by Oliver Tidy
‘To go where?’
‘It is only an idea. I have told them I am looking for opportunities with my contacts. I think that to have us on the water would be to our advantage.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Can you find something for us?’
‘Let me consider it. When do you have to be back?’
‘When I am ready. The later the better, I think. Let them worry more.’
‘You have what the English call a mean streak, my sister. Be careful of it. Do not let it cloud your judgement. I will call you when I have news.’
‘What about the British?’
‘It is time to give them something to think about.’
***
34
It was late afternoon when Niki returned. She looked weary and big-city-sweaty. But under that glaze she seemed pleased with herself.
Acer was encouraged. After an exchange of nods and mumbled greetings she put her backpack into a vacant chair, made straight for the small refrigerator, opened it and removed water. As she stood guzzling straight from the bottle, he said, ‘Good news?’
She wiped her sleeve across her mouth. ‘We can leave tonight.’
When Niki didn’t elaborate, he said, ‘To where?’
For answer she walked to the map still spread on the table and placed her index finger on it. Acer and Dominique came to look. Corfu, Greece. There was a delay while each considered this option.
Niki moved her finger to Dubai and then traced their proposed route with commentary. ‘Dubai, Arabian Sea, Red Sea, Suez Canal, and across the Mediterranean.’
The roll-call of evocative place names raised Acer’s spirit a notch. The sea was one of the constant loves of his life. It had been since he was a child messing about in boats off the Devonshire coast. He’d never sailed in the Red Sea or traversed the Suez Canal, but the thought of ticking those boxes was something to have a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
He said, ‘Put like that, it sounds more like a cruise than an escape route. What’s the vessel?’
‘Cargo with commercial passenger space.’
He liked it more. A working ship. Something to add an interest. Fewer people to have to talk to.
‘What’s the accommodation?’
‘Two cabins. Like the train.’
‘What flag is it sailing under?’
‘I don’t know. Is that important?’
‘Probably not. Have you made contact with them?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you tell them? What do they know about us?’
‘Only that we seek transport and that we can pay well for a late and quiet booking.’
He turned to Dominique. ‘What do you think, Dominique?’
She was nodding. ‘What do we do from there?’
He said, ‘British Embassy, or a consulate. There’s bound to be one on Corfu.’
‘What about Niki?’
Niki’s eyes were fixed on him.
‘There would be no guarantee that the British Embassy would help you,’ said Dominique.
‘I have a contact in London. I’m sure he could.’ said Acer.
‘Even so. No guarantees. We wouldn’t be in London. We’d still be a long way from it,’ said Dominique.
He studied the map again. In the background the cartoon channel continued to play its tunes and sound effects to accompany the unfolding action of the animation on the television.
‘Why don’t we get there first and then worry about it?’
‘I think we should talk about possibilities now,’ said Niki.
‘All right. How about we catch a ferry across to Italy. Then we’re in Schengen territory.’
‘What’s that? said Niki.
‘A European agreement. Something that could allow us to travel across Europe without identification. At least to the English Channel.’
‘And then what?’ said Dominique.
‘We’ve got time to think of something. If we can see England we can get to it.’
‘Wouldn’t we need identification and paperwork to travel from Corfu to Italy?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve done it before, a long time ago. If things haven’t changed much since I was there, Niki has all the paperwork we need in her backpack, if simple tickets aren’t enough.’
Dominique said, ‘We don’t have a great deal of choice, do we?’ It seemed a rhetorical question. ‘I say we do that.’
‘What about Zoe?’ he said.
Dominique looked across at her daughter, wide-eyed and glued to the screen. ‘Perhaps, a few days at sea would be good for her. How long would it take to get to Corfu?’
Niki said, ‘They said ten days if there are no delays.’
‘How will the weather be?’ said Dominique, almost as an after-thought.
‘Should be good this time of year,’ he said.
It was agreed. Niki made her phone calls to confirm their booking and then said she was going to shower again, get the sweat and stink of Dubai off her.
When she had disappeared back into the bathroom, Dominique said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Acer looked at her, like he’d missed something. ‘For what?’
‘I’m being selfish. I’m thinking only of Zoe. I want the quiet time with her that a few days at sea could give. She needs time to adjust to the change of her circumstances – our circumstances. We’re heading back to the UK and a lot of stress and attention. I’ll be busy trying to put our lives back together. I want to try to get to know my daughter again – encourage something of what she used to be. If we took a plane straight back, I wouldn’t have that chance.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s wrong with thinking like that?’
‘Because you might have a daughter to find. You must be wishing you could leave now, alone, and search for her. My selfishness is going to delay your opportunity for that.’
He smiled his understanding at her. ‘Dominique, I thank you for your concern. But I have one thing on my mind, right now. That’s to get you and Zoe home in the best physical and mental state I possibly can. When that’s done I will go and search for my daughter. Of course, I wonder what’s happened to her – she might not even still be alive.’
