State Of Emergency: (Tom Buckingham Thriller 3) by Andy McNab Page B

they neared the border, Hakim had branched off onto increasingly narrow and more heavily cratered roads that wound up into the hills. Jamal had lost all sense of where he was. He knew they were headed roughly north-east, but Hakim had told him they would have to take a route that avoided patrols and not to be surprised by sudden turns. He smiled a lot as he spoke and his calm self-assurance gave Jamal some comfort, though when he tried to make casual conversation about where he was from, Hakim shook his head. ‘The less you know about me the better.’
    He was right. Jamal understood that if he was caught on the wrong side of the border, he would be questioned about how he had got there.
    When they reached the foothills of the mountains the traffic thinned. As they neared the border Jamal’s spirits lifted, until he reminded himself that even assuming he made it back to Britain, he was likely to face yet more hurdles, even with the video uploaded. He thought about Emma, how grateful he was to her for giving him a chance to redeem himself. He was desperate to know if the footage he’d shot was okay. When he asked Hakim, he just smiled and said, ‘I don’t know anything about that. I just take you to the border.’ He was laughing when he told Jamal where he had to hide the memory card. ‘Wrap it in a condom if you have one. If not, a bit of plastic bag. But not until after the bike.’
    He clutched his buttocks and made a face. But Jamal knew what to do. A few weeks earlier they had captured an elder in a village they had overrun who insisted he had been robbed of all his possessions. Abukhan didn’t believe him, and a full body search revealed a gold bracelet wrapped in cling film stuffed up his rectum. The copy of the film would be his insurance, in case anything had gone wrong with the upload. That and the two telephone numbers in London that Emma had given him.
    Jamal’s thoughts drifted to his family, above all Adila, the only one he had dared communicate with all the time he had been away. He was going to ask Hakim if he would text her when they parted, but something stopped him. A glimmer of worry. He had learned to be less trusting during his time in Syria.
    He was still lost in thought when the bike suddenly slowed. The road ahead had levelled out but two pick-up trucks were parked broadside across the road forming a chicane. One had a grenade launcher on the back. There were several men, all with AKs, their faces masked.
    ‘Say nothing. I will do all the talking.’
    Hakim stopped and dismounted about ten metres from the roadblock. ‘Stay with the bike.’
    Jamal dreaded being recognized. What if they were from one of the militias his had fought with? He watched as Hakim walked confidently up to them, his palms forward. As he did, two men walked past him straight towards Jamal, their weapons trained on him. He had abandoned his weapon in Aleppo. Hakim had told him to. He was so used to it for his security, like the knives he and his brothers used to carry back home, that without it he felt naked. They came up close so the muzzles of their AKs were just a few inches from his chest, their fingers poised on the triggers. He could see the blaze of suspicion in their eyes. He felt his face flush with guilt for his betrayal of Abukhan, and of all his comrades. If they took him prisoner, returned him to his platoon … Better to die now.
    Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other four gathered round Hakim, bent over something he had produced from his jacket. Emma had promised him he would be okay, but what was going on? The men round Hakim lowered their weapons but they continued to glare at Jamal.
    Hakim walked up to the bike, waved at the group he had been speaking to, and they were off again.
    ‘You made that look so easy.’
    Hakim shrugged. ‘Just lucky.’
    ‘How did you do it? Did you bribe them?’
    ‘Documentation.’ His look told Jamal not to enquire any further. ‘Not far now.’
    Ten