Son of Syria

by Schafer, Ben

  “Let’s try this from another angle,” I said. “Where would he take her? Is there a Mukhabarat safe house in Tartus, or maybe a military installation, where he would set up a base of operations?”

  Jamil started to shake his head, but stopped when the motion caused the tip of the knife to dig further into his skin. “The, the colonel wouldn’t use a government facility for this mission. Too many witnesses, too many people who could ask inconvenient questions. He’s not supposed to be here. He was supposed to oversee the whole operation from Damascus.”

  “He’s gone rogue on this,” I said. “Does he know anyone in town, someone who would set him up with a place to stay?”

  “Abbas knows people everywhere. It’s his, well, our business,” he added. “And the colonel is the best there is.”

  “Yet he left you stranded out here?” I asked.

  “If I ran into any trouble, I was supposed to call him. But he made it clear that the radio was only for an emergency.”

  “Radio,” I whispered. “Of course.” I stepped back and Jamil flopped to the deck. “Where is it?”

  Jamil pointed weakly at a pile of junk gathered near the door. “If he makes a move, kill him,” I told Grimm’s men in English. The one on the right nodded and ran his fingers along the trigger guard of his newly acquired rifle. Jamil didn’t need to speak the same language to get the point.

  I dug through the random assortment of confiscated goods and found a small black box with a series of buttons along the side and a large speaker on the front. It had no visible antenna, which meant that the range wasn’t spectacular. That, in turn, meant that Abbas was close, possibly even somewhere in the port. But here was only one way to find out.

  I turned my attention back to Jamil. “What frequency is Abbas using?” I asked in Arabic.

  “The radio is preset to the correct frequency. I expected to hear from the colonel in ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t think you need to wait quite that long.” I pressed one of the buttons and heard the tiny click that indicated that I was transmitting. “Colonel Abbas Bashir, this is Kyle Hoyek. Are you there?”

  I was met with silence. Maybe he was out of range. Maybe Abbas didn’t have his radio on him. Maybe he turned it off to avoid any interruptions as he murdered Azima. Maybe—

  “Mr. Hoyek,” Abbas said, surprise and impatience in his tone. “I must admit that I am surprised to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, well, surprises are what keep life interesting. Is Azima safe?” I asked.

  “‘Safe’ is such a restricting—”

  “Is she alive?”

  Abbas blew out a sharp breath. “Yes. For the moment.”

  I slumped down onto the cot in relief. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but part of me already assumed the worst. It took a moment to recover my thoughts. “I’m glad to hear it. It means that you still have a chance to walk away from this mess with your life.”

  Abbas sighed. “Did you just call me to make empty threats? I’m a busy man.”

  “I called to make a deal.” As I said the words, Jamil’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “I have the men you left to secure this ship. Give me Azima and Hashim and I will let them live.”

  Cold fury flooded the colonel’s voice. “You honestly believe that I would give up my wife and son in exchange for soldiers who can’t even guard a simple prisoner with any degree of competence?”

  “No, Colonel, I believe that you have no desire to live as a fugitive,” I replied. My calm words belied the tempest of worry and rage inside my soul. “I know that you have already violated your orders to retrieve your son and exact revenge upon your wife, and that alone will be difficult enough to sell to your superiors. What do you think will happen when they discover that you allowed nine of your men to be killed to satisfy some personal vendetta?”

  It was a guess, but a fairly good one. From what Jamil said, Abbas was already on thin ice with his superiors. In this time of civil war, paranoia was at an all-time high. If the colonel allowed his men to be slaughtered for personal gain, it would be seen as an act of treason. Abbas would be lucky to see the inside of a jail cell for his crimes, and he was canny enough to know it.

  “You wouldn’t really do it, would you?” Jamil asked. “You wouldn’t really kill us.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” I snapped. “All I wanted to do, all any of us wanted, was to leave Syria in peace.” I rose to my feet and towered over Jamil, who was still prone on the floor. “But the regime can’t allow that, and so they decreed that we should all die. Why shouldn’t I kill you all and be done with it? The world would be a better place without you.”

