“What?”
Hazaar ran through the apartment to the kitchen and quickly put the kettle on to boil. She looked about her quickly as she went back through the house, trying to spot anything that would rouse suspicions. Other than Charlie, she couldn’t see any. Charlie was standing in the bedroom pulling her jeans up and scowling.
“What the fuck’s going on?”
“I don’t have time to explain. You have to go.” She ran into the bathroom, hurrying through the necessities and pulling on her clothes before Charlie was fully dressed.
“Please, we don’t have time. You have to go.”
“Why? Who was that on the phone?” Charlie pulled on her heeled boots as she leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t have time to explain.”
“Fine.” Charlie’s jaw was clenched as she pulled up the zip on her boot.
“I’m sorry.” Hazaar could feel tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t want Charlie to be angry with her, but she couldn’t be there when Hazaar’s family arrived. She just couldn’t. “It’s my family.”
“They’re coming here?”
Hazaar nodded.
“Why didn’t you just say that? Christ, I thought—hell, I didn’t know what to think.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. It’s fine.” Charlie grabbed her jacket and pulled open the door as Hazaar followed her. “Will you call me?”
“Yes. When they go.”
Charlie smiled, kissed her chastely on the cheek, and pushed the button for the lift. “Then go and get ready.”
Hazaar closed the door behind her and grabbed a head scarf to cover her hair. Everything was as it should be when the intercom sounded seconds later. She pushed the button to release the security door in the lobby as she tried to calm her racing heart and shaking hands. She hated the way she felt. They were her family, but every visit increased her sense of impending doom.
The knock at the door startled her out of her maudlin thoughts. Her heart jumped in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat. Shit. Her hand shook as she reached for the lock and pulled open the door.
“Baba.” She leaned forward and accepted the kiss on her forehead before Isam Alim walked into the house.
“Jugnu.” He shrugged off his coat and handed it to her; she smiled at the term of endearment. Jugnu, Urdu for firefly, was her father’s way of showing he cared for her. “Has the tea boiled?”
“I was just going to check, Baba.”
Her mother walked in and followed her into the kitchen, clicking her tongue behind her teeth. “You’ve lost weight again, Hazaar. We need to get some food into you before you disappear. No man wants a wife who is all sharp elbows and knees.”
Hazaar looked down at her full breasts and hips and noted that she was far from skinny, but nodded to appease her mother. She had learned over the years that it was far easier to keep the peace than it was to weather the arguments. “Yes, Maa Jee.”
“You are a good girl, Beti.” The term of endearment always made her smile, even though her mother had used it for all four girls, since the word simply meant daughter. Nisrin patted her cheek. “You make your father and me so proud.”
Hazaar bit her lip and let her gaze fall to the floor. She felt the weight of her mother’s stare, those knowing eyes that had followed Hazaar her whole life, and she prayed to Allah that her secrets weren’t written all over her face. “The tea should be ready.”
Hazaar took her time preparing the tray with cups and saucers, sugar, milk, and the beautifully painted teapot her mother had given her when she moved into her apartment. She needed the time to compose herself as her mother recounted the latest community gossip. Who was getting married, and more importantly, who wasn’t. Her sister, Badra, was expecting another baby, her fourth child in six years of marriage. Hazaar shuddered, making the pottery on the tray rattle noisily as she carried it into the room. Her father was staring out the window, apparently looking down onto the street, a distasteful curl on his lips.
“I’m not sure about you living here, Jugnu. There are too many bad influences around.”
Hazaar crossed the room and looked out. Charlie was crossing the road and heading toward the bus stop. She swallowed and looked at her father. Her stomach felt leaden, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Come and have some tea, Baba,” she said with difficulty.
He grunted and sat down, sipping on his tea when she handed it to him. “So tell me about the university.”
“I’ve been accepted onto the master’s program, Baba. The course is two years.”
Her mother clicked her tongue. “Two more years of schooling. It is not necessary. Why do you need so much education?”
“It is a great honour, Maa Jee, and when I finish, I can study for my doctorate in music.”
Her father grinned. “My little jungu, a doctor. Dr. Hazaar Erina Alim. I like the sound of that.” He scratched his head and resettled the prayer cap atop his head. “Tell me more about this course.”
Hazaar took a deep breath and began to explain the master’s program and the further doctorate studies that she wanted to pursue.
“So it will be three more years before you finish?” Her mother fidgeted on the sofa, sipping her tea and inching closer to the edge of her seat.
“Yes, Maa Jee.”
“And what of finding you a husband? A good man to give you babies.”
“There is still plenty of time for all of that. Hazaar is still a young woman.” Her father put his tea cup on the small table beside his chair.
Her mother waved her hands in the air. “Already she is twenty-six. People talk.”
“Yes, they talk. They say how accomplished my beti has become, how proud she must make me, and how she is a good girl.”
“How she is an old maid.”
“Enough, Zoujah!”
Hazaar flinched. Her father rarely addressed her mother as Zoujah—wife—and did so only ever to remind her that he was the man of the household, and he didn’t like to be questioned. Her mother ducked her head and melted back into her chair, her eyes downcast, knees pressed tightly together, and her hands clasped around them. She appeared so still Hazaar wondered if she was even breathing.
