Killing Sarai

  The girl will be devastated. If she finds out about this, it will make her unstable.

  But I can use this also to my advantage.

  With the recorded video now playing on the screen, I twist the iPad around on the table to face the girl’s direction. She glances down at it for only seconds, the gun shaking in her grasp, and then back at me again, fearful that I might make a move. But when she sees her friend, Lydia, she turns her attention solely on the video, abandoning her upper-hand. I don’t take advantage of it. I slide my hands into my pants pockets and stand here watching the girl’s eyes widen with trepidation as the video plays.

  Javier circles Lydia who sits bound to a chair, a red bandanna is stuffed in her mouth. Tears and sweat soak her face. Her left eye is swollen and bruised. A trickle of blood beads from one nostril.

  “For you, Sarai,” Javier says into the camera as Izel stands next to Lydia, her hair wrenched in Izel’s fist. “I want you back here in thirty-six hours.” The girl clasps her free hand over her trembling lips; the gun hasn’t been pointed directly at me for the past several long seconds. “Or she’ll die and it’ll be your fault.”

  Izel pulls back her fist and buries it in Lydia’s already bruised and beaten face. Lydia’s bound body lurches backward and more tears spring from her eyes. Blood erupts from her bottom lip.

  The girl drops the gun on the floor and reaches for the iPad, shoving it clean off the table and then she falls to the floor onto her knees, sobbing into her hands.

  I sit down on the end of the bed, leaving the gun on the floor and the girl alone in her moment of despair.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sarai

  I can’t see straight. Through the burning tears, through the blur in front of my eyes, through the anger and hatred and hurt shorting out my nervous system. My body has somehow found its way onto the floor. I lay with my face pressed against the carpet.

  Not Lydia…anyone but her. She’s innocent and frail. She’ll never be able to endure it. Not like me….

  It takes me far too long to come to the realization that I’m no longer the one holding the gun, that I’m no longer the one in control. One moment of weakness, traumatized by the suffering of my friend, has stripped that privilege from me. And I deserve it. I deserve whatever punishment fate deems fit to serve because I got away and Lydia didn’t. I should have used the phone not five feet from me on the nightstand between the beds, to call the police. I should have called them before I forced him awake, but I was too insistent on knowing what information Victor knew that I didn’t. I had still hoped that maybe he would help me, at least by telling me the location of the compound so I’d have something to tell the authorities.

  I should have shot him when I had the chance.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Victor’s black dress socks planted unmoving on the floor. Tilting my head back just a little, my eyes trail from the bottom of his pants up to his waist. His forearms are resting along the length of the tops of his legs, the palms of his hands gently cupping his knees. He sits with his back fairly straight, his gaze fixated out ahead.

  Finally, his head moves as he averts his eyes to me.

  “I am sorry,” he says with absolutely no emotion in his words, yet somehow I detect the faintest hint of emotion hidden behind his eyes.

  “You have to take me back,” I say, rising into a stand. “You can’t let her die.” My voice trembles.

  Victor takes a seat at the table again and begins to sift through his duffle bag. I don’t care to know what he’s doing or what he plans to do from here on out. Mostly what I think about is Lydia and what I saw on that video; that image will be seared into my mind forever. A part of me wants to blame Victor for all of this, simply because he is what he is and that he could’ve become human just long enough to help me get her out of there. But I’m back to blaming myself because, in truth, I never once asked Victor to help me free her. He refused to help me even so I knew he wouldn’t go back there for her.

  It’s all my fault. I could have done things differently, planned my escape differently. I could have forced Lydia out that window with me that night.

  Seems there are a lot of things I could have and should have done. I never imagined I’d be the dumb girl in the horror movie running into the scary house or tripping over my own feet as I stumbled through the dark woods. I guess by default we’re all the ones shaking our heads at the stupidity of others until we’re forced into traumatic experiences ourselves.

  The early morning sunlight slowly begins to flood the room. The only movement I made all night was to turn onto my other side on the floor to keep Victor in my sights. I’m not afraid of him. Not anymore. But I couldn’t help but know where he was, nonetheless.

  My back hurts and my face itches from the imprint the scruffy carpet left on my skin.

  Victor sits in the chair next to the table now with his shoes on as if he’s been quietly waiting for the day to come.

  I lift my aching body from the floor and push myself into a stand.

  “I don’t care anymore what you do with me,” I say. “Just please take me back to Javier. I don’t have much time.”

  Victor’s face reveals curiosity. “You’ll not be going back to the compound.”

  I blink back the stun of his words. “What? No…,” I shake my head in protest. “No, you have to take me back! You saw the video! They will kill her!”

  He stands from the chair and straightens the sleeves of his white dress shirt now tucked neatly into his pants and buttoned back around his strong wrists.

  “The plan has changed,” he says calmly.

  I practically throw myself toward him, stopping just inches from his body, my eyes wide and feral and unbelieving. “No, Victor!” He flinches. “I have to go back! Don’t you understand?! We—I have to help her! I want Izel dead! I want Javier dead for what he’s done!”

  “He will be,” Victor says.

