The Girl With The Gun (Sydney Rye Book 8) Read online

  I couldn't believe it. Without talking to the other council members, it was impossible to know if Bobby had actually spoken to them. But agreeing to this while here seemed like my only option. If later I wanted to back out, I could. Bobby was smart and he was dangerous, but I'd evaded him before, and I could do it again.

  "Fine."

  "Fine? You'll do it? We'll be partners?"

  "Partners? Blue’s my partner. You're, well, you're whatever you are."

  Bobby laughed. "I'm not sure we can get Blue's name on the incorporation papers, but we'll see."

  "So, you can take your hand off me now." Bobby looked down at where his hand was clasped around my bicep.

  "Or ..." He pulled me and I moved an inch closer to him before yanking free of his hold.

  "Ew, stop it. You can't sexually harass me in the first 30 seconds we’re in business together."

  Bobby shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

  "Yes, you can. That's exactly what you can do. In fact, back in the real world, you can sue a guy for trying. So just stop."

  Bobby put his hands up. "Fine, fine. Partner."

  Chapter Sixteen

  We returned to Martha's office to give her the good news. She smiled, or at least her lips curled. "And you think Zerzan will be willing to make a break from her old organization and start again?"

  "I guess I'll have to ask her."

  "That would be great."

  Martha leaned forward and pressed a button on her phone "Samantha, can you take us to see Zerzan?"

  "Sure thing, boss."

  "She's here?"

  "Yes." Martha nodded and leaned back in her chair. "Bobby assured me that we could make this work, so I had her brought here. She is in an interrogation room. I think it's a more suitable environment to have this discussion."

  "Do you?"

  "Come on, Sydney; let's go." Bobby said, taking my elbow.

  Zerzan sat at a table, her hands cuffed. She looked tired but uninjured. Her face was that same blank mask that she used whenever trouble sprung up.

  "I think you should talk to her," Martha said turning to me. "Explain that she needs to part ways with her old organization and then we can get whatever she needs."

  "Sure. But I don't think all this is necessary. She's a completely reasonable person." Patrick laughed under his breath. "What?"

  "You're talking about the leader of an all-female fighting force that has more kills to its name than any other Kurdish militia."

  "And that person can't be reasonable?"

  "That person could be reasonable. But that one," Patrick pointed through the glass, "isn't."

  "Oh, you know her so well."

  "I know enough." He turned to Martha. "You know my feelings on this project."

  "Yes," Martha said not taking her eyes off Zerzan. "And if you try to express them again, I'll stop listening to any of your thoughts."

  Patrick’s face flushed.

  I was starting to like Martha.

  Zerzan looked up as Blue and I entered the room. She smiled. "You made it out alive." Her gaze fell to my hands. "And are still free?"

  "Of course. You never doubted that, did you?"

  Zerzan shrugged. "I guess not."

  “And Mujada?” I tensed in anticipation of the answer.

  “Her recovery will be slow, but she is receiving good care.”

  I took the seat across from her and looked over at the mirror, which I knew Martha, Patrick, and Bobby stood behind. "I cut a deal. I'm here to help you do the same."

  Zerzan looked over at the mirror. "Is that right?"

  "Yes. There are people who are interested in continuing what Mary started."

  "Okay, then why am I in chains?" She held up her wrists and the cuffs jingled.

  "They need you to start fresh, to disassociate yourself from the FKP."

  Zerzan laughed. "And what do I get with this change of identity?"

  "A whole lotta help. Money, weapons, whatever you need."

  "And how is that going to happen?"

  "I'll be the one delivering it to you."

  Zerzan's eyebrows rose. "Joyful—"

  I cut her off. “Dog Fight Investigations will be handling the logistics."

  "So I'm not the only one with a new identity?"

  "Something like that."

  "Fine. Do they have a new name in mind for this new group I assemble?"

  "Nah, they’ll let you pick that." I smiled.