Her father cleared his throat. “You work very hard, Beti, and whilst your mother does make a valid point that you aren’t getting any younger, you continue to bring honour to our family with your accomplishments.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking her in the eye. “Tell me why you want to continue with this so much. Why should I not find you a suitable husband?”
Hazaar’s breath caught in her throat and her heart raced. She hated lying to her father. He was a good man, he loved her, and she knew that he had tried to give her and her sisters the best lives he could. His own marriage had been arranged, and she believed that her parents genuinely cared for each other, even loved each other. Arranging the marriages of his own children wasn’t something he took lightly. He saw it as his gravest responsibility to protect his children’s futures, placing their care into safe hands, as he had watched his father do, and his father before him, and back generation after generation. It was his privilege to do it for them. He saw it as his final-child rearing duty, and he was determined to do the best he could for them. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it might not be what his children wanted.
Her palms were sweaty as she tried to focus her thoughts. Focus? Hell, I can’t even hear them over my bloody heartbeat. She squeezed her hands between her knees, zeroing in on the pressure, and forced the image of the executioner from her mind. “Baba, you’ve been a wonderful father. You’ve provided us all with everything we could wish for, and you’ve taught us how to be good Muslims, good children, and good people. At your knee I’ve learned pride too. Pride in you, in my family, and in myself. I know that you wished you had been granted more sons, to carry your name to Allah and into the future. I can’t do that for you, Baba, but I can bring y
our name honour in a different way.”
She looked up and smiled when she saw the look of rapt attention on her father’s face. “Allah has granted me with a gift, Baba. To not use it—to not allow it to bring you honour—would be a sin.”
He nodded his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Come here.”
She stood and walked to him, dropping to her knees at his feet. He took hold of her hand, and she dropped a sweet kiss to the back of his hand, then rested her forehead against it, determined to do everything she could to convince him to let her stay.
“When the time comes, I’ll find an honourable man for you, one who will appreciate all you have accomplished and who will treasure your gifts. You’re very special to me, Beti. You may continue your studies.”
“Thank you, Baba.” She kept her head bowed as she whispered the words, afraid he would see her look of relief. The executioner moved back into the shadows of her brain, his axe still raised above his head, blade glinting in the light. She’d bought herself some time, but was it enough?
Chapter Seven
Pakistan, today
Charlie spun her pen on the desk, watching it travel across the scarred and battered wood through the slatted light caused by the wooden blinds at each of the windows. Ceiling fans rotated, stirring the air, making the dust motes dance in and out of the shadows. Stilted coughs bounced from one end of the conference table to the other, neckties were loosened, straightened, and then loosened again. Charlie brushed away the drip of sweat trailing down her neck and felt sorry for the guys sitting in long-sleeved shirts and pants. It was too stifling for conversation, so they all waited for the boss in silence.
The door burst open, and JJ strode into the room, a stack of files tucked under one arm, a mug cradled in the other hand. “So last night we had a result in the Malik case.” He dumped the files on the desk and looked at each person around the desk. “Horia is now with her mother, and they will be heading back to the UK before the end of the week.”
Applause went around the room, and Charlie smiled. It was days like this she loved her job. She loved making a difference in the lives of the children and women she helped to bring home. The degradation she felt at bartering for the lives and futures of children who deserved nothing but the best tore at her soul and reminded her of past promises she couldn’t keep. But right now another little girl was safely returned to her family, and for today, it kept her demons at bay.
“How did that happen?” Liam slapped his left hand on the table—his right having been lost when a bullet severed the artery just above the elbow a year ago. He’d been trying to prevent a woman from being stoned to death, the penalty she was to pay for what they called adultery and Charlie called rape. Delayed health care and an infection cost him dearly, but it was the memories of the woman dying that haunted him and kept him in the office chasing paperwork rather than operating in the field. “I thought he was in it for the long haul. Stubborn bastard.”
Charlie slapped him on the back. “You pointed me in the direction of those local newspapers. I did a search on his name, and I found an announcement of an upcoming birth.”
“Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “You go with the ‘new start for everyone’ angle?”
“It’s an oldie but a goodie.”
“I taught you well, young Padawan.” He patted her on the head.
Charlie laughed. “If you say so.” It was good to see Liam in a good mood. The past year had been difficult for him. He’d been her mentor, her advisor, and her friend, and now she was technically his boss and he rarely left the office.
“You all done down in the cheap seats?” Jasper slid a file across the desk, and it stopped right in front of Charlie.
“Cheap seats.” Liam scoffed. “Bloody cheek. Who is it that makes him look good?”
Charlie sniggered and opened the file in front of her.
“Before we get to the paperwork,” Jasper said. “We have a new recruit.” He motioned to the young woman beside him. Charlie guessed her to be around six feet, and jet black hair hung in a long, sleek ponytail down her back. She lifted a pair of dark sunglasses away from her face, perching them atop her head, and scanned the room with the most piercing blue eyes Charlie could ever remember seeing. “This is Steph MacKenzie.”
“Please, everyone calls me Kenzie.”
