Shadow of Betrayal

Glimpses of Africa: the old shopkeeper with the Taser that didn’t work, Frau Roslyn shutting the door to the secret room. New York: the Kinkos employee who had shown interest in Iris, the call to her friend at the UN. And finally Montreal: her parents, her sister, the awful motel with the pay-by-the-hour rates, the cabdriver who thought she was a hooker, and the man who had come running out of her house as she tried to drive away. His face, like a snapshot, hovered before her. She would not forget his face. The look of his eyes, the set of his mouth. This was the face of those who wanted her, who wanted Iris. And, she knew, this was the face of death. The news reports out of New York confirmed that.

She awoke to the sound of a car door slamming somewhere nearby. At first she had no idea where she was. She felt stiff and cramped. She glanced to her left and saw the back of the driver’s seat, and remembered. The face that had stuck in her mind as she had fallen asleep came back to her again, but only for a brief second.

“Goah,” a soft voice said.

Marion felt Iris begin to move against her chest.

“Goah,” the girl repeated.

It was a sound Marion had come to understand. Iris was hungry.

“We’ll go find something, okay?” Marion said.

Iris smiled like she understood.

Marion sat up, holding the child to her chest as she did. The lights in the garage gave no indication what time of day it was. But when Marion had driven in, she had passed no more than half a dozen other cars. Now the garage, at least on this level, was packed.

She glanced at her watch. Almost 9 a.m. No wonder Iris was hungry.

“What do you feel like eating?” Marion said, smiling. “Pancakes?”

Iris smiled back.

“I could use some, too. And a cup of coffee.”

“Goah.”

“No coffee for you, sweetheart. Not for another few years, huh?”

Marion climbed out of the car first. Then as she reached in and started to pull Iris out, she heard several quick footsteps that stopped nearby. She pulled herself back out, knowing as she turned who she’d see. It would be him. The man from her house. The face of death.

But she was wrong.

There was a man there, yes. He was standing near the back of her car, at the end of the gap between her Saab and the car parked next to her. But he was no one she had seen before. He was taller than the man at her house, stockier, and a few years older, too. He was wearing a suit, like he was on his way to work. That was it, she realized. Someone just passing by, and stopping to see if she needed any help.

“Miss Dupuis?” he said.

The relief that had begun flooding through her turned to ice.

She looked behind her, hoping there was some way out, but there was only the concrete wall her car was parked against. The man was blocking her only exit.

“Please, Miss Dupuis. You need to come with me.” He had an accent. Australian, maybe.

Marion’s head whipped back and forth as she looked through the garage hoping to spot someone who could help her. But there was no one. Nine a.m. and no one in the garage?

The man smiled at her. “I probably should tell you that the structure has been closed for a few minutes. An untimely gate malfunction. But don’t worry. It’ll be fixed soon.” He took a step closer. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s no one around but you and me.”

Marion began to shake in fear. Iris, sensing something was up, started to cry.

“Goah. Goah,” she said between sobs.

“Help!” Marion screamed. “Help me!”

Iris wailed, scared by the sudden outburst.

The smiling man walked toward Marion.

“Help!” she screamed again.

“That’s not very cooperative,” the man said as he stopped only a few feet in front of her.

Before she even knew what was happening, one of his hands grabbed the back of her head while the other placed something over her mouth.

She struggled for a moment, but with Iris in her arms there was little she could do. Then she began to lose focus, her mind becoming heavy. It seemed to take everything she had to keep her eyes from closing, and then that wasn’t even enough.

No. She wanted to scream it, but the only place the word was spoken was in her head.

She tried to open her eyelids one last time, frantic to stay conscious. And for a few seconds they obeyed.

Iris was there, her tear-filled eyes staring into Marion’s.

“Goah,” she said, her lower lip jutting out the way it did when she was sad.

Marion’s eyelids closed. She had no strength left.

Please, God. Don’t let them hurt Iris. Don’t let them hurt… my … child…

“The situation is secure,” the man Marion had first mistaken for a businessman said into his phone. To his colleagues he was known as Leo Tucker.

“What are their conditions?” Tucker’s boss, Mr. Rose, asked.

“The woman’s unconscious. The child seems fine, though she’s scared. Naturally, I guess. What do you want us to do?”