Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  In desperation, Olani took the baby in her arms, whispering soothing words in Spanish, a language she wanted her daughter to speak. Kenny wanted to move the family to Spain, so they spoke Spanish at home, unless they had visitors from Nigeria. She changed the child’s diaper and decided against wrapping her in a light blanket, since it was very warm, even this early in the morning.

  Hurrying from the house, Olani hastened through the yard to awaken a neighbor down the street who could help her. Near the iron gate, she noticed the cats watching three large, semi-bald black buzzards. She had encountered her cats behaving this way almost a year ago when a stray dog had wandered in through the open gate and died inside their yard. The dead dog had attracted the same type of buzzards.

  Another dead dog, Olani thought. As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about. In this heat, I’d better get rid of the dead animal first.

  As she rounded the corner of her house, Olani let out a muffled scream. She fell against the wall, almost losing her grip on the baby, who started crying. Slowly, she slid down the plastered concrete wall to the ground and placed her daughter on a mound of soft soil. Dayo whimpered but stopped crying.

  Olani’s hands trembled as she turned the corpse over. A rope, which looked like the cord from the starter coil, formed a loose-fitting noose around her husband’s neck. The cord had left visible dark bruises and rope burns on his skin where it had been pulled tight to strangle him. His face was purplish-blue, and the flesh surrounding his lips was black. Tears flooded her eyes as she looked at her husband’s stiff body. She knew who had committed this vile act.

  With trembling hands she closed her husband’s eyes and his lower jaw, reciting the traditional words “when the soul leaves the body, the vision follows it” as she knelt by his side. She kissed his forehead, turned him to face Mecca and made a simple du’aa’ for his eternal rest, a supplication for Allah to forgive her beloved Kenny. She used a du’aa’ with a rhyming scheme she had learned long ago and was surprised she could recite it despite her unbearable stress.

  After picking up her daughter, Olani returned inside the house and put the baby on the mattress in the bedroom. She sobbed violently for several minutes. But things needed to be done, so she dried her eyes and picked up her mobile phone. She called her mother, which started her tears again and brought an occasional outburst of sobs. Olani explained what had happened and what she planned to do. Her mother promised to fly in later that day, though she asked Olani not to delay the funeral. They both knew that Kenny had to be buried as soon as possible. Only her mother would make the trip. Kenny’s parents were both deceased. Olani called Kenny’s sister to notify her, but she knew his sister would not be able to make it to the funeral since she lived in Washington, DC. Her own half-sisters would be too busy with their own families to travel.

  Olani opened a long, narrow wicker basket, used as a makeshift headboard for the bed. From it she removed a thin, white blanket. Talking softly to her daughter for a few seconds, Olani left the baby in the room and walked back outside.

  Through tears, she gazed at her husband’s corpse. She noticed his shirt was torn. On instinct, she reached down into Kenny’s pockets to check for his passport. It was missing. She checked for other personal belongings, but his pockets were empty.

  After a few seconds of silence, with minimal movement but great effort, she covered her husband’s body with the blanket. She moved slightly away to avoid negative ideas so near Kenny’s body.

  You murdered your own brother to steal his passport. I will report this atrocity to the authorities. And you will pay, Taiwo, for your heinous crime. Even if it’s the last thing I do on this earth. You barbaric dog, you will pay.

  After Kehinde’s close male friends removed his outer garments, they performed the ritual ghusl, bathing the corpse to cleanse it. The men then wrapped him in a simple shroud. Since Kenny had suffered trauma in his dying moments, and the body had not been found until twenty-four hours later, the janazah, or funeral, was rushed even more than usual to get the deceased to al-Dafin, his final resting place. The grave was aligned so it would be perpendicular to Qibla, or Mecca. The body was interred without a coffin, facing Mecca, as required by sharia.

  After the burial, Olani asked one of Kenny’s friends to report her husband’s murder to the police in Port Nador. Although she had called and reported the murder at Beni Ensar, the police, knowing the Adebayo family was Nigerian, had only sent an examiner to verify the death and issue a death certificate. Kenny’s friend said he would drive the twelve kilometers to Port Nador to report it at the police station. He also said he would drive an officer back to discuss the details with Olani.

  Female friends spent time with Olani after the janazah, which had taken place less than three hours after she’d found his corpse. When her mother arrived from Nigeria in the afternoon, the women returned to their own homes.

  A couple of hours after her mother’s arrival, Kenny’s friend knocked on the front door. A police officer accompanied him. Olani covered her head, opened the door, and joined them in the yard. Beyond the iron fence, she could see the police jeep they had driven.

  “Let me show you where I found my husband’s body. Before I tell you anything else, you need to know this was premeditated murder. My brother-in-law wanted my husband’s passport. He had an urgent reason to go to Spain. So urgent, he killed his own brother.”

  The three of them walked to the area where Taiwo had hidden his victim. Evidence showed on the ground where digging had taken place. Still visible along the ridges of soft upturned soil, Taiwo’s boot tracks had made discernable impressions.

  “There is no evidence of a murder here,” the police officer said.

