It was extraordinary how quickly the Egyptian coast receded. Central Alexandria, with its line of waterfront hotels, was soon just a little jagged scrawl at the edge of the horizon. The city sprawled a long way, expanding out to both the left and right.
The first few hours, after they got used to the rocking, were not intolerable. They were wet through, but that kept them cool. The sun set to their left, turning the sea into a landscape of scalloped gold.
“Oh! Look! Look!” cried Lena, pointing ahead of the boat. Like huge bees, a shoal of fish leapt out of the waves and skimmed through the gold air, then plunged with little rips back into the water.
They were now out of sight of any land, just a scraping of human flesh tickling the surface of the sea. “How does he know where he’s going?” Lena asked.
“I’m not sure.” Rygg turned to Girgis and said something in Arabic. Girgis pointed to the sun, which was now just a bright dollop on the western horizon.
“And when the sun goes down?” Lena pressed.
“The stars, I suppose.”
“But what of these?” Lena said. She gestured to the southern horizon, where a froth of dark clouds was building.
“I don’t know,” Rygg said. “We will find out. Is anyone hungry?”
Sasha raised his head from his knees long enough to shake it. He still looked terrible. Lena passed as well, but Marin took a couple pitas and a plastic container from Rygg. The container was filled with rich, creamy hummus. They ate as night fell. Every once in a while the clouds flickered, like an old black-and-white movie, and he could see that they were bubbling higher. Within an hour, they had covered a third of the sky, and they could see the thorns of lightning shuddering within them. Thunder muttered over the racket of the outboard. And then, with a sudden rush, the first drops of rain hit them, rattling on the plastic bags. Soon they were in the middle of the storm. A couple hundred yards away, a gigantic column of fire, so bright it turned the boat white, roared into the sea. The water hissed and bubbled, and they could see the cloud of steam bursting up. Lena screamed, and screamed again.
“Helvette!” Rygg shouted. “That was pretty close.”
“If we’re hit, we won’t know anything,” Marin shouted back. “So don’t worry.”
“I like your attitude, Marko.”
The wind blew up and the waves grew higher, so it seemed that they were climbing mountains, tipping over the peaks and rushing down the far sides. A huge wave curled over the side and for a second it looked as though they were going to go under, but the boat somehow righted itself. Their shoes were entirely covered in water.
Girgis was shouting something. He leaned forward and banged Marin on the back with an object. Marin took it and handed it forward to Rygg. It was a plastic detergent jug that had a section sliced out of the top. “Move the water,” he said.
So Rygg set to work bailing with the jug, scooping and tipping the water over the side as fast as he could. It wasn’t a labor that seemed likely to end anytime soon as waves kept pouring over the gunwales, but he thought he might be keeping the level down around his ankles. Between the roars of the thunder, Lena shrieked and Sasha groaned.
And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the storm was over. The clouds passed northwards, bristling with lightning. They could see the long jagged stems of light stabbing into the water. If they hadn’t been so cold and exhausted, they would have found the sight exhilarating. The sky cleared, revealing a vast spread of stars as if the storm had rinsed the air. The Milky Way was like a spatter of whitewash overhead. Rygg kept bailing until the bilge-water was below the tops of his shoes. Then he took off his shirt and wrung it out. He was shivering.
“Allah, allah!” Girgis was saying repeatedly. He sounded shaken.
“The cabin is gone,” said Sasha, his voice tremulous.
Rygg peered down the length of the boat. Sure enough, the wind had ripped off all the plastic bags and clawed apart the basketwork of palm stems. “Well, at least that’s over,” he said. “Should be smooth sailing from now on.” But he spoke too soon. A minute later, there was a small munching noise and the motor clattered into silence.
“That wasn’t what I think it was, was it?” asked Rygg. He said something to Girgis, who just made snuffling noises. It sounded as though he was crying. Marin clambered back to Girgis. There was the sound of a palm smacking flesh, and Girgis gave an exclamation. Then there was a little pop and the far corner of the boat was illuminated by the glow of a flashlight Marin held.
