John nodded, his thoughts going back to the times when he had done exactly that. He reached for his coffee and took a sip. Much better. He glanced across at Agostinho, who was clearing a nearby table and gave him the thumbs-up as Steve continued.
“How’s life treating you? Still in Lisbon?”
“Yes. It’s a great city. You should come and visit.”
“Hmmm, maybe I will.”
“You’re always welcome, Steve. Adriana would love to see you again.”
John liked Steve a lot. Despite meeting briefly, they had been through so much together, experiencing things that created a bond between them. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Steve and his intervention in Oman, stepping in when the mercenaries hired by Surya Patil had attacked their desert camp, John and Adriana might not be alive today.
“How’s she doing? Settled in with that newspaper? What’s it called?”
“Público.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s loving it. It was always her dream to do something like that.”
“Well, send her my love, mate.”
“I will.”
There was a pause in conversation, and John heard a sigh on the other end. He frowned.
“Is everything okay, Steve?”
“Yeah, mate, it’s just...”
“What?”
John listened to the silence. He almost thought the line had been cut when Steve spoke again.
“John, I need your help.”
4
John wiped his hands on the dishcloth and draped it over his shoulder as he glanced toward the table, checking everything was laid out correctly. Good. He reached for the glass on the kitchen benchtop, swirled the ice cubes around, then took a sip. His gin and tonic was almost finished. Glancing at his wristwatch, he calculated Adriana should be home any minute, just in time for him to make a fresh one.
He took one last look around the kitchen, wiped a spot of liquid from the benchtop, then picked up his glass, and walked toward the bar. He retrieved a second glass from the cabinet just as the front door opened.
“Hi, baby.”
John turned and smiled as Adriana removed her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her bag on the table by the door.
“Perfect timing.” John held up the empty glass and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, please.” Adriana walked over, glancing at the dining table as she passed. She wrapped her arms around John from behind and nuzzled her lips into his neck. John turned his head, and they kissed.
“Tough day?”
“No, no, just a long one.” She continued to watch him over his shoulder, her arms still around him as he filled a copa glass with ice, then sliced an orange, slipping the orange wheel down the side of the glass before adding a generous serving of Botanist and topping it off with tonic.
“Here you go.”
Loosening her arms, she took the glass, then a long sip, swallowing with satisfaction.
“Lovely, thank you.” She placed a hand on his back, between the shoulder blades as John prepared a drink for himself.
“Something smells nice. What’s for dinner?”
John turned and smiled. He held up his glass and clinked it against Adriana’s.
“You’ll see.” He took a sip and licked his lips. “That’s a damn good gin and tonic, even if I say so myself.”
“It is.” Adriana took another sip and moved away from the bar. “How was your day?”
“The usual.” John shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”
Adriana studied his face for a moment, gave a slight frown, then moved to the sofa and sat down. Slumping back in the chair, she rested her feet on the coffee table while John sat at the opposite end of the sofa. They remained in silence for a while, both content in each other’s company, sipping their drinks and gazing out over the city as Adriana wound down from the tensions of the day.
John waited until Adriana had almost finished her drink before breaking the silence.
“Steve called today.”
“Really? How is he? Still in Dubai?”
“Yes. He’s good.”
Adriana watched John stare at his drink, waiting for him to continue. She frowned.
“Something is wrong.”
John’s head jerked up, and he looked at Adriana in surprise.
“Yes. How did you know?”
Adriana gave a half-smile. “I know you well enough now, Mr. Hayes. What’s the matter?”
John placed his drink down and turned, so he was facing Adriana, one knee on the sofa, his arm across the backrest. He looked down at the sofa, paused, then looked directly into her eyes.
“He needs my help. I have to go to Dubai.”
5
Naeem Emwazi adjusted the AKM Assault rifle on its sling, so it hung down his back and climbed the narrow stairway to the first floor. He was tired, and each step was an effort. He had been awake for three days and badly needed sleep and food, but the single piece of flatbread he had folded in half and stuffed into the thigh pocket of his combat cargos was not for him.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he stepped over a pile of bricks and entered the dusty, rubble-strewn room. Light from the setting sun angled through the hole, where there had once been a window, and fell on what looked like a heap of cloth in the corner.
“Mahfuza,” Naeem called softly.
The heap shifted with a start and took shape—a young woman, her face hidden by a black hijab, a blanket wrapped around her body, and in her arms another bundle.
Naeem stepped closer and knelt beside her. He reached out a hand, and with grime stained fingers, gently moved the blanket away to see the bundle below.
“Malak,” he murmured. There was no response from the tiny girl. Her eyes remained closed, not a sound from her lips. He felt her forehead and sat back on his heels. “She’s hot.”
The girl’s mother, Naeem’s wife, nodded and pulled the baby closer.
Naeem lifted the flap of his pocket and removed the bread. He passed it over to Mahfuza, who snatched it with her spare hand and tore off a chunk with her teeth. She chewed hurriedly, swallowed before it was completely chewed, and took another bite. Halfway through the mouthful, she stopped chewing and asked, “Water?”
Naeem nodded and unscrewed
