“If it all goes wrong, Mansur, you take out the two on the ground, I’ll aim for the guy on the pickup.”
Mansur nodded, reached for the AK, pulled back the charging handle, released it, and laid the weapon on his lap.
They watched the man glance up at the flag, then lean down to question Naeem.
“Can you hear what he’s saying?”
“No,” Mansur replied.
John took another deep breath, his heart racing. Pulling the Glock out from under his thigh, he kept it below the window, ready.
The fighter took a piece of paper from Naeem and examined it before handing it back. He then straightened and looked back at the truck. John held his breath, then saw the fighter turn and call out something to the men behind him. He banged on the roof of the pickup, and this time, John heard him call out, “Yalla, Yalla.”
The pickup moved off, and Mansur put the truck in gear, moving the vehicle forward. As they passed the fighter, he smiled out the window.
“Ya’teek al ayfa. May God give you strength.”
“Teslam.” The man raised a hand in thanks, then they were through the checkpoint and following the pickup down the road.
John exhaled loudly and grinned at Mansur.
“That’s a good start.”
81
They drove in a northeast direction, heading toward Route 60, which led to the town of Binnish. On the outskirts of Idlib, just after the Alhal market, they came upon another checkpoint. Mansur and John repeated the procedure, weapons held ready as they waited for Naeem to talk his way through. Once again, they saw him pass a piece of paper to the checkpoint guard.
“What do you think that paper is?”
Mansur shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a special pass for these Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham men.”
“Well, as long as it works,” John replied as the guard waved them on.
He nodded at the guard on his side as they drove past, then something, he didn’t know what, made him lean forward, so he could see the man in the wing mirror. The man was staring after their vehicle, and John frowned as he watched him lift a radio to his mouth and say something. It could be nothing, his nerves had been on edge all morning, but he felt uneasy. He leaned back in his seat.
“I can’t wait to get back into Kurdish territory. I don’t trust any of these guys.”
“No, but it will not be any easier there. We don’t have our passes and passports anymore, or any money.”
“I know.” John exhaled loudly. “One thing at a time. Let’s cross the frontline first.”
About three kilometers out of Idlib, the pickup in front slowed and turned off the main road onto a dirt farm track. Mansur downshifted and followed as the track led east through uncultivated fields. They bumped and ground along the track, the rough surface hard going for the heavily laden mini-truck. They struggled to keep the pickup in sight, but fortunately, there seemed to be only one way out of there.
John heard a shout from behind and twisted in his seat to look through the rear window. Karam was gesticulating at him, then looking behind, clearly worried. John turned back and looked in the wing mirror. In the distance, he could see a white pickup following them, and judging by the dust cloud it was throwing up, it was approaching at speed.
“Shit. Mansur, someone is following us. Step on it.”
Mansur glanced in his wing mirror, then downshifted with a crunch, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The truck slowly picked up speed, slamming from hole to ridge, the impacts on the rough road throwing them around inside the cab. John hung onto the grab handle on his side and looked behind him into the rear of the truck. He could hear shrieks and cries as the women bounced around. Karam had wedged himself in the corner, legs spread wide, holding onto the rail with both hands.
Mansur flashed the headlights, hoping the pickup in front would see them as he swung the steering wheel from side to side to avoid the worst of the bumps.
“They’re catching us,” John said, his eyes on the reflected image in the wing mirror.
“I can’t go any faster.”
“Fuck.” John thought fast. The speed the pickup was approaching meant their intention wasn’t benign. He glanced back in front and saw the brake lights of the pickup go on as they noticed Mansur flashing the headlights behind them. The pickup pulled to a stop, and the doors opened. John switched hands on the grab handle and thrust his right arm out the window, gesturing at them to get down. Naeem and Steve looked puzzled, then they seemed to realize. John saw Naeem reach inside the pickup and pull out his AKM, and Steve removed the Glock from his waistband.
“Go round them, Mansur, get the truck on the other side.”
Mansur braked heavily, and they heard screams from behind as the women were thrown forward. He slammed the truck into a lower gear, then swung the wheel over, swerving into the field. The truck tipped precariously and struggled for traction as Mansur wrestled with the wheel. They crashed over a shallow ditch into the field, then he swung the wheel back again, and they lurched up onto the road on the other side of the pickup.
“Stop here,” John shouted as the truck skidded to a halt. He tossed the Glock to Mansur, grabbed the AK47 from the seat, opened the door, and jumped out. “Wait for Mia, then take the truck farther up the road. We’ll try to hold them off.”
Mansur nodded, revved the engine, and put the truck in gear, but kept his foot on the clutch.
John shouted at Karam to join him as he ran toward the pickup. The young boy vaulted out of the back of the truck and ran after John. The following pick up was only about five-hundred
