Beloved Gomorrah

by Justine Saracen

  But now he had to set it all up, step by final step. He snorted a short, bitter laugh. Would make a cracking good screenplay for a movie.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Slouching against the door of his second rental car at the far side of the parking area, Bernard checked his watch. Ten after five. If Jibril kept to the schedule of the last three days, he’d be stopping work now and locking up the boat.

  It was still unpleasantly hot, and Bernard plucked his shirt from his damp chest. Damn, where was that sand nigger, anyhow? Ah, finally, there he was, just coming up the path from the dock. Bernard stepped back behind the car until Jibril was out of sight. Then with his tools in a brown paper bag, he hurried down the dock toward the Hina.

  The salon doors were locked, as he expected, but he still had his key, of course. He called out, on the off chance that one of the other crewmen was still there, but no one responded. Man, this was going to be so easy.

  He continued forward to the bow where the air tanks were lined up. Two were at the forefront, already attached to buoyancy vests and regulators, obviously for Kaia and her girlfriend. He opened the valve on both tanks and checked the pressure gauges. Both indicated just over two hundred bars, ready to go. He closed the valves again and hauled a third tank from the locker, setting it up next to the compressor.

  It took a while to cut the hose to a convenient length and attach it to both the air-intake valve of the compressor and to the exhaust pipe of the compressor motor, and by the end, he was sweating profusely. He fit the original tubing from the compressor to the intake of the air tank and started the motor.

  Watching the gauge on the new tank, he could follow the rate at which air was being compressed into the tank. It seemed to take longer than usual, probably because the intake pipe on the compressor usually sucked in clean air from overhead, and now it sucked it from its own motor. From its own ass, he thought, smirking.

  Odorless, tasteless, and deadly, carbon monoxide was perfect for the job, even greatly diluted. Ideally it should merely cause a sort of vague malaise at the beginning of the dive. He knew Kaia. She’d never admit she wasn’t feeling well and would soldier on, being a good sport. She wouldn’t ask for help or share someone else’s oxygen, because she wouldn’t know what was wrong. She’d just keep breathing, and her hemoglobin would suck up the carbon monoxide instead of oxygen and keep circulating until critical mass was reached in the brain and she’d lose consciousness. Deep under water. Then even shared air wouldn’t help her; she couldn’t suck air from a regulator when she was unconscious.

  When the twelve-liter tank had finally reached a pressure of a hundred bars, he removed the exhaust connection and added the remaining amount of clean air. He watched as the pressure gauge slowly climbed to the same two hundred bars as before, then closed the tank valve.

  Now to make sure the deadly tank was attached to Kaia’s buoyancy vest and not her girlfriend’s. Though it would have been satisfying to dispose of the interfering bitch, it would still leave Kaia to humiliate him, and who knew what crap she’d leak to the tabloids? He unfastened Kaia’s vest from the original tank and attached it to the newly filled one, letting the two women’s tanks rest against each other as they had been before. He even made sure the vests hung in the same way, although he doubted she would notice.

  Would he come under suspicion, once Kaia’s tank was found to be polluted? No, he was fairly sure Jibril would take the rap for that, since he was the one who filled the tanks every afternoon. The small gas-run compressors were always a bit hazardous, and careless handling could allow exhaust to creep into the intake pipe even under normal circumstances. Once he’d gotten rid of the connecting hose, nothing would point to him.

  He glanced at his watch again. Six o’clock. Almost two more hours of light left. Christ, that’d been easy. And now that the job was done, he’d get rid of the hose far away from the yacht. It meant a simple ten-minute hike up to the trash bins at the rear of the closest beach hotel.

  He had a moment’s misgiving about leaving the deadly tank unmarked, if only to himself. There was a miniscule chance of a mix-up, and he certainly didn’t want to risk using the poisoned tank himself. He searched through the locker again until he found a roll of duct tape and tore off an inch-wide strip. The bottom of the tank was the least conspicuous place, so he pressed the strip onto the black foot of the tank and smoothed it with his thumb.

