Jihadi Bride, page 30
And then she was there.
She walked like she’d aged a hundred years, slumped under a yellow silk hijab draped over her shoulders. Had she been looking in the opposite direction, he might not have recognized her, so different did she hold herself. Her face was gaunt, almost skeletal, and the slight upward tilt at the corners of her lips was gone, replaced by a dour set to her mouth, her thin lips pressed together. He almost dismissed her, and then, as she skirted the barrier that separated travelers from the crowd, she looked up and bit her lip like she had when she was a kid and looked straight at him. Her smoky blue eyes pierced him as she stared through him, past him, and he knew it was her. Arielle.
He approached her and when he could have reached out and touched her, he stopped. He opened his mouth, and all that came out was a hoarse croak. She was so close and yet so far away and then she’d moved past him and he cleared his throat and tried again.
“Arielle.”
She stopped.
People flowed around him like white flecks of plastic in a snow globe, unable to break his concentration. She looked back, and their eyes met. Then a man was beside her, burly, with sunken, dark eyes. He pulled a suitcase with one hand and with his free hand, he took Arielle under the arm and dragged her toward the exit.
“Arielle?” Erik’s heart leapt into his throat. “Arielle!”
She glanced over her shoulder, stumbled as she was tugged along. Her eyes were wide and deeply bloodshot.
“Arielle, wait!” he said and sprung after her.
The people closest to Arielle turned their heads, including the man who held her arm. He glanced at Erik, did a double take, then bent to whisper in Arielle’s ear. The pair stopped and faced him. This close, her face seemed swollen, as if she’d been crying, but she was calm, the set of her mouth firm.
“I can’t believe it’s you.” He raised his arms to embrace her, but the burly man stepped between and held up a hand.
“Please leave my wife alone,” the man said in a deep growl.
Erik hesitated and frowned. “This is my daughter. Arielle.” He turned to her. “Sweetie, it’s me. Dad.”
“You must be mistaken.” The man’s hand pressed into Erik’s chest and pushed him back. “My wife’s name is Hafsa.”
“No, that’s not right.” Erik shook his head. “Arielle, talk to me.”
“Tell him who you are,” the man said to the woman, his tone full of anger.
The woman shied from the man, her eyes downcast.
He shook her. “Answer him.”
“Hafsa,” she said in a quiet voice. “My name is Hafsa.”
The man glanced at Erik and held his chin high. “You see? You are mistaken.”
Erik shook his head. “No, Arielle, I know it’s you.”
The woman glanced up and met Erik’s gaze and drew back from him. “My name is Hafsa,” she said, louder, and she clutched her arms close to her chest. “Please. Leave us alone.”
A sneer came over the man’s face. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” He tightened his grip on her elbow and pulled her away. “There is nothing for you here. Let us go in peace.”
Erik held out his hands and then dropped them to his side. Al Kanadi’s words echoed in his mind. “Your daughter is beyond you. She serves Allah.”
Arielle and her escort were halfway to the exit now, headed straight for the abaya-clad man. The athletic bald man was also still there, and as Arielle neared, the bald-man man stepped aside and gazed out over the airport concourse and as he did, Erik realized he recognized him. But from where? He sought out Jordan, saw him farther down the concourse. Too far to help.
“Wait,” Erik called out. He walked past the man in the abaya, who’d moved off to greet a woman and two children, and then stopped. A young man stood near the exit, hands folded over the strap of a messenger bag strung from his shoulder. The man’s thin, blond beard looked like it had been glued on and he wore a hockey jersey emblazoned with the logo of a torch with flame coming from the top, three interlocking rings beneath the torch.
Nathan Martel.
Erik turned. He found Jordan, pointed at Martel, then looked for a security guard or policeman, but there was none in sight. Arielle was almost at the exit now, and somehow he knew that if they went through those doors, he would lose her for good.
“Stop!” he said and pointed at Arielle and her escort. “Police!”
People around him froze, stumbled back from him as if they’d discovered he was contagious. He ignored them, shouldered his way through the crowd. “Out of the way!”
“Hey, buddy,” a man said from behind him.
“Not now.” A few feet more to go. He saw that Jordan was almost there and headed for the door and then Erik saw Martel’s hand disappear into his messenger bag. Erik readied himself for a tackle and pulled up short as a hand tugged at his shoulder. He twisted. “I said –”
A fist slammed into his gut. He doubled over and gasped for breath, flailed and was hit again and then pulled into a bear hug. Before his face was crushed against a muscular chest, he caught a glimpse of the athletic bald man, the man from Sahraoui’s study group.
“Forget you ever saw her,” the man hissed and then threw him to the ground. “It’s okay folks, this gentleman isn’t feeling well.”
Erik fell to his hands and knees. He gasped for breath and struggled to look up and saw that the man who’d escorted Arielle off the plane was once again leading her off, the bald man at his side. Martel stood aside to let them pass, and in the gap, Erik saw that Jordan blocked the exit.
