Son of Syria

by Schafer, Ben

  “When Doctor Gasset told me about Jesus, the first thing I thought of was your family. They took care of me, protected me, and loved me like I was their own daughter. I always thought it was because you were my friend.” She hunched her shoulders slightly. “You were my only friend.” She let those words sink in for a moment. “But now I understand that your parents were filled with love because they followed in the footsteps of the Creator of all things. They were the first picture of Christ that I had ever seen, even though I did not comprehend it at the time.”

  “So you became a Christian?”

  She shrugged again. “I hardly knew what happened. The changes in my life were slow but unstoppable. I never told Abbas, but he had his suspicions from the start. He had some of his goons follow me around Damascus.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “They saw you at the Chapel of St. Paul and told your husband.”

  Azima gave me a level look. “Please. Am I really the type of person who would make such a stupid mistake?” Her tone softened. “I took great care to avoid attracting attention to my conversion. I stuck to the back roads the few times I dared go to church. I was careful to avoid any public relationship with Christianity. Then one day, when I was in the market, Father Abiad saw me and greeted me by name.”

  I winced. “And you had supposedly never met any priest, much less knew any on a first-name basis. What did Abbas do?”

  “Nothing.”

  I grunted and lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “From what you’ve told me, that seems out of character.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, he didn’t do anything because I never gave him the chance. As soon as I heard Father Abiad, I realized I could not go back home. I knew I was being followed and had to lose them. But I know the streets of Damascus like I know the layout of my own house.”

  I felt a smile touch my lips. “I remember.”

  In the moonlight, I saw my grin echoed on her face. “I managed to shake the tail Abbas had placed on me and made my way to the Abu Rummaneh neighborhood.”

  “By the embassy district?” I asked, recognizing the name. Many of the children who went to our school lived in that neighborhood. “What made you go there?”

  “There are many hotels in the area that cater to foreigners. They were places where I could disappear into a crowd of unfamiliar faces, filled with people who wouldn’t recognize me as the wife of an ambitious army officer. I paid for a room with my shopping money and tried to figure out where I could run.”

  “Another reason to stay in near the embassies,” I said. “It gave you options.”

  Azima nodded. “That’s right. I thought that my best option was to seek asylum in the United States. I knew you had moved back there, although I never actually dreamed that I would see you again. But I thought I could use my past association with your family as well as my position in society to cut a deal. It was a crazy idea that never would have worked, but I didn’t get a chance to try before your embassy personnel fled Damascus. I thought about turning to the British after that, but I was afraid that they would abandon me or, worse, inform my husband of my intentions. I sat in my hotel room paralyzed by fear and loneliness and despair. Then the phone rang.

  “At first I thought it was the hotel management. I was out of money and I believed they were coming to kick me out of my room. But when I answered, I heard Father Abiad’s voice. He apologized for his mistake in the market. I lied and told him it was no big deal, but he knew better. I told him I forgave him and was about to hang up when he presented me with the solution I had so desperately sought.” She chuckled. “Imagine my surprise when that solution turned out to be you.”

  “Hey,” I protested.

  “Look at it from my perspective. I wasn’t even sure that you were still alive. All I knew for certain was that your whole family had disappeared overnight. When the police found your mother, I didn’t know what to think.”

  I put my hand on her arm, and she covered my hand with hers. “I’m here now, Azima. So are you. So is Hashim. How did you manage to get him away from your husband?”

  “When I finished making plans with Father Abiad, I knew that I had to protect Hashim, to ensure that he would never become a monster like his father. So I returned home when Abbas was at work and simply walked out with Hashim.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” she nodded. “The caretaker we had hired to watch Hashim was a little curious, but I told him that my father had been feeling ill and I had gone to care for him until his health returned.” She smirked. “It’s probably the most useful the old man has ever been for me. The caretaker had no idea my father has been dead for almost five years. I don’t think anyone suspected anything until my husband came back.”

  She used her spare hand to wipe another tear from her eyes. “Oh, you must think that I’m such a fool. And to have kidnapped my own son and dragged him away from a life of ease to an uncertain future far from home…”

  “You are many things, Azima, but not a fool. You have so much more to give the world, and so much to give to Hashim. And you will never be able to do what God has planned for you until you realize that you are worth loving and protecting.”

  We spent a quiet moment like that, just looking one another’s eyes. Azima broke away first. A tight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You always were kind of charming. I bet you say that to all the women you save from certain death.”

  I smiled. “Just the pretty ones.”

  “Have there been many pretty ones?” she whispered. She took a uncertain step toward me as she spoke.

  “Now that you mention it, no,” I replied with a dramatic frown. “And ‘lots of pretty girls’ was at the top of my reasons for taking this job. I think my recruiter may have lied to me.”

  “Well, isn’t that a shame?” She leaned forward, and I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek.

  It was nice.

  It was dangerous.

  I shifted my body weight onto my back foot, just enough to reduce the intimacy of the situation. I saw a touch of sadness in her eyes, but it vanished instantly. She really had learned to bury her emotions over the past fifteen years. Some irrational part of my brain blamed me for that, but I shoved it down. Azima hadn’t been the only one to learn some hard lessons.

