AMIRA Matthew Betley (english novels to read TXT) 📖

in the head.  That part is true.  But I shot him because I thought he was already dying from his injuries, and I needed one of them alive because that was part of my mission.  I swear to God.”

Nafisa stared at her, and then her eyes squinted slightly, a flicker of something other than unadulterated hatred.  “What injuries?”

For the first time of the day, Amira felt a glimmer of hope.  There’s a chance, small, but now it’s there.  Take it.  “I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.  He’s a monster, Nafisa.  A very real, evil monster.  He doesn’t care about you.  He’s just using you because that’s what he does.”

Amira witnessed the impact of the words, like invisible punches that made it through Nafisa’s defenses.

“I said, ‘What injuries?’”

“It wasn’t I who ambushed them,” Amira said, pausing for effect.  “They stopped their pick-up in the middle of the road and opened fire on me.  I did the only thing I could – I floored it and struck the driver, who was still shooting at me when I did.  Turns out that was your husband.  I swear to you, I thought I killed him when I hit him.  I then used a stun grenade to subdue Omar, who was relatively uninjured.”  Amira paused again.  “I can see that he didn’t tell you any of this.  It’s written all over your face, like your hatred for me.”

Nafisa didn’t reply, but she adjusted herself on the bed.  The suppressed Glock in her right hand lay on her thigh, the muzzle still pointed at Amira.

“I had a choice to make – your husband or Omar.  Omar was the leader, and your husband, I thought he was dying of internal injuries.  He was in bad shape.  I was shocked he’d survived.”  Amira let the words sink in, knowing she had one last card to play.  “You know, I gave Omar a choice – him or Asim.  And you know what he said?”

A pained expression appeared on Nafisa’s face, softening the mask of hatred.

She’s on the ropes.  Finish her.  It’s your only chance.  “He said he’d rather die.  He didn’t try to plea for Asim’s life.  He refused to make the choice.  And do you know why?  Because the only thing a man like Omar cares about is his so-called cause.  He’s a true believer, but that makes everyone around him expendable, including your husband.”  Amira stopped speaking, the truth hanging in the air between them.

Nafisa’s face was a portrait of pure torment, her hatred and anguish battling each other across the features of her beautiful face.  Amira sat in silence as the struggle unfolded.  She has to reach the conclusion herself.  It’s the only way. 

Nafisa suddenly ceased moving, the transformation complete, her eyes fixed on the carpet in front of Amira’s feet.  “I told him Omar would get him killed.  I knew the day would come.  I tried to save him.”  Nafisa looked up into Amira’s face, the pain and anguish now the prominent emotions displayed.  “But he wouldn’t listen.  They were best friends since they were little, inseparable.  Unlike Omar, Asim was kind, gentle.  He wanted to help people.  He always did, but the idea of a free South Sudan was always the most important thing to Omar, and I told Asim, but he just…wouldn’t…listen.” 

Amira gave her ten seconds to compose herself, and then spoke.  “Nafisa, I am sorry for your loss.  Truly.  But if you don’t help me, many more people are going to die today because of Omar.  If what you say about your husband is true, he wouldn’t want you to do this, to throw your life away for Omar.  Please.  Help me.”

The plea hung suspended between them, and Amira waited, the tension increasing by the moment.  She could feel Nafisa’s desire to help, but something still held her back.  You’re running out of time. 

Nafisa looked into Amira’s face, a resolve set where none had been moments before.  “But you still killed him.  And I can’t forgive that, no matter how much I try.  My husband was a good man, a strong man, but I’m not my husband.”

There’s your answer.  Amira knew some people weren’t capable of forgiveness, even when they knew the alternative was self-destruction and damnation.  Nafisa’s grief had been too much for her to bear.  Amira saw it clearly, and she knew her fate had been sealed long ago.  But she had to try, for Director Tooney, for herself, and most importantly, for John.

“Don’t do this.  It’s wrong, and you know it,” Amira stated.

A knock at the door interrupted Nafisa before she could respond.  She looked at her watch and then at Amira.  “Only a few more minutes,” she said, and rose from the bed, her composure that of a woman once again in control.

“You still have time to save yourself.”

Nafisa stopped in the doorway and glanced back, resignation the sole expression left on her face.  “No.  It’s too late for me…and for you.”

Amira’s last hope faded as Nafisa disappeared into the other room.  She was out of options, frustration and hopelessness threatening to set in and drag her into the next life.  No, her father said inside her head.  There’s always a way.  Right up to the end.  She knew he was right, and she steeled herself.  She would not cower in fear, even if it was her end.

She twisted her hands in a failed attempt to break the zip-tie behind the back of the chair, a rectangular, narrow cushion with a wooden frame.  She rocked the chair to the side in an attempt to topple it, but the queen bed stopped her momentum.  There’s not enough space between the beds to get you on the floor.  She had to figure out a way to turn the chair ninety degrees in the confined space and then knock it over, but she knew Nafisa would