Flock of Wolves Page 4

  Smoke burned my eyes, and Blue urged me back into the building. I followed another orderly inside, my heart throbbing in my chest, adrenaline seeping into my veins. Making my way to the ground floor, I found front doors blown off their hinges, and smoke pouring into the lobby.

  Blue directed me away from the exit, obviously sensing danger beyond, though I didn't exactly need a dog’s instincts to know going out that front door might get me killed.

  The smoke swirled, parting, and I saw Robert. He headed straight for me with a pistol in his hand and brow furrowed into a tight knot. When he grabbed my arm and began to pull me through the lobby toward another door, I let him lead me.

  "Let's get to your ride," I said. "We've got to go find her."

  A small laugh escaped him, but his stride didn't slow or shift.

  "You'll help me find her," I told him. Knowing it was true. Knowing I could make Robert do whatever I wanted. She wasn't the only one with power.

  He led me out a side door where a rusted, dust-covered Jeep waited. Robert nodded at the passenger side with his chin, releasing my arm. Blue and I climbed in, and Robert got behind the wheel. He placed his pistol between us, and I stared at it, my eyes traveling over the black matte handle to Robert's waist, where a knife was strapped.

  He turned the Jeep on and put it in gear, speeding out of the narrow street. Reaching over, I unsheathed his knife, his eyes flicked off the road for a second.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Getting what I want. Take me to the prophet."

  "I don't know where she is. Nobody does." Robert sounded annoyed. Not like I was threatening his life, more like I was trying to order a hamburger at a fish place.

  "Take me to the cave where you saw me."

  Robert's frown deepened, the memory of my rejection flitting across his face.

  "Take me there or I'll kill you."

  That brought a smile to his lip. "Will you kill me Sydney?"

  "Don't try me, Robert."

  He turned hard, and I fell against him, the knife scraping against the thick canvas of his black jacket. He reached over and tried to free it from my grip, but I was faster than him.

  Despite the thunder and lightning, I was still fast. Still a goddamned killing machine.

  We all decided our own value. We all had a right to our faith. But nobody used me. Nobody.

  Chapter Four

  Follow the Faith

  April

  The church’s steeple rose above the three-story houses that made up the majority of the buildings in this Turkish border city. I followed it and found myself in front of small, stone church with tiny stained-glass windows. I stumbled up the steps, my throat dry with thirst, my soul hungry for nourishment.

  I pushed on the closed doors and found them locked. Banging my fists against the heavy wood, I heard my knocks echo inside. Muffled footsteps approached, and the door creaked open.

  The scents of incense and wood polish filled my nose as my eyes closed. I fell forward, letting fate have me.

  Strong hands caught my arms, holding me up. A man spoke in a language I didn't understand. He pulled me into the church and settled me into a pew, leaving the door open so that a shaft of sunlight illuminated the interior.

  I bowed my head over clasped palms, thanking the Lord for bringing me here.

  The man who'd helped me came into focus, kneeling next to me, his brown eyes wide with concern. I smiled at him. "Please, may I have some water?"

  He nodded, his gaze scanning my face, down to my black robes that were stained with the dust and blood of battle. He hurried to close the door and then disappeared for a moment, returning with a glass of water.

  I gulped it down and thanked him.

  "You're American?" he asked in accented English.

  "Yes, I am."

  "What happened to you?"

  I didn't know how to answer that. What had happened to me? When I learned of my daughter’s disappearance in Isis-controlled territory I stole money from my husband, a preacher, and fled from Las Vegas to Istanbul, determined to follow my daughter, find her and make amends.

  I almost died, but the Lord saved me and brought me into the path of women who I needed...and who needed me. Nadia, hardly an adult, yet stronger than any I’d ever know, flashed before my mind’s eye—brows drawn together, eyes glittering with faith and power. She died for what we believed in. The Lord chose me to deliver the message of his prophet. That’s why he left me alive.

