“Steve, we don’t have any other option. We have to try it.”
“Yeah, well, I hope the little shit is right,” Steve grumbled and moved back to the rear of the group.
John stepped off the road, and slowly, Naeem leaning heavily on his shoulder, made his way along the track as the others followed behind.
The further away from the road, the grass and uncultivated wheat grew higher, closing in around them until they were walking through a tunnel of grass. Crickets chirped, and now and then, there was a rustle from the undergrowth as a nocturnal creature scuttled away to safety.
Naeem’s breathing grew heavier as they progressed, John taking more and more of his weight.
“Stop,” he whispered, and John halted, the woman behind him bumping into him in the darkness.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just need to get my breath.”
John lowered him to the ground, Naeem groaning as he stretched his leg out.
Mansur came forward, and John whispered to him to tell the others they would take a short break. While Mansur worked his way back down the group, whispering instructions, John did a quick mental calculation. They had been walking for ten minutes since they left the road. The highway must be near, if they had taken the right path, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Their pace had been much slower than John had expected, Naeem slowing them down considerably. He reached down and tapped Naeem on the shoulder.
“Come on, we have to get moving.” He grabbed Naeem’s arm and pulled him to his feet, Naeem groaning with the effort. “Let’s go.” John turned and whispered to the woman sitting behind him, “Yalla, yalla. Let’s go.” The woman whispered to the woman next to her, and so on, and slowly, the group got to their feet.
John frowned as someone spoke, their voice carrying easily in the quiet country air. He waited until they were all on their feet, then set off along the path. The cloud cover had cleared a little, allowing a small amount of moonlight to filter through, and he could just see the path ahead as it curved away out of sight in the grass. Hopefully, not far to go now. He rounded the bend and stumbled as Naeem tripped and put all his weight on John. John gritted his teeth, regained his footing, and pulled Naeem upright.
“Come on, Naeem, get it together,” he hissed.
Suddenly the world lit up as a powerful spotlight blinded John. Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield his eyes, and voices screamed at him in a language he didn’t understand. More lights came on around him, more shouted voices, mingling with the screams of the women. The lights disoriented him, and he let go of Naeem. The next thing he knew, hands were forcing him to the ground, and he was flat on his stomach in the dirt.
91
John slumped against the back of the chair with a peculiar sense of déjà vu.
He had been forced to the ground, his hands secured behind his back with flexi-cuffs, a hood pulled over his head, then had been drag-carried for about five minutes before being dumped on the floor of a vehicle. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to the others, everything blurring into a mess of screams and shouts. He had tried to tune into the conversations around him, but it was a language he hadn’t heard before, not Arabic, and he didn’t think it was the Kurdish he’d heard being spoken in northeastern Syria.
The vehicle had bumped and jolted for another ten minutes before joining a smoother surface. He lost track of time until the vehicle stopped, and they dragged him out, up some steps, then dumped him in the chair. No-one spoke, and he sat for a long time with only his thoughts for company. He wouldn’t allow himself to admit the fear lurking inside, forcing himself to be positive. He had been in this position before, and the universe had conspired to get him out of it. He had to believe it would happen again. There was no point in sitting in the chair, feeling sorry for himself.
He heard a door opening and a light being switched on. Someone walked behind him and pulled the hood off his head. He blinked rapidly, his eyes trying to adjust to the light. Another more powerful light turned on, and someone behind it adjusted it, so it was pointing at his face. Despite the situation, he felt slightly amused. What a cliché.
He saw a figure move out from behind the lamp, but that’s all it remained—a silhouette. He angled his face away, the light too bright for his eyes.
The figure spoke, but again it was in the language he didn’t understand. The figure spoke again, this time a little louder.
“I don’t know what you are saying.”
The figure said something else, and this time, the man behind him answered, then walked out from behind John. John got a glimpse of a military uniform, then the man left the room. The other man watched him for a while before he left as well.
What was going on? Who were these people?
About ten minutes later, the door opened again, and a man walked in. John wasn’t sure if it was one of the men from before or a different one, the light in his eyes too bright. The man stood unmoving, and when he spoke, it was in accented English.
“What is your name?”
John hesitated. Did he tell the truth? Did he refuse to answer? He had no idea what the others were saying, assuming they had been captured too, so it was easiest to go with the truth.
“My name is John Hayes. I am an English citizen.”
“Why are you here, John Hayes?”
Again, he hesitated. Should he tell the whole story? The interrogation seemed a little more sophisticated than the one he had undergone with Abu Mujahid. Were they Syrian government? Then why weren’t they speaking Arabic? Was
