Girl of Rage (36 page)

“Miss Adelina ain’t here,” the woman said. “She can’t see you.”

“Tell her it’s George Lansing.”

“She can’t see you,” the woman said again. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “She told me to give you this, if you came. But she doesn’t want to see you no more. Go back where you came from and leave her in peace. That woman deserve some peace.”

She held out a thick, cream-colored envelope the size of a greeting card.

George-Phillip staggered away, walking down the block toward the entrance to the compound. It was late afternoon, and a black Ford pulled up to the gate—one of the many cars hired by members of the diplomatic community. Three girls stepped out of the car and quickly walked inside the gate.

The oldest, fourteen-year-old Julia, walked with her head down, her curly brown hair hanging almost in her face, books clasped to her chest. She kept her head down and rushed past George-Phillip without a word.

Behind her, twelve-year-old Carrie walked, holding the hand of her sister. The one Adelina had named for George-Phillip’s aunt, Princess Alexandra. Carrie was already tall for a twelve-year-old, towering over the young and fair-haired Alexandra. For a moment she met George-Phillip’s eyes.

“Good afternoon,” he said to her.

“Hello,” she said. She gave him a brief, impersonal smile, then tugged her sister along. “Come on, Alexandra. Let’s get inside. I bet Grace made cookies again.”

George-Phillip had walked away quickly, struggling to hide the tears that came to his eyes as he walked away from his daughter. His daughter that didn’t know—would never know—that he even existed.

At the gate, the guard waved him out and he tore open the envelope.

It contained a note.

For my safety, you must never contact me again.

The envelope also contained an ultrasound. The baby was a girl.

Over the years since, George-Phillip had kept tabs on Adelina, of course, as well as all of her daughters. Through O’Leary, he’d kept a discreet eye on the girls, and when he learned that Carrie and Andrea were in Spain in 2002, he’d taken the very risky step of going there by himself to get an in person look at his daughters. He’d stayed in the background, but he’d longed to reveal himself to them. Four years later he’d made arrangements to give the commencement address at Columbia University the year Carrie graduated with her Bachelor’s degree, and so was able to shake her hand and smile at her and say congratulations when she accepted her degree. She didn’t know, of course. How would she? He doubted she even remembered his existence. He was just an old man who had spoken at her college.

He’d never had any indication Adelina wanted him to contact her. He’d never heard from her again. And finally he’d given up and moved on. He’d married Lady Anne, and they’d had a child, and then in due course his wife died. And now—more than anything—he wanted to know where his daughter Andrea was, where the love of his life Adelina was.

The knock on the door startled him. He turned away from the view of trees and large brick houses just on the other side of the fence.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened. It was Oswald O’Leary. He looked unusually flustered.

“What do you have?” George-Phillip asked without preamble.

“Nothing solid, sir, but one of our agents reports tracking her near the Mexican border. It seems she’s trying to get across the border.”

“And do we have anyone on the Mexican side of the border? In case she makes it across?”

“We’ve got a small team in Tijuana sir, watching the border crossing. If she goes across there, we’ll get to her right away.”

George-Phillip nodded. “All right. That’s good news, I suppose. And how much is this all costing us?”

“We’re up to four million, sir, I’m afraid. All the subcontractors. They charge a pretty penny in the States.”

“Bastards,” George-Phillip muttered. “All right. Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.” O’Leary started to turn away, then put a hand to the earpiece he always wore. His face tensed, a look of concern flashing across it.

“O’Leary?”

“A disturbance at the gate, sir. Nothing to worry about.”

Jessica. May 4

“Here,” Jessica’s mother said.

Here
was a muddy field, knee-high grass mostly trampled by cattle or illegal aliens or who knew what. What Jessica did see was obvious. A small concrete pillar about three feet high on the other side of the field marked the border. A road and some houses were just beyond.

A loud honk down the street caught Jessica’s attention. She looked that way. Three blocks away, back at the intersection near the border station a gleaming black sports utility vehicle—a Hummer, she guessed—was nosing its way into traffic and snarling traffic. Her mom stopped and looked too.

“What the hell?” Jessica gasped as the Hummer bumped into another car, shoving it out of the way.

Her mother stood for just a moment, both of them tense.

The Hummer slowly pushed another car out of the way. The honking was coming from multiple vehicles now.

Jessica looked across the field, then back at the Hummer.

“Mom,” she said, her voice quavering. “Run. Let’s run.
Now
.”

Adelina, suddenly breathing rapidly, nodded.

Jessica grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled, plunging off the street into the muddy field. Instantly her canvas shoes soaked through, the cold mud gripping at her feet like the undead trying to pull her under. Her heart sank. If the entire field was this muddy, it would take them all day to make it across.

More honks from the intersection.

Jessica felt panic descend. In the last few days someone had kidnapped her sister, attacked her other sisters, and bombed their house. Something had gone terribly wrong.

“Run!” she screamed as Adelina stumbled. She leaned down, putting her arms underneath her mom’s and tugging her back to her feet. Hand in hand, they began to run across the field.

Thirty feet into the field, Jessica’s left shoe was yanked off her foot by the mud. She didn’t stop to do anything about it, because the Hummer was free of the traffic now, and speeding up the three blocks toward them, engine roaring. Instead, she kept moving as quickly as possible. Somewhere behind the Hummer and toward the border station, she heard a police siren.