  "Did you get lost? The others are all here. They didn't mention they were missing anyone. Were you robbed?"

  I cocked my head. The others?

  "Where are they?" I asked.

  "They’re in the rectory. I will take to you to them, if you can stand. Are you injured?" His eyes ran over me again. "I can take you the hospital? There's one very close."

  I shook my head. "No, I'm okay. I have been to the doctor. Please show me to the other Americans."

  Taking my arm, he helped me down the aisle and through to the rectory, a humble living space where four women sat, tea cups on the coffee table between them.

  While I didn't know them, I recognized them.

  I'd seen women like them a million times. They attended my husband Bill’s church. They felt the love of the Lord inside them and wanted to live in His light. I recognized the nervous movements of their hands, the knee-length skirts and silk blouses, the way their eyes widened as I entered the room.

  The Lord brought me to them.

  "Sisters," I said.

  They stood up, confusion and fear warring on their faces. They wanted to be good Christians and help me, but they found my dress disturbing. The dust and blood terrified them.

  They'd come here to save souls…not lives.

  "Sisters, I'm here to join you."

  "I'm sorry," one of them said, pulling out an iPad from her tote and looking at it. "I don't know who you are. Are you with the Ministry of Forgotten Souls?" Her accent was Southern, northern Florida maybe. Bill and I had done a lot of revivals in Florida.

  "No, I'm not." I crossed the room quickly and captured the woman's free hand. She looked down at my cut and bruised fingers, at the burgundy polish still clinging to the edge of my nails.

  "I've come from the battlefield. I bring a message."

  "A message?" the woman asked, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  My heart thumped in my chest. The words that came out of me were not my own, but a message from the divine spirit. "You decide your value."

  The woman tried to step back, but I held onto her hand. "Have you heard of Her? Of the prophet?"

  The woman turned and looked at her friends, "Now, I'm not sure what you're speaking of. But we're here to…"

  I didn't let her finish. "You're here to help me. And I'm here to help you."

  The minister stepped forward, taking my arm, trying to pull me back. "I think you need a doctor."

  I turned to him and lay my hand on his forearm, my gaze holding his. "I don't need a doctor, young man. But thank you for your kindness."

  "Wait," the woman whose hand I held spoke, narrowing her eyes at me. "I recognize you. You're…aren't you April Madden?"

  I smiled. "Yes, I am."

  "You're Bill Madden's wife." She looked past me to her friends. "She's from Bill Madden's ministry. How did you get here?"

  I smiled. "I have a story to tell…"

  Anita

  The Joyful Justice Council gathered.

  Dan sat next to me in front of a bank of computer screens.

  Merl called in from Joyful Justice's training center in Costa Rica, his long black hair pulled back into a tight bun, brown eyes sharp and focused despite the late hour there. A martial arts master and dog trainer, Merl owned three Doberman pinschers and could kill almost anyone with his bare hands. His calm demeanor and steady leadership made him a vital member of the Joyful Justice Council.

  Lenox Gold, originally from Senegal, was smart and ruthless but also compassionate…he was like
that old cliché, a hooker with a heart of gold. The man made a fortune selling the bodies of other men to desperate, hungry women and then turned around and used that money to protect the people he sold, and to protect those who didn't want to be sold. He lounged in a beige chair, his dark skin glowing under the pale blue light cast from his computer screen. I didn't know where he was…didn't need to.

  While Sydney was a member of the council, we'd decided to proceed without her. Dan had tried Robert's phone, but it went straight to voicemail…besides, Sydney was in bad shape and was more than likely compromised in some fashion by her time in captivity.

  The three men on the council all waited for me to speak. Everyone had seen the video of the battle and the question that floated in the air was what we should do about it…if anything. As Joyful Justice's public relations and marketing head, it was up to me to advise the rest of the council on our next steps, but it would be our mutual decision.

  "As you all know, the I am Her video has been translated into 25 languages and viewed 90 million times."

