Don’t harm them. Please, I will do anything. Just don’t do anything bad to them.” There was fear and desperation in Burhan’s voice as he rambled on and on.
Nicole slapped Burhan hard across the face to get him to focus. The man closed his mouth.
“Calm down! We had a deal. You help us; we help your family. But for us to help your family, you need to chill out. Do you understand?”
Burhan nodded, his hand against his cheek.
“Good. We have men there who will enter your family’s dwelling when we give the word. It will be up to you to convince your mom and siblings to go with them, okay? We will not take anyone by force, and we will not make a scene. Either your family calmly walks out, or we leave them. Do you understand?”
Burhan’s eyes were still wide, and his hand hadn’t left his cheek.
“I need to hear you say it, Burhan. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
Nicole turned to Dima and nodded. Dima spoke into his coms system. “Go! Go!”
Another laptop sat on the shelf in the van. Nicole opened it up, and the screen revealed the video feeds from the five Unit 504 operators. Each man had a tiny camera and microphone threaded from their collars at the right side of their necks to packs in the small of their backs. The doors of two cars opened, and the men got out and made their way to the door of the rickety lean-to.
Without bothering to knock, the men entered the home, drawing their weapons as they did so.
“Quiet! Quiet!” they told the family in Arabic. Imri leaned toward Nicole and gave her a real-time translation.
Nicole’s heart broke when she saw the conditions they were living in. There was just enough room for a cookstove and two cots. Burhan’s 19-year-old brother, Rifar, was on one cot, while his tween youngest sibling, Nizar, sat on the ground. Lying on the other cot immersed in a coughing fit was Sabra. His mother, Nurul, was squatting next to the small stove, cooking.
As soon as the men stepped in, Rifar reached under his pillow, then leapt to his feet holding a knife.
“Get out of here! Now!” he yelled.
One of the 504 men grabbed his wrist, twisted the knife away, then pushed him back onto the cot.
“We are not here to harm you,” said the leader of the squad to Burhan’s mother, who had turned and was holding a metal spoon in front of her like a weapon. “We have been sent by your son, Burhan, to help you. You must come with us.”
“Go with you? Who are you? Burhan’s not here. Go, go, before I cry for help,” said Nurul.
Sabra, who had briefly gotten control of her coughing, once again broke out in a deep, rattling fit. Her mother instinctively turned, which gave the lead 504 man time to snatch the spoon from her hand. This caused Rifar to jump up again, only to be pushed back onto the cot by a hard shove. Nizar just sat big-eyed and mute on the floor.
“Please, Sayyida, we do not have much time.” The man removed an iPad from a waist pouch. As he did, Nicole clicked on the camera in front of Burhan and herself. “Please look. Here is your son.”
The man lifted the iPad to the woman, and Nicole changed the view on the laptop to that of the handheld device’s camera.
“Umm?” Burhan said.
“Burhan? Is that you?” Nurul burst into tears.
On the other laptop, Nicole saw the youngest child, Nizar, leap to his feet to look at the screen. “Burhan!” he cried.
“Umm, it’s me,” said Burhan through sobs. “Please listen to these men. They have come to help us. They have promised to help Sabra.”
“And you trust the Israelis?” It was Rifar’s voice. “They will stab you in the back as soon as look at you.”
“These aren’t Israelis,” said Burhan. “They’re Russians. They’ve already done for me what they promised. We must trust them.”
Rifar was up at the iPad now, and Nicole could hear Imri’s voice tense up as he translated. “You are such a fool! These are not Russians. These are Israelis, and if we go with them, we will end up dead in a ditch somewhere.” A hand grabbed the back of Rifar’s neck, and he went flying back to the cot.
Burhan’s mother spoke. “Rifar is right. You have been fooled. The ones in our tent are Israelis, not Russians. Oh, abni, what have you brought upon us?”
“Time is running out,” said the leader of the Unit 504 team.
Nicole had been watching the action with Rifar. When she turned back, Burhan’s eyes were on her. “Is this true? Are you Israeli?”
“No, I am not Israeli. However, I work for them.”
