It was a bumpy ride to Damascus. We weren’t allowed to talk. And our captors were tight-lipped as well. There was little we could do but look out the windows at the passing scenes.
At one point outside Damascus we were inching along in the congestion when I saw a tanker truck by the side of the road. In the cab I saw Elam and he saw me.
I still dwelt on the chance sighting this morning as they loaded us into the back of a windowless truck. We were still forbidden to speak, but somehow I knew that Elijah was more in the know than he let on.
By evening we were processed into a prison cell somewhere.