(Wrath-04)-Breathless (2012) Read online

  BREATHLESS

  WRATH & RIGHTEOUSNESS

  [Episode Four]

  CHRIS STEWART

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used factiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locals or persona, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  And after their reign, when iniquities shall be grown up, there shall arise a king of a shameless face, and understanding dark sentences.

  And his power shall be strengthened, but not by his own force: and he shall lay all things waste, and shall prosper, and do more than can be believed. And he shall destroy the mighty, and the people of the saints[.]

  Daniel 8:23–24

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  COMING IN EPISODE FIVE…

  ONE

  The woman rushed to Azadeh, sweeping her up in her arms while turning her head away from the dead man who lay crumpled on the dirt. Bono followed her quickly, his M4 in one hand, the barrel pointing upward, his other hand on the holster that was strapped to his chest. Sam stood over the other Iraqi, who was spread-eagled and very still.

  Bono moved to Sam’s side, breathing heavily. He studied the dead man, and then turned away. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know you didn’t want this to happen. But he was going to kill her. I saw it through my scope. Trust me, Sammy, it was him or her. I made the right call.”

  Sam nodded grimly. “Yeah,” was all he replied. He looked down at the dead man, and then placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he considered what they had done; setting up the fraudulent sale to get Azadeh out of the camp, allowing the flesh peddlers to transport her across the roadblocks and through the hazards that bedeviled their broken nation, manipulating the underground to do things they couldn’t have done by themselves. The end result was the Iraqi had unwittingly saved the girl and then chosen to throw his life away.

  A bad deal for a bad guy.

  Given the chance, Sam would do it again.

  He glanced at the car and the shattered windshield. It was impossible to see through the heavily tinted side window; the bullet had entered it cleanly, leaving a single, small hole. Sam had a good idea what was in there, and he didn’t need to look. He nodded toward the front seat. Bono shook his head. “He had a gun on you the entire time,” he said. “They were going to kill you, get the money and, as a bonus, keep the girl. They set us up. You know it. You could smell it. We’ve seen it before.”

  Sam didn’t argue. He knew it was true.

  He turned to Azadeh, who was standing a few feet from him now. The woman still held her, her arms wrapped high around her shoulders, her hands covering her eyes. It was as if she wanted not only to protect her but to blind her as well, as if it would all go away if Azadeh didn’t see it.

  But Sam could see that the woman was far more shaken than Azadeh. She’s new to this, he thought. Azadeh’s seen this and worse.

  He walked slowly toward them, his hands at his side. The woman kept her arms around the young girl’s shoulders, but Azadeh had turned her head. She watched Sam carefully. Sam, keeping in mind what the military and real-life practice taught him regarding customs of physical contact between non-Muslim men and Muslim women, stopped three feet away. Azadeh pushed away from the woman, turning to face him.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked her, averting his eyes so as not to stare at her, thereby avoiding zina, or adultery of the eyes.

  She shook her head. “A . . . little. Badly.”

  He turned to the woman. She was thick and husky, and wore a hooded heavy jacket. She had dark hair with light streaks of gray, dark eyes and dark skin. She, too, was an Arab. “Tell her,” Sam said. “Tell her who I am.”

  The woman looked surprised. “Tell her? How much? What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell her I remembered her from the village in Iran.”

  Azadeh was listening intently, and she started nodding before the woman could speak. “You American . . . soldier,” she said, pointing at Sam.

  “Yes,” Sam nodded. “American soldier.”

  Azadeh nodded, understanding.

  “Ask her if she is alone now,” he told the woman.

  The older woman spoke in Persian. Azadeh answered in a low voice.

  The older woman looked at Sam. “She said these men took her from Khorramshahr. And yes, she is alone.”

  “Tell her who you are,” Sam instructed.

  The woman spoke quickly. Sam listened, catching as much of the conversation as he could. “My name is Amina,” the older woman began.

  “Azadeh Pahlavi Jan,” Azadeh introduced herself.

  “Yes, of course, I already know that,” Amina replied. She forced a tight smile, though it was clear she was still close to tears. “I’m with an organization called No More. Have you ever heard of that?”

  Azadeh shook her head.

  “We are a private group based in London,” the older woman continued. “We work throughout the Middle East, sometimes in Pakistan, sometimes in India and Malaysia. We work to free women, sometimes boys and girls, who are being bought and sold as slaves. We intercept them; we buy them and set them free. The slave trade is a nasty, nasty business.” Amina paused. “Do you understand?”

  Azadeh pressed her lips, her eyes growing narrow, and her forehead furrowing tightly.

  “Do you realize, Azadeh, what these men were going to do? They brought you here to sell you. To sell you as a slave.”

  Azadeh nodded grimly. “I know that,” she answered. “But I would have died before I would have let them do that to me.”

