“Where am I?” Laila asked.
“Kandahar,” the woman explained, “but not for much longer.” She gestured to the airplane as its engines roared to life.
“Where am I going?”
“Somewhere safe where no one will be able to find you,” she answered, placing her hand on Laila’s shoulder.
She looked up, knowing it would probably be the last time she ever saw the Afghan sky. She drew in a breath and basked in the aroma of tulips and jasmine. From that moment, she would always associate that scent with freedom.
Chapter Thirty
Present Day
December 18
4:30 PM
LAILA STOOD IN THE kitchen of her apartment in Woburn, a city northwest of Boston, when the alert came. She’d been living there for nearly a year, thanks to an angel sent from God himself. Landon’s sister had done everything she could to get her out of Afghanistan and set her up somewhere safe. Somewhere she could start over again. Somewhere she could raise her son without the fear of being found.
“No one will ever find you here,” she had assured Laila, whose new name was Selena, according to the American passport she was given once her plane landed in the United States. “But if we ever believe there is a threat to your safety, we will alert you through this phone.” She handed her a small, black flip phone.
The first few months, she carried it with her wherever she went, expecting it to ring at any moment. But it never did. She went on with her life. She began taking English classes at a local community college and could now speak it with relative ease. Mischa helped her find a job at a daycare center. Once her son was born in June, she was able to return to work within a few months and take care of him, as well as the other infants she was in charge of. She planned on starting at a four-year university within the next year, in the hopes of working toward a degree in education.
The chiming of that phone cut through the sound of Mickey Mouse on the television, making her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. She almost didn’t think it was real. As she peered at the screen, no information on it apart from an address, she wondered if it was a wrong number. Glancing at her son sitting on the floor, playing with his toys, she knew she couldn’t take that risk.
Dashing into the bedroom, she threw a few things together — diapers, clothes, bottles, blankets, toys. She re-emerged into the living room and strapped her little boy into his car seat, glancing around her apartment one last time. Then she left.
After taking several different city busses in the hopes no one followed her, she arrived at the address on the text. She stared at the steeple of the brick building, angelic voices finding their way to her ears. It was so peaceful, so serene, at complete odds with the pounding of her heart.
Entering the church, she was greeted by a man in a dark suit.
“Come with me,” he said.
Laila glanced over her shoulder, unsure of whether she could even trust this complete stranger. What if it was a trap? What if they had found her?
“I’m here to help. Something’s happened.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t say, but we need to get all of you in one place to make sure you’re safe.”
“All of us?” Laila asked, raising her brows.
“Yes.”
“You mean…” She trailed off.
“Yes.” The man cracked a small smile, then turned toward a staircase.
She followed him down a narrow set of steps, having difficulty keeping up with his long strides. Stopping at the end of the hallway, he paused and knocked a peculiar rhythm on the door. After a few seconds, it opened.
Her heart filled with joy when she entered the room to see eleven women she never thought she would again.
They spent the next few hours sharing their stories. Landon had gotten each and every woman out of the shelter. Laila was grateful to see them again, but she feared something horrible must have happened to have forced them together once more. Landon had already given his life for them. How much more blood had to be shed?
As darkness fell, Laila grew more and more restless, as did the rest of the women. They were tired, confused, and scared. Finally, the man in the suit reappeared.
“Follow me, ladies. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” Laila asked. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else. Now hurry. We don’t have much time.”
“What is going on?” she demanded. “We’ve been sitting here for hours and have absolutely no idea what’s going on, other than all of us getting a mysterious text with an address.”
He let out a sigh. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s happened, but we need to get you to safety. There’s a warm, comfortable house with food, water, a bathroom, and beds for all of you. Everything you’ll need.”
Laila shook her head. “I’m not going until you tell us what’s going on.”
“You want to know what’s going on?” the man shot back, annoyed. “The woman who helped you all into this country was found dead. It could have just been a coincidence, but there’s a very real possibility someone figured out what she was doing and is coming for each of you.” He paused, allowing that information to soak in. “Now, come with me.”
Silence fell over the women as they followed him from the room, then piled into a large passenger van painted with the logo of some airport shuttle service. Not a word was spoken the duration of the drive. Some would exchange nervous glances. Others kept their heads lowered, mouthing the words to different prayers. It was reminiscent of the uncertainty the women lived with on a daily basis in the shelter where they all met. Laila never wanted to feel that again, yet here she was.
An hour later, the van pulled up to a gated driveway. After pressing a four-digit combination into a box, the large gates opened, allowing him access to the long driveway.
“Isn’t that the church we just left?” a woman named Bahara asked.
“It is,” the man in the suit replied, navigating the van past the main house and toward what appeared to be a decent-sized guest house.
“Why did you drive all over the city then?” she pushed.
“In case anyone tried to follow us.” He clicked a button, the garage door of the guest house opening. He drove the van inside, then turned off the engine.