by Shamim Sarif
29
There’s a burst of staccato chatter from our sniper team, words that just scatter through my head as I run toward Riya.
“We got him. We got him,” Caitlin says.
“Confirmed, ADS shooter is down.” Ethan’s voice comes in.
Behind me comes the beat of running footsteps. I glance behind. The girls are being rushed out across the school grounds by the police. Nothing happens to them. I skid down to my knees beside Riya. A low noise of pain, an inhuman sound, comes from her. She convulses, then stops—but still, her chest rises, like she’s gasping for breath. Fluid bubbles into her mouth.
“Somebody help her,” I scream. But in the front playground and driveway, everyone I see is moving away from me and from Riya, the police and girls rushing to evacuate. Sirens whine in the far distance, but no help comes.
“You saved the girls,” I whisper, but I can’t tell if she hears me. There’s no response. I can’t even see her properly through the tears that fill my eyes, but I take hold of her hand, which lies motionless across her body.
“Please, Riya, don’t . . . Please . . .” My words drown in a sobbing gulp that I can’t control. I lean forward to kiss Riya’s forehead, and as I do, I feel her fingers entwine with mine, and her grip tightens. Then her hand drops. And I know she is gone.
In my ear, the sounds of the mission continue, a dull, background soundtrack between here and London. I hear it, but none of it means anything to me. It’s like the world has been dropped into thick, clear liquid, absorbing away any real sound, any true meaning. I reach into my ear and slide out the slim gold comms unit. Then I shift downward, next to Riya, so my head is on her chest. It’s so silent. No breath, no heartbeat, but she’s still warm, her scent is still there, under the layers of fear and sweat. My eyes close and for a precious few moments, the reality around me fades.
It’s only the insistent ringing of Riya’s own phone that rouses me. On autopilot, I reach into her pocket to find it. It’s Sunil.
“Riya?” he says. “Riya? We found him, the bastard . . . he’s dead and the ADS is right here.”
He pauses, waiting for her to reply. My mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out.
“Hey,” says Caitlin, running up from behind me. “I’ve got this. Come on.”
Her arm is around my shoulders as she gently takes the phone out of my hand. I hear Caitlin talk to Sunil. Dazed, I get up, my legs shaky. Hala is right there, her arm grasping hold of me firmly, and then pulling me into a hug that I can’t even feel. I just stand there, cold, chilled right through to my marrow, even though the sun beats down on us, harsh, relentless. As if it’s any ordinary day.
“The girls . . . ?” I say, eventually.
“They’re fine. They’re all okay,” Hala tells me. “We’ll keep them safe till the antiviral is ready.”
I turn away from her to look back at Riya, sprawled on the ground, lifeless. No one else approaches us until a tired Honda groans up the driveway. Sunil’s car coughs to a halt. He is outside in a flash and runs toward her body, shaking his head, not wanting to believe what he can see right there in front of him.
He kneels and checks her vital signs, then he stands up and just looks down at Riya, like a regular detective taking in a new crime scene, piecing together the story. After a long minute, he flicks tears off his cheeks before he turns his gaze on me.
“Why is she wearing a school blazer?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“She wanted to look like one of the girls,” I say.
And I stop there. I can see he already figured that out when he started to ask the question. And he knows why. That she sacrificed herself to draw out the ADS shooter; to help our snipers take him out before the police forced the girls outside.
Sunil reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out his detective badge, and throws it onto the ground with such frustration that it bounces twice before settling into the dust. Then he turns around and looks at the special forces police team standing by, surrounding the girls, uncertain of the next move.
He groans, tiredly, and goes over to pick up his badge, smearing the dust away. Then he lifts the badge above his head and trudges toward the girls and the police.
“I am Detective Patel,” he says. “I am issuing a warrant for the arrest of the police commissioner. These girls will remain under my guard now.”
30
THE FAMILIAR TAP OF KIT’S nails on my bedroom door is followed by her immediate entrance. She’s stopped waiting for me to invite her in, possibly because recently, I haven’t.
