by Henry Porter
Then Samson heard the car alarm and that made him wonder. Usaim had taken the key and fob from him. The car alarm would only have been set off if he had tried to unlock the car using the key instead of the fob. That didn’t seem right, and besides, Usaim had been told to find and check the car before dealing with the people in the house. He shifted a little so he could see what was going on with his right eye. The men had taken no notice of the alarm whatsoever – they were too obsessed with what was on the phone.
Suddenly Anastasia addressed Naji quietly in English. ‘You know the thing you stole from my desk in the camp? You remember, Naji? Be prepared to use it.’ Ibrahim didn’t know what she was saying but took a step towards her and slapped her hard. Yet even after the stinging blow, Anastasia kept on saying, ‘Use it, Naji. You know you can.’
Naji did not appear to hear her. He knew what she was talking about, of course, but the truth was that he was profoundly shocked by the thought of Moon being shot. It didn’t make sense that he was more upset about the dog’s death than the killing of the kindly old couple who had given them food and shelter, but right now all he could do was think of that beautiful dog, the only dog he had ever loved in his life, and this made him angrier than he had ever been.
‘We’re done here,’ snapped Al-munajil, grabbing Naji by the collar. ‘Finish off the Yazidi scum and I will deal with this one.’
Naji thought Al-munajil was referring to him, but it was soon evident that he meant Samson, because he dragged him over to where the spy lay in a pool of blood and aimed the gun at his head. Samson moved his arm to shield his one good eye against the light, saw the gun and closed the eye. Al-munajil was enjoying the moment, and instead of firing straight away, he began a lecture about the inevitability of the caliphate’s victory over the decadent West. Naji looked up at Anastasia. She held his gaze then nodded once.
Al-munajil had his arm wrapped around Naji’s neck so that Naji was facing away from him, but he knew that his captor’s heart was level with the top of his head. He lifted his right leg and bent the knee so that he could reach his ankle, as though he was scratching it. Just at that moment, the barn door opened and Usaim stood there. His hands were covered in blood. His face wore no expression whatsoever. ‘Good work,’ Al-munajil shouted to him. ‘You will be rewarded with the flesh of this pretty Western whore.’
Usaim took a step forward, but it was now clear that he wasn’t moving of his own accord. There was a man right behind him and he had Usaim by the scruff of the neck. He held a gun, which moved swiftly from behind Usaim’s skull to fire first at Rafi, who was nearest and was hit with a bullet through the side of his head, then at Ibrahim, whose chest exploded before he had even had time to raise his own gun. Al-munajil backed away, gripped Naji even tighter and placed the gun at his temple
‘Who are you?’ said Al-munajil, his voice falling to a whisper.
‘I am Denis Hisami, the brother of Aysel Hisami, whom you tortured and murdered. I’ve seen what you did to her and to countless other women and I’m here to make good her death and those of scores of nameless women.’ He moved forward, pushing Usaim, who was hysterically pleading with them both not to shoot. Al-munajil let off a round, but he had didn’t have a clear shot at Hisami, who was a little shorter than Usaim and was almost completely hidden. The bullet clipped the Arab’s shoulder and he shrieked. Hisami held him up and swore in his ear and said he would shoot his balls off if he collapsed. Usaim staggered but managed to remain on his feet for the next few seconds, long enough for Hisami to move to his left, where there was less light, and heave Usaim to his right and shoot him. Usaim was dead before he hit the ground This did precisely what Hisami had intended which was momentarily to distract Al-munajil, who actually seemed to have lost track of him in the shadows.
‘I’ll kill the boy,’ whispered Al-munajil, moving backwards and forcing Naji to lower his leg. ‘I will finish him.’
Naji again raised his right leg, but this time grasped the throwing knife that had come in so handy since he’d taken it from Anastasia’s desk. Moving it in a diagonal path in front of his torso he plunged it over his left shoulder and into Al-munajil’s chest. At that very moment Hisami fired a bullet that entered Al-munajil’s right temple.
