32
“So, unlike English tea, we boil the tea leaves in with the milk.”
“Only milk?”
“No,” replied Maadhavi as she gave the pot a stir. “Half milk, half water.”
“And the spices?” Adriana asked as she watched.
“Yes, cardamom and ginger, but I also add lemongrass like this.” Maadhavi chopped a few leaves of lemongrass and added them to the pot.
“It smells so good.”
A movement caught their eye, and they both looked out the window as a cream-colored Land Cruiser pickup pulled into the driveway. It was battered and dusty, the bull bar and snorkel hinting at a hard, practical life.
“Who’s that?”
Maadhavi shrugged, “I don’t know. We’re not expecting anyone.”
The door of the pickup opened, and a tall, well-built man got out. His crisp white dishdasha accentuated his deeply tanned skin behind dark sunglasses and a richly embroidered Omani mussar tied around his head.
“Wait, it can’t be?” Adriana murmured.
The man reached inside to remove a bag, and when he stood up again, he removed his sunglasses.
“Mansur!” Adriana exclaimed.
“Who?”
“Come with me.” Adriana rushed for the front door.
“Marisel, keep an eye on the chai,” Maadhavi called over her shoulder as she followed after her.
Adriana opened the door and stood on the top step as Mansur approached.
“Miss Adriana.” He broke into a broad smile.
Adriana briefly puzzled over the appropriate way to greet the Bedouin, who had helped save her life in Oman, eventually opting to hold out her hand. Mansur dropped his kitbag on the ground and clasped her hand in both of his.
“I’m so happy to see you again.”
“So am I, Mansur.” Adriana beamed. “So am I. How is Warda? Farida and Saara?”
“They are all well. The girls are growing fast.”
“I’m sure.”
Mansur’s eyes flicked over her shoulder.
“Oh, Mansur, this is Maadhavi.”
Mansur let go of Adriana’s hand and shook Maadhavi’s. “Nice to meet you.”
“Mansur is a wonderful friend of ours from Oman. He saved my life.”
“Welcome to our home, Mansur, please come inside.”
Mansur bent down and picked up his bag.
“John told me he had a surprise for me. I would never have guessed you were coming.”
Mansur smiled, his teeth flashing white against his tan. “He called me yesterday.”
“Come on in, John and Steve are inside.”
Adriana led him inside and down the hallway into the dining room.
“Look who I found.”
John and Steve looked up from the dining table covered in maps, notebooks, and two laptops.
“Mansur, so good to see you.” John stood, clasped Mansur’s hand, and pulled him into a hug, kissing him on both cheeks in the traditional Arab way. “We really appreciate you coming at such short notice.”
“It is my duty, Mr. John.”
“Mate!” Steve rounded the table. “Good to see ya.”
The two men hugged, but when Mansur moved to kiss him on the cheek, he pulled back.
“Nah, I don’t do that, mate.” Steve clasped both his arms. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot.” Steve turned to Maadhavi. “Remember, I told you about Oman? This is the guy.”
Maadhavi nodded and smiled.
“So, Mansur, I have you to thank. If not for you, we wouldn’t all be together.”
Mansur looked embarrassed. “Perhaps, Miss Maadhavi, they haven’t told you the complete story. If it wasn’t for Mr. John and Mr. Steve, my wife would not be alive today.” He turned to both the men. “I owe you both a great debt.”
“It was nothing, Mansur.” John patted him on the upper arm. “What’s important is you agreed to come and help us. Please, take a seat. Are you tired?”
Mansur pulled out a chair. “I’m okay. I stopped twice to rest.”
“How long was the drive?”
“About eight hours.”
“Do you want to freshen up, Mansur?” Maadhavi offered.
Mansur turned toward her and smiled. “No, thank you.”
At that moment, Marisel walked in carrying a tray.
“Ah, perfect timing, Marisel.” Steve gestured toward Mansur. “This is Mansur. He will stay with us. Can you make up the spare room for him?”
“Yes, sir.” Marisel nodded and gave Mansur a smile. “Welcome, sir.”
Mansur smiled back. “Hello, Marisel.”
Maadhavi poured a cup of masala chai and passed it to Mansur, before pouring cups for the others.
They spent the next few minutes in small talk, catching up with everything that had happened since they had parted ways in Oman.
John finally placed his cup back on the tray and cleared his throat.
“Mansur, I explained briefly on the phone what we’re planning to do, but I’ll go over it again.” John glanced at Steve. “Steve’s niece and her young daughter are in Syria. Not just in Syria, but in Al Qaeda held territory. We are going there to rescue her. The child is not well, so we need to move fast.” John paused and looked from Mansur to Adriana and Maadhavi and back again.
“It will be dangerous. We don’t have permission from the government to be there, and we’re going right into the middle of a war zone.” John paused again, thinking of the right words. “We’ll have the Syrian Army and the Russians on one side, the Al Qaeda forces and the Turkish Army on the other, not to mention the drones and fighter planes of the U.S. and UK overhead.” John paused again and looked down at his hands.