  Zerzan laughed. "Great. Now can I get these cuffs off?" She held up her bound wrists. I looked over at the mirror and my own reflection.

  A moment later the door opened again and Bobby and Martha entered. Bobby unlocked Zerzan's cuffs. She rubbed her wrists. "Thank you."

  "You're very welcome."

  "My name is Martha Smarg. I am glad to hear that you're willing to disassociate from the FKP."

  "What matters is the cause I’m fighting for and that’s not changing."

  Martha did that spasm thing again with her lips that I was pretty sure was a smile. "I hope we can be friends.” She sat down next to me. Martha smelled like soap and laundry detergent, with a whiff of aerosol hairspray. “We’ve spent a lot of time studying how ISIS attracts young men to join their organization. As you are aware, they are pulling disenfranchised youth from all over Europe. And, of course, the Middle East."

  "Yes, I know," Zerzan said. She was watching Martha closely, her eyes narrowed.

  "They even posted a video claiming to have killed you."

  "I know that. But as you can see, I'm alive."

  "Yes, of course. But I think that you've hidden yourself too well."

  "You think that I should come out and deny the video?"

  "I think we can do better than that," Bobby said.

  I recognized the glint in his eye. This scheme was going to be epic.

  "The man who made the video, Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi. We know where he is. And we think with the right supports, you could capture him."

  "And what would you have me do to him once he was in my possession?"

  "I’ll leave it up to you."

  "Would you?"

  "I could offer suggestions, friendly advice,” Patrick broke in. “Some best practices based on our research."

  I had a feeling this was Patrick's department, and the only reason he was still allowed around this project.

  "Videos have helped with Joyful Justice’s recruitment,” I said. “Not that I would know anything about the inner workings of that organization, of course. But I'm sure you've all seen the YouTube channel."

  "Yes," Martha said. "You have experience with this type of, promotion, shall we say?"

  "Promotion, yes."

  The videos were not my idea. In fact, when the first ones were made, I was in a drug-induced coma. But there's that old saying, fake it till you make it. And right then I was faking a whole bunch— like that there wasn’t a storm cloud shooting out lightning bolts and rolling thunder hovering above my head. I just hoped that I made it.

  ***

  They gave Zerzan and me rooms next door to each other, on the same hall as Bobby. My room was an interior space with skylights, but no windows out.

  I slept naked between clean sheets with Blue by my feet. I dreamt that I was floating in the sky, surrounded by a powerful storm, looking down at a war-torn landscape, watching the wind, rain and lightning whip through the artillery-ravaged world, picking up bodies and tossing them here and there, destroying everything in the storm’s path. I floated in the eye— surrounded by the gentle rise and fall of Blue’s snores.

  In the morning, I woke as the sun lit the cloudless, blue sky. I felt well-rested, well-fed, and totally insane, not sure if this world was real or the one from my dream. Were they the same?

  Intercepting a convoy, killing a bunch of men, and capturing one of them sounded like a task perfect for my thunderstorm of madness. Following Bobby's lead into battle seemed like a long time coming.

  It was up to Zer
zan to decide what to do with Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi once she had him. The man was the worst of the worst. He certainly deserved to be decapitated.

  Would she do it, though? Not that she wasn't cold-blooded enough, but I didn't think she was that kind of leader. Zerzan’s fight was about protecting her land, her people and her family. She didn’t place her faith in a god who told her to chop off the heads of infidels.

  So what would she do? What would she do with a man who was so evil? Torture him? Show him mercy?

  There was a knock at my door. Blue jumped off the bed. I checked the peephole and saw Bobby standing there. "Gimme five," I said.

  "I'll wait." He looked up and down the hall and there was a tick in his jaw. I'd never seen him look like that before, and it made the lightning above me crackle louder— something was coming.

  I dressed quickly in the FGI uniform I’d worn the day before and then unlocked the door. Bobby rushed in and closed it behind him, putting the deadbolt back into place.

  "We need to get out of here."

  "What?"

  "We need to go right now."

