Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
During the final hour of the flight, I’d awoken and discussed my new identity with Shawn. I filled in the spaces I could on the form now, and my unpracticed hand signed the fake name. My breath caught when my gaze slid over the part about not falsifying the information.
The large airport loomed ahead, and in no time the car came to a halt and the clipboard was taken from me. I was led through the side door of a building, down a hallway, and into a room where a female security agent patted me down, thorough and unapologetic.
When I’d passed that evaluation, I was placed in a small room with worn, dirty gray carpet and two unforgiving metal chairs. The bare walls were white, and the only window was a thin strip of glass in the solid-looking door.
I waited in the holding room for an unknown amount of time. Definitely longer than fifteen minutes.
Worry made me fidget. Something was wrong. This was taking too long.
It had to have been at least two hours when an official appeared through the glass and unlocked the door. I rose to my feet, but the man came in and shut the door behind him.
“Please state your name.” His English was good, but the accent was thick and much harsher than Shawn’s.
“Leslie Conner.”
The German opened the folder in his hands and peered down at it. I could see the U.S. passport inside, loose and on top of forms. Was that passport mine?
“You understand trying to enter our country illegally and carrying false documentation is a serious crime?”
My breath left me in a burst. What the hell was I going to do? Should I continue to lie to him when he seemed to know I wasn’t who I said I was?
“I will ask you again, tell me your name.” His tone was sharp.
Jason’s words flooded my mind, reminding me not to use my real name. So, when I repeated the fake one, I did my best to make it sound like the truth. The official’s eyes scrutinized me. He closed the folder and typed in the access code to the door, not uttering a word as he left.
Would they send me back to the States? To prison?
My concern swelled into panic as time dragged on. Occasionally, a shadow would pass by the door and draw my attention, letting me believe for a split second someone was about to come in.
Where was Shawn? Was he desperate outside the detainment area? Had he told Jason what had happened?
The endless questions made me pick at my nails and tangle my hands through my unwashed hair. The chair was so uncomfortable I considered sitting on the dirty floor.
After another hour or so, a female agent led me to the bathroom and then back to my holding room. It had been a short march down a hall of doors like mine, and the small bathroom didn’t have a mirror.
I bit my lip when I was closed back in the tiny holding room and fought back the urge to cry. I tried to ask her what was going on, but she either didn’t speak English or didn’t care to.
Was I going to have to spend the night here? I tried desperately to figure out what I could say that would make them set me free.
The same official who had questioned me earlier abruptly burst through the door, startling me as I had begun to nod off. “I’ve been briefed by the U.S. Embassy about your situation,” he announced. “You can come with me.”
“Great.” I stood on my tired legs, straightened my wrinkled clothes that I’d been in for two days, and put on my coat.
We went down the corridor and through the glass door that I’d come through when I’d arrived. It was night now, and a police car waited. The door was tugged open for me and I climbed in, eager to get back to Shawn.
There was already a driver seated behind the wheel, and the official got into the passenger seat. He nodded to the driver, we pulled away, and they had what sounded like a pleasant conversation while we circled the airport.
But unease needled up my spine when we rolled up to a security checkpoint and were waved through. Why were we exiting the airport?
And where was Shawn?
“Where are we going?”
The men ignored me. The airport was lined with a tall fence, and the road beside it was empty for a mile. Then, we came upon a dark SUV perched on the shoulder, the engine still running. Our police car pulled alongside and slowed to a stop.
Ice ran through my veins, freezing my feet to the floorboard. “I want to go back to the airport. I’ll get on Shawn Dunn’s plane and go back to America.”
The official who’d taken me from the holding room swiveled in his seat to look at me . . . and laughed. Like it was the most ridiculous request he’d ever heard. It dumped so much panic into my stomach, I worried I’d get sick.