The Music Trilogy (75 page)

BAGHDAD

CHAPTER 40

Sam and Hamid ran hand in hand through the mesh of deserted back alleys and broken houses. Felled trees blocked sidewalks, grotesquely deformed cars lined parts of the streets, while the odor of gun powder and exploded mortars lingered in the fetid air.

“Over here,” Hamid whispered to Sam as he pulled her toward a dark, wooden door. She followed him. The kid had good instincts and was a survivor. Besides, he had lived in this metropolis his whole life.

They entered into what Sam presumed was the back of what once could have been a leather shop. The smell gave it away, but it was empty.

“We can stay here. There is no more store, everyone was killed.” Hamid’s young eyes turned somber again. Sam was sure he was thinking of the members of his own family that had been taken from him far too soon. “When it is dark we can leave, try to find the Americans and go to your hospital.”

“It’s a good plan, Hamid.” Let’s find a place to hide until then.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

Sam and the boy went to what looked like it could have been a storage room and sat in a corner. Hamid leaned up against her. It was the first moment he felt safe, and he promptly fell asleep. She held him close to her, caressed his hair and watched the peacefulness in his face until she too succumbed from exhaustion. A couple of hours later Hamid stirred and then got up.

Sam woke up as well. “Where are you going, Hamid?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Be careful.”

The bathroom was outside, an outhouse of sorts. He went in and closed the dilapidated door. And then he heard the sounds of deep, frightening voices. He looked between a crack of the decrepit wood and saw them—the men who killed Fatima—and they were still looking for him and Sam. Hamid held his breath when they entered the store. He couldn’t risk warning Sam, there was no time, and they would both be caught.
Please don’t find Sam,
he begged. But it was not to be. He heard the American woman screaming and ran out of the outhouse. He couldn’t let another person he loved get killed. He rushed into the store and a pair of big, rough hands lifted him in the air. Hamid screamed and kicked and tried to get away. He managed to scratch the murderer‘s face and the man yelped as he dropped the boy, but he managed to hold on to him. The man punched the child in the face and the boy passed out.

“Stop it!” Sam screamed. “Leave him alone, he’s just a boy!”

Two men held her in place and the man that had hit Hamid punched Sam in the stomach. She hadn’t expected the force or the pain that tore through her entire body. She doubled over and fell on her knees. The men roughly pulled her arms and dragged her out to a waiting car. Sam wiggled and squirmed trying to get loose but a perfectly landed punch to her face stopped her. They threw her in the trunk as if she were a sack of potatoes, slammed it shut, and hurriedly took off.

Sam woke up a little later, probably from being tossed around the back end of the car. From the jostling, the heat and the darkness she understood where she was. Her lips were dry and she tried to moisten them, but as soon as she moved her tongue she felt the searing pain in her face. She gently touched it. Her cheek was twice its normal size and she thought that maybe they had broken her jaw. Suddenly the car stopped. She heard footsteps shuffling toward the trunk and it flew open. She squinted from the transition of total darkness to the intense light of the sun. Rough hands lifted her out and pushed her ahead of them. Sam looked around. They were in a courtyard lined by three levels of cell lockups on all four sides. She could hear women wailing from their cells, a melancholic, hopeless howl that put fear in a new perspective. She understood she was in a woman’s prison. The foul energy made her skin crawl and elevated her blood pressure. One of the men pushed her ahead of him and led her into a room. She looked around. It was dark and she could just make out four walls. She also realized the room was filthy and reeked of sweat and old blood. As a nurse she was used to these smells, but these scents were somehow evil and made her stomach turn. The man slammed the door shut and Sam jumped. A few minutes later three different men showed up. One of them had a black patch over one of his eyes. He turned on the light, a naked light bulb in the middle of the room. Sam let her eyes adjust. The other was the Captain. He had that air about him, that indifferent cold killer look, and Sam was sure he had done just that many times over. He was what she would refer to as a soul-less being. The third man wore a checkered
keffiyeh
on his head, held in place by an
agal
, a circlet of rope.

She looked down at the floor. She knew that the worse thing she could do was look into their eyes. She realized she was right about the floor. There were large, dark brown spots all over the room, especially in the middle, exactly where she was standing, and no one needed medical knowledge to understand that this was old, dry blood. But she didn’t move, she didn’t want them to see how scared she was. Sam watched as the Captain went to sit on a wooden chair behind a steel table. He looked at her, slightly squinting his eyes. She didn’t like the hungry look on his face, the one that said: I’m going to enjoy our evening together. She also had this sinking feeling that these men were going to torture her.

♫

LANDSTUHL, GERMANY

CHAPTER 41

Davina paced back and forth in front of Max’s bed.

“Davina,
Amor
, you’re going to make a hole in the floor. Why don’t you take a break, maybe get a cup of coffee, or even better go to the cafeteria and eat something.”

“I’m sorry, Alejandro. You’re right. I’m not hungry, but I know I have to put something in my stomach, keep up my energy.

“Good, you go and I’ll stay with Max.”

Davina nodded, kissed her husband and left.

