“I came here to help my friend. His niece wanted to leave Syria, to go back home. We came to save her.”
The man said nothing for a while, and John wondered if he had understood.
“Can I have some water?” John’s mouth was dry, and he was hungry, very hungry. He hadn’t eaten since they left Arima. When had that been? Two? Three days ago?
“What is your friend’s name?”
“Steve. Steve Jones. He is an Australian citizen. Is he here?”
“What is the name of the... niece?”
“Can I have some water, please?”
“Answer the question.”
“Mia. She has a daughter, Malak.”
“Malak?”
“Yes.”
The man turned and knocked on the door. The door opened, and he said something, and the door closed again. The man stood watching silently until the door opened again, and another man entered. He walked toward John, and as he passed the light, John could see he was in uniform. His hair was cropped short, and he held a plastic bottle of water in his hand. He stood in front of John, unscrewed the cap, and held the bottle to John’s mouth. John gulped the water down until the bottle was empty. The man turned, and as he did, John glimpsed a flag on the man’s shoulder.
“You are Turkish?”
His interrogator said nothing as the soldier with the bottle left the room, and the door clicked shut behind him.
“Are you Turkish?”
“I ask the questions.”
John began to feel a little hope. He would rather deal with an official force who, hopefully, would be bound by some rules rather than a rag-tag bunch of fundamentalists.
“I think you are the Turkish Army.”
Again, the man didn’t answer, so John continued.
“I am a British citizen. My friend is an Australian citizen. Another friend is with us. He is from Oman. Our governments won’t be happy if you mistreat us.”
John saw the man change position. He moved slightly, a little away from the light but not enough to make out any detail.
“John Hayes, Englishman. No-one knows you are here.”
“Yes, they do. Our wives know. They will inform our governments.”
“Ah, so your governments don’t know you are here.” John could hear the amusement in the man’s voice, and he cursed himself for his slip-up.
“What is the name of your friend from Oman?”
“Mansur Wahibi.”
“How did you come here?”
“Look, you have to let us go. We only came to save Mia and her daughter.”
“How did you come here?” The man’s tone was firmer.
“We came by taxi from Zuhajrijja.”
“And how did you get to Zuhajrijja?”
John sighed. “We crossed the border near Cizre. At night. We caught a taxi from there to Arima.”
“And this niece, what was her name?”
“Mia.”
“Mia, Mia. That’s right, and her daughter?”
“Malak.”
“Malak. Where did you find them?”
“In Idlib.”
“Idlib? Hmmm.”
John saw the man take two paces to his right, turn and pace back as if he was thinking.
“I don’t believe you.”
John shook his head. “It’s the truth.”
“You are lying.”
“No.”
“I think, John Hayes, Englishman,” he said Englishman slowly, almost as if it was distasteful, “that you are a spy.”
John shook his head.
“You have come to spy on us. I think you are... what do they call you? MI6. Yes, that’s what you are.”
John shook his head. “Do I really look like a spy to you?”
But the man had walked out of the room.
92
It was a long time before anyone returned.
John’s arms were cramping. He tried to change position a few times, but nothing helped, the sides of the chair digging into his arms, and eventually, they went numb, anyway. The light stayed on. He closed his eyes but could still feel it on his face, burning into his eyelids.
He thought of Adriana, how worried she must be. He should never have agreed to come. He had been selfish, partly agreeing to help Steve because he craved adventure, but it wasn’t worth it. He should never have put Adriana through this. He should have stayed in Lisbon. He knew deep down, though, he could never have done that to his friend. Steve had saved his life, and he owed him. He could never have spent the rest of his life, knowing he had chosen comfort over his debt to his friend. Where were Steve and Mansur now? Where were Mia and Malak? Had they got away?
His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and a man stepping inside. He still couldn’t see who it was, but when he spoke, he recognized his voice.
“Why was Mia here in Syria?”
John frowned. Did that mean they had also captured her? “She... came with her... boyfriend.”
“Why did he come here?”
“He...” John sighed, no point in hiding it now. John didn’t really care if Naeem got into trouble. He was the reason they were all there. “He joined the jihad.”
“He joined the jihad.” The man repeated slowly. “What is his name?”
“Naeem. I don’t know his full name.”
“Describe him to me.”
The question confused John. If they had captured him, they would know who he was unless he was refusing to answer questions. Anyway, it wasn’t John’s problem.
“He’s about five-eleven, thin, brown hair, beard. He has a wound in his left thigh.”
The man turned and left the room.
“Turn the fucking light off!” John shouted after him.
93
John jerked awake. Despite his discomfort and the light burning a hole in his face, he had somehow drifted off. The sound of the door opening had woken him, and again, the man stood in the shadows.
“You are lying, John Hayes, Englishman.”
John closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was struggling to remain calm.
“You have no proof, John Hayes, if that’s what your name is. You have no identification, no passport, no papers. You expect me to believe you traveled across Syria like that?”
John shook his head, his eyes still closed.
“Well.”
“Oh, fuck off.” John gave up. The stress
