Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020)

by Abbott, Mark David

“How do you know about all this, Steve?” Adriana asked.

  “Her... husband,” Steve said the word with obvious distaste, “called my brother. He... he... sounded desperate.” Steve looked over at John. “I hate that bastard, John. He took Mia there. He destroyed our family, but...” He shook his head. “It’s a child. My brother’s granddaughter. My grandniece, John.”

  John studied him, still not sure what to do.

  Again, Adriana came to the rescue. “Do you know where they are?”

  Steve nodded. “In Idlib province.”

  “Oh.”

  John looked at Adriana. “What?”

  “Idlib province is one of the last remaining areas under the control of the anti-government forces. There’s a lot of fighting there right now.”

  “But they are the good guys, aren’t they?”

  Adriana gave a sad smile. “There are no good guys. We’ve been doing stories on the conflict. Nothing is as it seems... or as they lead us to believe.”

  John chewed his lip. “Where’s your brother in all of this?”

  Steve came back to his seat and sat down.

  “He’s in Melbourne, but he can’t do anything. He’s always had poor health, and when Mia left, it broke his heart. He’s not physically capable of helping with anything like this.”

  “What about the aid organizations? Red Cross, people like that?”

  “He’s tried. There are millions of refugees in Syria. They can’t help, even if they wanted to. They’re overwhelmed, and besides, in their eyes, she and her husband are foreign fighters... terrorists. No country wants them back.”

  “So, if we get her out, what will you do then?”

  Steve shrugged. “I’ll worry about that then.”

  John rubbed his face and looked over at Adriana. She returned his gaze—even with concern etched across her face, she was beautiful. What if they had a daughter? What would they do if she was in the same situation?

  John turned back to Steve.

  “So, are you suggesting we go into a war zone, a country where we don’t speak the language and rescue a mother and her daughter from under the noses of an army of battle-hardened jihadis, who love to behead westerners?”

  “Ah, well, when you put it like that...” Steve winced. “It sounded easier in my head.”

  10

  John and Adriana strolled along the narrow road that wound its way through the housing estate. The sun was low in the sky and threw long shadows across the street.

  “The houses here are enormous, look at that one.” Adriana pointed to a massive white villa behind an eight-foot-high wall.

  John didn’t answer, deep in thought.

  “John?”

  “Huh?”

  Adriana tucked her arm in his and moved closer.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s just... I don’t know what to do.” John shrugged and gave her arm a squeeze. “Before... the things I’ve done... the path was always reasonably clear, but now...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Oman, for example. You were in danger. I had to rescue you. There was no thinking about it.”

  John nodded at a neighbor walking their Labrador and paused until they were out of earshot.

  “Then I had to go to India, I had to stop Surya Patil. If I hadn’t, he would have continued to put your… our lives in danger.”

  “Yes, I agree.” Adriana nodded. “But what about Thailand? I wasn’t in danger, at least at first. You didn’t even really know me.”

  “Hmmm.” John thought back to the events when he had first met Adriana and had gone on to rescue Amira from her employer.

  “After rescuing me and Amira, you found the Rohingya camp and had it closed down.” She stopped walking and turned to face John. “You did that because it was the right thing to do. Because you are a good man.”

  “But Adriana, this girl is in a war zone. In the eyes of the world, maybe in my eyes, too, she is a terrorist. Her husband is a jihadi.” He sighed. “The only reason I’m even thinking about it is I owe Steve my life.”

  “Yes, John, but that’s not the only reason.” Adriana reached up and placed her hand on his chest. “In here, you are thinking of the child. A child who doesn’t deserve to suffer because of stupid decisions made by its parents.”

  John looked down into her eyes, the light from the setting sun highlighting the flecks of gold in her irises. Despite his misgivings, he knew she was right. He could never live with himself if that child suffered, and he had never even tried to help Steve bring it to safety. He exhaled and looked away. Anyway, only a few days ago, he was feeling sorry for himself because he was bored.

  “Yes, you’re right.” He turned back, leaned down, and kissed her on the lips. “It will be bloody dangerous, though.”

  “I know,” Adriana sighed and pulled him closer. “But maybe there’s a safe way?”

  “Hmmm, let’s see. Come, let’s go back and tell Steve.” They turned around and headed back the way they had come. “Honestly, I’ve absolutely no idea what to do.”

  “We’ll work something out.” She squeezed his arm. “If you have doubts, think about what you’ve done before.”

  “Huh, I appreciate your faith in me, but this won’t be easy.”

  “No, but there’s always a solution.”

  “I hope so.”

  11

  Naeem had spent most of the day resting on the floor beside Mahfuza, getting up only to pray and leaving for a brief time in the late morning to find water and food, both in increasingly short supply.

  He had been on the frontline for five days at a stretch and was exhausted. Fighting to keep control over the vital M5 highway had been fierce, the Syrian army and their Russian supporters unleashing everything on them. Every time Naeem and his brothers had regained ground, they had lost it shortly after in a back-and-forth squabble over the same pieces of ground. Another unit had finally come forward to relieve them, and he headed back to the shelter he had found for Mahfuza, to get some much-needed rest.

