Matt and Hannah had bonded and were virtually inseparable – one of the lingering symptoms of her insecurity with their domestic stability. She didn’t like being left alone, even for a short time, and had regressed somewhat in that regard, throwing tantrums if it looked like she’d be on her own.
This morning Matt had offered to take her to the park to burn off some energy. She’d made friends with several of the neighbor children, but they were away on vacation, and she was going stir-crazy in the house with two adults and little stimulation.
Matt was jolted from his reverie by Hannah pulling free. She pointed down the path and giggled, and then she was gone, off like lightning, having spotted a squirrel near one of the iron benches that lined the walkway.
“Careful,” Matt called after her, resigned to skinned knees and bruised foreheads as a matter of course. He was still relatively new to parenthood, but he was a quick learner, as was Jet – and compared to what the little girl had been through since reuniting with her mother, a few tumbles and scrapes were nothing.
He gazed up at the vivid blue of the morning sky and inhaled deeply. A sense of well-being flooded through him with the crisp air. His days were uneventful, which was how he liked it. His work week was spent operating a small computer repair shop he’d opened in order to have something to do, his weekends reserved for Jet and Hannah. It was a calm he savored, unfamiliar to him until recently, but addictive, he found.
It was amazing how good it felt not to have anyone trying to kill them.
“Hannah,” he called, seeing her pause to consider running off the path and into the surrounding brush. He’d forbidden her from straying from the walkway, but he knew that in the heat of the chase his admonition could easily be forgotten.
A shrill whistle pierced the still of the park behind him, and he turned toward the sound just in time to see a crowd rounding the corner, blocking the entire street, hand-painted signs held high, voices chanting in angry cadence with the rhythmic intensity of the outraged. He groaned and spun to where Hannah had frozen at the sight of the mob.
“Hannah, come here. Now,” he ordered, his tone firm. Periodic street protests were not uncommon in Kosovo as different factions agitated for power, and while usually orderly, anytime there was a large throng there was a chance that he and Hannah might get separated. There was no way to know when one of the protests might stop traffic for hours, and barely a week went by without one group or another taking to the streets.
Hannah scurried toward him, the squirrel forgotten, and Matt studied the approaching group. Mostly college age, there were some older men and women along the fringes of the crowd. Another whistle shrieked from behind the protestors, and a squad of police clad in riot gear materialized from a smaller tributary and took up position along the sidewalk.
Hannah reached him just as six police cars arrived with sirens blaring. A personnel carrier pulled to a stop at the edge of the park and disgorged a squad of more officers, and Matt and Hannah watched with alarm as they encircled the protestors, who were now in the park, chanting their incomprehensible slogans and hoisting their signs overhead.
Matt glanced around for a means of escaping the possible confrontation but saw with sinking spirits that for whatever reason, the police had decided to stop the protestors at the park. The chanting increased in volume as the leading edge of the mob marched toward them, and he retreated toward the police line, his free hand raised overhead so they could see he was no threat.
When he reached the police, he pointed to himself and Hannah, and then to the protestors, and signaled that he had no part in the gathering. And older officer with a stern expression studied him for several long seconds and then motioned for them to pass through the line. Matt pulled Hannah along with him and brushed past the police, their translucent plastic shields and batons portending nothing good, and then lifted the little girl into his arms and carried her to the far edge of the park, ignoring the gaggle of media memorializing the encounter, their cameras rolling at the prospect of a clash.
Once they were clear of the scene, he set Hannah down and crossed to another boulevard that ultimately led to their neighborhood. He stopped at the corner and looked back over his shoulder at the park, and then at the little girl, whose eyes were wide at the unexpected excitement.
“It’ll all be okay, Hannah. We just picked the wrong day to chase birds,” he said, trying to reassure her.
Her pout was instantaneous at the realization that her hour of freedom had been preempted by the protestors, and Matt took her hand again as they waited for the light. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We’ll find another park. That one’s a little too crowded right now.”
She nodded trustingly and then looked up at where the kit of pigeons was soaring overhead, away from the commotion, their morning calm interrupted for the second time by unwelcome human interlopers.
Chapter 5
One day earlier, Moscow, Russia