“Hey, Jess,” she says to me. In her hand is a steaming cup. Twig-like bits of tea leaves float aimlessly on the surface. She places the tea gingerly on my bedside table, sits down on my bed, and strokes my hair back off my face.
“Drink this. It’s good for your nerves.”
“Do you really think so?” I mutter. My tone is cynical, harsh, but I can’t help it.
“How are you feeling today?” Kit tries.
I take a breath and force myself to say what she wants to hear. “Better.”
There, that wasn’t so hard, and Kit’s face lights up. She gets up and pulls open the shutters, bathing me in gray light from a cloudy London sky.
“More rain today,” she comments conversationally. Like that’s somehow news when you live in Britain.
Kit responds to my silence by flipping on the TV in my room. Then she pushes at me to move over in the bed and lies down next to me. It’s the news channel. In silence, we watch a political piece that isn’t of much interest to either of us.
“Do you want this?” Kit says, pointing at the tea. When I shake my head, she picks it up and sips at the hot liquid herself. Feeling stifled suddenly, I lever myself up, walk through to the bathroom, and brush my teeth.
“Glad you’re getting ready,” Kit calls. “We need you back at Athena today.”
I come back into the bedroom and wave my toothbrush at her.
“I’m on leave,” I point out.
Kit consults her watch for the date.
“I think you’ll find it’s been three weeks,” she says. “Shower and dress. I’ll drive you to the tube. There’s an update meeting in the situation room at ten.”
People complain about public transport, but when it works, which is a decent part of the time, it’s so much faster than fighting through the morning traffic edging its way into the City of London. Kit and I cannot be seen traveling together to Li’s building. So while Kit drives down to the parking lot deep under the building, I take public transport to Athena’s headquarters, then follow the rear entrance.
Inside the elevator, I hesitate. To move upward, I just need to look at the floor I want and blink twice to choose it. There’s half an hour to spare till our meeting time. Usually, I might spend that time going up to the tech cave and hanging out with Amber. But I don’t know how to face her after what happened. They all know I became close to Riya in Mumbai. I decide I can’t deal with it now—the concern and pity. So, I choose the main Athena floor, where the situation room is located. I can wait there quietly until the meeting starts.
But as the doors open to let me out, Amber is right there, waiting for a ride back to the tech cave.
“Jessie!” she says. She hesitates. “Good to have you back.”
“Thanks,” I reply, not really meeting her gaze.
Amber waits politely for me to exit. But I don’t. I’m not sure why. So, she steps into the lift and waits as the doors close. This would usually be my cue to make a joke or tease her about something, but my chest feels heavy and I can’t trust my voice. Glancing up, I find Amber’s eyes are on me, unflinching, kind, caring. For this moment, it’s like she gets everything that’s going on with me, and then some. Before I know it, she steps across the elevator and grasps me in a hug. She holds me, without a word, until the elevator doors open at the tech cave, and only then does she let me go, with a final, gentle kiss on the cheek.
Suddenly brisk, as if she’s shak
ing off that unprecedented display of emotion, she walks out into the tech cave, and I follow. She puts on some music, calling over her shoulder, her voice unnaturally bright:
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed the past few weeks, without you driving me insane every five minutes.”
I give a half smile, my first in ages.
“You missed me,” I offer.
Amber spins to look at me. Her eyes hold their usual gleam.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says. “Missing you would be like missing a toothache.”
I smile an acknowledgment, but she looks disappointed.
“What, no witty comeback? Your banter needs sharpening, I see,” she says. “And I imagine you’ve let your physical fitness go downhill too while you’ve been off.”
“I’m in decent shape,” I say.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” she says with a small smile. “Now, if you can bear to stop distracting me, I need to get ready for the meeting.”
I leave Amber to her preparations and head over to the situation room. I figure I can wait around there with a coffee and a muffin until the meeting begins. But Peggy’s already in there too. We hug and she pours us both something hot to drink.