Burhan slid on the van floor away from her. In response, Nicole slapped the shelf holding the laptops. Two of them tumbled to the ground, which Imri quickly snatched up to put back in place.
“Listen, Burhan, nothing has changed. If we were going to use you and toss you away, would there be any of our people in Syria right now? Would you even be breathing? Everything we have promised you, we will do. I gave you my word—not as an Israeli or even a South African, but as a person who wants your sister Sabra to have the best chance at life she can have.”
Burhan looked away, trying to process everything.
“Look at me!” Nicole slid over next to him and grabbed his chin. Turning his face toward hers, she repeated, “Look at me! I give you my word. Everything that I promised you will take place. For the sake of Sabra, you must trust me!”
Her eyes were locked with Burhan’s for several seconds before he moved back to the shelf and the iPad. “Umm, please, you must go with them. They have promised me that they will give us new lives and will provide Sabra the best doctors available. For her sake—for her life—we must take this chance. Please, umm, I told you when I left Syria that I would find a way to help Sabra. Here it is. You must take it, and you must do it now!”
Rifar’s voice carried across the small lean-to. “You are a fool, Burhan! You are leading us to our deaths.”
A hoarse shout broke through. “Stop!”
The iPad angled toward the other cot. Sabra was trying to stand. Rifar raced over and helped get her upright. “I will go with them. If I stay here, I will die.”
With his arm still around her shoulders, Rifar said, “But if we go with them, we may die.”
Sabra’s hand reached to her brother’s cheek. “Riffy, here there is no hope. The only chance I have is to go with them. Please don’t take this from me.”
There was silence for a moment. “We need to go now,” said the 504 leader.
Rifar spoke to the man. “We will go with you.” Then, turning toward the iPad, he added, “But if we are killed along the way, Burhan, our blood—your mother’s and your sister’s blood—will be on your hands.”
“So be it,” said Burhan quietly.
The iPad went dead. Imri switched the laptop back to the 504 men’s camera feeds. There was a flurry of activity as the mother and three siblings each packed a small parcel. Then they were rushed to the lead car and helped in. Once the vehicles began to move, the feed cut out.
Nicole was exhausted. “Thank you, Burhan. I know that was tough, but you just saved your family’s lives.”
But Burhan was not relieved or even grateful. He was angry, which Nicole thought was totally understandable. He had been fooled three ways from Sunday. Every time he turned around, there was a new revelation—a new “gotcha.” In his place, she would also be fuming.
“What now? I’m assuming there is no clinic in Hungary for Sabra.”
Nicole explained to him that he would meet his family in London. Then, from there, they would fly to Denver in America. She told him about National Jewish Health, explaining that the name came from its roots and not from its clientele or doctors. There, Sabra would find the help she so desperately needed.
When Nicole was done, Burhan responded quietly, “Inshallah, Sabra will be made well.” Then he went back to the corner of the van. He remained there until they reached Istanbul Airport. Once there, he and Nicole stepped out of the side of the van. Each had a rolling suitcase packed by someone at the Istanbul Mossad station. They checked in under false papers, then two hours later, flew first class to Heath-row in London.
Burham was quiet during the flight. He spoke only to ask necessary questions. Once they were on the ground in London, Nicole assisted in getting the Syrian cleared through immigration and customs. Near the bag check was a man she didn’t recognize, but who apparently was on the lookout for her.
“Is yours the red bag, ma’am?” he asked when he walked up to her.
“No, mine is the blue,” she replied, giving her half of the introduction. “This is Burhan Bakir.”
The man held his hand out. “Burhan, my name is Tommy Stotts. Let’s get your bag and be on our way.”
Burhan shook the man’s hand tentatively, looking at Nicole for reassurance. She nodded. The Syrian turned away from her and never looked back. Even after he and Tommy had his bag, he never acknowledged her again.
Can’t say I blame him. It was a rotten trick we pulled. But, hopefully, once he and his family are settled in Denver and Sabra gets the help she needs, he’ll at least be able to forgive me.
Spotting her bag circling on the conveyor, she pulled it off, extended its handle, and began walking toward the trains. She already had a ticket for a ride that would take her east through the Chunnel to the mainland. From there, she would catch another train that would take her north.