Abdul-Hakim pulled up in front of the cabin. He took the copy of the Washington Post off the passenger seat, got out, and went up the step. The front door was unlocked. He pushed it open, stepped inside.
The big man was sitting on the couch playing solitaire. He seemed to be lost in concentration. He glanced up at Abdul-Hakim and went back to his game.
“Where is she?”
He waved his hand without even looking up. “Back there.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s hurt, she’s weak, there’s nowhere to go. She’s tied up, too.”
“With rope?”
“Yeah.”
Abdul-Hakim walked across the room and parted the curtain that served as a door, and looked in the back room.
Karen lay on the mattress on the floor. She was not in good shape. Her finger had become infected, and she was running a fever. She was curled up in a fetal position and her eyes were closed, as if trying to will the world away.
Abdul-Hakim stepped back into the front room. “Get her up.”
The big man looked at him. “Huh?”
“Get her up and bring her out.”
“You don’t want to just do her in there?”
Abdul-Hakim took a breath. “I’m not shooting her. Just get her up.”
The big man grunted and heaved a sigh. He set the deck of cards on the table and clambered to his feet from the low couch. He pushed his way through the curtain and into the back room.
He had a paranoid flash that the girl was gone, that it was like the old joke where the customer tells the waiter to try the soup and there’s no spoon. But, no, there she was, just like he had left her.
He bent down and rolled her over. “Get up.”
She rolled back and curled up, facing away.
The big man wasn’t putting up with that nonsense. He hefted her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her out.
“I said get her up, not lift her up,” Abdul-Hakim said. “I need her awake. Untie her.”
The big man flopped her on the couch and took the ropes off.
“Stand her up.”
He wrestled her to her feet, but she didn’t stand, just hung like deadweight.
There was a pitcher of water next to the washbasin. Abdul-Hakim picked it up, tossed it in Karen’s face.
“Hey. That’s my water.”
“You’ll get more tomorrow.”
Karen blew water out of her mouth, blinked her eyes, glared up at the two men.
“Good, you’re awake,” Abdul-Hakim said.
Karen sagged in the big man’s arms.
“Can you stand? You’re not going to like it if you can’t. Stand her up.”
The big man pulled her up straight.
“Let go of her.”
He did.
Karen fell to the floor.
“Stand her up again.”
He dragged her to her feet.
“You like falling on the floor? We’re going to keep standing you up until you don’t. It’s not that I think you’re faking. I think you’re not trying. Let her go.”
Karen swayed, but stayed on her feet.
“Good.”
Abdul-Hakim took the copy of the Washington Post, thrust it into her hands. “Hold it up. Next to your face. Not in front of your face, next to it. Straighten it out so the date shows.”
Karen held the paper.
Abdul-Hakim whipped out his cell phone, snapped the picture. He checked the phone to make sure it would do. He nodded. “Put her back.”
The big man scooped her up, carried her into the back room.
Abdul Hakim punched the number into the phone and forwarded the photo to Congressman Blaine.