Buddy Savage splashed Wild Turkey into two glass tumblers and handed one to Yasmin. Yasmin’s clothes were dusty, her hair mussed as she sat in one of the canvas chairs and accepted the glass. “Thanks. Though the condition I’m in, I probably look like I’ve had a few already.” Savage grabbed another chair. “If you want my opinion, you all need your heads examined for crossing into Syria illegally.” “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, Buddy, something we got caught up in. Jack was desperate to try to find the parchment.” Yasmin looked behind her. “Does Pierre really know what he’s doing? Shouldn’t we just fetch a doctor?” Savage followed Yasmin’s gaze to the room at the back of the tent. Jack sat in a canvas chair, one leg of his trousers cut away. Seated in front of him, the cheery Frenchman was engrossed as he worked on Jack’s wound, a first-aid kit open, next to it a plastic basin filled with steaming water.
