She nodded. “I understand. We are no threat. We merely want his help to get out of Syman.” She beckoned to Tom who had stood back to let her talk, “This is a friend of his.”
He came forward. “My name is Tom,” he said. “I met Jamal in Syman City. We did some work together there.”
The shopkeeper nodded, then turned back to Hannah. “Jamal isn’t here, but I will contact him for you. If you go to the mosque on the corner, he will meet you there in an hour.”
“Thank you.” She smiled her gratitude and relayed the message to Tom, who nodded and shook the man’s hand.
They bought some bread and water, and sat on an upturned crate across the road from the mosque to eat. The rounded dome of the mosque had gaping holes in it where mortar bombs had penetrated, and there was a vast empty space where the front door had been blown clean off. Crumbling concrete walls struggled to stay upright. The whole place looked like it could collapse at any moment.
There were more people on the streets now that the sun had come up, and it appeared to be business as usual in this rebel-held town. A man and a boy prepared a table with fresh produce, while another teenager laid out flatbreads for sale to passersby.
“How long will the ceasefire last?” asked Hannah, watching a group of young boys play among the debris.
“Not long. The army needs to gain control over this town as it’s fairly close to the capital. It’s a strategic location for the rebels.”
“These poor people,” she murmured. “How can they live in constant fear of attack? I couldn’t bear it.”
“I hear Jemah, another town thought to be harboring rebels, is in a similar state. The army is accumulating on the outskirts, ready to invade. It’s not looking good.”
“When I agreed to this job, this is the last thing I saw myself doing,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s like a dream, or rather a nightmare. Me, in the middle of a civil war. It’s crazy.”
“There he is,” said Tom, standing up. She squinted into the sun. A man emerged out of the glare, smoking a cigarette, which he tossed into the dusty ground as he spotted them.
“Tom. It’s good to see you.” The men shook hands, while she stood aside, waiting to be introduced. Jamal was tall and slim, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, like many of the other local men she’d seen bustling around. He had short, dark hair and a beard, and a handsome, yet serious face. The most noticeable thing about him, however, was his weapon, slung over his shoulder. The automatic rifle was a different make from Tom’s, even she could recognize that, but it looked just as lethal.
Tom gestured toward her. “This is Hannah Evans. She is my new mission,” he said in a low voice. “I need to get her out of Syman, urgently. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
The man glanced at her with interest. His eyes were hard and penetrating. He bowed his head in greeting. She responded in kind, unsure what to make of Tom’s contact. He didn’t look like a friend, their greeting was too formal, and Tom had mentioned they’d worked together in the past. She wondered what kind of work these two could have in common.
“Follow me,” he said to Tom. He led them along a series of winding alleyways, some so narrow they had to walk single file, until they finally came to a narrow three-story building. It seemed to be more or less in one piece. It was sandwiched between two other identical blocks, all built of concrete, all with big holes in the walls, like pockmarks. Jamal unlocked the door, and they went inside.
“This is my sister’s house,” he said as he led them into a sparse but functional kitchen. It was clean and well organized, with a breadboard on the countertop containing a mound of fresh dough. “You may stay here as long as you need to.”
“Thank you, but we have to get out of Syman as soon as possible. I was hoping you could help us,” Tom said.
Jamal’s gaze flittered across to Hannah. He hesitated.
She got the message. “I’ll go and freshen up.” She turned toward the door. “Would your sister mind if I used the bathroom?”
Jamal looked relieved. “Please, make yourself at home. The bathroom is upstairs. You can take a shower, too, if you wish.”
Ah, bliss. A shower. She didn’t know what secrets Jamal had, or why he didn’t want her to overhear them, but a shower trumped all that in her book. She gave a brief smile and disappeared upstairs to let the men talk.
…
Jamal left the house before they did. They were to meet him at his cousin’s grocery store at precisely three o’clock. He had agreed to help them. He knew people leaving for Jemah at 0300 hours, and he had organized for them to tag along.
They walked through the twisty alleys to the rendezvous point. Tom did an admirable job of navigating them back to the shop after only having traveled the maze of narrow streets once. But a couple of times when he hesitated, Hannah put her photographic memory to work and tugged him gently in the right direction.
“Isn’t Jemah the place you said could erupt at any moment?” she asked. Having seen how this town had been destroyed by the bombing, she had no desire to walk into a town even farther on the brink of an attack.
“It is a powder keg,” Tom had admitted, “but we’ve got no choice. We can’t sleep in the open; it’s too dangerous. Jemah is on the way to the coast, so Jamal’s friends will take us ten miles closer to our destination.”
She took a deep, meditation-style breath, willing her body to calm. “There’s no other way?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “Not if we want to get out of here in two days. On the positive side, it is currently controlled by rebels, which means you’ll be relatively safe once we’re there.”
“Unless the armed forces decide to attack,” she mused, praying that wouldn’t happen.
He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. She knew the threat was very real, but as he’d said, they had no choice.
A typical, nondescript white truck was waiting outside the grocery store with its engine idling. A group of men in civilian clothes, with headscarves wrapped around their heads and faces, climbed in the back. They were heavily armed and looked a dangerous, violent bunch.
