Turkmen Captives

By Susan Williamson

Madelaine Jones is still reeling from her husband’s death in Afghanistan when her house explodes and a mysterious letter indicates her husband might not have been a war casualty. Her desire to know the truth puts Madelaine and her loved ones in danger as she searches three continents for answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Sea Press
• Release date: Sep 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781630660499

Book preview

Chapter 1

Madelaine, wake up! You’ve got to get out.

Dad? I shouted back. What do you mean? I sat up enough to see the clock. It’s four o’clock in the morning.

Madelaine Morgan Jones, I’m as serious as I can be. Get out of the house now and don’t go near the garage. There’s no time. Go.

I knew my dad’s psychic gifts were very specific and applied only to property, not to people. He had known when the fire started in his office fifty miles away and then when a row of his rental houses burned. So, as weird as it was, I agreed. Okay, I’m going now.

Madelaine, hurry, I love you.

I looked around for my purse, which was hanging on the bedpost, and pulled on the jeans I had left on the floor when I crawled into bed. There was no smell of smoke, no beeping smoke detector. I grabbed shoes and a sweatshirt, and as I passed my desk, I thought of my passport and stuffed it in my pocket. I ran down the steps into the great room and out onto the deck, calling for Katie. I had just started down the deck steps when the garage exploded and flames leapt into the air.

I dug into my purse for my cell. It wasn’t there. I had put it on the charger in the kitchen before I went to bed. The kitchen was next to the garage, in the immediate path of the flames.

Where was Katie? I called, but she was nowhere in sight. My horse was screaming from the barn. Then I heard Katie barking from that direction. Thank God she wasn’t in the house. I remembered; last night she had scared up a skunk, and I had washed her and shut her in a stall.

I ran to the barn and groped for the lights. Not working. Of course, they ran out of the breaker box in the garage. Everything did, including the pump. No chance of wetting down the other end of the house and no way to call 911. I had to get help before the woods caught fire. The truck was parked behind the barn, but the keys were hanging in the kitchen. I had no way to start it.

I opened the stall door, and Katie charged me, wanting to get as close as possible. I hugged her as my tears dropped onto her chocolate body. She smelled slightly of skunk, but mostly of warm, wonderful dog.

Fred was the only option. I threw my purse behind a bale of hay and went to his stall. I spoke softly. He could smell the smoke and was furiously pawing. I knew he was upset, but he trusted me. He would be okay. I found my saddle and work bridle and tacked him up as quickly as I could in the dark with Katie glued to my side. Fortunately, the smoke was blowing the other way, and I mounted as quickly as I could. He started moving as soon as I hit the saddle. I called Katie, and we took off together down the lane.

I stifled a sob and clucked to Fred. He was eager to escape the scary smells and sounds, and he could see in the dark way better than I could. Our log home at the end of a private road had been a dream come true for Jim and me. Now Jim was gone, dead in a war on the other side of the world. I had been trying to heal, alone in my woods and now this. Some days only the need to take care of the animals forced me out of bed.

His ground-covering trot brought us quickly to the main road. I knew the neighbors to the right, Mary and Blake Harrison, so we headed that way. Their dog heard us and started howling.

Katie began to growl until I told her No. We had made enough noise to wake Mary, and she turned on the porch light, then stepped out the storm door when she saw us. Steam rose from Fred’s neck in the cool night air.

Mary, call 911. My house is on fire! It exploded.

My God. I’ll be right back.

I slid down from the saddle, and my knees collapsed. I had to hold onto Fred to stand. I could hear Mary on the phone. What’s your address? she yelled.

2030 Loon Lane. We had a mailbox near the end of our road even though we were the only house there.

Mary’s husband, Blake, came out to hug me. What on earth, Madelaine. It’s lucky you got out.

I was shaking all over and beyond speech. Blake gently took Fred’s reins from my hand. He led me to the edge of the porch and insisted I sit. I can put him in the old barn. There’s a stall there from the kid’s horses.

Katie was licking my face. Mary came out and urged me into the house. Katie followed.

I looked down and said, No, Katie, stay outside.

She can come in. She’s as shook up as you are. Mary put the tea kettle on and brought me a glass with amber liquid. I sniffed. Bourbon. Good bourbon. I sipped. It warmed. About that time we heard sirens in the distance.

I started up. I need to go.

We’ll take you, soon as Blake gets your horse put up. But drink this and some tea, and I’ll find you a heavy jacket.

Chapter 2

Blake drove down my road until a fireman stopped him. This is the owner of the house.

Okay, you call pull in by the barn. I’ll tell the chief you’re here. Don’t try to approach the house.

We won’t.

I got out and went to retrieve my purse. On my way out of the barn I saw a package leaning against the barn wall. The mailman always left things there that were too large for the mailbox. I picked it up and put it and my purse in the car.