  The video, featuring the self-proclaimed prophet wearing a burka and disguising her voice, explained God sent a message through her: each person’s value was their own to decide. It had gone viral in a way that only a few such inspirational videos ever have.

  It had far more views than any Isis recruiting video. More even than some guy getting hit in the balls by his kid’s baseball bat. The prophet’s eloquent call that we all "let the wolf out" had more views than any video ever produced by Joyful Justice.

  "From what I understand, the prophet doesn't have access to this new video of the Syrian battle. It is just Zerzan and us. Isis actually made it. They've used footage like this in other propaganda films." The rest of the council nodded…they'd seen the Butcher at work. "Zerzan could obviously release it on her own, but she wants to follow our lead on this. We don't know what—if any—influence the prophet may have with the Peshmerga guerrillas…so she may still get her hands on it."

  In the months since the prophet's video's release, her message had spread quickly through Isis territory and the Middle East, where women were rising up and murdering the men who controlled them—often their fathers, brothers, or husbands.

  It was brutal.

  Lenox nodded slowly, his eyes trained on me. I cleared my throat.

  "Her statements obviously align with those of Joyful Justice: the value of all people; the equality of women; the call to rise up against those who hurt or oppress you."

  All the men nodded, but no one spoke.

  "But, claiming that God has somehow ordained all this…"

  I looked down at my hands for a moment. There were scars on my fingers, faded but still there from the cuts I sustained during my captivity.

  Did it matter why people rose up, as long as they did?

  "We've steered clear of religion until this point, allowing each member to follow their own faith—or whatever else motivated them. This would be pushing a specifically religious message. I've only had a couple hours to think about it." I chewed on my lip for a moment. "And while I know that we can get a lot of traction with this video—it's bloody, it's frightening, it's vivid…" I looked over at Dan. He was watching me with those green eyes of his, all his focus leveled on me. "I know this video could help our cause, but I think it could also destroy it."

  Dan nodded slowly. "My thinking on this isn't completely clear either." He looked at Merl. "And therefore I believe we should hold off on making a decision for at least a few more hours. Take some more time to let it sink in."

  "But we will have to get Zerzan an answer soon," Merl said.

  "Yes." I nodded.

  Lenox spoke, his accent lyrical and beautiful. "This is very powerful stuff. Sydney looks like an avenging angel—one that was miraculously brought back from the dead." He shifted in his chair, leaning closer to the screen. "I'm not saying we should release it. Not yet, as none of us are clear what to do." He gave a small, almost apologetic smile. "We've tried to contain the zealotry that is inherent in an organization like ours. We think we are right to do so."

  "We are right," I interrupted, not able to stop myself.

  Lenox nodded, leaning back into his chair. "Of course, Anita, I agree."

  The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. The man was pure magnetism. "But, being so sure can lead to blindness," I went on. He was nodding, and I felt myself nodding with him. "We must be very careful."

  Merl leaned closer to his screen. "I agree. Releasing this without thinking about it deeply would be a mistake. We don't want to be rash. And I’d like to hear what Sydney has to say. It's her image up there." He tilted his chin. "It's possible she doesn't want this out there."

  I gritted my teeth, and Dan spoke my thoughts for me.

  "Obviously, Merl, this is bigger than Sydney. What she wants is a consideration, but it certainly is not the deciding factor."

  Merl frowned. "Since when is what a person wants done with their own image not a deciding factor for us? Releasing this tape will put her face everywhere. Everything I know about Sydney tells me that she likes to stay hidden. She doesn't want people knowing what she looks like."

  "It's too late for that," I said.

  "Is it?" Merl asked.

  "She's already being treated like a martyr," Dan pointed out. "Zerzan's troops have her picture on their playing cards."

  "They have Joy's picture." Merl referenced Sydney's birth name. Joy Humbolt avenged her brother's death, killing a powerful man that the law couldn't touch. Her act of bravery, of vengeance, spawned Joyful Justice. But Sydney hated to talk about it—she was a woman of action, not of stories.

