by Oliver Tidy
She looked around at him then. Her eyes were red and flooded and just as terrified as her daughter’s had been.
‘My name is Acer Sansom. I’m here to get you out of Iran.’
The woman stared at him for agonising seconds before turning away from him and burying her face in the bedding. She was making a low moaning noise and Acer was freshly worried.
He crossed the remaining few feet and put his hand on her shoulder. She reared up, like she’d been tazered, whipped around to face him and fell backwards across her daughter in her desperation to put distance between herself and the apparition. Acer believed he had never seen such terror in his life.
‘Mrs Hammond, please. We don’t have much time.’
The woman was shaking uncontrollably. ‘You’re dead,’ she whispered.
He was confused. What could she mean? And then he understood. ‘No. I’m not. Touch me.’ He held out his hand. She stared back. ‘You remember me, don’t you? From The Rendezvous? I didn’t die there. They didn’t kill me. I survived. I was rescued. And now I’m here to rescue you. Mrs Hammond, we have to hurry. You have to trust me.’
Slowly she raised herself off the bed. She didn’t take her eyes from his face. There was recognition there. That was good. There was still fear and uncertainty. She took a step towards him. ‘I’ve not gone mad. It’s really you.’ Her voice suggested she was regaining control but heavy tears rolled down her face.
‘It’s really me. I’ve introduced myself to your daughter. She knows why I’m here. Now we must hurry.’
The woman regained her senses. ‘You’ll have to carry Zoe. She can barely walk.’
‘No problem. We’re going down the back stairs, out to the car you would have seen on the drive. My friends are posing as prospective adoptive parents downstairs. I need to call them and let them know we’re on our way out. Where does your driver go?’
‘He sits in with the staff and drinks tea.’
‘How long do you stay for?’
‘A couple of hours.’
‘That’s good.’
A thought occurred to the woman and it did something cruel and aging to her features. ‘I can’t go with you.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Please, I can’t. Take Zoe. Get her out of this Godforsaken country. Get her home.’
‘Mrs Hammond, why can’t you come?’
‘They implanted me with something.’
‘A tracking device?’
‘I don’t know. They said it was. They said they could find me anywhere. They said there would be nowhere for me to hide. Please, if you can get her out of Iran, go.’
Their precious time was ebbing away. He needed to get them going. All of them.
‘Where is it?’
She hesitated a moment then turned and lifted her hair. He could see the slight lump under the skin behind her ear.
‘I don’t think it’s a tracking device. I haven’t come all this way to leave you behind.’
She turned back to face him. ‘I can’t take the risk. I won’t take the risk.’
He exhaled heavily and made a decision. He pulled the knife he’d taken from Niki out of his pocket and flicked out the blade.
‘There’s antiseptic over there,’ he said indicating the little store of first aid items. ‘And some bandaging.’ In answer to the look she gave him, he said, ‘I can cut it out in seconds.’
After a moment’s delay she moved quickly across to the shelves and grabbed what was needed. She tore open a bandage packet and soaked the rag in antiseptic. She swabbed around the back of her ear and the fluid ran down her neck to dampen her shirt. He poured the solution over his blade and then rinsed his hands in it. It stank. It was going to sting, but that would probably be the least of the experience.
She knelt down, rested her head on one of the spare beds and pulled up her hair again. Acer poured some more of the liquid over the area he was going to cut and focussed his mind on the task.
‘You want something to bite down on, stop yourself calling out?’
She shook her head and waited. He took a very deep breath and just as he was preparing to make the incision he glanced across at Zoe. She was staring across at him with the same awful expression.
‘I’ve got to cut something out of your mother, Zoe. Don’t be scared for her. It’s got to come out and then we’re leaving. OK?’ He waited, hoping for something positive, some encouragement from the girl.
Nothing.
In the delay, Mrs Hammond said, ‘Zoe can’t answer you. She hasn’t spoken for months.’