  Amina was silent a moment. “Azadeh, I don’t think you fully understand what they could have done.”

  Azadeh shook her head. “No, Amina Jan, I do understand. I knew what would happen the first time I saw that man.” She nudged her shoulder toward the Iraqi who lay on the ground. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, though it was clear he was listening carefully. “He claimed he worked for my uncle.” She spit the words in his direction. “What a filthy, simple lie. I have no uncle, no family, no one who knows or cares. I knew what he had in mind. But I determined when I met him that he would not succeed. I would die first. He would die first. One of us was not going to live.”

  Amina held her tight once again. “You are brave,” she said simply. “Brave, but also foolish. H
e would have had his way, my dear.”

  “Maybe. But if that was what was in store for me, then I didn’t want to live.”

  Sam looked away. He had caught enough of the conversation to understand. He passed a hand in front of his face, rubbing his eyes.

  Bono stood behind him, clearing his throat. Sam looked quickly over his shoulder. Bono was standing guard over the Iraqi, a small pistol comfortably in his hand. He nodded anxiously, indicating that he wanted to go. Sam motioned to him, a barely noticeable head movement, and then turned back to Amina. “Tell her my name,” he said.

  “No, you should not do that,” Amina said emphatically. “There is no good that can come if she knows. You endanger her. You endanger yourself. Some things are better left unsaid.”

  Sam shook his head. “Tell her,” he repeated.

  Amina hesitated, and then put her hands on Azadeh’s shoulders. “This is Captain Brighton.” She nodded to the man who stood at Sam’s back. “That man is an American soldier, too. They are friends. Close comrades. Do you understand?”

  Azadeh nodded as she looked at Sam and Bono.

  “Now you need to understand something,” Amina continued in Persian. “What he did here tonight, he did on his own. The U.S. government had nothing to do with any of this. Nothing at all. In fact, Captain Brighton would be in very, very big trouble if they ever found out. This isn’t his purpose. This isn’t his mission, to try to save the local citizens from the effects of this land. But he came to me, Azadeh, a few weeks ago. He asked me to help him. I told him if he could get you out of Khorramshahr, I could take you from here. I helped him when I could, but it is mostly him you should thank.” Amina paused, and then asked, “Do you understand, Azadeh?”

  Azadeh lowered her eyes as if she didn’t dare look at Sam.

  “Now listen, Azadeh,” Amina went on. “I’m going to take you from here. You are safe now. No More has the funds and organization. You are going to leave Iraq. We are going to send you to the United States.”

  “America?” Azadeh repeated in a frightened tone.

  Sam watched her carefully, reading the look on her face. “It’s going to be OK, Azadeh,” he said. “There are people there who are willing to take you into their homes.” Amina interpreted in a low voice and as quickly as she could. “You will be safe. You will have a new life there, a new start.”

  Azadeh thought a long moment. Behind him, Sam heard Bono stomp his feet on the ground. Sam quickly glanced at his watch. “Sammy,” Bono said, “we’ve got to be going. We’ve got to get back to camp.”

  Sam lifted his hand, gesturing to his friend for another minute.

  Azadeh looked at him, her eyes wide. “Will you come with me?” she asked. The tone of her voice betrayed the fact that she knew it was a ridiculous question.

  Sam laughed. “I wish I could,” he said. “Believe me, Azadeh, there are plenty of days when I want nothing more than to get out of here. But I have other obligations. Remember, Azadeh, I am not here on my own. I am a soldier. I have a duty. This is where I belong.”

  “Who will go with me, then?”

  “Amina has arranged it. She will go with you, introduce you to your new home, and help you get situated inside the United States. They will arrange the visas, all the documents.”

  Amina touched Azadeh’s hand and the girl shot a quick look at her, but then turned back to Sam. “But who will I stay with?” she wondered. “What will I do?” She did not look happy. She looked terrified.

  Amina interpreted. Sam shook his head, pushing his dirty hands through his long hair. “I don’t have all the answers, Azadeh, but this much I know. You’ll have a chance to be happy. That’s all that I can offer. But you’ll be free. You will be warm and fed. You will be in a home with someone who loves you and wants you to be there.”

  “No,” Azadeh said. “They will not love me. I am not their kin. I’m not one of their people. I do not come from their tribe. They might show sympathy, even kindness, but they will not love me, I’m sure.”

  Sam listened to Amina interpret, and then took a step toward her. He peered into her dark eyes and saw the loneliness, the fear, the resignation, the sadness of being so completely on her own. Betrayed. Taken. Saved by foreign strangers she didn’t know and couldn’t trust. She was a young woman, but in that moment she looked like nothing more than a lost and frightened child. He wanted to hold her, to pull her to him. He wanted to help her.

  That was why he was here.

  “Azadeh,” he started. “I know this has been hard—”

  Azadeh shook her head abruptly. “No, no. I am grateful.”