Rebels. This was a rebel convoy on its way to Jemah, she was sure of it. Her blood ran cold. She glanced at Tom, who seemed totally at ease. He shook hands with some of the other men. Seeing him with them, she realized how well he blended in. With his dark beard and the scarf wrapped around his head, exposing only his eyes, it would be impossible to tell he was a Westerner. Only his blue eyes gave him away, but that could be put down to a genetic quirk.
It was clear by the way the men deferred to Jamal that he was the boss.
“Hannah, you get in the front with the driver,” Jamal told her. Tom’s contact obviously played an important part in the anti-government movement. That was why he hadn’t wanted to talk freely in front of her. Tom, however, must know his position with the rebels—yet he hadn’t said a word to her about it.
She glanced at Tom, who nodded. “It’s okay. You’ll be more comfortable up front. I’ll be right behind you.”
Tentatively, she climbed in next to a man giving off a more-than-slightly hostile aura—or maybe that was just the effects of the angry-looking scar slashed down his left cheek. He didn’t even give her so much as a cursory glance.
What the hell am I doing in a truck with a group of volatile freedom fighters? I must be out of my mind.
They drove in silence. She couldn’t hear what the men in the back were saying, but they looked to be making plans of some sort. She wondered what they were up to, then decided she didn’t want to know. As long as they got to Jemah safely, that was all that mattered.
The drive continued for the better part of twenty minutes. The road was rough and filled with potholes, and she was so jostled in the passenger seat that she’d taken to holding onto the door handle just to keep from flying up and hitting her head on the roof of the truck.
The driver swerved off the road, into a rest stop where there was some coverage fr
om overhanging trees. He slowed down and cut the engine.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in Arabic.
The man ignored her and sat motionless, staring into his rearview mirror. She gave herself a mental shake. Of course, women were not meant to ask questions. She’d been lured into a false sense of security working for the prince. He’d allowed her a freedom and respect she wouldn’t otherwise have had in Syman. Mainly because her amazing memory was a tool he had needed. Now, that same tool was threatening to get her killed.
Angling her side mirror, she watched as Jamal dismounted and issued a command to the men in the back of the truck. A moment later, two men jumped down, both wearing bulging backpacks. After a few words, Jamal patted them both on the back, and they slunk off into the low dunes adjacent to the road. The rebel boss climbed back into the truck and thumped on the roof of the cab, making her start. The driver set off again, back onto the rocky road, leaving the two men behind.
The whole thing was very mysterious.
She turned around and tried to catch Tom’s eye, but he was focused on the road ahead. She could see his eyes, the only part of his face exposed, narrow as he squinted into the distance.
What the hell was going on? Something, that was for sure, and she did not have a good feeling about it. The traffic was getting heavier and then it slowed to a standstill. Craning her neck to see beyond the cars, she could just make out two army vehicles parked at right angles across the road. Her blood ran cold.
Roadblock. The second one in as many days. Except this time there was no contingency plan. No opposition fighters to provide a distraction.
She began to panic. Turning around in her seat, she tried to get Tom’s attention, but he didn’t respond. His attention was glued on the roadblock up ahead. She wondered if she should jump out now. Had everyone gone insane?
The driver was sweating, his body rigid. He checked his wristwatch. When the cars moved forward, he eased his foot onto the accelerator and followed suit. Closer they went to certain death.
Desperation welled up inside of her. No. She would not die a fugitive in Syman. If Tom wasn’t going to help her, she’d damn well help herself. She reached for the door handle.
She was about to open it when the driver leaned across and grabbed her wrist. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. His grip was solid, and there was no way she was getting out.
“But the roadblock…” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Wait…” The driver released her and nodded toward the vehicles in front of them. He checked his watch again.
That’s when she realized something big was about to go down. Damn Tom for not warning her. He must have known she wouldn’t agree. This was bad. Extremely bad.
The driver revved the engine and readied himself, both hands on the steering wheel. She saw the fanatical determination in his gaze and understood. They were going to force their way through. It was suicide.
There was a knock on the back window. Tom’s blue eyes bore into hers. He made a tugging motion on his chest. She realized he was telling her to put on her seat belt. He must have read the fear in her gaze, because he gave her an encouraging nod and small smile. Shaking, she pulled the seat belt across her chest and clipped it in place.
The rest of the men were tense and focused, as if waiting to spring into action. All of them held firmly to the truck’s high slatted metal sides, their legs apart, braced for impact.
Then there was a loud bang, and an orange fireball rolled into the sky, directly in front of them. It took her a few seconds to realize it was one of the military vehicles that had gone up in flames. A second, bigger explosion followed, causing a cloud of dense black smoke to descend on them.
Chaos erupted. Army officials ran toward the blown-out car, guns poised to fire. People honked their horns and shouted at each other to either move, or to not move, she couldn’t figure out which.
