Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020)

by Abbott, Mark David

  “You know him?”

  Naeem nodded. “Abdul.”

  “It was him or us.” John grabbed Naeem by the arm. “Come on, bring the truck in front, and let’s get out of here.”

  Naeem nodded and stepped out the door.

  “Steve, watch Naeem and bring the pickup over. I’m going to check upstairs.”

  John jogged up the stairs and stopped on the first floor. He waved a fly away from his face and peered through the doorway leading into the first-floor room. He ducked his head back as the stench of stale urine and feces hit him. Grimacing, he heard voices above and continued on up the stairs. As he reached the second-floor landing, Mansur, who was standing in the doorway, turned and looked at him, an expression of great sadness on his face. John glanced past him.

  “Shit.”

  79

  It took them another fifteen minutes to get the women out of the building. At first, they were scared to leave, but once Mia explained her Uncle and his friends were rescuing them, they had finally agreed.

  John stood beside the doorway, watching the women as they filed from the building and climbed into the back of the truck.

  “Bastards,” he muttered under his breath. Mansur, standing beside him, didn’t comment, but the look on his face said everything. As the last girl walked out, Mia came over and put a hand on John’s arm.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s okay. You were right not to leave without them.”

  Mia gave his arm a squeeze and smiled at Mansur.

  “Shukraan Mansur.”

  “Afwan, habibi. Don’t mention it.”

  John looked across to where Steve was fastening the tailgate of the truck.

  “Mia, tell Steve he can ride with you in the pickup. Mansur, Karam, and I will ride in the truck. We’ll leave in a minute. There’s one more thing I have to do.”

  “Okay.” Mia turned and crossed the road.

  John looked at Mansur. “Come with me.”

  John walked back inside and approached the guard who had turned himself over on to his back and was glaring at them from under the stairs.

  “Mansur, ask him where the others are.”

  Mansur crouched down and pulled the gag out of the guard’s mouth. He said something in Arabic. The guard looked at him, then cleared his throat and spat at Mansur. Mansur wiped the phlegm from his face and wiped his hand on the guard’s shirt. He looked up at John, and John nodded. Mansur raised the AK47, reversed it, and slammed the butt into the guard’s nose. The guard cried out as his nose split, and blood poured down his face.

  “Ask him again.”

  Mansur spoke, and the fighter raised his head, looked straight at John, then at Mansur. He thrust his chin out, lip curled in a sneer, and shouted, “Allahu Akbar!”

  Mansur shook his head, raised his weapon, and rammed the butt into the man’s face again, knocking him sideways. He reached forward, stuffed the gag back in his mouth, and stood. Looking down at the man, he took a step back and slammed the toe of his boot into the man’s groin, once, twice, a third time, then turned and headed for the door. As he passed John, he said, “He’ll be praying for Allah now.”

  80

  Mansur shifted into a lower gear as the truck dropped down into a partially filled bomb crater where the road had once been, the truck rocking from side to side on the uneven surface. John turned to look back through the rear window of the cab. Karam stood in the rear corner, leaning against the tailgate, his AK 47 cradled in his arms, while at his feet, out of sight from the casual observer, sat the women The boy saw John looking at him and nodded before going back to scanning the road ahead with worried eyes, his forehead creased with a permanent frown. John turned back and stared out the windshield. Ahead, the pickup climbed out of the crater, a puff of black smoke coming out of the exhaust as Naeem changed gear.

  “Why are people so cruel to each other, Mansur, in the name of God?”

  Mansur glanced over at him, gave a half-smile before concentrating on the road again. He gunned the engine as the truck exited the crater, then changed into a higher gear once they were on the relatively smooth surface of the road again.

  “If these people truly knew God, they would never do these things, John. They misunderstand, misinterpret, or are brainwashed by people who twist the teachings to gain power.”

  “I’ll never understand it, Mansur. Why can’t we all just get along?” He shook his head. “These poor women... I can’t imagine the horror they have been through. The girls, Nour, Shayma. Did you see them? They’re just kids, for fuck’s sake.”

  Mansur exhaled. “I know.”

  “Evil fucking bastards.”

  “Their time will come, my friend.”