  Job done, he stood up and rubbed his back. The sense of accomplishment was making him horny again, and he toyed with the idea of hitting the hotel bar to look for some willing young thing. But no, his next fast-fuck could wait until evening. He had something more important to do once he’d dumped the hose; he was going to dive for sunken treasure.

  He rolled up the hose, shoved the hose clamp into his pocket, and hurried off the boat.

  *

  Jibril ruminated as he stood on the curb waiting to catch the jitney van to Hurghada. Najjid and Mazhar had been such honest and pious boys. But now they were in jail, awaiting trial, and they faced long prison sentences. How had it come to that? He struggled inwardly, trying to interpret what they’d done. Had they been fulfilling what the Quran commanded and been arrested by infidels who were doomed to hell anyhow? Or had they misunderstood the Holy Scripture and acted in un-Islamic ways? They had tried to drive away the infidel but had ended up killing Muslims. Yes, they were Muslims who worked in a bar, but was that much different from what he did—work for two rich white people, even taking them their wine? Was the attack holy jihad or terrorism?

  Daily praying for understanding had not helped, for both of the two possibilities—of ever-increasing subjugation to the infidels or murder in the cause of Islam—seemed equally appalling to him. He had fallen back on the primary principle of his life; the cure for not understanding Quran was to read more Quran.

  And then he realized that he had left the precious book on the boat. Imbecile! He’d decided to take it to Najjid during visiting hours and search out passages with him but had simply walked off the boat without it.

  He did an about-face and began the march back to the dock, this time hurrying. When he reached the Hina, he was distressed to find the salon doors unlocked. Had he forgotten to secure them? That was terrible; he could lose his job if someone broke into the boat. Thank God he’d come back to discover the problem.

  But maybe someone was on board stealing something. He tiptoed in, wincing at the whoosh the doors made as they closed behind him. He crept farther inside, sweeping his glance from side to side in case someone was hiding, although there were few places to conceal anything on that deck. Downstairs maybe.

  As he reached the spiral staircase, he was startled by the sound of a motor. It alarmed him at first, but then he recognized the sound of the compressor motor coming from farther forward. Puzzled, he let himself into the pilot’s room, where he could overlook the bow.

  To his surprise, he saw his employer. His immediate inclination was to go out and greet him with the usual deference. But was he still the boss? Who was in charge now?

  While he struggled with the dilemma, he noticed the other anomaly. Mr. Allen had just turned off the compressor and was attaching Miss Kapulani’s vest to the diving tank he had apparently just filled. Why was he doing that? Was he going to dive with it? If so, why wasn’t he using his own vest?

  With the increasing conviction that something was not right, Jibril watched for a few more moments while his boss tore off a segment of duct tape and bent over the newly filled tank. Then he crept away from the window and went below to one of the cabins.

  He waited silently, with the door closed, his heart pounding. If Mr. Allen came downstairs and found him here, he could tell the truth, that he had come back for the Quran. He had done nothing wrong. But then why was he hiding?

  After ten minutes of fearful uncertainty, he ventured out again and saw no sign of anyone on the bow, or on any of the decks.

  The compressor was still there, in its original pl
ace. But which tank had just been filled? He touched all the tanks lined up on the side, and when he laid his hand on Kaia’s tank, the residual warmth told him it was the one. Why had Mr. Allen removed the vest from the tank that Jibril had filled and attached it to another one? And why had he done it in secret?

  Then he remembered the piece of duct tape his employer had used. He upended the tank and saw the little strip of silver tape. Yet another puzzle. Why had he taken pains to identify the new tank when all three on the deck were filled and ready for use?

  Whatever was going on, Jibril didn’t like it. He was a good worker. He had never once made a mistake in filling the air tanks for anyone. If they didn’t like his work, they should tell him. To simply negate the task that he had diligently carried out was an insult to his honor. The longer he thought about it, the greater became his sense of outrage. Honor was all a poor man had, honor and faith, and he would not allow anyone to take either one away from him.

