“Okay, but... please come quickly, Malak, she...” There was another muffled boom. “I’ll call tomorrow.” The phone went dead.
“Mia, Mia...” Steve took the phone off speaker and held it to his ear. “Mia, Mia.” He held the phone out and tapped redial. “Shit.”
The phone failed to connect. He tried again, still no luck. He looked at John, his forehead creased.
“What do I do?”
“It’s probably just the phone system is down, Steve.”
Steve nodded but didn’t look convinced. He stood staring at the ground, the phone in one hand, his beer bottle in the other.
“I have to go there,” he said almost to himself.
“Steve, look at me.” John raised his voice. “We’ll get her out, but we have to be sensible about this. We can’t just rush over there without a plan.”
Steve looked at John, then Maadhavi and Adriana.
“John’s right, baby,” Maadhavi agreed. “You need to plan properly. It’s dangerous there.”
Steve nodded slowly, his eyes locked with Maadhavi and sighed.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He looked behind him for his chair and sat down, dropping the phone on the coffee table in front of them. Remembering the beer in his hand, he took a swig and massaged his eyes with his left hand.
“Look, Steve, I have an idea.” John stood in front of him. “Craig said he can give us a number for a guy who can get us across the border. We don’t waste time with visas. We’ll get him to smuggle us in and out as he suggested.”
“Okay.” Steve stared up at John, his mind whirring away. “But what about moving around inside Syria? Checkpoints?”
“That’s my idea. We fake the press credentials and pretend to be reporters. Do you really think the guys manning checkpoints can tell the difference between genuine documents and fake ones?”
Steve nodded slowly, his forehead slowly relaxing.
John turned to Adriana. “Can you get us examples of what we need?”
“I think so. At least a soft copy.”
“Good. That will have to do.” John turned back. “We’ll take a look at it and see if it’s something we can knock up on the computer.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Steve grinned for the first time since the call. “I know a guy.”
24
Mia turned off the phone and slipped it inside her pocket. The last explosion seemed to have knocked out the phone network. She looked down at Malak. Her eyes were open, but she looked back at her mother without recognition. Mia gently rocked.
“It won’t be long, my darling,” she whispered. “Soon, we’ll be in Australia, where the skies are blue, there’s plenty of food and water, and it’s quiet.” She flinched as another explosion rocked the building, sending dust flying in the air. Mia covered Malak’s face and continued rocking. “The beaches, Malak, they are beautiful. Long, with golden sand and clear blue water sparkling in the sun. People are happy there, Malak. Everyone smiles, everyone talks to each other. You’ll love it, my baby. Not long now.” Mia said the words more for her own reassurance. She wasn’t sure if Malak would understand.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and tensed. Naeem hadn’t said when he would be back. She slid herself across the floor into the darkest corner and pulled Malak closer. The footsteps got closer, then a man stepped into the room. He was dressed like the fighters—camouflaged pants, running shoes, a hooded tracksuit top—his beard was long and unkempt, eyes sunken deep into their sockets, and he cradled an AK47 in his arms. Mia’s breath caught, and she shrank back against the wall, trying to make herself smaller. The man didn’t see her at first, his eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room, but when he did, he raised his weapon and pointed it in her direction.
More footsteps and three more men dressed in the same fashion entered the room. They stared at her, and one stepped forward and crouched down. He stared at her face with dead eyes, then down at her body. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned, exposing a mouthful of dirty yellow teeth. Mia closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and started praying.
She heard a noise and then her name.
“Mahfuza.”
Opening her eyes, she saw Naeem push through the men and walk toward her. He walked around the man with yellow teeth and stood in front of her.
“Mahfuza, we have to leave. We’re pulling back.”
Mia didn’t move. She looked past Naeem to the man who was still leering at her.
Naeem held out his hand. “Come. We have to move fast.”
Mia ignored his hand and pushed herself up off the floor with her spare hand, holding Malak close to her with the other. She looked around the floor but didn’t know why. She had nothing, only her daughter, the clothes on her back, and the blanket wrapped around them.
The crouching man stood up at the same time, his eyes never leaving her face. Mia looked away and moved closer to Naeem. He stepped to one side, adjusted his AKM, then pushed her toward the door with his left hand.
The other men led the way out the door, and Mia paused and looked back. Naeem stood chest to chest with Yellow Teeth, staring him down. The other man sniggered but didn’t back down.
“Naeem,” she called, and he glanced toward her. He gave one more look at Yellow Teeth, then followed her out the door.
As Mia reached the ground floor, she heard muffled voices, and when she stepped onto the street, in the falling light, she could just make out a group of women huddled together while more fighters stood guard.
“Go with them,” she heard Naeem mutter behind her.
“But...”
“Now,” he growled and pushed her forward.
She stumbled, clutching Malak close, then stepped toward the other women. They regarded her with little interest, their faces devoid of expression. Their hair was unkempt, their faces dirty, and like her, they were dressed in a mishmash of unwashed clothes.
