Home Run [antikvár]

Prologue[June 25,1982]She was led down the iron steps and across the hallway and out into the chili of the morning. She would have gone on her toes to protect the rawness of the wounded flesh on the soles of her feet, but the guards on either side of her held her firmly above her elbows and she was hurried across a chipstone yard. She did not cry out. She did not flinch from the pain that burst into her body from her feet.There was a jeep parked on the far side of the yard. Beyond it four posts in front of a sandbagged wall. There were two groups of soldiers lounging on the ice wet grass between the jeep and the stakes and some were cleaning their rifles. She saw the ropes that were knotted to the posts. They were waiting to do their work, but she was not a part of that work.At the back of the jeep she was handcuffed, then lifted roughly inside under the loose canvas. Her escorts climbed in after her. She was pushed to the floor where the fuel fumes merged with the sweat stench of the black and hooded chador. The jeep lurched forward. She heard the exchange between the driver and the sentries at the gate, and then she heard the early morning choking whine of the Street trafile. She closed her eyes. There was nothing to see. She had learned when she was taken to the gaol, three months before, that her ears were to be her eyes.