He felt another wave of wretchedness wash over him for the poor child. It strengthened his resolve to get her and her mother home, back to England. He turned his attention back to Mrs Hammond’s neck. He brought the knife tip to touch her skin.
‘Here we go,’ he said.
He applied gentle pressure. The skin distorted but it did not split. He clenched his teeth and pushed harder. He felt the perspiration stand out on his forehead. He risked a quick glance at Zoe. She hadn’t altered her position or expression. He pushed a little more and a spot of blood appeared at the tip of the blade. Mrs Hammond tensed and moaned into the linen. Her hands grasped at the sheets. He worked an opening with the knife. The blood flowed more freely and he couldn’t see what he needed to. He dabbed at the wound but the blood ran straight out again. He blinked away the sweat that was threatening to run into his eyes. He eased the point of the blade under the skin and slowly cut along the edge of the bump. He felt the metal come into contact with the device. Mrs Hammond was breathing in great gasps and he could only imagine the pain she was suppressing. He swabbed the wound again and in the mouth of the incision he saw the device. Using the blade and his fingers he eased it out from under her skin. First one rounded end then the whole thing came out quickly. He held it in his palm for a moment studying it and then slipped it in his pocket.
He stuffed the bandaging against the cut and pressed down hard.
‘It’s out,’ he said. ‘Hold this tightly against your neck. Are you all right?’
She nodded and lifted her face from the pillow. She’d lost a lot of her colour and she’d looked pale before he’d taken a knife to her.
‘Can you make it downstairs to the car?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was weak.
He took the phone from his pocket and called Hassan. ‘We’re leaving,’ he said, and terminated the call. He stuffed the phone and the knife back in his pockets and went to Zoe.
‘I’ve got to carry you, Zoe. You understand?’
Nothing.
He threw back the covers. He could see through the thin nightgown she was wearing that she was skin and bone. He scooped her up and she weighed almost nothing. She put one arm around his neck and her face against his chest.
Mrs Hammond was heading for the door. With one hand she clasped a thick wadding of bandaging to her neck. The blood had soaked her shirt. She arranged her headscarf to cover things as best she could.
As she had her free hand on the door handle, he said, ‘My keffiyeh and sunglasses.’ She collected them up, returned to the door and opened it.
She stood aside to let him lead the way. He strode quickly out and along the still empty and quiet corridor. His eyes were fixed firmly on the door that would lead out onto the stairwell. No one came through it. He used his back to push it open, Mrs Hammond close behind him.
Their footwear echoed around the concrete walls as they hurried down the couple of flights. At the bottom of the stairs, he shouldered open the outer door and stepped through the opening into the heat and glare of the late morning.
He heard the door slam shut behind them and Mrs Hammond’s footsteps hurrying to keep up with his own. As he rounded the corner of the building he was confronted by the driver who clearly didn’t expect to see anyone cradling a child in their arms. He was fat, unfit. He had a cigarette between his lips and held a lighter suspended with the flame an inch from the tip of it. He allowed his surprise and confusion to delay
his reaction time. And then he saw Mrs Hammond and his face showed recognition and then anger.
He dropped his lighter and while one hand pulled open the flap of his jacket the other reached inside for his gun.
Acer closed the gap between them before he had a chance to draw it. With the frail girl occupying his arms he lashed out with a foot, catching the man squarely between the legs. He collapsed to the ground, his gun forgotten in his agony.
Acer sat on him heavily with the girl still in his arms. He reached into the man’s jacket, withdrew the weapon and tossed it up to Mrs Hammond, who caught it with two hands.
Niki and Hassan came out of the building. They jogged quickly down the steps.
‘He saw us,’ said Acer.
Hassan put his finger to his lips and his eyes said, shut up speaking English. He waved Acer aside and bent to the man who was now covering his head with his arms. He took the car keys from his pocket, threw them to Niki and gave instructions. She hurried to the other car and opened the boot.
