Beirut - An Explosive Thriller

by Alexander McNabb

  ‘What mix-up?’

  ‘Your father has done some bad things. The authorities thought you were involved. Were you?’

  ‘In the guns thing? No. No, I wasn’t.’ She glanced wide-eyed around her. ‘Where am I? What boat is this please?’

  He was calming, his voice gentle as he took her empty glass. ‘I think you should get some rest now. We’re going to stop off at Gibraltar so you can leave the boat. You should never have been here in the first place.’

  Elli lay back against the damp pillow, smiling. ‘Thank God I’m finally safe.’ He watched her face, serenity giving way to a troubled expression. ‘But—’

  Gonsalves was fast, his hand on her mouth and nose, blocking her from breathing or screaming with one movement. Her face reddened as she struggled beneath him. He slapped her across the cheek, hard, with the other hand. He pulled the bedclothes away from her, tearing at her pyjamas. Still groggy from the Fentanyl, she tried to fight him off but she was too weak and Gonsalves was expert. He pinioned her arms and punched her in the stomach, her reflex action giving him the leverage to jam his forearm between her legs and then push his fingers into her.

  Freed of his grip on her face, Elli Hoffmann screamed, a hoarse cry of abject despair. He slapped her again, harder. The blow seemed to take the fight out of her in an instant. She relaxed, moaning and stretching out, her hands slipping under the pillow. Gonsalves, taking her movements as a sign of submission grinned. He tore at his belt and knelt between her parted legs in triumph. He bent to enter her.

  Surprised by her violent movement, he caught the glitter of the fork in her hands as she lunged for his face. He flung up his arm too late. The fork slammed into his cheek.

  Later, a lifetime later, Elli felt as if her reason was once again going to flee her, leaving her in the darkness, screaming for release. She uncurled from the foetal position she had assumed when he started kicking her. It hurt to breathe. The blood streamed down between his hands clenched to his damaged face as he shouted and slammed his feet into her body. It seemed as if it would never stop, but Boutros had appeared and taken her assailant away. She couldn’t remember how, just the blessed release of his going and the darkness with its chattering little things screeching at her. They always came in the darkness.

  Elli Hoffmann hobbled to the bathroom and washed, scrubbing hard to try to remove the dirt of his blood on her skin. She cried, the hoarse sobs breaking out of her bruised mouth as she scoured herself with the flannel. She rubbed until her skin burned away the shame, until it reddened to mask the contusions, blood coming to the surface with the force of her chafing. The bathroom door burst open and she looked up to see Boutros framed in the steam. He leapt to restrain her.

  ‘Fucking hell. What are you doing? Are you crazy?’

  She struggled against him but he was too strong. He wrapped a towel around her.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s over in the sick bay now, getting the wound seen to.’ He took her shoulder in his big hand. His touch was cool. ‘It’s okay. It’s over now. Stop hurting yourself. It won’t happen again.’

  She regarded him, her eyes pleading, desperate to believe in him. ‘How you know this?’

  ‘I won’t let it.’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’m no angel, but rape wasn’t in the deal.’

  She wrung her hands, her confused face focused on the bulkhead. ‘What was in the deal, please?’

  Shaking his head, he rose. The gentle giant looked down at her. ‘I’ll get you some ointment. I’ll see you’re all right from now on. But stop hurting yourself. Please?’

  Elli’s weary visage dropped. ‘Yes, okay.’

  Boutros took a deep breath, knocked and entered Gonsalves’ cabin. Gonsalves was standing at the mirror in his bathroom, examining his wounded cheek. Boutros stared at the plaster and the swelling around it.

  ‘Christ, Skip.’

  Gonsalves glared at him in the mirror. ‘Never mind. I have a job needs doing. It’s worth ten thousand US to you.’

  Boutros gulped. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. ‘Sure. What do you want done?’

  ‘The girl,’ Gonsalves’ lips tightened. ‘I want her got rid of..’

  Boutros was very glad indeed he’d played this scenario out already in his mind. He sat down slowly, using the table for support. He had known Gonsalves for years, had done many small jobs for the man and knew him to be both ruthless and violent. He had also seen Gonsalves crossed by a woman before; had helped patch her up afterwards. ‘That’s going too far, Skip. Shit.’