  "That's crazy. We just made this whole deal. We're going to get Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi."

  "You can't go."

  "Why not?"

  Bobby stepped closer to me and leaned in. "They're going to kill you."

  "Who?"

  "Patrick wants you dead and Martha understands it's the safer option. I did everything I could to convince them to keep you alive. I thought I'd succeeded, but they are planning on killing you during the raid."

  "I don't think Patrick or Martha can kill me."

  "Of course not them personally." Bobby frowned. "The men we're taking with us. They are gonna kill you." Bobby's eyebrows were knitted together and his expression was grim, his body tense.

  "I've never seen you look so concerned."

  "Aren't you listening to me? I can't keep you safe. We have to leave now. Otherwise ..."

  "You're leading the mission. Why not just bring guys you trust?"

  "You can't trust anyone. Not really, Sydney. They can pay any one of these guys enough to do it." He looked around, like maybe one of those "guys" was in the room.

  "Why go through all the rigmarole? Why not just kill me here? Besides, what about me being a useful asset?”

  "They needed you to get Zerzan.” Bobby held up one finger. “They think they’ll lose her if she knows they killed you.” A second finger went up. “You were considered an asset by Homeland Security and then Mary got killed and reports got filed and you’ve gone from an asset of Homeland Security to a risk to the CIA.” Three fingers in the air, three reasons I should die.

  "But if they kill me, they still risk losing Zerzan. Obviously, she wouldn't trust them after this."

  "Not obviously." Bobby hissed. "It will look like an accident. Like you died from friendly fire. Zerzan is not going to give up her cause. She's not going to give up Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi because you get killed. She'll still need all the things she needs right now.”

  A loud clap of thunder rumbled over Bobby’s next words. A wind lifted my hair and I felt static electricity everywhere— that strange sensation right before lightning strikes. I was done. Totally insane. Why run? To live? Wasn’t I already dead? I’d done more good in the world as a dead person, a martyr, than I ever had as a living, breathing woman— maybe it was time to end this. End it all.

  "I'm going."

  "Great, let's go." Bobby grabbed my elbow and began to walk toward the door but I pulled back. He looked at me.

  "I meant I'm going on the raid."

  "What? No. Neither of us is going on the raid. Both of us are getting the fuck out of here."

  "Look, this is important. This is a chance to turn this thing around. Do you get how powerful Zerzan is? Do you understand that if we can convince women to fight the way that men do, that we could change the world?”

  The sizzle of lightning agreed with me, its electric voice crackling in my skull— That girl with the gun back at the safe house, she’s the future, not you. You’re over.

  "You won't be around to see that change, because you will be dead."

  "It doesn't matter."

  Bobby grabbed me by both my biceps. "Of course it matters! You matter."

  "Let go of me." My voice was calm and low. Blue growled, backing me up.

  Bobby stepped away, holding his hands out. "I can't believe you. A fucking martyr."

  "I know. Isn't it crazy?” I smiled as a lightning bolt brushed my cheek. “I never thought I was the martyr type."

  "I'm not just going to let you get killed. There's no way, Sydney. You might care more about saving the world than yourself, but I care more about you."

  "That's kind of sweet but also kind of totally selfish and dickish."

  Bobby's jaw dropped. "Dickish? Selfish? I'm trying to save your life."

  "Yeah, so you can have me around. Once I'm out of the way, Martha and Patrick will still support Zerzan, right? They want this project to work."

  “Yes, they do.”

  "You better get back to your room. We have a raid to prepare for."

  “I won’t change your mind?"

  “Sorry, but no."

  Bobby started for the door, with his hand on the knob he turned back to me. "You know I have your back."

  "I know.” He held my gaze, his eyes both hard and soft— an impossible combination— we are all a host of contradictions. Like lightning indoors, rainfall without wetness, thunder without sound. Bobby was evil and good, selfish and selfless, loathsome and loving, all things and all people. We are all one—every thing on the planet is made from the same vibrating atoms—the only thing separating us is consciousness. And mine was no longer functioning.

