A Dangerous Crossing--A Novel

by Ausma Zehanat Khan

  The e-mail ended with a string of tiny hearts.

  Rachel found herself smiling at her screen, when she should have been focusing on the apparent reference to the boat. She stored her discovery away for a later moment when she could examine it, and made a note of her questions: Who was the man who’d helped Audrey out? And why had she suggested she might be difficult to reach? More importantly, what had she taken on that might have turned out to overwhelm her?

  One good thing had come of Rachel’s invasion of Ruksh’s privacy: they now had a reason to believe Audrey had vanished for her own reasons. Which meant there was a good chance she would reappear in due course.

  A tap on her door distracted her from her thoughts.

  “Rachel? Are you ready?”

  It was Khattak. She wasn’t certain what time it was. Dusk, from a glance out her window. He had promised to collect her on his way to dinner.

  She scrambled off the chair, searching for her shoes.

  “Be right there, sir.”

  A quick thrust of a comb through her hair, the exchange of one jacket for another, a little bit of powder on her face, and she was ready.

  She didn’t want to alarm Nate with her concern for Audrey, but her priority was to make certain Khattak didn’t read his sister’s e-mails for himself.

  13

  Athens, Greece

  Sehr Ghilzai had just returned from the prosecutor’s office in Athens, where she’d had a frustrating discussion with the prosecutor affiliated with the International Police Cooperation Division. The circumstances of Audrey’s disappearance had been referred to Yannis Andreadis; it was in his hands to determine if a warrant should be issued for Audrey Clare’s arrest.

  Well-built and bluntly handsome, he’d hit on Sehr within minutes of their meeting. She’d been relieved to see that her IPCD liaison, a much older gentleman by the name of Philip Nicolaides, had shut down the prosecutor’s attempts to make her feel uncomfortable. Even as soberly dressed as she’d been, Sehr hadn’t been able to make Andreadis treat her like a colleague.

  After a few minutes of listening to Andreadis, Philip Nicolaides barked something at the other man in Greek, then turned to Sehr with an expression of smooth and deliberate politeness.

  “What are you wishing Mr. Andreadis to tell you?”

  Sehr was grateful for his help. Since arriving on Lesvos two weeks ago, she’d worked her way through an unfamiliar chain of command to try and determine whose jurisdiction governed the double murder at the camp. The Interpol agent who’d flown in to investigate had refused to meet with her. Nate had called her and told her not to press because the prime minister had asked Esa to act as the government’s representative. Fair enough. She still needed to know the legal ramifications for Audrey personally, and for Woman to Woman. The Greek authorities might shut them down. It had been difficult to get a permit to set up shop; the extension she had filed for was tied up in red tape.

  “Is there a search on for Audrey Clare? Does Mr. Andreadis have any leads?”

  Not a body, she prayed. Don’t let them have found a body.

  What she needed to know was if the prosecutor had issued the warrant or not; asking about it might precipitate it, if he’d decided on another course. There was no way she could sweet-talk her way to an answer under Nicolaides’s eye, and no way she wanted to, regardless.

  She could tell from the smirk on Andreadis’s face and the calculation in his near-black eyes that he was expecting a return of service for service. She was used to solving her own problems, but in a foreign jurisdiction without language skills, she was out of her depth. She admitted she was grateful for Nicolaides’s presence. There was a long exchange in Greek before Nicolaides turned back to her.

  “They are searching. They will continue to search.” He relented a little at her obvious anxiety. “Audrey Clare is a person of interest at this point. We would like to know about the gun. We have her declaration at customs.”

  Sehr wanted to see that declaration. She wanted to confirm for herself the caliber of the weapon used on Aude Bertin and Sami al-Nuri. She knew Andreadis had the gun in his possession—she’d just thought of a way to flatter him.

