sweat-soaked robes. Her heart pounded to a halt. She’d need to get the girl some food. Jessica stood to her feet and took the child’s hand.
“After I marry you, Jessica, then I will choose a husband for the girl.” Omar swiveled, his solid frame twisting at the torso. “How about you, Bakir?”
The man in the black skull cap guffawed. Taking a quick step closer, he reached out and dragged one bloodstained finger across the child’s bare cheek. “Accepted.”
No! Terror pounded through Jessica. Chills racked her drenched body. The girl couldn’t be more than nine years old! “I will not marry.” She screamed the words at her Al-Khansaa unit. “I serve Allah in Al-Khansaa.” Yes, she’d done things she didn’t even want to think about as a soldier in Al-Khansaa, but working in Al-Khansaa was the only way a single woman could not starve or re-marry in Islamic State.
Umm Sultan grabbed her arm. “Enough of this unseemly display. Thank your husband-to-be for granting your request, then put on your wedding attire to marry as the emir has commanded.”
No! Tears blinded Jessica as she strove to suck in breath beneath the layer of veils. “All right, I will marry, but I will choose the man. You promise all the girls you recruit they will be able to choose their husbands.” She yanked the child behind
her, away from Bakir’s pedophilic gaze. She wouldn’t let Omar marry this little girl off to her father’s murderer.
A few paces away, Omar grinned, as if he found this conversation that would seal her and the child’s fates smashing fun.
“You can marry Omar, or you can die for breaking Allah’s law, same as that girl’s mother. It is your choice.” Umm Sultan shrugged and turned down the alley toward the Al-Khansaa barracks.
The words vibrated in the clear air. The last three years swept over Jessica, like a torrent of raging water ravaging a sun-hardened land. She’d watched her newborn baby die because ISIS didn’t have proper medical care.
Month after month she’d been trapped in the same tiny flat without even a breath of air or one friendly voice. So many times she’d screamed in pain from beatings from her now-dead husband or from Umm Sultan herself. So many times she’d been forced to beat other women for dress code infractions to keep her job with Al-Khansaa and avoid marriage.
In front of Jessica, the little girl turned scared eyes to Umm Sultan. She whimpered.
Three years of memories crested over Jessica and a wave of fury swept her into the memories’ torrent. “I’ll die before I let you take her!” Jessica shoved the girl behind her and pulled the AK-47 off her shoulder. She aimed it at Omar the Murderer’s face and wrapped her finger around the trigger.
A collective gasp came from the Al-Khansaa women. The mujahideen fumbled for their weapons. Jessica squeezed the trigger.
Omar leaped forward, avoiding the bullet, and swung with his fist. His thick hand made contact with her face.
She swung her rifle barrel toward him. Wrenching her arm, he tore the weapon from her and threw her against the road.
Her head jounced off broken debris. Blood squirted across her face and she tasted the tangy moisture on her lips.
Omar twisted her arms above her head, pinning both her wrists with his broad fingers. The concrete dug into her shoulder blades as he thrust her against the ground.
The metal of Omar’s knife shimmered in the sunshine. He crouched over her, the heaviness of his body smashing her against the jagged pavement.
In moments, she’d die. A scream stuck in Jessica’s throat as she stared through the haze of face veils into Omar’s eyes, only centimeters from her. What had she been thinking? No one defied ISIS and lived.
Grasping the edge of her face veil, Omar flung it up. His eyes devoured her face as he looked down at her.
Now he’d drag the knife across her neck. Jessica tried to yank away. His knees bruised her flesh as his heavy weight bore down on her.
Despair stabbed through her. She deserved to die for joining ISIS and the last nine months she’d served in Al-Khansaa. Of course, she deserved death.
Omar’s hard fingers dug into her breast, radiating pain through her body. “You’re as lovely as my friend’s sister said.”
Robes rustled above her. “I will assure she dies, Omar, for her attack on you.” Umm Sultan grabbed Jessica’s arm.
Omar rose off her and her veil fell back over her face as Umm Sultan dragged her to her feet. Another Al-Khansaa woman dug a rifle barrel into her back. Umm Sultan stepped left and motioned the others out of the way so that the Al-Khansaa soldier could end Jessica’s life with a bullet.
Would Allah receive her soul? One could never know for sure.
The orphaned child trembled a few paces away. What would happen to this girl after she died?
Moments passed in a surreal queue, one stretching out after another. She deserved to die for joining Islamic State, but not this innocent child.
“Don’t.” Omar grabbed Jessica’s arm and threw her behind him, out of reach of the Al-Khansaa women. “The emir has promised Jessica Walker to me. I do not want a dead bride.” He rested his hand on his own gun.
Umm Sultan drew herself up to her full height beneath the mound of black. Even her voice possessed a scowl. “Her wickedness must not go unpunished.”
“I’ll see to her punishment myself once we are married.” Omar flashed a smile, his teeth shining in the arid air. He was the most renowned warrior in Mosul, able to command even the emir when he so wished by virtue of his military prowess.
Jessica trembled on the broken concrete slab where Omar had thrown her. Above her, other mujahideen, holy warriors, pressed closer, hands on weapons.
