Chen picked up what looked like an 8×10 photo and glanced it over. He shrugged noncommittally, tossing it onto the table in front of him. “What if I did? There are lots of girls in Las Vegas. They all run together in my mind.”
“Look again.”
Chen raised an eyebrow and picked up the photo. He then picked up a few other snapshots. The corners of his mouth turned up, just slightly. “Yes, this girl I do remember.” He cocked an eyebrow, enjoying the cat and mouse with his questioner. “What do you want to know about her?”
“How do you know her?”
“Can one ever really say one knows another human being?” Chen philosophized, taking his time answering the agent. “I mean, really knows someone? Take Mr. Carmichael. I put my faith in him. And then he turned against me. If I could make such a mistake with him, I doubt whether I can trust my own judgment and say I really know anybody.”
Mona was losing patience. She heard the agent scrape his chair. “Do I need to turn off the camera, so we can have a private talk, Mr. Chen?”
Chen laughed derisively. “Your American laws will keep you from doing that.” He leaned back in his chair and gestured magnanimously. “I had hoped you might indulge me in conversation, but I see I overestimated you. So, you want to know about the girl. She was with Carmichael. He said she was his niece. I have no reason to think otherwise.”
“Keep talking.”
Chen had baited his hook and was enjoying stringing along the agent.
“It was a funny thing. She was clearly very special to him. He would not let her out of his sight, but for a minute. And for good reason. Every time she was alone, she caused great trouble. She was a very disobedient young lady.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Chen’s eyes twinkled as he recounted his story. “It is of no matter. What matters is how Mr. Carmichael dealt with it. At first I thought him weak. But then he did something I am not sure I could even do, not to one who is a particular favorite.”
He leaned into the table, and the camera zoomed in once again. He had delicate, manicured hands, Mona saw. They gestured with precision as he continued.
“He wanted to prove he could control her, I think. To establish goodwill. Seal our bond.” He clasped his hands together, a physical demonstration of the kind of bond about which he was talking. “He brought me the girl, to show me for myself, and I was astonished.”
Mona was holding her breath.
“What did he do?” the agent prompted, his voice sounding strangely hollow from off-camera.
“He burned her!” Chen announced, his eyes wide with crazy admiration.
Behind her, Mona heard the sharp intake of Don’s breath, but it seemed a million miles away. She couldn’t drag her eyes from the screen. Chen expressed crazy glee as he told his story, relishing the details.
“I didn’t have time to ask him how—battery acid, I would presume. Her face, her arms, her hands, her body. Everywhere, burned. And then he made her stand there, so I could inspect her. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. Great, oozing sores. She could barely stand.”
Mona’s stomach was beginning to roil, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t form the words to ask Hale to stop the tape.
“Such a pity,” Chen continued, shaking his head, a tiny smile still evident on his lips. “She was so beautiful; but then, what did it matter? He still thought she was beautiful. Even though he had to destroy her, he still loved her. He even worried about her pain. He is quite a sensitive man, I think, our Mr. Carmichael.” He paused, tutting softly. “And the poor thing, I think she loved him, too, despite it all. Maybe even because of it.”
Mona felt the bile surging up her throat and reached about her, blindly, for the trash can. She found it just in time.
Over her retching, she was vaguely aware of Agent Hale turning off the video, of Don awkwardly patting her back and holding her hair.
She hovered over the trashcan. When she was sure nothing else was coming up, she dragged her sleeve across her mouth and straightened up in her chair, shrugging off Don’s touch.
“Okay?” Hale asked gently.
She nodded, her back still to him.
His voice was soothing now, trying to paper over the horrible hole that had been ripped in her heart. “What Chen said seems to corroborate what the hotel clerks said, though the disparity in the extent of the injuries is puzzling. We’ve updated the missing persons alert to reflect her reported injuries.”
Mona didn’t say anything. Her mind was blank, refusing to accept what she’d just heard.
“Mona.” He said her name, quietly. She braced herself for whatever he said next. “The thing is, when we went back to the casinos to look for room records or gambling records for our perp, nothing shows up. The forms this man had to file to get his markers to gamble are gone. Even the security videotape from Wynn—the tape we all saw—is gone. It’s nothing but static now. Car rental, same thing.”
He paused, waiting for her to comment, but she was uncharacteristically quiet.
“The only organization that has the reach to do that is Triad. Or maybe one of the Russian trafficking operations. And the evidence …”
Don finished Agent Hale’s sentence, his hard words full of judgment. “The evidence looks as if somehow her friend Michael was involved, too.”
Hale nodded. “Whether as a victim or not, we don’t know. But I feel like I need to tell you, trafficking cases often start with a so-called boyfriend luring a young girl into trusting him. Trusting him so much that by the time she realizes his intentions, she’s cut off from her family. Trapped.”
Mona swiveled on her chair to face Hale, unwilling to believe it. Her eyes were wet with tears. “Why? How?”
“We don’t know yet, but we’ll find out. I promise you. With a proven Triad link, this is moving out of our normal jurisdiction. I need to take our search international, start cooperating with some other agencies. With Triad or other trafficking connections there’s no telling where they could have taken her.”