  “The Interpol agent was much too high-handed.” She’d gleaned this from gossip flying around Lesvos. “You had every right to secure the crime scene and the weapon. I’m glad that you received the customs declaration so quickly. It must have helped confirm you were right to reserve jurisdiction in this case.” She allowed her lips to curve in a smile. “Without the gun, Interpol will have to work harder at cooperation.”

  “Yes,” Andreadis said at once. “They think they can throw their weight around, they don’t know what the situation is on the islands. They haven’t been to Lesvos once in the past year.” He gave a fastidious shudder. “The noise, the traffic, the garbage these metanastes leave behind.” He used the Greek word for migrant. “The camps are an abomination.”

  Sehr made a noncommittal sound that could have passed for agreement. Responding to it, Andreadis snatched a form off his desk, brandishing the customs declaration in her face. Taking it as an invitation, Sehr reached for the form and skimmed it. Her heart dropped at the familiar sight of Audrey’s well-formed handwriting. Audrey had declared the gun, a Browning Buckmark Camper, a weapon often recommended to women.

  Nicolaides stepped in again. “It’s the same gun. The prosecutor’s office has registered it as evidence. Perhaps it was stolen from Miss Clare. Violence isn’t unknown in the camps.”

  Andreadis dropped his mantle of cooperation, suspicious of Sehr now. He held his palm open for the form; she passed it back. She ventured another question. “How many bullets were fired from the gun?”

  Andreadis scowled at the form. She could see the question had taken him by surprise.

  “Two bullets, as you already know,” he said with fine disdain. “The cylinder holds five rounds.”

  Nicolaides wanted to see the form for himself. He snapped his fingers and at once, Andreadis handed over the paper. He smoothed his hand over his vibrant head of hair, watching Sehr as he did so.

  At Philip Nicolaides’s shoulder, Sehr read the form again, collecting as much detail as she could. Whatever he’d gleaned from the customs declaration, Nicolaides was not inclined to be forthcoming. With a distant politeness that reminded Sehr of Esa, he made her a formal bow and escorted her out of the office to the car park.

  “We have your contact details,” he told her. “I will call if there is anything to tell you.”

  Sehr chose her words carefully. “Please understand, Captain Nicolaides. I represent Miss Clare’s interests. I’m acting as her legal representative.”

  The watchful look in his eyes told her he knew as much.

  She tried a more personal touch. “Audrey is also my friend. I’m worried about her safety.”

  Captain Nicolaides’s stern expression didn’t ease. “I checked the date of your arrival in Athens. You landed after the bodies on Lesvos were found, otherwise this would have been a different discussion.”

  He opened the door of her cab. When she’d buckled her seatbelt, he leaned into the window and said, “Attorney or friend, whichever you are, I am sorry for you, Miss Ghilzai.”

  * * *

  Sehr wasn’t staying at the same hotel as the others. She refused to let Nate pay her way; she’d found an affordable boutique hotel outside of the city center. A brief stop to shower and change for dinner, a hasty cab ride, and she was just in time to meet Nate at the rooftop restaurant of the King George Hotel.

  The terrace was a beautiful space. Their table was in a corner against a snow-white balustrade, a spot where the evening view of the Acropolis was spectacular. Lit from below on a rocky promontory, the Parthenon showed up as a series of amber columns under an incandescent sky. In Athens, the blues were deep purples, the sunset a ravishing pink.

  The table was laid with white linen and silver candelabra. At its center was a vase of chrysanthemums the color of pale yellow
corn silk. Their heavy heads curved down as if they carried the weight of nostalgia.

  Nate came forward to embrace her, and Rachel as well, to Sehr’s surprise. At the last moment, she let her gaze linger on Esa’s face. She hadn’t seen him in the weeks since his return from Iran, and though the distance between them pained her, she had learned to accept it.

  She thought of a word in a language they shared—judai.

  It described the loneliness of separation.

  They were always apart.

