Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

December 19

Two miles south of the Syrian-Jordan border

Jordan

 

With the sun starting to set behind them, Justin glanced through the dusty windshield of the Toyota Land Cruiser at the semi-desert landscape. It had not changed much from the Syrian side. The same hills dotted with scarce vegetation and the occasional cinderblock houses. Absent were abandoned or scorched vehicles, signs of fighting and hasty flights. Jordan had avoided getting sucked into the vortex of civil wars and terrorist attacks plaguing the rest of the region. But it could not escape the flood of refugees overflowing its porous borders. At the height of the crisis, the Zaatari refugee camp had been home to over 200,000 refugees, mostly from Syria, but also from Iraq and other Middle Eastern countries. The camp still held near 80,000 people, and the Jordanian government and international aid organizations were struggling to deal with their increasing daily needs.

According to the intelligence the team had gathered, Naim, along with a group of other unaccompanied minors, had been placed in a trailer near the eastern edge of the camp. The map showed Naim’s trailer surrounded by rows of other similar-looking trailers and tents, next to a couple of administrative buildings and a police station. The close proximity to the station presented problems, if things got out of hand. But Justin was not too worried about that development. His mind was more preoccupied with the scenario where Naim was not at home but at a friend’s house for a sleepover. Searching through the camp at night to kidnap a young boy was not something Justin was too keen on doing. But it could be worse. Naim could be outside the camp, visiting with a benevolent family. The team’s search would have to expand and stretch to Jordan’s capital or wherever the benevolent family lived.

Justin sighed and prayed Naim was simply playing videogames or watching TV in his assigned trailer. The CIA had mentioned Naim was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, common in survivors of severe trauma, violence, or horrific accidents. The boy had simply shut down, the pain and the suffering just too much for him to bear. Justin nodded. Yes, maybe because he doesn’t speak, he’ll be home and alone. That would make things easier for us.

While the CIA had been silent on the security around the boy, Justin doubted they would have left al-Nueimi’s son without any protection. The boy was speechless because of the trauma in his life and still in shock, but that condition could improve or even turn around completely in an instant. Depending on what the boy had seen or could remember, the CIA’s official version of events would begin to crumble.

Another reason—perhaps even stronger than the first one—to have the boy under round-the-clock protection was to thwart any attempts of al-Nueimi’s associates to snatch him. Justin was not sure about what neighbors had witnessed the night of the CIA raid. If someone had noticed the boy being carried inside the American Humvees, word may have spread around. Al-Nueimi had said the boy bled to death. His rage came across as genuine, but was he bluffing? Did he have his men looking for Naim, his son?

Justin shrugged. Whatever the reasons, he was certain at least two CIA operatives were keeping tabs on the boy. The Americans had a great relationship with the Jordanian government, which allowed the CIA carte blanche inside the country. But even if it were not so, the boy was too great a liability to be left alone. Most likely, the operatives were posing as international aid personnel, administrative or counseling staff.

Justin and his team were going in as medical staff as well. Their paperwork and badges were in order, compliments of the flawless work of the CIS documents section. They had already passed the scrutiny of Syrian and Jordanian border officials. The blue logo of UNHCR was painted on the team’s white Land Cruiser. The vehicle was loaded with boxes and cases of medicines and supplies. The team’s gear, including C8SFW assault rifles and grenades, was stashed away in a secret compartment underneath the supplies. It was within easy reach of the team, but hidden from the guards’ cursory glances. Of course, if someone began to unload and search the entire vehicle, the weapons would be found. But by then, Justin would have sprung into action.

“What’s going through your mind, Justin?” asked Carrie from the backseat.

“I’m thinking about what Dolina said with regard to Yilmaz.”

“Oh, the lack of an answer from al-Nueimi?”

“Yes, if he got the message, I was expecting an answer.”

“Maybe he doesn’t believe his son is still alive,” Arkady said.

“Or maybe he never got the message,” Carrie said.

Justin nodded. “Yes, Yilmaz could be lying to us. Or maybe al-Nueimi is considering his reply, and we’ll hear from him soon.”

Arkady grinned. “Yes, that also could happen.”

Justin ignored Arkady’s semi-sarcastic remark and shifted in the seat. “Now, the CIA security team at the camp. They’re not going to give the kid up without a fight.”

“Maybe we’ll surprise them,” Arkady said and sat up straight in his seat behind Justin.

“I doubt it,” Carrie said. “The CIA has probably doubled the kid’s guards and put them on high alert.”

