A Dangerous Crossing--A Novel

by Ausma Zehanat Khan

  He didn’t see how he could. He was no closer to finding Audrey than the day he’d arrived on Lesvos. Rachel had warned him of Nate’s increasing agitation at their lack of progress. He intended to speak to Nate as soon as he returned.

  When Sehr came down from her room, the manager suggested they take their tea in the garden. Esa agreed, holding the door for Sehr, disturbed when her body brushed his.

  They chose to walk along the wall that separated the terrace from the rambling descent to the sea. The waves brushed the shore in a sinuous rhythm. The light was beginning to die, a vast expanse of gold flung over igneous blues. Looking at the sea now, he couldn’t imagine the crossing as other than a voyage of grace.

  It had been a warm day. The stone wall retained that warmth as Esa leaned against it. He studied Sehr’s face. She had changed into a flame-colored dress and wore a silk pashmina. Her hair was brushed into shining waves; her skin was smooth and glowing.

  She had dressed for him, he thought, and knew a surge of longing that shocked him.

  They hadn’t spoken of personal things; he’d made no admissions to himself. To sort out his tangled emotions with Audrey still missing was something he wasn’t prepared for. Yet Sehr was here with him now, and her presence was illuminating his ability to deceive himself about things he urgently desired. Her comfort, her support, the warmth of her respect, the sense she knew the things about him that mattered, and that she understood.

  He turned at her side to face the sea, his arm touching hers, conscious of a fraught new awareness. He wanted something he wasn’t entitled to. He didn’t know how to ask for it.

  She looked up into his face and said, “Do you still want me out of your life?”

  She’d given him the opening he needed. Quickly he answered, “No.”

  The faltering breath she drew was painful for him to hear. He’d been arrogant and self-involved. He had some sense now of how he’d hurt her, of how he was still thinking of himself. Of what Sehr could give him, instead of the things she was due.

  She looked back at the sea, and instantly he missed the intimacy of her glance. She was following the path of fishing boats sailing in to shore. A child raced madly down the hill; his laughter reached the terrace as the sun burned down to the sea.

  Sehr’s shawl slipped from her shoulder. He caught its folds and draped it at her neck, his fingers touching her collarbone. She freed herself from his touch, a mutinous spark in her eyes.

  “Don’t you want this?”

  Her mouth firmed, she raised her chin. “What makes you think I would?”

  “Sehr.” He said her name and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he pushed past his misgivings. How often must Sehr have experienced the same self-doubt in his presence.

  “Don’t you?”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “Damn you for doing this to me. You’ve never given me anything. I doubt you ever will.”

  His face tightened at her reproach, the pain of it striking hard because of how deeply it was warranted.

  “I haven’t been honest with myself.”

  When everything he was coming to want was poised at the edge of loss, he knew each word he spoke to her mattered.

  He didn’t mention Samina—he didn’t dare to. With her quickness of mind, Sehr unraveled the nature of his struggle—his sudden, sharp sense of fear. There was a softening in her face, a willingness to offer him things he hadn’t earned. Where did her generosity spring from? He couldn’t meet her on her ground, so he did what his instincts were telling him to do.

  He took Sehr in his arms.

  He could smell the jasmine on her skin. He curved a hand under her hair to turn her face up to his. He kissed her deeply, taking his time, a slow warmth flooding his senses. When he raised his head again, her hands had come up to rest beneath his shoulders.

  In a voice darkened by desire, he asked, “Do you want me to apologize for that?”

  “Do you want to?” she countered.

  “No.” Impatiently, he kissed her again.

  She wound her arms about his neck, drawing him close to her heart.

  The gate banged with unnecessary force. Rachel was standing there, a startled expression on her face. He shifted to draw Sehr away, but he kept his hand at her waist.

  In a gruff voice, Rachel said, “Ruksh is trying to reach you. She called me when she couldn’t get through.”

  She held up her phone in her hand. The moment was weighted in ways Khattak couldn’t decipher; he only knew he couldn’t hurt Sehr again.