Just as Hassan was moving in to get the driver on his feet and into the boot of his car something took his attention. Acer turned to see Mrs Hammond with the gun held in two hands, arms extended, pointing the weapon at the man on the ground. Her arms shook. Acer took a step backwards and kept the girl’s face looking away from her mother.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘He makes me do things to him on the way here. He makes me do them and he gives me more time with my daughter.’
Very calmly, Hassan said, ‘Mrs Hammond, don’t pull that trigger. The noise will bring people. What’s important is that we get away, isn’t it?’ He stepped between Mrs Hammond and the man cringing on the ground. ‘When his boss learns that he’s allowed you and your daughter to escape his punishment will be everything you could hope for, I can assure you.’ He moved steadily towards her, not taking his eyes from hers. Gently, he took the gun from her.
He looked at Acer and his meaning was clear. He used the gun to encourage the driver to his feet and into the boot of his vehicle. The lid was slammed.
Acer said, ‘Mrs Hammond, let’s go. In the back. Your daughter needs you.’
She snapped out of what vengeful madness had gripped her and got quickly in. Acer passed Zoe to her and got in the other side. Niki and Hassan got in the front. The engine was gunned and they sped towards the exit.
***
14
On the main highway Hassan slowed his pace. Acer caught him looking at him in the rear-view mirror.
‘You said no one would be armed.’
‘That was the information I received. But you dealt with him well. If no one from the orphanage saw what happened he could be in his car for hours. What happened to your neck, Mrs Hammond?’
‘I had a device implanted behind my ear.’
‘Why?’ said Hassan.
‘To monitor my access to high-security areas at the nuclear facility. It might have been something they could use to track me.’ Hassan shook his head. ‘I couldn’t take that chance. Mr Sansom removed it.’
Again Hassan locked eyes with Acer in the rear-view mirror and Acer could not be certain what the man was thinking.
‘Where is it now?’
‘My pocket. Pull up behind that pick-up at the traffic lights, will you?’
Hassan did as Acer asked and Acer leant out of the window and flicked the small device into the back of the truck. The lights changed. The pick-up turned left and out of their lives.
‘You had no problems inside?’ said Acer.
‘No. It was... uneventful.’
‘Where were all the children? It was so quiet.’
‘They had gathered them in the big hall. The chance of being adopted is rare and something that all children in these places dream of.’
The knowledge that they had raised the hopes of so many innocents on a falsehood bothered Acer. He didn’t want to dwell on the disappointments of so many young minds when they discovered the part they’d been forced to play in the charade.
Acer looked across at Mrs Hammond, blood all over her shoulder, looking pasty and in shock. She cradled Zoe in a desperate clinging embrace. As he soaked up their misery he felt something deep and powerful turn within him. He finally understood why he was there and he was overcome with a single-minded determination that if he couldn’t get them back to England then it would be because he’d died trying.
***
15
They were back outside the factory soon after midday. They had taken the garments for Mrs Hammond with them. She’d struggled into the chador and fixed the niqab as they drove, making herself anonymous. A swathe of gossamer thin fabric enveloped Zoe from her conspicuous blonde locks to her bare toes. Niki went ahead to open the door off the passageway and to shoo away anyone loitering in the stairwell.
Acer wrapped the keffiyeh round his head and face, put on his sunglasses, gathered up the girl and, with Mrs Hammond trailing after him, walked swiftly to where Niki held the door open. He took the metal stairs two at a time and soon they were all breathing more easily in the relative safety of the stuffy little apartment.
Mrs Hammond took her daughter from him and buried her face in the girl’s wrapping. She was sobbing hard and appeared to be in mild shock. She was entitled to be. Two hours before she’d been a prisoner of a brutal regime, separated from her sick child, tortured with restricted visiting rights. The revelation that she’d been forced to perform sexual acts on her driver simply to extend her time with her daughter brought a further understandable element of degradation and wretchedness to her situation.
