Path of Jen: Bloodborne (12 page)

When the man in brown came out, the two men
talked animatedly. The doctor repeatedly pointed to Jen as he
argued. The man in brown shook his head and gestured at the
compound as a whole. The doctor turned to the man behind him and
gestured at the SUV. The guard walked over to the vehicle and
opened the rear lift gate and reached inside. He returned with a
suitcase and set it on the ground between the men. He stood just
beside it, no longer behind the smaller man, and he placed his hand
on the AK-47 in a firing grip. The other two guards stood up and
moved closer. Each of them also placed a hand on their rifle. The
doctor squatted down and opened the suitcase. He pulled a stack of
multi-colored currency out and closed the suitcase. He stood up and
confidently held the money out to the man in brown.

The man in brown stood transfixed on the
money for a moment. His eyes were opened wide in surprise, and a
smile spread across his face as he reached for it. The doctor
pulled the money back and nodded his head toward Jen with his
eyebrows raised. The man in brown hurriedly agreed and waived for
Jen to come over immediately.

Jen wrinkled her brow in concern and
confusion, but she walked toward the men as ordered. When she was
near to them she dropped her gaze to the ground and waited
nervously. The doctor handed the money to the man in brown and took
Jen by the arm. Jen allowed him to lead her to the vehicle, where
he assisted her into the back seat. He whistled and all three
guards returned to the vehicle. The suitcase was placed in the back
and they all climbed in. Jen was sandwiched between two of the
guards in the back seat while the doctor and the driver sat in the
front. The driver fired up the engine and they drove out of the
compound and headed south and then east.

“
Dear God,”
she prayed silently as she
traveled east and north along the border between Turkey and Syria,
and toward Iraq in an air conditioned vehicle,
“Thank you! I
don’t know where I am going, but I don’t care either. Please, give
my parents comfort and let me go home soon!”

As they traveled through Syria and passed
into Iraq Jen was fed well and treated much better than at the
compound. She was even given privacy to go to the bathroom,
although one of the guards was always close. The doctor asked her
more questions as they travelled. He seemed quite interested in her
overall health and the fact that she had received all of the
standard immunizations that school kids in America get.

Once, when they were alone in the car
together, the young looking doctor asked her, “Jena, have you ever
been with a man?" She fidgeted in her seat, unsure of what
consequences her answer would bring. He rephrased the question. “I
am sorry to be direct, but are you a virgin?" Jen was instantly on
guard, and feared that things were about to turn for the worse.

Timidly, she said, “
I am
still a virgin.
" She cringed and waited for him to reveal
his true intentions.

“Fantastic!” he said, and clapped his hands.
“I promise you Jena, no one will touch you in that way." He leaned
close and said in a conspiratorial whisper. “You are very special
Jena, and only I can afford you this protection. You will remain a
virgin so long as you are in my care.”

“
What?”
She stared at him dumbfounded
and then suddenly wept with relief as the words sunk in. She closed
her eyes against the tears.
“Oh, God, thank you!”
Jen
prayed.

“
Good morning, Mrs.
Ahmadi?
” Tom Davidson asked when he heard someone pick
up.

“Mhm,” she answered in a groggy voice. She
lifted her head and saw “8:01am” on the alarm clock.
“Ugh, two
hours of sleep."

“Mrs. Ahmadi, I have news about Jena!”

Fouzia threw the covers aside and leapt out
of bed. “What? You do? Please, tell me!" She paced next to the bed
and then ran to the closet while holding her cell phone to her ear.
She began stripping out of her sleeping clothes as Tom filled her
in.

“Ma’am, the Congressman was in a very high
level meeting yesterday, and your daughter’s name was on a list."
There was a pause before he added, “It was a ransom list. The good
news is this is a strong indicator that she is still alive."

