Rowan shook his head. Fond memories often included drinking.
I’m not an alcoholic, he thought, and then he said it aloud, “I’m not an alcoholic.”
A whispered, unintelligible reply, spun him around.
Dark trees blotted out a portion of the night sky. Nothing else.
The whisper came again, this time from the sea. He turned and saw only the moon’s light shimmering over the waters.
What the hell…
Instinct drew a hand down to a sidearm that was not present. He was alone and unarmed on an island that, while not nearly as dangerous as Sentinel Island, still supported the Jarawa tribe, whose territory began just ten miles north of the resort. Sightings of the tribe were common as they sometimes entered civilization to pilfer supplies, food, and animals. Violence between the tribe and outsiders was at an all-time low, but that didn’t mean it never happened.
Rowan crouched in the sand, trying to make as low a profile as possible. He was out in the open. An easy target. What the hell am I doing here? he thought. Despite being forced from the Army Rangers just six months previously, he was already soft. Out of practice. Distracted. Thirsty.
I’m going to get these people killed.
“Hey.”
Rowan craned around, throwing a punch toward the voice.
His solid knuckles collided with ocean air, pulling him around and toppling him to his back.
“Hey!”
The figure standing above him was feminine, loose hair caught in the wind. The voice filtered through his fight or flight.
“Talia.”
“The hell are you doing out here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” It was the truth, but it came out like a lie.
“That’s why you’re having fist fights with the air?”
“Have you ever tried fighting the air?” he asked, heart rate slowing, thoughts clearing. “It’s not easy.”
“I would imagine not,” she replied, and then, blunt as ever, “Have you been drinking?”
“As much as I would like to say yes, the answer is no.”
She reached a hand down and helped him back to his feet. His face was just inches from hers when he stood. She leaned in, as though for a kiss, and then stopped. Sniffing.
“I told you the truth.” he said.
“You did,” she says. “But not all of it. Your aftershave is distinct. Why were you outside my villa?”
She wasn’t smelling my breath. Busted.
“Look, I told you the truth. I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”
“And then…”
“Saw the flickering light from your villa. I thought there might be a fire.”
“So you peeked through the window.” He was about to confirm this when she added, “And saw me.”
“Not really,” he said, on the defensive. “Not much. And not on purpose. I didn’t know you’d be walking around naked at three in the morning.”
“Okay, listen. You’re a nice guy. We get along fine. But there are a few things you need to understand. First, I was getting ready for bed, and I sleep naked. As for why I was going to bed at 3am, I’m still on Peruvian time and trying to adjust. Second, you saw me naked in the jungle, which by the way, was uncomfortable not because of my nudity, but because of how you saw it. I lived with the Mashco-Piro for six months and didn’t feel exposed until you saw me. That’s not your fault, but it’s true. And now, just because you saw me naked when I allowed it, does not mean I don’t care if you see me naked when it’s not my choice.”
Rowan nearly defended himself. Had he been drinking, he would have. But the truth of her words sank in before he opened his mouth. When he did speak, it was a single word. “Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Really, just like that?” Rowan had expected a longer chewing out. His intent was innocent, but he knew it could be perceived horribly, which was why he had fled.
“Only because I believe you.”
There was an edge to her words that was either habitual or a veiled threat. He didn’t know which, but he decided he was safe because he had no intention of offending Talia, and he understood now that honesty, even when it was uncomfortable, would keep the two of them on the same page.
“Well,” Talia said. “I’m not tired at all now. You?”
The adrenaline kicked into his system from the past few minutes made the idea of sleep laughable. “Not at all.”
Talia sat in the sand. “Want to watch the sunrise?”
“That’s in three hours,” he said. “And on the other side of the island.”
“Yeah, well, do you have anything better to do?”
She laid on her back, hands under her head. He could barely see her in the moonlight, but he thought she was smiling. “This place smells different, sounds different, and feels different on my skin, but this view doesn’t change. No matter where you are in the world, the night sky is familiar.”
He looked up and then sat down. She was right. And wrong. The further north or south you traveled in either hemisphere, the more the night sky changed. But in this part of the world, the stars above him were mostly the same as seen in the States.
He laid back in the sand, and without another word or touch shared between them, he enjoyed a peaceful night, forgetting his worries, his cravings, and his past. All that changed when the songbirds woke him up at dawn.
7
“Are you okay?” Mahdi asked. He stood above Rowan Baer, whom he had found sleeping in the sand. The man had stirred at Mahdi’s approach, looking up at the loud birds in the trees overhead, a frown on his face as he looked down at the sand beside him. These visible signs of life had been a relief. Rowan had appeared either unconscious or dead. Mahdi didn’t know Rowan well, but everyone knew of his struggle. He made no effort to hide it, but also didn’t fully admit it. That he had been hired to protect them was yet another odd choice for the Indian government. But Mahdi was safe and being paid well enough that he could remain so for a while longer. Perhaps he would even remain on the islands, stretching his money further than he could back in England.
He shook his head at the thought of returning to London. They had found him there. He didn’t know how, but the men he had seen on the street did not look friendly. His two years in England had come to an end. He would have to find a new home.
