Jihadi Bride, page 3
Arielle’s cheeks grew hot. Naomi’s boyfriend, Hamza, had told them not to call, but Arielle hadn’t seen a way around it. The obligation was clear, she needed to say farewell to be true to her fitrah, her instinct to seek God. Of course, it could be argued this obligation was limited to mothers, after all, the hadith said that paradise was at the feet of the mother, not the father. But with her mother dead, the duty was clear and had to be done. She fixed her hijab in place, then followed after Naomi.
Outside the bathroom, Arielle caught up to her friend and they walked down a wide corridor in the direction of other travelers. Arielle picked out several people who’d been on their flight from Frankfurt, so they hadn’t spent too long in the bathroom. After a few minutes, they spied large blue signs with white and yellow letters that marked the way to passport control, while the sign for Turkish citizens displayed a white star and crescent on a red background. Arielle followed Naomi into the line for non-Turkish nationals, where ten or so other people waited.
“We should have been ahead of all these people.” Naomi crossed her arms, and her foot tapped on the floor.
“We have lots of time,” Arielle said while she took in the airport. The lofty ceilings and spacious concourse gave off a feeling of lightness that matched her eagerness to move on. “Our flight to Urfa isn’t until tomorrow morning.”
“Be quiet,” Naomi said as she eyed the surrounding travelers. “Nobody needs to know our travel details.”
“You draw more attention by the way you’re talking,” she said. “Act natural.” Her dad had taught her that the first part of fitting in was to act as if she belonged. And with her hijab on, fitting in didn’t seem like an act. She smiled at Naomi. “Doesn’t it feel good to show off our faith?”
“Sometimes I don’t think you appreciate what we’re doing,” Naomi said and glanced at the person in front of them in line.
Arielle’s smile broadened. She understood the risks all right, her dad talked about them all the time since he’d joined the High-Risk Traveler Task Force. What mattered more, what sang to her soul, was that she was coming home. She’d found sisterhood and a sense of purpose in a community where she wouldn’t be victimized, either because of her faith or her sex.
The customs agent waved them to the desk, and Arielle’s heart began to race. This was the moment of truth. Her dad shouldn’t have had enough time to alert the authorities, but it wasn’t impossible. Maybe the taciturn-looking agent in the light blue shirt was about to separate them for a secondary screening, or maybe he was just annoyed at having to work so late. She forced the smile from her face.
The agent took both their passports, and his gaze darted between the pictures on the inside covers and their faces. Then, he flipped the passports and stared at the outside covers. Looking up, he returned the passports and pointed back to the entrance to passport control. “Visas,” he said in a heavy accent.
Arielle felt Naomi tense, and she glanced at her friend, then back to the agent. “Excuse me?”
“Visas,” the man repeated.
“Sir -” Naomi said and leaned closer to the desk.
Arielle looked in the direction the agent had pointed and spotted a small office at the opposite side of the hall. Above the office, VISA was written in bold white letters. She tugged Naomi’s shoulder before her friend got them in trouble. “We need to get visas.”
Naomi allowed herself to be dragged away from the agent. “Hamza didn’t say anything about visas.”
“I should have thought of it,” Arielle said. She pulled out the pay-and-go phone she’d purchased in Frankfurt. “I’ll find out what we have to do.”
“What are we going to put on the paperwork?” Naomi said. “Why didn’t Hamza mention this?”
“It’s okay,” Arielle said. “Shoot, I’m already out of minutes.” She thrust the phone into her pocket and pulled out her other phone, the one she’d brought from home.
“What if it’s closed and we miss our flight?” Naomi’s voice rose.
“Then we’ll catch the next one,” Arielle said. “All we need is a valid passport and a payment. And a visa is only twenty dollars, which is nothing.”
“I thought you said you were out of minutes?”
“I am,” she said. Closing out the browser, she saw a text message. Automatically, she clicked on the icon to see a note from her dad.
“Then how did you check?”
Arielle stopped in place as she read the text. Be safe. I miss you.
“What are you doing?” Naomi spoke right into her ear.
Arielle frowned. “I’m figuring out what we need to do.” She waved Naomi off and began to type a response to her dad.
“Are you texting somebody?”
“My dad.” She gasped as Naomi snatched the phone from her hands. “Give that back.”
“You were supposed to throw this out.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she said and took Naomi by the shoulders, “and it’s a good thing since we have no other way to contact Hamza.”
“But –”
“Get ahold of yourself,” Arielle said. “See the agent at the visa desk? You’re drawing his attention by the way you’re acting.”
Naomi’s face went pale.
“Now give me back my phone and let’s finish this up.”
“Promise you won’t text your dad.”
Arielle bit her lip, then nodded.
Her hand trembling, Naomi offered up the phone.
Arielle smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” And it was true. “Now, let’s take a deep breath and get through this. We’re strong. We’re lionesses, right?”