“Really? You think they expect us to come for him?”

“If they knew us or read our files, then, yes. They would expect that,” Carrie said.

“But if that’s the case, why not move the kid to another location?” asked Nahed, the driver, who was also the CIS Jordanian contact.

“They could have done that.” Justin replied. “But here are two reasons they didn’t. If they moved him, the CIA would be admitting they didn’t feel they could protect him. That wouldn’t be good for its reputation. And the CIA couldn’t be sure that we didn’t have anyone watching its moves and the kid’s transfer.”

“The CIA could have moved him before they even told us,” Arkady said.

Justin shrugged. “Or they could have lied to us, and this is all for naught. But we’re here, and we’re going through with this.” A tone of annoyance had crept into his voice. He could not take much more of Arkady’s negativity.

“Did I say anything to the contrary?” Arkady asked.

“No, but we need to focus and act as if the kid’s there. We go in; we grab him; we get out.”

“Fine, we’ll do that.” Arkady leaned back.

Justin drew in a deep breath and glanced at the lights up ahead on the snaking road. They were coming up to the first checkpoint a short distance from the camp, which was manned by the Jordanian Royal Army. A couple of tanks were parked to one side, while three Humvees were parked across from a thick line of barbed wire that stretched across the dirt road. Two soldiers in green camouflage uniforms approached the Land Cruiser. One of them raised his assault rifle, not exactly pointed at the vehicle, but ready to do so with a slight move of his hand. The other soldier proceeded toward the driver’s side, while holding his right hand over the pistol on his waistband holster. “Show me your documents,” he said in a loud gruff voice.

“Salam alaikum,” Nahed said. “We work with the UNHCR. Medical staff. Here are our papers and passports.” He handed the soldier a folder with their documents.

The soldier nodded, then produced a small flashlight from one of his vest’s pockets. He skimmed over the paperwork, flipping through the pages.

Justin’s eyes followed the soldier’s movements with a certain amount of apprehension. The documents looked authentic, stamped with forged but official-looking seals a contact had secured for the CIS. The likelihood of the soldier’s noticing any issues with the documents was slim. The Canadian passports were clean and had never been used in The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. But Justin had been in situations where gunmen looking for bribes or to assert their authority found fault with everything. The soldier could force them to disembark and unload everything, and Justin was not in a position to refuse.

The soldier looked up at Nahed, then moved the flashlight to Justin, who blinked and turned his face away from the beam of light. Then the soldier studied Carrie and Arkady, before returning the flashlight to the passports. After another long moment, the soldier said, “All right, the papers look fine. What’s in the car?”

Nahed shrugged. “Medicines and supplies.” He gestured with his hand toward the documents. “A full list is on the back page.”

The soldier nodded. “Yes, yes. I saw it. Anything else you want to declare?”

“No. We have our personal things, laptops, cameras, things like that.”

“Would we find anything illegal if we searched the car?”

Nahed gave the soldier a firm headshake. “No.”

“Pop the trunk and turn the light on.”

“Yes.” Nahed did as ordered.

The soldier walked to the back and pulled open the door. He opened one of the boxes and looked inside, pulling out the contents. He reached for another box, a larger one, which Justin knew carried syringes and blood collection tubes, and IV administration sets. Unsatisfied, the soldier moved a few other boxes around. He was getting closer to the weapons compartment.

Justin glanced back at Carrie.

She gave him a slight head nod. The compartment continued underneath the backseats. If need be, Carrie could reach and access their pistols. But if they pulled out their guns, there was no turning back.

The soldier stopped and let out a curse.

Justin sat up straighter.

“Is . . . is there a problem?” Nahed asked.

A moment of silence, then the soldier marched toward him. “No, no problem, but I stabbed myself with one of your stupid needles.”

“Sorry about that. Do you need a band-aid?” Nahed said in a voice full of genuine concern.

The soldier shrugged and cursed again. “No, but get moving.” He made an angry dismissive hand gesture.

“Sure. I just need to close the trunk’s door.”

“Hurry.”

Nahed stepped outside and slammed shut the door. He was back in his seat in less than ten seconds.

“Go, move it,” the soldier said.

“Okay, thank you,” Nahed said.

Justin glanced at the other soldier, who was waving at Nahed to get going. One more checkpoint.

“Well, that was close,” Nahed said.

“Yeah, it was,” Carrie said. “I was getting ready.”

