Page 2 of Escape

Fatima sticks her head in, her expression serious.

"Mel, got a minute?"

"Sure, just one sec." I wave her in before putting the phone back to my ear.

"Owen, I need to go. I’ll call you later?"

"Sure. Call me any time," he says before hanging up.

I drop my phone on the desk and study Fatima. "What’s up?"

She steps closer, crossing her arms. “We’ve had a call from the health post in Pastkhuf.”

My stomach tightens at the name. Pastkhuf is the kind of place you don’t go to unless you absolutely have to. It’s remote, perched high in the mountains, right on the Afghan border.

“What’s happened?”

“A young girl fell,” Fatima says. Her voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of worry in her eyes. “She’s unconscious. The local nurse suspects internal injuries. Jon has already spoken with them to get more details, but we’ll need someone to go out there.”

“You want me to go.”

“You’re the best person for it,” she replies. “Jon’s there for medical support, but we need someone to represent GHHI. If decisions need to be made, it should be you.”

“What about EVAC by the army?”

“No chance, at least not until Jon can confirm she is stable enough to fly.”

“Surprise, surprise,” I sigh. I have dealt with my share of government bureaucrats over the years and when it comes to helping international NGOs, money is usually the only thing that can secure their help.

I’ve been programme manager for GHHI for five years now. But I am not a usual programme manager. I am employed by the head office in London and get shipped out to country offices when they are short staffed or have a gap between their programme manager leaving and the new one starting. I drop in, fill the role for a few weeks or months and then leave again. In-between, the rare times when there isn’t a need for me to be anywhere, I work from our London office carrying out internal audits. It is interesting and fulfilling, but can also be tiring.

“Right,” I say, grabbing my notebook. “When do we leave?”

She glances out the window. The sky is a dull grey, the wind rattling the shutters. “The weather’s not ideal, but the nurse says it’s urgent. I’ll leave the call to you.”

I don’t hesitate. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Fatima nods, her expression softening. “I thought you’d say that.”

Downstairs, I find Farid at his desk, scribbling something on a clipboard next to a crackling radio.

“Farid,” I say, and he looks up, already sharp and alert.

“This about Pastkhuf?” he asks.

I nod. “Jon and I are heading out. But we’ll need Will with us. It’s too close to the border to go without security.”

“Will’s out with Arif, test driving the Hilux,” Farid says, reaching for his radio. “I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks. Also, make sure the truck’s stocked. Med supplies, water, everything Jon might need.”

Farid nods, already issuing instructions into the radio as I turn to leave. His efficiency is a steadying presence, but the knot of tension in my chest doesn’t loosen.

Upstairs, Jon is leaning over the desk, his pen moving in sharp, precise strokes. He doesn’t look up when I enter, but I can see the set of his jaw.

“Ready?” I ask.

He straightens, slipping his notebook into his bag. “How’s the weather forecast?”

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