“But isn’t Assad’s government a bad government?”
Hemin shrugged. “Whose government is good? I think you are English, no?”
“Yes.”
“Can you honestly say your government is good? That it has never done any wrong? How many countries has it been involved in, peacekeeping?” He said the last word with a sneer. “Look, no government is perfect, but at least there was peace in Syria.” He exhaled noisily, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror, and back to the road in front. “How many people have to die because of the games of our leaders?”
“So, why do you do this?” Steve asked from the back.
Hemin’s eyes met Steve’s in the rear-view mirror.
“This?”
“This.” Steve gestured around the car. “Taking people across the border. Smuggling.”
“You are judging me?”
“Maybe.”
John turned in his seat and gave Steve a warning look.
“It’s easy to judge from afar, but if you live here, you will see it’s not so simple.” Hemin slowed. “If we go straight, it’s the crossing into Iraq, but we go this way.” He took a narrow and unlit exit road leading off into the countryside.
“In the old days, before the war, a long time before the war, we used to go back and forth.” He pointed up the road. “Ahead is the river. On the other side is Syria. But the borders are all political. This side and that side is Kurdistan. I am Kurdish. Half of my family lives here, the other half there. But there is nothing over there now. Only death and destruction. I take food, medicine.”
“That’s all you take?” John asked.
Hemin paused. “No.” He glanced at John, then back at Steve. “No, it’s not. But the other... things pay for the food and medicine.”
“And Mehmet?”
Hemin didn’t answer immediately. John saw his eyes narrow a little, then relax as if Hemin was thinking of what he could say.
“He is my boss,” came the eventual answer. “He... arranges things.”
They sank back into silence, and Hemin concentrated on the road ahead. There was nothing to see, no lights, very few buildings, just the narrow asphalt road in the twin beams of light from the pickup.
They had driven for ten minutes without seeing anyone when they spotted headlights approaching ahead. Hemin slowed a little, and John noticed his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The lights got nearer, then flicked to full beam. John shielded his eyes with his hand, and Hemin cursed as he turned his head to the side, trying to preserve some of his night vision. He slowed even more, then the sky lit up with the red and blue strobe of police lights.
“Shit,” John cursed, and the three men sat up straight as Hemin pulled to the side of the road.
“It’s okay. I will speak to them.”
John clenched his jaw and looked back at Steve and Mansur, both men tense and upright.
Hemin wound down his window as the vehicle pulled alongside. A powerful flashlight switched on, and the beam played over them, so bright, they had to look away. The flashlight switched off, and once the spots cleared from his eyes, John could see the occupants, two lean, hard-looking men in uniform. Their hair was cropped close to their scalps, and their eyes were wary.
Hemin spoke rapidly in Turkish, the driver of the car nodding while his partner stared at John. John’s pulse rate was climbing rapidly. Would it all end here? On the side of a road in the middle of rural Turkey? He willed himself to relax; they had done nothing wrong yet. They had visas for Turkey and were just out for a night drive through the countryside. The driver looked over Hemin’s shoulder at John, sending his heart rate sky high again. John forced a smile and nodded a greeting. The policeman studied John’s face for a moment, then nodded back. He asked Hemin a couple of questions, then turned to his partner and said something. As he turned back, Hemin reached out a hand through the window, and John thought he glimpsed something in Hemin’s hand. The policeman shook his hand, and when he let go, made a fist, and quickly dropped it below the window. He said something, gave a nod to Hemin, then drove away. John exhaled slowly and realizing his fingertips had been digging into the seat cushion, relaxed his grip. He leaned forward, so he could see in the wing mirror and watched the red taillights disappear up the road.
Sitting back in his seat, he looked over at Hemin. Hemin grinned, released the handbrake, and pulled out onto the road. John looked back over his shoulder at Mansur, calm as ever, and gave him a nod, while Steve puffed air out through pursed lips.
“Fuck me.”
Hemin glanced in the rear-view mirror.
“I told you that you could trust me.”
“Yeah.” Steve leaned forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate.”
“Australian?”
“Yeah.”
“Good people.”
“I’m beginning to like you, Hemin.”
Ten minutes later, Hemin slowed and turned right, across the road onto a dirt track which led off the road into a field. He pulled to a stop and switched off the engine.
“Come.”
They climbed out of the pickup and stretched their backs and legs. Darkness surrounded them, and the sky above hung low and thick like a blanket. The only sound came from the river and the ticking of the cooling engine.
“Take your bags and follow me. We cross here.”
The three men grabbed their bags and vests and followed Hemin down a dirt path. John hung back and pulled out his phone. He closed one eye to preserve his night vision and shielded the light from the phone screen with his hand. He opened his messaging app and shared the location with Adriana before slipping the phone back into his pocket, then moved to catch up with the others. They walked slowly and cautiously, mindful of keeping their footing in the darkness. After about fifty meters, they reached the riverbank, the water flowing slowly past in inky blackness. A stone pier glowed pale in the ambient light, and Hemin led them onto it, then knelt down and pulled on a rope tied to an iron ring set in the stone. They gathered around him and watched as he pulled a small boat toward the pier.