Justin nodded. “We’re lucky. Let’s hope we’ll have no problems at the next checkpoint either.”

They drew closer to the second checkpoint by the camp’s main entrance. A group of soldiers and police officers in dark blue uniforms stood by the blue metallic gate and the black chain-link fence crowned with concertina wire. A dozen or so trucks and SUVs were parked on both sides of the entrance. The area was well lit by a couple of powerful floodlights mounted on two towering posts.

Justin drew in a deep breath as one of the police officers approached the truck. He gave Nahed the common Muslim greeting, then said, “May I see your papers?”

“Sure.” Nahed gave him the same package he had shown the soldier at the earlier checkpoint.

The officer turned the documents so he could examine them better under the light. A moment later, he said, “Why weren’t we notified of your arrival?”

Nahed shrugged. “I . . . I’m not sure.” He looked at Justin.

“The paperwork was processed this morning, and we were told we could make the delivery. Is there a problem?”

The officer nodded. “Yes, I don’t have you on my list. No one is supposed to arrive tonight.”

Justin shrugged. “Maybe there was a problem in communication.”

“Yes. I have to check. Wait here.”

The officer returned to his group. He showed them the team’s documents and gestured toward the Land Cruiser. Then the officer and one of the soldiers hurried toward a small trailer to the right of the entrance. It was probably their chief’s office. Justin held his breath and drummed his fingers on the dashboard. He glanced at the group of soldiers, who were giving the team suspicious and menacing glares.

“This . . . this is not going well,” Nahed said in a low voice.

“Keep it together, Nahed,” Justin said. “It’s going to work.”

They sat in silence as a long minute dragged on.

The officer came out of the small trailer followed by a short pudgy man in a uniform that looked a size too small. He struggled to keep up with the officer’s quick pace, then flattened the front of his vest as he neared the car and dismissed the officer after taking the folder with the paperwork from him. “I’m Captain Hmoud, and I’m told your papers are not in order.”

“I’m not sure how that happened, sir,” Justin spoke in a slow apologetic voice. “I . . . we received a call and the order to bring the much-needed supplies right away.”

“Who called you?”

“The director’s assistant.”

The captain frowned. “Hmmm, they’re both gone.”

Justin nodded. He knew they were not in the camp, so they could not call his bluff. “Maybe we can talk to Kelly-Dawn, I mean Ms. Dubois. She’s one of the—”

“Yes, yes, I know who she is.”

“Ms. Dubois should know about the supplies. She can . . . maybe she could receive the delivery?”

The captain pursed his thick lips.

Justin said, “Was there . . . did you have trouble with the Internet or the phones here?”

The captain nodded slowly. “Yes, the Internet was down for most of the day.”

“Well, that might explain the miscommunication, and why our delivery is not on the schedule.”

The CIS cyberspace experts had deliberately overloaded the Internet service provider’s network, gridlocking the circuits and causing failed connections.

The captain seemed to be pondering his next move.

Justin said, “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“And it takes four of you for a delivery?” the captain cast a suspicious glance inside the Land Cruiser.

“No, I’ll be staying and working with the Canadian team.”

“Oh, you’re Canadian?”

“Yes.”

“My officer didn’t mention that. We love the Canadian doctors, and the Canadian police force assisting us is very good and respectful. You’re a doctor?”

“I’m a PA, Physician’s Assistant.”

The captain nodded. “All right. I may need your help for my brother. He has a cyst near his eye.” The captain gestured with his hand.

“Come by the office tomorrow, and we can talk,” Justin said.

“All right. You,” he called to one of the soldiers. “Call the French clinic. Ask for Ms. Dubois, and tell her the delivery is here.”

“Thank you,” Justin said.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll come and find you,” the captain said.

“Sure thing.” Justin nodded.

The captain nodded back, handed Justin the documents, and headed toward his trailer.

“Good job, Dr. Hall,” Carrie whispered.

Justin shook his head. “PA. I’m not an MD, yet.”

Arkady said, “You seemed quite excited to have a look at that cyst.”

“I thought it was convincing,” Nahed said.

“Shhhh, a soldier’s coming,” Justin said.

The soldier gestured for Nahed to pop the trunk. He did and the soldier rummaged through the boxes and the cases in the back for a few seconds. Then he shrugged, shook his head, and returned to his post by the entrance.

