Chapter 12
H annah felt like crying as the blue lights spread out across the road and the traffic started backing up. They’d almost made it.
“Now what?”
“They’re trying to stop more rebels from entering the city and joining the rallies.”
“You mean it’s not for me?”
“Not officially, no. But they’ll have orders to watch out for you.”
Cars were slowing down. It was easier to flag someone down now.
The first car was a lone male driver. Tom let that one pass.
The next was a smart Mercedes with two businessmen inside. While she was tempted to shove Tom out into the road to get their attention, he didn’t stop them either.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Something they’re not expecting,” he replied, squinting at the next car—a silver sedan, slightly run-down, not the latest model.
There was a woman next to the driver and two more people in the back.
Tom stepped into the road, waving his hand and forcing the driver to stop.
The army definitely wouldn’t be looking for a family.
Tom beckoned Hannah over. “Ask him where he’s going.”
She obeyed, speaking flawless Arabic. The man didn’t seem to realize she was a Westerner. That was a good sign.
“He’s going to Bani Hatwah,” she whispered. A visual of the name written on the map popped into her mind. It was a tiny village, a thumbnail south of Syman City. The woman in the passenger seat looked impatiently at her husband.
“That’s good enough. Ask him for a lift. Tell him we’ll pay.”
“Okay.”
She relayed the offer to the driver, a slightly paunchy man of about sixty, with a beard and a turban. At first, he looked like he was about to refuse—then he heard the word “pay.” Money was essential during a crisis. Banks were often closed or offline, and prices climbed as demand surged.
“How much?” he asked.
“A hundred US dollars.” Tom didn’t wait for her to translate. He already had the cash out.
At the sight of the bills, the wife nudged her husband eagerly. Reluctantly, the driver signaled for them to get in. He shook his head at the rifle, though. He didn’t want to be caught harboring rebels.
Hannah couldn’t blame him, but she also knew there was no way Tom was going to leave his weapon behind. He was joined at the hip to that thing. Besides, he was carrying another handgun and at least two knives as well.
Hannah couldn’t blame him, but she also knew there was no way Tom was leaving that weapon behind. He was joined at the hip to it. Besides, he had another handgun—and at least two knives.
“Get in.” Tom opened the back door for her. Two faces stared up—an older woman in a burka and a young girl of about fourteen, in jeans and a pink sequined T-shirt. Despite the age gap, the resemblance was unmistakable.
Hannah smiled, trying to reassure them, but it didn’t help. They continued to stare.
Then Tom did something strange. He dropped onto his back and rolled under the car. A metallic clunk followed. She guessed he was securing his weapons to the undercarriage. Ten seconds later, he was back on his feet, dusting himself off as if nothing had happened.
The driver, tight lipped, said nothing. He didn’t want the weapon in the car, but not as much as he didn’t want the hundred dollars.
His wife climbed into the back beside Hannah, and Tom took the front passenger seat. It would have looked odd with him riding in the back with the women, and right now it was essential to look like a normal, extended family.
Tom nodded to the driver, who eased into the slow-moving traffic. The roadblock loomed less than a mile ahead.
Hannah took some deep breaths, fighting against the rising panic. Would they make it through? Or would they recognize her and drag her out onto the street?
Her stomach lurched at the thought. She’d be handed over to Abdul Anwar and then God only knew what they’d do to her?
She gripped her hands tightly in her lap and stared at the back of Tom’s neck. He was tense too—she could tell by the way the muscles stood out. He was trained for this. She wasn’t.
To keep from spiraling, she dug her nails into her palms.
Five cars ahead. The businessmen in the Mercedes were right in front of them. A pickup behind that, loaded with men sitting on planks of wood, dressed like construction workers.
“Tell him to overtake this car,” Tom said.
Hannah relayed the instruction. The driver frowned, confused, but complied. He slid into the outside lane, pulling back into traffic behind the pickup. He waved apologetically to the Mercedes driver, who honked in irritation.
“Why did you do that?” Hannah leaned forward, murmuring. “Are you trying to attract attention?”
“I’ve got a feeling about those guys,” he whispered, nodding toward the vehicle ahead. “They could be a diversion.”
Hannah studied the pickup’s occupants. They looked like ordinary workers to her.
Three cars away.
She focused on breathing. In for four, out for four. Don’t panic.
Two cars. . .
Checkpoint officers waved the pickup over. The men climbed out and lined up on the side of the road. Their driver argued, pointing at the planks and then his watch.
One soldier kept a weapon on him while the other inspected the workers. He walked down the line, studying each face. Suddenly, the second-to-last man bolted. He dashed into open terrain, zigzagging through the dust.
He didn’t get far.
The soldier guarding the driver raised his rifle and fired.
The woman next to Hannah cried out, clutching her husband’s shoulder.
The runner fell, unmoving.
“They shot him,” Hannah gasped, blinking in shock. They’d just killed a man in cold blood at a security checkpoint. They hadn’t even questioned him first.
Tom didn’t say anything, his gaze was fixed on the guards.
Hannah began to hyperventilate.
What did that mean for her? A traitor?
The old woman rocked silently. The teenager stuffed her fingers into her mouth to muffle sobs.
“I thought there was something off about them,” Tom muttered, the tension in his neck visible.
“How did you know?” Hannah watched, horrified, as two soldiers dragged the body back to the checkpoint and dumped it in a waiting van.
“I saw that guy jump into the truck back at the lights. He was trying to do what we’re doing. Stay anonymous.”
She felt sick with nerves. Would it work for them? The rest of the crew was loaded into the van along with the body. Only one soldier remained at the checkpoint.
Their car was next.
The driver pulled over. Hannah thought about the rifle under the car. Then about the dead man.
Please let us get through.
The soldier stared through the windshield. His gaze moved from the driver to Tom. His eyes narrowed.
“Family?” he asked in Arabic.
The soldier circled to the back and tapped the window. Hannah rolled it down. It squeaked.
He leaned in.
The girl beside her whimpered, shaking uncontrollably. Alarmed, Hannah met Tom’s eyes in the side mirror. If the girl lost it now, they were done. Tom gave the slightest nod. Hannah wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze.
The soldier’s eyes flicked over them. Hopefully he took the gesture as sisterly.
After what felt like forever, he snorted and stepped back. He waved them on, already focused on the next car.
They were through.