Zoe Yelton glanced around the uncommonly quiet streets, and her skin prickled. Those on the Al Corniche were either a few tourists who had ignored the warnings to stay inside, or locals hurrying to get home.
The midday sun beat down relentlessly, and the palm trees lining the area gave little shade and almost nowhere to hide should something happen. She was out in the open, unprotected, in view of anyone.
Zoe placed a hand on her stomach to calm the nerves inside. She shouldn’t be here. She had explicit instructions to pack her office and wait for the extraction team. But just after Zoe had arrived at the embassy with her suitcase, Nisha had called.
Zoe hadn’t been able to ignore the desperation in Nisha’s voice, despite her security training telling her that was exactly what she should do, so she’d offered to get everyone lunch and taken a bus to her destination. Thinking she knew better, just like she had that day in Coober Pedy.
No, this wasn’t the same. She was an adult now and understood the risks. She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.
Tension hung in the air, as dangerous as a gas leak waiting for a single spark.
In the distance, about two kilometres away, was the Tornado Tower building where the embassy was located. Where she should be right now. In the other direction were the main government buildings where the protests were rumoured to be taking place.
She was caught right in the middle.
Hurried footsteps made her whirl to face the small Pakistani woman who had begged her to come.
“Thank you for meeting me, Zoe,” Nisha said, grabbing her arm, her grip strong.
“What’s this about, Nisha? I shouldn’t be here.”
Nisha nodded. “People are already gathering at the meeting points. We have the support of many Qataris. We will win our rights.”
Zoe hoped she was right, and perhaps the migrant workers had the numbers, but the Qatar government had military forces and, from the few skirmishes which had occurred over the past two weeks, they weren’t afraid to use it. “Nisha, why do you need me?”
“We have proof.” She drew out her phone and tapped frantically on the screen. “You need to help us save them.”
Zoe frowned. “Save who from what?”
“Children from being taken by traffickers.” Nisha thrust the phone at her. A zoomed in photo of several children getting into a van. The next photo those same children getting out at the container port, their expressions worried.
Zoe sucked in a sharp breath.
Nisha had told her about the children who were promised a better life in nearby countries only to be never heard from again. Zoe had said she’d help if she could, but she hadn’t expected to be fleeing from civil unrest.
More photos of the six children being forced into a large, grey container, and she zoomed into one girl wearing a black hijab, whose eyes were wide as she looked for help. “Is that Maryam?”
Nisha nodded. “My cousin trusted the man who took her. Thought he was one of the honest ones.”
Zoe had met Maryam at a gathering at Nisha’s house. She’d been so excited about getting to wear the hijab now she’d reached puberty. They’d spoken in English while they’d prepared lunch together, and Maryam had been nothing but sweet innocence. Her gut clenched. “When were these taken?”
“Just now. The container is being loaded onto a ship.”
“Who took them?” She handed the phone back to Nisha.
“My son. He works at the port. The ship is leaving today.”
The entire city was about to erupt into chaos as the majority of migrant workers demanded more rights and fairer treatment. There was no way she could intervene today, not when she was due at the airport in less than an hour. “Nisha, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Tell your government. They can send people.”
Zoe shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.” The embassy staff were being extracted before the riots started.
“There must be something you can do.” Her voice trembled. “Maryam won’t cope.” The pain in Nisha’s voice was impossible to ignore.
The chance at a better life for your child would be a hard one to resist. Over the year Zoe had been in Qatar she’d got to know the Pakistani migrant community. Nisha had been assigned as her cleaner, but Zoe hadn’t needed help keeping her small apartment clean, so they’d spent the time talking, working on both Nisha’s English and trying to improve their Arabic as well.
On Fridays she sometimes travelled to the Asian City to spend time with Nisha and the community she had built with the other Pakistani migrants in the country.
“I’ll make some calls,” Zoe promised. It sounded empty in her ears. She’d already raised the situation with Stefan when she’d first heard about it, but her boss had told her it wasn’t their jurisdiction. The few contacts she had in Qatar hadn’t been interested either.
