Strangers: A Novel(76)
He’s talking about a great deed for defending his Arab brothers and freeing sacred sites. And about an act of revenge.
“You supported the American butchers when they came for us. By doing so, you played a part in killing our families. You bombed our cities, brought fear and misery upon us. You thought you were safe, so far away from all the misery and death. But not anymore. Now you too will know fear. You too will witness the death of your wives and children. Fear will be at your side no matter where you may be. Because now your cities will burn too; your train stations and airports will explode. And you will not be able to do a thing about it, for my brothers will overrun your land. We will bring you the one true faith. Believe, or you will die.”
More phrases follow, but I only catch snippets of them. My thoughts are spinning at a greater and greater speed, and I try to comprehend how it can be possible for Gabor to support everything I’ve just heard.
Ever since the thought that he might be involved in the whole thing first came to my mind, my anger at him has grown and grown. If I think about what he did to me, did to us over the past days, that he tried to kill us several times …
But if he’s really in league with these guys, there can only be one explanation. Money and power, lots of it. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anywhere near as much contempt for a person in my life as I’m feeling for Gabor right now.
The video has finished. Joanna slumps back against the couch, stunned. “This can’t be happening.”
“It is. And Gabor’s a part of it. But what I’m finding increasingly difficult to understand is why he wants to kill us? How exactly are we involved in all this sick, fucked-up bullshit? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
We’re both silent for a while, each of us immersed in their own thoughts. Then, Joanna leans forward, flips her laptop shut, and turns to face me.
“There’s something I understand even less. Why can’t I remember you?”
35
It’s already past two in the morning in Melbourne, but I can’t worry about that now. I let the telephone ring, on and on, relentlessly. Until, finally, there’s a crackle and I hear my father’s sleepy voice.
“Jo? Is that you?”
I could cry with relief, but at the same time it makes me feel embarrassed. Soon I’ll be slipping back into the old behavioral patterns which have shaped my whole life until now. When things get tough—just call Daddy. I was so intent on moving past that. But right now, the thing I want most is to survive.
“I’m coming home, Dad. Please can you have me picked up as quickly as possible.”
“What?” I can hear that he’s wide awake now. “Jo, my darling, finally. That’s wonderful, of course we’ll have you picked up. I’ll send Gavin first thing tomorrow.…”
“Not tomorrow. Right now.” Even I realize that I sound like him. The same commanding tone. A little too late, I add a “please,” but it’s one that doesn’t sound very patient.
“What happened?” My father isn’t stupid; it was obvious that he’d ask this question. I hesitate briefly, then decide to tell him a half truth. I know him. As soon as he has even the tiniest inkling that his precious daughter might be harmed in any way, he won’t hesitate for a single second.
“I guess you heard about the attack at the train station in Munich? All hell’s broken loose here, everyone’s afraid that it was just the beginning.”
That’s not enough to explain why I’m suddenly in such a hurry—but there’s no way I’m explaining the real circumstances on the phone. “And this morning I noticed some suspicious movement around my house. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but … either way. I want to get out of this country as quickly as I can. Right now, ideally.”
For a few seconds Dad remains silent, but then I hear something creak, followed by the sound of his footsteps and a door being closed.
“Yes, of course. Munich. We all heard about it. OK, listen. Gavin will set off within the next two hours, maximum, and he’ll take a security team. Get ready; I’ll let you know when you’ll be picked up.”
“OK.” That’s the quickest it can be, I know that—but still I’m afraid that by the time the plane arrives, it could be too late. The flight will last at least twenty-two hours; it will need to make a stop, probably in Dubai. Suddenly it seems an unbearably long time. Like it was impossible that we could make it through another day unharmed.
We.
“Dad? I’m bringing someone with me, you should know that.”
He takes a deep breath. “This guy you spoke of recently?”
“Yes. Erik.”
A brief pause. “I’m not OK with that.”
If I show even the slightest sign of weakness now, I’ve lost. I know my father—he only takes people seriously if they stand up to him, if they don’t let him influence them. So I put all the decisiveness I can muster into my voice.
“He’s coming with me. If you can’t accept that, you don’t need to send the plane.”
Dad clears his throat. “What about you and Matthew?”
“There is no me and Matthew, not anymore.” I had found the right tone now, the one that doesn’t allow any discussion. “Matthew is in the past, and I’m sure he won’t be heartbroken over it.” As if that were my father’s concern on the matter.