Acer, Hassan and Niki exchanged serious looks over the heads of mother and child. Hassan signalled that they should talk away from them. Mrs Hammond appeared not to notice as they left the room to speak in the corridor.
‘She is in shock, I think,’ said Hassan.
‘Understandable with what she’s gone through,’ said Acer.
‘Will she be all right?’
‘She’ll have to be. She just needs time to get used to the idea of getting her life and her child back.’
Hassan smiled his lopsided smile. ‘We are not there, yet, my friend.’ It was the first time Acer had heard anything like friendliness from either of them and it surprised him. ‘And time is not a luxury for us. The train for Bandar Abbas leaves this evening.’
‘I’ll need to look at her wound,’ said Acer.
‘It wasn’t necessary to remove it like that,’ said Niki, and there was something hard and accusing in it.
‘She wasn’t coming otherwise. Besides, it’s done. Let’s worry about what else is to be done, shall we?’
They saw themselves out. Acer went back into the living room. Mrs Hammond was still cradling her daughter.
‘Mrs Hammond.’
She raised her head to stare at him. Her eyes were red and puffy and wet.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Thank you. Thank you for this. Thank you for what you are risking.’ Tears ran freely down her face.
He tried a smile. ‘I won’t lie to you, Mrs Hammond. We’re not even halfway home. This could still end very badly, for all of us.’
‘I don’t care.’ And he saw something encouraging, something defiant, in her eyes. That was good. ‘I’d rather die than have to go back to that.’
He didn’t want to talk about dying while the woman held her daughter. ‘They have a plan to get us out. It can work. But we will have to make it work. All of us.’ He looked at the girl.
‘I understand.’ She sniffed loudly and wiped at her face with her sleeve. ‘Why has it taken so long?’
‘No one knew you were here. Everyone thought you’d perished along with all the others on The Rendezvous.’
Her stare gained in intensity. ‘You were married with a daughter – a baby.’
He nodded. He saw in her pained expression a memory of that time. Possibly she had seen his wife and child have their lives ended. The idea and images hit him
like a wave, swamping his thoughts and washing some colour out of him. Perhaps she read something of this in his face.
He swallowed hard and painfully. ‘At least nothing can hurt them anymore.’
And then her face broke out in an exaggerated expression of pure astonishment. ‘Oh my God. You can’t know.’ There was something deeply disturbing in the way she was looking at him.
‘Can’t know what, Mrs Hammond?’
‘Your daughter. They didn’t kill her. They took her with them.’
Just as if an omnipotent deity had put his foot on the spinning ball of the Earth, his world stopped turning abruptly. The jolt was almost a physical thing, the sudden stilling of time and movement and universe.
She saw the effect of her news in his face. And it frightened her. She tried to shore him up, to stop him from falling apart. But all she had were fragile words and precious few that would strengthen him. ‘I cared for her. On the boat. On the journey. I cared for your daughter.’
‘She’s alive? Abigail is alive?’
‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry. We were separated when we were handed over to the Iranians. She didn’t come with us. I don’t know where they took her.’
He sat down heavily in the spare chair. ‘Tell me.’
‘That’s all I can tell you. No one said what they were planning to do with her, what they wanted her for.’
His thoughts chased each other around like mad dogs. They dragged him back to Akyarlar on Turkey’s Bodrum Peninsula; to the men he had blown to pieces in his rage and need for vengeance – the only men who could have told him what had happened to his daughter.
He lifted his head and his gaze was drawn to the mother and child. Both were now staring at him wide-eyed. It was clear that the girl understood what they were talking about.
He breathed heavily and smelled the acid of his bile. ‘We need to get ready,’ he said. ‘I should look at your neck, get you cleaned up. They will be back soon.’
‘Mr Sansom...’ She didn’t know what to say to him.
‘Mrs Hammond. For now, let’s focus on getting all of us out of this country and back home in one piece, shall we?’
