“Am I glad to get out of that car,” Steve grumbled.
John gave a half-smile, then asked Mansur, “What did he say? Where’s he going?”
“He said to wait for him. He will ask around and see if anyone can take us closer to Idlib. He said he’s not comfortable doing it himself.”
John nodded and looked around. He noticed people staring at them, averting their eyes when he looked their way. He looked down and realized they were all still wearing their ballistic vests with Press written on them.
“We seem to be attracting a lot of attention. Do you think it’s our vests?”
“Could be.” Steve looked around. “I feel safer with it on, though.”
“Yeah, me too. Let’s see if we can get something to eat. I’m starving.”
“There’s a food stall over there.” Mansur pointed across the square. “You wait by the car. I’ll get something for us.”
John and Steve leaned against the car and watched as Mansur crossed the square and approached one of the few businesses that didn’t have shutters pulled down. A small group of men hung around outside, smoking or squatting in the dirt, and Mansur pushed through them and spoke to the stall owner, the men listening in for a while but soon losing interest.
“Realistically, Steve, we won’t get there tonight.”
“No,” Steve sighed.
“It will be dark soon. I think we need to find somewhere to sleep for the night and continue on in the morning.” John turned to face Steve. “I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary, but we’ll be rested and better able to deal with anything that comes our way.”
“Yeah.” Steve crossed his arms, looked down at the ground, and kicked a stone out of the way.
“Hey, Steve, we’ll get there. Think of where we’ve come today. We’ll bring her back, but let’s stay focused. One day at a time. We’re much closer than we were yesterday.”
“Yeah, you’re right, mate.” Steve unfolded his arms, squared his shoulders, and looked up. “Thanks, mate. Really. I couldn’t have done this alone.”
“Yes, you could. It just would have been harder.” John grinned. “But you would have had more room in the car.”
“Huh. Yeah, maybe I should have done it myself. I hope the next guy has a bigger vehicle.”
Mansur came back with food, and they stood beside the car, using the trunk lid as a table, feasting on flatbread, hummus, and boiled eggs.
Ferhad returned after thirty minutes, accompanied by a fair young man with a clean-shaven chin and pale blue eyes. He spoke to Mansur for a few minutes, and Mansur translated.
“This man can take us to Saraqib, just fifteen kilometers south of Idlib, but he says it’s dangerous. He wants extra for the danger, and he won’t go at night. He can take us in the morning.”
“Tell him okay. Work out a price you think is reasonable. Tell him we’ll leave at seven.”
Mansur spoke for a while, the conversation going back and forth between him, Ferhad, and the new driver. After a couple of minutes, Mansur reached out, and the man shook his hand.
“All done. He’ll meet us here at seven. I told him half now and half when we get there.”
“Good.” John turned to Steve, “Send her a message. Tell her we will be in Saraqib by ten. It will give her some confidence that we’re getting closer.”
“Good idea.” Steve pulled out his phone and started typing.
John looked at Mansur. “Do you think you can find us somewhere to spend the night?”
“Yeah, Mansur.” Steve looked up from his phone. “See if you can book us into the Ritz.”
63
Mia shifted her weight from one buttock to the other. The concrete floor was cold and hard, and her head throbbed with pain. She had no idea of the time but guessed, based on the falling light, the whole day had passed since she was caught with the phone. When the gun barrel was pressed to her head, she thought it was all over, but then it was taken away, and she was hit on the side of her head, and everything went dark. She was alive, but what was the point? Everything had gone wrong. Where was Malak? Were the women looking after her? What about Uncle Steve? Where was he? What would he do when he couldn’t reach her? She rocked back and forth, a heavy lump in her chest. Why? Why? When she was so close to getting out of there and providing a new life for Malak, why did it all have to go wrong?
A pellet of anger began to smolder in the pit of her belly. The more she thought about her situation, the more the fire grew, her frustration transmuting into anger and hatred—anger at Abu Mujahid, anger at Naeem who had dragged her to this horrible place, anger at the world, anger at religion. It was all wrong. And where was Naeem? She thought she’d heard his voice earlier in the street but couldn’t be sure. Where was he now? Couldn’t even defend his wife and daughter. Man of god? Holy warrior? Huh! She shook her head.
She had to do something herself, at least try. She couldn’t sit around, feeling sorry for herself, and put it all down to Allah’s will. It wasn’t Allah’s will that Malak was born into an environment like this. Malak didn’t have a choice. The fault was with her parents, and Mia had to do everything she could to make sure Malak didn’t suffer because of her poor decisions. She clenched her jaw and straightened up against the wall she was leaning against.
“Hey.” She heard a noise by the
