Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020), стр. 27
For just over fifteen minutes, they followed the highway through a sun-scorched patchwork of fields and villages. John kept just under the speed limit, Steve providing the directions while Mansur kept an eye on the vehicle following them. As they neared Cizre, they took the road skirting the town to the west and south before joining the E90 heading north.
“Look at that!” Steve pointed out his window.
“What?”
“That wall.” Steve tapped on his window. “Is that the Syrian border?”
“Looks like it.”
“Shit. We’re so close.” He turned to look at John. “It’s actually happening.”
“Yup.” John nodded, his eyes back on the road.
“The wall is massive. How the fuck are we getting across that?”
John glanced in the mirror at the vehicle following them.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The E90 crossed over the River Tigris before taking a turn to the south. John took the exit road just after the turn and a minute later, pulled up outside their hotel, the pickup staying with them all the way. If there had been before, there was no doubt now the vehicle had been following them.
It was the only decent hotel in a town battered by the Turkish government’s crackdown on its predominantly Kurdish population five years earlier, but it had a five-star rating and was next to the river. Anyway, they weren’t planning on being there long. John pulled up in front and climbed out. He walked around to the back, opened the door, and smiled at the bellhop who had come rushing down the steps.
“Welcome, sir.”
“Thank you.” He handed over the keys and turned to Steve and Mansur. “Get us checked in. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Where are you going?”
John didn’t answer, already heading toward the pickup he had seen pull up further down the road. As he approached, he saw the look of surprise on the driver’s face. John stepped onto the road, blocking the vehicle’s path, and walked around to the driver’s window and tapped on the glass. The man inside reluctantly wound down the window. John put on his biggest smile and stuck his hand through the window.
“I’m John. You must be Hemin?”
43
Mia was secretly pleased to have company. She had spent months alone, just her and Malak, waiting for Naeem to come home, sweating through the summer, shivering through the winter, always hungry, always fearful he wouldn’t come back from the front.
Now at least, she had someone to talk to, someone to take her mind off the always present hunger and boredom.
Some of the older women tried to go out to find food, but the young fighter guarding the door wouldn’t allow them to leave. They pleaded with him but gave up when he turned the barrel of his AK47 on them.
The hours passed in stories—of childhood, of a better time before the war—the women taking turns holding Malak and sharing what tiny morsels of food they had saved with her. The younger girls had only known the war and couldn’t imagine a time when people weren’t fighting or hungry.
As the shadows lengthened across the room, Mia thought about turning the phone on again and calling Steve. She glanced at her watch, a present from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. It seemed so long ago now. It had been years since she had seen her, and only since Malak had been born had she even reconnected with them. She still had around thirty minutes before the agreed time to call and hoped there was still enough battery for the phone to start up. The fighting had been fierce in the last few days, despite the rumored ceasefire, and Naeem hadn’t had enough downtime to seek out a building with a generator, so he could recharge it.
What was he doing now? She turned her head toward the window and realized the constant sound of shelling in the distance was absent. She heard something else, men’s voices in the street, and she stiffened, as did the other women. She heard a shout, a man’s name being called, then a minute later footsteps in the building. The women separated, moved away from the center of the room toward the walls, pulled their scarves over their heads, and wrapped their clothes around them. The almost cheerful atmosphere of minutes before completely dissolved, replaced with apprehension. Mia took Malak from one of the women and cradled her in her arms, then shuffled her butt along the floor until she was in the corner.
The steps and voices got nearer, then men appeared in the doorway. One by one, they filed in, leaned their weapons against the wall, and flopped down on the floor, exhausted—all except one, the man with yellow teeth. He stood in the doorway, looking around the room, his eyes running over each woman until they finally settled on Mia. She gripped Malak tighter and tried to get closer to the wall behind her. Yellow Teeth sniffed, his eyes boring holes in her. His mouth widened into a leer, and he took a step closer, unslinging his AKM. He held out the weapon, and a man on the floor beside the door took it from him. Mia’s heart started pounding in her chest, her jaw clenched tight. She looked to her side for help, but the other women had their gaze averted, careful not to attract attention to themselves. They had all been through this before, there was no escaping it. Yellow Teeth licked his lips and walked across the room to stand over her, his hands on his hips, looking down at her. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was erratic.
Mia looked away, hugging Malak close to her chest, looking down at the floor. She heard more footsteps, and another pair of boots appeared beside those of Yellow Teeth’s. She flinched, closed her eyes, then heard a familiar voice.
“Malak, wake up, Papa’s home.”
Her eyes blinked open, and she saw Naeem crouched in front of her. Exhaling with relief, she looked over his shoulder to see Yellow Teeth glaring down at them. Naeem