What could she do in the time before she flew to the safety of Australia?
Not a hell of a lot. Frustration filled her. Those children thought they were helping their parents by leaving them to earn good money in decent jobs. Someone had to help.
Several buses drove by, noticeable by their shabbiness in a city full of high-end expensive vehicles. Inside were migrant workers, packed together heading for the government buildings.
Nisha glanced over. “It has started.”
The words sent a deep frisson of fear through Zoe. She had to get back. “They are marching on Amiri Diwan?”
“Yes.”
The government building was visible from the lookout point where they stood on Doha Bay. The streets were filling with more people, migrants rather than locals, and several of the tourists had finally noticed and started heading back to their accommodation.
“We don’t have a lot of time. The ships may be delayed because there are no workers at the port,” Nisha continued.
Which would have been advantageous if Zoe wasn’t flying out of the country. But she couldn’t tell Nisha that.
Nor could she leave without helping.
She glanced towards Tornado Tower, its sleek, shiny windows bright on the city skyline. Protestors were coming from that direction as well, as if all workers in the city had downed tools and were heading this way.
The streets were blocked, which meant she’d have to go on foot to get back to the embassy.
She was running out of time.
No one had expected the political situation to suddenly worsen, or for the embassy to decide to close its doors and return to Australia.
As if on cue, her phone rang, the noise shocking her, and she fumbled to turn down the volume as a few people turned their way.
Her boss.
She had to answer. “Hi, Stefan.”
“Why the hell are you on the Al Corniche?” he bellowed. “You were supposed to be getting lunch.”
Shit. She’d forgotten she had a GPS tracker on her phone. One of the security features of working overseas. “Saying goodbye to some friends.”
“Well get your arse here. You should be helping us pack up the office. The extraction team will arrive in fifteen minutes.”
And it would take her that long to walk the couple of kilometres to the embassy. It would be tight. At least the embassy was in the opposite direction to where the protestors were headed. “I’ll be right there.”
She hung up as an idea formed. “Send the photos to my email address.” She handed Nisha a business card. “Can your son get close to the container?” Zoe asked, switching her phone to silent.
Nisha nodded.
Zoe hesitated only a second before handing Nisha her phone. “Give this to him. It has a GPS tracker on it. Tell him to get it to the children.” She’d be back at the embassy for the extraction. She could get a new phone in Australia. “The code is two eight five three. Tell them to turn it off to conserve battery if I don’t get them out before it sets sail.” She had no idea how she would even do that. But she could figure out where the ship was making port and maybe free them when they arrived at their destination. “I have to go.”
Nisha nodded. “Thank you.”
She hugged her friend and then set off at a fast jog towards the embassy.
The call to prayer rang out across the city; the sound beautiful but haunting in the tense atmosphere.
As she jogged, two military trucks turned onto the main road which ran parallel to the Al Corniche, and several police vehicles followed protestors’ cars along the road.
Zoe pushed herself harder, wishing she’d taken up jogging years ago. Her breath came in gasps, and her loose clothing flapped around her arms and legs as she ran. Sweat ran down her back as her head pounded from the heat.
Could she convince Stefan to help six innocent children being forced into slavery?
He always did things by the book. He’d tell her they didn’t have the time to help a few children, that it wasn’t their responsibility.
But there had to be some way she could save them.
No child, no person, should have to be at another person’s whim. The migrants who travelled to the Middle East were after work and better lives for their families. It was how the traffickers got to them, with promises of good, high-paying jobs. Then they stole their passports and forced them to work for little or no pay.
The young boys were put to work as camel jockeys to allow rich locals to bet on camel races, and the girls, if they were lucky, became servants in someone’s mansion.
Zoe’s throat was dry as she reached the street the tower was on. She darted across the dual-carriageway and kept her gaze on the round building at the end of the street.
There was no sign the extraction convoy had arrived to pick them up, but without her phone she wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Even if they had arrived, they might have pulled into the underground parking, which was off the street and potentially safer.
