by Oliver Tidy
‘They swapped me at the airport. Fifteen minutes to boarding.’
‘Who did?’
‘Your contacts.’
‘We’ve heard nothing from them since before you went missing at the airport.’
‘They’ve been helping me. I don’t understand why you got no message. The authorities sussed the switch, picked up my replacement and executed him. We decided that instead of just getting evidence there was anyone alive here we take them and get them out of the country.’ The line went quiet. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes. What about her husband? And I thought there were two children?’
‘Both dead.’
Crouch exhaled heavily. ‘How are the mother and daughter?’
‘Physically not in bad shape. Mentally is another story.’
‘Why are you on a ship? Why not a plane?’
‘No papers. Security issues. Just had to get them out any way we could.’
‘We?’
‘I have an Iranian national with me. She needs our help. She’s earned the right to ask for it.’
‘Where are you headed?’
‘Corfu. We’re about a week away.’
‘Go with the warship. We’ll get you taken off it as soon as possible.’
‘I think we’ll be safe now. Mrs Hammond has her reasons for not wanting to rush back.’
‘All right. There’s a British consulate in Corfu. I’ll have something in place. Contact them when you arrive. We’ll fly you home from there. Agreed?’
‘All of us?’
‘All of you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘They tell me you killed four pirates.’
‘We can talk about it when I see you.’
‘And that you were wounded.’
‘A flesh wound. I was lucky.’
‘Be careful, Acer. Luck can run out.’
Acer handed back the headset certain in the knowledge that everything they’d just discussed had been listened to.
Before they would allow him to leave, Taylor told Acer that the ship’s commanding officer would like to meet him. Acer felt a touch of embarrassment for this, but could not reasonably refuse without causing offence. He allowed himself to be led away to some grip and grin and bear it.
***
49
The ships sounded their horns to each other. The passengers watched the warship leave and had mixed feelings about it. It had been the most excitement some of them had ever experienced and they’d spent it hiding in their cabins.
Niki was still nowhere to be seen and Acer went looking for her.
He rapped on the door to her room. She answered it quickly. She didn’t look like she’d slept or changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing the previous night.
‘You OK?’ he asked her.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come in?’
She paused and then opened the door to admit him. He limped in and she didn’t ask him about his injury. He sat down without waiting for the invitation he didn’t feel was coming.
He said, ‘Have you eaten anything?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ve gone.’
‘I heard.’
‘I want to thank you properly for saving my life last night.’
She nodded.
‘I went across to their ship and used the communications equipment.’
The intensity of her gaze seemed to settle right between his eyes, like a red dot from a sniper’s sight.
‘I spoke to Crouch. He’s my contact. My boss on this mission. He didn’t know anything about anything. He hadn’t heard anything and he’d received no messages about what was happening. He didn’t even know whether I was alive.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘Anything you want to say, Niki?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just wondering why he hadn’t heard anything when Hassan told me that he’d been in touch with London.’
‘You want to blame Hassan because your people lost a message – didn’t do their jobs properly?’
‘No, Niki. I’m not blaming Hassan. I’m just trying to find out why London knew nothing about where I am, who I’m with and what I’m up to. That’s all.’
‘Then you’ll have to ask them.’
Acer breathed out through his nose and changed the subject.
‘We’re going to have a picnic on the deck under an awning in about an hour. Please join us.’
She just stared at him.
He was used to her animosity and her indifference towards him. But this time it bothered him. They’d shared something rare the previous night. They’d relied on each other for their lives. That should have had a positive impact on their relationship. She seemed as cold and as distant as ever. Almost hateful.
Acer shook his head to let her know what he thought. ‘I spoke to Crouch about you. He promised to sort something out. When we get to Corfu he’s going to have us met by the British consulate. He’s going to fly us all to the UK.’
She didn’t alter her expression. After an awkward pause, Acer levered himself up so that he could share her eye-level, got nothing out of it and left her to her miserable thoughts.
***
50
‘Hassan?’
‘Niki. Why no word?’
‘We had trouble. Pirates in the Gulf of Aden.’
‘They boarded you?’
‘Yes, but they were dealt with. A warship came. He went across and spoke with his boss in London. They know something is wrong. He came to speak to me and he couldn’t hide it.’
‘What do they know?’
‘Not everything. He still trusts me. He says he can get me to the UK. That’s all I need.’
‘How?’
‘Plane from Corfu.’
‘But there’ll be checks. Security.’
‘I will think of something. I think it is time to do something about the woman.’
‘Kill her?’
‘No. We need her alive and going home so that I might go with her. We can silence her through the child.
***
51
They entered the outer reaches of the Red Sea late that afternoon. Word was passed along that they should be out of range of even the most adventurous pirates. All being well, they had three days of nothing to do but stare at the sea, stare at the shore, stare at other vessels they encountered, and stare at each other.