  Not that Esa was suffering. He looked lighter in spirit than she’d seen him in some time, despite the circumstances of their meeting. His dark hair was brushed to one side, his green eyes calm and watchful. He was wearing an evening suit and looked so handsome that she bit the inside of her cheek. She let him take her hand and pull out her chair, thankful she was seated beside him and not across the table. She couldn’t bear those watchful eyes on her face, dissecting emotions she was careful to hold in check.

  Wine was served at the table, yet it failed to lend a festive air to the occasion or to Nathan Clare’s spirits. He must have been worried, probably far more worried than he was showing, and if Esa was more hopeful and more deliberate in his discussion of Audrey’s disappearance, she knew it was for Nathan’s sake.

  She could hear Esa’s voice in her ear—he was too close for her to feel at ease. He didn’t shift his chair, his arm occasionally brushing hers, and Sehr’s hand trembled on her crystal glass.

  She looked up to find Rachel watching her, compassion in her bold, dark eyes.

  Did Rachel know?

  Or was it the compassion of a woman who knew herself secure in Esa Khattak’s affections? Plates were brought to the table as others were cleared away, with Sehr scarcely conscious of what she’d ordered or tasted. Rachel moved them from subject to subject, and Sehr admired the way she assembled the facts into a cogent narrative.

  Rachel glanced at Esa once as she talked about Ruksh, hurrying over the words. Ruksh must still be a sore subject, though Sehr wouldn’t know. Esa didn’t speak about family to her; after Samina’s death, she hadn’t been invited to his home again.

  She missed those days. She mourned the fact she could never get them back.

  Esa listened to Rachel with penetrating attention, asking questions at the right moments. Finally, it was time for Sehr to speak, and she posed a question to Nate.

  “Did you know Audrey’s gun was loaded when it was found, except for the rounds that were fired? Was she in the habit of carrying a loaded gun?”

  Nate’s eyebrows shot up. He was dressed as he always was, his clothes subtly expensive, but he was looking a little worn around the edges as though he hadn’t slept in days, his jaw slightly rough, his eyes deep-set and shadowed behind his glasses. Sehr wished there was a way to comfort him.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Sehr accepted the faint hostility in his voice; she wasn’t bringing him news he wanted to hear. She was pointing out the case the Greek authorities were building against Audrey. “I’m the one who bought Audrey the gun.”

  “Was she experienced at handling a gun? It was found with the safety off.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Nate demanded. “If someone had just fired two shots?”

  “Nate.” Esa’s voice was warm at Sehr’s side. “It takes time to gather that information. Sehr is doing what you asked her to do—she’s looking into what the Greek police have on Audrey.” He touched Sehr’s wrist lightly. “Do they have the gun in their possession?”

  Sehr tried not to tense her hand. Half turning her head toward him, she said, “Yes. But they wouldn’t let me have it tested.”

  “Did you ask them if you could?” Nate’s voice was tense. He’d finished two glasses of earthy red wine, and recklessly poured a third. Rachel raised her hand to stop him, then evidently thought better of it.

  Sehr arched her eyebrows at him, her tone cooler than it would have been if she hadn’t had such a trying day—a trying two weeks of being obfuscated, with the growing suspicion that much of it had to do with the fact that she was a woman.

  And knowing that Esa and Rachel would come, and worrying over that as well.

  “I’ve asked. They only allowed me to see the customs form because the IPCD is involved.” She hesitated. “If the IPCD is running things, that means matters are serious.”

  Speaking like the prosecutor she’d been, she asked her companions to bring her up to speed on what they’d uncovered so far. When they were finished, she summarized the facts.

  “Audrey wanted to expedite the case of a young man with family in Canada. They deny knowing him—we should determine why. Since the Fakhris refused to help her, perhaps Audrey was trying to figure out another way to ensure Sami’s resettlement. The money she withdrew from her bank account may have been intended for Sami.”

  Rachel nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “To me, it seems likely that Sami is at the center of this case. Agent Bertin was caught up collaterally, or she knew something about Sami, such as who was responsible for his torture. From Rachel’s interview with the coroner, it sounds as though Agent Bertin was trying to shield Sami from his killer. That could mean he was valuable to Interpol.”

