“Okay, okay.” She reaches the door and yanks it open.
Christine Fletcher looks back her. “Hello, Julia.”
“Christine.”
Julia’s eyes drop to the woman’s crumpled shirt, marked with something dark on the pocket, hastily rubbed off but not entirely eliminated. She looks rough, like she hasn’t slept for days.
“What do you want?” says Julia.
“Can I come in?”
Julia doesn’t move.
“Just for a minute,” presses Christine.
Julia lets her hand fall away and Christine steps inside. She heads to the window overlooking the sad little alleyway below and looks out.
She turns to Julia. “There are ways they can trace Saat. Sophisticated ways.”
Julia puts her hands on her hips. “And who exactly are they, Christine?”
Christine twists her ring finger. The absent husband, lost somewhere in the rubble of 9/11.
“We never knew for sure whether Mustafa was involved. There was never anything concrete.”
“What about the CCTV?”
Christine sighs. “Yes, until that. The CCTV changed everything.”
“You protected him. Even after what he did to those other women? Even knowing that he could be involved in Toni’s disappearance?”
“Look, I agree that Mustafa Saat is an overprivileged scumbag who deserves to be in prison for the rest of his life. But he had information critical to US security and our western allies. It’s a highly complex situation, Julia.”
Julia shakes her head in frustration. “So? That’s good enough reason to let him get away with whatever he’s done to Toni?”
Christine holds Julia’s gaze. “I know this is hard to hear but there are greater forces at play here. Mustafa had information with the potential to affect thousands of lives. His friend Babak Saglam trades in chemical weapons smuggled out of Iraq in the early days of the war. Saglam has no morals. He doesn’t care who he trades with—Russians, Islamic fundamentalists, whoever—the highest bidder is all that concerns him. Mustafa’s latest information was about a possible chemical attack on US soil.”
“But you should have done something!” cries Julia. “Toni is not just collateral damage, she’s a human being.”
Christine exhales. “I sympathize, Julia, I really do, but sometimes it comes down to the lesser of two evils.”
Julia takes a step toward Christine. “I want to know what you’re going to do about this mess.”
Christine pauses. “They’re sending me back.”
Julia blinks. “What do you mean they’re sending you back?”
Christine glances at the window. “There’s a car waiting for me downstairs to take me to the airport.”
“They can’t do that,” says Julia, heart hammering.
Christine raises an eyebrow. “Oh yes they can.”
“You can’t just abandon us.”
Christine lowers her voice. “Listen, I shouldn’t be telling you this, and I’ll deny it if anyone asks, but they’ve agreed to give Mustafa refugee status if he tells them what he’s done with Toni.”
Julia looks at her. “What good is that if no one know where he is?”
“They’ll make sure the message gets through to him. Like I said, they have their ways.” Her face softens and she touches Julia’s arm. “The point is that it’s only a matter of time before Toni is found.”
Christine hoists her satchel up her shoulder and heads for the door. “I need to go.” She reaches for the door handle. “Someone will be in touch, Julia. You’ll get Toni back. I’m sure of it.”
57
As Julia gets dressed, she lets what Christine told her digest. She desperately wants to believe her. That it’s only a matter of time before Mustafa is brought in and discloses Toni’s whereabouts. But even if what Christine says is true and there is an offer of immunity on the table, there’s still the problem of locating Mustafa, who has to be deep in hiding by now, possibly even out of the country.
Julia combs her hair and catches sight of herself in the mirror. She looks terrible. Worn down. Sick. Like her patients do when they’re given news their prognosis is terminal. And something else. Julia stares at the lines on her face, the serious look of it, the way the muscles fell beneath the skin, making her seem older, a witness to some great tragedy. It strikes her then. She has the same haunted look as Christine Fletcher.
She turns from the mirror abruptly. She’s not anything like Christine Fletcher. She’s an independent thinker and would not simply blindly follow a chain of command. She’s someone who would not lie for the so-called greater good. Julia would, and always would, put people first.
Julia frowns and digs a finger into her temple. A possible migraine is looming. She finds two Excedrin in a blister pack buried in the bottom of her bag and heads for the fridge for some water, but there’s none. Ada must have removed everything when they were having issues with the leak.
Not wanting to risk a gastrointestinal issue from drinking tap water, Julia goes downstairs to find Ada. She doesn’t need to go far. The older woman is seated at her usual wingback chair flipping cards on the glass-topped coffee table. Ada smiles broadly when she sees Julia then breaks into that dreadful hacking cough of hers.
After the noise trails off, Julia says, “You should see a doctor.”
Ada waves a dismissive hand and swipes a watering eye with her fingertip. “I am fine.”
“I’m serious, Ada.”
The elderly woman gets to her feet and bends to pull up the sports socks gathered round her ankles.
“You have news of your sister?” says Ada, shooting a glance toward the exit.
Ah, Julia thinks, she must have seen Christine Fletcher.
“Nothing yet,” says Julia. “May I have some bottled water please? Impending headache.” She flashes the blister of tablets.
Ada’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Are you getting sick?”
“Oh, nothing serious if I catch it soon.”
Ada studies her for a moment. “This is a hard thing you are going through, I think.” She pauses. “Perhaps I can show you something?”
Julia hesitates. She really ought to call Detective Muhtar to see if he’s heard anything.
“Okay.” Julia nods. “I can spare a few minutes.”
Ada smiles. “Very good. Please come.”
Ada