“Okay. Well then, Kenzie, this is the team. We got Luke Odoze.” Luke waved and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs to rest one ankle on his knee and the chair on its back two legs only. “Luke’s our communications and IT specialist.”
“How’re you doing?” He tipped his head back as he spoke, the movement causing the precariously balanced chair to tip, and he landed on his back with a hard thump. Laughter erupted around the room. Luke jumped up and scowled at those nearest to him. “Who pushed me?”
“No one did, numb nuts.” JJ shook his head. “I swear if you weren’t so good at your job I’d pay your airfare out of here myself.” He turned back to Kenzie. “He’s harmless to everyone but himself. Next to Luke is—”
“Hillary Arthur, research and analysis.” She stood and held out her hand. “Welcome to the team.”
“Thanks, it’s good to be here.”
“Let’s hope you think so later,” JJ said. “Down at the bottom we have our two reprobates, Liam Evans and Charlie Porter.” They both waved. “Charlie is the negotiator responsible for bringing the Malik case to a close. Liam’s her backup and our logistics man. And finally, we have Albert Garrett.”
He held out his hand. “Al. I’m in charge of field operations and security. When you’re heading out there, please follow my lead.” He cast a pointed look at Charlie. “Not like some people, who fly off half-cocked.” Charlie pointed at her chest and threw him her best Who, me? look.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled under her breath as a chorus of chuckles went round the room.
“All right, people, settle down.” JJ turned to Kenzie. “Why don’t you give us a little of your background, then we’ll get started.”
“Sure.” She nodded and Charlie studied her as she spoke, looking for signs that gave away nervousness, trepidation, or indecision. She smiled when she saw none. “I have a master’s degree in psychology, and I spent the last seven years in the military. Most of that based in Afghanistan. Just the other side of the Khyber Pass for the most part.”
“So this must feel like home for you,” Luke said.
Kenzie shrugged. “Something like that.”
“What did you do in the military?” Liam homed in on the question burning in Charlie’s mind.
“Military Intelligence, debriefing and interrogation corps.” Kenzie cast a quick glance at JJ, and Charlie caught the subtle nod out of the corner of her eye and guessed that Kenzie was ascertaining the level of security clearance in the room. Charlie wasn’t worried. She knew they all had top secret clearance.
“I was working with the Afghanistan ISI training their troops and interrogating high-level Taliban and terrorist suspects.”
Charlie did a quick calculation, and given the timing, she had to ask the question on everyone’s mind. “Were you at Abu Ghraib?”
Kenzie turned, and her eyes locked on to Charlie, her face still as stone. “I was there after the atrocities became public knowledge. I was part of the cleanup operation, and the team who brought in new techniques to retrieve information.”
“Forgive me for saying, Kenzie, but you still seem very young. Abu Ghraib was 2006,” Liam said.
“Was there a question in there?” Kenzie’s gaze never left Charlie.
Liam chuckled. “Well, my mum warned me never to ask a woman her age, but I guess I’m wondering how someone so young got to be involved in cleaning up a cluster fuck like that. Timing? Or are you that good?”
Kenzie smiled and turned to look at Liam. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Okay, if we’re quite done, should we get to work?” JJ pointed at the files spread acros
s the desk. “Kenzie, Charlie is gonna be your mentor. She’ll help bring you up to speed and show you the ropes.”
Charlie kicked the chair next to her away from the desk and smiled at Kenzie as she patted the seat. “Come and join the A-team.”
Kenzie laughed and made her way across the room.
“Word to the wise though, Kenzie,” JJ said. “We call her Maverick behind her back, and it isn’t always a good thing.”
“That was behind my back?” Charlie pulled her face to adopt a look of mock outrage. “JJ, you suck at keeping secrets, mate.”
“Yeah, yeah, bite me.” He flopped down into his chair. “Shall we get to work, people? We’ve got a lot of women and children to find.”
Chapter Eight
The North of England, then
The TV blared noise at Charlie as she starred into space. Beth was draped over the sofa with her head resting in Charlie’s lap, her feet over the arm. Her chatter drifted over Charlie’s head until a sharp elbow to the ribs quickly brought her focus back to earth.
“Hey, what was that for?” She rubbed her midsection absently as she scowled down at Beth.
“I’m talking to you and you’re doing a very poor job of paying any attention to me.”
“Aw, is the poor little baby feeling all neglected?” Charlie reached down to tickle Beth mercilessly.
“Hey, why am I being tortured, just because she hasn’t called you yet?” Beth managed to sputter between fits of laughter.
“That was cruel, and uncalled for, and demands an exacting price!” Charlie grasped both of her wrists in one hand and dragged her across her lap and planted a loud, wet raspberry against her skin.
“Ew, you’re disgusting! Let me go! Let me go!” Beth twisted free of her grasp and ran for cover.
“Come ’ere, Flipper, and take your punishment like a man!”
Beth giggled as she ran for the kitchen. “But I’m not a man and you really need to retake biology if you think I am.” She stuck her tongue out as Charlie rounded the doorway and entered the kitchen. Charlie’s phone rang in the front room. “Bet that’s her.”
Nightingale Page 7
