But Antonia and the girls were to find their path temporarily blocked when they were pushed aside by an angry man determined to have words with the cleric. He pushed past Antonia with such force she nearly fell to the ground. Recovering she watched the man thrust a leaflet at the young cleric. The cleric bore the face of an Angel. Antonia would later dub him The Angel of Death. He must have been around twenty-seven or perhaps twenty-eight. He was tall with smooth skin tempered only by a thick black beard and soft black curled hair. It stood out against his white mud splattered clothing.
The older man pointed his finger at the young cleric and tried to give him the leaflet back. He spoke Arabic extremely fast and Antonia found it difficult to translate all of his words. But she did not miss the word murder and hatred. The man was warning the cleric to keep away from his son. They were a peace-loving family wanting to make a new life for themselves in Italy and wanted no part of murder.
When the cleric tried to reassure and encourage the man to trust him as a religious leader, the man dropped the leaflet into the mud and walked away. But he turned and threatened to tell the authorities about what the cleric was doing. Once again, the angry father warned him to keep away from his son. The whole conversation was to fuel Antonia’s suspicions wildly and she wouldn’t rest until she could find out more.
Antonia tightened her grip on little Nazila’s hand and ushered Qaifa, holding the bread, forward away from the small group. The cleric bent to pick up the leaflet as they passed. Antonia felt his eyes rest on her as they passed and something made her look at him.
He smiled at her, tilting his head to one side as though he were intently scrutinizing her. For a moment, she was fearful. It was as though somehow, he knew she wasn’t the woman she pretended to be, Jamila Zaman a Syrian Refugee whose husband had been killed on the journey over to Italy. Bending her head and hurrying on with the girls she still felt the weight of his eyes until they turned the corner at the end of the row of tents and disappeared from view.
It was beginning to rain and thunder boomed overhead when she left the tent late that night. She made sure the girls had barricaded themselves inside the tent before she left. Luckily, there was no one to witness her leaving. The men were sitting around the fire too busy talking and drinking to notice her. She stole into the shadows and made her way back to the cleric’s tent.
There was no one outside but she could hear talking. Slipping between it and the next tent she crawled to the back and stayed flat so her shadow would not betray her in the dim light. It sounded as though there were quite a few men crammed into the small tent and they were speaking in low Arabic voices. She recognized the sound of three of the voices. They were part of the large family who had all migrated together from Syria and lived in the tents across and next to her. The boys of one of the mothers had been helpful and had protected Nazila and Qaifa.
A man was talking about the cleric. He called him Aalam El Hashem and he spoke about him with reverence as their leader. There was talk about the oppression of Muslims in the West and the duty to convert everyone to Islam. Antonia raised her eyebrows listening to the man preach and attempt to radicalise the group of men huddled together in the tent.
They were encouraged to talk about the anger they held about the West as though they were heavy grievances they needed to address and do something about. She must have spent nearly an hour listening to the young men, including the sons of her new friends, about the US military’s mistreatment of Muslim prisoners in Iraq and Afghanistan, difficulties in getting passports, the airstrikes on Syria and how isolated the men felt.
The thunderstorm was now loud overhead. Lightening lit up the camp making her put her head down to keep her cover. The air was so hot and close Antonia felt as though she might suffocate. But she wanted to hear more. Finally, Aalam spoke.
“We must not allow this oppression to continue. We have been given a destiny but our oppressors do all they can to stop us from fulfilling this destiny. If we do not, we are going against Allah’s will. It is my mission to liberate all Muslims and those in our religion who refuse to follow us must be liberated from their own ignorance.”
There was a murmur of agreement among the men.
“I will help you to achieve the destiny you have been given. The sacrifice you will make will be worthy of great praise from Allah,” he said with a note of euphoria in his voice.
Antonia swallowed hard. The young men had been radicalised and by the sounds of the discussion they were being asked to carry out terror attacks. But where and when? She had to find out more so they could be stopped.
“Tomorrow you will be given your forged papers, passports and your destination. When you reach the city you have been assigned to, you will be met and prepared. Then you can begin your glorious journey.”
Antonia’s heart picked up a fast rhythm. This was important. Somehow, she had to get in that tent and find evidence of the suicide attacks they were planning. But her attention was diverted when the men began to leave the tent. Slowly she stood and made sure the cover of darkness at the side of the tent hid her. The three sons, from the neighbouring tent to her own, emerged with Aalam.
Antonia wanted to take some photographs but was afraid the flash on her phone would go off. But the lightening was to give her her break. The moment it flashed lightening up the dimly lit area she took a picture of the whole group of men now standing outside the tent. Another flash crackled and sizzled across the air giving her another opportunity. She recognized another man from her row of tents. Some of them were only young teenagers.
They all shook hands with the cleric and returned to their own flimsy accommodations to await further instructions. Aalam stayed outside with another two men who stayed with him. They appeared to work with him. One of them took out a packet of cigarettes and offered them to Aalam and the other man he called Fadil and they all started to smoke. Antonia seized her opportunity and made a decision that would change her life forever.
