Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020), стр. 33
“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 into 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