  “I’ll show you the starter coil from the electric motor he used to strangle my husband. It’s on the bench by the front door.”

  “May I also see the death certificate? And I’ll take his mobile phone.”

  “The murdering devil,” Olani said, “took all his personal belongings, money, phone, everything. The death certificate I’ll show you. It’s inside the house.”

  Despite trying to contain her emotions, tears welled up in Olani’s eyes. She could not stop thinking about her little Dayo growing up without her father.

  As if reading her mind, Kenny’s friend told her she was a strong woman and he knew she would do a fine job raising Dayo.

  “You need to know,” Olani said to the officer, “that Taiwo Adebayo is a terrorist. You need to report him to the Spanish authorities. In Barcelona. That’s where he has a job to carry out in the name of jihad.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “In different words. His urgency for the passport speaks of his desperation. He definitely stated his assignment would take him to Barcelona.”

  “Can you be more specific?” the officer asked. “Did he mention accomplices? What job they intended to carry out?”

  “That’s all I know. He needed to get to Barcelona for an assignment. If it had been legal work, he would not use a stolen passport.”

  Olani saw the officer’s eyes glaze over when she was unable to provide the detailed information he requested.

  “The office will check the Interpol database and see if he’s on the watch list. If he is, that will make it easier to put out an alert,” the officer said.

  “Kenny was a good man.” Olani’s voice broke as she spoke. “The good man is dead and the evil one is alive.” She started crying again.

  “I’m sorry,” the officer said. “Can you show me the death certificate and I’ll get out of here, so you can return to your child.”

  “Yes, of course. Follow me.” She led the men into the house where the officer verified the death certificate and took a picture of it with his phone. After the men departed, she went to the kitchen, where her mother was busy entertaining Dayo.

  Despite the late hour, neither Olani nor her mother had eaten. Dayo was asleep and Olani had spent the last two hours crying. She had also talked to h
er mother about what her life would be now without Kenny.

  “Never mind the three-day waiting period. Who is to know if you do not observe the widow’s three-day waiting period?” Olani’s mother asked rhetorically.

  “Are you sure?” Olani asked. She had always considered her mother to be a very sensible woman and was pleased to have her mother’s blessing.

  “Pack a suitcase and leave for Spain as soon as possible—you must do what you must do. The Spanish authorities must punish him. I’ve come to take care of my granddaughter. Go without worries.”

  Though his murder was reported in Beni Ensar and in the city of Nador, Olani knew she’d need to report his death to the Spanish authorities to make certain Taiwo suffered the consequences for murdering his brother. Normally the Spanish government would not be interested in the death of one more Muslim man in the Melilla area, but she knew they would listen when she told them of the terrorist carrying her husband’s passport. As the widow, she should wait until the end of the third day following Kenny’s death before leaving the house. But with her mother supporting her decision to travel to Spain and stay with relatives who could help her, she took out her suitcase and packed. Knowing her mother would take care of Dayo, Olani could act before it was too late and Taiwo got away without punishment. She dialed a number in L’Hospitalet de Llobregat in Spain. Then she called a taxi and set an appointment for pickup at four a.m. to be driven to Melilla, in time for the first flight to Barcelona the following morning.

  Olani knew her mother had always detested Taiwo. The woman had been so pleased when Olani and Kenny married. After all, Taiwo’s constant harassment would have to stop after Olani married another man. Especially since that man was Taiwo’s twin brother. Except that now, four years after Olani’s marriage to Kenny, Taiwo’s aggressiveness had taken a sinister turn. And there was a corpse to prove it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mediterranean Sea

  Sunday Late Afternoon

  The Mediterranean is almost completely enclosed by land—the European continent and Anatolia to the north, Africa on the south, the Levant to the east, and the mountainous Spanish and Moroccan coasts separated by the relatively narrow Strait of Gibraltar to the west. Bobbing in the rough waves of the Mediterranean, a forty-foot catamaran was en route from Valencia to the third largest Balearic Island, Ibiza. This archipelago is an autonomous community and forms a Spanish province, with Palma de Mallorca as its capital. The islands’ history followed the ups and downs of the Christian–Muslim power struggle on the mainland. Over the millennia, the islands saw conflict involving many different armies, including attacks from the Turks to the east and the Barbary pirates from North Africa.

  Taiwo clung to the steel handrail attached to the interior of the small center cockpit, feeling as if his very life depended on how tight he held it. The captain steered the boat head-on into monstrous, unruly waves. Taiwo gritted his teeth as he tried to stand and look out over the ocean. All he could see were waves, huge waves—rising, falling, and then the sudden swells breaking against the hull of the boat. With each upsurge of the vessel, he felt the heaving of his stomach, which had already spilled the remnants of his last meal. Not accustomed to rough seas, Taiwo had thrown up all over the floor. And he still felt sick. If not for the endless nauseating bouncing of the boat, he would have lain down. He could not understand how Hassan and the captain kept the contents of their stomachs in the rough sea. The city of Valencia had not been visible for over three hours, but the island they were heading to was nowhere on the horizon either.