  He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, making his longing clear.

  “I’m sorry,” he said under his breath. “For the interruption.” And in a louder voice so Rachel could hear, “I’ll have to take this. You know how persistent Ruksh is.”

  Sehr gave him a shaky smile; the fist that squeezed his heart unclenched. She hadn’t given up on him. He could still afford to hope.

  He took Rachel’s phone with a word of thanks, leaving the two women alone.

  * * *

  Rachel cursed herself for the awkwardness of her timing. She was a detective, for God’s sake, but not for a moment had she guessed at Khattak’s feelings. She could see the radiance in Sehr’s eyes, and something about it hurt her.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel,” Sehr said.

  Rachel flushed to the roots of her hair. She had no idea why Sehr was apologizing—she didn’t want to find out. Her normal wisecracking abilities deserted her; she opted for clarity instead.

  “I’m sorry. I try not to blunder into other people’s business.”

  Seeing her embarrassment, Sehr asked after Nate.

  “He’s checking out a car rental. He should be back any minute.”

  “Where is Sami al-Nuri? I’d like to talk to him myself.”

  Rachel didn’t ask why. She didn’t want to be in Sehr’s company, prey to the kinds of confidences she imagined women unlike herself might share, but she had to wait for Khattak. She was relieved from her discomfort by his reappearance.

  “Anything urgent, sir?”

  He smiled at her. “Ruksh could have told you as easily, but she wanted to hear my voice.”

  Rachel tipped her head and waited, knowing the news would be welcome to Khattak—a conciliatory act on Ruksh’s part after such prolonged discord.

  “She remembered something.” He held out a hand to bring Sehr to his side. “Audrey mentioned a meeting with someone on the island, Ruksh said it sounded important. She thinks the person’s name was Lenny. I’ll have a look at her e-mails to see if we missed it before.”

  Rachel was swamped by a wave of panic. “I don’t remember someone named Lenny in the e-mails.”

  Khattak didn’t hear her. He was reading the e-mails on his phone. Rachel cast a glance at Sehr, needing help she couldn’t ask for. Though Khattak took his time scrolling through the list, Rachel’s thought processes had stalled, absorbed by what she’d interrupted. She knew the moment he found the e-mail because he put his phone away, the light in his eyes growing dark.

  “You’re right,” he said. “There’s no mention of Lenny.”

  “Esa, what’s wrong?” Sehr caught it too; unlike Rachel, she had the right to reach for him to console him. She curled her fingers around his wrist, a careful gesture of comfort.

  Nate banged through the gate before Esa could answer.

  “Rachel!” His breath was coming fast. He must have run up the hill.

  “You found the car?”

  He nodded vigorously, taking a moment to catch his breath.

  “Esa, Rachel—listen. It’s not from a car rental. But the clerk at the agency knows who owns it because he doubles as a mechanic at the garage. He knew the plate, the description, everything.”

  He looked round the circle of three expectant faces, a desperate hope in his eyes.

  “It belongs to a member of the Hellenic Rescue Team. Her name is Eleni Latsoudi.”

  40

  Mytilene, Lesvos

&n
bsp; They left Sehr and Nate at the guesthouse, speaking with the rapid-fire familiarity that was second nature to them as partners. Khattak hailed a cab to take them to Eleni Latsoudi’s little house on the hill. It was dark out; all the lights were looped around the harbor, the sky a purple-veiled dome. He focused on making sense of Eleni’s connection to the van.

  Eleni was Lenny.

  As a member of the Hellenic Rescue Team, could she be behind Israa’s disappearance? She was in an ideal position to identify the vulnerable, out on the seas every day. But that didn’t fit with the woman he’d met, the woman who’d told him, The water will break your heart.

  Had his skills and insight so failed him that he’d missed seeing the rot at the core of Eleni’s charade? Was it no different than the way he’d missed his sister’s deepening rancor? Thoughts of Ruksh overshadowed the fragile happiness he was struggling to protect.