“Fine,” Rowan said, pushing himself up. He stretched his neck, touched his toes, and arched his back. A morning routine fit for a cat. “What time is it?”
“The boat is waiting,” Mahdi said. “I was sent to look for you.”
“Why didn’t Talia…”
“She is sleeping, too,” Mahdi said. “On the boat.”
“How late am I?”
“We were to leave an hour ago.”
Rowan grunted, mumbled something unintelligible, and then pointed down the beach. “Dock is that way?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He stumbled through the sand, headed back toward the villas.
Mahdi watched him leave, doubting whether or not Rowan would even be able to save himself. Self-destruction ran in Mahdi’s family. He knew the warning signs. Rowan was an empty vessel. The course of his life would be determined by what eventually filled him, whether it be love, hate, nobility, or alcohol. Mahdi looked down at the flattened sand where Rowan, and someone else, had lain. If Rowan was spending time with Talia, a paradox, Rowan’s future would likely be a tumultuous one.
Just do the job, collect the check, and find someplace quiet to live, Mahdi told himself. There was no need to worry about the affairs of the people with whom he’d been paired. His job was to stay on the boat and try to make sense of the Sentinelese language. That, he could do, and without fear of being speared or shot by an arrow.
Mahdi’s boat shoes filled with sand as he walked along the beach, back toward the dock. He took them off and walked barefoot, the hot sand beneath his toes reminding him of a childhood cut short by bloodshed. And g
unfire. And explosions.
“Did you find him?”
The shouted voice made Mahdi jump. He looked up to see Sashi standing in the waiting yacht, a hand raised, blocking her eyes from the morning sun. The ship named Sea Tiger was impressive, stretching a hundred feet in length with four decks of opulent living space. There was indoor and outdoor dining, a lavish galley, crew quarters, a gleaming white hull, and twin motors that could push them up to thirty knots, though they would not be traveling that fast.
Mahdi donned a pair of sunglasses and shouted back. “He will be with us shortly.”
“Where was he?”
“Overslept.” Mahdi didn’t know Rowan, but still didn’t want to cast a bad impression of the man.
Sashi, on the other hand, seemed determined to uncover Rowan’s failures. “He wasn’t in his villa. I checked.”
“On the beach,” Mahdi said, and then he raised a hand to stop her next question short. “He appeared to be sober and regretful for having fallen asleep.”
A thumping of boots over wood pulled his attention to the long dock. Rowan was jogging toward the yacht and would beat Mahdi there. His clothes were changed, a thick backpack hung from his shoulders. In one hand he held a long case that looked like it should contain a musical instrument. In the other hand was a tall cup of coffee. The man had made up for his tardiness with military efficiency. Even stopped to help Mahdi up onto the raised dock.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to Sashi, while hoisting Mahdi up.
“Just don’t do it again,” Sashi said before turning to the wheelhouse above her. “Captain, we are all here!”
The engines turned over and coughed gray smoke.
A young woman with dark skin and very short hair stepped out of the wheelhouse and climbed down to the deck before leaping the rail onto the dock. She smiled at the two men. Mahdi was taken aback by the woman, who was not only agile, but dressed in a pair of white shorts and a pink bikini top. While he didn’t believe in the tenets of Islam, he had grown up in a culture that preferred women to remain covered in public. And though he had lived in London for two years, there were not many nearly topless women walking the streets.
Rowan was far less distressed. “You must be the first officer.” He extended his hand. “I’m Rowan.”
The young woman, who was just shy of five feet tall, shook his hand and spoke with a thick and unique accent. “Chagara Do’ra. But most foreigners call me Chugy. I’m Emmei’s niece.”
Mahdi offered his hand. “Mahdi.”
Her rough skin and firm grip spoke of a life far more physical than Mahdi’s, and as he boarded the ship, Chugy untied the yacht’s dock lines from the cleats. She flung the final line into the back of the boat, the engines revved, and the ship pulled away. Chugy leapt the three foot distance and vaulted the rail back onto the ship with a smile. She gave a thumbs up to Emmei in the wheelhouse, and he returned it with a chuckle.
Chugy’s and Emmei’s casual nature put him at ease. “Have you been to Sentinel Island before?”
Chugy’s smile faded. “Only the very foolish or the very smart go to Sentinel Island. I’m not sure which we are yet.”
“That was a ‘no’, by the way.” Rowan clapped him on the shoulder and began stowing his gear.
The boat surged, stumbling Mahdi back into a bench at the stern.
Five minutes later, he was puking his breakfast into their wake.
While Mahdi had traveled extensively by train and plane, he had never been on a boat. The closest he’d come to experiencing the sensation was floating in the salty Dead Sea. At first, the gentle rise and fall of the ocean beneath the Sea Tiger’s hull had simply made him nervous. But now, carving across the open water, which had grown choppy, the rise and fall of each wave was unpredictable and occasionally violent.
The sea did not agree with him.
By the time the island was spotted on the horizon, an hour and a half later, the ocean and his stomach had calmed.
“There it is,” Emmei declared, pointing over the wheel as the engines slowed and the boat sagged forward.