“In the old days, we used to cross here,” he explained in a low voice. As the boat bumped against the pier, he looked back. “I can take two at a time.”
John looked at Steve. “I’ll go first with Mansur.”
“Okay.”
John climbed into the boat, sat down, then reached up as Mansur passed him his backpack and two vests.
As Mansur prepared to climb into the boat, Hemin asked, “Mansur?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
Mansur glanced at John. John gave a slight nod.
“Oman.”
“You speak Arabic?”
“Yes.”
“That is good. It will be easier for you all over there.”
Mansur climbed in and sat beside John while Hemin passed the rope to Steve, then climbed in and sat facing the two men. He removed two oars, fitted them into the oarlocks, and nodded at Steve. Steve threw the end of the rope into the boat and watched as the boat headed across the river.
The water was slow-moving and calm, and it seemed only a moment before John saw the other bank approaching, another stone pier catching what little moonlight filtered through the clouds. Hemin headed a little upstream of the pier, glancing over his shoulder now and then to check his direction, then stowed the oars and allowed the flow of the water to bring the boat back down and alongside the pier. It bumped gently against the stonework, and he reached out and grabbed hold of an iron ring, pulling the boat close to the pier.
“Okay,” he murmured, and John stood carefully, hoisted himself up onto the stonework, then turned to take the bag and vests from Mansur. Mansur climbed out after him, and they both turned to look at Hemin.
“Wait here. I’ll be back soon,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. It is safe here.” He gestured for them to crouch down. “But stay low.”
Using the ring, he pulled the boat out int
o the flow of water and effortlessly, with the skill of someone who had done it many times before, turned the boat around and disappeared into the blackness.
John stood and looked around. Just like the other side, there was nothing to be seen, just a dirt track leading up and over a slight rise. There was silence all around, nothing but the gentle lap of water against the stonework. He removed his jacket, picked up his vest, and slipped it on before putting his jacket back on over the top. Mansur copied him, then they stared into the blackness, waiting for Hemin’s return.
“There he is.”
John strained to see, but his vision was never a match for Mansur’s. He had discovered that back in the Omani desert when the Bedouin had seen things well before they were visible to John.
A moment later, though, he saw the boat appearing out of the darkness and watched as Hemin guided it across the current and alongside the pier. He threw the rope to John, who pulled the boat close and held it against the pier as Steve passed his camera bag and vest up, then climbed out. Hemin followed him out, securing the boat to the iron ring as Steve donned his bulletproof vest.
Hemin moved closer to them, then pointed along the pier and up the dirt track that led over the rise.
“Follow that track for about two kilometers. Don’t take any turn, just go straight. You will reach a village. They are honorable people. You will be safe there. Ask for a man called Ferhad Hussein. Tell him my name.” Hemin turned to Mansur. “He doesn’t speak English, only Kurdish and Arabic.”
“Okay.”
“He has a taxi. He will take you where you need to go.”
“Idlib?”
“Idlib?” Hemin raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. He can probably take you as far as Manbij. That’s still in Kurdish territory, but... be careful. Idlib province is not a good place right now.”
“We know.” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes he had prepared earlier. He held it out to Hemin. “Thank you, Hemin.”
Hemin took it, pulled out his phone and with the light from the screen, checked the notes. He then licked his thumb and counted them. Satisfied, he looked up.
“Thank you.”
John reached out and shook him by the hand.
“Thank you, Hemin.”
Hemin held onto his hand.
“How will you get back?”
John hesitated; he liked the man but wasn’t sure if he could trust him completely. Erring on the side of caution, he replied, “We have a plan.”
Hemin studied John’s face, then nodded slowly.
“Give me your phone.”
John frowned.
Hemin smiled. “It’s okay, I will give you my number.”
John reached into his pocket, passed over his phone, Hemin entered his number, then handed it back.
“If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Okay?”
“Thank you, Hemin.”
Hemin turned to Steve and held out his hand. “Good luck, Aussie. I hope you are successful.”
“Cheers, mate.”
To Mansur he said, “Toroh wo terjah bel salama. Come back safely.”
“Inshallah. God willing.”
Hemin turned and climbed down into the boat while John untied the rope. Hemin turned his wrist and looked at his watch.
“Sunrise will be in two-and-a-half hours.” He pointed up the track. “Over that hill are some trees. Wait there until the sun comes up, then go to the village. It will take you thirty minutes.” He turned to look back across the river. “Don’t wait here. Sometimes, the police check this crossing.”
John tossed the rope into the boat.
“Thank you again, Hemin.”
Hemin nodded and pushed the boat out into the current while the three men stood nervously on the pier and watched him disappear into the darkness.
50
“Right, let’s get out of here.” John hoisted the backpack onto his back, waited for Steve to do the same, then led the way up the track away from the pier. There was just enough ambient light for him to pick out the track, but only just. He kept to the side, close to the trees, although there was no sound of life from anywhere. He walked slowly, placing his feet carefully. The last thing he needed to do was turn an ankle before they had gone anywhere. Pausing briefly to look back, he saw Steve and Mansur following quietly behind him, keeping a two-meter spacing between them and also keeping close to the side of the track.
