Adriana followed up her reports with interviews conducted over video link with the women in Jadidet al-Hamar IDP camp, southwest of Manbij, the heartbreaking stories garnering worldwide attention. The last she had heard was a deal was being brokered to return the women to their homes in Eastern Syria and Iraq.
John watched her now as she tossed her head back in laughter, her thick mane of hair catching the light as it flicked back over her shoulders. He could hear the joy in her voice as she played with Malak.
John was proud of her and loved her more than anything else in the world. There was no way he would forget it, and now more than ever, he would value every moment he spent with her.
John looked up and across the rooftops of the city. The faces of all the people who had helped them flashed before his eyes—Ramesh, Craig, Hemin, Ferhad, and finally, the brave young Karam. There were good people in the world, and as long as he remembered that and did his best to be a good person, too, he could live with himself. Focusing on negativity was not a way to live a full and happy life.
Mehmet had been the biggest surprise and proof that a kernel of good lurked inside everyone, no matter how they filled their days. John’s initial impression of the man, who made his living smuggling people and weapons, had not been good and John had been convinced the man would double cross them.
His instincts weren’t often wrong, so in a quiet moment, while they waited for Adriana and Maadhavi to join them at the army base in Hatay, John had probed Mehmet on the motivation for his good deed.
Mehmet had remained silent for a while as if searching for the right words, and when he answered, he looked almost embarrassed.
“When I met you in the hotel, my aim was to make as much money as I could from your situation.” His mustache twitched, and he looked away as if ashamed. “It’s what I do, what I have always done.” He shrugged, then looked back at John.
“I lied to you. I have children, a boy and a girl. My daughter, Zehra,”—he smiled—“she is six. She means everything to me. When I left you that night after our meeting and went home, she was already asleep.” Mehmet looked away again and gazed out the window.
“I looked at her lying there and imagined how I would feel, what I would do to save her.” He looked back at John, his expression soft, the hardness gone from his eyes. “I could not stop thinking about it, John. Every time I looked at her face, I remembered you and your friends. That is why I helped you.”
A movement below interrupted John’s thoughts. He looked down to see Steve walking out of the house and across the gravel pathway onto the lawn. He took a swig from the beer in his hand, then crouched down and called out to Malak. The little girl squealed with delight and ran across the lawn into his arms. He hugged her and picked her up. Holding her in his arms, she giggled and wriggled to get free, so he lowered her down to the ground, and she ran back to the women sitting on the grass. Steve watched her run off, then, as if knowing he was being watched, turned, and looked up at the window. He saw John and smiled. Raising the beer bottle in a toast, he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Epilogue
The young man dabbed his face dry, then leaned closer to the mirror, angling his face to check each side. It had been a long time since he had seen himself without a beard, and it felt like someone else was looking back at him. Satisfied, he stepped back and moved to the shower cubicle. He pulled out a stool and sat down, turning on the tap.
“Bismillah,” he said, then started to wash his hands. He washed them three times, then with his right hand, scooped water into his mouth and gargled. He spat the water out and repeated the process twice more. He cleansed his nostrils, then washed his face, followed by his arms up to the elbows. He wiped his head front to back, then cleaned the inside of his ears with his index finger. Finally, he washed his feet and between his toes, then recited the dua.
His wudu completed, he stood and walked into the living room of the small ground-floor flat and stood at the foot of his prayer mat.
“Allahu akbar, allahu akbar...” he began to pray.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the hallway and pulled on his leather jacket. Facing the hall mirror, he adjusted it and turned from one side to the other to make sure the Glock tucked into his waistband remained hidden by the jacket. Satisfied, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, opened the door, and stepped outside. It was a typical crisp and cold London morning, and he turned up the collar of the jacket to protect his neck. Stepping off the front step, he winced as a twinge of pain shot up through his left leg. A memory flashed before his eyes, followed by a tiny hint of regret, but he shrugged it off. He had been chosen, and it would all be over soon. At the end of the path, he hesitated for a moment, then turning left, headed up the street and turned right on the main road, joining the crowds of commuters thronging toward the entrance to the Tube station.
# # END # #
Also by Mark David Abbott
Vengeance: John Hayes #1
A Million Reasons: John Hayes #2
A New Beginning: John Hayes #3
No Escape: John Hayes #4
Reprisal: John Hayes #5
Payback: John Hayes #6
The Guru: John Hayes #7
Box Set
The John Hayes Thrillers Boxset : Books 1-3 (Save 25%)
The Hong Kong