Mahdi climbed up into the wheelhouse to see for himself. The island was just a lump of land at the edge of the world.
“We are at the exclusion zone’s boundary,” Emmei said.
“You have permission to proceed,” Sashi said. She was seated beside the captain, looking out at the island, something like apprehension on her face.
Motion turned Mahdi’s eyes downward. Rowan stood on the forward deck with Chugy and Talia, who must have woken up and joined the crew while Mahdi was hanging over the stern rail. Both women were dressed for the weather, showing more skin than they covered. He couldn’t hear what Rowan was saying, but everyone was smiling. He admired the man’s casual ease and confidence. “I wonder which of them he will sleep with first,” he said, and then he remembered who was standing beside him. He turned, wide-eyed to Emmei, intent on apologizing, but the man barked a laugh.
“I do not think he will have much luck with Chugy,” Emmei said.
Mahdi was about to ask why when he saw the look of desire in Chugy’s eyes, directed not at Rowan, but toward Talia. “Oh. Oh!”
It was at that moment that Mahdi knew that if the family he had left behind in Palestine ever found out about his time away from home, he would never be welcomed back. Had they known he would be working alongside an Israeli, an American soldier, and a lesbian, they would have preferred he stay at home to face those he had betrayed.
Am I selling my soul? he wondered, and he quickly decided that for such a thing to be possible, a soul had to exist, and Allah had to be real.
Am I dishonoring my family? My wife?
That was a question he could not answer, not because he did not know how his loved ones thought, but because he feared the guilt the answer would bring.
The engines surged again. Mahdi stood in the wheelhouse, watching the island grow larger. When the yacht began thumping through the waves again, his knees bent with the motion. His stomach remained still. I can do this, he thought, and then the engines slowed.
The sapphire ocean ahead faded to a halo of light turquoise surrounding the island. He pointed at the lighter water. “What is that?”
“The reef,” Emmei said. “It extends out nearly a mile from the island in some locations, and there are only three breaks where a small vessel can safely reach the shore.” He pointed to a line of darker blue, cutting through the halo. “There. That is where we will drop anchor.”
“That’s too far from shore to shout,” Mahdi observed.
Emmei gave him an odd glance and then Sashi let out a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry to have misrepresented the situation, Mahdi. You will not be shouting from this boat.” She patted the dash. “You will be shouting from the dinghy.” She pointed to the small, twelve-foot-long craft being pulled behind them. It looked like a row boat with a motor.
Mahdi knew the small vessel well. He had stared at it for an hour while gagging.
It wasn’t long before the Sea Tiger was anchored in a three-hundred-foot wide inlet between two beds of reef. Talia spurred everyone into action. While the rest of the crew grew noticeably quiet and serious, Talia seemed almost elated. Twenty minutes after anchoring, they were ready to go.
“I’m ready,” came the gruff voice of Winston Rhett, the man hired to document their expedition. He carried a camera in one hand and dragged a net full of fresh coconuts in the other. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt that looked near to bursting a button, cargo shorts, and a pair of sandals. His thinning, unkempt hair, caught by the wind, danced like an open flame. Mahdi had forgotten about the man, who must have been sleeping, or eating, until now. “Keep your panties on.” He paused to look at Talia, and then Chugy. “Or not.”
No one acknowledged the man, but Talia pointed at the coconuts. “As much as the Sentinelese like coconuts, we’re not going to lead with gifts.”
Winston looked incredulous. “Mr. Ambani insisted we give a gift—”
Winston shot a look at Sashi, who simply shook her head.
“Every mission to reach the Sentinelese has begun with a gift, usually of coconuts, which do not grow on the island, but do occasionally wash up on shore. I’m sure the gift pleases them, but do you know how many of those expeditions—where white men brought coconuts, and tools, and candy, and dolls—” She rolled her eyes, “ended in success?”
Winston just stared at her.
“Not one,” she said. “The coconuts stay, and if that’s a problem, you can stay, too.”
“He’s coming,” Sashi said. “Aren’t you, Winston.”
He dropped the net of coconuts where he stood and boarded the small boat from the aft dive deck. Chugy sat in the dinghy’s aft, one hand on the engine, waiting to start it. She watched Winston sit, a frown on her face.
Mahdi followed, sitting next to the big man and wincing at his scent. Talia climbed aboard next, then stood, waiting for Rowan. He had the black case over his back, a sidearm holstered under his left arm, and he carried what looked like a clear, police riot shield. He climbed into the boat, ignoring the raised eyebrows from the others. Rowan sat and caught the boat line tossed to him by Sashi, who was remaining behind with Emmei.
Chugy piloted them away from the Sea Tiger and toward the shore, keeping them centered in the narrowing path of open water. Three hundred feet from shore, Talia signaled for the engine to be cut. The silence that followed was eerie until she picked up an oar and handed it to Mahdi. She gave a second to Winston, who complained. “Are you serious?”
“If you had never seen or heard a motor before, you might not understand that it is a man-made machine. This—” She slapped a hand against the wooden oar, “—they’ll get.”
“Don’t we need them to hear us coming?” Rowan asked.
Forbidden Island Page 6
