by Oliver Tidy
***
69
It was a fine, hot and still morning in Port Said. In daylight the apartment building could be seen as something even more impressive than it had in darkness, somewhere expensive to call home. The garden was at the rear of the plot and because of the lush and mature foliage that filled the wide borders it was not easily overlooked by its neighbours. It was fragrant and birds chattered away noisily as they hopped about in the branches.
A small wooden gazebo was hidden away in a shaded corner, almost obscured by the enormous fronds of an overhanging palm tree and a flowering climbing plant. While Acer tackled the lawn with the push mower, Zoe was installed in the little wooden structure and provided with pencils and paper in case she felt like alleviating some of the boredom of her waiting with a bit of drawing.
Eshe had gone in search of the friend who might have a suitable phone charger. She returned as he was on the last few pushes of his second go at the lawn. It had been hard work for him. The mower’s blades needed sharpening, and the grass had been high and thick. Now it was shorter and neater. He was drenched with sweat but the looks of surprise and genuine happiness on the faces of Eshe and her mother when they saw what he’d achieved gave him as good a feeling as he’d had for a long time.
Eshe’s mother brought a tray of cold drinks and they sat in the gazebo together. Refreshed, Eshe and Acer left Zoe with the woman while they went to try the phone’s charger. The battery-life bars started climbing as soon as he plugged it in and switched it on. More good news: the phone was not password protected. He’d had those problems before and they’d cost him dearly. There was a missed call from the number David had used to contact him from the day before. He rang it.
‘Acer?’ It was Captain Wallace.
‘Good morning, Captain.’
‘Where are you? Are you both all right?’ Acer could hear the anxiety in the man’s voice.
‘We’re both fine. We’re safe. We’re in Port Said.’
‘Thank God. We’ve been worried sick here.’
‘How is Mrs Hammond?’
‘Suffering with worry, as you’d expect. Our medical man gave her something to help her sleep. I haven’t seen her this morning. She’s probably still out of it. It’ll be good to have news for her when she surfaces.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the convoy.’
‘What time do you expect to be at Port Said?’
‘All being well, around six this evening. I have an idea for how you can rejoin us.’
‘Go on.’
‘The entrance to Port Said at the mouth of the Med will be teeming with all sorts of small vessels: fishing boats, pilot boats, supply boats and ferries. I can arrange to have something brought out to us. It’ll have to be when we’re well clear of the Canal. All you have to do is find the boat and get on it. I’ll make sure they’re expecting you.’
‘That’s brilliant. Thank you.’
‘Will you have any problems getting to the port?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘If whoever was responsible for taking the girl is waiting around for you to rejoin us they’ll be watching our movements. They’ll know that you didn’t come back in Suez and they’ll know that you can’t join us en-route: we don’t stop. There is only one place left for you to try and that’s at Port Said.’
‘I understand. We’ll need to be a bit cleverer than them, then, won’t we?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be in touch, Acer, and keep yourselves safe.’
He spoke with Eshe about their location in relation to the port. She said a taxi would get them there in fifteen minutes. Then all there was to do was wait.
Persuaded by his efforts with the grass, Eshe’s mother agreed to let him tidy up some of the shrubbery under her close direction, using Eshe as translator. He enjoyed himself with his simple distracting manual labour to the point that he was fleetingly able to forget their situation, the danger they were in, and the things he had done. Zoe was content to spend her time watching, listening and drawing. In the early afternoon they ate a simple cold lunch outside together in the shade.
In the middle of the afternoon Wallace called back. ‘I’ve sorted something out. An old friend. You’ll need to find your way to Port Said’s waterfront. Can you do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a paper and pen?’
He got them and wrote down the place and the name of the boat that he was to find. He showed the paper to Eshe. She read it quickly and nodded her understanding.
‘There’s a change of plan,’ said Wallace. ‘We are not able to stop. You are going to have to get aboard while we are still moving.’
‘What? Why? That’s going to be dangerous for Zoe.’
‘Politics and security. I’ll explain later. We can reduce speed at the critical moment. We’ll be there to help you.’
‘Is there another way?’
‘No. I’m sorry.’
Acer could feel his good mood evaporating. ‘Then we’ll have to manage,’ he said.
***
70
When the time came they said their farewells to Eshe’s mother. In the few hours they had known each other something of a lasting bond had been made. She stood at the side of the road and waved them off as though they were family who had visited from far away.
Eshe sat in the front of the taxi, Acer and Zoe sat mutely in the back. The city flashed past the windows in the dying light of the late afternoon. Blocks of bright sunlight mingled with the heavy shadows cast by the sun dipping behind the tall buildings that lined the roads to create a stroboscopic effect.
In the close confinement of the taxi, Acer could smell himself and his clothing. He was tired, and he reflected that his efforts in the garden under a harsh sun without much sleep behind him might not have been the best way to spend his waiting time given the potential for action this evening. His mind was alert, however, and he knew that, despite his physical state, the chemicals his body was always quick to release in times of need would see him through whatever lay in store for them.