  “I’m sorry if I am making you uncomfortable.”

  I waved aside her concerns. “Don’t worry about it. Older women often find me irresistible.”

  She punched me in the shoulder. “I’m only older by two weeks and you know it,” she said with mock outrage.

  I rubbed my arm. “Ow. I’m sorry. I should know better than to insult the elderly.”

  “And I should have remembered how infuriating you can be.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and her voice grew serious once more. “Thank you, Kyle.”

  “You’re welcome.” I tilted my head toward the bedroom. “You should probably try and get some more sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  She looked uncertain. “I’m not sure what returning to the room would accomplish. Khamilah snores so loud it’s hard to think straight, much less get a good night’s rest.”

  My face became a mask of mock horror. “And you left Hashim in there alone with her? Poor kid must be frightened half to death.”

  “I should go check on him. Save him from the monster,” she added in a melodramatic tone. She met my eyes again, searching for something in my expression. I don’t know if she found it. She broke eye contact after a few silent moments and whispered, “Good night, Kyle.”

  “Good night, Azima.”

  While she returned to her room, I turned around to view the city. This time, however, my thoughts had nothing to do with the dangers lurking beyond the skyline. Instead, the battle was completely within my own mind.

  It was an unspoken rule that a commitment to the Order was a commitment for life. There was no rule that explicitly forbid Knights from having wives or girlfriends, but speaking prac
tically it would be impossible to balance the demands of the job with those of a long-term relationship.

  Until that moment, I had been at peace with that arrangement. There had never been any significant romantic relationships in my life, so the thought of never getting married was never an issue for me. I always assumed that I would die fighting. Even if I somehow managed to survive another couple of decades, I would eventually get too old for the battlefield, at which point I would likely mentor some cocky upstart as Cuvier had done for me. Either way, having a family of my own had never been anything beyond idle fantasy.

  But what if it was possible? What if there was another way, another path that I could choose that would free me from a life of conflict and death? As a teenager, there were times when I imagined what my life would be like if we had never fled Syria. Azima had always been a constant presence in those alternate realities. I thought it was because of our friendship, but what if I had felt a deeper connection even as a young man? Her presence sparked emotions that were wholly alien to me and, if our last conversation was any indication, those feelings were mutual.

  Could I do it? Could I simply walk away from the Order, walk away from my obligations? No one in the Order’s short history had ever resigned, but that didn’t mean that it was not possible. Cuvier would be disappointed, but he could be persuaded to see my side of things. And Hannigan would love to be able to replace me with someone who adhered to his viewpoint and followed his rules.

  Still, I had chosen this life for a reason. People were in danger, and I had stepped forward to protect them. Could I abandon that responsibility? Or was the very thought that I could save them from persecution, or was even supposed to do so, unrealistic and arrogant?

  While these thoughts raged in my mind like a hurricane, the world outside was utterly still. The only sound was Azima shutting the door to her room behind her. Once again, I was alone. But, for the first time in my life, I found myself wanting something more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SOUNDS of gunfire snapped me out of my slumber. I bolted upright so quickly that I almost tumbled out of the tattered easy chair in which I had fallen asleep. Weak light was streaming in from the balcony. It must have been just after dawn, usually the time that the streets would be filled with the haunting sounds of the muezzin calling the faithful to morning prayers. But the only sounds I could hear were occasional pops and a deep, perpetual rumble that I felt more than heard.

  Then a thunderous explosion shook the entire block.

  I heard the other doors in the house fly open behind me. “What in God’s name is that awful noise?” Nadir asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  The other members of the group emerged from their rooms. They chatted quietly, their conversations an indistinct blur of hushed tones and concerned whispers. Hashim clutched his little backpack to his chest and his wide eyes stared at me in fear.

  Sharif came up the stairs followed by an entourage of muscular men brandishing shotguns and rifles. “My friends, the army is moving,” he said as he walked. “You need to stay here and seek shelter.”

  “All due respect to you and your men, Sharif, but if we stay here there’s a solid chance none of us live to see another sunrise. I’ve got to get these people out of the city now while there’s still a chance.” I pulled on my jacket and reached for the keys to the Land Cruiser.

  They weren’t there.

  I whipped my head around to face Sharif. “What type of crap are you trying to pull? We’re your guests, not your prisoners!”

  “What’s wrong?” Omar asked.

  “Your brother stole our ride, that’s what’s wrong.”

  “Is this true, Sharif?”

  Sharif shook his head. “You misunderstand, Kyle. I simply had my men move your vehicle. The courtyard is vulnerable to mortar strikes. If you walk out onto the balcony, you will see that we moved all of the vehicles out of the courtyard before dawn.”

  “What about the garage? I assume it has been fortified.”

  Sharif rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’m not a fool. But the garage is full, and frankly I didn’t consider your vehicle a high enough priority to warrant potentially losing one of my own.”

  “Then have one of your men get it back.”