Fouzia froze. Just hearing him say those
words, “…she is still alive,” was enough to fill her with so much
emotion that she couldn’t move. She held her breath and listened as
he continued. “We believe she is being held somewhere in Syria, or
possibly Iraq. The origin of these lists is always a bit
mysterious, but our intelligence indicates she is most likely being
held by ISIS sympathizers or supporters." There was another pause.
“Mrs. Ahmadi? Are you still there?”

Fouzia realized she was still holding her
breath. “Yes!” she said. “I am here! Are you doing anything to find
her? I mean, now that we know she is alive, what is the next step?"
She bit her thumbnail as she waited for his reply. It was a habit
she let go of as a girl, but lately she found herself doing it
often. Fouzia didn’t bite though the nail, she just nibbled at it
softly when she was concentrating.

“
Well
…uh…officially? Officially, I can’t say. But,
ma’am, if I was allowed to tell you what the country is doing to
get your daughter back…" He sighed on the other end of the phone,
as if weighing a heavy decision. Fouzia held her breath again. “If
I was allowed to say, I’d probably tell you something like, we have
people on the ground in both of those countries working the issue.
Do you understand?”

“I think so,” she said softly.

Tom continued, “The people I’d be telling you
about are some pretty resourceful guys. I’m sorry I can’t tell you
something like that, but if I could, I’d tell you to have hope. If
anyone can find her, it’s those guys."

The phone disconnected and Fouzia stood in
the closet as if in a trance. She still held the phone up to her
ear as she replayed the conversation in her head.
“He said to
have hope,”
she thought.
“Hope!"
She let the hand
holding the phone fall to her side and the motion caught her
attention. She looked down her nearly naked body and remembered she
was going to get dressed. “I have to tell Najid the news,” she
thought. Fuze hurriedly picked out her clothes for the day and
headed for the bathroom.

Fouzia looked into the mirror over the sink
and tried to picture Jena staring back at her. “Be strong Little
Bird!” she said. “Help is on the way!”

Forty-five minutes later, Fouzia was applying
eye liner in the same mirror. She felt butterflies at the thought
of seeing Najid. It was nearly four months since he packed his
things and moved out. Despite all of her patience, reasoning, and
then begging and pleading, he refused to come home. He accused her
of living with a ghost and cursing their family. Fouzia knew he was
just hurting. He was grieving in his own way and she was determined
not to let him force her out. They were still married after all.
Fouzia put her makeup away and took one last look in the mirror.
“See your wife Najid. See that I am worthy of your kindness and
patience,” she thought. She flipped the lights off and went across
town to speak to her husband.

In a small village a few miles south of the
Syrian and Turkish border, a man in brown traditional dress stood
peering into the afternoon sky.
“What is that?”
he wondered.
His dark and deeply sunken eyes stared at a speck soaring high
above the compound.
“Is it a bird or a plane?”
he thought.
“No matter, it is much too far away to be of concern."

His gaze shifted to the vehicles stirring
dust in the distance as they approached. It was a few hours earlier
than he expected this group of soldiers, but they would be welcomed
just the same. He turned and surveyed the compound. The food was
being prepared, the sleeping quarters clean, and the girls were out
of sight. One of the new girls, only fourteen he was told, was well
endowed and would be quite a distraction to the holy Jihadists
coming to his compound for rest and resupply.
“Perhaps there is
a warrior among them who deserves a bride,”
he thought.
“Then I can get rid of her before she becomes a problem in my
compound.”

He turned back to the road and saw four SUV’s
traveling fast. He stood confidently in the center of the road as
they approached. They did not slow as they entered the compound.
“Are they traveling straight through?”
he wondered.
“Why
have they come out of their way if they are not stopping?”

The man in brown ran and pressed himself
against a building to avoid being run over by the first vehicle. He
saw no faces on the men in the vehicles. Their faces were covered
by wrapped scarves and they all wore dark sunglasses.
“How dare
they behave this way in my compound!”
he thought indignantly as
he squinted to see through the dust.