Crouching down in the mud next to Aalam’s tent with the rain now beginning to fall, she put her phone back in her trouser pocket underneath the Burqa, and set about removing four of the pegs holding down the tent at the side. It created enough of a gap for her to squeeze her small frame underneath and wriggle through.
It was dark in the tent apart from two gas lamps turned down low. She kept her body down on the floor. Her eyes glanced underneath the nearest and first of three beds in the tent. There was a pile of the leaflets she had seen Aalam giving out earlier in the day. Watching the front of the tent, that wasn’t fully closed, she kept checking for glimpses of the men’s feet as it blew in the wind so she could confirm their whereabouts and get out quick if she needed to. Antonia reached for one of the leaflets and stuffed it inside her pocket. There was no time to see what it said.
She moved around the floor on her stomach surprised that the tent was kept clean and neatly organized. There appeared to be nothing in the tent that would indicate the organization of terror attacks. On the bed, at the top of the tent, she spied a mobile phone on top of the camp bed. Hopefully, there would be something of relevance in the phone that would help the police stop the men from carrying out their attacks.
Sliding towards the bed as fast as she could, she raised her hand and snatched the phone from the top of the bed. She pushed it into her other pocket next to her own and prayed it wouldn’t fall out. She glanced at the slightly open flap at the front of the tent moving and froze for a second. Two of the men were dropping their butts and stepping on them. They were going to come back in. A shot of adrenaline injected into her system had her moving again. She shuffled across the floor towards the hole she made in the tent to escape and gave the inside of the tent one last glance to see if she had missed something else that would help incriminate Aalam.
She glanced under the bed across from the first one near the front of the tent and found herself covering her mouth to stifle a cry. The body of the angry Syrian man she’d seen confronting Aala
m about his preaching during the day lay on his side. His dead eyes stared wildly at her. He had been shot through the head.
Aalam and his friends made a move to come back inside. Antonia scrabbled to get through the hole she’d made in the side of the tent. She was just about out when she felt a heavy tug on her leg and she was being dragged back inside.
A pair of firm hands turned her over and Antonia found herself looking up at Aalam. He stared back at her widening his brown eyes with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in Arabic. “Stealing from me?”
Antonia stared back at him, her voice paralysed in her throat. She couldn’t think of any suitable excuse to even begin to plead.
He started to chuckle.
“I saw you today. You are the lady with the pretty green eyes. Perhaps we should see what you have underneath here? I should like to have you for a wife,” he mocked.
“No. You are a holy man. You must not,” she said trying to save herself from being raped.
He grinned.
“I am more than a holy man. I am a man as well and I have needs.”
The men stood around looming over her body as Aalam held her hands above her head with one hand. He lifted her burqa and once more looked confused when he saw her trousers and boots. She prayed he wouldn’t search her pockets but he appeared more intent in revealing her face. She was sure he knew she wasn’t Syrian. Antonia wriggled and did all she could to prevent her face from being exposed. The moment he saw she wasn’t Syrian she was in even more trouble than being raped. He would probably kill her.
She put up one hell of a fight not knowing what else to do even though it was inevitable and her fate was sealed. Aalam peeled back the burqa from her face and said something in Arabic that would not translate. He stared at her for a while making her hold her breath.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “A western spy?” he demanded in English.
She decided the best way was to come clean.
“I am just a journalist. I am writing about the conditions everyone has to face in the refugee camps, that is all,” she said as she slipped into her native tongue.
“So why are you here in my tent?” he bellowed at her narrowing his eyes.
“I-I…”
She froze.
“You are here to see what you can find out about my plans for your country, Englishwoman,” he answered her in her own language. “You cannot save it. We will have our revenge on your people and those of our own who will not learn.”
Aalam suddenly gripped her throat and began to squeeze the air from it. Antonia fought to catch her breath.
He stared into her eyes and the journalist felt bile rise as she kicked and spluttered trying to breathe.
“First, I am going to rape you. While I do, Nadil will bring the Syrian girls you pretend are your own to me. They will come with me. Call them my insurance to stop you writing for your newspaper and exposing me.”
Antonia went wild, desperately trying to kick out at him as she tried to breathe in her constricted throat, terrified for Nazila and Qaifa.
Aalam laughed amused by her fear.
Angry tears sprang down Antonia’s cheeks onto her reddening face to cascade over the hand closed tightly around her throat.
He trailed one finger down the side of Antonia’s cheek and leaned in close to her face. The jihadist fighter stopped laughing and spoke quietly serving to make his words all the more menacing for it.
“Then I will kill you.”
Chapter 9
Antonia ran her hand through her hair in the bed not wanting to recollect the rest of the story. Her whole body was trembling so much the glass of water fell from her other hand onto the floor. It bounced onto the carpet spilling water but did not break. She looked down at it feeling panic and fear rise inside her body. All she could think of was getting out of the bed and running away.
She couldn’t stand the way Botelli was looking at her with her severe critical face. Her handsome rescuer was by her side as she threw the covers off ready to find some way of getting off the bed and out of the room. She hadn’t realized how hard she was crying. The journalist felt embarrassed and humiliated just as she had done a week ago in that tent.