They had at least seventy-five yards to go across the field. Jessica felt pain in her forehead as she ran, staggering, pulling her mother. Adelina was only fifty, but she wasn’t athletic and had suffered a lifetime of stress. She struggled to make it across the field, her face turning red.

The sirens were getting louder behind them. Jessica hazarded a look behind her when they’d made it halfway across the field. The Hummer had bounced to a stop just off the road. The driver’s side window rolled down.

Another police car appeared on the Canadian side of the border, screeching to a stop in the road. Two police officers got out of the vehicle.

Jessica screamed, “Help us!”

A loud crack sounded behind them, and a splat just to her right as a bullet struck the ground.

The two Canadian police jumped behind their car as the rifle shot rang out. The pain in her forehead sharpened, blooming down her neck and into her right arm. Jessica staggered.

Adelina. May 4.

Adelina cried out when Jessica suddenly faltered beside her, sinking to her knees in the mud. Panic flooded her. Had her daughter been shot? Where? Behind her, she heard another shot, and a bullet grazed her arm. She pulled Jessica to the ground, then lay down on top of her, putting her body between the shooter and her daughter, praying the grass would be enough to stop the bullets.

“Help us!” she screamed.

More shots rang out, this time from the Canadian side of the border. These gunshots were higher pitched, not the deep bass of the rifle.

Jessica’s face was grey, and her eyes were wide open. Her left eye was dilated, rolling around independently of her right eye, which was focused on Adelina. She was breathing heavily, her mouth moving, but no sound was coming out other than a high-pitched breathy wail. Her right eye was wide, terrified. Adelina couldn’t see any injuries, no blood.
What was wrong with her?

“It’s going to be okay,” Adelina whispered. “I’ll protect you.” She began to recite a prayer as she held her daughter’s hand and looked in her eyes. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures … he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.”

Adelina flinched at the sound of another rifle shot. The bullet slammed into the mud six feet away from her. Another hit three feet away.

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil … for you are with me … your rod and your staff—they comfort me…”

Sirens went off somewhere behind her, and she heard the rumble of the Hummer turn into a roar. Suddenly it was receding, and the sirens were following. She lifted her head and looked around, then directly at the Canadian police.

“Help me! My daughter’s hurt!”

Across the field, two U.S. Border Patrol vehicles were parked, even as two police cars raced after the speeding Hummer.

Three Border Control officers were getting out of the vehicles and stepped into the field.

Adelina began to panic. She couldn’t let the Border Patrol take her or Jessica. She leaned down, putting her arms underneath Jessica’s armpits, and lifted her to her chest, backing toward the Canadian border.

She continued the prayer, silently, even as she pulled her daughter away from the Border Patrol, who began to run.

You prepare a table before me

In the presence of my enemies;

You anoint my head with oil;

My cup overflows,

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me

All the days of my life,

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

My whole life long.

Adelina staggered as she bumped into the concrete post marking the border. She fell to her back, dragging Jessica with her.

“I’m Adelina Thompson,” she gasped. “My husband is the Secretary of Defense of the United States.”

She saw the Canadian officers look stunned, even as the Border Patrol officers stopped just on the American side of the border.

“I claim political asylum. I need urgent medical care for my daughter. Please help me.”

She looked the officer in the eyes.

He nodded then said to his partner, “Call for an ambulance,” as he kneeled beside Jessica.

George-Phillip. May 4.

“What sort of disturbance?” George-Phillip asked. He glanced out the window. He could just barely hear the sound of a horn and the awful bass sound of a car stereo. The music sounded obnoxious, low and grating.

“Some drunk American crashed into the gate, sir. Nobody hurt. The security guards are dealing with it.”

“Well, then. Keep me updated. It’s Sunday, and I need to be with my daughter.”

“Very well, sir.”

George-Phillip left the small office. The official residence, which was reserved for visiting dignitaries, had four bedrooms on the first floor, plus several other assorted rooms—sitting rooms, offices and kitchens, along with a small locally hired permanent staff.

He walked down the hall by himself as O’Leary turned toward the exit. He reached his left hand out and opened the polished hardwood door to the playroom.

Jane was on the floor, humming to herself as she played with a doll set. Adriana was across the room from her, knitting a scarf or something.

As the door opened, Jane’s face brightened.

“Daddy!” she cried, jumping to her feet.

She ran to him and he lifted her into the air. She threw her arms around him. He was always surprised by how solid she was, and tall for a girl her age. He held her in his left hand and tickled her, causing her to convulse with giggles.

“Miss Poole, I thought I would take Jane to the zoo this afternoon. You may come along if you’d like, or if you wish to have the day off to explore the city, that’s fine as well.”

Adriana stood and said, “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll come along.”

“The zoo? Take me to the zoo? Zoo!” Jane crooned.

“Yes. We’ll go see the pandas, I think.”

“And the lions!” Jane threw her head back and roared.

“She should have a bit of a snack first, sir, begging your pardon. She usually has a snack about 2:30.”

“By all means,” he said, sharply bothered by the fact that he didn’t know that. He spent far too little time with Jane. It was time to rectify that.

He opened the door. At that moment one of the security guards appeared, running down the hall.

“Your Highness, please stay in the room for the moment.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s an intruder on the grounds, sir.”

At that moment he heard a shriek, then a loud thump just down the hall. A high-pitched voice, female, shouted, “Don’t shoot! I’m looking for asylum!”