Time Sensitive Target

Part 1 - A War Zone

A swollen bead of sweat dripped from the back of my head and trickled down my neck. For a moment I half considered it was a bug, but I was too lethargic from the sun to swat away whatever was trailing down my skin. A little pile of dead blades of dry grass and a few defiant flowers rested beside me; a gift as precious as jewels coming from the homeless and possessionless children who'd presented them to me. I picked up one of the red-headed plants and twirled it between my fingers, watching the children splash in the shallow surf of the sea. The Greek island of Lesbos was uncharacteristically humid in what should have been a windy time of year, and my skin, already bronzed from weeks spent in the sun, sizzled happily under unrelenting rays.

"Don't throw the sticks in too far for the dogs!" Jas's melodic voice rang across the stony beach as she trudged back inland towards my grassy resting place. "I think we've done really well today, don't you?" She collapsed down beside me, beaming happily at the view of people thrilled by the delights of nature.

"Yeah, the kids have really taken to it. Shame we don't have the use of a pool, the adults need that."

"We asked the local council, there's no chance. Residents blocked that idea, it's disgusting," Jas's sunny disposition was suddenly shadowed by her plight against inequality.

"Well... we'll... keep trying," I replied lamely. The 'we' I meant was more figuritive than anything, given I was still intending to leave as planned in six short days. I'd spent three weeks in Lesbos with Jas and her fellow network of humanitarian aid workers in the refugee camp there, and I knew Jas hoped I would stay on. She had fought, guilt-tripped and begged me to go with her, and really it was only for the sake of our friendship that I'd accepted. Jas had been the only family I'd known for years, we'd met at University and she had always stayed with me whenever she returned to the UK from whatever she was fighting for overseas.

I was in the summer break of my doctorate in Psychology at Kings, and the invitation to live in an impoverished and struggling refugee camp in the middle of serious unrest and political strife was hardly something I was eager to accept. Jas and I had very different feelings towards politics and global crises.

She had been nurtured in a sort of holistic, indulgent bosom where she had all the benefits of a privileged, wealthy, middle-class life and was encouraged to seek out the poor and needy. Her blind mission in providing aid and assistance had gotten her in to some pretty bad situations before; she believed the best in people simply because she wanted so badly for it to be true.

I, on the other hand, had already darkly accepted that I was quite happy to sit and accept the comfort of my privilege unless the reality of the sorry state of the world was right before my own eyes. I certainly didn't feel any call to arms like Jas did, instead I fought for my life and what I wanted to make it. Unlike my friend, I'd had none of the familial support, love or affection to nurture my path. I had always done everything alone, and wrongly or rightly, sometimes felt I'd been through enough to excuse myself of feeling obligated to help others.

Jas gazed out to the restless sea and took a decisive breath.

"They're going to start protesting again tomorrow," she announced despondently. Annoyance cracked inside me; Jasmin, in her beautiful, advocate of the downtrodden way, had neglected to tell me beforehand that the camp in Lesbos was entrenched with anger and violence. What Jas called protesting was undeniably rioting, and the men of the camp had it down to a fine art. Whatever work we did to secure a good reputation, and help build relations and rapport between the refugees and the local community was quickly undone. The food shipments were continuously late, medical supplies were dwindling, the powers-that-be were in debate about whether or not the UN or the Red Cross or the Greek government should be responsible for the camp, and the refugees were no closer to getting out.

I had seen things in the squalid warrens of the spit of island land I would never forget, but the rest of the world didn't know, the rest of the world didn't care. Had I not been there myself, I wouldn't have either. The mesh fence confines of the camp was a concentrated war zone, with daily outbreaks of violence, sexual assault and unbelievable poverty. Looking out to the idyllic vista of stony shore and sea, it was hard to believe I was in the most hopeless place I'd ever seen in my life, and with a small ball of shame in my stomach I admitted to myself I was glad to soon be going home.

"Miss!" Arafat, a young man with wide eyes framed by thick lashes raced up to us. He was one of the very few who spoke a little English, and was happy to step in when he could in place of our translator, Wajid. "Come, come!" He beckoned us with an urgent wave.

"What's wrong?" Jas stood instantly, and I abandoned the little red flower to follow after them.

"Animal on rocks, come see!"

The families were dredging their way out of the water and were beginning to head towards the minibus, shepherded by Wajid, Carol and Laura. The sun would soon set and the children would need as much of a meal as we could offer, the swim survival lesson we'd provided would have exhausted them.

"We'll be back in a minute," I placed a reassuring hand on Laura's shoulder and followed Jas's hasty steps, heading up ground until we were completely out of view from the beach, around a densely vegetated area to a small cove littered with rocks. An old trawler bobbed in the sea from its anchored position, and a dinghy hauled up to a spit of sand alerted me to the possibility the animal Arafat had alerted us to could be a person.

"Where?" I heard Jas yell from upfront. Two of the men who had signed up for our lesson stood with their backs to us atop a large boulder, looking down. With adrenaline taking over we scaled the smaller craggy stones at surprising speed, Arafat now lagging behind us in what I assumed was reluctance to see whatever tragedy was there.

"What is it?" I asked, panting slightly in the waning heat of the sun.

"Nothing," Jas called. Her tone was high and unwavering, a hint of a warning behind the word.

"What do you mean?" I yelled back, my feet landed on the boulder and I glared up to the vaguely familiar man.

"Paige-"

Jas began to speak in what I knew, despite my fervent wish that I was wrong, was a desperate warning of imminent danger, and was swiftly hit around the head with a black handgun. I froze. What else was there to do? A shot came from the distance, and as my head whirled around to call for help the world went black.