  “Because that’s not who you are,” Jamil said. There was no pleading in his tone, just absolute conviction.

  He was right. Even after everything Abbas and his cronies had put us through, I wasn’t a coldblooded murderer.

  But Abbas didn’t know that. “Fine, yes. You can have the girl.”

  “Not good enough, Colonel. I want them both.”

  “There is no way I would ever let you get near my son again!” he bellowed.

  I lifted the knife once more. “Say goodbye to your lieutenant, Colonel.” I crouched down and put the blade on Jamil’s throat. The infiltrator cried out in primal fear as the cold steel brushed against his flesh. I held down the transmit button just long enough for Abbas to get the point.

  “Wait, damn it!” Abbas shouted. He sighed. “Fine. You may have them both.”

  “Where?” I asked, holding the knife immobile.

  “The Russian naval facility north of your current position,” Abbas said. “There is a warehouse toward the end of the northernmost pier. The gate will be open for you. Come here, come alone, and we can talk.”

  I pulled the knife away from Jamil’s throat and slid it back into its sheath. “Is he serious? Why would the Russians let Abbas set up shop in one of their military installations?”

  Jamil massaged his neck as if to reassure himself that it was still intact. “I don’t know. I’ve only heard rumors. The place is pretty much abandoned.”

  I frowned. “Don’t play around with me. The Russians have been marching all over Syria attacking rebel groups to keep the regime in power.”

  “Most of the Russians who have come here are supporting the air campaign further north. There are maybe fifteen permanent staff left, and most of them spend all their time on board the repair ship in the harbor.”

  “And it’s secure enough that no refugees or workers could wander in the front gate and make themselves inconvenient witnesses.” I frowned. “It makes sense from that angle, but I still don’t see how Abbas would get access in the first place. Did he just decide to march onto a Russian base and take it over?”

  Jamil shook his head. “The way I’ve hear it, the officer-in-charge owes the colonel some kind of favor. Whatever Abbas did for him, it was big. Like kept-him-out-of-jail big. My guess would be that Abbas called in that favor on the condition that neither government ever find out about it.”

  I pressed the button on the radio. “What guarantees do I have that you would let me walk away once your men are safe?” I asked Abbas.

  “I am a man of my word. You may come to the warehouse without fear. You may have an advantage today, but I am willing to wait.” Abbas’ voice dropped to a growl. “I do have one guarantee I will be happy to give you: If you take my son out of Syria, I will hunt you down and I will get him back. No matter where you go I will find you and I will kill—”

  I turned the radio off and shoved it in my jacket. “Boring conversation anyway.” I pulled Jamil to his feet. “Dust yourself off. You’re coming with me.”

  “But, but,” Jamil stammered.

  I leaned toward him. “This whole setup smells like a trap, and I think Abbas will be less likely to shoot me if I’ve got a human shield.”

  “Oh, this whole day keeps getting better,” Jamil deadpanned.

  I turned to one of the crew members stand
ing watch. “I’m gonna need your rifle,” I told him. The man appeared crestfallen that he had to lose his new toy, but he surrendered the weapon without complaint.

  I slung the AKS-74 over my shoulder and charged out of the room, dragging Jamil behind me. I had to swerve the second I passed through the doorway to avoid a collision with Nadir. He must have witnessed the whole interrogation, and his eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and a familiar sort of sadness. “Kyle,” he whispered, “you should not have done that. It was not what Christ would want you to do.”

  “It’s a good deal,” I argued. “Everyone can walk away with their lives. It’s more than they offered any of us.”

  “The exchange is a merciful solution to our problem. But that is not what I am talking about.” Nadir pointed toward the room. “I could see it in your eyes, in your body language. You wanted to hurt that man as much as he hurt you.”