They quickly found their street on the waterfront and then, without much trouble, the building opposite where they had been told their water transport would be moored and waiting for them. Acer left Zoe with Eshe in the taxi and went across to be sure.
From the top of the high dock wall that ran alongside the road that bordered the port he located their ride ‘home’. He exchanged meaningful gestures with a scrappy-looking man waiting on the rear deck of the small craft, looking out for them. The boat was sandwiched between two similar vessels, old fishing boats, in a long line of old fishing boats. It was tethered, stern on, to an iron bollard set in the concrete apron. In the gentle swell the small boats all bobbed up and down according to the washes of the bigger ships that were using the channel.
He jogged back to the taxi and gave his remaining Egyptian pounds to Eshe. She wanted to come with them, to make sure everything was all right, but he refused her.
On the pavement he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘You’ve done enough, Eshe. More than enough. I will be eternally grateful to you and your mother for your kindness and help. I honestly don’t know what we would have done without you. But this is as far as I’m letting you go. There could still be trouble here for us and you are not going to be part of it.’ She opened her mouth to protest. ‘No, Eshe. Please, listen to me. If there is to be trouble and you are caught up in it... think of your mother, think of your family, think of yourself. This isn’t your fight. We are not your problem. Promise me you’ll go home now.’
Her shoulders sagged and she nodded her head. She knelt down to Zoe’s eye-level again and said something that Acer didn’t catch. They embraced. Eshe stood and her eyes were moist.
‘Good luck,’ she said.
‘You too, Eshe. We won’t forget you.’
They waited on the kerb and watched as the taxi pulled away and disappeared around a corner
.
He squeezed Zoe’s hand. ‘Just you and me again,’ he said. ‘Ready?’
She looked up at him, didn’t smile and nodded. He looked both ways and they crossed the road.
***
71
Acer’s fears over whether his enemies might be monitoring the waterfront were reduced somewhat by the impossible task he could see they would face. Like the Bosphorus that cleaves Istanbul in two; like Bandar Abbas on Iran’s Strait of Hormuz coast; like Dubai Creek off the Persian Gulf and like Suez in the Gulf of the same name, the sea thronged with craft going in all directions. In both directions and on both sides of the waterway the shoreline was choked with boats. It would be an impossible task to keep tabs on everyone and everything. And the light was fading.
Wallace’s idea that the enemy would have to focus their attention on Arcadia made more sense. Perhaps this thought was why Wallace had suggested they not stop for the transfer.
It would be expected that if Acer and the girl were to try to rejoin their vessel then the vessel would need to stop for it. Any sign of stopping might see the quick mobilisation of one or more craft that would move into positions to deter a boarding. And if that happened they would be exposed and vulnerable. And because Acer now knew something about his foe he could not rule out the possibility of them having the resources or contacts to instigate such an elaborate and bold plan.
Acer led Zoe down the steep set of concrete steps set against the dock wall. They hurried to the boat and were encouraged to board without delay.
There were two men on the little boat. It was immediately obvious who was in charge as the bigger of them gave instructions to the scrawny individual of indeterminate age who had been looking out for them.
In good English, the skipper said, ‘Welcome aboard,’ and offered his hand. ‘Where to?’
‘Don’t you know?’ said Acer, shaking the hand and wondering whether they had made a mistake and this was some kind of water taxi.
‘Yes, but it would be nice to hear it from you. That way there is no confusion.’ His English was very good. Acer detected a trace of a North American accent.
‘Arcadia.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. Make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be leaving soon.’
The man turned his attention to the radio. He spoke into the handset and was answered quickly by the unmistakeable voice of Wallace.
‘We have your cargo,’ said the skipper.
‘Good. We’ll be passing your position in approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by for further instructions.’
The skipper turned and smiled at Acer. ‘OK?’
Acer nodded and relaxed. The engine burbled into life and the crewman cast off from the shore. The skipper took the boat out into the channel and they idled a little way off to wait for the huge cargo vessel to pass them.
Wallace had said earlier that they were in a convoy formation. As they watched and waited, an enormous leviathan of the sea made its slow and dignified way past them.
‘How are we doing it?’ said Acer, raising his voice over the noise of the engine and the water.
‘We will follow them and when they tell us to we will get alongside. They will lower their steps. You will go across.’
‘As easy as that?’
The man let his gaze find Zoe. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Acer turned to Zoe, believing it would be best to prepare her for what was to come rather than surprise her at the last moment. That could cause confusion and delay.
‘Arcadia can’t stop for us, Zoe. We’re going to get alongside and then we’ve got to get across as it’s still moving.’
‘Like the pirates did?’ she said.
He smiled at her for that. ‘Yes. Like the pirates did. But this time they want us on board. Can you do it?’
She nodded and turned away to study the sea. Her eyes betrayed nothing of her feelings for the risks.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there and there’ll be someone from the ship to help.’
She didn’t answer him and he didn’t press her.
The radio crackled. Wallace said, ‘We’re passing the port authority building now. Can you see us?’