How did you know to get out? asked Mary. Did the smoke detector wake you?

I paused to consider how to explain my father’s weird gift. No, it was a phone call. I need to call my dad and tell him I’m safe. But my phone was in the kitchen.

You can use mine. I have plenty of minutes. And you plan to stay with us as long as you need.

I took Mary’s phone and walked away. Dad, it’s Madelaine…I’m okay, but my house isn’t.

Madelaine, thank God. I saw your garage exploding and your house in flames…

You saw right. Was there anymore?

It wasn’t really a picture, but more a thought. Did you have any paint or oily rags in there?

No. Not even gas for the lawnmower. I ran out last month. My car, of course, but I hadn’t driven it since yesterday morning.

Maybe the fire department can tell you something. Do you have someplace to go?

My neighbors are wonderful. Katie and I and Fred will all stay there. I rode to their house because I couldn’t get to my phone. I’ll get a new one tomorrow and call you.

Stay safe; call me when you know more. I love you.

Love you too, Dad. Thanks.

The fire chief approached. What exactly happened here?

I don’t know. My garage just exploded, and then the rest of the house caught fire from there.

The fire’s under control, you might be able to salvage stuff from the basement and the far end, but the house is gutted. I’m sorry. We got here quickly, but the fire was so intense…

I couldn’t help the tears. First to lose Jim and then our dream house. But I was alive and unhurt, and Katie was with me. We would make it. Thanks for trying.

The arson inspector will have to see it once it cools off, and when he’s finished, we’ll give you a call. How can we reach you?

I gave him Mary’s cell number, along with my own.

There’s nothing you can do tonight. Do you have somewhere to stay, or do you need help finding shelter?

My neighbors are taking me in. Just down the road.

Blake drove us back. Weak daylight was brightening the sky. As he turned off the engine, he said, Might as well have breakfast. We’re not likely to sleep now.

Mary fixed eggs, bacon and toast. I never eat a big breakfast, but I was starving. She urged me to take a hot shower and brought me a turtleneck to put on under my sweatshirt and some warm socks. I would need to shop for more than a phone.

I glanced toward my purse and saw the package I had picked up at the barn. It had my brother’s return address in Ireland. Maybe an early Christmas present? I could use some cheer. I took it to the guest room to open it. Inside was another package with strange foreign postage. I didn’t recognize the handwriting or the postage.

There was a note from my brother saying that the package had come the previous week, and he didn’t feel right opening it since it was addressed to me. There was no return address. I sank to the bed and opened the inner package with trembling hands. It contained a CD and a note.

Dear Madelaine,

I feel like I know you because Jim talked about you so much. He gave this to me to keep and told me to send it to you if anything ever happened to him. I just now learned of his death. But he never got around to giving me your address. I found your brother’s address in Ireland. I haven’t seen what’s on it, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any explanation.

I run a home and school for homeless girls in a remote area near the Turkmenistan border. Your husband and another soldier found us by accident. They began helping me to find homes for girls who were orphans with no family left. But something happened he was very angry and said he had proof of a terrible wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said he had to find out who was responsible.

I fear that his death may have been the result of his investigation. I am so sorry that he might have died helping our cause. He was a good man. You should be proud.

Regards,

Katrina Mosselle

I buried my face in the pillow, sobbing. It had been six long months since that life-changing phone call. Losing Jim was bad enough when attributed to the chances of war, but what if it were something else? I didn’t need this. Gone was gone. No matter how it happened. Who was this Katrina and why had Jim never mentioned her? I’d loved and trusted him completely, but who could know what transpired in a war zone.

I wrapped the CD back in the package and stashed it under the bed before going to the bathroom to fix my tear-ravaged face and wild hair. I needed to go get a new phone, a truck key and now a laptop.

I rode Fred back to my place to meet the locksmith. Riding calmed my soul. I cleared my mind and made myself focus on the colorful fall landscape. My horse was eager to return home, yet nervous of the memory and scent of the fire. As we drew closer, his head came up, and he gathered himself, ready to turn and flee. I shortened the reins and urged him forward, beginning to enjoy the feel of collection and motion beneath me.

The locksmith rekeyed the truck’s lock, and the old diesel reluctantly sputtered to life. He shook his head at the sooty remains of my house.

I left the truck running while I checked Fred’s fence and fed him. He had water and grass, so he would be content for a while. I checked the mailbox and then drove to town to get a new cell phone. My mind was whirling with what to do next. When I saw the bank, I realized I’d better check my balance before I bought too much. My balance was about what I remembered: $500 in savings and a few thousand in checking.

I would need to find a job soon. When I decided to meet Jim in Ireland for his leave, the newspaper where I’d worked hadn’t wanted to give me the time off so I’d resigned. We’d stayed with my brother and had a great time. The memory froze me. I thought about Katrina’s letter and sat in the truck shivering. I took deep breaths, put the truck in gear and drove to the nearest shopping center.