  He sat back on his heels, exasperated with the whole lot of them. Mr. Allen for treating him like a servant or even a dog, Miss Kapulani for tempting him with her body, and the other woman for—he couldn’t think of a specific offense, but he did not like the way that she watched him. He wished he could be free of all three of them.

  But then, what was the right thing, the Islamic thing, to do? He fingered the prayer beads in his pocket for a moment. Then he decided.

  *

  Kiele Palea halted at the gangplank connecting to her mother’s yacht. “God, how vulgar,” she muttered loud enough for the others to hear.

  “My sister, the anti-snob,” the younger Mei said. “Can’t you simply enjoy a little luxury when it’s offered?”

  Kaia laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Kiele has a point. It is vulgar, and I’ve thought that same thing ever since Bernard convinced me to buy it. I’m planning to sell it, as a matter of fact. But we’ll talk about all that later.” She herded her daughters and Joanna onto the stern.

  “Don’t sell it right away, Mom. Not until I’ve had a little fun on it,” Mei said as they climbed the stairs to the salon doors. “It’s seriously cool.”

  “That’s what I thought when I first came on board, Mei. Way cool.” Joanna immediately liked the younger of the two sisters. But as they passed through the salon, she fell silent, sensing the complicated family dynamic that she had no business upsetting. Better to simply let Kaia set the tone of the family reunion.

  “Let’s take care of practicalities,” Kaia said, leading the two girls down the spiral staircase to the cabins. “You’ll have to draw straws between the master suite and the crew cabin. One’s twice as big as the other, of course, but someone’s got to rough it.”

  “How come you don’t sleep in the master cabin?” Kiele asked.

  “I used to, but that’s all changed, and I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as you’re settled in.”

  “I’ll take the crew cabin, then. I don’t want to sleep anyplace where Bernard has slept,” Kiele announced.

  Kaia gave a wan smile and touched her daughter’s forearm. “I know what you mean. But don’t worry, had clean linens put on all the beds.”

  “Nonetheless, I’ll be happier here,” Kiele said, pushing open the door to the crew cabin with one foot and dropping her valise on the floor.

  “You’re such a drama queen, Kiele,” Mei brushed a swath of long straight hair over her shoulder. “As long as it doesn’t smell of cigar smoke, I’ll be fine.”

  “It doesn’t. He never smoked inside. I’ll give him that.” Kaia stood in the doorway while Mei unloaded her backpack.

  Peering over Kaia’s shoulder, Joanna was amused to see what she pulled out of the nylon rucksack. A bathing suit, a sweatshirt, a blue Navy work shirt, tee shirts, and shorts. Clearly a no-nonsense kind of woman. Joanna wondered if she was gay.

  “Do you want to take a nap first? You must have terrible jet lag, coming all the way from Los Angeles. There’s nine hours’ difference in time.”

  Mei shook her head. “Actually, we slept on both the big flights, and only the Cairo to Hurghada flight was exhausting. And customs was chaotic. It’ll probably hit me this afternoon, but right now I’m up and ready. What about you, Kiele?” she called across the corridor.

  “I’m too travel-dizzy to be able to sleep now. Don’t worry about us, Mother. When fatigue hits, we’ll let you know.”

  Kaia put her arm over the plump shoulders of her oldest daughter. “All right, then. Drop off your stuff and come on up to the galley to have some brunch. Abdullah, our cook, has prepared something for us. The opening ceremonies are at noon, so we have a couple of hours to just relax.”

  Kaia herded her family around the breakfast table, which already held a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. Not knowing which was more polite, to leave or to stay, Joanna simply occupied herself close by, slicing tomatoes. From her position at the cutting-board counter, she studied the two girls, trying to get a sense of their personalities and of the family tensions.

