THE STAMP ON THE
side of the sledgehammer read 4.5 k: four and a half kilograms. Ten pounds. That didn’t sound like much to Amelia, but the tool felt three times that weight. She checked the alley several times, fearful the man with the machine gun and no regard for life might have been able to trail them here. She saw nothing but more smoke in the sky. She saw something even more frightening: Jildiz leaning against the Dumpster, her chin resting on her chest. Amelia moved to her side.
“Jildiz. You still with me? Come on, girl. Stay with me.”
“I’m . . . here. Just trying to breathe.” Her voice was weak. She pointed up. “Smoke.”
The smoke was acrid, a blend of burning buildings, cars, oil, and tires. It burned Amelia’s eyes. An idea popped into her brain. “Sit still.”
“As if I could . . . do anything . . . else.”
Amelia sprinted back to the hardware store, chastising herself for not thinking of this sooner. Once again, she moved through the empty aisles and found the box she was looking for: a safety mask, the kind used by painters to keep fumes out of their lungs. She sprinted from the hardware store and back to Jildiz. She ripped open the box and removed the mask, helping Jildiz don the contraption.
Jildiz looked up. Amelia could tell she was smiling by the wrinkles around her eyes. “How do I look? Is it me?”
The words came with great effort. The mask would keep airborne particulates out but didn’t provide oxygen or the medication Jildiz needed. Those things were inside the pharmacy.
“It’s you, girl. Brings out the color in your eyes.”
Jildiz nodded slowly. Amelia couldn’t waste another moment. She rose, picked up the sledgehammer, and stepped to the backdoor of the pharmacy. She took one more minute to study the exit. It was a standard-sized wood door with a typical doorknob and a dead bolt.
Look for the weakest link. Wood.
The door was wood, not a metal safety door. The jambs were wood also.
The wood would give before the locks.
She hefted the sledgehammer, making sure to hold it near the end of the handle to increase the force of the blow; set her eyes on the dead bolt; and swung for all her might. It made a much louder noise than she expected. She took no time to worry about that. The whole city was making noise, what was one more bang? Of course, a gun-wielding hood was searching for them—maybe several—and any noise they made might prove counterproductive.
What choice did she have?
She swung again, then again, until she pounded the lock through the splintering wood door. Then she took aim at the doorknob. It gave in after just one swing. Pushing the door open, Amelia entered the pharmacy verifying it was as empty as she thought. It was.
A minute later she had Jildiz on her feet and moving inside the shop. She had to support her as she shuffled her feet. Even through the mask she could hear Jildiz wheezing.
Inside, behind the pharmacist counter, she saw a chair and lowered Jildiz into it. The woman sat and swayed as if she were about to face-plant onto the polished nicotine-yellow linoleum-covered floor. Amelia placed a steadying hand on her, then started a search for a rescue inhaler. She found a white box with the phrase “bronchodilator” printed in English on the label. She recognized the name of the pharmaceutical company. It was American. Another label in Kyrgyz had been pasted over the instructions.
“Bronchodilator . . . broncho . . . Bronchial? Dilator.” Amelia thought for another second, then continued to mumble. “Dilates the bronchial tubes? Sounds right.” She ripped open the box and removed an L-shaped device. It looked like something she saw as a kid in elementary school.
Amy Littleton had asthma. This looks like what she used to carry.
The box contained a small, metal container. Amelia spun and fast-stepped to Jildiz.
“I think I have something.” She helped Jildiz remove the mask, then showed her the inhaler.
“Yes.” Jildiz took the device and the metal vial in shaky hands. Amelia helped her insert the medicine into the inhaler. Jildiz stuck the business end of the inhaler in her mouth and activated it, inhaling deeply. She did it again, then waited. Her breathing eased some but she was still in distress.
“Is there something else I can get?”
Jildiz responded with an upraised hand and shook her head. A moment later she extended one finger, indicating she needed a moment. She took the medicine twice more for a total of four.
“Can you take too much? Is it dangerous?”
“W-wait.” Jildiz closed her eyes and drew in a lung full of air, letting it out slowly. It came and went easily. Her ashen skin turned pink.