The black veil enshrouding Umm Sultan’s face rose and fell as she inclined her head and bowed. “As you wish, my lord. I will lock Jessica in a cell until your wedding. Tomorrow, is it?”
“Or the next day. The emir has not said.” Omar re-holstered his pistol.
The Al-Khansaa soldiers circled Jessica, binding her arms, and dragging her and the child toward the barracks.
The face veil sucked into Jessica’s mouth, the taste of dust on her tongue, as she gasped for breath.
Craning her neck, Jessica looked back at her last glimpse of sunshine and open skies as the Al-Khansaa women drove her toward her jail cell. Would Umm Sultan keep her promise to Omar and spare her life despite the murderous thoughts that shone in the woman’s eyes?
She only hoped Umm Sultan had lied in her promise, for death would bring less terror than marriage to Omar.
CHAPTER 4
Denver, Colorado
The clock on Kaleb’s laptop read 3:30 a.m. as he dragged up yet another web browser window. No sign of Joe Csontos anywhere on social media.
Guess that came with the territory of joining the CIA. Strewn papers and overturned boxes that he’d emptied littered Mom’s hoarder-style basement. Stooping, Kaleb squeezed into the crawlspace and pulled out yet another box. He dumped the contents on the floor.
The notebook he’d kept in his infantry days, ten years ago now, fluttered onto the concrete. A penciled phone number scrawled across the top with the name, Corporal Joe Csontos, written below.
At last! Kaleb pounded the number into his cell.
Ring. Joe had to be able to save Ava!
Ring. He needed to get Ava out of ISIS territory now before that pedophilic wedding happened.
Ring. What if Joe had changed numbers in the last ten years?
“Hello? Who is this?” A groggy male voice answered the phone.
“Joe? Joe Csontos? Please be Joe Csontos!” Kaleb’s words slurred over each other in his haste. Outside the basement window, not even the moon lit the night’s darkness. Ava was alone in that darkness.
The man cleared his throat. “This is Joe’s father. Joe hasn’t used this home line for ten years.”
“What’s Joe’s number now?” As soon as he talked to Joe, then he’d find a way to rescue Ava. The CIA had all kinds of special ops resources.
The man coughed. “Who is this? I don’t normally give out my children’s numbers to strangers who call at 3 a.m.”
No! Kaleb’s voice caught. “I was in the infantry with Joe ten years ago. I need his help. You have to give me his number.” His head pounded.
“I can take your number and give it to him.”
“I need to talk to him now. I’m a doctor, a surgeon. I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t life-threatening.” Kaleb held the phone in two hands, shouting into the speaker, as he pled with the man on the other end of the line. The man had to give him Joe’s number.
“Okay.” Joe’s father sounded uncertain. “I guess Joe wouldn’t mind me giving his number to his doctor. It’s 301-555-7480. Is he all right?”
Kaleb scratched the numbers on a piece of paper, the ink blurring together as he wrote at a desperate speed. He clicked End Call and pounded the numbers into the phone.
Ring. The man had to pick up.
Ring. Could Joe get Ava out tonight? Maybe in the morning? When Obama was president, he had sent Navy Seals in before dawn to take out Osama bin Laden.
Ring. Kaleb paced around upturned boxes.
“Hello?” Joe’s voice carried through the phone, the same steadiness in his tone as ten years ago when he’d been the corporal responsible for their infantry
unit as they kicked down doors in Iraq.
“My sister joined ISIS.” Kaleb clenched the basement stair rail, fingernails digging under peeling paint. Ava was alone and unarmed in the same area that he’d worn body armor and carried an M16 in.
“Who is this?”
“Kaleb Schlensky. 2-XXXth, infantry division, Iraq. Remember?” Kaleb strangled the stair rail. Joe had to help him.
“Yes, of course. Wait, is your sister Ava Schlensky, the girl whose name is blowing up the wires out here?” Background noise sounded behind Joe as if he was in a FOB.
Kaleb swallowed and released the metal railing from his death grip. “Yes.”
“Look man, I’m sorry.” Compassion resonated in Joe’s balanced voice. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. I’ll keep you updated, pray for you.”
“The god thing is kind of what got us here. What can you do to get Ava out?”
Silence reverberated from half a world away.
“A special operations mission? A chopper? You’re CIA, you have to be able to do something!” Desperation raised Kaleb’s voice as he looked over the littered basement illuminated by one flickering bulb. His veins popped.
“This isn’t a secure line, Kaleb.”
“You’ve got to do something. We killed Osama. Go hire that team to get her out!” Kaleb’s pulse pounded as his head exploded from within. He couldn’t see straight. His foot slid on a ream of paper.
“I don’t mean to sound heartless,” Joe coughed across the line, “because I’d feel the same way if it was my sister. But there’s nothing I can do. We don’t send in teams to rescue those who willingly join ISIS.”
“You just leave them there to die?” No! Joe had to help him. Kaleb pressed his hand against the wall as his pulse throbbed behind his eyes, turning his vision red.
Joe’s voice sounded hoarse. “I’m sorry, Kaleb.”
Veiled by Choice (Radical Book 3) Page 3
