Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite) (8 page)

She stopped snuggling. “What do you mean?”

“When I let my guard down, people die.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, after a beat. “Is that what happened in Afghanistan? Is that how you got injured?”

“Yes,” he whispered. She waited for an explanation that didn’t come. Eventually she asked, “Was it because of a woman?”

He moved his arm off her body. She was no longer in any danger of panicking. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “The point is, I made a mistake, and people died. The mission failed. I can’t afford to make the same mistake again. Not here.”
Not with you.

“You mean because there is so much at stake?”

“The outcome of this war depends on whether we can get you out of here within forty-eight hours. Thousands of lives are at risk.”

“I know. Duty calls.” She sighed audibly. “So you do your thing, and I’ll do my best to stay alive long enough to deliver the information safely.”

Chapter Seven

“You said you had a plan,” Hannah said, as they dusted themselves off. The sandstorm had passed as quickly as it had come, and the sky was once again its usual pale blue, as if nothing had happened. She didn’t bring up their kiss again. Tom had just been doing his duty to stop her from panicking, and it meant nothing more than that. He was focused on his mission, not her.

Well, she was used to that. Growing up, her father had showed her quite clearly how important duty was, to the extent that he had shipped her off to boarding school so he could focus on growing the family business. Without a mother, Hannah had gravitated toward her grandparents, spending holidays and long weekends with them. Her father had never minded. He was always too busy for her. Duty certainly had its downfalls.

“I do.” He unfolded the map on top of a stone block, which was once part of an ornately carved ceiling. It still had engravings in the one side, although they had cracked and faded with time. “I know a man who might be able to help us. He lives in Mandhab. That’s not far from here.” He pointed to a position on the map.

“How is he going to help us?” she asked, as she poured sand out of her shoe. There was enough in there to build a small sandcastle.

“He’s well-connected. He should be able to help us get across the country to the coast.”

“The coast?” Hannah stared at him. “That is your plan?”

“The only other way off this island is by boat. All the airports are shut down or commandeered by the army.”

“Don’t your guys have helicopters that can extract people?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If we could contact them, perhaps, but since that’s out of the question, boat is our next best option.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a solution, of sorts.

He continued, “We can’t go to the main harbor on the east coast. It’s the obvious choice and will be too heavily guarded. They’ll be looking for you there.” He traced a route south with his finger. “There’s a smaller fishing port on the south coast, called Hamesh. If we can make it there, we can hitch a ride on a
dhow
to the mainland.”

“And your friend is going to help us get there?”

He looked up. “Hopefully, yes. He’s lived in Syman his whole life. He’s sure to know people who can help us.”

“Okay, but please don’t tell me we have to get to—where was it? Mandhab?—tonight. I don’t think I can walk another step.”

His body still bristling with energy, Tom looked like he wanted to keep going. Instead he said, “No. We’ll camp here tonight and leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

…

He wasn’t joking, either. Too early the next morning, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. “Let’s head out.”

She blinked and stared up at the starry sky. “But it’s still nighttime.” The almost-full moon hung low in the sky, ready to move on to the other half of the world.

“It’s 0500 hours. If we get going we should make it to Mandhab just after sunrise.”

That meant another long walk. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. The ruins appeared incandescent in the moonlight. The pale stone formations seemed to glow with an inner light that was both beautiful and disconcerting.

“Okay, okay.” There was nothing to pack up. She’d slept in her clothes, using Tom’s backpack as a pillow. The night was warm enough to not need a blanket, and she’d been so tired, she’d fallen asleep instantly.

The dark circles under his eyes made him look tired, but his expression was as alert as always. “Did you sleep?” she asked, getting to her feet.

“A little.” He lifted his pack off the ground and fastened it on his back. “I wanted to keep an eye out for any visitors from the Air Force base. I wasn’t sure if they’d follow us this far, or not.”

“I didn’t think of that.” She stood up and ran a hand through her hair. It was gritty with sand. Ignoring that fact, she said, “I’m glad I’ve got you to watch out for me, Tom.”

He gazed at her for a moment, then looked away and said, “It’s what I do.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she brushed herself off and fastened the scarf around her neck to ward off the early morning chill.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

…

Just before sunrise, they saw the lights of the town glittering up ahead. It was nestled against a series of jagged hills, slightly smaller than a mountain range but still sporting dramatic rock faces that glowed purple in the early morning light. They didn’t make a direct approach but rather circled around it and entered from a small road at the foot of the hill.