Her shoulders sank, a quick nod giving her assent.
He cleared his throat to broach a more delicate subject. “With the evidence we have in hand, there is really no reason for us to keep Don in custody or file any charges. Nor to have you here, for that matter. I think it would be better for you both to go home. I promise we’ll keep you up to date.”
“Okay,” she numbly agreed, recognizing his not-so-subtle attempt to move them both out of the picture. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“It might be better for the time being,” Hale continued. “Don, do you think you will stay in town, or go back to Alabama?”
The subject of her estranged husband was hard for her to take right now, when the images of his face from the video were still fresh and her own confused feelings for him still unresolved. Before he had a chance to speak for himself, she announced, “He’ll be going back to Alabama.”
Her words hung in the air awkwardly, but Don did nothing to dispute her decision. Finally, Hale cleared his throat.
“Fair enough. I’ll clear it with your employer, Don, if that’s what you really want to do. You’ll just have to stay where we can find you. Just in case. Neither one of you should talk to the press or attempt to interfere in the investigation. And then there’s the matter of security …”
She looked up, confused.
“Given what you just saw, we thought you might be more comfortable with a security detail. In case the traffickers trace Hope back to you, or try to make good on that threat to kill Hope’s kidnapper. Remember, Triad won’t know that Don is not their man. They could come after you with everything they’ve got.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice firm.
“I know it seems like an imposition, but you should think it over, Mona. For your own peace of mind. And what about you, Don?” He peered over Mona’s head, to where Don still stood behind her. “With the physical resemblance, and t
he perp using your name as an alias …” he left his thought unfinished, knowing they would fill in the blanks themselves.
“I don’t need security,” Don answered simply. “I’ll be fine on my own in Alabama. After all, it’s a flyover state, right? Nobody would think to look for the kidnapper there,” he joked lamely, trying to make light of the situation. “I’ll just need to get my truck, Mona. It’s parked at your house.”
Hale began to argue, but Mona cut him off.
“Don is Hope’s father and an adult. If he doesn’t want a security attachment, you can’t force it on him.” Her words came out more sharply than she meant, but she was tired and losing patience.
Hale sighed and then threw up his hands. “You’re right. I can’t force you. But if you change your mind, we can have a detail there in minutes. Don’t forget.”
He pulled the bits and pieces of his files back together and, before leaving, reached out to squeeze Mona’s shoulder.
“She’s alive, Mona. If Chen is telling the truth, we have that going for us.” He gave her shoulder another quick squeeze and began winding his way through the cubicles back to his own office, leaving her alone with Don.
All she could think was, She’s alive—but for how long?
three
TURKEY
The disastrous morning with Michael boded ill for my next adventure—the trip to the public baths. And, indeed, the outing began on a sour note. I emerged from my room having changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, the only clean clothes I had left.
“You can’t go out in that,” Michael said, abruptly. He looked me up and down with a critical eye. “That won’t do at all.”
“Why not?” I demanded.
“First of all, it’s too cold out. You’re not used to the wind off the water—it can be biting and will cut you to the bone in no time at all.”
“So I’ll put on a sweatshirt when we go out.”
“Second, there is the matter of your skin.”
He stopped talking and all the air seemed to get sucked out of the room. I was vaguely aware of Enoch and Raph watching us.
“What about my skin?” I said, trying to keep my tone even, challenging him to even speak of it.
Michael, sensing he was in dangerous territory, adopted a reasonable tone. “I think you’ll be more comfortable covering yourself. Especially in a Muslim city.”
Enoch spoke up. “This is a secular country, Michael. They do not practice sharia law here. She has no need for covering.”
“It’s changed,” Michael asserted, looking at me as if he dared me to contradict him. “It is not as safe for an uncovered woman to walk through the city. You can feel it everywhere. And the government…. Even this morning, there were more protests.”
I felt myself flushing. Had he been near the university that morning, just as I had been? Did he already know I’d been there? And did he know I had encountered the Fallen? I stared at him, hard, refusing to be drawn out. Besides, I knew what was really motivating his insistence. My chin lifted in defiance as if daring him to say what he really thought about my uncovered skin—that he couldn’t stand to be reminded of the damage he had done.
“You said we were going to a tourist district for this bath, correct?” I very consciously kept my tone steady, my voice calmer than I was feeling on the inside.
“Yes,” he acknowledged, his eyes wary.
“They are not going to expect tourists to obey Muslim law. I’m going uncovered. I’ll wear the sweatshirt and that’s it. Deal?”
“She’s being very reasonable, Michael,” Enoch added, trying to smooth things over.
Michael shot an annoyed look over my head at Enoch. “Fine,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away. “We leave in five minutes.”
Raph brushed past me, clearly annoyed. “Why must you provoke him? You’re only making things worse.”
“That’s not fair,” I called after him as he pounded down the stairs. I moved to follow him, but Enoch grabbed my arm and held me back.
“Hope, there is only so much he can take. You must choose your battles.”
“I’m not going to veil myself, Enoch. That’s completely ridiculous.”