  "Be brave,” Bobby said. It was the first time I'd heard Robert Maxim use Joyful Justice’s catchphrase. I smiled, more touched by it than I would've expected.

  "Be brave,” I responded.

  Bobby left and I turned to Blue. He was standing by my side looking up at me. Somehow, I thought he knew what the conversation was about. When I offered up my own life, in a way I was freeing him. Blue might die trying to protect me, but I hoped that he would survive and find a more peaceful life.

  I put my hand on the crown of his head. Then squatted down so that we were face-to-face. "I love you." Blue stepped forward, pushing his brow into my shoulder.

  I wrapped my arms around him, pressed my face into his neck and breathed in his musky scent. He still smelled like pine and the sweet rot of the forest floor despite the bath I'd given him the night before.

  We stayed like that for an indeterminable amount of time. It felt so safe and so comforting to hold him and breathe him in. Dogs offer us something that no other animal can. Blue's loyalty and love was unquestioning and mine to him was the same.

  It was impossible to share this kind of bond with a human—at least for me. There was no team in the world as powerful as Blue and me. We’d found each other in this giant, crazy, unjust world, and that fact gave me faith.

  When I stepped into that pound in Bushwick, Brooklyn almost five years ago, I was looking for something in my life worth holding onto. Blue had been skinny and skittish and gigantic. The man working at the shelter tried to convince me to go with something smaller, more appropriate for a young woman living in a small apartment in a big city.

  But the moment I saw his mismatched eyes and the way he hardly fit in the cage, I knew that Blue was meant for me. He cost me a hundred and eight dollars. That included the cost of neutering him, which I was supposed to return and have done once he put on some weight, but I never went back.

  When I brought Blue home that day, I had no idea how important he would become. I thought I was just getting a pet, but that's not what happens when you adopt a dog. Even if he had never saved my life, even if he hadn't been with me through so much, he still would've changed my life because that's what dogs do. They fill a hole in you. They soak up pain and loneliness. They are
at once a sponge and a calming salve.

  As I hugged him under the skylight in that room in the middle of a war zone, and I breathed in his scent, Blue comforted me in a way that only a dog can. He was more than a partner, more than a protector, even more than a best friend. Blue was my dog. And there is nothing in this world as great as a dog.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi's convoy was expected to pass through a narrow valley at around 1 a.m. By 7 p.m., we were in position. The equipment and weapons were brand new, of the highest quality, and without a doubt the right stuff for the job.

  There were a total of eleven of us. Bobby, Zerzan, myself, and Blue, plus another seven men. All were former FGI employees and now contractors for our new company, Dog Fight Investigations.

  I'd met them at breakfast. Well, I'd already met two of them when they’d picked me up in the helicopter. All the men were similar in build and skill sets. As we shared plates full of eggs and toast, I took time to look each man in the eye. To try to guess which one was planning to kill me.

  Philip Gray: short, blond hair. Well they all had short hair, didn't they? A button nose and cheerful, green eyes. His lips were plump and feminine, his teeth charmingly crooked. He looked to be about thirty-five years old. Just enough wrinkles to make him truly handsome but not quite enough to make him look old. Philip had broad shoulders and wore a tight, black T-shirt with the FGI emblem on the breast, tucked into his cargo pants. He ate quickly, shoveling the food into his mouth, holding the handle of his fork in a fist. He didn't do a lot of talking. Mostly he just laughed at the other men.

  Terry McGillicuddy: He’d picked me up in the helicopter and was the one making everybody laugh. He was the shortest of all of them, which wasn't short—just shy of six feet. His hair was dark and trimmed tight to his skull. His eyes were brown and sparkling with laughter for most of the breakfast. Terry wore the same black T-shirt with the FGI symbol. His biceps bulged and the tight muscles of his shoulders cut through the thin material. He ate more eggs than anybody else but avoided the carbs, at one point making a joke about the glycemic index. You had to be there.