Amanda’s breath caught in her chest. That height, the way the man rested his hand on the handle of the door … “Dad?”
The man sucked in his breath. “Amanda?”
Chiara gave a yell of recognition and then threw herself into their dad’s arms. Amanda joined them, and the three of them stood, crying with arms wrapped around each other in a joyful reunion.
“What are you girls doing here?” Their dad pulled back from the embrace, a hand on each of their shoulders, his forehead creased. “I’ve been sick to my stomach night and day ever since I heard your names announced as the people wanted for the arsenal bombing. How in heaven’s name did you get wrapped up in all that?”
Amanda swallowed.
Her dad turned to her. “You were supposed to stay at the refugee camp. Why did you ever leave?” He spoke sharply, his mouth drawn downward.
Chiara called it right: their dad indeed wasn’t happy.
“Well.” Amanda shuffled her feet. “You see—”
“It was mostly my idea.” Joe stepped forward. “Hey there, Mr. Burrow! How’s it going? You remember me?”
Their dad gave him a wry smile. “Don’t insult me, Joe. I’m not that old; not yet anyway.” But he quickly frowned. “I didn’t ask whose idea it was exactly. I just want to know why you left. Especially when I told you not to.”
“I …” Amanda pictured Ethan as he sat in the hospital bed at the refugee camp—helpless and vulnerable, at the mercy of those who ran the camp. “I decided—”
“We decided,” Chiara interjected, “that we didn’t want to be away from you, Dad.”
Amanda cast Chiara a sideways glance. Both Chiara and Joe had come to her defense. They didn’t want her to accept the blame for this, though the blame unavoidably rested on her.
“Girls.” Their dad squared his jaw. “By coming here, you are placing yourselves directly in danger. That’s just what I wanted to avoid. We had to separate for a while, but I would’ve done everything possible to return to you as soon as I could, after I served my duty.”
Joe’s face became solemn, his goofy grin gone, his eyes unblinking. “What about our duty?”
Chiara rested her hand on their dad’s arm. “We can do more to help here than at any refugee camp.”
Their dad grimaced. “It sounds like the three of you already have done quite a bit. You made a stop at Boston on your way to Peekskill?”
Chiara gave a forced chuckle. “Oh, that. We kind of ran into someone named Bennie who was planning the attack and—”
“One thing led to another—” Joe waved his hand.
“—and, yeah, basically we helped.” Chiara nodded.
Amanda stared at the floor.
Their dad grunted.
Chiara leaned against their dad. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at us. We just want to be with you.”
Amanda stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets. “I’m sorry too.”
Their dad sighed and, as he exhaled, his facial features softened like butter, his eyebrows lowering and the corners of his mouth relaxing. “Well, you got me now.” His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I’ve sure missed my girls.”
“Don’t lie, Mr. Burrow. You know you’ve missed me too.” Joe grinned.
Their dad and Chiara laughed as Joe dodged their dad’s effort to tousle his hair. Amanda tried to smile but her conscience weighed too heavily on her. Soon she would have to come clean to her dad, despite Chiara and Joe’s efforts to save her from blame. They didn’t know what she had done … they had no idea that she had sold their dad’s wedding ring to get Ethan out of the refugee camp …
“I imagine you have quite the story to tell and the guys downstairs are anxious to meet you. You’ve become quite the celebrities, I’ve got to tell you.” Their dad winked at them as he opened the door.
“Where are we going?” Amanda asked, following him back into the dark corridor.
“We can’t keep any lights on up here. The hotel’s supposed to be abandoned, of course, so at night we work in the basement. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.”
He led them to the elevator and pressed the down button. After a short ride, the elevator doors opened to an unfinished basement. Large laundry carts still lined the wall, remnants of the building’s former purpose. Someone must have removed the more valuable washer and dryer machines, leaving just the water hook-ups and empty valves. But in the vacant space, a large table stood, surrounded by a group of about ten men and women, crammed into the tight area.
Joe gasped and stopped in his tracks. “Nasir!”
Amanda hadn’t spotted him at first, but then an olive-skinned man began to approach them, his eyes warm with recognition.
He nodded at them both. “As-salāmu ʿalayki. Peace be upon you.”
She brightened. “Hey, Nasir! It’s so good to see a familiar face!”
“I am pleased to cross paths with you both once again, under such different circumstances this time. I have spoken extensively with the father you sought so hard to find, Amanda. He is an honorable man.”
Kevin waved his hand. “Gosh, you put me to shame, Nasir. Takes one to know one, as they say.”
“This is my sister, Chiara,” Amanda said, pulling Chiara forward.
Nasir bowed to her. “Now your family is together once again.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Joe ducked his head around Nasir, grimacing. He lowered his voice. “Hey, um, speaking of family … you didn’t happen to hear from my dad, did you?”
Nasir frowned. “He’s still at the refugee camp in Canada. I heard from him because he’s desperately trying to find you.”
“Er, oops.” Joe blushed.
“I’ll find a way to let him know you’re safe,” Kevin said. “So you’re off the hook for now.”
Joe sighed and wiped his brow with a grin.
“May I present to you the Council?” Nasir opened his hand, gesturing to the gathered group. “We have approximately thirty members gathered here, but this is the leadership team, which forms the objectives and strategy.”
“I’m sure you kids must be tired, but do you think you could fill us in on your story?” Their dad peered at them. “I, for one, want to hear everything you’ve been up to and how you managed to get here.”