“This place is a rebel stronghold,” Tom pointed out, as they kept to the shadows.

She came to a sudden halt. “What? Didn’t you say we were to avoid the rebels at all costs? What if they find out who I am?” She swallowed nervously.

“Calm down. These rebels aren’t going to be interested in you. They have their own problems to worry about. They’ve had days of mortar attacks and gunfights with government militia. That’s why it’s so run down. The army withdrew a few days ago. Most people here are still getting used to the ceasefire.”

She looked around. That would explain the crumbling buildings with gaping holes where the windows ought to be. Electrical wires hung, exposed, onto the sidewalk, and street poles were bent over at strange angles. The roads were gravel, and in sections, obscured by concrete from houses that had collapsed due to the bombing. Burned-out vehicles lined the street. But despite all this, people were beginning to venture out for the day, some dressed for work, others just to survey the damage.

“I know a place where we can rest and get something to eat. It’s two blocks away.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “We’re almost there.”

Now she was on the lookout for both soldiers and rebels and she didn’t know which was worse. There were lots of men dressed in the colors of the freedom movement, but there seemed to be no military presence.

They turned down a side street, after the post office, which led to a small line of shops—or what was left of them. All the windows were covered with wooden or iron sheeting, even though they would soon open for business. The owners were taking no chances.

“Is this where we’re going?” she asked, as he stopped in front of a small convenience store. It too was boarded up. The shop sign hung haphazardly above the door, and the ground outside was strewn with broken tiles and other debris.

He tried the door and found it was unlocked. He pushed it open, and a small bell tinkled. A man with thick black hair and a beard poked his head out from under the counter.

“Can I help you?” he asked, in Arabic.

“Jamal. We’re looking for Jamal.” Tom had replied in English, obviously hoping the man understood. He appeared to, because he stood up and surveyed their dusty clothing and travel-weary faces. His gaze lingered on the rifle strapped to Tom’s chest.

“Why you want Jamal?” He was fairly tall, with smart, black, pointed shoes, navy blue trousers, and a pale blue shirt with the top two buttons undone. Hannah guessed him to be in his mid-forties. He might be Jamal’s family member, a cousin perhaps.

“We need his help,” replied Tom simply. She stood by his side, willing the man to help them.

“Jamal not here,” the man said, turning away.

Was that it? She glanced at Tom, worried.

He took a step forward, but Hannah was faster. She walked straight up to the man and said in his language, “Please. We mean no harm. We are trying to get out of Syman, back to England, and we need Jamal’s help. He said to come here if we needed him.”

She wasn’t sure about that last bit, but hopefully the shopkeeper would believe her. With the town held by Western-backed rebels, revealing themselves wouldn’t put them in danger and would prove they weren’t a threat to Jamal or his family.

He paused, looked her over again, frowned at her lack of an accent, and then said, “These are dangerous times. It’s hard to know who to trust.”

She nodded. “I understand. We are no threat. We merely want his help to get out of Syman.” She beckoned to Tom who had stood back to let her talk, “This is a friend of his.”

He came forward. “My name is Tom,” he said. “I met Jamal in Syman City. We did some work together there.”

The shopkeeper nodded, then turned back to Hannah. “Jamal isn’t here, but I will contact him for you. If you go to the mosque on the corner, he will meet you there in an hour.”

“Thank you.” She smiled her gratitude and relayed the message to Tom, who nodded and shook the man’s hand.

They bought some bread and water, and sat on an upturned crate across the road from the mosque to eat. The rounded dome of the mosque had gaping holes in it where mortar bombs had penetrated, and there was a vast empty space where the front door had been blown clean off. Crumbling concrete walls struggled to stay upright. The whole place looked like it could collapse at any moment.

There were more people on the streets now that the sun had come up, and it appeared to be business as usual in this rebel-held town. A man and a boy prepared a table with fresh produce, while another teenager laid out flatbreads for sale to passersby.

“How long will the ceasefire last?” asked Hannah, watching a group of young boys play among the debris.

“Not long. The army needs to gain control over this town as it’s fairly close to the capital. It’s a strategic location for the rebels.”