The skipper said, ‘Yes. We see you.’
‘Do not approach us yet,’ said Wallace. ‘We might have company.’
The skipper frowned and picked up his binoculars to scan the water behind the big ship. After a few seconds, he handed them to Acer. A sleek and fast-looking powerboat was following in the distant reaches of Arcadia’s wake.
‘We shall have to shadow you,’ said the skipper, into the handset, ‘or we will lose our chance to catch you.’
He didn’t wait for a reply. He engaged gear and increased the engine’s note. They began moving along, keeping pace with Arcadia but back a little. Just a local fishing boat chugging up the waterway at the end of a day’s work.
Acer used the binoculars. He saw that Arcadia was the last ship in the convoy. Then he noticed something else. ‘The ship’s stairs,’ he said. ‘They must be on the other side. We’ll need to cross her path and then get alongside.’
The skipper grunted and he seemed a lot less cheerful than he had been ten minutes earlier.
Wallace’s voice came across. ‘We see you. You’re on the wrong side of us.’
‘So we see,’ said the skipper, and he was smiling wryly now.
‘Can you get across our bows and fall in beside us?’
‘That’s what you’re paying me for, Captain.’ He hung up the handset and gave his full attention to the task. He increased his speed and Acer understood the engine in the little fishing vessel held a powerful secret.
***
72
A good distance separated Arcadia and the ship in front of her in the convoy. Nothing to worry about there. The little boat moved further out into the channel and increased speed. The temperature dropped a few degrees as the air was channelled up and over the cooling waters.
Acer moved the binoculars between Arcadia and the speedboat well behind them and he wondered what sort of horsepower they had. The skipper turned his wheel a few degrees and the boat responded. As it abruptly cut across the heavy swell created by the wake of the ship in front of Arcadia it was tossed about to lose some of its headway. Acer felt sure that anyone keeping an eye on the Arcadia would have noticed the manoeuvring of the little boat. Bracing himself against the structure, he fought to keep the glasses on the speedboat. He saw the telltale sign of increased speed as the hull rose a little in the water and a white froth appeared at its stern. And he saw instantly that it would cut them off with little difficulty. He opened his mouth to tell the skipper to abort and get them back to shore as quickly as he could when he saw the speedboat stutter. The hull dropped and the white wake disappeared.
The fishing boat’s skipper took his boat across the bow of Arcadia and Acer could see what had forced the speedboat to ease off its throttle. The ferries from the eastern side were set to cross close in time and distance behind the stern of Arcadia along with a little armada of mixed craft, and everything behind that would have to wait or risk a collision.
The skipper brought his craft parallel to and within twenty metres of the Arcadia’s flank. The big metal stairs had already been lowered. Acer glanced behind them and was relieved to see no sign of their pursuers closing the gap. They eased alongside the huge cargo vessel with a skill that belied the difficulty of the manoeuvre. In seconds they were within feet of the ship, matching the Arcadia perfectly for pace. Acer recognised the crewman waiting on the bottom step as the older of the two armed men who had been on deck when the pirates had boarded them. He was glad to see him – a reliable and experienced man.
Another look behind and Acer could see that the speedboat was through its obstacle course and approaching fast, hull up in the water. It would not be able to get between them and the Arcadia now but depending on how determined and desperate they were they could still make things difficult. They might e
ven be tempted to start shooting.
The wiry crewman climbed onto the narrow ledge at the side of the boat. He reached out and grabbed hold of the iron handrail of the Arcadia’s metal stairs with one hand while hanging on to his own boat’s side with the other. Acting as the only physical link between them it seemed as though he pulled them the remaining inches until the old tyres of the little boat were rubbing up against the metalwork of Arcadia.
Acer lifted Zoe across to the seaman of Arcadia just as the powerboat roared past them with only feet to spare. It threw a bow wave of seawater across them and the wash it created tested the grips and holds of the men hanging on for dear life.
‘Bastards!’ shouted the skipper. His crewman had been forced to let go of the Arcadia to save himself from falling. Acer had been pitched forward to land with a painful thump onto the deck. He wiped his eyes clear of the seawater and looked up desperately to see whether Zoe had made it. The crewman was already halfway up the stairs with her securely under his arm. The ploy of the powerboat would have had no effect against the stable might of the cargo vessel.
The skipper brought his boat in again and Acer was able to reach across, take hold of the handrail and leap onto the bottom tread. Immediately, the skipper moved away a few feet. Acer looked across to the men and they were both beaming broadly at him, drenched and dripping as he was. Unable to help himself, he laughed loudly and gave them a mock salute. It was returned and he watched as they veered away, before climbing his way back to the deck of the Arcadia.
***
73
By the time he made the deck Dominique was holding Zoe in a tight embrace. Wallace stepped across to Acer and, beaming his relief at the outcome, grasped his hand.
‘Great job, man. I wasn’t sure we’d see either of you again. Well done.’ Wallace pumped Acer’s hand like he was milking something.
