by Chris Lowry
"Thank you," the girl sobbed.
"What's your name?" Brill shouted over the wind roaring through the open window.
"Amanda."
"Don't thank me til we're in Turkey Amanda."
He jerked the wheel and slid around a corner. Brill raced for the edge of town. There was a main highway that drove to the north, but he wanted to avoid it. The rutted single lane hard packed sand roads that cut through the desert were tougher on the car, but it was an almost straight shot to the foothills that led up into the mountains and the path back to Turkey.
"We can't go back," she tugged on his sleeve. "Not yet."
Brill glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and jerked left to avoid a man stepping into the road. He got a yell and a finger gesture he didn't recognize but recovered enough to whip around the next turn and the open way beyond.
"Do you have a dinner invite I need to know about?" he cracked.
"Our tapes," she said. "We need to get the proof."
"My job is to get you out of here," he told her. "Both of you."
He nodded through the windshield.
"The border is thirty minutes that way and there's nothing to stop us."
"But we need those tapes," she begged.
The flatbed truck tore across the desert in front of them shooting up a cloud of dust as the rebels searched for the Mercedes. Brill yanked them into an alley and slowed to a crawl. He wondered if the rebels had seen them on the street. If so, they would be coming and AK's versus his Taurus was not a fair fight. He needed to get better weapons, or get free of the Mercedes and still make the crossing to the safety of the mountains.
"Stop, please," Amanda shouted.
Brill stood on the brakes and slid to a gravelly stop.
"We risked our lives to tell what was happening here," she put both hands on his arm.
"The longer we stay here, the bigger the risk," Brill explained.
"I know that. We know that. We always knew this was a dangerous project. But someone has to know. The President is using chemical weapons against the people. Women, children," she trailed off.
"It's all on the tapes," the man finally spoke up.
Her boyfriend, Rain, a scarecrow of a man with sunken eyes and a shock of black hair over an unkempt beard. Brill had seen that look before on men after battle and the horrors they experienced.
"First, are you alright?" he asked Amanda.
"I'm fine," she nodded.
"Did they hurt you?"
"Just threats. It was going to get worse, but they hadn't started yet."
"We haven't eaten in days," said Rain. "Barely enough water. They threatened to burn us, to make me watch while they raped her, but just some punches and kicks so far."
"Good," thought Brill as if being starved and beaten was a light form or torture. He knew it wasn't, but it helped him damp down the rage that boiled in his stomach. Amanda was safe, the girl and her boyfriend in his car. He could complete the mission and get them home. If they would cooperate.
"The flat where we were staying is on the way," she tried a new tactic. "We could grab our gear, and you could take us wherever you need to take us. That will buy us some time too, right?"
She saw the truck full of rebels in the desert before he hid them in the alley. She was right, they could use a little time while he came up with a plan. And he didn't like sitting here just waiting to be found.
If the rebels started doing drive-by’s, the streets were empty enough that it would be easy to find them.
Better to keep moving. Brill nodded.
"We do what I say," he instructed. "I'll take a look at the flat and if it's dodgy, we're chucking it all and lighting out for the hills. Got it?"
Amanda and Rain bobbed their heads in agreement.
"They could be watching your place to see if you go back," he warned them. "It might not be so easy to get away next time."
Amanda grabbed his hand.
"Thank you," she told him. "But if you kept driving for the mountains, they would have cut us off. They're better armed than you are. It would have been suicide."
So she was one of the observant ones, he thought as he dropped the car in gear and eased toward the end of the alley. She paid attention. Good. He hoped she would give that much attention to him if he said run.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They were waiting at the flat. Amanda directed him toward the far edge of town to a four-story block building with a faded stone exterior. He parked the car several hundred yards away and got out still in his light disguise to try and blend in. The streets were getting more crowded with pedestrians, but not so many as he might have thought.
The girl said a lot of people were escaping to refugee camps, opting to live in squalor instead of fear of being bombed. Brill knew a thing or three about refugee camps. They were breeding grounds for disease, disillusionment and discontent, which made recruiting for rebel groups and terrorist organizations easy. The lack of routine and access to basic needs including education created a generation of people who were looking for someone to blame for their misfortune. Some blamed the government of their own country, usually corrupt. Some blamed corporations with ties to the West. Some even blamed America and the myths and legends of gold in the streets made possible by the American Dream.
It was a no win situation for a population no matter their religion and anyone with the sense to look up history would know that since the dawn of war, man has created displaced people. In the past they were made slaves, or indentured servants. In the twentieth century, they were placed in ghettos and camps, kept confined and hidden until some outrage or another drew attention to the situation. Then Western countries would open up their borders for immigration and move the population to new urban centers where it was a different kind of refugee camp. Paris had one, New York, Detroit, Minnesota. South Africa. They were all over the place.