  Kiele had her mother’s natural beauty—enormous eyes and full, sensual lips. But her dark-brown hair was blunt cut at shoulder length and drawn back in a short ponytail. With some attention and a very little bit of makeup, she would have been stunning, but for the fact that she was overweight and drably dressed. The tan blouse and long brown skirt would have better suited a fishmonger than a woman in her twenties. She also slouched, both when she walked and when she sat, giving the impression that she preferred not to be noticed.

  Mei seemed the polar opposite. Her stronger and flatter Hawaiian features bore no resemblance to her mother’s, and Joanna guessed she took after her father. But the wide Polynesian face was rendered attractive by its animation and by the ease with which she laughed. Her hair hung long and loose, so that she had to constantly brush it back behind her ears, but she seemed to enjoy running her fingers through it. Her clothing too was lighthearted, a yellow tee shirt with the periodic table on it, tucked into black denim jeans. She sat with one sandal-clad foot drawn up on the seat of her chair, her arm around her knee. “I’m really liking this place,” she announced, glancing around. “I hope we get to spend a lot of time here.”

  “We can be here as much as you like. After the opening dive, I’m sure you’ll both want to rest in your cabins for a few hours. Or loll around on deck. But then tonight, we’ll have a sort of party with some of our friends from the project.”

  Mei brushed her hair back. “Like the parties you and Bernard used to throw for your fake filmy friends? That doesn’t sound like too much fun.”

  “Oh, they’re not at all like people in film. I haven’t met their families, but Gil and Charlie and Marion themselves are all down-to-earth people. They’re not Bernard’s friends. They’re mine. I know you’ll like them.”

  The older daughter seemed to have no interest in the party plans. With her arms folded guardedly under her bosom, she let her gaze wander around the salon and return to her mother. “You told us on the phone that you and Bernard had separated. Why finally now, after all these years? Is he out of the country, or is he going to show up at some point?”

  “As for why we’ve separated, I don’t want to go into that now, but on the question of where he is, I actually don’t know. I expected him to fly back to New York, but one of the crewmen said he saw him in the village. If he comes back, it will only be to collect some of his things and I won’t let him stay. In any case, it’s not only a separation. I’m going to divorce him.”

  “It’s about time,” Mei exclaimed offhandedly, then bit into one of the sandwiches.

  Kiele frowned. “How are you going to manage that? I thought he was your agent and the one who got you all your work.”

  “He is, I mean, was. But I’ll find another agent. I may be unemployed awhile, but I have other friends in the business and I’ll be all right.” Kaia didn’t sound terribly convinced by her own optimism, but the announcement was made.

  “Why now? Why didn
’t you dump the creep years ago?” Kiele repeated.

  “Because everything’s different now, and anyhow, I’d rather we talked about that later in the week when we’ve got more time.”

  Mei would not be so easily put off. “What’s different? Seriously, what’s changed? Why can’t we discuss it now? You’ve got me curious.”

  Kaia fell silent for a moment. “Because…” She took a long breath. “Because I only now found out what he did to you,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” Kiele dropped her sandwich back on her plate. “I didn’t take a week’s leave from my job and fly all the way here to drag out ancient history. It happened a long time ago and has no relevance to anything now.” She slid her chair back and stood up, but Kaia laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Please, darling” she said. “We do have to talk about it, but only for a while. Then we’ll be done with it. It’s already over for you, but not for me.” She drew her daughter back down onto her chair.

  Mei glanced back and forth, seeming confused, at her mother and sister. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “He kept photographs in his safe.” Kaia paused again, then quietly, as if hating the words, said, “Of child pornography, and of you too, as children. But I just found them and I don’t know how far it went. I have to know what happened and try to understand how I could have not seen it all those years.”

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is.” On the other side of the table, Mei threw up both her hands. “He just shot a few stupid pictures of us taking off our bathing suits.”

  “No. It was more than just the photos.” Kiele stared into the distance. “You’ve obviously forgotten. It wasn’t a few pictures. It was a lot of them. And he touched us. He made us touch him. The bastard,” she muttered, closing her eyes as if willing the memory away. Then she came back to life.