  “Hopefully, soon.” John looked ahead to the pickup, “I don’t trust this Naeem, either.”

  “No,” Mansur agreed, eyes on the road.

  Ahead, the pickup turned left, and Mansur slowed for the turn. They had entered a part of the town that was relatively unscathed. Many buildings seemed to be abandoned, but there were still businesses open, selling food, cigarettes, and glass bottles filled with diesel and petrol. There were more people, too—groups of men gathered around smoking or just talking, watching the vehicles pass, many of them armed and wearing a mishmash of military uniforms. Some nodded at Naeem, the H.T.S. flag doing its job.

  “I’ll be glad when we’re out of town. Way too many people around.”

  Mansur nodded and swung the wheel to avoid a large pothole.

  “Checkpoint ahead,” he muttered as they rounded a bend and saw the pickup slowing. John leaned forward, removed the Glock from his waistband, and wedged it under his thigh. He glanced down at the AK 47 lying on the seat between them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need it. When questioned earlier, Naeem had been confident he could talk his way through the checkpoints, and they had no other option but to trust him.

  “Here we go,” John muttered as they pulled up behind the now stationary Mitsubishi. Concrete blocks forming a chicane partially blocked the road, and behind it was another Japanese pickup with what looked like an anti-aircraft gun in the rear bed.

  John took a deep breath, his fingers moving toward the Glock as they watched a bearded fighter approach the driver’s side of the Mitsubishi. Apart from him, John counted three other men, two standing on the road and one seated behind the anti-aircraft gun.

  “If it all goes wrong, Mansur, you take out the two on the ground, I’ll aim for the guy on the pickup.”

  Mansur nodded, reached for the AK, pulled back the charging handle, released it, and laid the weapon on his lap.

  They watched the man glance up at the flag, then lean down to question Naeem.

  “Can you hear what he’s saying?”

  “No,” Mansur replied.

  John took another deep breath, his heart racing. Pulling the Glock out from under his thigh, he kept it below the window, ready.

  The fighter took a piece of paper from Naeem and examined it before handing it back. He then straightened and looked back at the truck. John held his breath, then saw the fighter turn and call out something to the men behind him. He banged on the roof of the pickup, and this time, John heard him call out, “Yalla, Yalla.”

  The pickup moved off, and Mansur put the truck in gear, moving the vehicle forward. As they passed the fighter, he smiled out the window.

  “Ya’teek al ayfa. May God give you strength.”

  “Teslam.” The man raised a hand in thanks, then they were through the checkpoint and following the pickup down the road.

  John exhaled loudly and grinned at Mansur.

  “That’s a good start.”

  81

  They drove in a northeast direction, heading toward Route 60, which led to the town of Binnish. On the outskirts of Idlib, just after the Alhal market, they came upon another checkpoint. Mansur and John repeated the procedure, weapons held ready as they waited for Naeem to talk his way through. Once again, they saw him pass a piece of paper to t
he checkpoint guard.

  “What do you think that paper is?”

  Mansur shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a special pass for these Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham men.”

  “Well, as long as it works,” John replied as the guard waved them on.

  He nodded at the guard on his side as they drove past, then something, he didn’t know what, made him lean forward, so he could see the man in the wing mirror. The man was staring after their vehicle, and John frowned as he watched him lift a radio to his mouth and say something. It could be nothing, his nerves had been on edge all morning, but he felt uneasy. He leaned back in his seat.

  “I can’t wait to get back into Kurdish territory. I don’t trust any of these guys.”

  “No, but it will not be any easier there. We don’t have our passes and passports anymore, or any money.”

  “I know.” John exhaled loudly. “One thing at a time. Let’s cross the frontline first.”

  About three kilometers out of Idlib, the pickup in front slowed and turned off the main road onto a dirt farm track. Mansur downshifted and followed as the track led east through uncultivated fields. They bumped and ground along the track, the rough surface hard going for the heavily laden mini-truck. They struggled to keep the pickup in sight, but fortunately, there seemed to be only one way out of there.