  “You know ‘that man’ is right here,” Jamil said.

  I shoved Jamil to get him to walk in front of me in the narrow corridor. Nadir, meanwhile, elected to ignore him. “If we are to become better men, we have to let go of such feelings. If we fall into the cycle of vengeance, we become another problem rather than the solution.”

  I walked past him and prodded Jamil to keep moving. “I can’t stay for philosophy class. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Either Nadir was faster than I expected or Jamil was really slowing me down. The elder bureaucrat caught up with ease as I continued down the corridor. “I’m coming with you.”

  I slid the Browning out of my pocket and checked the magazine out of habit. I was four bullets down, so I removed the clip and inserted the extra one that I had taken. “Thanks, Nadir, but I can’t concentrate on keeping all three of you safe.”

  “You don’t have to,” he told me. “I can take care of myself. Kyle, what is your plan?”

  “Find Azima and Hashim, bring them back,” I worked the slide on the Browning, purely for theatrical effect, “and kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

  “You seemed to have glossed over the part where you wander onto a Russian naval facility and get to Azima before Abbas can kill her.”

  I scowled. “I’ll think of something.”

  “I already have. You need someone to watch your back,” Nadir said. “I’m not the soldier I used to be, but I can drive. We can divide Abbas’s attention and keep him off-balance.”

  Nadir put a hand on my shoulder. I stopped walking and, God save me, almost slugged him in the jaw out of frustration. Jamil took half a dozen steps before he realized that I was no longer following him. Nadir put his hand on the pistol and pushed it aside. “I was responsible for the actions that took a loved one away from you. I’m begging you. Please let me help you save someone else you care about.”

  I stared at him as my mouth worked silently. I didn’t want him with me. It wasn’t just that every time I looked at him I saw the man who ruined my life. I would never be entirely past that, but I had forgiven him for his role in that tragedy. I didn’t want him with me because I knew of his love for his country even as it fell apart. Forcing him to fight soldiers in the course of their duties could devastate him.

  I rubbed my jaw and said, “Come on. But if I give the word, just head straight back to the boat and tell the captain to set sail immediately.”

  Nadir nodded. I grabbed Jamil, and together the three of us walked down the gangplank toward the truck. The keys were still under the mat. The three of us climbed inside and slammed the doors. Nadir was in the driver’s seat, Jamil in the passenger seat, and I was wedged in between them. There wasn’t enough room for the assault rifle, so I opened the window and threw it in the back.

  “Abbas said that the Russian facility is at the northern edge of the docks.” I caught a glimpse of the built-in clock on the truck’s dashboard. “We need to hurry. He’s had Azima for almost an hour.”

  Nadir guided the truck back onto the road. As we turned north, he glanced at me. He weighed his words, then whispered, “Kyle, what do we do if he’s lying? What if she’s already dead?”

  An image of my mother as she bled out in the street, utterly alone, flashed into my head. I pushed it aside. “Then we kill them all,” I growled.

  Nadir looked grim and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I see.”

  A crowd of pedestrians was gathered on one side of the road. Nadir stopped and waved for them to pass. It was just a courtesy. I don’t even think they saw him or would have stopped even if they had.

  Nadir shook his head. “What has happened to my country? So much death and destruction, so many lives ruined, and for what? So the Iranians can keep bossing us around? So Daesh can butcher anyone who refuses to live under their insane laws? It is truly sickening. I am sorry that I was ever a part of it.”

  I knew that he was trying to apologize for my mother, but I did not want to have that conversation again. I turned my attention to our surroundings. The crowds were thinning. It took me a moment to realize that we were entering an industrial zone. Huge steel and concrete structures loomed to our right while on our left there were massive loading cranes and a maze of metal storage containers stretching out for the better part of a mile.

  “Have you ever been here?” Jamil asked.