The moon broke free from the cloud cover, and for the first time, John could see the river they had crossed. Twin beams of light from a vehicle traced the road on the Turkish side, and in the distance, he could just make out the black silhouette of the Zagros Mountain Range. Turning back to the track, he continued walking, eager to get out of sight of the road. The men crested the rise and followed the track as it divided plowed fields. Once out of sight of the road, John stopped and waited for the others to catch up.
“Let’s rest up here until first light.” He nodded to the side of the track. Stepping carefully between the plowed furrows he led the way to a small clump of trees about fifty meters from the track.
Easing off his backpack, he smoothed out a patch of ground with the toe of his boot and sat down, Steve and Mansur doing the same. John unfastened the top flap of his pack, pulled out a flask of coffee he had brought from the hotel, and unscrewed the top before taking a sip and passing it on. It was only lukewarm, but it would have to do. He tilted his wrist and peered at the luminous face of his G-Shock.
“We’ve got about two hours. Why don’t you get your heads down and rest? I’ll take the first watch. Mansur, I’ll wake you in forty minutes.”
Mansur whispered his agreement and stretched out on the ground, using his arm as a pillow. Almost immediately, his breath slowed and deepened as he fell asleep.
Steve remained sitting.
“Not sleepy?”
“Nuh.”
John peered at him through the moonlight. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah... no, not really.” Steve exhaled, “I’ve still not heard from Mia.”
“You sent the text?”
“Yup.”
“It’s still too early. Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll be asleep now. You should, too.”
“I can’t mate.” He jerked his head toward Mansur. “I wish I could be as relaxed as this guy.”
“Huh.” John smiled in the darkness. “He does seem pretty chilled.” John stowed the flask back in his pack. “Maybe it’s his faith?”
“Inshallah?”
“Yeah. If God wills it.” John made a face. “It seems to work... for him at least. No need to worry because it’s all God’s will.”
“Hmmm.”
John heard the cynicism. “You don’t believe?”
“No.” Steve paused. “I don’t think so. I see Maadhavi praying in the morning to that one with the elephant head...”
“Ganesha.”
“Ah, yeah. Well, anyway, it seems to give her peace, but no, not for me.”
“Well, it’s certainly giving Mansur some peace.”
“Yeah, the bugger is cool as a cucumber. How about you, John? What do you believe?”
“Me?” John shook his head. “No, I don’t think there’s a god. There’s too much shit going on in the world.” He sighed and shifted, so he could remove a pebble from under his thigh. “I think people just want a reason for their problems. What if there’s no reason?”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Who knows? But one thing’s for sure. If we sit around here, waiting for God to help us, we will be disappointed. It’s up to us and good people like our friend Mansur here.” John smiled in the darkness, “Anyway, better get some rest, Steve. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.” Steve stretched out, resting his head on his pack. “See you in a bit.”
John nodded, forgetting Steve couldn’t really see him. Staring across the field, he thought about what he’d sai
d. He meant it. Sitting around, hoping some greater being would help them rescue Mia and her daughter was a fool’s errand. When he looked back over all the things he had experienced in his life—danger, loss, death—it was his own will-power and determination that got him through... and good people. John believed in good people. Mansur and Steve were good people, and he liked to think Hemin was another one. He had been so far, but time would tell. In life, as long as you met more good people than bad people, you were ahead. God had nothing to do with it.
51
John’s eyes were beginning to droop when his watch pinged. He reached over and shook Mansur, the Bedouin waking immediately. He sat up, nodded at John, and looked around.
“Anything?”
“All quiet.”
“Good. Sleep now.”
“I will.” John stretched out, adjusted the pack under his head, and within seconds, he was fast asleep.
It seemed like only a minute later when he felt a hand on his arm. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Steve kneeling beside him.
“It’s time.”
John sat up and looked across the fields. The sky had lightened, turning grey as the sun began its appearance. He spotted movement and saw a rabbit dart from beneath a tree and bound across the furrows before disappearing into the ground. An owl hooted from the branches, and elsewhere, birds began their early morning chorus. John sensed Mansur stirring and looked over and smiled. Reaching behind him, he pulled his pack forward and removed the flask, taking a swig before passing it on.
“Cold, but the caffeine will help.”
He got to his feet and bent forward, hearing the pops and cracks of his spine, then twisted side to side and shook his legs out. Steve passed the flask back, and John stowed it away, before hoisting the pack onto his shoulders. He retrieved his phone and sent a quick text to Adriana. All okay. In Syria. Heading to Idlib. See you soon. Slipping the phone back in his pocket, he looked at Steve and Mansur.
“Ready?”
The two men nodded, and John led the way across the field toward the track, the going much easier now they could see. They headed along the track toward the rising sun, the sky turning from grey to red and orange.
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 12
