Chapter 2 #2
She ducked her head and slipped past a group of men smoking and laughing on the sidewalk. Her pencil skirt clung too tight for speed, and the concrete scraped at her bare soles, but she kept going. To stumble now would draw attention to herself.
The entrance to the enclosed souk appeared in front of her, and relief welled up.
Thank God.
She hurried inside, weak with relief. There was no time to pause. She zigzagged through the tunnels, weaving among the garments that hung off railings, obscuring the way. It was blissfully dark, the dim interior lanterns aimed at the items for sale rather than the shoppers.
The sirens dulled, then stopped altogether. Presumably, the police were searching for her on foot. Had they seen her enter the souk?
She didn’t think so but she couldn’t be sure. There was always a chance they’d figured out where she was headed and intended to cut her off.
A woman in a traditional robe—an abaya—beckoned to her from behind one of the stalls. She pointed at Hannah’s skirt and torn pantyhose, then at her merchandise. Traditional clothing and scarves hung from the overhead railings like big black bats.
Yes! That’s what she needed. A disguise.
Hannah rummaged in her handbag for a crumpled bill and passed it to the woman. Then grabbed a full-length black robe off a misshapen metal hanger.
“Keep the change,” she said, shimmying into it, pulling it down over her clothes. In a dark corner, she adjusted the headscarf so it covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes visible.
Hah! Prince Hakeem’s men would have a hard time recognizing her now.
She scurried out of the souk and hurried away from the market district, keeping her head bent low. No one stopped her, and thankfully, she didn’t hear any more sirens. Twenty minutes later, she turned onto a wide avenue that circled a park and heaved a sigh of relief.
Finally .
On the other side stood the U.S. Embassy. The solid, rectangular building whitewashed and orderly, with crisp American lines and rows of tall windows, seemed to beckon her like a promise of safety.
Then she froze.
Oh, no!
She’d left the folder containing the letter back at the stall where she’d bought the abaya.
How could she be so darn stupid?
Distracted by the sirens and a frantic need to disguise herself, she’d put it down on the piles of scarves and forgotten to pick it back up. If they found it, it would condemn her.
Treason .
Even worse, now she had no leverage to get out of Syman. No physical proof of what was about to happen. Another thought struck her. Once the palace police questioned the store owner, they’d know she was in disguise.
Well done, Hannah.
This spy stuff really wasn’t for her.
Hot tears welled up, but she blinked them away. Now what? She thought about going back, but then immediately dismissed it. Worst idea ever! The police would be trawling the souk by now. She had no choice but to go on.
Hurrying up the palm-tree-lined street, she passed some fruit sellers and, in front of them, a wooden bench, just begging her to sit down and rest. She eyed it longingly, but rest was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Not with the embassy building beckoning from the other side of the park.
She propelled herself forward, ignoring the pain in her feet, still beating herself up.
Not far now.
She crossed the park and there, at last, stood the front gate to the U.S. Embassy. Tears welled when she saw the American flag fluttering out front.
Approaching, she gazed longingly at the interior grounds. The garden overflowed with succulents and cacti, manicured lawns, and a fountain shaped like a lion. No water was spraying from it, but that was understandable given the current situation.
Finally, she had a sanctuary. Somewhere she’d be safe.
Boy, did she need it.
She ran straight up to the pedestrian gate and tugged at the iron bars. It didn’t budge.
Was it locked?
Dismayed, she looked around. Where was the guard?
A shiver went down her spine. Why wasn’t there anybody here? No people waiting for passports or visas.
She peered through the gates. Come to think of it, the magnificent embassy gardens were deserted.
Still catching her breath, she cried, “Hello?”
There was a guard hut to the left of the gate. “I’m an American citizen. Is anyone there?”
No reply. Only the faint breeze rustling through the date palms overhead.
She rattled the gates and shouted louder, “Please! Someone help me!”
Still nothing.
What the hell was going on? Surely the embassy would be operational at a time like this.
They wouldn’t have closed it because of the civil unrest in Hamabad, would they?
That had only just happened. If anything, the embassy should be overcrowded with people trying to get out of the country. Like her.
Fear clutched at her chest. What if they had shut it?
What if she couldn’t get in?
Somewhere in the distance came a screech of tires, making her pulse leap. That couldn’t be them. Not yet.
Soon though, her pursuers would come racing down the tree-lined avenue towards her.
I don’t want to die out here.
She rattled the gates in a panic, but there was no response.
Despair made her desperate. There was nowhere else to go.
She didn’t know anyone in town. Her job required her to live on the compound, and the only people she’d interacted with were the prince and his aides.
There had been very few women in the compound, so she hadn’t had a chance to make friends.
Not that she had time to socialize, the prince expected her to be available twenty-four hours a day.
She clung desperately to the gates.
“Please,” she cried one more time. “Please let me in.”
But no one came to her aid.