If the citizens of Aleppo were emigrating to a refugee camp, that means things were pretty bad here. It showed. The four-story building was the tallest on the block and the only one left standing. Burned out shells dotted other lots, the stone work pockmarked with bullet holes and shell fragments. Rubble blocked alleyways and side streets.
There were no vendors, no markets or bazaars in this part of town.
"Fourth floor," Amanda had told him.
He rounded the corner and spied the spy fairly easily. Two guys sitting on the doorstep leading into the building cradled AK-47 rifles. A token guard, he thought, just in case they came back. Since Brill hadn't used his gun at the compound to rescue the couple, they must have assumed he wasn't military, so they didn't need superior firepower.
He ducked into a doorway and watched for several minutes. The two men didn't move from the spot, engaged in quiet conversation with each other. Brill marveled that it was the first time he hadn't seen people scream to communicate with each other in awhile. It almost made him smile.
He was pretty confident there was no on in the flat, just the two guys on the door. He meandered back to the car and slipped out of the robe.
"Put this on," he told Rain.
The skinny man shrugged into the robe.
"They'll notice my head," he said.
"Stay here," Brill told Amanda. "Hide in the backseat."
She hunched down in the floorboard trying to be as small as possible. A woman in a car alone was a big target especially without a cover or veil. Brill planned to make a five-minute run up to the flat and back.
"We're in and out," he told Rain as the scarecrow struggled to keep up. "You get it and get out."
"They're going to notice my head," he worried.
"Let me take care of that," said Brill.
They rounded the corner and Brill positioned Rain in front of him as they walked. The tall man tried to duck his head.
"Head high, walk proud," Brill whispered from his back. "That's what they'll notice."
The tall man drew himself up to his full height. Brill came to his sh
oulder. The robes fluttered in the breeze his legs created as he strolled toward the men at the doorway.
The two of them stopped talking and watched him approach. They were focused on his uncovered head, muttering to each other as he drew closer. Brill stepped around him and their confusion grew. Why was a man wearing a turban and no robe, and one with a robe and no turban. Brill walked right up to them and cracked his pistol across the first one's head. He dropped. The second tried to scramble for his gun. Brill kicked him in the groin, then knocked him out with the butt of his weapon.
Rain gaped.
"Move," said Brill.
He grabbed the bodies, one in each hand and dragged them into the narrow stairwell. He slung a rifle over one shoulder, checked the magazine on the other and held it ready. The two unconscious rebel's boots stuck out of the doorway but that couldn't be helped. Hopefully they wouldn't be there long enough for anyone to notice and investigate.
Brill followed Rain up the stairs. On the fourth floor, Rain nodded toward a door. Brill motioned him back as he silently stepped across the hallway and tried the knob. It twisted and he shoved the door open while staying behind the frame.
No one called out. Brill peeked around the edge into the empty room.
"Grab it."
Rain rushed past him and into the living area. It was a mess of disarrayed furniture and debris, like a fight had occurred. Brill supposed it had if Rain and Amanda had put up any resistance when they were captured. Rain went to a small alcove in the wall, pulled out two gear bags and shouldered them.
"Need to check?"
"Good idea," said the thin man and he checked the bags for their camera equipment and tapes. It was all there.
Brill wondered why the rebels didn't take it and use it, or sell it. It looked like quality gear, and the black market extended everywhere. Or they could have begun their own propaganda studio using the equipment. But they left it here.
Either bad leadership or drones doing scut work. Drones with assault rifles could kill just as easily as an expert though, he thought. He had encountered enough uneducated boys in Africa who were good enough at pulling the trigger that he lost some good mates along the way.
He listened for footsteps in the stairwell and gave an all clear to Rain. They descended the stairs two at a time and made the street. The two bodies were still laid out unmoving.
Brill shouldered the rifles so they were less obvious as they scurried back to the car.
It was empty.
"God damn it," Brill growled as he searched the street.
Did the rebels double back and find her? There were no signs of struggle at the car, no drag marks in the sand. He got a rifle ready.
"Stay here while I find her," he told Rain.
Amanda walked around the corner with a shawl and a veil.
"I'm here," she called.
Brill and Rain jogged to her.
"Are you okay?" Rain checked her over.
"Why did you get out?" Brill grunted.
"We needed transportation," she pointed behind her to a tiny Fiat. "They'll be looking for that."
Brill snorted. She was sharp. And thinking ahead, which he chastised himself for not doing. Amanda was right. The rebels would be on the lookout for the damaged Mercedes, but they might overlook a tiny car. He chalked it up to being to worried about the trip to the flat. The mission was almost complete. He made it in country, he retrieved the package. The hardest part was still to come, but they were close to the border and now hidden in plain sight.
They just might make it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They didn't make it.
The ancient Fiat was newer than the Mercedes, but the Italian design just wasn't cut out for desert driving. Brill tried to avoid the potholes and ruts that dotted the sand wash roadway, but the impossible task was made even tougher by the three of them crammed into the two-seater car. The axle gave out two miles from the refuge of the mountains.