Amelia plopped down on the floor, sitting with her knees up, and concentrated on her own breathing. “This is more fun than two women should be allowed.”
“I know I’m enjoying myself.” Jildiz’s words were stronger. “Did you find more of these?”
“Yes. Several boxes and some other stuff I didn’t understand. I think they have a shelf full of stuff for breathing problems.”
“Oxygen tank?”
Amelia lifted her head. “Of course. I should have thought of that. I’ll go look.” It took only a moment for her to find a portable oxygen tank that fit in what reminded Amelia of a large purse. She carried it to Jildiz, opened the case, and removed a long, clear tube attached to adult-size nasal cannulas. Within moments, she helped Jildiz don the breathing apparatus, inserting the short nasal tubes. She cranked the oxygen valve and the sound of flowing air rose like soft music.
Jildiz closed her eyes and let the precious gas do its work. As the minutes passed, Amelia watched the color return to the woman’s face. When she was certain Jildiz was strong enough to leave unattended, she went to the back door and closed it the best she could. She had pounded the dead bolt through the door. It would take a craftsman to fix the door so it would seat properly. She then found delivery boxes waiting to be unpacked. She piled them against the door to hold it in place. The boxes were not heavy and any one persistent enough could get in but not without being heard.
She searched the back of the store and found a ceramic tea set. She set the pot and cups on the boxes. If someone forced their way in, the teacups would fall to the floor with a crash. Not the best alarm, but it would have to do. She stepped to a phone behind the counter and picked up the receiver. Dead.
When she returned, she found Jildiz sitting upright and breathing easy, but still with a wheeze. “Still no phone.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. No bars. She didn’t like the implications. She moved back to Jildiz and sat on the floor next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better. I’ll be okay. I’ve had worse episodes.”
“Really?”
Jildiz made eye contact. “Maybe not. I had a few scary events when I was a child. I was hospitalized twice, but not for long.” She looked away. “I carry a rescue inhaler—the one I left in the car—but haven’t needed it for a long time. I hoped I was over it all. I guess the smoke and stress set it off.”
“Stress? What stress?” Amelia tried to look puzzled.
“I’m allergic to guns, especially those aimed at me.”
“Oh, that little thing.”
Jildiz fell silent for a moment. “I haven’t said thank you.”
“There hasn’t been much time with all the running and hiding and all.”
“And the shooting. Don’t forget the shooting.”
“True.” She patted Jildiz’s knee. “Any idea who those guys are—the one’s who tried to nab you?”
“No. I want to believe I was just the wrong person in the wrong spot at the wrong time.”
Amelia could hear the fear in her voice and she couldn’t blame the woman. Amelia was Army trained and better equipped emotionally and mentally to deal with fear, yet her stomach continued to flutter like a flag in a hurricane. She was working on instinct and adrenaline, the latter of which was waning, leaving her hands shaking and filling her with profound fatigue. “I want to believe that too, but we both know that’s not the case. They targeted your car and were heavily armed. I have a strong suspicion that they knew the path you would be taking.”
“That means they knew where I was and how I would travel back to the capitol building.”
“That’s exactly what it would mean. How could they know that, Jildiz?”
She shook her head and the color that had returned to her face drained. “I have no idea. It’s too much to believe. Not many people knew I was going to meet with you.”
“But someone did.”
“Yes. My father and a few of his advisers.”
“We can rule out your father . . . can’t we?”
“Of course. I don’t like the implication.”
Amelia fixed her gaze on Jildiz. “I meant no insult, I’m just processing information.”
Silence hung between them. Amelia let her mind race. Ghosts haunted her thoughts; specters of terrible possibilities. “Jildiz, if I’m going to be any help to you—to us—I need to ask a few questions.”
“I’m not afraid of questions.”
Amelia smiled. “I doubt much frightens you.”
“The guns.”
“Well, those frighten everyone. Especially if they’re pointed at you.” She hesitated. “First question, why did you go to the restaurant without security?”
“People watch my coming and going. When I travel with security, it is easy to recognize me. I wanted to meet with you in private.”
