If I had only one word to describe this, it would be 'fragile'….. no, it would be 'loaded'. Two people with tons of issues, with a shared past that nobody wants, two people who could easily freak out any moment, take a gun and just shoot anyone including themselves to get their rage out.
I wonder, why I haven't flipped, like Audrey has, yesterday night. Is it yet to come? Probably the world should be afraid of meeting someone like me, in my current situation, given the past months and years.
Well, the world is afraid of me already. The Russians have put me into prison, they had a reason. The Sengalans would kill me on sight, too. I can't really say that they don't have a reason. It's only matter of weeks until the Ukrainian mafia and the Mexicans are going to be after me as well, once they find out that Chloe and Belcheck just tricked them to get me free. Everyone has a reason to kill me – even my own people, who put their hypocritical will for peace and economic interests higher than investigating to find out what had really happened to Audrey in London. Even if it's not a a noble reason – it still is a reason.
Once more, I look at her through the windows of the car, then at my wrist watch. I wanted to give her some privacy to make this call, even though it's only a minute. 40 seconds to go. Any second longer will increase our chances to be exposed at this position.
We've arrived in Azerbaijan just a few hours ago, like planned. Mohammed gave me the keys to the car which I'm supposed to bring to Nakhchivan. This is going to be a dangerous ride. But I'm out of money and out options. The trunk is loaded with weapons which I'll bring to Mohammed's contact Sabir there. In return for that, Sabir is going to bring us to Turkey. I'll make it from there.
30 seconds. The seconds seem to pass endlessly slow, while I'm standing outside the car, here inside the harbor premises, still close to the pier. A satellite phone call at the pier won't be suspicious. Maybe even a hundred other phone calls just take place from the nearby ships. I already made a phone call too, today morning, when Chloe patched me through to Marc. He's out of money, too and they are putting pressure on him, because ever since the CIA have lost track of me, they are afraid that I and Audrey are still alive. Marc already wanted to sell me out, just to get them off his back. He didn't believe me, when I told him that his money had been well invested, that Audrey was fine. He wanted proof.
Shall I give her privacy? I can't keep myself under control, I have to know what's going on, because my pulse is racing just my thoughts are. I slightly turn my head and try to glace at her, through the window. There's not much I can see, because she's already wearing the niqab again which covers everything but her eyes. She's obviously talking, and she's wiping a few tears away.
Look away, damn it. This is her life, not mine.
I don't wanna see her, talking to Marc. Now he has his goddamn proof that I kept my end of the deal.
10 Seconds. Enough now. I get up from the hood of the car, open her door and tell her to give me the phone. I'm saying it so loud that she even jerks. How rude. How selfish. If anyone ever asked, I would never admit that I've just said it so loud that I wouldn't have to hear what she and Mark were talking about.
I hang up without saying anything to Mark. Within seconds, I've removed the battery of the phone and broke the sim card into two pieces. Two more. What a waste. We better get going.
She's sitting there, at the front passenger seat, not making a noise and not moving at all. Probably she's angry at me, or afraid, or both. Or she just misses Marc, after hearing him on the phone.
I can't help but being angry. This is how selfish jealousness feels. Damn it. I really thought I was over this, being the 'bigger man', being able to be there for her without having any second thoughts.
We start our route, crossing Baku, eventually leaving the city and continuing the drive towards the mountains which are still far away. Nobody is speaking a word.
We'll stick to the northern route, bypassing mount Karabakh almost at the Georgian border. Right now I'm glad that Audrey doesn't ask me where we're going. Even I am afraid a little, that this could turn out in a shooting, or even worse, in a rocket strike against us. We're transporting heavy weaponry into a region where there's an official ceasefire between the Azerbaijani Troups and the Russians which supported their Armenian allies. That war already caused lots of casualities and trouble – not only for the people in this region. The Serbian Mafia, who previously had a good supply route for all kinds of illegal stuff was thrown back years. They had to shift from drugs to weapons. Even I was here quite a few times in the past years, helping them smuggle all kinds of weapons in and out of Turkey and over the Caspian Sea. I never thought that I'd once need all these contacts to do any good in this world. I just did it for the money, and to be at the only safe place hiding from the Russians: working for their enemy.
The land south of us is still unsafe. Russian troops, who knows what else. The trip we're doing right now is so dangerous that it normally pays very well. We'll be awaited by Sabir, Mohammed's friend. It's been a while since I've last met him…. Must be two years. He'll pay me by bringing Audrey and me to Turkey, a travel which is only slightly less dangerous than this one.