Acer was not sorry for the promise of inactivity. He had an injury to rest – to encourage to heal. Taking it easy on deck with paperback books from the ship’s library and Dominique fussing over him almost as much as she was fussing over her daughter made a welcome change from tearing around the Middle East on the wrong side of the local law and in fear for his life.
Although the Red Sea was recognised as one of the world’s busiest waterways they saw little evidence to support that – a few small freighters and the odd yacht. Captain Wallace told them that traffic through the Suez Canal, which they were heading towards, had been significantly reduced owing to the combined effects of the overall economic slowdown of the region and the spectre of piracy in the Gulf of Aden. Despite the threat having been greatly reduced by the efforts of the NATO coalition forces, many ship’s owners still preferred to avoid the sea there entirely by making the longer journey around Africa to the west via the Cape of Good Hope. Such was the lasting damage that could be done by a well-timed and successful pirate raid.
The weather was hot. The sun beat down from clear skies to turn most of the ship’s surfaces into something approaching skillet temperatures. Only the light warm breeze created by the ship’s passage made it bearable to spend stretches of time on deck under shade. The food stayed good and plentiful and there was an endless supply of cold drinks. At times the mood came close to holiday. As Acer said, all they needed was a pool.
When his wound had scabbed and the flesh knitted beneath it, Acer took a tour of the a
rea of the ship where he’d engaged in the night-time shootout. One of the crew had fashioned a walking stick for him. He dragged his stiff leg after him as he searched out the places where he’d killed men. The crew had done a good job of clearing up. The fatalities had been completely expunged. Other than some light damage done to the ship’s hardy surfaces when the grenade had detonated (it had already been repainted) he found a few bullet scars.
It was not a tour based on any sense of the macabre. It was something sentimental and private. He’d ended men’s lives. It was entirely possible that they were simply desperate men with mouths to feed, men who’d had enough of trying to eke an existence out of a polluted, over-fished sea and resorted to sharper, more profitable and more immediately economically-rewarding practices. If that were the case, he couldn’t blame them. In their position and with a world to blame he didn’t doubt he’d be moved to do the same.
In the evening of their third uneventful day they crossed out of the Red Sea’s northernmost tip and into the Strait of Jubal. They continued north and were officially in the Gulf of Suez before the sun had set. They pushed on through the night to cover the two hundred miles of its length and when the passengers woke the next morning they quickly realised that something was different.
The ship was stationary. Acer hurried up on deck wondering how he could have slept through the cutting of the engines, the reducing of the speed, the dropping of the anchor – all activities that had disturbed his sleep patterns already on the voyage. His leg remained stiff and irritatingly awkward.
They were in the northernmost section of the Gulf of Suez. All around them ships of varying shapes and sizes lay immobile. It would be a good guess that most were awaiting their allotted convoy time for traversing the Suez Canal or laid up without a commission.
Those that didn’t already know discovered that the canal was just under two hundred kilometres long and would take approximately fifteen hours to pass through. Because of the way shipping was organised, their northbound convoy would have an uninterrupted passage. Northbound convoys left Suez at six in the morning.
Acer, for one, was hoping that the narrower specifications of the Canal would offer some interesting sights to see on land either side of them. He was disappointed to learn that he was going to have to wait to find out. Arcadia had missed the list for the single northbound convoy for that day. The best they could do was a place in the following day’s convoy. That gave them over twenty-four hours to fill.
Mid-morning there was some activity in the water. A few small boats were puttering in their direction. The water-borne traders were coming to tout their wares and relieve the tourists of some foreign currency. They came alongside and there was some friendly banter between the crew of Arcadia and the hawkers. Clearly, this was nothing unusual. It would make for a pleasant diversion from the tedious wait.
The sellers were given permission to come aboard. An area of deck where an awning was rigged to provide some shade was turned into a small bazaar as the men unrolled their blankets and arranged their wares – typical Egyptian trinkets and tourist items.
The men were in good and friendly spirits. With their little group of bored captive customers, they should be. There was money to be made and the chattier and more familiar they were the better the chances of making it.
Acer watched Dominique and Zoe browsing and realised that neither of them would have money. One of the men was trying to convince Dominique that the highly-polished teapot she was holding was something her life needed to be complete. Zoe was showing an interest in some cheap, locally-made jewellery. He was reminded that she’d taken little apparent interest in anything much since he’d met her. She fingered the little primitive bracelet made with coloured thread and beads, turning it around in her small delicate fingers. Acer went across and knelt down next to her.
‘It’s lovely isn’t it?’
Zoe did not answer him with words but the way she continued to toy with the object spoke for her feelings. Acer made a decision.
‘Don’t go away, Zoe,’ he said.
He hurried away to find Niki, who had not come out of her cabin for the impromptu bazaar, despite being asked. He knocked on her door. She answered with her stock blank face.
‘Can I borrow some money?’ said Acer. ‘We’ve got none and there’s something in the bazaar on deck that might make a difference to Zoe.’
