Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite) by Louise Rose-Innes Page B

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