‘We paid bribes on the Turkish side. On the Greek side, I had papers. The rest – the people who helped me – it was because of Audrey. They were helping her. She told them she needed a translator, she said what we were doing was important.’ He glanced around, sounding surprised at his own words. ‘I don’t know why, but sometimes people are kind. Sometimes, they look the other way. And I think – I think Audrey is important, yes?’ He looked directly at Esa, and for a moment Esa caught a glimpse of something troubling in the boy’s eyes.
A somber note in his voice, he answered, ‘Yes, Audrey is important.’ Rachel directed Ali back to his reason for risking the crossing.
‘You say you met the men who smuggled you across. What did they tell you about Israa?’
His voice broke over the words. ‘They told me she drowned the night we crossed.’
Rachel reached a hand across the table, patting Ali on the arm. She hated having to ask the boy something so callous, but they wouldn’t get anywhere if she didn’t focus. ‘I know it’s a hard thing to face, but how do you know Israa didn’t?’
‘I’ve checked with all the volunteer organizations.’ Ali nodded at the other table. ‘I’ve spoken to the Coast Guard – Commander Benemerito has become a friend. Between Eleni and Illario, I’ve had a lot of help, until they were told not to help me. I’ve checked the shoreline on both sides. Those who drown wash up on the beaches. Israa isn’t among the dead.’
Rachel wished she could believe the answer was as simple as that. Some of those fleeing Syria drowned without ever turning up. Ali couldn’t cover each place of landing or visit each morgue. Her trek between Moria and Kara Tepe had given her some sense of the scope of the problem. Ali didn’t have access, he didn’t have resources. If the Coast Guard and the HRT had shut him down, he didn’t have transportation.
An answer streaked through her mind.
‘When was the last time you made the trip across?’
Ali named a date in early March. ‘They need each available spot on their boats. They can’t afford to keep helping me, because others need their help more.’
Two days after that date, Audrey had written to Nate asking for money for a boat.
Rachel studied Ali’s determined face. He wasn’t going to give up. She knew exactly what that felt like. She also knew emotional stress could precipitate a crisis. What she didn’t know was if Ali had broken under the strain, and done something he couldn’t confess.
‘Did Audrey Clare buy a boat so she could take you across?’
Ali looked a little uncomfortable. ‘How did you know?’
‘How many times?’
‘Every day. Every day she was on the island. Sometimes she went by herself if there was no one who could watch over Aya.’
‘And Hatay?’ she persisted. ‘Did Audrey take you and Aya to Hatay?’
Ali shook his head. He pushed his plate away, moistening his lips. Rachel could see he was lying. She left it aside for now.
‘When was the last time she took you across on the boat?’
Ali named the date.
Khattak and Rachel exchanged a glance. It was a few days before Audrey’s disappearance. They needed to pin the boy down.
‘Did you hear the gunshots?’
Again, he shook his head. ‘I was on Chios that day. I came back to find out she was gone.’
‘What were you doing on Chios?’
‘Checking the beaches.’
Though he spoke the lie with assurance, Rachel caught the telltale glance away.
‘I’ll go, if you don’t mind. I want to talk to Illario.’
He moved off to the other table. Rachel observed the line of his back, nervous and tight with tension.
‘He knows more than he’s telling us. We need to talk to him again.’ She pointed to the list. ‘What about these names, sir? Do we send them to Nate or what?’
Khattak scanned the list. ‘Yes. Send the list of everyone who’s off-island to Nate. I want you to talk to Benemerito – I have a feeling you might make some progress.’ He talked over Rachel’s mild protest. ‘I’ll tackle Eleni Latsoudi. Then we should check out Audrey’s office on Chios.’
Rachel wanted to say something more about Ali, something about the pressures that were driving him. But if she did, she might have to explain a little more about herself, about the long, dark years without Zachary. She evaded Khattak’s questioning glance. Sometimes she had the feeling he knew her a little too well.