‘Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.’
‘All right. But understand this: the moment I agreed to be a part of extracting you and Zoe from Iran I took on a responsibility. And I will be seeing that through to its conclusion with my full commitment.’
Again, Dominique’s eyes filled up with her tears of gratitude. Her lips trembled and he was reminded of her fragile mental state. Before he was aware of what was happening she had embraced him. She held him tightly for a long difficult moment. Awkwardly, he returned the gesture. He patted her on the back. He looked across at Zoe on the sofa. She was glaring at him. He tried a smile. Her unsettling, rigid stare remained.
Niki stepped out of the bathroom, still dressed. The look she had for the embracing couple as they let go of each other was one of frigid disappointment. She collected her backpack and went back in without a word or another look in their direction.
***
35
While they waited he had an idea. It was not one he was comfortable sharing. He would have liked the chance to have bounced it off Dominique privately but it did not occur to him until after Niki was out of the bathroom and slumped on the sofa.
‘I want to make a suggestion,’ he said.
The women looked in his direction.
‘We travelled across Iran in one disguise and we’re leaving Dubai in another. We’re changing cultures as well as countries and continents. And in these clothes we’re hoping to pull off moderately wealthy western tourists, right?’
Dominique nodded. Niki continued to stare.
‘What are the dynamics of our relationship supposed to be? We’re two women, one child and a man. What are we supposed to be to each other?’
They looked at each other and back at him.
‘You said you have a suggestion,’
said Niki. ‘What is it?’
‘Dominique and I are married and Zoe is our daughter.’
‘What does that make me?’
‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way. It’s just an idea. We can discuss anything. But I think we have to fit a certain... expectation of people we will encounter with our story.’
‘What does that make me?’ Niki repeated.
‘Zoe’s nanny.’
‘Your servant? Because of the colour of my skin?’
‘No. Zoe’s nanny. Just for appearances’ sake. If you have a better idea, please, share it.’
When neither of them spoke, he said, ‘We have to discuss this and we all have to be in agreement. I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake, for all of us.’
‘You’re right,’ said Dominique. ‘We have to agree and then we have to be convincing. I can’t think of a better alternative given the stereotypical cultures we’re about to head into.’
They both looked again at Niki. She shrugged and said, ‘Fine. Just so long as we all remember, it’s just an act. I’m not looking after the kid and I’m not carrying your bags.’ With that she stood and went off into another room.
Acer wanted to contact Crouch. He hadn’t spoken to the man who was responsible for him being there since before he’d been spirited away from Tehran’s Imam Khomeini airport. But the only means of contact he had for Crouch was a telephone number. And that telephone number was not something he’d thought to memorise. It had gone in his backpack with the man who had impersonated him and who was now dead.
When Niki returned he tackled her about helping him to make contact. Grudgingly, it seemed, she spoke on the telephone to her hotel contact. He called back a few minutes later with a PO Box number address and a phone number for the Anti-terrorist hotline in the UK.
In answer to his look of disappointment, she said, ‘He said that’s all there is on their website. If you had a direct contact number we could use it.’
‘Well, I don’t. It was in the backpack you made me hand over at the airport.’
Niki looked at him as though that was his fault, and perhaps it was. What it was not was something to dwell on or fall out about.
***
36
Crouch put down his phone and breathed out his exasperation. He felt old. He felt tired. He felt miserable. He was alone in his office and he was glad of it. He had still heard nothing from Acer and he had just received word that the GSPS tracking device Acer had been issued with had stopped emitting its signal. They had not been able to trace his satellite telephone either. To compound his worries, murmurings were coming out of Iran of the apprehension of a British national involved in espionage. There was nothing official. And so there was nothing official he could do, except wait and wonder and worry.
***
37
Although their ship wasn’t due to sail until the evening they decided it would be preferable to spend their remaining time in Dubai stowed safely aboard rather than sitting around bored and restless in the hotel room with only the shuttle to the dock to look forward to and plenty to worry about.
Port Rashid was less than two miles from their hotel. They were driven there in the hotel’s sign-written minibus by the man who had met them in the underground car park. This gave their charade an added authenticity. They were all better dressed and the man had even rustled up a couple of suitcases into which they’d packed spare clothes from the supply he’d sent up to them. Acer was freshly shaved and in his smart casuals, good shoes, Panama hat and sunglasses looked a different man to any description the taxi driver would have provided to the police. He looked like a tourist. Dominique and Zoe projected similar auras, while Niki seemed to be accepting her role with only a hint of rancour.
Their transport was able to deposit them on the quayside next to the gangway. They got out and took a moment to stare up at the huge vessel that was to be their home for the next ten days.