  Rachel looked at her with new respect. “Not your first double homicide, then.”

  “No.” Sehr had fiercely enjoyed her work as a prosecutor; she had dedicated her life to it. She missed the collegiality, the sense of purpose it had given her. Her life had a different purpose now, but her striving had been to one end.

  She’d lost her job in an effort to help Esa, a decision she’d made for herself. She didn’t blame him, because given the same situation, she knew she’d do it again.

  Nate’s unsteady voice cut into Sehr’s thoughts.

  “And Audrey?” he asked. “What do you think’s happened to Audrey?”

  Sehr considered Audrey’s withdrawal of funds, her calculated silence. “I think Audrey’s disappearance is something she orchestrated herself.”

  She said it with conviction. She knew how to influence others to her point of view; it was the foundational skill of a prosecutor.

  Briskly, she went on, “You need to hire a local brief. An experienced criminal defense attorney, preferably a Greek. When Audrey turns up, she’s going to have to account for why she fled the scene, at the very least.”

  Her words galvanized Nate into action. He excused himself to attend to her suggestions; a moment later, Rachel excused herself, too. Sehr wondered if it was so she could keep an eye on Nate, or because she thought Esa would value some time alone with Sehr.

  Sehr gathered up her handbag, thinking of the next day’s work.

  “Wait,” Esa said. “We should talk.”

  They moved away from the table, walking along a terrace drenched in flowered sweetness. It was a night without a moon, the sky a polished sapphire, the tangled glitter of the waves unbearably romantic. She was conscious of Esa’s presence at her side, conscious of a thrum of excitement.

  She wanted him to speak of what lay undeclared, this tentative trust they were building. He would have asked her to stay for this reason. She looked up at him, unaware of the glow in her eyes. When he’d needed her to, she’d thought of Samina, or of Ruksh. Now she thought of herself.

  Tell me, Esa, please. Please, just say the words.

  She was so engrossed in these thoughts that she didn’t take in his reproach.

  “You need to go easier on Nate. He deserves a little compassion.”

  Her hands clenched on the balustrade. She bit back the words on her tongue to stop herself from recounting every minute of the past two weeks. He’d been dining with the prime minister, while she’d been at work in the camps.

  “That’s what you wanted to speak to me about—how I handled Nate?”

  “What else? I want you to be careful in the future.”

  “What else.” Her throat tightened, the words like straw.

  Realization flooded his face. It
tightened his expressive mouth, the mouth she longed to feel pressed against her own. It was a beautiful, vanquishing mouth, but Esa had never kissed her.

  He took note of their surroundings: the candlelit terrace, the blazing light of the stars, the scent of bougainvillea, his hand next to hers on the rail, his shoulder brushing the dark sleeve of her dress.

  He took a breath—was he steeling himself to face her?

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Sehr, but haven’t we had this out? It’s not going to work between us, that’s not how I feel about you.” He gave her a moment to absorb this. “I’m sorry, I wish it were different.”

  Sehr didn’t believe him. The past was more tangled than Esa would concede.

  “No, you don’t. You value your solitude too much. You know what this is … what it could be. I never took you for a coward.”

  His face grew dark, his courtliness erased.

  “How does not loving you make me a coward?”

  She let the pain of that sink in, felt the tears start in her eyes, falling back on the bitter comforts of poetry—to move the seas from their customary places, to make the Shah of Persia one of her admirers … to once have power over Esa. She dismissed the thought as unworthy; she viewed love as an accession, not a tyranny.

  She didn’t intend to visit past humiliations—she needed Esa to face the truth.

  “You won’t let yourself feel anything, because it’s easier to live in the past. You won’t let yourself move forward. But I loved Samina too, I miss her as much as you do—”

  He cut her off in a voice harsh with pain.

  “Don’t ever compare your loss to mine. Don’t ever speak about my wife. I’m done with this, Sehr. I don’t want to see you again.”