* * *
Montreal, Quebec
04 June 15 – 1502 Local
Arielle winced as Mamdouh’s grip tightened, a reminder she was still trapped, still Hafsa. Still weak. She hadn’t even been strong enough to use her real name. She didn’t deserve her father’s love. And where had he come from? All she’d been able to think of was making sure her father didn’t get hurt, or infected, and now he lay on the sand-colored tile of the airport floor. Several people knelt beside him, a woman in black yoga pants and an older man with a pony-tail who’d offered a hand.
She rubbed her temple. The pinpoint of pain that had grown in her head during the plane ride from Paris made everything hazy, and she felt like she was two seconds behind as things happened. She looked for her father, but the young man with the messenger bag, the one called Nathan, blocked her view. Mamdouh’s hold on her arm grew stronger, and she found herself dragged along.
The bald man appeared at Mamdouh’s side, and she realized she knew him, remembered his bald head and designer beard as if she’d met him an hour ago. His name was Sayyid, and he’d attended Dr. Sahraoui’s study group a few times, always with Reyad.
Mamdouh’s scowl deepened. “That was unnecessary.”
“He was about to create a major scene,” Sayyid said.
“No kidding. Didn’t you hear him yell for the police?” Nathan said as he joined them.
“Hold up.” A commanding voice came from behind. “What did you do to this guy?”
She struggled to glance over her shoulder. Her father was almost on his feet, supported by the woman in black yoga pants and the man with the pony-tail had left his side to come after Sayyid. The man was older, and stocky, like a football player twenty years past his prime.
“Where is the car?” Mamdouh asked.
“Short-term parking,” Sayyid said. “Across the street and up one level.”
“Idiot,” Mamdouh snarled. “Why not right here?”
“The flight was delayed.” Frustration radiated from Sayyid. “You can’t park on the street all day.”
The man with the ponytail reached their group, tapped Sayyid on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Sayyid glared at the man. “Keep your hands off me.”
“Stop talking,” Mamdouh said. He snapped off some quick words to Sayyid in Arabic, then tugged on Arielle’s arm and put her hand in Nathan’s. “Take her to the car.”
She twisted for a last glance over her shoulder and found herself staring into her father’s eyes. She opened her mouth, then lurched to the side, yanked by Nathan.
He leaned close. “Do not say a fucking word. We’re going,” he said and dragged her toward the exit.
“Sorry, can’t let you do that,” a new voice said.
Nathan stopped to look at a tall, broad-shouldered man with reddish-blond hair who’d blocked the exit. “How about you get out of the fucking way?” he said, a forced smile on his face.
Arielle squinted at the man, and he smiled at her, although he did not look relaxed. Worry lines stood out on his face, and his lips were tight.
“Arielle, it’s me, Jordan,” he said. “I work with your dad.”
She stiffened and Nathan dragged her to the side to bypass the man and then Jordan blocked the exit once again.
“Just relax, all right, Nathan?” Jordan said and raised his hands.
“Stop harassing me,” Nathan snarled. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Your acquaintance assaulted my friend, and he’s going to have to hang around to talk to security,” Jordan said. “Plus, my friend’s going to want to talk with his daughter.” Jordan’s gaze flickered to Arielle, and he tried to smile. “Welcome home, by the way.”
“You’ve made a mistake,” Nathan said, and he let go of Arielle and slipped his hand into his messenger bag. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I think we both know that’s not true, Nathan,” Jordan said. “The police will be here any minute.”
Sweat trickled down Arielle’s back and she stumbled as she walked as if she was back on the boat that had carried her to Libya. A man yelled from behind her, and she turned to see that the man with the ponytail had poked Mamdouh in the chest. Sayyid grabbed the pony-tail man’s finger and wrenched it, and the man sank to his knees and screamed. Mamdouh left them and then he was beside Nathan, and she reeled.
“Wait,” she said, the words so quiet that nobody heard. She staggered, looked up and saw Jordan’s mouth move as he spoke to Nathan. “Wait,” she repeated, and Nathan yanked on her arm, and she stumbled, almost tripped. The concourse wobbled in her vision, and her hijab stuck to her sweat-drenched face, and it was so hard to think. She needed to get away, to get help and she knew then that she must not be taken from the airport or she wouldn’t have the strength to resist. Nathan tugged her again and this time she collapsed to her knees on the floor.
“Get up.” Nathan yanked on her arm.
Pain shot through her shoulder and for a moment, as Nathan’s voice pierced her delirium, she saw what she had to do. His hand moved to her shoulder, and his fingers dug into her flesh as he prepared to drag her to her feet.
“Get up you fucking bitch!”
“That’s enough.” Jordan grabbed Nathan by the shoulder, then was shoved by Mamdouh. Nathan bent over, his grip on Arielle tightening even more.
She smashed her elbow into Nathan’s groin, and he collapsed in a heap beside her. She began to crawl away from the struggling men, deeper into the airport. She stumbled to her feet, her one thought to put space between her and the men and then she fell again, knocked onto her face. Stars spun in her vision and nausea gripped her, and she felt herself being flipped over and Mamdouh’s angry face appeared in front of her.