Alejandro pulled up a chair next to Max’s bed. He looked at his handsome boy, a beautiful young man, he thought, with so much life to live. He has to come back! He has to. He took Max’s hand and brought it up to his heart.

“It’s been a long time since you and I sat down together,
Hijo mio
. Your teenage years were difficult, at least for your Mother and I. You did some pretty bad things, especially to yourself. I know about the drugs and the alcohol. I knew what you were doing because I always had somebody following you. I know, not cool, and maybe a little creepy, but you have to realize that I am a political figure and your mother is an international celebrity. And most of all I wanted to make sure you were alright and that no one might want to do you any harm, or even kidnap you. As much as a singer is loved there are always people who are jealous, might try to hurt her, or might find an opportunity to make a quick profit. And I as a political figure, well that’s even worse.”

Max wasn’t moving. He was immobile, just ‘sleeping’.

“Work with me, Max. I’m sure you can hear me. Right?”

Max just lay there, his eyes closed.

“Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?” Alejandro waited. “You can answer any time you want.” He paused for a moment, giving Max time to respond, not really thinking that his son would just ‘wake up’ that easily. Alejandro continued. “You mother and I saw you on the television. Isn’t it amazing how mothers can always tell which child is hers? Of course I think I’m pretty good at it too.”

A nurse came in to check on Max. She checked the machines, wrote a few things in the medical notebook and leaned closer to the patient. She turned to Alejandro. “Physically he is doing very well and his leg is healing nicely. All he needs now is to come back to us.”

“I’ve been talking to him.”

“That’s really important, Mr. Ambassador. I personally think that Max can hear us. Maybe he’s just not quite ready to wake up.”

“I understand. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“It’s my pleasure, Sir. I’ll be here if you need anything,” the nurse said as she walked out.

“Thank you again.”

“You’re very welcome. Just keep talking to Max.”

Alejandro nodded and watched the nurse leave. He turned back to his son. “Did you hear that? I should keep talking to you. Okay, so I will, although it would be great if you answered back,
Hijo mio
.” Max of course was not responding. “There’s something your mother and I never told you. Should I tell you now?”

“Okay, I will. A few years before you were born, and we were all wonderfully young at the time, not that were still aren’t,” he chuckled, “your Aunt Monique was becoming a famous singer.” Davina and Alejandro did not have any siblings but Monique and Jacques, who were married, were like family. “We went to Cairo where she was due to sing. The concert was to be at the foot of the pyramids in Giza. The day before we took a small plane to go see the Valley of the Kings, but we never made it there. We were hijacked by the pilots. There were six of us—your mother, Monique and Jacques, Adam and Eric, our own pilots, and myself. It was a group of extremists and they took us out deep into the desert. They held us for ransom to further their cause. They sent the note to your grandfather, William, who was the U.S. Ambassador in Paris at the time. You can imagine what the poor man went through! Those days and nights we were hostages were probably the worst of my life, especially for what they did to Jacques and Monique.” Alejandro’s eyes darkened at the hideous memories. “They beat your uncle Jacques very badly, even broke his arm. And what they did to poor Monique was the ultimate horror. They mutilated and raped her, and your mother and poor Jacques were made to watch. And then it was Davina’s turn, but she somehow managed to find a knife and killed her assailant. She is the bravest woman I know. What she did took a lot of guts. We were rescued just in time by an elite commando group. If they hadn’t I know none of us would be alive today.”

Alejandro looked at his son. Had Max been listening? He wondered.

“Jacques recovered physically but never forgave himself for not being able to defend Monique. We kept telling him that there wasn’t anything he could have done, but he got himself into drugs and almost died himself. Monique recovered as well, but she was in a coma for almost a year.”

Alejandro remembered that painful year, the months Davina spent going back and forth to the hospital to visit Monique, and the only time they had fights.

“I’m telling you this, my son, because I want you to know that you come from a long line of amazing individuals. Warriors all, from your great-grandfather Nico, who fought and was wounded in Verdun during WWI, your grandfather William who helped the resistance in Greece during WWII, and even your mother with the hijackers. And you, my Max, you have warrior blood in your veins, from your ancestors and from your heroic heart. What you did was amazing. You saved many lives, and I’m sure not only on that particular day. Oh, Max, if you only knew how much I love you! I know you love me too, but it’s a different kind of love. When you have children you’ll understand.”

♫

WOMEN’S DETENTION CENTER, IRAQ

CHAPTER 42

Sam was wearing the clothes she put on that morning before leaving the hospital to go see Hamid and his aunt. The t-shirt, combat boots and pants were filthy from that day’s events. She thought of Fatima, that wonderful woman who had fatefully donned Sam’s jacket. Poor Fatima, poor Hamid… Hamid! What happened to the boy? She also figured that since the explosion had destroyed everything around and including the jeep no one would know that Sam was still alive, and that Fatima had been the one killed. No one would be looking for her and would list her as killed in action.

“What is your name?” The Captain asked in broken, but understandable English.

“Baxter, Samantha, Lieutenant.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Liar!” He screamed.

