Chapter 14
“We have to leave,” Abigail said. “They are about to burn the city to the ground.”
Haatim stared at her, wondering if maybe he’d heard wrong. He had hit his head during the car crash, so maybe he had a concussion. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, I thought you just said they were going to burn the city down.”
“That’s what I said,” Abigail replied. “We don’t have much time, and I need to get you out of here.”
“But, then everyone here is going to die.”
“I know,” Abigail said. “I wish I could help them, but if we stay we will die along with them.”
“We can’t just let them die.”
The look of helpless resignation on Abigail’s face floored Haatim. “I know,” she said. “But there is no other way. They would never call off an airstrike because I asked them to. I’m a pariah.”
“There has to be something—”
“What?” Abigail asked. “What could we do? We have minutes before they drop their bombs and kill everyone. Your father would kill me if I let something happen to you.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
Abigail shook her head. “He doesn’t know you’re with me at all, and he’s not exactly the forgiving type.”
“Could you stop this? Could you save these people?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail admitted. “But, I don’t know if I can live with myself if I never even try.”
There was a sudden bout of shouting from farther up the road. Voices were spilling out of an Italian Restaurant on the corner. The front door was open, and they could hear the sounds of breaking glass inside.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m going to go check it out. You stay here.”
She set the satellite radio on the hood of his busted up car and then moved quickly up the street, scanning the area and moving toward the restaurant. Haatim waited inside the FedEx building, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.
It was insane to think that so many people would be killed because of something like this, and the idea that his father might have something to do with it was unthinkable. His father had always been stern and unwilling to compromise. But to think that he would willingly be a part of mass murder like this…
Haatim pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. After it finished booting he clicked the button to call his father. Aram Malhotra answered immediately.
“Haatim! Thank God. Where are you?”
“I’m in Raven’s Peak.”
The other end of the phone was silent. Haatim could feel his father’s anger and disapproval spilling through the speaker.
“What is going on? Who are you with—?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” Haatim said. “I need you to call off the attack on the city.”
“How do you know about—?”
“Call them off,” Haatim said, “Or you’ll be killing your own son.”
A long silence. “There are things at work here that you cannot possibly understand, Haatim,” his father said.
His voice was quivering, but the words were like a punch in Haatim’s stomach, solidifying everything Abigail had told him: his father was involved in this in some way, and he’d kept it from Haatim for his entire life.
“I know,” Haatim said, “but that doesn’t change the reality of this situation. If you don’t call off the airstrike, then I’ll be dead.”
“I cannot call it off.”
“Then delay it,” Haatim replied. “I don’t care how, but I’m not letting you murder all of these innocent people. Not when there is a chance that Abigail can save them.”
“You are with Abigail? I knew it. Frieda was lying. Son, trust me, Abigail cannot handle something like this.”
“You are always the one telling me to have Faith, father.”
“I have no faith in Abigail.”
“Then have faith in me,” Haatim said. “This is my decision, and it’s already been made. Call the Council and delay the strike. I won’t ask again.”
“Haatim, you do not understand. Leave the city, now. I beg of you.”
“No,” Haatim said. “I’m sorry.”
Then he hung up. The phone battery was almost dead, and with a sigh he dropped it on the floor. His hands were shivering and he couldn’t think of any time he’d ever stood up to his father before. He’d always been terrified of his father while growing up.
But, now, everything had changed.
Abigail was back a minute later. She saw the expression on his face and cocked her head in confusion. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The satellite phone started to ring, bouncing on the torn up hood. Haatim picked it up. “It’s for you,” he said.
He clicked the speaker button on the phone. There was a moment of silence, and then Frieda said:
“You have one hour, Abigail. Don’t mess this up. Haatim, when this is over with, you and I will exchange words.”
Lincoln Cole