Joe and Chiara turned to Amanda with expectant looks. She took a deep breath and looked out at the unfamiliar faces. So she began, like a witness giving testimony on the stand. She recounted their experiences in Plymouth and then Boston that harrowing night of the arsenal bombing. She spoke of Ethan in a cold, objective sort of way, as though he had been some randomly assigned person to their team … all facts, not feelings, in this exposition. That is what he must be to her now: a stranger, removed and distant, a relationship severed and dead. But how could she convince her heart of that?
Joe and Chiara interjected additional details now and then as she related their story and recent experiences in Peekskill. They reached the end and Amanda let out a long breath, now as mentally and emotionally exhausted as she was physically spent.
Nasir had been typing on a computer, taking notes. He glanced up from the laptop and nodded. “Thank you, all, for this.” Nasir looked around him at those gathered. “Are there questions?”
Then followed a series of interrogations: Did they have any of the possessions from the JPD officer Amanda had killed—namely his badge? How did they obtain the bombs used to destroy the arsenal? Had they any means to communicate with the opposition group in Plymouth or elsewhere? Then, the question Amanda had braced herself for: a woman with a bun on top of her oval-shaped head asked, “You mentioned four members of your party, correct? Where is the last one—the man who once belonged to the NCP?”
Amanda looked down at her shoelaces. “He didn’t come with us. He decided to go to Europe.” Realizing this defamed Ethan’s character somewhat, she came to his defense … even now, even after all this. “He lived over there for a time and has friends there, so he thought it best to relocate for a bit.”
The woman nodded without further comment.
Perhaps her dad noticed her discomfort or the way her face grew long at the talk of Ethan. Either way, he stood up. “I’m sure we all have more to chat about, but let’s allow these guys to get to bed. They look like they could use some shut-eye. We’ve got all day tomorrow to discuss and make plans.”
Nasir nodded. “I concur. Kevin, you can put them in any of the rooms on the third floor.”
“Righty-oh.” Their dad put a hand on Amanda and Chiara’s shoulders. “Let’s get you three to bed.”
Amanda wondered about the group present in front of her. What had they planned? How did they survive here? What role would she play among them? She had come, after all, to fight. But her eyelids had become so heavy and her questions would wait until a new day.
Their dad led them back up the elevator to the third floor. They passed the ice machine and walked down the dark hall. Their dad tested a few doors until one opened. “Amanda, Chiara—you can take this one.” He glanced at Joe. “You can room with me. We’ll be on the second floor.”
Chiara gave Joe a longing look. “That seems so far away. Dad, can’t Joe stay in one of the rooms on this floor?”
“Absolutely not.” Their dad furrowed his brow. “You’ve been unsupervised together for goodness knows how long. No, no, no—Joe can most certainly stay with me.”
“I snore pretty loudly. You might regret it, Mr. B.” Joe raised his eyebrows.
Their dad chuckled. “You don’t know that you’re talking to the king of snoring.” He hugged Chiara and then Amanda. “Remember, girls, no lights on in there at any point. You’ll have the lights from the parking lot, plus the smoke alarm, to help you out and keep you from bumping into things. Have a good sleep and I can’t wait to see you again in the morning. I love you.”
Chiara gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Daddy!” Then she kissed Joe. “I’ll miss you.”
“Miss you more, babe!”
Amanda gave her dad a sideways hug. “Night, Dad.” Guilt kept her from saying much more. Besides, Chiara had always been more affectionate toward him; she was his little baby. Amanda had always been the more aloof and distant of the two girls.
The door closed behind them and Amanda made out the shape of two twin beds. She groped forward, reaching with one hand along the wall. A desk and chair … now a dresser … a standing lamp they couldn’t turn on.
“Oh man, finally! I’ve got to take a shower.” Chiara fumbled for the bathroom door and, a moment later, running water sounded.
Amanda untied her shoes and tossed them on the carpet, then collapsed onto the bed—soft and plush, like a warm embrace. When had she last slept in a bed? It had to have been so many months ago, in her apartment in New York City. She rubbed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. They actually made it this far. Thank you … thank you for bringing me back to my dad. Please continue to guide me.
Her thoughts wandered against her will to a European city, a place she had never visited, but that didn’t stop her from envisioning a little café, Ethan sipping a cappuccino or whatever it was that people drank in Belgium. Please guide him too. Maybe she shouldn’t think about Ethan, but what about praying for him? If she didn’t, who would?
Suddenly restless, Amanda crept over to the window and brushed the sheer white curtain panel a little to the side. Their window overlooked the parking lot. She could just see the two “drunken” men, still keeping watch. The sight reassured her. A large tractor-trailer passed on the road, turning up the incline toward the power plant, whose lights flashed and dazzled among the otherwise somber horizon.
Chiara, her hair wet and flat against her head, emerged from the bathroom. She stopped in front of the dresser, depositing the holster and gun Bennie had given her on the top of it.
Amanda felt the gun at her own hip. “Don’t you think you should keep your gun closer? What if you need it during the night?”
Chiara sat on the other bed and rubbed her arms. “It’s close enough.”
Amanda returned to her own bed and lay down. “I look forward to tomorrow and learning more about what the opposition is doing here.”
Chiara let silence fill the pause. Then she spoke, mumbling, “Yeah.”
Amanda raised her head a little, looking at her sister’s shadowed face. “You okay?”
“I’m tired.”
“Me too.”
“Night.”
“Goodnight.” Amanda turned onto her left side, keeping her holster in place on her right.
Sleep seized her almost immediately, but it seemed just a second later that a piercing scream, high-pitched and terrified, jarred her awake.