Whether a knife to Al-munajil’s heart or a bullet to his head ended his life would never be known, and it did not matter much. He sank to his knees and, like so many of his victims, keeled over to the ground without making a sound. Naji took a step forward, shook himself and placed his fingers in both ears to stop the ringing from the gunshots, then ran to Ifkar and began slashing and tearing at the ropes that held him to the post. Hisami was already at Anastasia’s side and untying her bonds, but she was yelling, ‘I’m okay. Leave me! Ifkar will bleed to death. Stop the bleeding!’
Samson, by now on his feet, lurched forward, stumbled over Ibrahim’s body and made it to Naji just in time to help him lower Ifkar to the stone floor. He was conscious and murmuring gratitude to Naji. Samson saw that he was bleeding profusely, so clamped his hand over the knife wound and raised the young man’s arm so it formed a right angle. Naji knew exactly what to do next and crab-crawled to Ibrahim’s body, cut a strip from his shirt with the bloody knife and handed it to Samson, who made a tourniquet around Ifkar’s bicep. As he did so, Ifkar began furiously to mutter Moon’s name. ‘Go, Naji,’ he said. ‘See if Moon is alive.’
Naji scrambled to his feet and was out of the barn before anyone could stop him. Anastasia rushed to join Samson on the stone floor and began to examine Ifkar. Her hands were shaking.
‘He’s going to be okay,’ said Hisami, who was standing over them.
Anastasia wasn’t so sure, and looked under his eyelids, felt the pulse at his neck and said his name a few times. Ifkar responded with a weak smile.
‘I have to go,’ Hisami said quietly. ‘No one can know I was here, do you understand? This must never get out. Help is on its way. I phoned Simcek.’
‘Then we’d better think of a story,’ said Samson above the noise of the rafters that were now shuddering in the wind.
‘I will fix all that. Just go along with what Simcek tells you.’ He placed a hand on Anastasia’s shoulder. ‘You going to be okay?’
She nodded. ‘What about the old couple?’
‘They’re alive, but they will need treatment.’
He turned. Samson raised his hand and Hisami squeezed it. ‘We’ll speak,’ he said, and left. Moments later they heard the sound of a car starting in the distance.
‘I’d better go and find the boy,’ said Samson, guiding Anastasia’s hand to the wound so she’d keep the pressure on it. ‘Can you hold on here?’ She nodded. He touched her on the cheek and saw that the look of primeval dread had left her eyes. He got to his feet, went to collect the phones from the feed box and headed for the door.
Outside, the fog had been ripped from the mountainside by a wind that now tore through the deserted, dimly lit farmyard, rattling the stable doors and humming in the power cables overhead. He could hear the thump of helicopters to the north and he glimpsed several lights in the distance behind the trees. He started towards the farmhouse, only to find Naji standing stock-still in the dark at the bottom of the steps.
Samson called out, but Naji just shook his head and stared at the ground. ‘What is it?’ Samson said as he approached him.
Naji shrugged. ‘Moon . . . I do not want to see her if she is dead.’
‘We’ll go in together,’ Samson said, wrapping an arm around the boy. ‘I know she’s alive.’
Naji looked up into his eyes but said nothing.
‘You made it,’ said Samson. ‘You made it all this way, Naji. You’re safe and you will bring your family to Europe and they will be safe, too. You did all that!’
‘And you found me,’ said Naji.
‘I was beginning to think I never would, but I guess I did. Now, let’s go and f
ind the dog.’ He felt Naji’s body tense as a helicopter suddenly appeared over the farmyard and a searchlight swept the ground and picked them out. Another circled round from the south to avoid the power cables and hovered over the flat ground where he and Hisami had parked. Before it touched down, armed men jumped to the ground. Naji, for so long reliant only on himself in the face of every possible danger, suddenly clutched at Samson’s arm, and Samson responded by holding him close. ‘They are here to help us,’ he said, waving to the men.