  Gonsalves turned from the mirror, his face a mask of cold rage. ‘That’s why I’m paying you ten thousand to do it. What did you think would be worth ten thou? Clean the decking? Nip down to the store and get some smokes?’

  Boutros glanced down at his hands. Yallah, gently now, Magdy, not too keen, now. ‘I don’t know, Skip. I never did that before.’

  ‘Time to grow up then, Boutros. It couldn’t be easier, man. Give her a jab and put her over the side. Weigh her down. Job done. But I want her off my fucking boat. I swear to God the only reason I’m not doing it myself is I don’t want to cover the fucking place in her blood.’

  ‘But Martinez, the other crew ...’

  ‘Will be asleep. I’ll take the watch.’

  Moving his hand left a wet mark on the veneer table top. Boutros hesitated, an iron tang in his mouth. ‘Twenty.’

  Gonsalves shifted his weight. Boutros managed to stop himself cowering. He raised his eyes to meet Gonsalves’ glare, his voice strengthening as the immediate danger passed. He licked his lip. ‘Twenty thousand dollars.’

  Gonsalves moved to the door and pulled it open. ‘Fifteen. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind. Midnight, I want her gone. Nice and clean.’

  Boutros turned in the doorway, but Gonsalves was already closing the door, forcing him to step backwards. His nose almost touching the door, Boutros nodded to himself.

  Earlier that evening, Magdy Boutros had made a decision. Now he knew it was the right one and he felt calm and certain, despite the sweat and his trembling hands. He was going to save Elli Hoffmann’s life.

  Taking a tablet chased the darkness away. Elli was grateful they had left her handbag. Her sense of time seemed to have deserted her, day and night flowing into each other. She watched Boutros working. She shivered as he plunged the syringe into the last of the four vials of Fentanyl and sucked the drug up before spraying it into the sink.

  He turned off the tap and placed the kidney dish by her bedside. ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s going to be okay.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I am not afraid. I am cold.’

  He placed some twists of cotton wool soaked in alcohol in the dish next to the syringe and vials. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and get you new clothes later. You ready?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  He pulled at the heavy bundle of sacking wrapped in her clothes, dragging it to the door.

  He opened the door a crack and peered out. ‘Now.’

  He dragged the bundle behind him down the corridor, Elli followed, clutching the greatcoat he had brought. She crept along in her bare feet. He pushed a cabin door open to his right, pausing to hold three fingers up to her as he heaved the bundle down the corridor towards the aft deck and the swimming platform. She recalled his urgent words to her. I’ll open the door to my cabin on the way down. It’s a two-berth, no funny business. You’re to lock it and only open to three taps. Hear me? Three taps.

  She ducked into the cabin and shut the door quickly. She turned the lock, pausing to listen at the door to the heavy sliding sounds of Boutros dragging her sacking-filled doppelganger down the corridor. The aft bulkhead banged. She strained to hear more.

  Elli was in a stranger’s cabin on a ship wearing little more than a greatcoat, a crazy notion which made her grin briefly. She scanned the room, similar to hers, a functional space with a single bed and a locker, a small desk squeezed between the bed and the wall.
A metal-lined hatchway set into the carpeted floor glittered in the halogen lighting. She supposed the doorway opposite the bed led to a bathroom, the same as her cabin. She pulled the coat tight and sat on the bed to wait.

  The silence was oppressive. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, breaking into her reverie. She tensed at the knock on the door. Two taps. She tried not to breathe. It was wrong. He had said three taps. Two taps again, a confident double rap. Efficient. A confident knock. Can you knock a door confidently? She shook her head, banishing the silly thoughts. Thank God for her pills. The key snicked in the lock and she bit her lip to stop herself crying out. Dread seized her and she tried desperately not to move back from the danger in case she made a sound. A violent ague shook her. She was sweating. Her hands trembled. She held her breath. Her throat ached from locking the screams in. The darkness crept back, satanic laughter in her ears as the door started to open.

  Boutros staggered on the moonlit aft deck, hands on hips, panting. The foaming wake stretched into the dark expanse. The bundle bobbed once before it disappeared into the foam, the anchor he had tied to it taking it deep down to the seabed below.