“Mansur, you have a wife and two daughters. We appreciate you have come so far, and I know you’ve already agreed to help, but I want you to think again very carefully about whether you want to come with us.” Mansur moved to protest, and John held up his hand. “Mansur, forget about any debt. Think about your family. If you decide not to join us, neither Steve nor I will think any less of you.” John looked up at Steve. “Am I right, Steve?”
Steve nodded.
Mansur placed his cup on the table.
“Mr. John, it’s because I have two daughters of my own, I agreed to help you. If my daughters were in this situation, I would also want all the help I could get. I’m coming with you.”
John smiled. “Thank you, Mansur.”
“Yeah.” Steve’s voice caught, and he swallowed. “Thanks, mate.”
“Right, let’s do a quick run-through of our plan, then Steve needs to borrow your passport for an hour or two.”
33
The five of them sat around the table, staring at the phone, willing it to ring.
It was ten minutes after six, and Steve had already tried calling three times, but the phone hadn’t connected.
“Maybe the battery is flat,” Maadhavi suggested helpfully.
Steve nodded slowly but didn’t take his eyes off the phone.
“The phone system could be down too, Steve,” John added. “It is a war zone.”
They sat quietly for another five minutes until Steve let out a long sigh and turned to John.
“What do we do?”
John looked from him to Mansur and back again.
“I say we still go ahead. Nothing’s changed. We keep the phone on and try calling her at one-hour intervals. We proceed as planned and head to Turkey. We take each day as it comes.” He looked at Mansur. “Do you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Steve?”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Okay, I’ve booked the three of us on the Emirates flight to Istanbul tomorrow. It gets in at six in the evening.”
“Three of you?” Adriana interjected, looking at Maadhavi and then John.
“Yes. It’s too dangerous for you both to come.”
“No way, John, am I staying here while you head into Syria. Maadhavi and I will come as far
as Turkey and provide whatever support you’ll need from there. Right, Maadhavi?”
“Yes,” Maadhavi agreed. “I’m not staying here.”
“But...” Steve protested.
“No arguments, Steve,” Maadhavi replied sternly. “Adriana and I are coming.”
John studied Adriana’s face for a moment as she matched his gaze, not looking away. Finally, he nodded once and half-smiled.
“Right, I’d better make some more bookings.”
Steve stood up, scowled at Maadhavi, and walked out of the room. John winked at Adriana before smiling at Maadhavi.
“Don’t worry, he’ll come round. He’s worried about you, that’s all.”
“I can hear you,” came a voice from the other room.
John grinned and picked up his phone.
“I’m calling Craig. We need his smuggler contact.”
34
Mia woke early, just as the sun’s rays filtered through the window. She sat up, rubbed her face, and looked around at the sleeping bodies huddled together on the floor.
The night had been relatively quiet. Quiet but for the distant sounds of gunfire and bombing, but the women had got so used to it, they all slept right through.
Naeem hadn’t returned, and apart from the one guard stationed at the door on the ground floor, neither had the other men. The women were relieved. They explained to Mia that when the fighting was heavy, it had two benefits. It kept the men away, and there was always the possibility they would be killed and wouldn’t return. For Mia, it was different. Although Naeem was no longer the man she had fallen in love with, she still feared for his safety and was always relieved when he returned. Apart from Malak, she had no-one else here, and she benefited from his protection, as these women’s stories had proven.
The women had talked for most of the previous day and into the night, recounting their brutal experiences since being kidnapped from their villages, some of them from Iraq, some from Yazidi settlements in Northern Syria. None of the women cried or seemed to feel sorry for themselves. They told their stories without emotion, distancing themselves from their feelings. Perhaps it was their way of protecting themselves, but Mia was horrified.
The last few years for her had been tough, but nothing compared to what these women had gone through. As much as she’d grown to resent Naeem for bringing her to Syria and destroying any chance of happiness, she had to respect that he had kept her protected from most of the harm that could have come her way.
Later in the evening, when their stories were over, Mia told them of her childhood in Australia, and the women, in turn, talked about happier times before the war. The women shared what little food they had among themselves, although most of it seemed to go to Malak, who, although still running a fever, was more active than she had been in days.
When the sun set, Mia had become restless. She had to speak to Uncle Steve but was reluctant to let the other women see she had a phone. She still wasn’t sure how much she could trust them, and the phone was her only link to the outside world. She couldn’t afford to lose it, especially when Uncle Steve was so close to saving her and Malak.
Mia looked at Malak, curled up in the blanket. Her breath was still irregular, and her sunken cheeks betrayed the lack of food they had endured over the past couple of months. Her little angel deserved so much more. She needed to let her uncle know where she was. He was her only chance of giving Malak the life she deserved.
She slowly slid her feet toward her and got to her feet. Carefully and quietly, she stepped over the sleeping women and made her way to the door. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back, but no-one showed signs of stirring. She started down the stairs, paused on the first-floor landing, and listened—nothing. She continued down, then stopped as she heard a noise from below. Dropping to a crouch, she peered around the stairs. The guard was awake. Damn.
She stood and slowly went back up the stairs to the first floor, keeping close to the wall, careful not to kick or stumble on any rubble. On the first floor, she entered the room the women had been using as a toilet, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and moved cautiously to the far side of the room, away from the door and the window. She wanted to avoid any chance of sound carrying to the sleeping women above or the guard below.