A couple of minutes later, a woman with long black hair tied in a ponytail approached the entrance. She was dressed in a long blue skirt and was wearing a headscarf. Over the dress, she had put on a bright blue vest with the UNHCR logo. A police officer was following behind her. “Hi, I’m Kelly-Dawn. That’s our delivery?” she asked Nahed.

“Yes, it is.”

She walked to the back of the Land Cruiser. “What a mess. Half of the bottles are broken. What happened here?”

“The search at the other checkpoint.”

“If I had known you were coming, I would have made sure this didn’t happen.”

“It’s okay,” Justin said. “We can go in now?”

“Yes, yes, you know where the clinic is?”

“We do.” Justin had committed to memory all details of that part of the camp.

“Go ahead then. I’ll have a word with the captain so this doesn’t happen again.”

“See you shortly,” Nahed said.

Justin nodded. If everything went according to plan, the team was not going to see Kelly-Dawn, the captain, or any of his men again. Once they had found the boy, the team was leaving the camp by another route.

The soldiers rolled the gate to the side, and Nahed drove into the camp. He turned right onto a narrow dirt road, avoiding people lingering along the sides or by their off-white tents and metallic trailers. Some of the men scowled at Nahed and the rest of the team, but most of the children waved and smiled. The camp was well lit by streetlights, and some of the trailers and tents had additional lights mounted near their entrances. Water reservoirs and satellite dishes were fastened onto the roofs of trailers.

Nahed turned onto the camp’s main street, a paved two-lane road named Champs-Elysees. The staff of the French hospital set up at the northern end of the street had named it after the famous Paris landmark.

“We’re getting close,” Justin said as they passed a mosque, a school, and a basketball court.

Carrie reached under her seat and pulled a small latch. The compartment door opened, and she drew out a couple of Sig Sauer P229 pistols. She handed one to Justin, who cocked it and slid it into his waistband.

Arkady had pulled out his MP-443 Grach pistol from a similar compartment under his seat. “Ready?” he said.

“Almost there,” Nahed said.

He rounded the corner. The Land Cruiser barely made it through the narrow dirt road. The occupants of the nearby trailers had extended their entrances, taking over a few feet of the road on both sides. Further ahead, the Land Cruiser scraped against a trash can, as Nahed avoided a huge peg and a large rock boulder holding down one side of a large tent. A few more yards and the road opened up into a clearing, leading to a larger trailer about twenty feet to the Land Cruiser’s right.

It was their destination.

“Ready?” Arkady asked.

“Yes. Take the back. Carrie, follow me. Let’s go,” Justin replied.

He jumped out and jogged toward the trailer. His pistol was covered by his khaki vest and the flap of his blue shirt. He glanced to all sides as he crossed the short distance. A group of men were standing and smoking a few steps away, while four or five children were kicking a ball near the left side of the trailer.

The door was open, but a man was sitting just a couple of feet inside the trailer. He glanced up at Justin, and in a split second, the man understood Justin’s intentions. The man’s trained hand went for the pistol in his holster. But he was a second too late. Justin kicked him in the side, throwing him off the chair. Then Justin pointed his pistol at a woman that appeared to his left. “Hands up!” he shouted in English.

The woman froze in place. “Who . . . what are you doing?”

The man on the ground began to turn around.

Justin shouted at him. “Don’t move!” Then he aimed the pistol at the man.

He did not listen.

Justin fired a round that went through the man’s right shoulder. He screamed and cursed at Justin and stopped moving.

The woman’s left hand fell to her side.

“Don’t!” Justin turned the pistol to her. “Don’t do it.”

Carrie burst inside the trailer. She ran to the woman and retrieved a Glock from her side holster. “Where’s Naim?”

“I don’t know—”

“Where is he?” Carrie pressed her pistol against the woman’s chest. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Loud shouts in Arabic and a couple of other languages Justin did not recognize came from outside. Then a couple of gunshots. I hope that’s Arkady. But security will be here at any moment.

He began to search the trailer, which was divided in two parts by way of a thin wall and a narrow entrance. He swung back a curtain and walked into the back section. Crouched and cowering at a corner, clutching a chewed-ear black teddy bear was Naim. A smaller boy and a girl were hiding behind him, further away into the corner and partially covered by a small table.

Justin put his gun away and dropped to his knee. “Naim, don’t be afraid,” he said in Arabic in a soft voice. “I’m here for you. It’s time to go see your dad.”

Naim did not look at Justin, but stared into the distance.

Justin took a couple of steps toward Naim. “Are you ready to go? Daddy is waiting for you.”