“I don’t suggest that you do. But think about what you say to him. Please. For me.”
I looked up into the lenses of the shiny aviator sunglasses that were perched on Enoch’s nose. I wished I could see into his eyes instead of seeing my own, powerless figure reflected back at me.
I sighed, knowing Enoch was right. “I’ll try, Enoch. I promise.”
The old man is the last person from whom you should be seeking advice, Henri whispered to me. After all, look at what happened to him. But, he continued begrudgingly, this time I happen to agree with him. Don’t provoke Michael if you can avoid it.
I thought about what Henri was implying. He was right, in one sense. Enoch had followed his own way and ended up banished to the outskirts of Heaven, sentenced to live an eternity in solitude as punishment for giving voice to the Prophecy—the Prophecy that foretold the rise of the Fallen Angels and spelled almost certain death for me.
I went cold at the thought of it and shivered.
“See?” Enoch tutted at me, patting my hand. “Michael was right. You’ll be much too cold in such light clothing.”
I forced a smile, never completely sure if he could really see me through his seemingly blind eyes. “I’ll go get my sweatshirt.”
“Good girl,” he said.
We walked in silence from the house, working our way back through the labyrinth of streets toward the heart of the old district. Michael and Raph kept tightly together, leaving Enoch and me to straggle behind.
“Enoch, have you ever been in the public baths?”
“No, my dear. When I was human, we did not have such niceties. I was more likely to clean myself off with sand.”
I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets, head down against the wind, and kept walking, wondering what was in store for me.
We had apparently reached the more touristy part of Sultanahmet. Crowds milled about, holding up their cell phones to get the perfect photo and straining to listen to the tour guides shouting out their litanies of dates and facts. A swarm of young men, watchful, circled around the tourists, looking for the lone, hapless ones, offering their helpful guidance and asking if maybe, just maybe, they would be interested in a carpet. They gave us a wide berth, apprehensive of the warning silently flashing from Raph’s black eyes. We cut through them all and headed for the other side of the square.
I tilted my head back, agape at the minarets soaring above me, left and right. The white marble seemed to draw the smallest bits of sun from behind the clouds, which floated, a radiant mix of orange and gray and purple, against the muddy sky. Everything was reflected in the wet puddles of the square, still slick with rain. On the opposite side, brick, stone, and marble rioted on the façade of another massive complex, glowing pink with morning radiance as the sun managed to peek out from behind the clouds.
Suddenly, a grand flock of birds wheeled overhead, silhouetted against the sky. I gave a start.
“It’s just seagulls,” Raph volunteered, understanding my fear that the Fallen had found us. I took a shaky breath, grateful for his reassurance, and looked back up to the sky. Entranced, I watched the birds whirl and streak across the sky before the gigantic domes ahead of us, majestic and grand, commanded my attention.
“What are those buildings?”
“Ayasofya and the Blue Mosque,” Michael answered over his shoulder. “But we’ll be going to the building between them.”
I reluctantly dragged my eyes away from the spires to where Michael was pointing. Across the square, past a dancing fountain, sat a slightly smaller, more austere complex. Only between such magnificent structures could this third site have been deemed humble. It stretched the length of the square, row after row of domes that spoke of untold wealth.
“That’s a bath house?” I gaped, incredulous.
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“A hammam,” Michael corrected me, pausing for me to catch up. “Most Ottoman homes didn’t have private baths, so hammams like this were vital to the public. And this one was special. It was designed by one of the most famous architects of the Ottomans, built for a slave who became the powerful wife of the sultan.”
“This was built for a slave?”
“She didn’t remain a slave. Roxelana grew powerful in her own right. These were just recently restored after having fallen into great disrepair. Imagine, hawkers were using the navel stones to display carpets to tourists.”
“Navel stones?”
“You’ll see,” he said, a slight smile on his face as he began walking swiftly across the square, following the cobblestone path toward the fountain.
I didn’t have time to wonder what had improved his mood. Raph had already moved ahead and was consulting with a street vendor next to the fountain. When we caught up with him, he turned from the vendor, who resumed the business of peddling his wares from under his red and white striped awning, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the crowds and the gurgling fountain.
A deep frown marred Raph’s dark face. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” he began, looking at me doubtfully. “We will have to part here. Even the entrances are separate. I think we should skip the baths.”
My heart sank. I could practically feel the dirt between my toes. Any inhibitions I had felt earlier were quickly slipping away. I wanted—no, needed—that bath.
“I promise, I’ll be watchful. Besides,” I added, pointing at the crowds milling about near the building, “nothing could happen to me in there, not with all these people around to witness it.”
Michael seemed to be weighing the risk, looking about the square for any sign of danger. His eyes narrowed as a particularly loud group of young men cut across the lawn, which, despite the grayness of the day, glistened a dewy green.
“Maybe one of us should go in with you. As a woman, of course,” he declared hastily, lest any of us mistake his meaning.
I felt my face turning a deep red. Of course, any one of them could shape-shift at will and take the form of anybody they pleased. I became indignant at the thought of it.
Dark Rising Page 6