Lifting her abaya, she reached inside and removed the phone from where she had tucked it inside the waistband of her knickers. Powering it on, she waited while the phone searched for a signal, hoping the network had been restored. The battery was low, and she hoped there was still enough credit on the phone to make a call. Naeem usually charged the battery and added money at one of the few shops remaining open in the district, but she didn’t know when she would see him again. Two bars, good. She pressed redial and waited for the phone to connect.
35
Steve’s phone rang in his pocket, and he scrambled to answer it before it stopped ringing. Pulling it out, he glanced quickly at the screen then answered.
“Mia?”
“Yes, Uncle, we are safe.”
Steve heaved a big sigh of relief. “Where are you now? Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t want the others to hear. We are in a building in Idlib, near the vegetable market.”
“Good, good. The others?”
“Some other women are here with me.”
“Okay.” Steve glanced toward the door where John was leaning on the doorframe, having heard the phone ring. He gave a thumbs-up and continued. “We are coming, Mia. We’ll be there soon. Maybe in two days.”
“Okay.” There was silence for a while.
“Mia?”
“Yes, I... thank you.”
“Keep your phone on tomorrow.”
“Uncle, I can’t. There’s very little battery left. I have nowhere to charge it.”
“Damn it.” Steve screwed up his face and rubbed the top of his head. “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow evening at seven. Turn the phone on then.”
“Okay.”
“How is Malak?”
“She’s... okay, Uncle.”
“Good. Keep safe. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye, Mia.”
The phone went dead, and Steve looked up, smiling for the first time that day.
“She’s okay. She’s moved to Idlib.”
“Great news.” John nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah.” Steve looked down at the items strewn on the floor of the bedroom. “Have you packed?”
“Yes, we’re done. Don’t forget your camera gear. It’s important we look the part.”
“Done. Have you packed the phones?”
“Yup. Phones, notebooks, laptop.” John drummed his fingers on the door frame. “I wish we’d got the bulletproof vests, though.”
“We should be able to get some in Istanbul.”
“Yeah, Craig said he would try. I just hate leaving things ‘til the last minute.”
“We’ll be alright.”
“Hmmm.” John turned to leave, then turned back. “Craig is trying to set up a meeting with the smuggler this evening at our hotel.”
“Good. So, we’re all set.” Steve grinned. “Tell everyone to be ready to leave by eleven-thirty. We can eat at the airport.”
“Done, and hey,”
“What?”
“Don’t shave. Let’s see how quickly we can grow a bit of facial hair. Best not to be the only clean-shaven men in Syria. We don’t want to stand out too much.”
36
John finished loading the luggage in the rear of the black Mercedes Vito and closed the door. Walking around to the front, he climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over his shoulder.
“Everyone comfortable in the back?”
“Yes,” Maadhavi and Adriana chorused. “Very comfortable.”
“Do you think we have enough seats, mate?” Steve piped up from the back. “This seats nine.”
“Well, no-one wants to sit next to you, Steve.” He winked at Mansur, sitting besi
de him. “That’s why I got you a row to yourself.”
“Yeah, thanks, mate.”
John slipped on his seatbelt, checked the mirrors, and pulled out into the traffic, just as his phone buzzed on the dashboard.
“Can you check that for me, Mansur? I’m expecting a message from Craig.”
Mansur picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. “He says he’ll meet you in the hotel bar at eight-thirty with his contact.”
“Good.” John checked the time on the dashboard. “It’s about thirty-five minutes from here to the hotel, so we’ll have about fifteen minutes to check-in before he arrives.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Steve. “Steve, I reckon you and I meet them together without Adriana and Maadhavi.” He moved his head so he could see Adriana. “I don’t want this smuggler guy to know you are here. We don’t know who he is, so the less he knows, the better.”
Adriana nodded. “Ok with me, Maadhavi?”
“Okay, for me, too.” Maadhavi added, “I can do with a freshen up before dinner, anyway.”
“Good.” John indicated and pulled into the next lane to avoid a slow-moving lorry. “Mansur, I want you in the background as backup. Go to the bar before us and find a table where you can watch. Pretend you don’t know us. Just sit there and observe.”
“Okay, Mr. John.”
“Mansur, you’d better wear something less conspicuous. You’ll stick out like dog’s balls in that outfit,” Steve added from the back row.
“Steve.” Maadhavi frowned at him as John stifled a laugh.
Mansur frowned and repeated slowly, “Stick out like dog’s balls...” He looked to John for an explanation.
“What he means, is in your dishdasha and,”—John glanced at Mansur’s headdress—“mussar, you will be very noticeable. Especially in a bar.” He looked away from the road again and smiled at Mansur. “You had better change into some western clothing.”
“Yes, I will.” Mansur stared out the window, a slight frown on his forehead, his lips moving soundlessly. He began to smile, then chuckled. The chuckle turned into laughter, and he turned in his seat to look back at Steve. “I understand now.” He gave him a thumbs-up, a big grin on his face, then turned back to face the front.
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 8