The hours pass and still we haven't spoken. There's a lump in my throat, a mixture between being angry for no reason and being sorry for things that I shouldn't have to regret. Right now the road is still safe, we're going through small villages and narrow mountainous roads, to keep away from any trouble. But this will change soon.
After three hours of driving, a small piece of forest invites me to stop. I drive the car into the bay next to the road and stop the engine. Eerie silence.
Right as I take a deep breath to start talking, she goes first.
Sorry.
That was the last thing I had expected to hear.
I turn around in my seat, to look at her, for the first time in hours, but all I can see are two eyes behind that tiny gap.
You're not the one to be sorry, I answer, You did nothing wrong.
I'm so glad that she's so silent and composed. She's not freaking out, she's not crying or thrashing around aimlessly like in the night. Even if is she were, I'd totally understand her. But this makes life easier.
I swung at you last night, and I didn't even apologize, she says.
It's okay. I stretch out my hand, lying my open palm next to gear lever. She requites the gesture and lays her hand into mine. The bandages that I put round her bruised knuckles in the night are still there. Around her thumb, the bandage wasn't large enough to cover everything. The bruised and swollen knuckle is shining through. I was never angry at you because of this.
Because of what, then?
Her question catches me totally off-guard. I don't know, is the only quick answer that I can get out. I don't know.
For a few moments, we sit in silence.
That rage inside you, Audrey, the one burst out last night, I have it in me as well, I admit.
When are you gonna let it out? she hesitatingly asks, probably afraid to hear the answer. She knows what I'm capable of doing – nobody wants to be close to me when I freak.
I have no idea. Instead, I change the subject, pointing at the mountain range that became visible on the horizon. This is where we're going. I need to tell you a few things before we're there.
Mount Karabakh?, she comments, to my surprise.
Close. We're going around it in the north. I inevitably have to smile, once again realizing how great she is. Sometimes I've treated her like a fragile child, while she's actually one of the strongest women I've ever known. Of course she saw the road signs, the city of Baku and she knows of that armed conflict.
The trunk is full of stingers, machine guns and protective gear, I point at the back of our pick-up truck. We're bringing this to Nakhchivan, an Azerbaijani enclave in the west.
She nods, seeming to understand. To fight of the Russian mercenaries?
Yes. I sometimes forget that she's been a U.S. presidential advisor for the past years. Probably she even knows more ugly details about this war than I ever did. This is the Turkish-Azerbaijani axis, they are receiving weapons from Georgia. Even though I don't want to address this, I simply have to, I think you know how dangerous this is, what we're doing right now.
She nods.
I have to admit it. Now. I'm out of other options. A cold shiver runs down my back, and I guess she's not feeling so much differently. Through that tiny gap of the niqab I see her eyes widening up.
Mark told me…, she adds.
He did? We've lived off his money in the past weeks, this was a fact that I always repressed.
He just confirmed everything that you already told me last night. That he gave you money. That he's broke now and so are you. That the CIA people are putting pressure on him to find out if you succeeded in rescuing me.
She's so calm, saying this all. Almost unemotional, while I have a hard time to fight whatever hate, rage, anger or just helplessness comes up inside me. In the end, it's just the helplessness that causes all the hate and rage.
He told me that he said to the CIA that you just tricked him to steal his money.
It looks like she's expecting me to confirm that.
I take a deep breath and lean back. That's what agreed on, Marc and I. Just in case they find out that his money was really transferred. It'll probably keep our options open, until they find the first piece of evidence that you're really alive. I feel her eyes staring at me. Marc and I. I hate to say that. Working together with this douche. It's not much better than working for the Serbian mafia just to make a living.
Why do you always shoulder the blame, Jack… she says. It's not a reproach. She didn't mean to blame me even more, but some words just have to be left unanswered.
I get out of the car and open the trunk to get some of the bullet proof vests that we're transporting. The case where the rockets are in is armoured, so the rocket fuel won't go off at the first hit.
Coming around at the other side of the car, I open up Audrey's door and give her the first of the vests. I want you to wear that.
She obediently puts it on while I stuff a few other bulletproof vests into the gap between the back seats and the backrests of the front row seats, leaving a small place for her to crouch.
When we finally get back on the road again, she's there, covered by as much bulletproof material that we have. Even I wear a vest now, beneath my jacket, and one more is mounted to my door, next to my legs.
I need to push every other thought out of my mind now. No Marc, no CIA, no past, nothing. I need to focus on the streets, because the next 40 miles we'll go through enemy terrain. A machine gun is lying next to me, and two guns. So far, I've driven that road five times, two times I've been shot at. Now is not the time to think about the future.