“These poor people,” she murmured. “How can they live in constant fear of attack? I couldn’t bear it.”

“I hear Jemah, another town thought to be harboring rebels, is in a similar state. The army is accumulating on the outskirts, ready to invade. It’s not looking good.”

“When I agreed to this job, this is the last thing I saw myself doing,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s like a dream, or rather a nightmare. Me, in the middle of a civil war. It’s crazy.”

“There he is,” said Tom, standing up. She squinted into the sun. A man emerged out of the glare, smoking a cigarette, which he tossed into the dusty ground as he spotted them.

“Tom. It’s good to see you.” The men shook hands, while she stood aside, waiting to be introduced. Jamal was tall and slim, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, like many of the other local men she’d seen bustling around. He had short, dark hair and a beard, and a handsome, yet serious face. The most noticeable thing about him, however, was his weapon, slung over his shoulder. The automatic rifle was a different make from Tom’s, even she could recognize that, but it looked just as lethal.

Tom gestured toward her. “This is Hannah Evans. She is my new mission,” he said in a low voice. “I need to get her out of Syman, urgently. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

The man glanced at her with interest. His eyes were hard and penetrating. He bowed his head in greeting. She responded in kind, unsure what to make of Tom’s contact. He didn’t look like a friend, their greeting was too formal, and Tom had mentioned they’d worked together in the past. She wondered what kind of work these two could have in common.

“Follow me,” he said to Tom. He led them along a series of winding alleyways, some so narrow they had to walk single file, until they finally came to a narrow three-story building. It seemed to be more or less in one piece. It was sandwiched between two other identical blocks, all built of concrete, all with big holes in the walls, like pockmarks. Jamal unlocked the door, and they went inside.

“This is my sister’s house,” he said as he led them into a sparse but functional kitchen. It was clean and well organized, with a breadboard on the countertop containing a mound of fresh dough. “You may stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, but we have to get out of Syman as soon as possible. I was hoping you could help us,” Tom said.

Jamal’s gaze flittered across to Hannah. He hesitated.

She got the message. “I’ll go and freshen up.” She turned toward the door. “Would your sister mind if I used the bathroom?”

Jamal looked relieved. “Please, make yourself at home. The bathroom is upstairs. You can take a shower, too, if you wish.”

Ah, bliss. A shower. She didn’t know what secrets Jamal had, or why he didn’t want her to overhear them, but a shower trumped all that in her book. She gave a brief smile and disappeared upstairs to let the men talk.

…

Jamal left the house before they did. They were to meet him at his cousin’s grocery store at precisely three o’clock. He had agreed to help them. He knew people leaving for Jemah at 0300 hours, and he had organized for them to tag along.

They walked through the twisty alleys to the rendezvous point. Tom did an admirable job of navigating them back to the shop after only having traveled the maze of narrow streets once. But a couple of times when he hesitated, Hannah put her photographic memory to work and tugged him gently in the right direction.

“Isn’t Jemah the place you said could erupt at any moment?” she asked. Having seen how this town had been destroyed by the bombing, she had no desire to walk into a town even farther on the brink of an attack.

“It is a powder keg,” Tom had admitted, “but we’ve got no choice. We can’t sleep in the open; it’s too dangerous. Jemah is on the way to the coast, so Jamal’s friends will take us ten miles closer to our destination.”

She took a deep, meditation-style breath, willing her body to calm. “There’s no other way?”

He didn’t meet her gaze. “Not if we want to get out of here in two days. On the positive side, it is currently controlled by rebels, which means you’ll be relatively safe once we’re there.”

“Unless the armed forces decide to attack,” she mused, praying that wouldn’t happen.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. She knew the threat was very real, but as he’d said, they had no choice.

A typical, non-descript white truck was waiting outside the grocery store with its engine idling. A group of men in civilian clothes, with headscarves wrapped around their heads and faces, climbed in the back. They were heavily armed and looked a dangerous, violent bunch.

Rebels. This was a rebel convoy on its way to Jemah, she was sure of it. Her blood ran cold. She glanced at Tom, who seemed totally at ease. He shook hands with some of the other men. Seeing him with them, she realized how well he blended in. With his dark beard and the scarf wrapped around his head, exposing only his eyes, it would be impossible to tell he was a Westerner. Only his blue eyes gave him away, but that could be put down to a genetic quirk.