Naomi nodded.
Arielle took her by the arm and supported her until they reached the visa office. Behind the glass, the agent’s face was unreadable. Like the passport agent, he might have already alerted security. Or maybe he was simply annoyed at having to look up from the magazine he’d been reading. In either event, five minutes and forty dollars later, Arielle and Naomi both had tiny stickers on the back of their passports and had rejoined the passport control line.
“See, no need to worry,” Arielle said. The lightness she’d felt the first time she’d been in the passport line returned, stronger than ever. She’d believed and Allah, the Most Gracious, had delivered.
“We didn’t even fill out any paperwork,” Naomi said, an incredulous look on her face. “We’re going to make it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the same agent who’d declined their passports waved them through after a cursory glance at the stickers.
“We’re through,” Naomi said. “We did it.”
Arielle smiled. Her friend had been struggling, but she’d passed her trial. She took Naomi’s hand. “Do you feel better?”
Naomi nodded and gripped Arielle’s hand tighter. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“That’s what sisters do, right? I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.” Arielle squeezed Naomi’s hand in return. “Now we just need to get our tickets to Urfa.”
Naomi checked her watch. “The ticket office isn’t open until 6:45.”
“Let’s find somewhere out-of-the-way to wait,” Arielle said and nodded at the airport concourse. “Maybe we’ll even get some sleep.”
But as she led Naomi in search of a passenger waiting area, Arielle knew there’d be time enough for sleep later. For now, she didn’t want to miss a second of this adventure.
* * *
Ottawa, Ontario
11 Apr 2015 – 1735 Local
Erik paced the length of the breakout room, his gaze split between his watch and the view of the woods that surrounded the building in this area. He’d never paid attention to this part of the campus before, not even the paved trail that would have made for a nice, easy ride. Still, as the shadows lengthened beneath the trees, they reminded him that time marched on.
It was long past midnight in Turkey, which meant all the direct flights would have arrived. If Arielle and her friend had been on one of those flights, the small opportunity for airport security to pick them up might have already passed. He swore under his breath and wondered if Stephanie would let him back into operations center, the one place he felt comfortable in this building, and then turned as one of the room’s double doors opened.
Stephanie’s head appeared in the gap. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“What do you have?”
“Some photos.” She entered, a folder held to her chest. “We need you to take a look.” She pulled out several grainy prints and laid them on the conference room table.
Erik bent over the nearest picture, a blow-up of a dark-haired girl in a bright yellow blouse walking through the thin, gray pillars of a metal detector.
“That’s from Trudeau Airport in Montreal,” Stephanie said.
He stared at the girl in the photo. “Never seen her before,” he said.
Stephanie spread out a series of other photos. “Try these.”
He studied the second picture, an identical shot of the metal detector except for the girl between the pipes. She was frozen in mid-stride, chin held high. “That’s Arielle.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” He pointed to her muted brown clothes. “She’s trying to blend in, but her posture’s a bit wrong. It’s too strong, she’s inviting eye contact.”
“She seems confident.”
“Is the other girl Naomi?” he asked.
Stephanie nodded. “We think so. The passenger manifest lists her as Naomi Lohrenz.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.” His gaze shifted to the other photos. “What else?”
“These were taken from a security camera in Frankfurt Airport.” Stephanie selected a different picture and pointed with a pen to a group of people in the center. “This is the transfer zone. You can make out what we believe are the same two girls here.” Naomi’s bright yellow shirt stood out beside the edge of the pen’s nib, right beside the more muted colors of what appeared to be Arielle. “Then there’s these ones.”
In the last set of photos, the girls were again passing through a metal detector. “That’s definitely her.” Erik glanced up at Stephanie with a smile. “Good work. Did these help narrow down their flight?”
She nodded. “The Lufthansa flight that left at 1840, or twelve-forty PM our time.”
“So they’re there.”
“Yes.”
“And since you didn’t mention anything, I take it they haven’t been picked up yet.”
Stephanie cleared her throat. “Communication with Turkish officials has been slow.”
He straightened. “What do you mean? This should be easy.”
“We’re in touch with the national police, but reaching the airport authorities has been…problematic.” She gave a small smile. “We’re working it.”
“Can I come back to the ops center?” He asked and then gestured around the sterile room. “Waiting here is killing me.”
“I understand,” she said as she gathered up the photos, “but we’ve got it covered. I know it’s difficult, but this could take a while.” She nodded at the trail shirt and mountain bike shorts he still wore. “Why don’t you go home? Take a shower, get something to eat. I’ll call you if something happens.”
“What? No way,” he said, frowning. “I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Stephanie said and headed to the door.
Erik tagged along beside her. “Why not?”
“Wiggins doesn’t want you in the ops center. He says it’s protocol.”
“We don’t have a protocol for this. It hasn’t happened before.”