“How are you feeling, Jessie?” she asks.
“Oh, you know,” I reply, brushing off her concern. “I’m used to this.”
“Meaning?” she asks.
“Meaning, I’ve done it so many times that I’ve become accustomed to it.”
“Ah,” Peggy shoots back. “Thank you for clarifying the literal meaning of ‘I’m used to this.’”
She throws me a look and I glance away from her, ashamed of my sarcasm.
“What I meant was, this is what we do, as Athena agents,” I say, figuring that it won’t kill me to make an effort to talk to Peggy. Day after day, she makes herself available to us, whether for wise counsel or just a kind hug.
“We fight, we go through stuff,” I continue. “We win some, we lose some.” My voice falters a bit right at the end. Sensitively, Peggy looks down, giving me space to say more, but I’m done.
“Do you think the time off helped you?” she asks.
I shrug and clear my throat. “Maybe it would have been better to stay busy.”
“Why?”
Peggy’s eyes are compassionate but evaluating. I guess this is where I’m supposed to break down and admit that thinking about Riya causes me pain. That I hate that she’s dead, cheated out of the rest of her life.
“Do you feel guilty about what happened in Mumbai?” Peggy persists, in the face of my silence. “That it was in any way your fault?”
I feel my leg moving up and down, nervously. It’s not a difficult question, and I’ve certainly thought about little else recently. But forming it into spoken words requires a different kind of courage that I’m not sure I have right now. Peggy waits, though, not really letting me off the hook.
“Some days—most days—I know it was Riya’s choice,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “But a lot of the time I blame myself.”
Peggy reaches out a hand to cover my own. “That’s normal,” she assures me. “It will take time. Give yourself that time.”
I look away and take a sip of coffee. Time heals all wounds. This too shall pass. Nothing lasts forever. How desperately I want to believe these platitudes. But I’m spared from any more emotional excavation by Thomas arriving. Close on his heels is Hala. Thomas leaps up to hold open the door for her, and she actually parks her habitual scowl long enough to smile at him. Then, even more incredibly, she hands him the takeout cup that she’s carrying in one hand.
“Cappuccino, extra dry,” she says. Exactly the way Thomas likes to enjoy his excuse for a coffee.
It’s like she’s offered him a winning lottery ticket. Thomas is surprised, happy, and ridiculously grateful in quick succession.
“I made sure they only put in half a shot of espresso,” Hala tells him.
“That’s just . . . perfect,” Thomas says, gazing at her.
“You mean the cappuccino, right?” I comment.
Hala scowls at me but I’m sure I see Peggy stifle a smile.
“What?” asks Hala, picking up our little interaction.
“Nothing,” Peggy says. “Perhaps we’ll talk later.”
Now Kit arrives, followed by Li and Caitlin. More chatter and talk bubbles up, rising and falling through the room, bringing it fully to life. I look around the table, at my mother and the cofounders of Athena. At my teammates, who always have my back. And at Amber, who is last to arrive, but first to get herself set up, laptops open, notebook at the ready. These people are more than colleagues and friends. They are my family. My mind suddenly goes to Jake Graham, the reporter, for the first time in many days. We’re a family who have chosen to work outside the law. When I think about what could happen to us if we are discovered, it makes me feel sick.
Li brings the meeting to order.
“Amber, bring us up to speed on the situation in Mumbai, please,” she instructs.
“Well,” Amber begins, “you know the girls have received the antiviral. They continue to be monitored but it is clear that the virus has been neutralized entirely. They are safe from harm on that front.”
“And Family First?” I ask.
Amber pauses and looks at Li.
“We thought we’d play you a video. It’ll give you a thorough update on them,” Li tells us enigmatically. She flicks on the wide screen that takes up the wall at the end of the room.
“This is a preview of a special report coming out on Global News tonight,” she says.
The video plays. Establishing footage of Mumbai, then of Pakistan—then shots of women and girls. Jake Graham’s voice talks over it, outlining the program to come.
