Refugee Prison Break

Chapter 9

A year went by. I was working for a firm that laid water distribution pipes. I would spend my days minimizing trench depth and specifying what type and how much shoring was needed. Wide slopes? Fully braced walls? Basic sheeting? Meanwhile, I couldn't help but constantly dwell on Bas's situation, locked up in a prison camp on the other side of the world. It was so miserable. What made things worse was knowing I had helped him get into that situation. I was the one who let him use my credit card to buy his original flight. So much, it felt, was my fault.

Around the anniversary of Bas's arrest, an advice note from a lawyer came through. It could be many more years before Bas's case was resolved, it said. The lawyer cited previous cases like Bas's that had started over a decade earlier and were still going through the courts.

Mr. and Mrs. Zaidi and everyone else concerned were distraught. They wailed and cried and lamented at the implacable hand fate had dealt them. But while they did so in the other room, I sat suddenly calm and collected and full of resolve. I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to break Bas out of there!