“Torgrim, come back here please,” Marin said. Rygg maneuvered his way down the center of the boat, using Lena’s and Sasha’s shoulders as handholds, and crouched beside Marin. Marin handed him the flashlight. It was about as long and thick as his forefinger, clad in rubber, and gave off a surprisingly strong light.
“The engine has broken,” Marin said. “Please hold the torch while I examine it.”
“Have you worked with outboards before?” Rygg asked.
“I used to have a motorcycle when I was a teenager. The engines are similar.”
Sitting to one side, Marin fingered the innards. He had Rygg relay a couple questions to Girgis, but he was moaning with his face in his hands and just shook his head. Marin took a light multi-tool from his pocket, opened the Philips screwdriver, and loosened a plate. He peered behind it. “More light in here, please,” he said, and Rygg angled the flashlight downward. Using Girgis’s bent spoon, Marin plucked forth various wires and tubes. He ran his fingers along several. Finally, he gave a short exclamation: “Ah!”
“You found something?” Rygg asked him.
“I think so. I believe the tube to the fuel pump has a crack. We will need to fix it.” He fumbled around some more in the motor. Then he sat back. “What kind of underwear do you use, Torgrim?” he asked.
“Well, Marko, this could put a strain on our relationship, but I guess I’ll let the secret out. I wear boxer shorts. What about you?”
“Could I see them?”
“Marko …”
“Just the tops.”
“He’s cracked up. Lena, the captain’s lost it here. You’re in charge.”
“Torgrim, please,” Marin said. “I must see your underwear.”
“Well, okay, if you insist.” Rygg tugged up the elastic of his boxers and pointed the flashlight at them.
“No good,” said Marin.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rygg said.
“Lena, show me your underwear,” Marin said, ignoring him.
“Of course, Marko. Any time you like.” And she undid the button of her jeans and parted the cloth. Delighted, Rygg shone the flashlight onto her. Marin leaned over and peered.
“Very nice,” he said.
“Marko, thank you.”
He climbed across the benches. With the scissors on his multi-tool, he made a slit in the elastic, then ripped it off entirely, passing his hand around her back. “Marko!” Lena exclaimed. “Why you never do this at home?”
Holding the strip of elastic, Marin returned to the motor. He pulled away the cloth, then bound the rubber around the fuel pump tube, overlapping it several times before knotting it.
“Sasha!” he barked.
Rygg swiveled the flashlight. Sasha raised his head and looked at him.
“Sasha, you have gum?”
Bleary-eyed, Sasha nodded.
“Sasha always have gum,” Marin confided to Rygg. “How many pieces?”
Sasha pulled a packet from the pocket of his stonewashed jeans and stuck a finger into it.
“Three.”
“Eat them all.”
So Sasha obediently chewed the gum while Marin fiddled with the motor some more. After a couple minutes he stuck out his hand. “Gum!” he ordered, and Sasha spat the gum into his palm. Marin kneaded it, then stretched it into a pancake and tamped it around the elastic on the tube. He fitted the tube into place once more, screwed on the plate, and tapped Girgis’s knee.
Muttering, Girgis, tugged
on the cord. It took fourteen tugs, and a couple bangs with the rock, but finally the motor sputtered into life.
“Alhamdulillah!” Girgis yelled, and Rygg and Lena shouted along with him. Girgis turned the boat about, and they set off once more through the waves.
Chapter 21
Cyprus
May 14
The morning sun dried their clothes and by noon, they could see several low blue humps of land on the horizon to the north and east. Girgis pointed to the western ones. “Turkiya,” he said. Then he pointed to the most distant hump on the northern horizon. “Kubrus,” he told them, grinning his scabrous grin, and Lena clapped.