  John heard a shout from behind and twisted in his seat to look through the rear window. Karam was gesticulating at him, then looking behind, clearly worried. John turned back and looked in the wing mirror. In the distance, he could see a white pickup following them, and judging by the dust cloud it was throwing up, it was approaching at speed.

  “Shit. Mansur, someone is following us. Step on it.”

  Mansur glanced in his wing mirror, then downshifted with a crunch, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The truck slowly picked up speed, slamming from hole to ridge, the impacts on the rough road throwing them around inside the cab. John hung onto the grab handle on his side and looked behind him into the rear of the truck. He could hear shrieks and cries as the women bounced around. Karam had wedged himself in the corner, legs spread wide, holding onto the rail with both hands.

  Mansur flashed the headlights, hoping the pickup in front would see them as he swung the steering wheel from side to side to avoid the worst of the bumps.

  “They’re catching us,” John said, his eyes on the reflected image in the wing mirror.

  “I can’t go any faster.”

  “Fuck.” John thought fast. The speed the pickup was approaching meant their intention wasn’t benign. He glanced back in front and saw the brake lights of the pickup go on as they noticed Mansur flashing the headlights behind them. The pickup pulled to a stop, and the doors opened. John switched hands on the grab handle and thrust his right arm out the window, gesturing at them to get down. Naeem and Steve looked puzzled, then they seemed to realize. John saw Naeem reach inside the pickup and pull out his AKM, and Steve removed the Glock from his waistband.

  “Go round them, Mansur, get the truck on the other side.”

  Mansur braked heavily, and they heard screams from behind as the women were thrown forward. He slammed the truck into a lower gear, then swung the wheel over, swerving into the field. The truck tipped precariously and struggled for traction as Mansur wrestled with the wheel. They crashed over a shallow ditch into the field, then he swung the wheel back again, and they lurched up onto the road on the other side of the pickup.

  “Stop here,” John shouted as the truck skidded to a halt. He tossed the Glock to Mansur, grabbed the AK47 from the seat, opened the door, and jumped out. “Wait for Mia, then take the truck farther up the road. We’ll try to hold them off.”

  Mansur nodded, revved the engine, and put the truck in gear, but kept his foot on the clutch.

  John shouted at Karam to join him as he ran toward the pickup. The young boy vaulted out of the back of the truck and ran after John. The following pick up was only about five-hundred meters away as John rounded the pickup door and grabbed hold of Mia.

  “Get in the truck,” he screamed as he dragged her out. Mia struggled to hold on to Malak, a look of confusion on her face. “Go, now!”

  She looked behind her, saw the approaching vehicle, and realization dawned. She sprinted for the truck, passed Malak inside to Mansur, and climbed in. The truck revved and moved off down the road as John turned his attention to the approaching vehicle.

  Naeem and Steve were standing on either side of the pickup, weapons held ready.

  “Who is it, Naeem?”

  “I don’t know.” He tightened his grip on his AKM,

  “Fuck. Steve get off the road into that long grass. Naeem, try to talk us out of it.” John looked around for Karam. “Karam over there.” John pointed to the left side of the road. The boy understood and ran off the road and dropped onto his stomach in the dirt, flattening himself into the shallow ditch.

  “Naeem, come to this side.” John moved around to the front of the pickup and dropped to the ground where he was out of sight but could still see the vehicle approaching from underneath the chassis. Naeem moved around to the driver’s door and stood, his AKM held across his chest.

  The vehicle slowed as it got nearer, and John rolled over and peered around the side of the Mitsubishi. He could see the H.T.S. flag flying from its aerial and three men standing in the tray facing toward them. As the vehicle stopped, the men raised their weapons and pointed them at Naeem.

  Naeem cursed in Arabic.

  “Who is it?”

  “Abu Mujahid.”

  “Shit,” John muttered and slid back over to where he could see Steve. “Steve,” he hissed. “Stay down, this could get messy.”

  He moved back to the middle and peered underneath the vehicle. He heard the driver’s door open, but from his viewpoint, looking under the chassis, he could only see the boots and lower legs of the driver. He slowly got to his feet and popped his head just above the hood of the vehicle and looked through the cab of the pickup. Abu Mujahid stood behind the door, his left hand holding the door frame, his right balled into a fist, and raised in the air as he shouted in Arabic. Naeem replied, but his answer didn’t satisfy Abu Mujahid, and the two argued back and forth, Abu Mujahid gesticulating wildly from his position behind the door.