“I told you she needs a break,” she heard Gabriel growl at Botelli.
“Relax. You are safe here. There is nothing to be frightened of or embarrassed by,” he whispered gently placing his hand on her shoulder.
The simple action was of great comfort. It was as though he poured his strength into her and gradually she calmed. The agent lifted her legs to put them back in the bed and cover her with the sheets and blanket again. With his help, she lay back on the pillows and turned her head away. Then she felt his fingers in her hair from behind and again her emotion calmed into a temporary lull. Slowly she turned her head back to look at them both and noted he did not return to his seat but stayed by her side guarding her from Botelli’s insensitivity.
“I wish I could give you a break Ms King but time is tight.” There was a sudden clear note of sympathy in Botelli’s voice. She was making an effort. “I know this has been traumatic for you but I need to know what happened.”
Gabriel briefly touched Antonia’s arm directing her attention to him. “You don’t have to talk about your rape right now. Just tell us how you escaped. Did you manage to hold on to Aalam’s mobile phone?”
Antonia nodded and made an effort to bypass the fear and the images torturing her mind. She could still smell his breath and almost feel it on her face as though the whole episode was happening again. But Gabriel Malinov came to her rescue again. It was as though he knew her thoughts and understood she might be reliving the whole sorry episode.
“Focus on me and the memories will fade. Take a deep breath and go past them in your mind. I am here and you are safe,” his voice was low and deep providing her with warm reassurance. “We can visit this again when you are ready to. What happened?”
Antonia took a deep breath and felt his hand cover her own lying on the bed to give her more of his strength.
“When he’d finished…” she stuttered. “He spat on my face, pulled me up and dragged me out of the tent. I thought I was going to die. He’d hit my face and body and I was disoriented. It was hard to keep conscious.”
She touched the side of her mouth and jaw with her free hand remembering the bruise she had done her best to hide with make-up.
“I was lucky. There were three Ethiopian men walking towards us. He hadn’t expected to see anyone. They looked at me with horror on their faces and decided to take pity on me and help. Outnumbered, Aalam had to let go of me. One of them told me to run and get help.”
Antonia felt her body tremble again as she remembered the kind men who’d dared to help her lying dead in that never-ending mud in the camp, all because of her. Gabriel took her hand in his now and his grip intensified. She clung to it trying to bypass the images in her mind and focus on recounting the events as though she were at a distance from them just like he said.
“The first thing I did was stumble my way back to my tent. All I could think about was getting the girls out of the camp with me. But I was too late. When I got there the tent was open and the girls were nowhere to be seen. Nadil had taken them. They were gone.” She stopped trying to compose herself. “I attracted the attention of the guards around the perimeter fence and demanded they bring Adalina. But I was told she had gone to London.”
She shook her head in despair.
“The police searched the camp but could find no trace of Aalam and the men, the girls or anything that would prove he had been radicalising anyone. No one would talk. Not even the men who helped me and I was dubbed a nuisance by the police. I was a journalist and I had known the risks when I’d entered the camp and being raped was one of them. They were deliberately trying to stop me from creating trouble. It wouldn’t surprise me if the police were involved in the disappearances like Morelli and the Mafia. Aalam seems to have been u
sing the lax security in the camp to come and go as he pleased. For this reason, I decided not to give Aalam’s mobile phone to the police in Marzello and go to Interpol instead.”
“Then you decided to come and find Adalina yourself and continue your investigation?” Botelli coldly finished.
Antonia took another breath to calm her annoyance at the woman’s callousness.
“I finished my article implicating her. I am sure she knew about Aalam and what he was doing. She will know where he has taken those girls or at least be able to give me an idea where to start looking for them.”
“I need to have the mobile and see the photographs on your own phone.” The United Global Defence chief sounded excited.
“I had photographs of the suicide bombers but when I was attacked my phone came out of my pocket and Aalam stood on it and smashed it making sure it was destroyed,” Antonia’s tone was one of defeat.
She looked downcast and Botelli shook her head with frustration.
“But I was lucky. He didn’t find his own phone stuck in my trouser pocket.”
“Good. Where is it?”
“In a locker in Kings Cross Station. I couldn’t risk carrying it around with me. I put it there and rang Interpol. They said someone would come out to meet me and bring me in but I was forced to run when those men turned up trying to kill me. They looked like Mafia. Then you came to my rescue.”
She looked up at Gabriel and gave him a brief shaky smile.
“Thank you.”
He grinned.
“My pleasure.”
Botelli coughed. It sounded mocking and it encouraged Antonia to let go of his hand. What must she have sounded like? A gushing sixteen-year-old staring starry eyed at her rescuer. Wasn’t she embarrassed enough by her predicament? She watched Gabriel’s forehead furrow into a small frown but he took the hint and walked away back to his chair.
“The key is where?” Botelli asked impatiently.
“In my bag. The phone is damaged. The screen is broken. It was crushed when Aalam… I couldn’t get it to switch on. Maybe you can do something with it.”
The Masterful Russian (The Masterful Series) Page 6