20
Mytilene, Lesvos
‘Talk,’ Eleni Latsoudi said. ‘Or the water will break your heart.’ She had a home on the island and she’d invited Khattak to join her for coffee on the patio that overlooked an olive grove above the sea. The hills were a luxuriant green, slashed with purple shadows. A night breeze had sprung up, swaying the trees. The brush of the leaves against a thin shell of moon painted a picture of heartbreak: life jackets lay under that moon.
‘So many,’ she mused. ‘So many risked their lives to come.’
The coffee was bittersweet on Khattak’s tongue, rough with a bit of drag that kept him wide awake, his senses alert against the wind, heavy with the scent of flowers. Eleni Latsoudi was a graceful woman his own age, with a beautiful fall of blond hair and eyes as dark as the coffee. She was dressed in her work clothes: a waterproof red jacket and pants, over which she wore a neon safety vest. Her yellow helmet with its flashlight rested on a small stone table nearby. When she got a call from the Greek Coast Guard, she’d have to be on the water in less than twenty minutes.
She was a seasoned paramedic who was responsible for training the Hellenic Rescue Team’s influx of volunteers. A call had gone out after the chaos of the crossings in 2015: the HRT’s contribution was vital. He could see from Eleni Latsoudi’s calm description of her work that she was the right person for the job. The Aegean at night was dark and unforgiving – it was easy to panic at the sight of an overturned boat. The small teams that went out together required coordination and discipline to meet the challenge at sea. In addition to search-and-rescue skills, Eleni had incorporated counseling into the training of her volunteers.
They saw too much heartache on the sea – when bodies washed up on the shore, especially those of children, her young volunteers couldn’t cope.
This was what she’d meant when she’d encouraged him to speak: Talk or the water will break your heart.
‘When was the last time you saw Audrey? What did she want to talk to you about?’
Eleni turned to face him, the breeze lifting a skein of gold hair across her cheek. ‘She came out scouting with us when we let her, which truthfully wasn’t that often. We need every available spot on our boats in case the scouting run turns into a rescue. Once or twice we let her accompany us because she wanted to chronicle the course of the crossing as part of her NGO’s work. She wanted to make sure Woman to Woman had the right response tools. A few times, I took her across to Turkey when I went to meet with my Turkish counterparts – we need to stay up to date about rescue efforts on both sides. Once, when I couldn’t take her, she took the ferry to Izmir in the morning and returned to Lesvos on the last boat across.’
‘Was she with Ali Maydani?’
‘Not to my knowledge. She used a strange phrase. She said she was going to beard the lion in his den.’
‘Do you know whom she meant?’
‘I don’t. But a shipment came over for Woman to Woman on the ferry, a package fairly large in size. Two days after she received it, Audrey made that trip to Izmir. I liked her,’ Eleni added, speaking in the past tense. ‘Every child, every person on this island mattered to Audrey Clare – islanders and refugees alike. She could sympathize with those who felt the island was overburdened, as much as she could with those who were struggling to reach our shores. Tensions have risen in Greece – we don’t have the resources to support a refugee populat
ion in such numbers, and the European Union is refusing to do its share.’
She smiled a beautiful, full-lipped smile at Esa. ‘The poorest country taking on the ones who are outcast. Is that how you say it, outcast?’
Esa nodded. Something about this woman, with her grave dark eyes and unflustered spirit, eased the despair that had engulfed him since he’d arrived on the island.
‘People fill in the gaps, I find.’ She smiled that intimate smile again. ‘When governments won’t act, people open up their hearts and find a way. There’s a wonderful baker on the island of Kos, perhaps you’ve heard of him. Every morning he drives around in his little van to hand out food to those who’ve made the journey. So many times I’ve seen young and old alike, refugees who come here with nothing except their hopes, kiss him on his cheeks, as if the bread is a benediction. His name is Dionysus. We keep in him in our prayers.’
Khattak noticed the tiny gold cross at her neck. ‘He’ll be in mine now, as well.’