  John crouched back down and looked at the weapon in his hand. He’d never held an AK47 before, let alone fired one. Did it have a safety? There was nothing on the left, but on the right-hand side, above the trigger, was a lever. That must be it. He clicked it down, and remembering what Mansur had done, pulled back on the charging handle. Raising the stock to his shoulder, he turned his head to look over the hood again. The discussion didn’t seem to be going well, Abu Mujahid sounding increasingly angry and Naeem sounding more and more desperate.

  John glanced across to Steve, who had his head down and remained out of sight of the men in the pickup. He looked across to the other side where Karam was practically invisible, his slim frame pressed flat to the bottom of the ditch. So far, Abu Mujahid’s men only knew about Naeem. That was in their favor. Hopefully, they thought everyone else had gone ahead with the truck. John tuned back into the shouting. He raised his head again. Not being able to understand the language, he needed to watch the body language. Abu Mujahid looked furious, his eyes wide, and now, both hands were waving in the air. Naeem shouted back, and whatever he said, it was the last straw. Abu Mujahid turned his head slightly and said something to his men. It was so quick, if John hadn’t been watching for that very sign, he would have missed it. As one, the three men on the back of the pickup raised their weapons and shouted, “Allahu Akbar!”

  82

  All hell broke loose as three AKs opened fire simultaneously. Glass and pieces of metal flew into the air, and John dropped to the ground in a panic. A rapid and continuous klunk, klunk, klunk filled the air, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and tortured metal. Stray bullets flew overhead and kicked up fountains of dirt in the road beyond John. H
e flattened himself to the ground, and despite himself, clenched his eyes shut and covered his head with his arms. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He pulled his elbows into his sides, curling himself into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. His entire body tensed, anticipating the moment a bullet would carve its way through his flesh. The firing seemed to go on forever. When it stopped, his ears were ringing, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke, dust, and burned metal. Someone shouted Allahu Akbar, which was then repeated, and he forced himself to open his eyes.

  He had dropped the AK, and he reached for it, pulling it close to him. As he peered under the pickup, he could see fluids dripping from the damaged engine. One of the rear tires was flat, and there was no sign of Naeem. He seemed to have vanished. All John could see ahead were the boots of Abu Mujahid, where he stood behind the driver’s door. The boots moved sideways as he stepped out from behind the door and walked toward the Mitsubishi.

  John took a deep breath, his heart in his mouth. Bringing the weapon to his shoulder, he realized the curved magazine sticking out from underneath the AK prevented him from getting a good angle of fire. Shit. He thought fast, rolled onto his side, and pulled the stock to his shoulder. He took another deep breath, counted to three, then pulled the trigger. The sound underneath the vehicle was deafening, and ears ringing, John looked to see if he had found his target as the men in the pickup opened fire again. John had missed. Abu Mujahid had thrown himself to the side of the road and was crawling rapidly on his belly for cover in the field.

  John heard a high-pitched cry of Allahu Akbar, and another weapon opened up to his left. He glanced across to see Karam standing in the ditch, his AK held in front of him, firing wildly at Abu Mujahid’s men. The sight spurred John into action, and he pushed himself to his feet, moved to his right, and aimed around the fender of the pickup. The men on the pickup were now directing all their fire in Karam’s direction. John raised the barrel toward the cab and pulled the trigger. He knew what to expect now and was able to control the movement of the barrel. Two bullets hit the fighter on the right in the chest, the third going wide. John stood straighter, more confident now, and aimed at the remaining two. He fired twice more, both rounds going through the windshield. He raised the barrel slightly and fired again, this time finding his target, the top of a fighter’s head exploding in a shower of crimson fragments. The remaining fighter ducked down, and John began to move forward when he heard a bang and then the ping of a bullet embedding itself in the vehicle wing in front of him. Instinctively, he threw himself flat, and wriggled backward in the dirt. He had forgotten about Abu Mujahid. Where the fuck was Steve?