Naim shook his head but did not say a word. He turned his eyes toward Justin, but there was no expression in the boy’s eyes. It was as if he was not there.

Justin crouched again when he was four feet away from Naim. “I’m going to pick you up and take you home, to your dad. Are you ready?”

The boy offered a very small headshake. He tried to shrink even more and move back even closer to the trailer’s wall.

“Ready?” Justin said.

He reached and gently picked up the boy. Naim fought back, his arms thrashing and his legs kicking. “It’s okay, Naim. I’m not going to hurt you,” Justin whispered into Naim’s ear and held him closer.

Naim grunted, shook his head, and kept flailing his arms. He tried to wiggle his way out of Justin’s tight grasp. Naim’s right hand still held the teddy bear, which he used to strike Justin on the side of his head.

Justin returned to the other side of the trailer.

Carrie had handcuffed the man and the woman and was keeping an eye on them. “You’re good to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Angry shouts and loud noises came from outside. Justin stepped out in the midst of a growing crowd. He tightened his arms around Naim and hurried toward the Land Cruiser. Nahed had brought it as close as possible to the trailer’s entrance. Justin only had to take another ten steps.

“Hey, what are you doing?” someone shouted from the crowd.

“He’s kidnapping a boy,” cried another one.

“Thieves, kidnappers,” screamed a woman.

“Catch them, grab them,” shouted another one.

Carrie waved her pistol around, aiming it at the nearest man, who had dared to step further than the rest of the people. Then she pointed it in the air and pulled the trigger.

The shot pushed back the crowd, but only for a moment. More men returned, louder, angrier.

Justin dashed toward the Land Cruiser’s back door.

Carrie fired another round as she backed up slowly.

This time, the shot did not fend off the crowd. They were only a few steps away.

Then a long burst came from the other side. Arkady fired just over the heads of the people. “Get back! Get back, or I’ll kill you all,” he screamed at the crowds, pointing his gun at their faces. “Stay the hell back!” He fired a couple more times.

His barrage cleared Justin’s path. He reached the door, pulled it open, then gently placed Naim on the backseats, before sliding inside. “Get in, quick,” he called at Carrie and Arkady.

Carrie took a couple of steps back and jumped in the car.

The crowd pressed on, realizing their prey was escaping.

“Arkady, get in!” Carrie shouted.

He fired another two rounds, then turned and dashed toward the front passenger door.

But a couple of men were blocking his path.

Arkady shoved one of them, but the other pushed back.

Nahed tried to open the front door, but the crowd was pressing tight against it.

Carrie rolled down her window. “Get back, back!”

The crowd shifted, closing in around the Land Cruiser.

Nahed slammed on the vehicle’s horn. The blare caught most people by surprise, and the crowd began to thin out.

Carrie fired a couple of rounds over the crowd’s heads. “Stay back! Away! Away from the car!”

One of the fearless young men struck Arkady on the side.

Huge mistake.

The Russian turned around and punched the man in the face. He fell to the ground, screaming as blood poured out of his broken nose. Then Arkady pistol-whipped another young man, the closest one.

Three other men came at him from the side.

Arkady did not even flinch. He aimed his pistol at the first one’s arm, then pulled the trigger. The bullet cut through the man’s arm, stopping him and his two brave friends. “Who’s next? Come on! Who wants to bleed next?” he shouted.

“Arkady, get in,” Justin shouted.

He fired another round at the ground. The closest people stepped back, just enough for Nahed to open the door, allowing Arkady to slide his body in.

“Go, go, go,” Justin said.

Carrie tried to roll up her window. A man’s hand reached in the vehicle for her pistol, but she pulled it back, then pushed him away and closed the window. He slammed his fist against the glass.

“Go, Nahed, go!” Carrie shouted.

Nahed stepped on the gas. The Land Cruiser roared to life. It jerked forward, forcing its way through the parting crowd. Nahed slammed the horn again and kept his foot on the gas.

Some men from the crowd banged against the windows. Others kicked the Land Cruiser. One or two threw rocks and water bottles.

Justin felt as if they were running a gauntlet. More rocks, bottles, and other projectiles hit the windows. He was glad the glass was bulletproof, so the volley caused them only minor irritation. He looked at Naim, curled up between him and Carrie. The boy had placed his head against Carrie, who had her hand over his head.

The crowd began to dissipate, and Justin heaved a sigh of relief.

Then a loud horn screamed.

It was not Nahed.