He was trying to think of Audrey, but in his mind’s eye he kept seeing the curly-headed little girl who’d clung to Ali’s hands, her face full of distrust as he’d passed her off to Shukri Danner. He thought if he witnessed this baker handing out bread to children in the cold, he would have kissed him, too.
Eleni touched his hand. As Amélie Roux had done, she asked him about his resemblance to the boys on Afghan Hill.
‘Is it my imagination?’ she asked. Briefly, he explained the connection. The boys he’d met on Afghan Hill were Pashtuns or Pathans, as was Esa himself. Pashtun tribal links extended across the Afghanistan/Pakistan border; physical similarities that suggested this heritage could sometimes be discerned.
‘Ah.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Then you are experiencing this search for your friend in a more personal way – I can see it in your eyes, Esa.’ She used his name with a warm-hearted familiarity.
‘Perhaps.’
If he started to speak of these things, he didn’t know where it would end. His thoughts moved to Sehr’s accusations. If he didn’t want her – and he didn’t – why had her words struck so deeply? He had a quickened moment of insight into his reticence with Eleni: it was Sehr who would understand, Sehr whose warmth he sought.
Eleni’s phone rang. She spoke into it urgently, assuming a brisk competence. She stood up, fastening her helmet in a practiced move.
‘I don’t know if I can help you more than that. I do know the package that came for Audrey is still at her office on Chios. A friend called and asked me if I wanted to take custody of it. I head out there tomorrow if you need a ride.’
Esa thanked her, emotion deepening his voice. He didn’t examine it. He knew it wasn’t about Eleni, despite his admiration of her work. It was about the swirling blue waters beneath them, and what Eleni was setting out to find.
They parted ways at the gate to the road, Eleni lingering for a moment.
‘Talk,’ she said again. ‘Don’t let Lesvos break your heart.’
21
Eftalou Beach
Lesvos, Greece
The breeze that blew over the island carried the scent of almond blossom. The island’s trees were heavy with birds whose cries were like an exultation. Spring was coming to Lesvos much earlier than it was to Toronto; it draped the island in a dreamy warmth accented by grape-colored clouds. Rachel was in her element discussing sports with two well-built members of the Coast Guard. Though hockey was her holy grail, she was conversant in soccer, or football as the Italians called it, and the subject took up most of the walk to the northern beach. She’d asked them to spare a little time; Commander Illario Benemerito had invited her to accompany them. If they were taking a break from their work, she decided she might as well enjoy the fresh air.
She marked off a familiar set of questions: How well had they known Audrey? Could they pinpoint the last time they’d seen her on the island? Did they know if she’d had any success with her inquiries about a missing girl?
Though Benemerito offered his condolences on Audrey’s disappearance, he didn’t have much to tell her. Vincenzo Sancilio was a cadet who was learning the ropes of his profession; he’d seen Audrey with his commander, but hadn’t spoken to her. Together, the two men were voluble, joking with each other despite the difference in rank, though it was Vincenzo who came in for the bulk of the off-color teasing. He wasn’t at ease in Rachel’s presence: when she offered an opinion on anything from the weather to Barcelona’s famous football club, he directed his response to Illario instead, his English not quite as fluent. She wouldn’t have called his demeanor deceptive, but something more uneasy.
Benemerito, on the other hand, was forthright and respectful, though a warm glint in his eyes let Rachel know he had noticed her as a woman and approved. He offered a strong hand to assist her on the rockier parts of the descent, keeping her hand in his a second longer than necessary.
At five foot nine and with the build of an athlete, Rachel wasn’t used to chivalrous treatment. Trying not to smile, she found she was enjoying it. This must be what Khattak felt like all the time, basking in admiration – though she had to admit, she couldn’t really accuse Khattak of basking. His poker face was quite good.
She gave herself a mental pat on the back. If she was comparing her conquests to Khattak’s, she was heading up to the big leagues.