The roar of the helicopters had brought a reaction in the farmhouse. A light came from the front door as it was flung open. The old man staggered out and, shielding his eyes from the searchlight with one hand, groped his way along the railings that separated the terrace from the drop into the yard. He shouted down to them but they could hear nothing. All they knew was that silhouetted in the light behind him was a large dog, also moving with some difficulty.
Epilogue
Naji slept in the Monastery Hotel, his arms raised above his head. Beside the bed were the backpack with the fraying strap he had brought all the way from Syria, two pairs of trainers, the goatskin-and-silver frame containing the photograph of his mother and his sisters, the shepherd’s flute and his copy of The Cosmic Detective: Exploring the Mysteries of our Universe, twenty or so pages of which had been sacrificed to light fires. Even his filthy clothes had been laid out neatly.
Anastasia had taken charge of Naji immediately and insisted he would undergo no questioning until he was properly rested. Simcek went along with this on the condition that he and his people had full access to any intelligence the boy might have. He didn’t appreciate the significance of the phone in Naji’s pocket, of course; only Samson and Anastasia knew how it could be used to gain access to the particular part of the virtual world where the boy had stored all the data. So Simcek didn’t demand Naji hand the phone over to him and it remained in the boy’s pocket.
Anastasia had stayed with the boy through the night in case he woke, because his stillness and silence coming down the mountain in the police vehicle seemed to indicate shock. She also wanted to protect him from the numerous security people that had arrived in the hotel through the evening – particularly the British intelligence officers, who wanted to talk to him first and were preposterously claiming Naji as their rightful asset. This she managed without difficulty because Naji was a vulnerable minor, and as the psychologist who had helped him in Lesbos, she insisted that she was now the closest thing he had to a guardian.
Because of her own great shock at the violence and terror of the previous day, she slept little. She got up at dawn and peeped through the curtains onto a bright, still day that showed the autumn colours on the slopes around the hotel at their very best. She glanced at Naji tenderly then went barefoot through the connecting door to the next room to check on Samson, who had been stitched up at the hospital the night before. His face was grotesquely swollen on the left side and he’d lost a molar, but his sight was going to be all right. Once the nurse had cleared the blood away, Samson reported he could just see out of his left eye. The hospital had tried to keep him in overnight, along with the old couple and Ifkar, but he wasn’t having it and Vuk had brought him back at ten and waited while he ate an omelette and fries in his room and then downed a beer and a brandy or two.
‘How is he?’ he murmured when he sensed Anastasia in the room with him.
‘Okay, I think,’ she whispered, moving to his side. She touched him on the shoulder. ‘Poor Paul, does it hurt terribly?’
‘Not so much now – the painkillers worked well.’
She sat down on the bed. ‘Do we have to let them talk to him today?’
‘Yes. They won’t wait.’
‘And Denis?’
‘Hisami wasn’t there! That’s been agreed. Hisami went back to the States before all that happened.’
‘Are we really going to be able to maintain that story?’
‘Yes, it’s now part of the record. I saw Simcek at the hospital last night and we went through it. He knew Al-munajil’s gang were here – he never did buy the idea that they’d gone to Bosnia. So he deserves some praise for that and he’s more than happy for his people to take credit for the killing of four dangerous terrorists. The story is that they busted in, there were some exchanges of fire and all four terrorists were killed. No one will expect you to go into any detail.’
‘What about Naji?’
‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You can stop them from asking intrusive questions on the basis that it might harm the boy psychologically. Besides, I’m not sure how much he’ll remember.’
Samson let his hand flop to her knee. ‘You going to be okay?’
‘Just about.’ She gave him a tense, slightly rueful smile. ‘It’s very shocking to encounter that kind of evil. I’d heard about such men from the refugees I treated in the camp, but to see it yourself . . .’ He put his fingers to her lips, but she moved her head so she could continue. ‘I spent most of the night wondering how Naji survived all those months with him. That’s the other side of humanity, isn’t it? The boy is a truly exceptional person.’