  Not a religious man, Boutros nevertheless crossed himself. He smiled at the gesture given he had consigned some sacking and women’s clothing to the deeps. He turned away, striking out along the aft deck to the rear door, stepping over the bulkhead into the corridor serving the crew quarters. He froze. Gonsalves stood at his cabin door with a key in the lock. His heart hammering, he pushed the door shut behind him and forced himself to walk as normally as he could up the corridor.

  ‘Skip?’

  ‘Done?’

  Boutros swept his hand back through his hair. ‘Yes. Done.’

  ‘Good. Good job, Magdy. Clear out her cabin, then. Get rid of all the Fentanyl.’

  ‘Yes, Skip. Leave it with me. Something you wanted?’

  Gonsalves looked down at his hand and pulled his master key from the door. He shook his head. ‘No, no. Nothing. Just thought you were in there and hadn’t heard me knocking.’

  Gonsalves smiled, nodded and strode up the corridor. Boutros turned to his cabin. The door swung open in the swell to reveal Elli on his bed. She was holding the duvet to her as protection, her legs pedalling on the bed, trying to push herself into the wall. Her face reddened and crumpled. He moved quickly, signalling her to silence and whipping the cabin door shut behind him. Squatting by the bed, his finger held to his lips, Boutros waited for her to calm.

  Her voice quivered. She wiped at her eyes. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? He knocked wrong. I felt him in my head. He’s evil.’

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Just keep very, very quiet. I need to get you some clothes from the laundry. We dock at Valetta in the early hours of the morning. We need to get you off this tub while it’s still dark. Can you swim?’

  She was wide-eyed. ‘Yes, yes I can. Did you keep the pills from my bag like I ask?’

  ‘Sure. Here. What are they for?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Do you have some water? I’m thirsty.’

  He fetched her a glass of water and she drank. He paused by the door. ‘Remember, no noise. And three taps, right?’

  She nodded. ‘Right.’

  Boutros crept down the corridor to the guest cabin, where he gathered up the syringes and ampoules, and scanned the room for any other trace of Elli’s stay there. He added a bloodied flannel to his collection and took the staircase up to the pantry on the main deck, where he placed the kidney dish and unused syringes in the medical store. He wrapped the rest in a plastic bag, weighted it down with a tin of beans and pushed it out of the porthole, the cool night air filled with the splashing of the big boat’s progress through the calm sea. He took the companionway down to the crew quarters and stepped into the laundry room, thankful one of the washing machines was still on, its noise masking his movements. Boutros rooted through the unironed clothes, hoping to find some of little Panamides’ clothes. The dark, silent man from Bogota hadn’t been teased about his tiny stature by the other crewmembers, perhaps on account of the knife he was always sharpening.

  Boutros pulled out two t-shirts and two pairs of pants. Rolling them up tight and tucking them under his arm he stole out of the laundry, passing the silent crew’s mess.

  Boutros stole past the other crew rooms and gave three gentle taps on his cabin door before pushing it open. He stepped into the room and let the door close behind him.

  She stood behind the door, the heavy-based table lamp clutched in her hand. Boutros’ puzzlement gave way to a grin and he took it from her gently, noting her touch had left moisture on the ceramic. ‘Relax. It’s going to be okay. Everyone’s asleep apart from Gonsalves up on the bridge. Here, I brought some clothes. You’ll have to wear socks until we can get you to a shop or something.’

  Boutros waited by her as she slept, looking down at her fragile form curled up on the bed. There was something about her made you want to protect her, he mused, noting the dark shadows around her eyes. He thought back to the journey from the hotel to the boat, holding her down and giving her the first dose of the Fentanyl Gonsalves believed Boutros had used to kill her. Now Boutros’ life was in danger, too. He reached down and shook her gently, his hand poised over her face in case she screamed. She woke slowly. She opened her mouth, peeling her dry lips apart. ‘Water. Why I am so thirsty?’

  ‘It’s a side effect of the anaesthetic. Sorry.’

  She sat up as he filled the glass, took it from him with a smile and drank. Her voice was croaky. ‘Why you decided to help me, Magdy?’

