door of the building.
She was three blocks away, so they hadn’t noticed her. But if she continued on, she wouldn’t even make it to the next block without being spotted. There weren’t enough cars to hide behind, and, in the curfew-induced stillness, any movement would draw attention.
She doubled back, then went two blocks farther away before cutting over to the dirt alley that ran behind the orphanage. Water ran down the center of the road, the last remnants of the storm that had passed through earlier that evening. Other than that, the road was quiet. There were no soldiers anywhere in sight.
Marion made her way past run-down and bullet-strewn buildings that had survived coup after coup and would undoubtedly survive at least one more. The orphanage building was as old as the others, but better cared for, someone having taken the time to slap concrete patches over the worst damage. From her previous visits, Marion knew the ground floor was taken up by a small office, a kitchen, and a combination dining room/meeting place. On the second and third floors were rooms for the staff, dorms for the children, and a few makeshift classrooms.
Roslyn’s Place, that’s what everyone called it. But it had no official name. Nor was it sponsored like places in other parts of the city. Those orphanages had the backing of large religious agencies or other NGOs — non- governmental organizations.
Roslyn’s Place had no backing. It was just something that had been started by a Swiss woman who had visited the country twenty years earlier and had never left. Frau Roslyn had intended it as a facility where children could come, feel safe, and perhaps even learn something during the day. But when she realized that many of the kids who came to her had nowhere else to go in the evenings, she began letting them stay. It wasn’t long before the occasional baby or toddler would be left at the front door. Roslyn could have turned them over to an official facility, but she never did. She felt the responsibility had been given to her, so she had no intention of passing it on.
Now, the first thing she did every morning was open the front door and look down.
With the help of a few locals whom Roslyn paid out of her modest savings, she did it all on her own. When Marion had stumbled upon Roslyn’s Place two months earlier, she’d made it her personal mission to do what she could to help out. Using her position within the UN, she’d been able to arrange for a shipment of school supplies, and had even convinced a European-based aid organization to send packages of nonperishable food every few weeks. But racing through the city in the middle of the night on foot was not something she had ever foreseen as part of her commitment.
Marion ducked down and passed below the darkened first-floor windows, making her way over to the dingy door on the far side. It was the back entrance into the kitchen, where most of the supplies were brought in. She put an ear to the wooden surface and listened. The room beyond was quiet. She grabbed the knob and gently turned it. As Frau Roslyn had promised on the phone, the door was unlocked. Marion had been warned that the hinges were not the quietest, so she slowly worked the door open just enough so she could squeeze inside.
Low light seeped into the kitchen from the window near the door. But it was more than adequate for Marion’s night-adjusted eyes to see. She skirted past an old wooden table covered with pans and boxes and bags, and tiptoed over to the doorway that led out into the dining hall. There was no actual door, just a flower-print drape covering the opening. At serving time, it would be moved out of the way and held in place by a hook mounted on the wall.
Marion pulled the curtain back just enough to peer into the other room. The dining hall was also unlit, but like the kitchen, there was more than enough illumination shining through the windows from outside. The tables were empty, and the ragtag group of chairs and benches were all neatly in place. Everything ready and waiting for the morning meal.
Marion pushed the curtain out a little so she could look to her right toward the front of the building, and immediately caught her breath. There was someone standing against the wall only a few feet away. Her first instinct was to let go of the drape and escape out the back door into the night. But she didn’t move. Frau Roslyn’s words from her rushed call earlier came back to Marion.
“They’re coming back,” the old woman had said.
The call had woken Marion. “Who?” she’d asked, trying to focus.
“It’s them. The ones we talked about. They’re making the rounds again,” Frau Roslyn said. “I just got the call. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about. Last time they only stayed a few minutes and then they were gone.”
“We didn’t have what they were looking for last time.”
It took a second for Marion to realize what Frau Roslyn was saying. When she did, she could feel the blood drain from her face. “Iris.”
“Yes.”
That had been enough to start her on her night journey.
Marion steadied herself and took another look at the person who was standing on the other side of the door. With calmer eyes, she realized the shape was too small to be one of the soldiers. It had to be one of the children from upstairs. The form shifted against the wall, turning toward the back and allowing the light from outside to play across the child’s face.
Dominique. Of course.
Marion pulled the curtain open a little more, then whispered, “Dominique.
Dominique didn’t even jump. “I heard you come in,” she said in French. “Frau Roslyn sent me to wait for you.”
Marion leaned her head through the opening. “Where is she?”
“With the soldiers.” Dominique pointed above them. “You stay. I will get her.”
“I should come with you.”
The girl shook her head several times. “No. She doesn’t want them to see you. Wait. It will only take me a minute.”
The girl turned and ran off before Marion could say anything more. Not sure what else to do, Marion pulled her head back into the kitchen and let the drape close over the opening. She tried not to think of anything, but her mind wouldn’t let that happen.
The girl had been left at Roslyn’s Place only a week before. Not a baby, but no more than four or five. Iris couldn’t tell anyone how old she was. It wasn’t just that she didn’t know; she had no concept of age and probably never would. She’d been born with Down syndrome and would forever need the help of others to survive. What tears had been on the girl’s cheeks when they found her soon disappeared in smiles and laughter as Frau Roslyn and the other children welcomed her into their family.
Marion could hear someone enter the dining room. She gripped the Taser tightly in her hand, ready in case the new arrival was not a friend. But when the curtain was pulled aside, Marion relaxed. It was Roslyn.
The old Swiss lady was short and thin with a wrinkled face and white hair that stopped just above her shoulders. And while her appearance did nothing to hide the fact that she’d seen more years than most, she exuded an inner strength, a confidence that made the toughest of men pause before deciding to take her on.
“Come with me,” Roslyn said.
Without another word, the old woman went back into the dining room. Marion followed.
“How long have they been here?” Marion whispered once she caught up to her.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“They haven’t found her, then?”
“No,” Roslyn said. “But they know she was here. Someone must have told them. They say they won’t leave until they find her.”
They crossed the dining room toward the hallway that led to the office at the front of the building. Marion was about to ask another question, but Frau Roslyn held up her hand, stopping her.
“You must be quiet,” the woman said. “They will hear you. And if they hear you …”
She didn’t have to finish the thought. They both knew what would happen.
As they entered the short hallway, Frau Roslyn paused. There was light at the far end where the small building lobby was located. Above them, Marion could hear the movement of several heavy sets of feet. There were also the muffled cries and voices of children unsure why they had been woken in the middle of the night.
