In the distance they heard vehicles, the sound getting nearer as they waited. The vehicles stopped outside the building, and they heard voices and the slamming of doors.
The three men exchanged glances. It was time.
“Mia, Mia.” Steve nudged her with his shoulder. “Wake up, my darling.”
She blinked, her eyes meeting John’s, then Mansur’s. Mansur smiled. She turned her head to look up at Steve. John saw his throat move as he swallowed before forcing a smile.
John looked toward the door and concentrated on his breathing as his heart rate increased. He slowed his breathing down. Deep inhalation, he heard footsteps on the steps, full exhalation. If he was about to die, he wouldn’t let them see that he was scared. He straightened up, raising his chin. Again, deep inhalation, the door crashed open, full exhalation, fighters stepped into the room, faces hidden behind shemaghs, their weapons on slings over their shoulders. John watched them as if in slow motion as they approached each of them, then a hood was pulled over his head and hands gripped his arms and pulled him to his feet.
“Yalla, yalla!”
John’s feet dragged across the floor as he was half-carried and pulled out of the room. He felt his feet drop from step to step as they carried him downstairs, the light behind the hood increasing as they reached the street. He heard footsteps behind him and the grunts and thuds of the others being dragged out.
He heard shouts in Arabic, what sounded like commands, and his feet dragged through the rubble as his captors pulled him across the road. He struggled to make sense of the sounds outside, to get an idea of what was happening, and heard more vehicles approaching. His captors stopped. The other vehicles stopped, and he heard raised voices, shouting, arguing.
“Mansur?” He felt the grip on his arms tighten, and he was pulled upright. “Mansur, what are they saying?”
John heard what sounded like a curse in Arabic, and the grip on his arms loosened. He fell forward, turning his head just in time to avoid smashing his face as he landed with a thud on the ground, the impact driving the air out of his lungs. He gasped for breath, sucking air in, then realized his hood had shifted. There was a gap, and he could see boots and sports shoes facing each other. The voices were still raised, angry Arabic filling the air. One set of boots stood toe to toe with another before the pair on the right stepped abruptly back as if the person wearing them had been pushed away. The shouting continued for another minute, then John saw boots and shoes moving away. He heard vehicle engines starting, then the sound of vehicles, one, two, maybe three, moving away.
What was going on? Through the gap in his hood, he saw a pair of scuffed and torn sports shoes approaching. They stopped in front of him and shifted position as the wearer squatted down. He felt fingers on his hood and blinked violently as the hood was removed, and his eyes struggled to cope with the influx of light. When his eyes adjusted, he was staring into the face of a young bearded man.
73
Aknife sawed at the rope binding John’s wrists together, and he winced as the restraints broke free, and the blood flowed back into his hands. He wriggled his fingers, rolled onto his back, and sat up as his ankle restraints were cut. The young man—boy—moved toward Mansur and released him before removing his hood. Mansur sat blinking against the light, shaking his arms out, then grinned at John.
“Today’s not the day.”
John looked over his shoulder and saw Mia already released and another man cutting away Steve’s restraints.
What just happened?
The second man finished with Steve and walked over to Mia and helped her to her feet. She threw her arms around him, and he stood, looking uncomfortable, his hands by his side, a commando knife in one hand, Steve’s black hood in the other.
Steve got to his feet and looked at the man in Mia’s arms.
“I never thought the day would come when I would say I’m happy to see you.”
Mia stepped back, holding the man at arm’s length,
“Where’s Malak?”
“She’s here.”
“Where?” Mia looked around frantically.
He jerked his head toward a Mitsubishi pickup parked behind them. “She’s in the pickup.”
Mia spun around and ran to the vehicle, pulled the door open, and reached inside. She stood and turned to face them, a small child in her arms. She kissed the child on the forehead over and over again as Steve approached her.
Mia looked up, her eyes moist. “Uncle Steve, this is Malak.” She kissed her on the forehead again. “My little angel.”
Steve reached out and touched the girl’s face with his fingertips. “Malak.” His face beamed, and he turned to John and Mansur. “This is my grandniece. Isn’t she beautiful?”
John still couldn’t understand what had just happened and wasn’t about to relax, but he didn’t want to ruin Steve’s moment.
“She sure is, Steve.”
Steve turned back to look at Mia and her daughter. John caught Mansur’s eye before stepping closer to the older of the two men.
“Are you Naeem?”
The man regarded John with suspicious eyes, then nodded. John held out his hand.
“I’m John.” He gestured toward Mansur. “This is Mansur. We’re friends of Steve.” Naeem shook John’s hand and nodded at Mansur.
“What happened here, Naeem? Who were those men, and why did they let us go?”
Naeem adjusted the position of the AKM on the sling around his shoulder and looked down at the ground.
“My brothers,” he mumbled.
“Your brothers?” John frowned and glanced at Mansur. Mansur understood and moved away to talk to the boy. “How did they get Mia’s phone?”
Naeem jerked his head up, “My phone. They took it from