  Hopefully, it would all be over soon.

  He looked over at his wife and daughter, wrapped up in blankets against the cold. Things hadn’t turned out the way he had planned all those years ago when they crossed the border. The dream of the Caliphate had collapsed, and he and his fellow fighters—men from all over the world who had been drawn to the ideal of the prophesied Dar al Islam, Land of the Muslim—had been reduced to fighting for a smaller and smaller piece of the country.

  When little Malak had been born, she had been a gift from Allah himself, and he’d thought it a sign things would change, but he had been wrong. Staying in Syria, there was little to hope for. They wouldn’t succeed, the forces against them too strong and the morale among his brothers decreasing by the day.

  He’d seen so many killed and wounded, and many of those who survived had given up and surrendered. He, too, had been close to giving up when he had been called in by the Amiat, the Caliphate’s secret police, just two weeks ago. He had been afraid at first, wondering why he had come to their attention. He was a good Muslim, had proven his loyalty to the Caliphate many times, first when he had served with the Al Hisbah, the religious police, then when he joined the frontline fighters of the Al-Khansaa Brigade.

  When the Amiat had called him in, he thought someone had been spreading lies about him but was relieved to find it was nothing like that. Naeem closed his eyes, tuning out the background noise of explosions and gunfire, visualizing the meeting in his head. The Emir had told him he was being rewarded for his loyalty and had been chosen for the ultimate mission. He had come back from the meeting filled with a renewed purpose, his life holding meaning again.

  He heard a noise beside him and opened his eyes again. Mahfuza was awake and watching him. He sat up and shifted backward, so he was leaning against the wall. She didn’t smile, just stared, her face expressionless. She rarely smiled anymore. It was only when he had told her they should consid
er getting out and moving back to Australia, he had seen any emotion in her expression. She didn’t believe him at first, but when he had given her the phone and she spoke to her father, she finally began to hope it was possible. He turned his wrist and looked at the cheap plastic Casio on his wrist. He would call her father again. Everything hinged on them getting out of Syria.

  12

  As they neared the house, they saw the diminutive figure of Marisel, Steve’s Filipina housekeeper running toward them.

  “Sir, Ma’am...”

  “What is it?”

  “Mr. Steve.” Marisel paused for breath. “He wants you to come back quickly, he got a call.”

  Without another thought, John burst into a sprint, leaving Adriana and Marisel behind. He reached the house, running through the open doorway.

  “Steve?”

  “In here.”

  John followed the sound into the dining room, where Steve and Maadhavi were huddled around a phone lying on the table.

  “My brother called. He had a call from Naeem, Mia’s husband. The child, Malak, is not well. He gave me a number. We’re trying to reach them, but I guess the signal is patchy.”

  John moved around to look at the phone screen. “Video call?”

  “Yup.”

  John looked up as Adriana walked in, followed by an out of breath Marisel.

  “Steve’s trying to call her,” he explained

  “Okay.” Adriana moved around, so she could see the screen as well.

  “Just try a voice call first,” John suggested. “It might be easier to connect.”

  “Yeah, good idea.” Steve tapped on the phone screen. Nothing happened for a while, then the sound of the phone ringing came through the speakers. Steve looked up and nodded before staring back at the screen again.

  “Allo?”

  John saw Steve’s lip curl in distaste.

  “Naeem?”

  “Na’am. Min hdha?” the voice said. “Yes, who’s this.”

  “Speak in English,” Steve growled. “You’re fucking Australian.”

  There was a pause. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Steve, Mia’s uncle. Where is she?”

  “This is a Dubai number.”

  “I know where I am, where is Mia?”

  “Mahfuza... she’s here.”

  “Put her on.”

  They heard a muffled conversation, then a girl’s voice.

  “Uncle Steve?”

  “Mia?” Steve’s face softened.

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Your dad gave it to me. I want to help you.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll work something out. But right now, are you okay? Are you safe?”

  “Yeah... I’m okay... but Malak... she’s sick. I don’t know what to do.”

  Maadhavi placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder as he continued.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She.... just sleeps, she won’t eat... and I think she has a fever.”

  “Can you take her to a doctor?”

  They heard a muffled boom.

  “What was that, Mia?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Was that an explosion?”

  “Yes, but not close. Don’t worry, we’re safe right now.”

  “Okay.” Steve looked around at the others, a deep-set frown creasing his forehead. “Mia, can you get her to a doctor?”

  “There’re no doctors here now. They’ve all gone.”

  “Ask her if she can get her to an aid camp?” John murmured to Steve.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s my friend, Mia. Mia, can you get to an aid camp?”

  “I tried. They gave me some medicine, something for her fever, but it’s run out. They said they won’t give me anymore. They... know I’m not Syrian. They said the medicine is for Syrians... not jihadis.”

  “Okay, Mia.” Steve exhaled loudly. “I will try to help you. Don’t worry, I’ll work something out. Where are you now?”