Rage seared through her. She’d been so close. She pulled against him and his face contorted in a snarl and he raised his fist to strike her and then a hand grabbed his wrist.
“Keep your hands off her,” her dad said, Mamdouh’s wrist clenched in his hand.
“Stop! Police!” a man said. “Everybody down on the ground.”
Arielle glanced at the airport’s exits, where two police officers in blue now stood. Her father and Mamdouh looked as well, their bodies trembling as they strained against each other.
“Everybody get –”
A loud bang rang out in the concourse. One of the police officers rocked back, and blood sprayed from the side of his head. The other officer crouched, and his hand went for the gun at his side, and then something struck him in the shoulder, in the neck. He dropped his pistol and fell backward into the door. A red smear of blood stained the glass as he collapsed to the floor and his legs kicked once and his pistol went skittering across the tiles.
“Gun!”
Arielle glanced at Jordan, halfway off the ground, an intense gaze on his face. She followed his line of sight to where Nathan knelt beside the exit, a pistol in his hand that he aimed at the fallen officers. In slow motion, the pistol swung toward Jordan.
“Arielle!” a man called.
She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t stop looking. Jordan had almost reached Nathan, but the pistol had come closer, and she raised a hand. “Watch out.”
“Arielle!” a man said. “Give me your hand.”
She turned and met her dad’s gaze. He held out a hand, and she reached for him and then drew back. Would she infect him? Her father stretched forward and their fingers almost touched, and then Mamdouh’s head slammed into her dad’s face.
Arielle twisted onto her stomach, began to crawl. More shots rang out, thunderbolts of agony inside her head, and she focused on putting one hand in front of the other. Tears ran down her cheeks, and a hand closed on her ankle, and she screamed, howled her frustration and flipped onto her side and tried to claw Mamdouh’s face. He batted her hands away and jammed his knee into her chest, and her chest heaved with her failure as she struggled for breath even as Mamdouh’s hand closed around her throat.
“We’ve got to go.” Sayyid appeared beside Mamdouh.
Mamdouh snarled and slapped Sayyid with the back of his hand.
Nathan ran up and crouched beside Mamdouh. “No time for that.” He pulled a magazine out of his messenger bag and reloaded his pistol.
Mamdouh released Arielle, clenched his hands into claws in front of his face as if he would strangle Nathan. “Why do you have guns?”
“In case something like this happened.” Nathan raised the pistol and fired two more shots, sent concrete from a pillar near the exit.
Arielle twisted under Mamdouh’s knee and saw a body on the floor of the airport. The man was curled on the floor, hands clutched to his chest over a red stain growing under his fingers, his face scrunched in pain. Jordan.
Mamdouh stood, glared at where Nathan had fired. “I want him dead.”
“He grabbed one of the cop’s pistols,” Nathan said.
“This is stupid. We have to go,” Sayyid said, his words fuzzy. He held a hand out to Nathan. “You got another gun?”
“Of course.” Nathan dug into the messenger bag and pulled out two more pistols, gave one each to Sayyid and Mamdouh. “What now?”
“Parking lot,” Sayyid said. “We can make the car.”
“No,” Mamdouh said. His face was eerily composed, no trace of his anger from moments before. It made Arielle shiver. “We find a place in the airport where we can be secure for a couple of hours.”
“Are you kidding?” Nathan asked. “We have to get out of here.”
“The plan has changed,” Mamdouh said. “That way.” He pointed at the international arrivals area.
“Can’t get through there from this side,” Sayyid said.
“Then we’ll go there,” Mamdouh said and pointed at the domestic baggage claim. “Bring her.” He pointed at Arielle with the pistol, waited for Sayyid to drag her to her feet, then strode off, following the signs toward domestic arrivals.
Arielle stumbled, fell again and hit her head and then felt herself lifted and slung over Sayyid’s shoulder like a sandbag. She willed herself to stay conscious, but the darkness was too inviting.
* * *
Montreal, Quebec
04 June 15 – 1518 Local
Erik crouched behind the circular pillar and clutched the pistol tight to his chest. The gun had fallen where he’d dove for cover when Martel had started shooting, and he’d been able to snatch it up. But Arielle had been too close to Martel and the others to risk a shot. So he’d hid, and now he needed to risk a look, although the last time he’d peeked around the pillar, the bald man had nearly taken his head off.
He cursed under his breath. Jordan had taken a round to the chest and needed help. And he’d almost had Arielle, had felt her fingertips against his own and then she’d pulled away. His hands shook.
The sound of another gunshot came from farther into the airport. Time to get going. He led with the pistol and inched around the pillar. No sign of the group, or Arielle.
He scanned the concourse and then scrambled to Jordan’s side. Jordan lay on his back, and his head was up, his gaze fixed on the widening stain of blood on his chest. Erik put his hand on Jordan’s stomach. “How’re you doing?”
Jordan coughed, and blood flecked his lips. “I’ve been better.”
“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Erik said and pulled out his phone.
“Don’t be.” Jordan’s breath hissed between his lips. “It was my choice.”