“Yalla!” called out one of the fighters, and the others pushed the women down the street.
Mia looked around for Naeem but couldn’t make him out in the darkness.
25
Steve indicated and pulled off the main road onto a side street, leading behind a row of commercial buildings. He pulled the Pajero to the curb and switched off the engine.
“Here we are.”
John looked around but couldn’t see where they needed to go. They were in the old part of Dubai, an area called Bur Dubai, on the wrong side of the creek. It was so far removed from the glitz and glamor of Dubai most people see, they could have been in another country.
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” Steve grinned as he opened the door.
They climbed out, and John waited on the pavement until Steve crossed around the front of the vehicle.
“Follow me.” Steve led John along the pavement, then turned into the loading bay of a darkened four-story building. Discarded packing crates and polystyrene stacked in one corner were the only sign the building was occupied. Steve walked up the loading ramp and knocked on an unmarked door. He knocked three times, waited, knocked twice, paused, then three times again.
“Really?” John asked.
Steve winked. “Nah, mate, I’m just yankin’ your chain.” He turned and banged on the door with the ball of his fist. He looked up at the security camera above the door. “Ramesh, open the bloody door.”
After a moment, the door cracked open, and a bespectacled young Indian man peered out. He saw John first, frowned, then looked at Steve.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said as if he hadn’t already seen him on the camera. He opened the door wider, and Steve and John stepped inside, the auto-closer closing the door behind them.
They followed Ramesh down a long, grimy corridor lit by fluorescent strip lights to another unmarked door, then into a windowless room. Ramesh walked over and sat in a large leather swivel chair and turned it to face both of them.
“Who’s your friend?”
John stepped for
ward and held out his hand. “John.”
Ramesh frowned slightly, hesitated, then shook John’s hand. He then pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger and peered at Steve.
“What do you want today, Steve? Another security badge, a hotel name tag?”
“I’m well, thank you, Ramesh, thanks for asking.”
“Yeah.” Ramesh dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand.
John studied the man sitting in front of him. He was thin, perhaps in his late twenties, and despite being Indian, his skin was pallid as if he didn’t spend much time outdoors. The room was stuffy, smelled of stale food and farts, and was filled with the electric hum of computers and other unrecognizable electronics stacked in racks along each wall.
“Steve told me you are very skilled in producing documentation.”
Ramesh looked back at John and shrugged.
“In fact, he said you are the best in the business.”
“Did he now?”
John’s flattery had the desired effect, just as John intended.
“What do you need? Please tell me it’s something more interesting than the library cards Steve usually wants.”
“Library cards? You cheeky bloody curry muncher. I have a good mind to get you sent back to Madras.”
“It’s Chennai, Steve. Read an atlas.” Ramesh winked at John. “Ignore the Aussie. They can’t even play cricket properly. Now, what do you need?”
John smiled and handed over a memory stick.
“Take a look at this. Can you make these?”
Ramesh plugged the memory stick into his computer and clicked around with the mouse. He stared at the documents on the screen before swiveling his chair around, so he could face John. He studied his face for a moment.
“Syria?”
John nodded and handed over a slip of paper.
“This is my name, and these are the dimensions and the type of paper.” He took a small envelope from his pocket and handed that over as well. “Some passport photos, various sizes. Use whatever you need. Can you do it?”
“I can do anything.”
“He’s a cheeky bugger, but he’s good,” Steve admitted grudgingly.
“Are you feeling okay, Steve? Running a fever?” Ramesh asked.
“Yeah, must be. Probably food poisoning from one of those samosas you gave me last time.”
“Hey, my mom made those.” Ramesh turned back to John. “When do you need it by?”
“Yesterday. Whatever Steve normally pays you, we’ll double it.”
“It’ll be done by the morning.”
“We need two sets. One for me and one for Steve.”
Ramesh blinked and glanced at Steve. “You’re also going?”
“Yup.”
Ramesh pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
“Okay, I’ve got Steve’s photos. I’ll text you in the morning when they’re done.”
“Thank you.” John leaned forward and held out his hand. “I appreciate it.”
Both men turned for the door.
“Wait.”
“What now?”
“How are you getting in?” Ramesh asked John, ignoring Steve.
John glanced at Steve, who nodded.
“Across the border by land.”
“I’m assuming you don’t have visas?”
John shook his head.
“Bring your passports tomorrow. I’ll have a visa stamp for both of you. You’ll need it.” He gestured at the screen. “This probably won’t be enough.”
“You can do that?”
“I can do anything.”
“Thank you, just add it to the bill.”
“I will, and John...”
“Yes?”
“Keep an eye on the Aussie. I need someone to eat my mom’s terrible samosas.”
26
They used the thirty-minute drive back to Steve’s house to brainstorm.
“Let’s start from the beginning. Craig’s smuggler is based in Istanbul. Entry into Turkey is easy. We can get visas online. We’ll fly into Istanbul, meet this guy, then, depending on what he can do, fly into Iraq, and cross the border there. But it will all depend on this smuggler contact of Craig’s.”