  One of Sharif’s lieutenants stepped forward, not quite leveling his double-barrel shotgun at my chest. “How dare you give orders in here?” he bellowed.

  Sharif put one of his dinner-plate sized hands on the other man’s shoulder and dragged him back into his place. “There is no need for this confrontation. I am too busy preparing my men for the coming battle to spar with you.” He pointed to the man who had challenged me. “Go get their vehicle and get it back here.”

  The lieutenant growled at me. “But this man is—” A glare from Sharif silenced his protest. “At once, Sharif.” He took the key from his boss and started down the stairs.

  “Once you’ve finished,” Sharif called to the man, “head to the medical station and make sure they have what medicine we have stored here. I have a feeling they will need it all before this is over.”

  “By your command,” came the reply from downstairs.

  “In the meantime, wait inside,” Sharif told us. “The house has been reinforced against mortars and small-arms fire. You will be safe here.”

  “I’d rather wait on the balcony, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I want to be ready to move as soon as I see our car.”

  “As you wish,” Sharif rumbled. He pointed at me. “But understand this. If my brother dies, I am holding you personally responsible.”

  I raised my hands. “Trust me. Anyone who wants to hurt Omar has to come through me first.”

  “See that they do.” Sharif turned to Omar. “I wish I could convince you to stay, but I know now that this is no longer your place. Go live a good life, and ensure that the world knows what happened here.”

  “I will, Sharif.” The brothers embraced, one of those macho, back-slapping hugs that belied the tenderness of the moment. Without another word, Sharif and his men walked down the stairs and toward the sounds of battle.

  Despite Sharif’s warning, I walked out onto the balcony to wait for our Land Cruiser to arrive. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon and the sky was still a deep shade of purple. As I examined the scene, a series of bright flashes in the hills to the north caught my attention. Moments later I saw clouds of debris and dust climb into the sky as artillery shells found their targets. The horizon was already obscured by smoke. The same steady breeze which had brought cool comfort during the evening now carried screams and the smell of cooked flesh.

  Death had come to Rastan.

  Any thoughts I had about sitting out the assault left my mind. The army had too much firepower. Sharif and his men may have been valiant, but I didn’t want to bet all our lives on a rebel victory. If I was going to get these people to safety, there was no more time to waste.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, the Land Cruiser careened around a corner about two hundred yards to the north. I turned to the rest of the group. “Guys, get ready to—” Sudden movement caught my eye. My words died in my throat.

  A hulking armored behemoth that I recognized as an old Soviet ZSU anti-aircraft tank followed the Land Cruiser around the corner. It was too large and unwieldy to replicate the SUV’s maneuver, however, and it crashed into one of the buildings on the inside corner. Rather, I should say the tank crashed through one of the buildings on the inside corner. The impact sent chunks of masonry flying and peeled whole sheets of corrugated metal from the building’s facade, but the tank continued to lumber along undeterred.

  Sharif’s voice echoed up from downstairs with a shout of, “Tank!” and the cry was repeated throughout the compound. I was shocked that the army had penetrated this deep into Rastan already. I urged the Land Cruiser to move faster, to reach the gates which even now were opening to accommodate its arrival.

  The Land Cruiser was much faster than its pursuer and took a
dvantage of the straight path ahead of it to really pour on the speed. For a brief, shining moment it looked like our escape vehicle was going to make it. But that hope died when the turret spun in the direction of the SUV and the four huge anti-aircraft cannons dropped to target it.

  The 23-millimeter cannon rounds tore through the Land Cruiser and barely even slowed, finally coming to a stop at the end of the block where they smashed into homes and hillside alike with equal disregard for human life. The force of the initial rounds flipped the SUV onto its roof. A second burst from the overpowered weapons turned our only hope for escape into a twisted pile of wreckage that only resembled a car in the vaguest of terms.

  The driver of the tank, apparently satisfied that his target was destroyed, turned his attention to Sharif’s compound. The open gate which had served as a beacon for the doomed Land Cruiser now exposed the entire compound to the gunner’s wrath. Sharif’s men began to throw themselves against the heavy steel gate in an attempt to force it closed. But it was too late.

  I ducked back inside the house. “Go!” I shouted to the group. Most of them were frozen in place by the horror they had just witnessed. “Find cover and go now!” I snapped. Most of the group responded to that second warning, but Nadir had to physically pull his wife toward the stairs.

  We ran as fast as we could, but a sick feeling in my gut told me that it was too late, that we were not going to make it. That I had failed. Another explosion rocked the house and I dove for the floor. As I descended, I pulled Azima down with me, then rolled over her to shield her from the worst of the impact. I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable. A series of shorter pops followed, the distinct report of the AK family of assault rifles.

  Then, all was still. No one moved for a long time, almost as if we were afraid to alert Death that he had missed us. When there were no further rumblings or explosions, the sense of relief was palpable.

  Still a bit woozy, I reached out my hand to help Azima get to her feet. She brushed dirt off her skirt and gave me a shy smile. “Thank you. For what you did.”