Behind her, the marching cry of the protestors began.
She was out of time.
***
Heath Ghanooni was looking forward to an easy mission for a change. The past couple had been hard with teammates getting injured and the one in Iran… well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Helping an embassy team board a plane should be a piece of cake, as long as they got out before things kicked off.
The plane jolted as it hit turbulence, and he winced, trying not to be superstitious. He hadn’t said the words aloud, but if he had, one of his teammates would have shoved him for jinxing the mission.
“Joker, you got anything else to add?” Dobby, his team leader, asked.
Heath glanced at the screen where they’d been planning for every eventuality. “One of the embassy staff might not want to leave,” he said. “Or might decide they need to pack more information before they go, putting us behind schedule.”
Radar nodded, his man bun bouncing. “Bound to be one idiot who doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation.”
“They’ve all been informed we’re coming, right?” Axle asked, his preppy blond looks belying his lethality.
“Yeah, and they’ve been told to be at the embassy at thirteen hundred,” Dobby confirmed. “So what’s the plan with this douchebag?”
Heath grinned at the resignation in Dobby’s voice. “Carry them out?”
“It can’t look forced,” Duke reminded him. “We’re not even supposed to look like military. The government made it a requirement of us going in.”
Politics. Heath suppressed a sigh. The situation in the country was unstable with migrant workers, who made up the majority of the population, wanting better working rights. Things were close to the tipping point, and they’d received word a protest was planned any day now. The government didn’t want to admit the workers had such organised numbers, or that it would be an issue, but had permitted Australia to land a plane at the international airport in order to get its people out.
Their one condition was that no one leaving the airport could be dressed as military personnel. The requirement was business suits, with body armour underneath, and concealed weapons—playing the role of businessmen.
“Threaten to leave them behind,” Romeo suggested.
Heath studied the man. He was new to special forces and part of the second team working with them. He had a lot of time for him though. Romeo was Mila’s brother, a woman they’d rescued on a previous mission, and who had earned his nickname by putting Dobby in touch with his sister after the mission. Slightly younger than the rest of them, he had an enthusiasm the team had since lost, but was sensible as well.
“Or to shoot them,” Radar said with a grin.
Heath chuckled. Radar had little patience for idiots.
Dobby rolled his eyes. “Let’s try Romeo’s suggestion first and then Joker’s.”
“So when we get split up because this idiot won’t leave without a fight, what do we do?” Axle asked.
They continued to brainstorm all eventualities for several hours until they were satisfied they had options for everything.
“All right,” Dobby said. “Good planning. Get some rest. We’ll land in five hours.”
Radar swore and glanced up from the computer he had in front of him. “Dust storm is forecast.”
“When?” Dobby demanded.
“Mid afternoon.”
Which would make things tight. The plane wouldn’t be able to take off, and dust storms could last for days in the Middle East.
“Right.” Dobby’s tone was grim. “What do we do if it hits early?”
They spent another hour planning before Dobby gave them leave to rest.
Heath yawned as he left the conference room. It had been the middle of the night when they’d received the call to mobilise, but at least they’d scored a Boeing jet for the trip which was used to fly dignitaries around the world.
Far more comfortable than their usual transport.
“Ready for dealing with annoying officials?” Radar asked.
“They’ll be fine,” Heath responded, hoping he was telling the truth. “They requested the extraction.”
“There’s always one pompous prick who doesn’t agree,” Radar said. “Just you wait.” And with that warning, he settled into his seat and strapped in.
Heath shook his head.
“Think he’s right?” Romeo asked from behind him.
“Yep. How are you feeling about your first special ops mission?”
“Excited. Nervous. I don’t want to let you guys down. You’ve been working together for so long...”
Yeah, they understood how each other would react in every situation. “You’ll get there,” Heath assured him. “This should be a simple mission with no stealth required. In twenty-four hours you’ll be disappointed with how underwhelming it was.”
Romeo grinned. “Fair enough. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Heath strapped into his seat, wondering whether he’d really jinxed the mission.