Niki shrugged and pulled a face, like she didn’t really care one way or the other. She turned back into her cabin, was gone for a minute and when she returned she had a small bundle of high denomination American dollar bills. She handed over what looked like about a thousand dollars.
Acer laughed in attempt to share a joke. ‘I don’t want to buy their business.’
Niki didn’t share his humour. ‘So bring me back what you don’t use,’ she said, and shut the door.
Still shaking his head at her miserableness, he shoved the wad of bills into his pocket and retraced his steps to the deck market.
Dominique was still being harassed by the seller of the teapot. David and Gordon were pushing things about, picking things up and generally wasting everyone’s time. Acer could not see Zoe and was a little disappointed because he would have liked to have surprised her there. He went across to the man with the display of jewellery. He found the item Zoe had been fingering. He found a matching bead purse and bought that too. Acer caught the sound of a whiny little outboard motor picking up speed – something going away rather than approaching. As the man was arguing with him over the size of his note, Acer scanned the deck for signs of Zoe. He couldn’t see her. His brow furrowed. Zoe could usually be found within a few feet of her mother.
‘Where’s Zoe?’ he called to Dominique.
She looked grateful for the interruption. She turned to him, smiling. She caught his look of concern and the smile melted away. Her eyes darted around the cluttered space. And then the fear grasped her.
They both started calling her name. Acer moved quickly to look behind the things littering the deck: containers, barrels, heavy boxes. Dominique was looking frantic, like a mother who has lost one child and will spend the rest of her life in fear of losing her only other.
‘Go and see if she’s gone back to the cabin,’ said Acer. As Dominique hurried away, tripping over things in her haste, Acer continued searching. When he came to the rail he noticed a little boat speeding away from Arcadia in a direct route to the shore on the western side of the channel. In the stern of the boat sat a man with his hand on the throttle of the engine. He turned to look back over his shoulder at the big ship and Acer knew from his body language that he had Zoe.
***
52
‘Someone’s snatched Zoe,’ he shouted at those who had noticed something was wrong. ‘Tell the captain. And don’t let this lot go.’
He hurried down the staircase, lowered to provide access for the sellers, to where the tradesman’s boats bobbed in the water. He jumped the last couple of treads and landed on his feet with a thump in the nearest one. His wound protested as his calf flexed to cushion the impact. He grabbed hold of the cord to start the outboard and gave it a yank, and another, and another and it caught. He untied, located the fleeing craft and twisted the throttle. The boat reared into life as the engine’s revs shot up to produce a high-pitched whine. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and fixed his gaze on the boat that had at least a couple of hundred metres head start.
The man was heading for the west bank. Acer looked to see what was there – a four-wheel-drive, open-backed truck with a man standing next to it.
He held the throttle at its limit. The warm wind buffeted his face as the boat rose and fell with irregular jolts. He was not gaining on them. He scanned the shoreline for people, for the authorities. As he skimmed across the surface of the water it occurred to him that either the Canal’s security might have been paid to keep out of the way or they just didn’t take much notice of the trader’s boats.
He couldn’t see into the
back of the boat he was pursuing. He hadn’t seen Zoe. But if he’d had any doubts before taking off in pursuit they had been scotched by the actions of the man piloting the boat he was chasing. He glanced around continually, gauging the distance between them. He knew he was being chased and he made no effort to stop and see why.
If he ran the boat up the beach, got Zoe out fast and into their transport, they’d be a dust cloud before Acer even made land. And they might be armed. And his pistol was back in his cabin.
He patted his pocket for the knife he’d taken off Niki in Qom, the knife he always carried with him. He felt its weight. There was something else there: the wad of money Niki had given him.
The boat in front hit the shore hard. Too hard. The man was panicked. Acer could imagine the man and Zoe being thrown forwards, maybe injured. The gap between them narrowed quickly. If he worked it well and got out of the boat quickly he might have a chance of getting there before they got away. He was a hundred metres from the shoreline, seventy-five, fifty. The man from the boat was on his feet gesticulating wildly at his confederate. He hauled something up onto his shoulder – a small body with hair bleached blonde from days at sea in the sun. Acer looked to the man who’d been waiting by the vehicle. He was leaning into the cab. Then he was out of it and pointing a rifle in Acer’s direction.
He heard the crack of the shot, crouched down and veered away in a tight curve. By the time he was able to turn and look again he’d run back out from the shore. They were in the vehicle. With a rush of tyres and a puff of dirt they took off. He let the engine idle as he bobbed on the spot.
He watched their progress along the bank where the road hugged the water. They were headed in the direction of Suez. Once there, no one would be able to find them. Tears of anger and frustration stung his eyes. The realisation of his stupidity, his amateurish bungling, his failure to protect his wards, flushed through his system like something poisonous and hot. He put his head in his hands and dug his nails into his face.