She’d thought Illario meant to show her the leisure craft he’d used to come across. He and Vincenzo had a few days’ leave; they were on the island to offer their assistance at the camps. Rachel admitted she hadn’t expected members of the Italian Coast Guard to be so moved.
When she said as much to Illario, he shrugged off her praise. ‘When you’ve seen what we’ve seen, when you’ve rescued people stranded at sea, it leaves its mark on you. The volunteers here, the Greek people –’ He made an expansive gesture with his hand. ‘They’re the heroes of this crisis. We do a little here and there, but they’re the backbone of the effort to save lives. You might be able to do a little yourself,’ he added with a smile. Rachel noticed a gold tooth – the gleam from one of Illario’s incisors gave him the air of a pirate.
She demurred, a little embarrassed. ‘I’m a member of Canadian law enforcement.’
‘I’m a commander of the Guardia Costiera,’ he said easily. ‘That doesn’t stop me. Don’t you want to know what we’re doing on this beach?’
Rachel looked around. This wasn’t the same beach she’d explored before. Illario and Vincenzo had brought her some distance in the dark, the moon sunk low over the curl of the waves. The wind whipped up along the water. Rachel shivered a little inside her jacket. Unselfconsciously, Illario placed an arm around her shoulders, offering the warmth of his body. Rachel hesitated briefly before accepting.
She was alone on the beach with two men who were strangers, but she wasn’t afraid. One, she had her gun strapped in the holster at her waist. Two, she had expert qualifications when it came to self-defense. Three, she was an excellent judge of character. Illario’s warm and casual manner posed no threat to her. He was a man used to taking care of others.
‘I thought we were out for a stroll.’
Vincenzo took out his flashlight. He swept it over the water in wide, concentric loops.
‘Do you think we’re here to waste our time?’ he said rudely. ‘We come here to wait for the boats. We don’t only think of ourselves.’
Now Rachel noticed that both men had zipped up their jackets, and were wearing waterproof boots. A flashlight flickered from farther down the beach where a team of volunteers worked, members of a Christian mission. Each white vest was marked with a bright green cross. They were pulling a cart over the stony beach, but stopped a few yards away and began to unload blankets. A few members of the group played their flashlights over the blankets’ reflective surface, creating a glare that could be seen from a distance.
His arm still around her shoulders
, Illario marched Rachel toward the group.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘They’ll need our help. They’re mostly girls – they’re not strong enough to pull the boats in.’
He pulled her into a circle of volunteers and released his hold, observing a professional decorum. Greetings were exchanged, with brief introductions, and soon their little group was assembled at the edge of the water, facing out over the waves. Rachel made inquiries about Audrey, and though some of the volunteers knew her, none could offer any knowledge of Audrey’s private activities beyond experiences they’d shared as volunteers.
Rachel tugged Illario aside. ‘Why did you take her across? Audrey was making regular trips to Turkey. She wouldn’t have been traveling through Italian waters.’
‘No,’ he agreed. He pulled out a pair of binoculars, scanning the silent waves. ‘She was educating herself about the refugee journey. She learned the routes over the Aegean, but she also wanted to know what was happening on the Italian side. Most of the migrants we rescue have fled from Libya across the Mediterranean; they’re mainly young black men: Ethiopians, Sudanese, Somalis, Gambians. Their experience at the hands of smugglers is the worst of any group that’s passing through. There’s a strong element of racism to all this.’
‘Migrants?’ Rachel noted the deliberate word choice.
He lowered his binoculars for a moment. ‘Yes, some are refugees – particularly those fleeing Eritrea. But many are economic migrants who wouldn’t qualify as Convention refugees.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘The poverty and corruption they are fleeing is no less a danger to their survival, in my opinion; I’m not trying to be political.’ He spared Rachel a smile. ‘It’s just important to be accurate, so we neither understate nor overstate the magnitude of the crisis.’
Rachel remembered the conditions at Moria. ‘I don’t think anyone is in danger of overstating things.’
Vincenzo broke into their conversation.
No Place of Refuge Page 16