An hour later, they were passing Cypriot fishing boats. A huge cruise ship sauntered by, sending their little craft bobbing like flotsam in its wake. Cyprus loomed ahead of them. The center of the island was dark indigo, and rose to a peak that was swaddled in clouds. They could see Larnaca ahead of them along the waterline, a smattering of glitter and white walls, smeared up into the land. But now Girgis turned the boat westward, moving past the city. He angled in toward a section that was darker green. As they got nearer, they saw that it was a grove of olive trees fronting the water.
Girgis cut the motor before they reached the trees, and poled the boat in under some of the thicker branches. Green olives jostled in the water. Rygg jumped out and caught the painter. He secured it to the bole of a tree and then helped Lena and Sasha from the boat. Sasha looked shaky. Marin reached up to an overhanging branch and swung himself onto the land. Rygg turned and offered Girgis a hand, but Girgis just shook his head and jerked a thumb back south.
“You’re joking,” said Rygg.
But Girgis had already pulled the rope back into the boat. He poled the boat around, and Rygg said, “Estenna!” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and took the wad of Egyptian cash. Girgis looked up at him. “You might as well have this,” Rygg said. Leaning out with one hand on the olive branch, he tossed the notes into the bottom of the boat. Then, with a wave and a final hideous grin, Girgis yanked the chain and the motor put-putted into life.
“I’ll be delighted if I never have to hear that sound again,” Rygg said.
“Come,” Marin told him. “It is afternoon, and we have to get into the city. We have very little time.”
“You know what, though, Marin?”
“What?”
“The first thing we’re doing there is getting some coffee.”
Marin turned to him. He was gaunt and his eyes were rimmed with shadow. “Actually, Torgrim,” he said. “I think I may use your suggestion.”
They stumbled through the olive grove and moved out onto a narrow winding road that led into the city. Sasha was having a hard time keeping up with Marin, and finally Rygg put his hand around Sasha’s shoulders, helping him along.
After a while, they came across a little collection of red-tiled houses. All had grape arbors over verandas that faced the sea. Lena pointed to a house that clung to the edge of a stone-buttressed precipice and they made their way down to it. A wizened woman in a kerchief answered Lena’s knock and without question, ushered them out to the veranda. A cigarette fumed in the corner of her mouth. Using gestures, Marin begged a cigarette from her – his were soaked. The coffee she brought them was the thick, sweet, Turkish variety that went straight to the brain. Rygg steadied himself with his elbows and sipped the coffee slowly. He was very tired and was having a hard time focusing his eyes.
Marin drank his coffee down in two gulps, then placed his hands flat on the wooden table and looked around at them. The salt had crusted in his hair, making it stand up like dry grass. His eyes were bloodshot. Strangely, though Lena, Sasha, and Rygg were sunburned, Marin’s skin was as pallid as ever. “Okay, here is our plan,” he said.
“Sleep,” Lena told him.
Marin shook his head. “We will sleep later,” he said. “I know you are tired. But we have little time.”
Lena just stared at him. She looked as if she was going to cry.
“One more day, Lena,” Marin told her. “This is the most important time. All of our work will be for nothing if we do not continue.”
She nodded mechanically, and he went on.
“We will divide into three. Sasha is with me. Lena, you will go down to the port – I will show you the way. You must get in somehow – bribe, or acting. Something. I will give you a badge that may help. You are looking for berth 42C. When you find it, wait there until the Alpensturm arrives. It should be this evening. Watch it, that is all. Watch who meets it, who comes off, who goes on, if anything is unloaded. Okay?”
She nodded again.
“Which berth?” Marin asked.
“42C”
“Good. Torgrim.”
Rygg looked blearily at him, wondering how his energy could grow when everyone else was so drained.
“You are going to the airport. You will pretend that you are waiting for someone in arrivals. But you are looking for the landing of a certain airplane. Sasha will show you a picture. It is scheduled to arrive at seven p.m. When it lands, you will see who goes on, who comes off. You will photograph them and follow them.”
“Photograph them with what? Follow them with what?”
“I will organize for you, Torgrim. Sasha and I will be monitoring from a base that we will show you. In the center of the town.”