  Nadir glanced at him. “You mean while I worked for the government? No. I did work closely with the Russians a few times.” A nostalgic smile spread across his face as he remembered simpler times. “Of course, they were still the Soviets when I started. But all my interactions were in Damascus, not here in Tartus.”

  “It would have been nice to have an idea of the layout,” I said.

  “Why don’t you call your friend?” Nadir asked. “The one you called when we were headed to Imady Consulting.”

  I shook my head. “All of my gear was taken when we entered Rastan. We’ll just have to figure this out on our own.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Jamil mocked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Just shut up.”

  Even though most of the refugees were outside the port itself, the constant activity of the active docks meant that Nadir was pounding the brakes more than he was pressing the gas pedal. I was filled with nervous tension, but it was better than the uncertain fear I had experienced before I learned that Azima was still alive. Abbas would not hurt Azima or put Hashim on a transport until he had confirmation that his men were safe.

  Once that happened, all bets were off.

  After a minute of silence, Jamil said. “I’m not going to get another chance to say this, so I’d like to thank you for saving my life. I know you probably would not have done so if you had known who I truly am, but I owe you nonetheless.”

  I scoffed. “Did I really save your life or was it all some elaborate act? Were you killing your own men just to cement your identity with me?”

  “No, of course not.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

  “He’s probably not lying,” Nadir said. “Abbas isn’t the only man in the intelligence services who uses the militias as off-the-books killers.”

  “My operation was classified at the highest levels. No other agency or branch of the military knew of our mission. We, in turn, had no idea that the General Security Directorate had placed another mole in the group.” Jamil said. “Their mission was not to track you, but to stop you. That’s why they called in their hired guns to snag us, thinking that an overwhelming show of force would scare everyone into surrender.”

  “Imagine their surprise when they encountered someone who not only fought back, but won,” Nadir added.

  “It makes sense,” I replied, more pieces clicking into place. “The thug I interrogated at Imady Consulting said something similar before you shot him.”

  “I had my suspicions that someone in the group was working against us,” Jamil said. “But I couldn’t come out and tell you that I knew something was wrong because ‘Jamil the bus driver’ would not have known.”

  I stared
at the infiltrator for a moment. I was having a hard time sorting who this man really was. My memories of him were all suspect, and he seemed to shift every few seconds from pragmatic realist to sentimental idealist and then back again. “Who are you? Really?”

  “You can still call me Jamil,” he said. “It’s as real as any of the other names I’ve had over the past decade. I think you two can understand me better than anyone. I do my job because I believe in my country. I’m a patriot.”

  Cuvier’s admonition about my extra-curricular activities helping the American military filled my mind. Jamil and I probably had more in common than I wanted to admit. “What are you doing here, Mr. Patriot?” I asked. “What made us so special that we had to be stalked and eliminated?”

  I could see the wheels turning in Jamil’s mind as he tried to develop a credible lie. He gave a resigned sigh. “The intelligence services like to keep tabs on organized crime in and around Syria. Over the years we have come to develop certain ‘mutual opportunities.’”

  Nadir shook his head. “All these years, and you people have learned nothing. All of your idealism about security and national pride goes away when you see a big stack of money.”

  “You don’t understand. It isn’t about money. Not entirely,” he corrected himself. “It is true that these illicit deals provide a great deal of funding, but there is a bigger picture at play. By working with certain elements within large criminal operations, our agencies are able to discover and develop new sources of intelligence. We get to know their vices, from gambling to prostitutes to heroin, and then threaten to cut off the flow unless they give us what we want.”

  That idea, while ruthless and sociopathic, could be brutally effective in the right hands. “Let me see if I can finish your story for you. Jamil, the real one, converted to Christianity and became isolated from his smuggling pals. This raised red flags for you guys, and you swooped down to target him. I don’t know if you wanted to make him an informant or kill him as a favor for your criminal buddies, but either plan was jeopardized when you discovered that he had been contacted about a one-way ticket out of the country.