  Why, indeed? Because I’m sweet on you? Because I’m perhaps not as big a bastard as I thought I was? Because. ‘I don’t know. There’s no time for talking about it right now, though. We’re coming into Valetta. We’ve only got a few minutes before we dock at Marsamxett. You’ll need to strip down to your underwear.’ He handed her a plastic bag. ‘We’ll put your clothes in this and tape it up. Hopefully they’ll stay dry.’

  ‘Where do I go? To the police?’

  Alarmed, Boutros almost cried out. ‘No, God no. Gonsalves would kill me. I’m not joking, I mean it. Please no. We’ll find somewhere you can go until the Princess has moved on. I’ll come ashore and join you as soon as I can.’

  ‘It all seems crazy.’

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’ Boutros’ voice was soft, but she flinched.

  She shook her head, her lip trembling and her hands clasped. ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s move, then.’

  ‘Actually, yes.’ She was smiling as if touched by angels and Boutros felt his heart could break. ‘Yes, I have the better idea. My father has a friend in Valetta. We can call him.’

  ‘Elli, listen to me. I know this is difficult, but you are here because of your father. You can’t go near him.’

  ‘No, no you have not understood. Joseph Scerri is an old man, he is nothing to do with all of this. He will help me, I know. We can call him.’

  Her voice had risen in her excitement and Boutros held her shoulder, his finger to his lips. ‘Hush, for God’s sake. Okay, we’ll call him, but keep your voice down.’

  She nodded and he dropped his hand. ‘Do you know his number?’

  She opened the laptop on the little desk. ‘No, but we can look for him. What is your password, please?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The Inmarsat’s down. We can’t get Internet.’

  She frowned. ‘Okay, doesn’t matter. Give me the password anyway.’

  He reached across her and keyed it in. She waited, then tapped on the keyboard, her pretty face screwed up in concentration. ‘Here. Can I borrow the mobile?’

  Boutros marvelled at the change in her. ‘Here. What are you doing?’

  She flourished it at him. ‘A signal, see? Vodaphone. I can get online.’

  Boutros gave up trying to understand and watched her frowning concentration as she stabbed at the keyboard and thumbed away at the mobile’s keypad. Eventually she sat
back with a triumphant look on her face. ‘There. Now I can call him.’

  ‘Yes, but you have to be quiet.’

  ‘So I talk under the bedclothes like a little girl, then.’ She flashed a grin at him, and took the handset, keying in the number from the laptop’s screen. She dived under the duvet. After a few seconds, her muffled voice apologised for waking whoever it was she was talking to.

  Boutros ran the shower to cover any sound she made. He stared out of the porthole in his bathroom at the lights of Valetta twinkling in the grey morning half-light as they slid past.

  She emerged triumphantly. ‘You see? I knew he would help. My father has a reservation at the Excelsior Hotel. Mister Scerri is making another in my name. We can go there and hide.’

  ‘Please, hush. We need to move now, we are about to dock. There is no time.’

  She handed the mobile to him. ‘Good. What do we do?’

  ‘You need to take your clothes off now. So you can swim.’

  She stopped smiling and stared at him, a long silent weighing up that pressed in on Boutros, who felt the colour rising to his cheeks. She reached down and pulled the t-shirt over her head, her full breasts held by her bra, the shadows of her dark nipples showing through the sheer material, pushing against it. The cold had hardened them. Boutros turned away in confusion. The plastic bag rustled. He helped her to press the air out and tape it up with masking tape, then taped it firmly to her warm upper leg.

  He handed her the dark greatcoat. ‘Here, put this on until you get into the water, it’s better in the dark. Ready?’

  She scanned his face uncertainly. ‘Yes. Ready.’

  They made it to the aft deck and its swimming platform as the big boat bumped against the wharf. When the lines were thrown, they made their move. Crouching low, Elli slipped into the water. Her pale skin flashed as she wriggled free of the greatcoat’s dark embrace, twisting as she dived. He was surprised at how strong a swimmer she was, the long dive took her at least twenty-five metres from the yacht and Boutros could barely make out when she broke the surface to head around the rear of a smaller boat moored several empty berths over.