  He turns to the side and zips the duffle bag closed.

  I push myself the last few inches through the space between us and then shove him with both hands. “I’m going back with or without you!” He catches me by the wrists, securing them firmly within his grasp. “Please….” The word comes out with every ounce of desperation in me.

  He scans my face, so close I can feel the warm breath emitting from his nostrils. “Just be patient,” he says, stunning me into stillness.

  He lets go of my wrists when he senses me beginning to step backward and away from him.

  “Patient?” I can’t believe what he’s saying to me. “There’s no time to be patient! How can you say that?”

  He bends over and fixes his hands underneath the mattress of the bed nearest the window and lifts it onto its side revealing a hollow space underneath surrounded by the wood frame that holds the bed up. He grabs the duffle bags, hiding them inside and then the suitcase, setting the mattress back down afterwards.

  “I’m awaiting word,” he says.

  “Word from who?”

  He sighs, annoyed with my questions. “From Javier.”

  “Why?”

  I don’t know what to say, or what to believe, all I do know is that my mind is spinning with everything going on and I can’t keep up.

  Victor walks to the door and looks back at me.

  “Come on,” he says, nodding with the backward tilt of his head for me to follow.

  “What, you’re not going to tie my hands together, or drag me down the hallway by my wrist? What if I run away?”

  “You won’t.”

  “You don’t think so?” I counter.

  He shakes his head once. “No, you won’t because I’m the only one of us who knows the way back to Javier.”

  I just stand here.

  Victor places his hand on the silver lever and opens the door. “Are you coming, or are you staying here?”

  I stare across the room at him blankly.

  Maybe he’s going to help me after all. Maybe after seeing what Izel and Ja
vier are doing to Lydia, Victor has remembered how it feels to be remorseful, if he’s ever known what that feels like at all.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, knowing that it can’t be far if he’s leaving his bags here.

  “To breakfast.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Victor

  More than two hours have passed and there has been no word. Nothing from Niklas or Vonnegut. Nothing from Javier or Guzmán. The girl is beyond the point of restless. I bought her breakfast in the hotel, but she hardly ate a bite, just picked at her omelet with her fork. It may be a result of her concern for her friend, but I find her sudden inability to ask continuous questions or try to converse with me, refreshing.

  I do wonder why she has yet to try contacting family members. I find it difficult to believe that, despite the grave situation with her dear friend, she would not also show interest in calling a sister, grandmother or an aunt. That she did not use the one opportunity she had last night while I was sleeping.

  This leaves me with two theories: she cares more about the life of her friend, or she has no family left. Perhaps it’s both. I’m fairly certain that it is.

  I feel my cell phone vibrating against my leg and I stand up from the table in the lobby and reach inside to retrieve it.

  The girl is instantly attentive to me.

  My brother’s code name reads on the screen.

  “Who is it?” the girl asks, standing up with me.

  I run my finger over the answer bar, but hold the phone, face-down against my chest. Gesturing for the girl to sit back down, I say, “I want you to stay here. I’m going right outside to take this call. I trust that you’ll be here when I get back.” I know she’s not going anywhere.

  Clearly wanting nothing more than to follow me out and hang on my every word, she takes a deep, heavy breath, crosses her arms and takes her seat again.

  “OK.” She grits her teeth behind her softly pressed lips.

  I walk out the front doors and put the phone to my ear.

  “I am going to put Javier on this call,” Niklas says. “Are you prepared?”

  “Yes,” I answer and wait while Niklas makes the transfer.

  Javier’s voice seethes with barely controlled anger when he is patched through:

  “You’ll die for what you’ve done,” he says in English. “Sarai should’ve been brought back to me the second you found her!”

  “What’s done is done,” I say. “Get to the reason for your contact.”

  I hear him breathe heavily on the three-way call. Niklas sits listening quietly.

  Finally, Javier contains himself.

  “I still want the hit on Guzmán carried out for the price we agreed on, but I will give you another one million American to also kill Sarai.”

  Kill her? I did not expect my communication with Javier would cause me surprise. This is very interesting, indeed.

  “Why would you want her dead?” I ask.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he says. “The reasons never matter in this business. You should know that.”

  I do know that, and this is the first time I’ve ever asked why a client wanted a mark killed.

  “I have a better offer for you,” I announce. “You bring the girl’s friend, Lydia and one other girl at your compound—a photo will be sent to you immediately following this call—to Green Valley, Arizona in twenty-four hours. I trade you this girl for those two and then afterwards I will kill Guzmán and then give you the girls back once I have been paid in full.”

  I don’t have to hear Niklas comment to know that he is in complete disagreement with this, but he remains quiet.

  “You mean Guzmán’s daughter,” Javier probes, knowing. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” I say. “If it isn’t already obvious, Guzmán paid to have her returned to him.”

  Javier laughs. “And all this time I thought he was trying to have me killed!” He pulls himself from his humorous revelation. “You are good,” he says. “I give you that. Knock out two contracts at once. Show Guzmán his daughter, take the money for bringing her to him then turn around and kill him and take the money I paid to have him killed.” He laughs again.