“In the next sixty minutes,” Jake intones, “I’ll be uncovering government complicity; deep corruption that leads all the way to the top of the police forces of two countries; and a far right movement called Family First, who used terror, violence, and election tampering to further their mission. And the main purpose of that mission? To subjugate women.”
Opening credits roll, and when they end, Jake is walking through the school that was bombed, side by side with none other than Sunil Patel, talking about where the story began. We watch as Jake creates the background to the story step-by-step, and then goes on to link in the Cypriot Private Bank, Imran, and Jingo Jain.
“It’s a web of unchecked power that leads right to these men,” Jake continues. “Pakistani general Mohsin Khan, and Indian billionaire Sunny Mehta.”
Well, this is new. We turn to look at Amber and the Athena founders. Li pauses the tape and Amber chips in, practically bouncing out of her seat.
“We got to the heads of Family First,” she says, excited.
“How?”
“Remember when Sunil tapped Jingo’s home phone? The call he taped, that you uploaded to me, was between Jingo and an unknown man. But coming right before the attack, with the precise instructions it held, it felt like this man was a key player in Family First. It took a few days to clean up the recording, but we discovered that he made that call from a private jet.”
Amber looks at us with barely suppressed triumph.
“What? How?” I ask.
“We could just about hear the pilot talking to traffic control in the background,” she continues. “The details he mentioned led us to one particular private airport. From there, we chased down all the leads and narrowed it to Sunny Mehta.”
“Good old Sunil, tapping Jingo’s phone.” I smile.
“Yes, well, Thomas and I may have had something to do with breaking this lead too,” huffs Amber. I smile at her.
“Well done, guys,” Caitlin says. “But—I don’t get it. How did Jake cover this story?”
“We gave it to him,” Kit says.
“You leaked it?”
“In a way,” Peggy responds. “I hit Jake with a harassment suit two w
eeks ago.”
“And I applied for a restraining order to keep him away from my house,” Kit adds with a laugh.
“Would those even hold up in court?” I ask.
“It’s fifty-fifty, but even if they don’t, the lawsuits would tie Jake’s hands for months and maybe years,” Kit says. “No news outlet will publish anything he cares to write about us, for fear of being sued.”
“Then, when we felt he might be more amenable,” Peggy continues, “I met with him. I suggested that he was chasing rainbows trying to find something on me and Kit. But that I did want to do more to help women and children and that he and I could make a good team. I would feed him a story bigger than anything he’d had before, and he’d get it exclusively, way ahead of every other news station. In exchange, he agreed to stop pursuing us.”
“With his report on Global News,” Kit says, “the pressure on law enforcement, banks, and governments will ratchet up. Sunny Mehta has already been arrested. By a new police commissioner in Mumbai.”
I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Riya sacrificed her life to save those girls. She shouldn’t have had to. She was pushed into that choice by Family First. Seeing them decimated and brought down gives just a tiny bit of meaning to her loss.
“I’m assuming you are all well rested,” Li says, drawing the meeting to a close. “Prep for our next mission starts next week, but training starts today. As usual, Amber will oversee your routines and report back to me.”
“I hope she goes easy on us,” I say.
Li fixes me with a placid stare. “Of course she won’t,” she says. “I taught her everything she knows.”
During only my second hour of gym work, I’m struggling. After an hour of cardio on the treadmill, Amber has me boxing against Caitlin. She’s great at this, Caitlin. An inch taller than me, with a little more muscle mass and fast feet. I want to stop, want to slow down, want to crawl back into bed and think about Riya, but I’m trapped by this training ring and by Caitlin, right there, in my face, relentless, unflinching.
My muscles begin to burn, creating the tiny tears that will heal up and make them tougher, stronger. Oxygen floods my brain as I gasp for more breath, as I push for my lungs to expand wider, longer, deeper. Caitlin lands a hook on the side of my head, catching my helmet, but hard enough that I stagger back and fall.