  Eleni wasn’t on duty. She welcomed them in, her shoulders wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket, a book and a glass of wine on the table near her sofa. She invited them to sit, dropping the blanket to the sofa, using her fingers to comb out her hair. They remained on their feet, their eyes searching the house.

  Khattak now noticed the covered portico at the back of the little house, visible from the patio. He nodded at Rachel. The van wasn’t there, but the little station wagon Eleni had driven to the beach the other night was parked in a space big enough for two cars. Its tires were mud-spattered; it hadn’t been washed.

  “Is that your only car, Eleni?”

  “No,” she said, turning to follow his gaze. Picking up on the seriousness of his manner, she added, “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Where’s your other car? You live alone, don’t you? Why do you need two cars?”

  A frown on her face, she led them out to inspect the portico. “The other is a van,” she said. “Someone must have borrowed it.”

  A pair of olive trees was growing to the side of the portico. They skirted these to reach the empty space.

  “How could they do that without your knowledge?”

  “I leave it unlocked. The keys are always inside.”

  “Why would you do that?” A hard note entered his voice. Her explanation was unconvincing. “It might get stolen.”

  Eleni shivered in the breeze that swept the hill. Confused, she said, “On Lesvos? We don’t lock our houses. I leave my van unlocked because volunteers use it to ferry passengers from the beach to the camps.”

  Khattak considered her gravely. “Do you know the license plate number of your van?”

  She told them. Khattak’s gaze flicked to Rachel, who looked as tense as he felt.

  “Do you keep a record of who borrows it?”

  “Why would I need to?” Perplexed, she said, “Esa, Rachel. Why are you asking about my van? What’s going on?”

  “Eleni.” Rachel said her name, drawing out the syllables. “Does anyone call you Lenny? Maybe it’s your nickname?”

  “What? Of course not. Everyone calls me Eleni.”

  “Did Audrey ask to meet with you the day she disappeared?”

  Bewildered, Eleni admitted that she had.

  Watching for signs of deception, Khattak said, “You didn’t tell me this the other night.”

  He caught it—the telltale glance away, the hand that rubbed her shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to tell. One of the volunteers told me Audrey was looking for me. I was at a training session on Chios. I didn’t see Audrey. In fact, I stayed in Chios because I had another meeting.”

  “Where did you stay?” asked Rachel.

  “The Hotel Athena.”

  Khattak made the connection. “Can anyone prove this?”

  Eleni nodded. “There were twenty trainees at the session. And I suppose Nikos could confirm it as well—he runs the Athena.” Nervous now, she asked, “Why are you treating me like a suspect? What is it you think I’ve done?”

  “Your van was seen the night Audrey disappeared. She was forced into it and driven off.”

  Eleni clutched one of the pillars. “My van was here when I returned from Chios. The next night it was borrowed again.”

  “Who borrowed it?”

  “They all do. It’s impossible to keep track. Shukri, Freja, Hans. Even Peter did once, and Vincenzo when he’s helping out.”

  Khattak seized on the name. Was it possible Ruksh had heard “Vinny,” not “Lenny”?

  “Vincenzo’s often here on Lesvos. He’s with the Guardia Costiera.”

  Urgently, Khattak asked, “Did he borrow your van tonight?”

  Her fingers pressed to her lips, Eleni said, “He may have. It was gone when I got home.”

  “Where would he have taken it?”

  She sank down on the sofa. “To Eftalou Beach, where else?”

  “Eleni.” She looked up at Khattak, trying to collect herself. “Can you think of anywhere on the island, anywhere near the beach, where someone could be hidden without attracting notice—if they screamed for help, for example, or were able to bang on the walls?”

  Her face white, Eleni said, “You think Audrey is still on the island?”

  “Please,” he said. “Is there anywhere that you know of?”

  She shook her head.

  “Sir,” Rachel interrupted, “let’s get down to Eftalou. Let’s get on this right away.”