Their driver, however, was oblivious to the mayhem. He put his foot down and swerved onto the gravel verge beside the road. There was an eardrum-bursting rat-tat of machine-gun fire from the back of their truck. The rebels unleashed a torrent of bullets on the army as they passed. One soldier took a direct hit and collapsed on the ground, while the others charged behind the burning vehicles in search of cover.
Their driver kept going, his eyes firmly on the road. They ramped over small bumps that sent her flying off her seat. She bounced around dangerously on landing. Thank God she’d worn her seat belt. A few seconds later they exited the swirling cloud of smoke and dust and swerved back onto the road to Jemah.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to bomb the roadblock,” she yelled at Tom as he opened the door to let her out. They’d skidded to a halt near a low building, which may have been a school or a hospital at one stage. It was little more than a few stories of rubble. Still it provided shelter, of sorts.
The driver and the men in the back, including Jamal, had scattered before the truck had come to a standstill.
Already, blue flashing lights could be seen approaching only seconds behind them. “You wouldn’t have come,” he retaliated, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the dilapidated concrete structure.
“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” she said, as the army cars in pursuit screeched to a halt. “That was madness. These guys are crazy. They’re full-on rebel activists. I can’t believe you…”
“Stay down,” he interrupted, urgently. She did as she was told while they ran through derelict room after room, staying close the walls. Gunfire erupted behind them.
“That’s Jamal and his rebel activist friends covering for us,” he told her. “It’ll buy us some time.”
She ran blindly, keeping her head low and letting him guide her through the maze of rubble. There was a zing as a stray bullet flew past their heads and buried itself in the pillar next to them. She screamed. At the same time, he flung himself on top of her. They fell in a heap behind a low wall. Without missing a beat, he grabbed his gun and began to fire round after round in the direction of the bullet’s source.
She lay on the ground with her eyes tightly shut.
“Come on, let’s move,” he shouted, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet in one swoop. She stumbled after him, around a corner, and into another burned-out room.
He paused, his eyes quickly mapping the room, looking for exits. He headed for the window, which still held remnants of broken glass. The jagged shards glinted dangerously. Using his rifle he scraped away the sharp edges, and then turned to her. “After you.”
The shouts behind them grew louder. More gunfire followed. She put her hands on the windowsill. “Brace yourself,” he called. She barely had time to put her arms out before he lifted her legs, and she flew through the window. They were on the ground floor, so the landing didn’t hurt, but it did surprise her.
“Sorry. I’m coming through,” he yelled.
She scrambled out of the way as he hurled himself through the window, tucking his shoulder and rolling back over into a standing position beside her. He pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
She clung to his hand with a death grip as they raced up a side street and into another vacant building across the road. This time he charged up the stairs, round and round, until they barged through a metal door hanging off its hinges, and emerged onto the roof.
“Lie down,” he instructed. She flattened herself against the tarred roof. He slunk to the side, and with his back to the wall, peered over his shoulder at the street below. The heavy footsteps of the militia ran up and down, searching for them.
She was panting, more from the adrenaline than because she was out of breath. She struggled to get herself under control. She had to stay in the present. Don’t lose it. Not now.
They heard a series of doors banging.
He crouched in front of her. “They’ll search the street,” he whispered. “It won’t be long before they find us. We’re going to need to move. Can you keep going?”
She gave a brave nod. “I think so.”
“Good girl. Then follow me.” He moved cautiously to the side of the roof. “We’re going to have to jump,” he told her.
She swallowed. “Oh my God. How high are we?”
“That’s not important. I’ll go first. You copy me.” She simply stared at him, sure her eyes must be bulging out on stalks. He couldn’t be serious. They were three stories up.
But he was… “If you don’t follow me, you’ll be left behind,” he warned.
He took a short run and cleared the gap easily. He turned and held out a hand to her. “Come on.”
Her turn.
She refused to look down. Taking a big breath and offering a short prayer up to the heavens, she backed up for her run. The soldiers were getting closer. She could hear their boots echoing in the stairwell. Not waiting to be shot, she took off and flung herself across the gap, landing heavily at Tom’s feet.
He helped her up and pulled her behind a cement block with grating over one side. It was an air vent of some sort. At least they were hidden from the adjacent rooftop.
“You okay?”
“I think so,” she panted, risking a peek around the block.
He grabbed her face and made her look at him. “Good, because I need you to do that again.”
“Again?” Oh God. She’d never done anything remotely like this in her life before. She wasn’t an adrenaline junkie; she wasn’t even that adventurous. Leaping across tall buildings was something one saw in movies; it wasn’t supposed to happen in real life.
Come on, you can do this, she told herself.
The soldiers burst through the door onto the rooftop. They looked around, rifles poised, ready to shoot. “You go first,” Tom said urgently. He pointed to the next rooftop. It was even farther away than the first one. The gap was easily a meter-and-a-half wide.
Keeping her head down, she sprinted toward it. One of the soldiers yelled out as he spotted her, but thankfully he didn’t shoot. Perhaps he didn’t have a clear line of fire. She took off, her eyes fixed on her destination. On landing, she rolled like she’d seen Tom do. It winded her less.
Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite) Page 9