her was crying.
It was the jolt Marion needed, the reminder that giving up was not acceptable.
“We’ll be fine, sweetie,” Marion said, her voice soft and comforting. “Everything will be fine. I won’t let anything happen. I’m here, okay? I’m here.”
After several minutes the young girl’s sobs began to subside, and soon Marion could feel Iris’s breath grow steady and deep. She had fallen asleep.
Marion returned her to the passenger seat, then tilted it back as far as it would go. She pulled the seatbelt over Iris’s hips. It was loose, but would hold the child in place.
The one thing she knew was that they had to get out of town. She didn’t know where, just away. As she drove toward the Motel Monique, she touched her pants pocket where she’d been keeping the key. Only it wasn’t there.
“Oh, God,” she said aloud.
She thought back to the last time she’d seen it, and remembered with horror putting it in the box, the box she’d left at her parents’ house.
Their clothes, their passports, the documents she’d downloaded were all left at the motel. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
She cut herself off, her eyes growing wide. What if the others had found the box and the key inside? What if they were headed to the Motel Monique, too? What if they showed up while she was there?
Ahead, she could see the motel. But instead of stopping she drove right by. The suitcase was lost now. She would have to forget about it, and concentrate solely on keeping Iris safe.
The one thing she had was her wallet. And inside that, an ATM card. She found the nearest ATM and took out as much money as she could.
She wasn’t dumb. She’d seen plenty of movies and knew her transaction could be traced, but they already knew she was in Montreal, so since she was leaving town, it wouldn’t matter. A calculated risk, at least that’s what she told herself.
She wanted to get back into the States. She felt it would be much easier to get lost there. But without passports, driving into the country wouldn’t be possible.
So instead of heading dead south for the nearest border crossing, she headed southwest toward Toronto, the largest city in the country. There had to be secret ways across the border there, someone who could help her.
Or so she hoped.
She found an underground parking garage in downtown Toronto near the SkyDome, or as it was now officially known, the Rogers Centre, and took a spot on the third level, as far away from the stairs as possible. She then got into the back of the car, taking the still-sleeping Iris with her. Together they lay down on the cramped seat. The only good news was that it was a pleasant night. Cool, but not cold. The pullover sweatshirt she still wore would be enough to keep them both warm.
Exhausted, she thought she’d be asleep the minute she closed her eyes. But her mind still buzzed with the last drops of the adrenaline generated by her late-night escape. She gave in to it, knowing that fighting it would only push sleep further away. Her thoughts tumbled around, each taking center stage for a second, then being replaced by another.
Glimpses of Africa: the old shopkeeper with the Taser that didn’t work, Frau Roslyn shutting the door to the secret room. New York: the Kinkos employee who had shown interest in Iris, the call to her friend at the UN. And finally Montreal: her parents, her sister, the awful motel with the pay-by-the-hour rates, the cabdriver who thought she was a hooker, and the man who had come running out of her house as she tried to drive away. His face, like a snapshot, hovered before her. She would not forget his face. The look of his eyes, the set of his mouth. This was the face of those who wanted her, who wanted Iris. And, she knew, this was the face of death. The news reports out of New York confirmed that.
She awoke to the sound of a car door slamming somewhere nearby. At first she had no idea where she was. She felt stiff and cramped. She glanced to her left and saw the back of the driver’s seat, and remembered. The face that had stuck in her mind as she had fallen asleep came back to her again, but only for a brief second.
“Goah,” a soft voice said.
Marion felt Iris begin to move against her chest.
“Goah,” the girl repeated.
It was a sound Marion had come to understand. Iris was hungry.
“We’ll go find something, okay?” Marion said.
Iris smiled like she understood.
Marion sat up, holding the child to her chest as she did. The lights in the garage gave no indication what time of day it was. But when Marion had driven in, she had passed no more than half a dozen other cars. Now the garage, at least on this level, was packed.
She glanced at her watch. Almost 9 a.m. No wonder Iris was hungry.
“What do you feel like eating?” Marion said, smiling. “Pancakes?”
Iris smiled back.
“I could use some, too. And a cup of coffee.”
“Goah.”
“No coffee for you, sweetheart. Not for another few years, huh?”
Marion climbed out of the car first. Then as she reached in and started to pull Iris out, she heard several quick footsteps that stopped nearby. She pulled herself back out, knowing as she turned who she’d see. It would be him.
