John jogged up the stairs and stopped on the first floor. He waved a fly away from his face and peered through the doorway leading into the first-floor room. He ducked his head back as the stench of stale urine and feces hit him. Grimacing, he heard voices above and continued on up the stairs. As he reached the second-floor landing, Mansur, who was standing in the doorway, turned and looked at him, an expression of great sadness on his face. John glanced past him.
“Shit.”
79
It took them another fifteen minutes to get the women out of the building. At first, they were scared to leave, but once Mia explained her Uncle and his friends were rescuing them, they had finally agreed.
John stood beside the doorway, watching the women as they filed from the building and climbed into the back of the truck.
“Bastards,” he muttered under his breath. Mansur, standing beside him, didn’t comment, but the look on his face said everything. As the last girl walked out, Mia came over and put a hand on John’s arm.
“Thank you.”
“It’s okay. You were right not to leave without them.”
Mia gave his arm a squeeze and smiled at Mansur.
“Shukraan Mansur.”
“Afwan, habibi. Don’t mention it.”
John looked across to where Steve was fastening the tailgate of the truck.
“Mia, tell Steve he can ride with you in the pickup. Mansur, Karam, and I will ride in the truck. We’ll leave in a minute. There’s one more thing I have to do.”
“Okay.” Mia turned and crossed the road.
John looked at Mansur. “Come with me.”
John walked back inside and approached the guard who had turned himself over on to his back and was glaring at them from under the stairs.
“Mansur, ask him where the others are.”
Mansur crouched down and pulled the gag out of the guard’s mouth. He said something in Arabic. The guard looked at him, then cleared his throat and spat at Mansur. Mansur wiped the phlegm from his face and wiped his hand on the guard’s shirt. He looked up at John, and John nodded. Mansur raised the AK47, reversed it, and slammed the butt into the guard’s nose. The guard cried out as his nose split, and blood poured down his face.
“Ask him again.”
Mansur spoke, and the fighter raised his head, looked straight at John, then at Mansur. He thrust his chin out, lip curled in a sneer, and shouted, “Allahu Akbar!”
Mansur shook his head, raised his weapon, and rammed the butt into the man’s face again, knocking him sideways. He reached forward, stuffed the gag back in his mouth, and stood. Looking down at the man, he took a step back and slammed the toe of his boot into the man’s groin, once, twice, a third time, then turned and headed for the door. As he passed John, he said, “He’ll be praying for Allah now.”
80
Mansur shifted into a lower gear as the truck dropped down into a partially filled bomb crater where the road had once been, the truck rocking from side to side on the uneven surface. John turned to look back through the rear window of the cab. Karam stood in the rear corner, leaning against the tailgate, his AK 47 cradled in his arms, while at his feet, out of sight from the casual observer, sat the women The boy saw John looking at him and nodded before going back to scanning the road ahead with worried eyes, his forehead creased with a permanent frown. John turned back and stared out the windshield. Ahead, the pickup climbed out of the crater, a puff of black smoke coming out of the exhaust as Naeem changed gear.
“Why are people so cruel to each other, Mansur, in the name of God?”
Mansur glanced over at him, gave a half-smile before concentrating on the road again. He gunned the engine as the truck exited the crater, then changed into a higher gear once they were on the relatively smooth surface of the road again.
“If these people truly knew God, they would never do these things, John. They misunderstand, misinterpret, or are brainwashed by people who twist the teachings to gain power.”
“I’ll never understand it, Mansur. Why can’t we all just get along?” He shook his head. “These poor women... I can’t imagine the horror they have been through. The girls, Nour, Shayma. Did you see them? They’re just kids, for fuck’s sake.”
Mansur exhaled. “I know.”
“Evil fucking bastards.”
“Their time will come, my friend.”
“Hopefully, soon.” John looked ahead to the pickup, “I don’t trust this Naeem, either.”
“No,” Mansur agreed, eyes on the road.
Ahead, the pickup turned left, and Mansur slowed for the turn. They had entered a part of the town that was relatively unscathed. Many buildings seemed to be abandoned, but there were still businesses open, selling food, cigarettes, and glass bottles filled with diesel and petrol. There were more people, too—groups of men gathered around smoking or just talking, watching the vehicles pass, many of them armed and wearing a mishmash of military uniforms. Some nodded at Naeem, the H.T.S. flag doing its job.
“I’ll be glad when we’re out of town. Way too many people around.”
Mansur nodded and swung the wheel to avoid a large pothole.
“Checkpoint ahead,” he muttered as they rounded a bend and saw the pickup slowing. John leaned forward, removed the Glock from his waistband, and wedged it under his thigh. He glanced down at the AK 47 lying on the seat between them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need it. When questioned earlier, Naeem had been confident he could talk his way through the checkpoints, and they had no other option but to trust him.
“Here we go,” John muttered as they pulled up behind the now stationary Mitsubishi. Concrete blocks forming a chicane partially blocked the road, and behind it was another Japanese pickup with what looked like an anti-aircraft gun in the rear bed.
John took a deep breath, his fingers moving toward the Glock as they watched a bearded fighter approach the driver’s