Acer could see some pleasure in the features of Dominique at the prospect of time at sea and with her daughter. For his own part he felt great anticipation for the voyage, the chance to renew an acquaintance with open water. He took a moment to look at what Zoe was making of the ship. She simply stared up at the structure that towered over them with the same look of wide-eyed engagement she had for most things that took her interest. Niki’s attention flitted around the harbour area looking for threats. Acer chided himself that he was not more focussed on that aspect of their situation.
One of the crew was dispatched to collect their luggage and guide them to their berths. They followed him up the steep walkway that connected the ship to the quay and, to Acer, every step felt like he was putting a mile between himself and Dubai.
Acer, Dominique and Zoe installed themselves in the ship’s only suite of rooms, which Niki had reserved. She took the smaller cabin designed for single occupancy.
‘Here we are again,’ he said, when they were in with the door shut. ‘I’m beginning to feel like Phileas Fogg.’
The bedroom had two single beds. He left that to mother and daughter and there were no protestations from Dominique, just her quiet thanks. The sofa in the little sitting room folded out to make a bed. Acer gave it a try and thought it only slightly more comfortable than the folded tarpaulin of the boat. The suite had two windows that gave out onto the deck. There was a small bathroom. Other than that there wasn’t much to distract or occupy the traveller. The furnishings were sparse and basic, but it was clean and tidy. He hoped there were at least some books on board and that the weather stayed clement enough to allow plenty of time outside.
***
38
Quickly tiring of the confinement, Acer left mother and daughter and went for a look around the ship. He stepped out into the corridor to find Niki hurrying towards him. Her face betrayed her anxiety for something.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Acer.
‘The captain wants to see us. There’s a problem.’
‘What problem?’
‘He can explain it. Follow me.’
With little choice and a bad feeling seeping through him, he trailed Niki back down the corridor, down one flight of steps and then along another corridor until they were roughly underneath their own accommodation. She stopped outside a door and rapped hard on it. It was opened quickly and Acer stood facing the vessel’s captain. He was an unremarkable middle-aged man of average height, smartly dressed in his officer’s uniform, well groomed with neat, short, thinning hair and close-trimmed beard flecked with grey. He had sharp clear eyes and Acer understood immediately that he was not a man to be fooled easily or to suffer fools gladly. As captain in charge of such a huge floating investment he couldn’t afford to be anything else. With a simple gesture, he invited them in and shut the door behind them.
His cabin was smaller than the suite Acer was occupying but more cluttered with the ship’s business and his personal effects. It had a home-from-home feel and the air held the tang of pipe tobacco. Acer could not see a framed photograph of loved ones on his little desk.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Acer caught a soft Scot’s accent. The captain gestured to a sofa under a small porthole up against the steel outside wall. As they sat, Acer thought the lack of handshake and introduction ominously foreboding. The captain pulled across the chair from his desk and settled himself opposite them.
‘I have received word from the port authorities that our passenger rosters are to be inspected. It is unusual at this stage of our stay. It also tells me that the authorities are looking for someone or some people. They’ve not been explicit with the details.’ He paused. ‘Is there something I should be aware of regarding you and your late and, shall we say, rather urgent booking?’
He was calm and listening, not blustering and accusing. He was giving them a chance. Acer was encouraged that the man wasn’t demanding they clear out immediately. But the fact he had them in there showed he could be thinking about it.
Acer made a decision. It was a deci
sion that would either see them expelled from the ship into the waiting arms of the authorities or helped to avoid them. He could see that with this man only the truth would work if anything would. And the truth was the one thing he could say that he wasn’t ashamed of.
‘How long have we got before they come calling?’ said Acer.
‘Perhaps, fifteen minutes, perhaps less.’
‘Then I’d better get on with it. Have you ever heard of a tall ship called The Rendezvous?’
The captain’s brow furrowed. ‘I know of one. It went missing with all hands a couple of years ago in the Pacific. It made the news as I remember.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What’s it got to do with the here and now?’
‘As we haven’t got long, I’d better give you the short version. I was on it. So were the woman and child upstairs. We were attacked off Jackson Island. I was left for dead there. The woman and child and her husband and her son were kidnapped. All other passengers and crew were killed. I was marooned for a year until a small yacht came close enough for me to attract it. I got back to the UK. Did you hear about Bishop, the MP?’
The captain nodded and he was still frowning.
‘He was involved. He’s lying in bed all day in nappies because he botched the easy way out I left him.’
The captain’s expression changed from one of consternation to one of recognition. ‘I remember your face. From the news.’
‘Right. I hope you saw the bit where I was cleared of any wrong-doing. From Bishop I found out the Hammonds, your guests upstairs, were being held captive and where. I agreed with British intelligence to come and look for evidence they were still alive. A long story. I ended up helping them get away. Another, longer story. The people who had Mrs Hammond and her daughter can’t afford for them to get back to the UK and tell their stories. We’re on the run from some powerful people and we need help. We can pay for it.’
