How to Betray Your Country by James Wolff (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

my brothers around me, giving me strength. On my own and the jinn start whispering in my ear, saying that I’m a loser, that I’m no good, that I haven’t got what it takes. All that stuff my old man used to say. And then I’m thinking about my mum and her health and how she’s on her own —”

“All right, I understand. You are weak – this is my mistake, I should have seen it before now. We need warriors, we need soldiers, not children playing games —”

“No, you don’t get it – I want to come more than anything in the world, I swear to you. If you make me stay here, I wouldn’t blame you after everything I’ve done, but I’d probably kill myself. The thought that I’ve missed my one chance… I’ve wanted to go there so much, it means more to me than anything. I’m just so scared that without you telling me what to do I’ll mess it up. Let me come with you, let me travel there with you. I can hide out of sight, or we can make up some story about who we are and where we’re going, maybe you’re a tour guide, maybe having a white guy with you will help you get through checkpoints.”

“It is too dangerous for you to travel with us because we have the package. Do you understand? We have the package. And if they find it —”

“I don’t care. I’ll fight to the death to protect you, I’ll take a bullet for you. Listen, you told me the first time we met that I was part of this thing, you told me what I did was helping the brothers. So let me be part of this. I don’t want to play it safe in some air-conditioned bus, reading a newspaper and pretending to be a kafir tourist. I want to be with you, I want to learn from you, I want to show you that I’m ready to put it all on the line. There’s no going back for me. Let me go forward alongside my brothers with my head held high.”

August listened to the flush of a distant toilet, an argument on the street outside. He peered into the gloom at what looked like a series of circles drawn on the wall.

Youssef stirred and sat up in bed.

“What is going on?” he whispered.

August signalled that he should be quiet.

“It is too difficult,” the vizier was saying. “There is nowhere in the city we can safely meet.”

“What about the cemetery?”

“Do not be a fool. We have been there too often. If they know about us, this is one place we can be sure they will be watching.”

“Okay, what about somewhere near the bus station? Find a quiet side street, we’ll get lost in all those crowds.”

“The clock is ticking, my friend, someone will have reported what happened. We had to collect the package from a busy street in daylight. We cannot drive back into the middle of the city, this is madness.”

“August,” whispered Youssef. “What are you talking about?”

“Hang on – I’ve got an idea,” said August, turning away and cupping the phone. “There’s this place, it’s a house but nobody lives there, it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s right on the Black Sea. There’s trees around, nobody will be able to see a thing.”

August knew it was still empty. He had signed the contract but the company hadn’t started to move in equipment.

“What are you talking about?”

“We can meet there. It’s less than an hour’s drive from the city. We’ll have time to work out a plan before we head for the border together.”

“How do you know about this place?”

“I was on a hike in the forests up there, trying to clear my head and get in shape for … for the place we’re going to. I needed some water and I went there to see if I could get a drink. Listen, it’s the only house around for miles. No one has lived there for years, it’s got smashed windows and everything. The key is on the door frame, just run your fingers along the top. And there are plenty of places to hide a vehicle. Seriously, it’s perfect for this. Shall we meet there in one hour?”

It would be perfect for Lawrence and the police too. Only one road in and one road out and no bystanders to get in the way. He gave the directions and hung up.

From the back of a taxi he tried repeatedly to call Lawrence. He didn’t know if Lawrence was angry with him for missing their last appointment, or how he should explain the situation if he did get through. Outside the city rushed by, one long blur of blameless people leading blameless lives. It was hard to tell whether the nausea he felt was the result of his hangover or the realization, apparently for the first time, of the enormity of what he had done, the scale of his misjudgement that engaging with the vizier was a bold step, even a helpful one, as though he was in his own way contributing to the war against IS, rather than naive, reckless, self-indulgent and monumentally stupid. He opened the window and breathed deeply. “I saw a man on a plane and I pretended to be him,” he said aloud, trying on the words for size. The taxi driver glanced in the rear-view mirror and turned up the radio. “I’m in contact with an IS facilitator. An Iranian scientist has been kidnapped.” Everything he said sounded nonsensical, as though he had made up a new language and was trying it out in public for the first time. Until that moment it had remained safely trapped inside the echo chamber of his head, where the only reaction to each new proposal – that he should pretend to be 34c, that he should follow the Iranian and search his hotel room, that he should even consider turning his