  I remain calm and unemotional.

  “Is it a deal, or not?”

  “So then you’re passing on the contract to kill Sarai?” he asks.

  “Right now,” I begin, “she is my only leverage. Once I do what you paid me to do and I give her back to you, do what you want with her. It is not of my concern.”

  Niklas ends the call after we have come to another agreement. He calls me back once he knows that Javier’s line has been disconnected.

  “Victor, you cannot do this,” Niklas argues. “You are making deals without—”

  “What are Vonnegut’s new orders?” I ask.

  I glance through the window to see the girl still sitting anxiously in the hotel lobby.

  “He has not given them yet,” Niklas says. “You are not permitted to agree to such deals, only to enforce them.”

  “Then tell Vonnegut I was only attempting to maintain the upper-hand,” I explain. “The moment that Javier realizes that I have no authority to offer and agree to such terms is the moment he believes he can get away with demanding more. I mean no disrespect, but Vonnegut must trust me on this. He has always trusted my decisions before. He has been given no reason to stop now.”

  Niklas remains quiet. I believe he holds this fact against me, that the Order trusts me, yet they have never given him the same luxury.

  “Very well,” Niklas agrees. “I will tell Vonnegut. But Victor, you’re becoming ungoverned.” He pauses as if to decide whether or not he should go on. “Since the mission in Budapest last year. I have noticed the difference in you. The Order I believe has not, but it is only a matter of time.”

  “Niklas,” I say to him carefully as my brother and not my liaison, “I thank you for your discretion. Now, will you do something for me?”

  “When have I ever refused?”

  I leave Niklas, tucking the phone back in my pocket and I head inside to find the girl.

  She had been pacing the floor and when she notices me, she stops and her arms come uncrossed and fall to her sides, a look of question heavy on her face.

  “Come with me,” I say, taking her by the elbow.

  “Where are we going?” She follows alongside me without question or argument.

  “To Green Valley.”

  “But why, Victor? What’s going on?”

  I glance over at her momentarily and tug on her arm as we round the corner at the top of the stairs.

  “I will tell you soon,” I say, “but first, there are some things that you need to tell me.”

  We make our way down the hallway and stand in front of the door at our room as I fish around inside my pocket for the card key.

  The girl looks bewildered.

  “You need to tell me why Javier Ruiz would want you dead.”

  Her expression falls under a veil of shock.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sarai

  Victor walks quickly, but casually over to get the mattress and box springs lifted. With one arm holding them up, he reaches in and grabs each bag, one by one and sets them aside.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, crossing my arms and rubbing them with the opposite hands, up and down as if there’s a chill in the air. “Did he say he was going to kill me?”

  Victor unzips the duffle bag on the tabletop and sifts through the contents.

  “No, he offered me one million to kill you for him.”

  I blink back the stun and just stand here in disbelief, more goose bumps breaking out all over my body.

  Victor comes up in front of me and places both hands on my shoulders. He pushes me gently down on the edge of the bed where I sit willingly. Then he takes a seat in one of the chairs underneath the table, turning it around fully so that he can face me.

  “Why would Javier want you dead enough to pay that much to have you killed?
”

  Absently, I raise my eyes to look up at him, still a bit lost in my thoughts.

  “I-I don’t know,” I stutter.

  “Yes you do,” he insists. “Perhaps not directly, but something tells me that deep down a part of you has some idea—think.”

  I look away from his eyes, trying to recall my time at the compound, searching for what could be the answer. When many long seconds pass and I’ve found nothing, Victor lifts his bottom from the chair long enough to scoot it closer to me. That gets my attention again.

  “I need you to tell me everything,” Victor says with gentle intent. “Tell me about your relationship with Javier. You said he believes he is in love with you.”

  I nod in a slow, rapid motion. “Yes. He told me once that he was in love with me, but I know better. He’s crazy. Possessive. But he protected me from the things the other girls had to go through.”

  I don’t like to think about these things, much less talk openly about them. I am ashamed and I hate myself for what they endured.

  “He protected you?” Victor asks, needing more information.

  “Yes. I was off-limits to Javier’s men. And Izel, well, Javier nearly killed her when she hit me in the face once. After that, she wasn’t allowed to touch me. And I was allowed luxuries the other girls weren’t, too. Hot showers and good food and I got to see places outside of the compound. I even flew on a small plane with him several times. Javier would rarely let me out of his sight. Izel hated me for it, accused Javier of ‘going soft’, falling for a ‘stupid American girl’.”

  A spark of intrigue passes over Victor’s features.

  “What kind of places were you taken?”

  I shrug softly and let my hands fall in-between my thighs, my fingers curling nervously around one another.

  “Sometimes,” I begin, “he’d take me with him to other rich men’s houses, with sparkling blue pools shaped like horseshoes and other strange things. Javier said it was just to mingle but I knew we were there for drug deals. And girls. Sometimes we came back with a new one. He would dress up in a nice suit and shiny black shoes just like yours.” I glance down at Victor’s shoes briefly. “He didn’t look like the scumbag you saw the other day, living in filth. He is rich, despite what you saw.”