Quadir Akram was at the home of the Syrian family, where he rented sleeping space on the floor. The smartphone display said no information was available for the incoming call. Quadir wondered who could call since he had given his cell number to only a few people.
“Who is this?“ he asked cautiously in very broken English, then remained silent.
“Hello Mr. Akram,” the voice said, “my name is Lance Coopers. I understand you would like to have your wife Adeeba and your children come to the United States. Is that true?”
“Who is this?” Quadir asked in a firmer and more suspicious voice, “How do you know of my family?”
“We know quite a bit about your family. We know they live on Noureddin Zinki Street close to the Daqqa Market in Aleppo. Because of the increased violence in the city, they have to do their grocery shopping as soon as the market opens at dawn, and to go outside and play could now be fatal for your children. You see, Mr. Akram, we know many things about you.”
Lance could hear Quadir sucking in his breath.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he said in a voice that was a short step away from panic. He was used to government spies swooping in and eliminating family members for any reason. “You are not Syrian!!” he almost shouted into the phone. “What do you want with my family and me!”
“We only want to help you, Mr. Akram,” Lance replied in a low, even voice. “We have the means of getting your family to safety in the U.S. and providing them with a better place to live than the floor space you are renting. Shall we talk face to face? I suppose it all depends on how much you really want to get them to safety. How badly do you want to get them to safety, Quadir? What would you give to make it happen?”
There was a long silence on the phone. Quadir was familiar with the approach. It was one often used in terrorist cells. They issued no threats, but the message came across loud and clear. In this case, the caller would have to do nothing. The situation in Aleppo would take its course and most likely lead to the death of his family.
Taking no action is the same as killing them myself.
I would be heartbroken for the rest of my life for not being able to raise the travel and bribe money in time enough to help them, but my conscience would be clean because I tried my absolute best, he thought glumly.
If this man can get my family out, and I did nothing, it would be like I killed them myself. I could not go on living with that on my mind. I would rather die. There are no options left for me.
“I will do anything to get them out,” Quadir intoned.
“Good,” Lance replied in a more cheerful voice. “I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow at Noon at the Syrian restaurant on Flatbush near Pacific. I know you are not working until 3:00 PM, so you will have no problem being there. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Akram.”
There was a click, and the phone was silent. Quadir’s blood ran cold with fear. “Who are these people who know everything about my family and me? How and why would they do something almost impossible? What do they want from my family, or of me, in return?”
Questions came to his mind so fast they were no longer words, but images and feelings, like watching some twisted horror movie on fast-forward. But this was real, and it was happening to him.