Under the tent with Kyril, Issam had a view of the field and the complex. The gate wasn’t the only problem, not by far. The building itself wasn’t secure. He checked on Inan again, who was tearing across the field at full speed, nowhere near the ball.
He was too vulnerable.
They were all too vulnerable. The families who signed up for football had been vetted, of course. Kyril had wanted Inan to have a real experience playing the sport, and that meant he had to join a local league. It was open to anyone who could pay the entry fee, and many of the area mosques sponsored scholarships for children whose families couldn’t afford the fee.
But that meant friends. That meant relatives. That meant crowds. The area under the tent where Kyril and Issam stood was more controlled, but only because their security forces made a perimeter around the brothers wherever they went.
Still, they were
too open to attack, especially Inan.
He watched his nephew sprint back across the field in the herd of children, the coaches trying their best to wrangle them into some semblance of a football strategy. Most of them ignored him completely. They were just running for the joy of it.
They had no idea that they could be in danger.
And neither did the rest of the crowd.
None of them, except Issam and Kyril, had any idea how strained relations were between Al-Dashalid and Caldad. They had no idea about the tension between Al-Dashalid and Al-Madiza about the fort in no-man’s land. They had no idea how one woman could have brought them to the brink.
Inan ran back in front of them again, and Issam followed his trajectory to the sidelines.
They were full of parents, some of whom had brought other children with them to watch the game, and all of them were talking and laughing, focused on the game.
He thought of the women in the shelter. Those women weren’t watching their children zigzag across a field. They weren’t having the time of their lives. They were on the run from a variety of horrors, and now their place of safety was squarely in the middle of an international feud.
They were out in the open.
So were the citizens of Al-Dashalid.
Kyril was watching Inan with a proud smile on his face, clapping fiercely for the boy. He had at least begun running in the right direction.
Issam had to get Kyril on his side.
“There’s too much space,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What do you mean?” asked Kyril. “Between the children? Are your eyes working, brother? They’re practically on top of each other.”
“On the field. Between the children and the security.” He pointed across the field to the open gate. At this moment, two people were coming in and three people were going out, and Issam felt he was the only one who was paying attention. “There’s a gate that’s not being controlled at all. The security in this place is a joke.”
“Issam—”
“Anything could happen. And we’d have nobody but ourselves to blame, since we’re the ones turning a blind eye to it.” That should heat Kyril’s blood. He was protective of his family to the point that Issam had, more than once, heard Hannah pestering him about the latest measure of protection he’d taken for his wife and son.
“It doesn’t look like a joke to me.” Kyril scanned the field and the sidelines again. “I have no problem with this. We’re surrounded by guards, and two of Inan’s unit are at the opposite corners.”
“We’re not surrounded. There are too few of them.” Issam took a deep breath to try to relieve some of the tight worry in his chest. It didn’t work. “We need at least ten guards. And a unit should sweep the complex buildings before we arrive.”
A coach, in his hurry to try and direct the children, knocked a stand full of balls over onto the field. The kids, who were supposed to be in the middle of a game, scented the free balls like sharks did blood in the water. They descended on the escaped equipment, and within thirty seconds the game had devolved into a mass of shrieking children who were all squabbling over balls and kicking them in every direction. Kyril doubled over with laughter as Inan kicked three of the balls in a row, then dived to the ground in an attempt to seize another one.
“There would be more hands on deck for moments like this,” Issam pressed. “Moments of chaos. We’d have more professionally trained people to get the situation under control.”
Kyril straightened, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He looked at Issam like he was crazy. “What are you saying? Extra hands would be nice, but Issam—” He gestured back out at the field. “This is a football complex. Do we really need to bring a full contingent just to watch a children’s game?”
Issam fumed. “I’m not sure why you would stamp out this idea.”
“Because it’s overkill. It’s too much.”
“It’s an improvement. Shouldn’t we be looking for improvements in all areas of our lives? Not to mention our responsibility to our people.”