“Makes sense.” Steve nodded, his eyes on the road as they cruised along in the center lane.
“Assuming he can get us across the border safely, I would guess at night, we have the day to get down to Idlib, pick her and the child up and back to the border to cross over again, probably the next night.”
“Sounds good.”
“So, let’s think about what we need,” John continued. “We’re posing as journalists, so we need to look the part.”
“I’ve got the cameras I use for stakeouts, so I’ll go as a photographer.”
“Good. I’ll go as a reporter. I’ll get some notebooks, pens...”
“You’ll need a laptop, mate.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to carry ours in case someone takes it off us. I’ll get another one.”
Steve glanced at John. “I know a place that sells second-hand ones. Don’t take a new one, it won’t look right.”
“I should write all this down...”
“There’s a notebook and pens in the glove box.”
John took out a dog-eared notebook and a pen, found a blank page, and started writing. “Notebooks, pens, second-hand laptop.”
“Bulletproof vests.”
“Shit, yes.” John chewed on his lip. “Can we get them here?”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“We should write Press on them in big letters.”
“Phones?”
“Yes. Let’s get a couple of burners as soon as possible. I don’t want to phone the smuggler with my own number. We must check if we can get signal there.”
“We can do that in the morning.” Steve glanced in the mirrors, then took the exit for the E311. “What about transport inside Syria?”
“Hmmm.” John stared out the windshield as he tried to think of a solution. “I don’t know. Maybe the smuggler knows someone?”
“Maybe.”
“To be honest, I’m reluctant to depend on one person, especially someone we don’t know. Let’s think about it. Maybe we can find a taxi driver once we’re over the border. If we offer enough cash, I’m sure we’ll find someone.” John scribbled on the notepad. “Cash. U.S. dollars.”
“I have some in the safe at home.” He glanced over at John. “By the way, I’m covering all the expenses for this. She’s my niece, it’s the right thing to do.”
John waved a dismissive hand. “Hey, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I mean it, John. It means a lot to me you’ve come to help me. I’ll never forget it, but the expenses are on me.”
“Steve, we’re in this together. Let’s not talk about money. We’ll sort it out later. The most important thing is we get your niece and her daughter out of there, and we all come back safely.”
Steve slowed for the exit and pulled off the highway onto the side road.
“Thanks, mate.”
He stayed quiet until they had pulled up outside his house. Switching the engine off, he looked out the windshield at the closed double garage door while John studied his notes, trying to think of anything else they would need.
“We’ll need someone with us who can speak the language,” John said after a while.
Steve turned to face John but didn’t comment.
“I’m assuming your Arabic hasn’t improved since the last time we met?”
“No.” Steve frowned and shook his head.
“Then we’ll definitely need someone. It will be much easier if we can have someone deal with the locals for us in a way they can understand.”
Steve took a breath, then exhaled noisily.
“But who?”
John drummed his fingers on his lap. “Anyone here you can use? Someone you can trust?”
Steve thought for a while and then shook his head. “No, not someone I ca
n trust or who would be willing to do something this dangerous.”
“Hmmm, okay. We’ll think about it.” John clicked open his door. “Let’s go see what the girls are up to.”
He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and walked to the front entrance of the house. He waited on the step, watching Steve lock the car and walk around toward him. He grinned as an idea struck him.
“Mansur.”
Steve frowned. “Who?”
“Oman.”
Steve’s frown turned into a smile as he remembered.
“The Bedouin?” He nodded agreement. “He’s our man, and he’s nearby. Do you think he’ll come?”
“We won’t know if we don’t ask.”
27
The camel groaned as it knelt down, forelegs first, then rear, and dropped to the sand. Mansur patted it on the neck. “Good girl.”
He checked the water trough was full, glanced over at the other two camels already bedded down for the night, then stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the sky. Not for the first time, he wondered about the vast expanse above. He identified the familiar constellations of Ursa Minor and Camelopardalis and spied the blinking lights of a jetliner as it crossed high above the desert, heading south to somewhere in Africa.
The stars had always fascinated him, ever since his father taught him how to navigate across the desert at night. He’d spent many a night wondering if there were other worlds like this, out there among the blinking stars. He glanced down at his watch. Enough star gazing. He wanted to get back home to see the girls before Warda put them to bed. It had been a long day, the resort fully booked, and he had been busy since late afternoon, taking guests up and down the sand dunes. He was tired, and so were his camels.
“Tusbih ealaa khayr waihlam saeida,” he called out. “Goodnight and sweet dreams.”
He turned and walked across the sand to the house he occupied with Warda and his two daughters. Light streamed from one of the windows, and he could smell the smoke from the cooking fire, along with something more delicious. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since morning. Just as he reached the house, he heard his cell phone ring. Reaching into the pocket of his dishdasha, he pulled out his phone and peered at the number showing on the cracked screen. Dubai? Who could it be?
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 6