Justin looked over Nahed’s shoulder. Two powerful headlights almost blinded Justin. A truck was rocketing toward them.

“Turn, turn,” Arkady shouted.

A string of bullets struck the windshield.

Justin flinched, then held on to the door, as Nahed swung the steering wheel. The Land Cruiser drifted on the dusty road and crashed against one of the trailers. Nahed straightened the wheel and was able to make the turn as more bullets hammered the doors and windows.

“Who’s that?” Nahed asked.

“Security.” Arkady reloaded his pistol and rolled down his window.

“No,” Justin said. “Don’t kill anyone, police, soldiers, or refugees.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just slow them down.”

Justin nodded and glanced at Naim. He had wrapped his arms around Carrie, hugging her tight. She looked at Justin and smiled.

He looked up ahead as the Land Cruiser bounced over the broken terrain. Nahed honked and swerved, avoiding children, adults, and debris. He drove toward the southwest, then slowed down and turned the wheel. They went through a small clearing, then turned onto another narrow road heading west.

“Do you see them?” Justin asked Arkady, whose head was out the window.

“No, but I don’t think we’ve lost them. Oh, here they are.” He fired a quick burst, followed by a couple of single rounds.

Nahed swung the wheel again. “Hold on to something,” he shouted.

Arkady dropped back inside the Land Cruiser.

They were nearing the edge of the camp. This side was not fenced, and only earth mounds separated the camp from the nearby road that led to Zaatari Village less than two miles away. Once they reached the village, the team’s plan was to continue north and cross through the porous border into Syria.

Nahed avoided a streetlight and a couple of large rocks, then eased off the gas as they came to the earth mound. The Land Cruiser climbed over the mound and became airborne for a moment. Then it dropped onto the paved road. Nahed yanked the wheel and kept the Land Cruiser from sliding into the ditch on the other side.

“Good job,” Justin said. “Now, let’s stay on the road.”

He glanced through the rear window. The truck’s powerful headlights cut through the night’s darkness. Before he could say anything, Arkady squeezed half of his body through the window and fired quick bursts.

One of the headlights went dark, but the truck did not stop. It gave chase, and bullets pounded the back of the Land Cruiser.

“Carrie, get me my gun,” Arkady said.

She handed him the PP-19 Bizon submachine gun. Arkady slid out of the window and fired a long barrage.

Justin could not see where Arkady’s bullets were hitting. But he was not saving his 64-round magazine. He switched to short bursts and kept firing until the other headlight was shattered. The truck’s driver swerved to the left, then to the right, and then the truck flipped over. It rolled once, then a second time, before landing on the driver’s side.

Justin shook his head. “What did I say about—”

“Oh, they’ll be fine.” Arkady shrugged and dropped to his seat. “A little roll-over never killed anyone.”

Justin cursed under his breath, genuinely hoping the police or whatever security forces were in the truck did not die in the gunfire exchange. “Let’s keep our eyes open. More police or soldiers will surely follow.”

“Or they might cut us off.” Arkady gestured up ahead.

Justin nodded. Police and security personnel patrolled the camp’s perimeter around the clock. The team had chosen to enter the camp through the Visitor’s Gate in order to avoid suspicion in case a patrol noticed their vehicle while it was illegally crossing the mound and coming into the camp.

“Let’s avoid the village too,” Justin said. “Get off the road and turn off the lights.”

Nahed nodded. He flipped a switch and everything around them went dark. The Land Cruiser had been rigged for all lights, including the dashboard, to go off all at once.

Justin said, “Keep going north—”

“Cars coming up,” Arkady shouted.

“Quick! Get off the road,” Justin said.

“Yes, yes, I got it,” Nahed replied.

He jerked the wheel, and the Land Cruiser slid off into the desert terrain. He drove toward a warehouse used to store aid supplies before they were distributed to the refugees. The Land Cruiser had barely turned behind the warehouse’s wall, when two Jeeps sped by.

Justin held his breath and looked through the rear windows. A few of the bullets had caused spider-web cracks on the window, so he could not be certain of what was going on. In any case, the Jeeps were going to stop by the rolled-over truck. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered the Land Cruiser’s location.

Nahed drove slowly around the warehouse. Then he continued toward the west, away from the road and the camp.

Justin glanced out the window. No sign of the Jeeps, or anyone following on foot or in another vehicle. But he had no illusions that the Jordanian police, the army, and the camp security had given up.

The chase had just started.