  “I know you are, Azadeh. But you still need to know. Your difficult path is over. You have walked through the dark. There are others now who will help you. You will not be alone.”

  Azadeh kept her eyes down, staring at the black dirt under her sandals, not daring to look into his eyes. The vehicle’s headlights shone across the river, sparkling off the lapping waves. The night was quiet and, across the marsh, a loon cried, a long, mournful sound. She lifted her head and looked at the low moon, a dull yellow sliver against the Iraqi sky, then turned to Sam, her eyes scrunching now. “But I will . . . I will leave my people. I will leave my home. If I go to your country, will I ever come back again?”

  Sam hunched his shoulders and thought a long moment, knowing all he could do was tell her the truth. He imagined himself in her situation at such a young age, barely escaping with her life, losing everything along the way, her family, her possessions. Everything she owned had been stuffed in the burlap bag she was clutching under her arm. And now she was losing her country, her people, everything she’d ever known.

  But maybe we are not so different, he then thought. He considered his own father and mother, who had beaten and deserted him by the time he was ten. By age 13, he had fully expected to live his entire life all alone, maybe with short visits from his addicted mother or occasional brawls with his old man.

  His mind flashed back to the evening when he had been taken to the Brighton’s house, the next stop on a long list of temporary homes. He had fully expected that visit to last not more than a few days—maybe a week, if things went unusually well. And even now, he remembered what it felt like to be a terrified little boy, standing in the hallway of a stranger’s home, looking around him, a young animal in a new cage, always expecting to take another blow, another heartbreak, another push back down the road. Yes, he remembered the feeling. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget.

  Looking at Azadeh, he saw himself in her eyes. He remembered, and it hurt him, feeling the loneliness again.

  But somehow, in ways that even now he didn’t understand, life had led him to the family that had been waiting for him. A family who could love him and accept him and help him to succeed.

  Could Azadeh be so lucky?

  He really didn’t know.

  Most weren’t. He knew that he was one of the few.

  But he couldn’t help but think of how he had felt the first time he had seen her. He could picture it so clearly, Azadeh hiding in the brush and dirt, the smell of death and the smoke of destruction all around. Something about her was so familiar, as if their souls had known each other. Somehow. Somewhere.

  She seemed to lean toward him, an almost imperceptible movement, her arms reaching from her body. “Will me . . . I,” she pointed at Sam and then back at herself, “you and I . . . together?” she mumbled desperately.

  Sam cocked his head toward her, and then dropped his eyes. He didn’t believe that their meeting in the Iranian village had been left up to chance. He didn’t believe that, out of all of the places he could have been sent in the world, he had been sent to her tiny village in the mountains of Iran out of pure happenstance. And he didn’t believe, he couldn’t believe, that he’d be able to save her only to send her off on her own and never see her again.

  A long moment passed. Azadeh watched him all the time. Then he finally looked up. “Azadeh,” he started. Amina int
erpreted quickly, whispering in Azadeh’s ear. “Sometime you will understand. Until then, you’re going to have to believe me when I say that I know what you are going through. I have been where you are. And I know, I understand, I remember how hard it is. But you live. You always live. And as long as you live, then you fight. You live and you fight, and it gets better. I can promise you that.”

  Azadeh nodded slowly as Amina interpreted the words.

  “You live and you fight,” she answered. “That’s something I can understand. And I will believe you. I will trust you. I will do what you say.”

  Sam stepped toward her and pulled her close. “Go with Amina,” he whispered into her ear. “She will help you. She is your friend. Trust her. Keep your faith and it will turn out OK.”

  He felt her head move against him, almost resting on his shoulder. Although he had spoken in English, it seemed she had understood.

  Pulling back, she straightened herself. “Will I . . . ,” she stumbled for the words. “Eye . . .” she pointed to her eyes. “What is it . . . ?”

  “See,” Amina helped her.

  She nodded and pointed eagerly. “Yes! See! Will I see . . . .” She closed her eyes and concentrated. “See home twice . . . no, no . . . again?”

  “Will you see your home again?” Sam clarified.

  Azadeh nodded.

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, Azadeh. Maybe . . . but probably not. The world is changing quickly. The days are growing shorter, and there is evil all around. Events have been put in motion that will never come to a rest. Where it leads, we don’t know, sometimes all we can do is hang on. But this much I can tell you: It is not in our hands. So have faith, and be hopeful, and maybe you will come back here again.”

  Sam nodded toward Amina. It was past time to go.

  Bono walked to him. “What do we do with him?” he asked, pointing to the Iraqi on the ground

  Sam considered the question, then moved forward and nudged the man with his boot. “Stand!” he commanded in Persian. The Iraqi pushed himself to his feet.

  Sam glared in his face. “You were going to kill me here tonight, weren’t you, my friend?”