“Yala!” the guard said.
“No, you know what? I changed my mind,” I said, facing the wall. “I don’t wanna talk to anyone anymore.”
“Yala!” he demanded again.
He stepped over to me, pulled my hat down, and led me into the hallway by my arm. This is when I really started to bug out—and I was no longer acting.
“Wait, wait, where are you taking me?”
I thought they were going to torture me. I stopped short, and that’s when the Ghost Man came up beside me, put his arm around my shoulders, and cradled me like a beloved son.
“Don’t worry,” he said consolingly. “In a few days they will come and take you.”
“What? Take me where? What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything!”
“Shh—shh,” he said as a guard took me by the hand and led me to a door on the other side of the hall.
“No, no, wait! Wait!” I cried out. Then the guard lifted my cap and I saw it was only the office.
A second later Mohammad and Sheikh Ali came up behind me and led me inside after lifting my legs and removing my shoes for me. They were being especially cordial, compassionate, and sympathetic to my state of mind, which was really confusing me. I felt like my world was spinning out of control.
In the office there was a lounge area over by a hot stove, and they sat me down on one of the mattresses in front of it. Both seemed amused by my spectacle. Mohammad put a glass in front of me and filled it to the brim with hot tea. Then he did the same for Sheikh Ali and himself. On the other side of the room a TV was broadcasting Syrian news.
“Come on, man, what is going on here?” I said pathetically. “You guys really don’t want to make ten grand for some loser who didn’t cost you a dime?”
“Ten thousand dollars?” said Sheikh Ali. “No.”
“Then how much do you want?”
“We want one hundred million dollars,” he said. They both laughed.
I countered with fifteen grand, but they didn’t bite and kept the price firm at one hundred million.
“Come on, man, I’m trying to be serious here. I’m not worth anything. My parents don’t have any money and I don’t work for anyone.”
Sheikh Ali shook his head and repeated his price. Mohammad took the pistol from his shoulder holster, removed the clip, and handed it to me, like he was giving a child a toy to play with.
“Oh, cool,” I said. “Is this a Glock?”
“Yes, American,” said Mohammad.
“Nice, is this the safety?” I asked, fumbling with the gun to prove I had no experience with weapons. Then I raised it and pointed it at the wall wearing a badass expression.
“Hasta la vista, baby!” I said, squeezing the trigger. Sheikh Ali and Mohammad both laughed, although I’m pretty sure neither of them knew where the line came from.
Abdullah joined us, along with another man of about twenty, with dark skin, a long face, and glasses. As soon as they entered I handed the gun back to Mohammad and took another sip of my tea. Mohammad kept refilling my glass as soon as it was half empty.
Abdullah’s hair was damp and he had water all over his face. After he sat down, Mohammad handed him a tissue and he wiped his face dry. He was in a good mood, and seemed a lot more relaxed than he had been during our previous encounters. The other man, Yassine, I hadn’t met before. He stayed in the background, walking around the room, listening and observing.
“How are you?” Abdullah asked me.
“I miss my family,” I lied. “What’s going on with the investigation? You guys have had me for like five days now. I mean, where am I?”
“You’re in an Islamic court,” he answered.
This caught me completely off guard.
“What? But why?”
“You know why, and tomorrow you will be judged.”
“Judged for what, man, being an American? What are the charges? I didn’t do anything!”
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to kill you,” he said calmly.
“Then what are you gonna do with me?” I asked.
“That’s up to the judge.”
“Well, where am I gonna be judged?”
“In here.”
“In here? This room?”
“Yes, the judge will come here.”
“And what about evidence? How can I prove my innocence if you won’t let me use my photos and contact witnesses?”
He just smiled and waved off my questions. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. With all the men I’d heard marching by my room and screaming “Allah Akbar,” I’d been almost positive I was on some kind of jihadi base.
“I have a proposition for you,” Abdullah said, abruptly changing the subject.
“All right.”
“We want you to call your embassy and ask for three million dollars, and we will give you five percent.”
I sat there in shock as the three of them looked at me, patiently waiting for an answer.
“What are you, crazy?” I said with a laugh. “That’s never gonna happen! My government doesn’t negotiate with—”
I stopped and looked at them. They just waited for me to go on. None of them seemed to realize that I’d been about to call them terrorists.
“. . . with people who do things like this.” I finished. “But if you think it’s possible, yeah sure, I’ll do it. Where’s the phone? You got the number?”
But now Abdullah had a different proposal for me.
“How would you feel about helping us get things across the border?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Like a smuggler?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what are you gonna pay me? If I take a risk like that I expect to be well compensated. I’m not fuckin’ stupid,” I said firmly, trying to give the impression that any of this was possible.
“Don’t curse.”
“Sorry, I come from a broken home.”
“And America,” he said.
“That’s true,” I agreed with a smile, and we both had a laugh.
“You will be well paid.”
“But why me? I’m sure you have no shortage of people willing to do this for you.”
“Yes, but none of them look like you.”
“And how
