“Welcome to Turkey.”
95
John struggled to focus. Where had he heard that voice before?
Mehmet.
The smuggler was standing in front of him, a smile spread across his corpulent face. John struggled to process.
“What? How?”
“It’s okay, you are safe now.” He nodded to someone behind John, and John felt fingers on his wrist and something cutting away at his flexicuffs. He shook his hands out and glanced over his shoulder. A Turkish soldier stood behind him. He nodded and slipped a hand under John’s arm, helping him to his feet and guiding him to a chair.
“You are safe now, John,” Mehmet repeated.
“Where are the others?”
As if on cue, the door opened, and two hooded figures were escorted in. Mehmet nodded at their escorts, and they removed the hoods and cut the flexicuffs from the prisoners’ wrists. John jumped to his feet and strode across the room, grabbing both Steve and Mansur in a hug as the two blinked against the light.
“I thought I wasn’t going to see you guys again.”
“Where are we?” Steve asked, looking over John’s shoulder and recognizing Mehmet for the first time.
“Turkey. We are safe,” John reassured him.
“Where’s Mia, Malak?” he asked frantically.
“They are okay.” Mehmet smiled and raised his hands. “The doctor is seeing to the child.”
“I want to see them.”
Mehmet nodded to the soldiers, and one of them stepped back and opened the door.
“He will take you.”
Steve nodded and followed him out.
John held Mansur at arm’s length.
“Are you okay, my friend?”
Mansur smiled. “I am now.”
“Good.” John let go and turned to face Mehmet. “How the hell did you get us out of there? And where are we now?”
“You are on a Turkish military base, just across the border in Hatay province. Your friend Craig called me. I called in a few favors.”
“Thank you, Mehmet.” John exhaled loudly, feeling the constant tension of the last few days leaving his body. “There were others. Are they here, too?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Mehmet shook his head. “But they are safe. They have been sent to a camp near Manbij. They will be looked after, food, medicine, shelter.”
“The women?”
“Yes.”
John glanced at Mansur and frowned. Turning back to Mehmet, he asked, “And Naeem?”
“Who?”
“Naeem. Mia’s husband. Australian. He was wounded in the leg.”
Mehmet shook his head. “There was no-one else.”
“There was. He was with us when we were caught.”
Mehmet shook his head again. He looked at Mansur, and back at John, clearly puzzled.
“There was no-one else. I asked them to release everyone. They did. The only reason the Yazidi women aren’t here is it’s too political, but...” He shrugged. “There was no Naeem.”
John studied his face. He didn’t seem to be lying, and why would he? What would he stand to gain? John turned to look at Mansur, and Mansur shrugged.
“We are safe, that’s what’s important.”
John nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Come, you must be hungry. The Turkish Army is providing food for you. I hear their Mess is quite good.”
John’s stomach growled as if it had heard Mehmet, but John had something more important to do.
“Mehmet, first, I need a phone. I have to make a call.”
“Adriana?” Mehmet smiled. “She knows.” He removed a phone from his pocket and passed it over. “Craig has kept her informed. She and... Maadhavi? They are on their way here.”
John breathed a huge sigh of relief and took the phone from Mehmet’s hand. He dialed from memory and held the phone to his ear. He waited impatiently as the phone connected, then rang. A moment later, he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Hello, John?”
96
John stood by the window, looking out over the classical gardens of the villa. Below on a patch of lawn, between a row of immaculately manicured hedgerows, Adriana, Maadhavi, and Mia sat, Malak running around them.
In the two weeks since they had been rescued from Syria, the young child had blossomed. The army doctor had given her a dose of antibiotics and deworming medicine, then gave her the all-clear, saying all she needed was regular food and a healthy environment. She had filled out, had color in her cheeks, and instead of sleeping all day, it was hard to get her to sit down.
Mia looked much healthier, too, and the bruising on her face had all but disappeared. She had abandoned the black abaya and was now dressed in western clothing, although she still covered her hair with a hijab. John had even seen her smile, an expression that transformed her face, the years dropping away, becoming a young lady again. But now and then, when she thought she was unobserved, a deep sorrow crossed her face, and John knew from experience, she would be troubled by her past for a long time to come.
The disappearance of Naeem remained a mystery, but Mia said she no longer cared. Puzzled, yes, but she had closed her heart to him a long time ago.
Mehmet had graciously given them the use of a villa he owned in Istanbul’s Bebek district for as long as they needed while they waited for their replacement documentation to come through. John’s, Steve’s, and Mansur’s passports were replaced quickly, and Mansur had already departed for Oman, eager to be back with Warda and his daughters. The departure had been a sad one, but they made promises to meet again, the bonds formed in the shared stress of Syria would not be severed easily.
John and Adriana agreed to stay on with Steve and Maadhavi while they waited for Mia and Malak to get a passport, Mia’s having been lost in Syria a long time ago. At first, the Australian government had refused, claiming she was a foreign combatant and would be refused entry back into the country. But after a series of articles written jointly by Craig and Adriana about how Mia and her uncle had rescued a group of Yazidi women from slavery, the government reluctantly