“I am not lying. I am an American nurse.”

The Captain called over to the man with one eye. “Go stand in front of her and remove your patch,” he said in Arabic. They didn’t know that Sam understood their language. She also wouldn’t tell them, as she was sure that at some point that knowledge would come in handy.

“Yes, Captain,” Black Patch said. He stood in front of the American woman and pulled the material away from his eye.

Sam looked at the empty, badly scarred cavity and didn’t flinch whatsoever. “Whoever fixed him up didn’t do a very good job.”

“You joke?”

“Not at all, I’m very serious.

“What were you doing in Baghdad?

“I’m a nurse and I was helping a young boy. I went to change his bandage. His name is Hamid. Could you tell me if he is alright?”

“Why do you care?”

“That’s what I do.”

“You LIE!”

“I’m not. I’m a nurse and I see patients and assist doctors.”

The Captain turned to his men. “What happened to the boy?” He asked them in Arabic.

“They didn’t catch him,” Black Patch answered.

“Whatever, unimportant,” the Captain replied.

Sam was happy that Hamid managed to escape.

“So, I’ll ask you again, why were you in Baghdad, in that particular neighborhood?”

“I told you, to help the boy. I don’t know anything about a neighborhood.”

The Captain nodded his head and Tablecloth Man hit the back of Sam’s calves with a rubber hose. Sam screamed in pain, never expecting the blow that brought her down on her knees.

The interrogation continued through the night. Time and time again the rubber hoses smashed into her arms and legs. Ugly red welts formed all over her body. She was trembling violently, the attack on her limbs sending flames of pain all the way to her heart. At some point she blacked out.

Sam woke up and opened her eyes, and the pain screamed throughout her body. Her arms and legs seemed foreign to her, as if her limbs were tree branches that had lost their flexibility. She could hardly move them, and when she did the agonizing burning continued. She decided not to move at all. She looked around as the filth and stench emanating from her cell assaulted her senses. The room, which she figured measured no more than eight feet square, was empty save for an old, dirty blanket and a bucket in a corner. The heavy wooden door housed a window with bars crossing it and a small ledge that was no larger than a fist. At some point a guard opened the window and put two bowls on the sill. Sam was too sore to get up but she needed the nourishment. She crawled to the door on her stomach, one of the few places that hadn’t been hit too badly with the hoses, and inched herself up to the ledge on the door. The pain was unimaginable and she wanted to scream in agony. Sam managed to take the bowls, one at a time, as she didn’t trust any of the muscles in her arms and hands to hold them, or her legs to keep her standing. She carefully sat back down and looked inside the bowls. One of them housed the foulest liquid she had ever smelled. Even with all the vaccinations they had pumped into her she wasn’t going to drink, what perhaps had at one time been water. She looked at the other bowl—rice. But it wasn’t alone. It housed a family of cockroaches and black insects that were so small she couldn’t tell what they were—just that the dark things were moving. Sam left that one too.

No one came for two days, and for that she was grateful. The sounds, however, were enough to drive anybody mad. All day and all night women from other cells were wailing, screaming or crying. Sam thought about the interrogations and wondered when they would come back for her. She knew they were giving her a couple of days to recuperate somewhat because if they started beating her again they knew her body would give out much too quickly and she would be of no use to them.

By the third day Sam drank the putrid water, and of course it attacked her bowels. She spent most of the day on the bucket. By the fifth day of her captivity she kept the water down. She also ate the rice and brushed off the insects. On the ninth day she ate the protein as well.

The next morning Black Patch and Tablecloth Man took her to see the Captain. He was pleased with her physical progress—her face wasn’t black and blue anymore and her limbs could take another beating if she didn’t cooperate.

“So, Lieutenant, are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

“Captain, I answered you. I am a nurse and that’s all.”

“Nurses don’t go into the city to help children.”

“Yes, we do, and that’s what I was doing.”

“YOU LIE!”

“I’m not!” Sam insisted.

The Captain nodded to Black Patch and warned him not to hit her face. The one-eyed man followed the orders and smashed the rubber house against Sam’s legs. She understood and this time was more prepared, but the pain was just as intense as the first time.

“Captain!” She screamed. “I have told you the truth and you don’t believe me. Just what do you think I was up to?”

“You are a spy.”

“What would I be spying on?”

“Military secrets.”

“That is ridiculous. I went to see a patient, that’s all.”

The Captain nodded again and the beatings continued until Sam passed out. They carried her back to her cell.

When Sam woke up she was just as sore as the last time. She started thinking that maybe she should lie, make up some dumb story and hope the Captain would believe it. Throughout the night she continued thinking. What was her worse fear? The ignorance? The cruelty? The torture? Well that was pretty bad. Maybe next time they would rape her. They didn’t rape foreign women in Muslim countries. Yeah, right, Sam. Maybe they would stone her to death, or even behead her on television, channels around the world running it on a continuous loop. Sam also had some positive thoughts. Maybe they would believe her and let her go. Maybe the Americans would discover the prison and free the women. Maybe she would try to escape.

♫