Instead, they moved us again.
THE STORES
MAY 5, 2013
As always, there was no warning. The door opened and Crop Top, sounding unusually civil, made an announcement in Arabic. I didn’t understand him, of course, but I could tell from the reaction that it was good news.
“He said we’re all going home!” the Moroccan bellowed.
“Us too?” I asked, confused, knowing that kidnapped Americans were not exactly in the same boat as the POWs.
“He said everybody!”
And before I knew it everyone was hugging and kissing and celebrating like it was V-Day. In order to keep morale up I went with the flow, but when they started taking us from the room in groups, I brought all my spare clothes with me just in case. Not waiting for me, Theo jumped in with the first set to leave the room.
Because it was so hot, I had retired the ski cap blindfold and replaced it with the sleeve of my tee shirt; when it was stretched out around my head I could see almost everything through the cloudy green fog it created. Outside, there were jihadis everywhere, all of them armed to the teeth. As I walked on at the end of the line, the Moroccan and I were separated from the group and told to stand off to the side where Theo was waiting for us. This was when I heard the voice and laughter of General Mohammad, who was walking over with his camp.
“Jumu’ahhhh!” he said, like it was old times.
“What’s up, General?” I replied.
After a friendly exchange we were told to follow one of the jihadis to a vehicle. I shook General Mohammad’s hand, kissing both of his cheeks and then his shoulder as custom demanded—he jumped back, laughing, because he was wearing his suicide belt.
I never saw him again.
The three of us were loaded into the back of an SUV, as usual. The ride started out rough, with the jihadis quizzing the Moroccan about what medication he would prescribe for high blood pressure and accusing us of being spies, but for some reason I had a good feeling about where we were going. The ride would have been perfect, with the cool breeze hitting my face as I thought of freedom, except that Theo started to absolutely lose his shit. He was sure we were on our way to be executed, and about fifteen minutes in he started to panic.
“Sick! Sick!” he cried out in Arabic. “Pull over!”
I heard him struggling to keep down vomit.
“Swallow it, dog!” barked one of the jihadis.
“Don’t do it!” another jihadi yelled, sliding back the action on his AK for emphasis.
Now the Moroccan and I were yelling at Theo along with everyone else, but he couldn’t hold it down and puked all over himself.
We rode up what looked like a highway for about an hour. Then I heard the bustling streets around us and knew that we were back in Aleppo.
As soon as my feet touched the pavement, someone took my arm and gently led me into a building and through several rooms. Upon entering one there was a step, and when I purposely bumped into it so as not to let on that I could see through my blindfold, he lightly tapped my leg and led me over the step and into a crowded cell. Inside were the soldiers, hunched down and crowded toward the back just as they’d been when we arrived at the villa. When the door closed I immediately lifted my blindfold and looked around. Over my shoulder I saw three little dark-skinned men sitting on a thick mattress: Shabiha. One by one the other men began to remove their blindfolds as well.
My plastic ties were bound around my forearms this time so I was able to slide them down to my wrists where they were so loose I could move almost freely. The first thing I did was help Ayman loosen his restraints by sliding his jacket sleeves out from under the ties, pulling on the fabric with my teeth. Then I switched into patriot mode and moved on to Theo. His hands were bound behind his back so tightly it looked like the circulation had been completely cut off.
“What are you doing?” the Moroccan snapped. “Sit down!”
“I gotta try and help Theo,” I said, crawling over to him.
By now he was lying on his side in agony, his shirt and beard soaked with vomit from the ride. I thought I might be able to loosen the zip tie by sliding the pointed end of mine into the lock on his. After we were cut loose at the villa I’d examined the thin piece of plastic that had the grip of a python, trying to figure out how to get it off another prisoner should an opportunity ever arise. Now was a perfect time to put this to the test.
“Okay, I’m gonna try and loosen it for you,” I whispered, so the guards outside wouldn’t hear me.
As soon as I slid the pointed end of the tie in to work my magic, Theo’s tie tightened by one click.
“Ahh!” he yelled. “Get away from me! Get away from me!”
I felt truly awful, and apologized profusely. On the other hand, I was always taught that it’s the thought that counts.
The lights went out not long after our arrival, but almost as