‘Will he survive all he’s seen?’
‘I think he’ll need a lot of help, but kids are more resilient than adults.’
She went round to the other side of the bed, crawled under the covers and lay with her hand across Samson’s chest. ‘Seeing you beaten like that was unbearable,’ she said. ‘I know why you went for that man – to buy us time. You helped save us, Paul.’
‘Actually, I was trying to distract Al-munajil from seeing Naji’s phone as well as buy us some time. Anyway, it was the least I could do – I got you into this mess.’
‘No, it was surely I who got you into this mess,’ she said, and kissed him with great care on the undamaged part of his cheek.
They dozed for a little while then ordered breakfast. When the trolley was wheeled into the room, Naji was woken by the smell of eggs and waffles. He wandered through the door and sat down and ate without saying anything. ‘What do you want to do now?’ asked Anastasia after he had finished.
‘Talk to my family then see Ifkar and Moon,’ he replied without looking at them.
‘Oh, I have some news for you,’ said Samson, smiling as best he could. ‘A woman named Jasna came by the farm when she saw the lights of the helicopters. She’s a veterinary surgeon and a friend of the family apparently, and she’s up there now, looking after all the animals. The dog is in very good hands, I guess.’
Naji nodded, satisfied. ‘Ifkar?’
‘He’s going to be fine. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days. The old man, who was not as badly injured as his wife, said he wants your friend Ifkar and the dog to stay with them as long as they need. He’s certain she will agree. Maybe that would be a good life for your friend and his dog.’
‘For the old people also – their son is dead,’ said Naji simply. Samson and Anastasia exchanged looks. There wasn’t a lot that Naji missed.
Naji went over to the window, checked the reception on his phone and called his sister. In the event, Naji’s mother, Nada, answered, which caught Naji off guard and for a few seconds he was unable to speak. Then he inhaled deeply, composed himself and told her that he was safe in a hotel with people who were looking after him. He said nothing about the events at the farmhouse and did not mention Al-munajil.
As Naji prepared to ring off, Samson thought he heard him promise his mother that he now had all that he needed to bring his family to Europe. He hung up and looked out of the window without saying anything, without moving. For a few seconds, all three of them gazed out on the wonder of the trees. Then Naji turned to them. His cheeks were streaked with tears but his eyes displayed all the resolution that had brought him from Syria to Europe.
‘So how do you want to play this?’ said Samson, in English so that Anastasia would understand. ‘Wha
t do you want to do about the phone?’
Naji gave his usual shrug.
‘It’s your phone,’ said Samson. ‘You risked your life to bring it to Europe. I was hired to find you, not tell you what to do about that data. That’s your decision.’
‘Everything I do is for my family,’ Naji replied in Arabic.
Anastasia grinned as Samson translated this. ‘We’re on your side,’ she said. ‘Whatever you want is fine with us.’
*
Five hours later they met Simcek, who made sure that Naji understood that no mention of Hisami’s presence in the barn should be made – it would be difficult for the billionaire to explain to people in America how he had ended up with the skills of a Special Forces combatant. Simcek was completely frank with him and, speaking man to man, asked for Naji’s confidence. Naji just nodded and said he couldn’t remember what had happened.
They followed Simcek into the hotel’s conference room, which held representatives of several European intelligence services, including all those who had attended the meeting at the British embassy in Skopje – Germany’s BND, France’s DGSE and DGSI, Belgium’s VSSE and Britain’s MI6 and MI5. Peter Nyman was wearing his usual expression of worldly dismay while Sonia Fell smiled brightly and tried to spread a sense of British success. Yet no one was deceived. MI6’s claims to ownership of Naji and his material had been quickly abandoned when Naji said that he would share the information with anyone who might find it useful in the fight against men like Al-munajil.
Simcek showed Naji to a chair next to the projector, from which ran a lead that would allow him to plug in his phone.
Naji sat down and looked up to Samson. ‘You can tell them now,’ he said in Arabic, and pulled out his phone and placed it on the table.