  The violent winds ceased as suddenly as they had arisen. The sea grew calm. The sun was low in the sky. Taiwo watched the captain turn off two of the four outboard Yamaha engines and reduce the speed of the boat to a mere crawl. Though the captain had remained silent throughout most of the trip, he spoke as they approached land.

  “I’m from central Saudi Arabia. One day, I felt called to exchange my seminomadic life in the desert to the life on a seaworthy motorboat,” he said as he looked out over the horizon with expressionless eyes, almost as if he were talking to himself.

  “One lonely life to another. You must have had trouble with women,” Taiwo said.

  “No, no trouble.”

  “A man your age,” Taiwo said, “does not leave his home to come so far away without some form of shit with someone.”

  “I’m a hajji. I came to where I was needed,” he said, standing a little taller and puffing his chest out like a frigatebird. “How about the two of you?” As the short man stood on the platform by the controls, Taiwo felt the captain’s stare. He appeared to take pride in having fulfilled his duty to make the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca.

  “Not yet. But I will someday,” Taiwo said. Irritated by the captain’s bragging on attaining hajji status, the Nigerian could not conceal his feelings. Although Taiwo had recovered from his seasickness, he still felt pale and shaky. He noticed the normally quiet Hassan ignored the hajji’s comment and fixed his gaze on the horizon.

  The captain went silent again, as if he should not waste too many words on them.

  “You must feel we are mere foot soldiers. Let me tell you, hajji man, we all find our way to serve Allah. You’re not the only one who has devoted his life to Allah,” Taiwo said. He felt ill-humored after the rough seas. It made him feel better to spit out the venom building in the pit of his stomach by confronting the captain.

  Uttering an unintelligible growl, the captain turned back to the control panel.

  Straight ahead, Taiwo saw white bluffs loom over the horizon. As the boat approached a cove, the bluffs became stratified rock, chiseled by the wind and sea into horizontal planks.

  The captain moved and Taiwo saw him scanning the cliffs. He seemed to be making certain no people were perched on the outcroppings waiting to watch the sunset—or keeping an eye on the comings and goings of small vessels in the sea.

  A lone figure walked along a distant ridge. Out of nowhere, a small speck that Taiwo realized was a bird flew to the man’s uplifted hand. A falconer is out hunting with his raptor, Taiwo thought. I’m a hunter too, just different prey.

  The boatman either did not see the falconer or he did not perceive the man to be a threat, for he proceeded to steer right up to the rock ledges. He signaled for his two passengers to scramble out onto one of the protruding flat rocks. He passed two boxes containing food, water, cooking equipment, and light blankets to them. He informed Taiwo and Hassan he would tie the boat further down the coastline.

  “When I return, we will climb up to that cave to eat and sleep there,” the captain said, pointing to an opening visible on the upper part of the rocky cliff. “While you wait for me, gather dry driftwood along the bluffs so I can cook tonight.”

  Taiwo spat on the ground as he watched the captain turn the boat around in the cove. Looking back to where he’d seen the falconer, he saw that the cliff was deserted.

  Awakening in the predawn hours, Taiwo saw the captain moving about, lighting his way to the mouth of the cave with a flashlight. When the captain gave no indication that he knew he was being watched, Taiwo got up after the Saudi left the cave. Taiwo relieved himself near the mouth of the cave and kept an eye on the captain walking down the cliff. He assumed the hajji would collect more pieces of driftwood. The wood he and Hassan had gathered the night before while the hajji moored his boat had been consumed during the preparation of dinner.

  Taiwo laid down again but was still awake when he heard the captain piling driftwood inside the opening of the cave by the circle of rocks where he had made the campfire the night before. He pretended to sleep as he saw the hajji take his prayer rug and perform his morning salat. After his prayers, the man again stretched the rug between the two metal stakes he had used the previous evening to prevent the fire from being seen from the bluffs below. Taiwo watched the captain light the sun-dried tree branches and other debris.

  When Hassan awoke, Taiwo decided it was time to get up. After their day
break prayers, the two men joined the captain at the campfire. He handed them cups of strong coffee and the results of his campfire cooking. Each man indulged in freshly made hunayua, a typical Saudi breakfast made with ground dates, butter, and semolina and seasoned with cardamom seeds. The captain had simmered it until the liquid evaporated, leaving the consistency of dry porridge. The robust aroma and flavor of the coffee enhanced the taste of the hunayua.

  After they ate, the captain announced it was time to pack up camp. He gathered the few pots and utensils he had used for cooking dinner the night before and breakfast this morning. Using a dirty, char-covered cloth, he wiped the excess soot from the pans before banging them into a backpack. In between the butter and flour tins and his cooking pots, he slipped sacks made from coarse cloth containing dates and other leftover ingredients. The arrangement kept the metal pots from rattling. The captain crouched down at the opening of the cave to kill the campfire embers with water from a flask he carried on his belt. Then he scraped dirt from the cave floor with his hands and poured it over the ashes. Finally he untied his prayer rug, removed the two stakes from the ground, and rolled them up inside the rug. This he tied securely to the outside of his backpack.

  Taiwo gathered up his own stuff. The two men followed the captain down the cliff to the place he had moored the boat.