By early afternoon I had a laptop, jeans, underwear, another pair of shoes, a few sweaters and a down jacket. I stopped at the Dollar Store to buy toiletries and dog food.

I wasn’t hungry, but I was still shaky. I took my new computer to a wi-fi café and ordered a diet Coke and a piece of pie. It was the only thing I thought I could swallow. I emailed my brother and asked him if he knew anything about this woman and why she had his address.

When I returned, Mary greeted me with a hug, and Katie offered kisses. I took my new purchases to the bedroom and dug out the CD.

The disc had a series of PDF files: all pictures of girls, some with written information in a language and alphabet I couldn’t decipher. Most appeared to be teenagers from what I could guess. They were wearing burkas. A few of them were riding or holding horses. These were beautiful long-necked horses with slightly Arab looking faces, but longer, more like a Saddlebred. I had read about and seen pictures of the Alke Teke horses of Turkmenistan.

The pictures of the girls with horses showed more background: lush pastures, green trees. Not at all like I had imagined Afghanistan. A Land Rover and horse trailer showed up in the background on one picture. A logo on the door featured a horse-head surrounded by writing, too small for me to even copy the letters.

Different pictures showed some of the same girls, posed less innocently, for a different purpose? Had Jim thought he was helping with adoptions, but it had turned into something else entirely?

I sat back, stunned. I could feel my stomach cramping with anxiety. Did Jim die for this?

My new cell was chiming from my purse.

Ms. Jones, I’m Joe Henry, the River County arson investigator. I have a few questions for you. Can you meet me at your house tomorrow morning, about eleven?

Ah, yes, I can do that. What….How was the fire started?

I’d rather talk with you in person. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I hadn’t been able to think of any logical cause for the explosion, but I’d assumed there was one. Was he implying something else? It was too unbelievable to think someone had tried to kill me, but the delivery of the disc and the fire were too close; the timing could not have been a coincidence.

I took the CD out and hid it under a spare blanket in the back of the closet. Was I in danger now? Or would whoever planned this assume the disc was destroyed? Or was I being paranoid?

Mary called me to dinner. I wasn’t hungry, but the shakes were back, and I knew I needed to eat. Her beef stew smelled wonderful and reminded me of my mother’s cooking. With a glass of burgundy and homemade bread it was a comforting meal.

After dinner, I fired up the laptop and searched for Alka Teke horses. They were the pride of Turkmenistan, featured on the country’s official seal. On the Turkmenistan map I discovered river valleys crossing the borders with Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. Jim had been in the northwestern section of the country, but he hadn’t told me anything more and I hadn’t asked.

I enlarged the logo on the truck door as much as I could without blurring out all of the letters and symbols. I borrowed Mary’s printer to print a copy. Surely someone at the local university could decipher whatever language they spoke on the edge of Turkmenistan.

Early the next morning Bill called from Ireland. Madelaine, are you okay? What caused the fire?

I don’t know. But the garage exploded and now the arson investigator wants to meet with me. Bill, I think someone tried to kill me.

I know. Dad called me.

If he hadn’t called...

Yeah, but why would someone want to hurt you? Who did you piss off that much?

I told him about the CD and the letter. I don’t know how she happened to have your address.

"Katrina sent it? She went to school with Megan. Katrina trains awesome dressage horses, and she sold a great one

Reviews for Turkmen Captives

[stevelindahl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Turkmen Captives by Susan Williamson is a hard hitting, plot driven, novel that throws everything at its readers. There are repeated explosions, people with premonitions, corrupt soldiers, an international prostitution ring with young sex slaves, river kayaking, and exotic horses. Anyone who likes action will love this book.Madelaine Jones has lost her husband. He was in the military, stationed in Afghanistan. Maddie thought it was the war that took Jim until she received a package from a woman he knew. Katherine Mosselle ran an orphanage near the border of Turkmenistan. The note in the package states that she fears he “might have died helping our cause.” It is accompanied with pictures on a CD – of young Turkmen girls. The first pictures are innocent. The latter ones are not.After an attempt on her life, Madeline leaves America to try to discover what really happened to her husband. From the beginning of the book there is one adventure after another.One aspect I found particularly interesting was the horses that were mentioned throughout the story. The Akhal Teke breed in Turkmenistan was a point of emphasis. Later on in the book a young girl was placed in a horse farm to keep her safe. And a horse was stolen to follow someone through a park trail too narrow to drive. The details of horse care and of horse tack were carefully described. Susan Williamson knows horses and that knowledge comes through.I would recommend this book to people who like stories that read quickly and have lots of action.Steve Lindahl – author of Motherless Soul and White Horse Regressions