“Forgive me, but that’s a little weak.”
“It is the truth.”
Amelia studied her for a moment. “Is it the whole truth?”
Jildiz looked away. “No.”
Amelia waited but no other information was offered.
“Jildiz, listen to me.” She paused, waiting for Jildiz’s attention. “Jildiz, look at me.” Finally, the president’s daughter did. “A short time ago we were women on the opposite sides of a debate, but that has changed. Now, we’re a pair of women fighting to stay alive in some pretty dire circumstances. Someone, most likely several someones now, are looking for us. We can’t call for help and this part of the city is turning to anarchy. There’s a little but loud voice in the back of my head screaming things are going to get worse. I’m inclined to agree. So for now, we need to put aside the issue that’s brought us together and focus on survival. Agreed?”
“Was it your people? Did the Americans stage my abduction?” The hard look on Jildiz’s face told Amelia she wasn’t kidding.
“No, Jildiz, it wasn’t us. Remember, I ran over two men to save you. It’s a bad career move to run over fellow citizens.”
“Perhaps they kept you out of the loop.”
“There is no reason for us to kidnap you. What would we gain? We wouldn’t use a person as a bargaining chip to keep the air base open. Think, Jildiz, you’re not the final decision maker. Like me, you represent your government but others are going to decide what happens.”
“Are you CIA?”
“What? No. I told you that.”
“Many in the government and the opposition party think you are. Why would an American civilian choose to live and work in this troubled country?”
“It’s what I do. I’m not part of the Diplomatic Corps. I represent the military in general and the Army in particular. You know that. I’ve been very up-front.”
“FAO.”
“That’s right, Foreign Affairs Officer, but not CIA. That fact was included in material we provided you before our negotiations began. I have nothing to do with any intelligence agency.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to accuse. I am just trying to make sense of things.”
“You have a right to be suspicious. I agree that something bad is going on.”
“What do we do now?” Jildiz’s voice was stronger now. Almost normal. Her breathing was regular and respiration came easily.
Amelia feared the question, mostly because she had very few answers and only one made sense. “I’m leaving.”
Amelia stood.
“WHAT?” JILDIZ STOOD, WAVERED
a moment, then found her balance. “You’re leaving me?”
“Not for long. I’ll be back.”
“You can’t leave. I don’t know what to do. What if he finds me here alone.”
Amelia wanted to correct her, changing “he” to “they” because she was sure the guy called in reinforcements. Amelia placed her hands on Jildiz’s shoulders. “Listen carefully. I am not abandoning you but I need to do something.”
“What? What could be so important you’d leave me to the wolves?”
“There may be people looking for us—”
“That’s what I just said.”
“No, I mean good guys. My people. But they’re going to have trouble finding us. The city is too big.”
“How do you know they’re looking for you?”
Amelia took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Jildiz, but my status as an American FAO means they’ll come for me if they know something has happened. I don’t know if they have that figured out but at some point they will. Maybe by then, things will have settled down, but we can’t depend on that. My cell phone isn’t working so I doubt they can track me by GPS. This means I have to go old school.”
“‘Old school.’ What does school have to do with it?”
“It’s an American expression. It means I have to do things without technology. It’s something the military taught me.” She didn’t feel the need to describe SERE training. “I need you to trust me.”
“But if you go out there, they might find you. They might kill you.”
“That’s not going to happen . . .” She couldn’t complete the lie. “Yes. That’s true, but they could find us here as well. If they have any training they know we’ll seek shelter and that we’ll probably stay away from the riots where we can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys. They will have to assume we’re on foot and estimate how far we could have traveled. If they come down the alley, they’ll see the broken window in the hardware store and the busted door into this place. They’ll figure it out. Being proactive is better than being reactive.” She lowered her hands. “I need you to trust me.”
“I’ll go with you. I’m feeling better. I have the inhaler—”
“No, Jildiz, I can move faster by myself. I will be back. I promise.”
Tears brimmed Jildiz’s eyes and Amelia could almost smell the fear. “O-okay.”
“There’s a couple of things I’m going to do first and I need you to pay attention. Will you do that?”