The vehicles, spaced about five meters apart,
stopped suddenly and the doors burst open. He heard shouting as the
men swarmed out like bees attacking in all directions. They carried
short black rifles and rushed in teams of two into each of the
buildings, all the while shouting.
“Infidels."
The man in
brown put his hands above his head and got on his knees.
“Allah
will strike you down,”
he muttered under his breath.

The door nearest the man in brown opened and
two of the masked soldiers came through. One of them shouted
something at him while pointing his black rifle. The man in brown
defiantly spit toward him. The other took two quick steps forward
and raised his boot. The man in brown saw the man start to move and
then the waffle printed sole of a tan leather boot blocked out the
world and everything went black.

“Not so tough now, are ya bud?” said Staff
Sergeant Dustin “Deep South” Parks, to the unconscious haji in
brown lying on the ground at his feet. “Number three clear! One D!”
he shouted across the compound. His teammate, Sergeant Mason
“Preacher” Ricks, moved to the outer corner of the building and
took a knee facing the southwest while Deep South zip-tied his
detainee’s hands behind his back. There was a single pop from the
northeast corner of the compound.

“Number four clear!” shouted Captain Jim
“Skinny” Denny. He and his teammate took up watch positions on the
inner and outer side of the northwest corner.

“Number two is clear, three Vic’s, one D! D’s
Down!" Shouted the team from the northeast corner.

“Number one is clear, three Vics…" There were
two distinct pops from the building on the southeast side. “Make
that three Vics, and one D! D’s down!” shouted Sergeant First Class
Frank “Frankie” Banner.

“All clear!’ shouted Skinny. “Bring all Vic’s
and up D’s to the center! Soup’s on for a reason! Let’s get the
hell out of here!”

Jen stared into a mirror for the first time
in a year. She was actually surprised that she recognized the face
looking back at her.
“I thought I would look so much
different."
The burka she wore for the past year was in a heap
on the floor nearby. She was standing in a tiny bathroom, wearing
only her underwear, and finally feeling safe. The doctor gave her
assurances that no one would be allowed to enter her room without
her permission as long as she behaved herself and did what she was
asked. There were no windows, but Jen actually preferred that after
so much time with no real privacy. There was a single bed just
inside the door, a small closet to the left, and a desk and chair
on the right. The bathroom was straight ahead and had a sink and
mirror, a toilet, and a tub with a shower and curtain. It was
absolute luxury compared to the compound.
“Thank you dear
Jesus,”
Jen prayed for the hundredth time since arriving this
morning. She was in the city of Mosul, in northern Iraq. Aside from
that, she had no idea what this place was, or why she was chosen to
come. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was that she was
alive, and for the first time in a whole year, she was
unafraid.

Jen stripped out of her remaining garments
and stepped into the shower. She turned the knob above the faucet
and pulled the plunger on top. Ice cold water immediately blasted
her and she gasped. “Oh!” she managed to shout. She laughed at her
own antics as she tried to block the icy spray long enough to push
the plunger back in. She pushed it in and the deluge erupted from
the faucet near her feet instead of from the shower head above. Jen
breathed a sigh of relief.
“I forgot how to work a shower,”
she mused as she waited, covered with goosebumps, for the water to
get warm.

After a long shower with warm water Jen
dressed in clean white underwear, a starched white linen dress, and
a matching hijab the doctor had ordered brought to her room. Jen
looked in the mirror when she was dressed and felt beautiful for
the first time since her capture. Her light hazel eyes and black
lashes stood out starkly against the white linen, even without
makeup. Her skin was darker than before, but still fresh and
vibrant as a seventeen year old girl’s should be.

There was a knock on the door and Jen hurried
to answer it. She opened the door to see a smiling woman, not much
older than her waiting on the other side. She wore a gray hijab and
matching dress and carried a basket of bread and fruit. “Salam,”
she said politely and gestured toward the room. Jen smiled in
return and stepped back to allow the woman in.

“Salam,” she said. “Esmee Jena.”

“Maria,” said the woman as she set the basket
on Jen’s desk. “We can speak English if you like,” she said. “The
basket is for you,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” said Jen, her mouth
watering.