Chapter 20
“ W here’s Jamal?” she asked, coming back into the room. Damn, it felt good to be clean. She’d showered and washed her hair, and now tendrils sprung up around her face as it dried.
“Gone out,” came Tom’s reply, but his appreciative gaze lingered, making her flush. “He’s agreed to help us.”
“Oh, that’s great.” She managed a smile as she crossed the room and took a seat on one of the low cushions opposite him. A tray of tea and some flatbreads lay on a low table, and he gestured for her to eat. Starving, she reached for one. “How?”
“He’s arranged for us to get a lift to Jemah with some friends.”
“Isn’t there fighting in Jemah?” she asked, between bites. Having seen how this town had been destroyed by the bombing, she had no desire to walk into a town where it was actually happening.
“Apparently there’s a cease-fire,” he told her. He hesitated, then added, “But it could kick off at any time again.”
Hannah gulped over the bread. “Oh, great. So we’re heading into a potential warzone.”
“We’ve got little choice,” Tom said. “We can’t stay here, it’s too dangerous. Jemmah is on the way to the coast, so we’ll be closer to our destination. It’s worth the risk if it helps us get you out.”
She washed down the food with a cup of sweet tea. “There’s no other way?”
He shook his head. “Not if we want to get out of here in two days.”
She pursed her lips. “Looks like we’re going to Jemah then.”
A dusty white pickup truck idled outside the grocery store with its engine running. A group of rough-looking men with bandanas obscuring their faces climbed into the back. They were heavily armed and looked a dangerous, volatile bunch.
She swallowed hard. These were rebels.
A rebel convoy headed for Jemah—and they would be right in the middle of it.
How was this a sensible plan?
And why did Tom seem so at ease?
She watched him greet the men, shaking hands and speaking in low tones.
Seeing him with them, she realized just how easily he blended in.
With his tanned face, dark beard, and the bandana around his neck, he looked nothing like a U.S.
Marine. Only his blue eyes gave him away, but that could be chalked up to a genetic quirk.
She wondered how Tom knew Jamal. It was obvious they were friends but judging by the way the others deferred to him, there was no question Jamal was in charge.
“Hannah, sit up front with the driver,” Jamal ordered, striding over to her.
She glanced at Tom, who gave a small nod. It was obvious Jamal played an important role in the anti-government movement. Maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted to speak openly in front of her. And Tom—who clearly knew exactly who and what his friend was—hadn’t said a word.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Tom said.
Sighing, she climbed in next to the driver, a hard-looking man with an angry scar slashed down his cheek.
“As-salāmu ?alaykum,” she said in Arabic.
He didn’t spare her so much as a glance.
Great. She was in a truck full of armed rebels. She must be out of her mind.
What the hell was Tom thinking?
Once everyone was inside, the driver shifted into gear and pulled away. She sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap, wishing Tom were beside her and not in the back with the others.
They drove in silence. She couldn’t make out what the men were saying behind her, but the way they were all huddled together, it looked like they were planning something. She began to get a bad feeling.
She wondered what it was—then decided she didn’t want to know. As long as they made it to Jemah safely, that was all that mattered.
They bounced along for an hour. The road was rough and riddled with potholes, and she was jostled so much she had to hang onto the door handle to avoid hitting her head on the roof.
Eventually, just when she felt like she couldn’t take another minute of it, the driver veered off the road into a shaded rest stop beneath a small cluster of overhanging fig trees. He cut the engine.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in Arabic.
The man ignored her, his eyes locked on his rearview mirror.
It was maddening. She might be a woman, but she was still a human being. She wasn’t invisible.
Then again, working for the prince had given her a false sense of entitlement. He had allowed her a level of freedom and respect she wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere in Syman. Most areas outside the cities were very traditional, and women weren’t meant to ask questions.
Angling her side mirror, she watched Jamal issue a command to the men in the truck bed, then leap down.
A moment later, two other men followed, both carrying bulging backpacks.
After a brief exchange, Jamal clapped them both on the back and they disappeared into the low dunes beside the road.
Then the rebel leader climbed back in and thumped on the roof of the cab, making her jump.
The driver started the engine again and pulled back onto the road, leaving the two men behind.
The whole thing was incredibly suspicious.
She turned and tried to catch Tom’s eye, but he was staring ahead, his expression unreadable, his eyes narrowed slits against the sun.
What the hell was going on?
The bad feeling she had got worse.
The traffic got progressively heavier, then ground to a halt altogether. Craning her neck, Hannah spotted two army vehicles parked across the road at an angle.
Her blood ran cold.
Not another roadblock? The second in as many days.
Except this time, there was no contingency plan. No family to flag down. No truckload of rebels to provide a distraction.
Oh, wait. They were the distraction!
Heart racing, she twisted in her seat, trying to get Tom’s attention. He didn’t see her or didn’t want to. His eyes were locked on the roadblock ahead.
She considered jumping out now and making a run for it. Had everyone lost their minds?
“Trust me,” he’d said.
She broke into a hot sweat and glanced over at the driver.
He was perspiring too, his whole body tense. He glanced at his wristwatch. As the line of vehicles crawled forward, he eased his foot onto the gas and moved with them. Closer to the checkpoint. Closer to certain death.
Desperation surged through her. No. She was not going to die as a fugitive in Syman. If Tom wasn’t going to help her, she would help herself.
She reached for the door handle.
As she touched it, the driver leaned over and clamped a hand around her wrist.
“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. His grip was strong, his message unmistakable. She wasn’t getting out.
“But the roadblock—” Her voice came out a choked whisper.
“Wait.” The driver released her and nodded toward the vehicles ahead. He checked his watch again.
That’s when she realized something major was about to happen. Goddammit, why hadn’t Tom warned her?
Then she got it. He must have known she wouldn’t agree. This plan wasn’t just reckless, it was downright insane.
The driver gripped the wheel, knuckles white, engine revving. His expression was set. He was preparing to punch through the checkpoint.
It was suicide.
A knock tapped against the back window. She looked up.
Tom’s blue eyes locked onto hers. He made a quick motion across his chest.
Put on your seatbelt.
Oh God.
He must have seen the fear in her eyes, because he gave her a confident nod and a thumbs up.
Thumbs up? Was he serious?
Her hands shook so badly she could barely pull the seatbelt across her body, but after a few tries, she managed to clip it into place.
In the back, the men were tense. There was no talking now, and all eyes were forward. Every one of them clung to the truck’s slatted metal sides, knees bent, ready for the hit.
Hannah shut her eyes. Please let them make it.
A deafening blast shattered the stillness, making her gasp. She glanced ahead as an orange fireball shot into the air.
What—?
One of the military vehicles had exploded, but she barely had time to register it when a second, larger detonation followed.
Thick, black smoke swallowed them up, covering the road.
Pandemonium erupted.
Through the haze she saw army officers sprint toward the flames, rifles raised. Drivers leaned on their horns. Voices shouted conflicting orders, while panic spiraled out of control.
Their own driver seized the moment. He floored the accelerator and veered sharply onto the gravel shoulder.
Gunfire erupted behind them.
She flinched as a volley of bullets screamed through the air, ducking down in her seat. From the back of their truck came a rattling burst of machine-gun fire. She saw one soldier collapse, while the others scrambled for cover behind the flaming wreckage.
Their truck surged forward, bouncing over debris and small mounds. She hit the ceiling once, then was slammed back into the seat.
Thank God Tom had told her to buckle up.
Finally, they punched through the cloud of smoke and burst out the other side. They were back on the open road to Jemah.