“Why aren’t you meeting the Alpensturm?” Rygg asked.
“My face is too well known. Now, here is the most important thing. By tomorrow morning, six o’clock, we must all meet at the base. No matter what you have discovered. Okay? And we will also have a fallback location, if for any reason the base is compromised. Can you remember this name: Platres?”
They all repeated it.
“It is a small town high in the mountain. Fallback is Platres. The Chapel of Saint Nikolaiou. Okay? Saint Nikolaiou. Remember the name. But I hope there will be no need for this. All will go well and we will meet tomorrow morning at six.”
In the center of Larnaca, Marin stopped at a store and bought two cell phones and gave them to Lena and Torgrim. “You will use them only as cameras,” he said. “Never try to make a call. I want all the people, the faces. As close as you can.” Then he led them down winding, cobbled back streets to a tiny hotel called Ianakis Inn. It was on the top two floors of a tall building overlooking the harbor. The receptionist, a skinny woman with a cat on her lap, held up a key as soon as Marin entered.
“Marko,” she said. “So good to see you again. You look tired.”
“I am.” He leaned across the counter and kissed her on each cheek.
“But there is no sleep for the wicked.” She smiled and he nodded.
The room was on the top floor and had an excellent view of the harbor. “So how do you know the receptionist?” Lena asked, suspiciously.
“She was helpful many years ago,” Marin said. “But at that time she was a waitress, not a hotel manager. I contacted her from Alexandria. Now, Sasha. The airplane for Torgrim.”
Sasha walked over to a laptop that just happened to be in the room, apparently compliments of the hotel manager, and opened it up.
Rygg looked at Marin. “Your friends really do take care of you, don’t they?”
Lena grunted, rolling her eyes.
Marin said, “Just as your friends take care of you, Rygg.”
All eyes went to Sasha then. He did the usual routine of going deeper and deeper into various layers of the Internet and started to go through some images. Eventually he came upon a picture of a snub-nosed whale of a plane. “This is the An-124,” Marin told him. “It is one of the largest planes in the world, as you can see. The second largest, actually, after the An-225 is another Russian plane. You cannot miss seeing it. You are interested in the passengers and in who meets the airplane. If you can, take pictures of people in the waiting area of the airport. And anyone else who seems interesting.”
“Sounds good,” Rygg said. Every time he blinked, he could feel slee
p snagging his eyelids. The coffee had worked for a minute or two, but now its effects seemed to have faded. “But first, I need to rinse off.”
Marin looked at him. “Yes, it would not be good to have you arrested as a homeless,” he said.
Rygg went into the bathroom and peered, aghast, at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a wild wreath of brambles, his nose was a cherry, and his lips were chapped and peeling. He looked like one of those castaways who had been rescued after a month on a raft, having survived on raw fish and rainwater. He turned on the cold water and dunked his head under it.
When he came out, Marin and Lena were embracing by the door. She kissed him gently on the lips, twice, and then they stood apart, though she kept a finger hooked in his belt loop. Sasha appeared to have passed out on a bed. Marin looked over at Rygg.
“Well, Torgrim,” he said, with a small smile. “This is it. What we have been chasing for the last month. It all comes down to this night.”
“And then …”
“If all goes well, I will publish tomorrow.”
Rygg nodded. He was having a hard time taking it in, and, after just a month with these people, he couldn’t imagine a future without them.
“All right then,” he said. “I’m off to snap a few pictures.”
“Here.” Marin took out his wallet and handed Rygg a wad of euros. “You’ll find many young boys with motorcycles around, especially along the coastline. Choose one that has a bike that isn’t too fancy and pay him well for it, telling them it was a favorite from your childhood. They’ll have money to purchase a better one in exchange. Less chance of questions too.” Rygg nodded and Marin continued. “After you have the motorcycle, follow the coastline to the west and you will see the planes landing.”
“All right.”
“And where do we meet?”
“Back here. Six in the a.m.”
“And fallback?”
Chasing the Storm Page 24