  “Call the local police, Rachel. Have them meet us there.”

  He turned back to Eleni. “Don’t tell anyone we were here, don’t tell anyone we asked these questions. It’s critical to your safety. And please—lock your doors and windows.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked in the same bewildered tone. “What’s happening on this island?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t tell you yet.”

  They were at the door when Eleni’s voice followed after them. She had chased them to the drive.

  “Wait,” she said. “There’s nothing near the beaches. But up in the hills, the farmers have sheds they use when the nights are cold and livestock have gone missing. They’re storage sheds. There’s no proper road by which they can be reached, the tracks get muddy in the rain.”

  But traversable for a vehicle with four-wheel drive.

  “Which ones are near the beach road?”

  Eleni shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”

  * * *

  The police knew the local roads better than they did, but Khattak was dismayed to find Sehr and Nate at the station. Nate drove his own car; he couldn’t be dissuaded from joining in the search. Captain Nicolaides, Sehr’s contact with the IPCD, had already invited Sehr into his car. When Khattak objected, Nicolaides advised him that Sehr had been on the islands for weeks: she’d been the one running point on the search.

  Rachel slid into the backseat with Sehr. “Let’s go, sir. We’re losing time.”

  She’d looked over at Nate to see if he wanted her company, torn between her duty as Khattak’s partner and her concern for Nate—her longing to be needed. He didn’t sense her concern or notice her glance, he was laser-focused on the search.

  * * *

  Nate followed the second police car in the opposite direction. Nicolaides drove in the direction of the village of Xidera, where several storehouses were located. Khattak didn’t attempt to dissuade Sehr again, but Rachel could see he wasn’t happy.

  They’d been assured there were no hiding places near the beach that weren’t subject to the daily traffic of fishermen loading and stowing gear, but that three or four storehouses were dotted above the olive groves on the hill. Nicolaides explained that these storehouses were locked for the winter. Most of the farming on Lesvos was done by hobby farmers who kept a few sheep or a handful of goats. Grazing practices had changed over the years, the land becoming more arid. Milk and cheeses were produced locally, to be sold in the villages.

  Rachel paid no attention to this, though Khattak asked questions at intervals. She was following their progress up the hill.
Most of the landscape was bare, but now and again she saw stone-wall enclosures that served to mark off grazing areas, or boulders that had fallen from the top of the hill. At one point, they passed a flock of sheep herded under a clump of Valonia oaks. There were no other cars on the road. Rachel questioned how effective Nate’s private investigators had been if they hadn’t uncovered the van or thought to search the storage sheds on the hills.

  Then she reminded herself she’d only learned about the van through Aya’s direct confession. Sami hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them until they’d made their own roundabout discoveries.

  Rachel didn’t have to imagine Sami’s anguish at Israa’s disappearance: she knew it firsthand. She’d thought Israa had been abandoned until Sehr made it clear that Roux’s focus was on the children who were slipping through the cracks of the crisis.

  She spied the flash of moonlight on tin and called a warning to the others. The car came to a halt. Rachel scrambled up the hill. What she found was a cobbled-together tin shack, partially demolished by the weather, corroded sheets of tin listing in the wind. The smell of dried manure rose from the other side of a ramshackle wooden fence.

  The shed was open to their view. There were no signs of recent occupation. They climbed back into the police car as a call came through from Nicolaides’s partner. Rachel held her breath. Nicolaides frowned—there was no news of Audrey.

  Rachel looked at Nicolaides’s map. The island was bigger than she’d realized—too large for their search party to cover. It was cross-hatched by pastures, though Nicolaides assured them the villages were no more than twenty minutes from the beach. It seemed reasonable to begin by searching the area closest to Kara Tepe.

  They drove a little longer, occasionally stopping to question villagers. After a while, Rachel leaned forward to tap Khattak’s shoulder.

  “Sir,” she said, “we’re not going to have any luck like this. We need to coordinate a search-and-rescue team. What say we head back to the pub and get our hands on Vincenzo?”