Stephanie glanced down. “He’s adapting policy from kidnappings, and he’s adamant. You know how he gets. He made a point of saying it was a direct order.”
Erik threw up his hands. “He just likes to use that phrase because it makes him think he’s in a movie.”
“I’m sorry, Erik.” Stephanie met his gaze, resolve in her blue eyes. “You can’t come.”
“I’m being compartmentalized out?” He struggled to close his mouth.
“Wiggins says it’s standard procedure.”
“It’s bureaucratic hand wringing,” he said and slammed his hand on the door. “This isn’t a kidnapping. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I have to get back,” she said. “Go home and get some rest.”
“Let me talk to Wiggins.”
“It won’t help, Erik,” she said and then looked over her shoulder. “Please. We all need to do our part.”
As much as he hated it, Wiggins was the chief. “All right, Stephanie, I’ll play along. But I don’t like it.”
“I’ll call you as soon as we know more.” She gave him a small smile, and then walked out.
“Now what?” he asked, and his words echoed in the empty room.
* * *
Sanliurfa, Turkey
12 Apr 2015 – 0854 Local
Arielle’s ears popped and she turned from the window to get Naomi’s attention. “Can you feel it? We’re landing.” Before Naomi could reply, Arielle pressed her face back to the glass, squeezed to a corner to get a better view of her first glimpse of the Turkish landscape in daytime. Seconds later, an announcement came through the plane’s cabin, followed by the stewardesses prompting passengers to straighten their chairs and raise their trays. Arielle mentally rehearsed their actions upon landing.
First, she and Naomi would exit the arrival section, an easy task since there would be no security checkpoint. The man Naomi had called before they’d left Ataturk had been clear about that. Next, they’d make a call to confirm they’d arrived in Sanliurfa and who they were to meet and then they’d be on their way to Syria. It was like a story from one of her dad’s cases mixed with a fairy tale, except in this story she was the heroine, about to complete her escape from a world where she was little more than a possession.
The plane touched down with a shudder and taxied to a stop. Arielle ignored the seatbelt sign, unbuckled herself, and grabbed Naomi’s shoulder. “Come on, get your phone.”
“In the airport.” Naomi’s tone matched the sour expression on her face.
Arielle took a deep breath. Neither of them had been able to sleep in Ataturk Airport, and fatigue was likely catching up to her friend. She’d be better once they made it into Syria.
A stewardess opened the front exit, and the other passengers stood and began to fill the aisle. Arielle nudged Naomi out of her seat, almost pushing her friend toward the exit, and when she stepped through the door onto the metal stairs, a wall of hot air greeted her.
Arielle paused and looked around with wide eyes, already sweating beneath her hijab. The brown landscape shimmered with heat waves as it disappeared into the distance. Across the tarmac was the Sanliurfa terminal, a squat rectangular building covered in windows that reflected the bright sun. She shielded her eyes and a smile came to her face. Another obstacle overcome.
Arielle floated down the stairs after Naomi and into the terminal. “Your cousin will be impressed,” she said to Naomi as they neared the exit to the arrivals section. “Maybe it will convince him to come.”
Naomi grunted and fished for the phone she’d purchased in Istanbul. “He’ll never come.” Arielle had met Naomi’s cousin, Reyad, one night after attending study group together. Reyad had converted to Islam several years ago, then introduced both Naomi and her boyfriend, Hamza, to Islam. After Hamza had traveled to Syria the previous year, Naomi had pressured Reyad to travel as well, but he always had a reason to stay in Montreal.
“One day,” he’d said. “Right now, I’m of more service here.”
“To the almighty dollar, perhaps,” Naomi had said, half-joking, but Reyad never laughed.
While Naomi spoke in French on the phone, Arielle studied the other people in the airport. Many travelers wore Western jeans and t-shirts, but unlike Ataturk, there were many others in more traditional Islamic garb, especially the women. Most wore hijabs, with the occasional niqab paired with a black, all-enveloping chador visible as well. Arielle felt on the verge of a new world. Her body trembled with excitement even as her thoughts strayed to what she’d left behind, her dad, her studies, people she’d met at school –
A cloud passed over her face. Some memories were better left in the past. She closed her eyes and repeated the shahada under her breath. La ilaha ill Allah. By the time Naomi got off the phone, Arielle’s pulse had almost returned to normal.
“The plan changed again.” Naomi tucked away her phone. “We’re supposed to meet a woman at the main entrance. She’ll escort us to a driver who will bring us across the border.”
“There’s the main entrance over there,” Arielle said and pointed across the concourse. They began to walk. “Weren’t we supposed to meet a man?”
“There was a problem.”
“So who are we meeting?”
“Her name is Umm Fatima.”
“How will we recognize her?”
“She’s dressed all in black?”
Arielle and Naomi took in the multiple women in black niqabs, then giggled.