  Merl leaned in toward the camera. "Sydney Rye, the miracle woman." His brows rose. "She hasn't been exposed. I want to talk to Sydney before I vote to do it."

  "Well," Lenox spoke up. "We may have different reasons for agreeing, but we all do agree that we should wait." He shrugged. "If Zerzan decides to release it, or the prophet somehow gets a hold of it, then it's out of our control. And we can react to that when the time comes." He held my gaze. "I'm sure Anita will be prepared. She always is."

  I nodded, acknowledging the compliment.

  "Until that time," Lenox continued, "I'll arrange to fly to Turkey to be with Sydney and Mulberry. I'm not far now and we will need a team member by Mulberry's side to arrange care during his recovery."

  "I agree with Lenox." I closed my eyes for a moment, organizing my thoughts. "The thing is that I think things are changing. Quite drastically. The message of her, the wolf inside all women, all of this is moving faster than anything I've ever seen. #IAmHer is trending higher on Twitter every single day. It's been covered by CNN, the BBC and other major news networks. We are going to have to face it eventually."

  Lenox nodded. "I hear you. I will think deeply about this."

  "Yes," Merl said. "Let's talk again soon." He looked at his watch, and I saw the scars on his wrists. They were thick and pink, still new yet no longer raw. Sydney saved his life, too.

  Merl knew what it was to be a prisoner. But his body had not been violated.

  Rape was a weapon in war. A weapon that was being used in the Middle East, by Isis, and in Africa by Boko Haram…and in other countries all over the world. It was the oldest weapon. And this prophet was the first person claiming to be a voice from God whose central message was female resistance to all forms of exploitation.

  Why hadn't such a prophet stepped forward sooner?

  Because she wasn't from God? God was always depicted as a man—he created Adam in his image and then the devil convinced Eve to eat an apple and women ruined paradise…

  Women were the problem. In almost every religion women were the fucking problem.

  Even in the Bhagavad Gita, which my father read to me and I still studied, quotes from it often seeming so true to my life. Even in that sacred text that I loved, women were dangerous, on the verge of sin at any moment if given freedom.

  When irrelig
ion is prominent in the family, O Kṛṣṇa, the women of the family become polluted, and from the degradation of womanhood, O descendant of Vṛṣṇi, comes unwanted progeny.

  This Her prophet offered an answer, a solution: let women decide their own value, and rise up against any who try to stop them. A thrill ran through me, raising goosebumps…the places this could lead…the ways it could change the world, if enough people believed.

  "I just want to say one more thing." All eyes turned to me. "I think it's possible this prophet thinks she's hearing God's voice, but it could also be a trick. The fact is that any secular argument about why women are equal is not going to be as powerful as one handed down from the Almighty Lord."

  Dan nodded next to me. "I agree." The other men mumbled their agreements.

  "Let's keep that in mind. If our goal is to help people rise up against their oppressors then having God on our side might not hurt," I continued.

  "Unless it's the devil," Lenox said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "They say the best trick the devil ever played was convincing man that he did not exist. What if the best trick was convincing Man that he was God?"

  "They probably should have checked with some women." My voice came out harsh. Only the devil would think women were equal? Says one of three men on a council with only one woman currently active. And these were the enlightened men of the world.

  I wanted to bang my head against the desk, but I firmed my jaw instead. When Lenox Gold took over Malina's place on the council, I'd agreed because he had the expertise we needed. Lenox and Malina were good friends and moved in the same world.

  But when Sydney went missing, it left me as the only female voice.

  "All I'm saying is that we must be careful who we align ourselves with," Lenox said, his brows conferring, his eyes watching me. "This prophet could change her message at any time. By aligning ourselves with this preacher in a burka, we could turn off people of other religions. As you said earlier, we've remained out of religious debate, which allows people of all beliefs, including atheists, to seek our help."