Signs of conflict were everywhere—military patrols, damaged buildings, and in places, the highway was heavily cratered. At one point, a pair of military helicopters flew beside them for several kilometers before heading south away from the highway.
John was on edge; he couldn’t relax. There was something niggling away in his subconscious, but he couldn’t grasp it. He hadn’t slept well, the room cold in the middle of the night, the chill seeping up through the rugs. At one point, after finally drifting off, he had woken in a panic, his heart racing, and it had taken a moment to remember where he was. After that, he hadn’t been able to sleep for hours, the faces of the men who haunted his past appearing every time he closed his eyes. He hadn’t had nightmares for a long time, but guessed stress was triggering the repressed memories.
Eventually, he gave up, splashed water on his face, and went outside to sit on the front step of the building to watch the town slowly awaken. Steve joined him soon after, having had a similarly troubled sleep. They sat in silence as the street became visible in the dawn, listening to the birds chattering in the trees and watching rodents scampering along the gutter.
The driver, a taciturn man who went by the name of Samir, arrived dead on seven in a battered old Toyota pickup with a twin cab. They piled in and set off, Mansur trying in vain to engage Samir in conversation before giving up and concentrating on the passing scenery.
Once the M4 became the M5 on the southern side of Aleppo, progress slowed considerably, the road heavily damaged and constant checkpoints manned by Russian military police and Syrian Arab Army soldiers, meaning they had to constantly stop and start.
It was around nine-thirty when Steve tapped on Mansur’s shoulder.
“Tell him to take the next right turn. It’s a minor road about five-hundred meters ahead.”
Mansur translated, and Samir started shaking his head. He said something to Mansur, and the conversation went back and forth until Mansur raised his hands in frustration and turned to face the back.
“He says he won’t. It’s too dangerous for him. He will drop us at the turn, but he said to go along that road will take him into H.T.S. territory.”
“Fuck,” Steve cursed. “Tell him we’ll pay him extra.”
“I did.” Mansur shrugged. “He won’t do it.”
“The little fucker...”
“It’s okay, Steve.” John raised a placatory hand to Steve. “Let’s not have a fight. Mansur, tell him to drop us but to wait for us. Tell him we’ll double what we’ve paid him if he waits for us to come back. We won’t be long.”
Mansur translated, Samir nodded, then Mansur gave a thumbs-up to the back as Samir spotted the turn and pulled over.
Steve double-checked his phone and pointed up the road. “It’s about two kilometers that way.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
They climbed out and looked around. Fields stretched out in all directions, unplowed and overgrown. Off to the west, twin plumes of black smoke reached up into the sky, and they could hear the distant thump of explosions. A couple of lorries rumbled by, the drivers waving out the window as they passed, but apart from them, there was no-one around.
“Let’s go.”
Mansur leaned in the window and said something to Samir, then straightened, and looked at John and Steve.
“He said, he’ll wait for two hours.”
“Good.” John shouldered his backpack. He felt uneasy, something wasn’t right. He shook the thought off. He was tired and stressed. He shouldn’t be negative. Everything would be okay.
“Ready? Lead the way, Steve.”
Steve set off up the narrow single-lane road, John and Mansur following in single file behind. They had gone only around a hundred meters when they heard an engine start. They turned to look behind them.
“Motherfucker!” Steve cursed as they watched Samir drive off. “Fuck!” He turned to look at Mansur. “Great translator, you are.”
Mansur shrugged and looked down at the ground.
“Hey, Steve, it’s not Mansur’s fault.”
Steve exhaled. “Yeah, sorry, mate. I guess I’m a bit on edge.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. He promised.”
“What do we do now?”
John frowned and looked up the road.
“We keep going. Let’s get Mia first. One step at a time.”
They walked up the road for another ten minutes as it separated two large fields, the fields uncultivated, bare dirt in patches, overgrown with weeds in others. Steve kept checking his phone, and as they approached a building on the left side of the road, he said, “This looks like the place.”
John studied the building. It would have been a farmhouse at one time but by the looks of it, long abandoned. A large concrete area separated it from the road, the building itself missing most of the roof, the skeleton of rafters and broken tiles all that remained. Bullet holes pockmarked the walls, and one corner had collapsed completely.
“Wait.”
Steve stopped and turned to look at him.
“What? This is the place she sent.”
John ignored him and stared at the building.
“Just wait.”
Steve shrugged and turned back to look at the building. The three men stood staring at the deserted structure, looking for any sign of movement. John had a prickling feeling in the back of his neck, a sign that had stood him in good stead before. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“I don’t like it.”
“Why? She said she would meet us here.” Steve looked at his watch. “It’s ten. She said she would meet us now.” Steve looked up. “Maybe she’s inside hiding?”
John made a face, his eyes still on the building.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, just a feeling.”
“Look, mate, I respect your intuition, but look at the place. There’s no sign of anyone. She herself told us to come here.”
“Yeah...”
“Mate, we didn’t come all this way to stop now.”
John nodded slowly, then turned to Mansur.
“Mansur, you