  They heard a muffled conversation, then, “It’s a place called Sarmin, near Idlib.”

  “Okay, I’ll work something out. I’ll call you.”

  “Uncle Steve, the phone, we turn it off to save the battery. We can’t always charge it. There’s no power here.”

  “Damn. Okay, ummm…”

  “Tell her we’ll call her the same time tomorrow. To turn on the phone then,” John suggested.

  Steve nodded.

  “I heard that... your friend.”

  “Yes, Mia. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, now give the phone to Naeem.”

  Again, the sound of fumbling, then, “Hello.”

  Steve leaned closer to the phone, his hands on the table, the knuckles turning white as he clenched the table.

  “Now you listen to me, you worthless piece of shit, you keep them safe. This is all your fault. If anything happens to them, I will personally come and rip your fucking head off with my bare hands.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes... I’m not afraid. If Allah wills it, I will die at your hand, but... Malak, she deserves more... I’ll keep her safe. Inshallah, we will speak tomorrow.”

  The call ended, and Steve straightened up, his fists clenched, his chest rising up and down. Maadhavi rubbed his back as he stared unseeing across the room.

  “Steve.”

  Steve blinked and turned to John.

  “I’ll help you, Steve. We’ll get her out, somehow.”

  Steve stared back, his eyes hard, his brow furrowed, then nodded slowly.

  13

  The four stood in silence, just staring at the now blank phone. John took control and spoke first.

  “Marisel?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you make us all some coffee, please?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Steve.”

  Steve looked up as if surprised they were there.

  “Grab your laptop. I want to see exactly where she is.”

  “Yes, okay.” Steve moved off while the other three pulled out chairs and sat around the table.

  “What can we do?” Maadhavi asked, looking from John to Adriana and back again.

  John pursed his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know, Maadhavi. But one thing at a time.” He looked up at Steve as he came back into the room. “We’ll see where she is and try to find out what’s happening around there.”

  Steve sat down beside Maadhavi and booted up his laptop as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “What was the name of the place?”

  John closed his eyes as he thought. “S... S... Sarmin.”

  “Spelling?”

  “No idea. As it sounds, I suppose.”

  John watched as Steve typed, stabbing at the keyboard with his index fingers. Steve frowned and then said, “Here we go.” He swiveled the laptop around, so they could both see the screen, Adriana standing up and moving so she could look over their shoulders.

  “Is that the Turkish border?” John pointed at the screen.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not far then. What do you reckon the distance is?”

  Steve leaned closer. “Judging by the scale, forty, fifty kilometers?”

  “Hmmm.” John straightened up, his hands on his hips. “There must be someone there who can help get her out. So close to the border, there must be aid camps or at least someone on the Turkish side.”

  Steve pushed back his chair and leaned back, blowing out air between pursed lips and rubbed his head.

  “Yeah, mate, but how do we find out?”

  “I might be able to.” Steve and John turned to face Adriana. “I’ll call my office. We have freelancers reporting from there all the time. One of them should be able to help us, give us information on what it’s like.”

  “Great idea.” John smiled and placed his hand on Adriana�
�s arm. “Can you reach them now?”

  Adriana glanced at her watch. “Yes.” She looked around for her bag. “I’ll call the office.”

  “While she’s doing that, we’ll search the internet and find out everything we can,” John suggested.

  Steve nodded and sat forward, turning the laptop back to face him.

  “What’s the wifi here, Steve?” John pulled out his phone from his rear pocket.

  “Magnum P.I.”

  “Ha, seriously?”

  Steve looked up with a slight grin. “Yeah.”

  John smiled and tapped at his phone. “Password?”

  Steve held out his hand. “Here, I’ll do it for you, it’s complicated.” Steve took the phone, entered the password, then handed it back as Marisel arrived carrying a tray with four cups and a French press filled with coffee.

  Steve, noticeably more relaxed now he had something to do, glanced at the tray. “Bring us some Tim-Tams too, Marisel. I’m starving.”

  “Tim-Tams?” John raised an eyebrow.

  “He loves them,” Maadhavi replied with a smile. She reached over and patted his stomach. “But he needs to cut back.”

  “Best biscuit in the world, mate.”

  “Must be Australian?”

  “Of course.”

  14

  Adriana walked back into the room, her phone in her hand. “I’ve got a contact. We can Skype him in half an hour. A photojournalist based in Istanbul. He goes into Syria regularly.”

  “Great. Coffee?” John gestured at the French press.

  “No, thank you. I won’t sleep.”

  “Can I get you something else?” Maadhavi stood up. “Wait, I’ll make you something special.” She left the room as Adriana pulled up a chair beside John.

  “Give your phone to Steve, and he’ll set you up with the wi-fi.”

  Adriana passed her phone over as John offered her a plate filled with rectangular-shaped chocolate biscuits.

  “Try these. Best biscuit in the world, apparently.”

  Steve looked up from her phone. “You’ll love it.”

  Adriana took a bite. “Hmmm, not bad, Steve.”