"We're hoofing it," Brill climbed out of the car feeling like a clown at a circus.
Amanda put her hands on the roof and hauled herself out beside him.
"How far?"
"Couple of miles to the path," he said. "Then we wait for dark and cross at night."
"Can we make it?"
Brill studied the landscape behind them. There were a couple of dust trails that could be vehicles in the wavy shimmering of the heat filled air, but the way behind them was clear.
"We're going to make it," he told her.
There still had miles to cover, but with no direct pursuit, he felt good about their chances. Besides after he had been rescued from precariously similar circumstances all he wanted was a little reassurance. He could give the same to the girl and her friend.
Rain doubled up on the gear bags.
"Does she have to wear that out here?" he indicated the shawl and veil covering Amanda's head and shoulders.
"Pack it in," said Brill. He planned keep the turban and use it to block the sun. Amanda had the same idea and wrapped the veil around her head like a pirate's bandana. She passed the shawl to Rain so he could use it.
Brill set a fast pace across the desert, cradling one of the rifles with the other slung across his back. He kept watch on the dust trails and their rear, eyes constantly searching in front and behind them for any threats. Being out in the open in daylight left him feeling exposed, but three people marching shot up a hell of a lot less dust than the Fiat. He hoped they were blending in.
Rain passed out.
One minute he was marching with them, the next Brill heard a thud and glanced back.
"Rain!" Amanda rushed to him and checked his pulse.
Brill knelt beside them.
"We haven't eaten," she told him.
Brill grunted in anger at himself. Of course, the man passed out, he'd been at least three days without food, beaten and now without thinking, Brill had force marched him through desert heat. That Amanda was still standing gave him a little thrill of respect. She was as tough on the brain pan as she was resourceful.
Brill pulled a water bottle out of one of the pockets of his coat, the last of his supply from the trip in.
"I cached supplies on the other side of the mountain," he told her. "See if this helps."
She started to lift Rain's head and dribble it into his mouth.
"You first," said Brill. "I can't carry you both."
She looked at him unsure for a few moments and then saw the reason in his argument. She may be mentally tough, but the strain and lack of resources was taking its toll on her as well. She felt like she was moving in a fog.
He watched her tilt the bottle and take three small swallows, trying to conserve it for the man down.
"Half," said Brill.
She took a couple more gulps, measuring after each to make sure she only took half. She showed the bottle to Brill. He took it from her, lifted Rain's head and dropped it in his mouth drip by slow drip. Natural reflex took over and Rain swallowed it all.
He still didn't come around though.
"I'm going to have to carry him," said Brill. "Can you haul a gear bag?"
She nodded and stood with an outstretched hand to take the bag. She started to sway but Brill caught her arm and held her upright.
"Sorry," she gasped. "Lightheaded."
Brill cursed himself again for foregoing the protein bars and extra water bottles that were a few miles across the mountain range hidden in a gorge. He should have known they might need them. And now with the two of them incapacitated, it would slow them down even more.
"I can't carry you both," he said.
"I can walk," she assured him. "It was just the blood rushing back. I'm okay."
He didn't let go of her arm.
"I can make it. We're not far, right?"
"A couple of miles."
"I can do a couple of miles," she offered a weak smile. "Maybe a few more than that." Mental toughness is one of those things that can't be measured until it's
observed. Brill had seen tough looking men go down crying like babies when lack of sleep and deprivation broke down their barriers. He had run a few ultra-marathon races where grownups laid down on the side of the trail and sobbed until they were dry heaving. Part of Recce training had been building mental fortitude, and Brill used meditation and endurance training to keep it sharp. He respected it in others and this woman was showing a level that made his admiration double.
He slung the bags over each shoulder so the straps crossed his chest and they rested on each hip. He respected Rain too because the bags were heavy and the scarecrow man had hauled them both without voicing a word of complaint. Brill settled him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, adjusted so that everything sat right and he still had access to a rifle.
Amanda took the other rifle since she couldn't carry a bag and they set off for the safety of the mountains.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They almost made it. Brill held up under the weight of the man and gear for the next mile and started up into the foothills. It was more difficult to watch their back and when he finally turned around, the two dust trails from the distance were converging on them.
He looked up the trail. They still had several thousand yards to move uphill, and even then, they would need to find a hiding place until darkness fell. Whatever was making those dust clouds would be on them before then. He estimated they had less than ten minutes.
They were out of time.
"Stop," he said and laid the scarecrow out on the ground.
Amanda stumbled to a halt.
"Pick him up," she gasped. "We have to keep moving."
"No time," he nodded.
She turned around and finally noticed the signs of pursuit. They could make out tiny images now, two trucks full of an indistinct number of bodies.
She whimpered.
God damn it, thought Brill. They almost made it. Now it was a hard choice.
