Tracks

by Niv Kaplan

  “I get the feeling none of this is accidental,” he asserted. “They may have planned to trap Clair well in advance knowing we will be coming with money.”

  “You give them a lot of credit,” Christine remarked.

  “We know the El Shara brothers are collaborating. That’s obvious,” Jack continued earnestly. “The rest of them are all in on it, including Abdullah. The motive must be money and whether or not everyone were in on it from the start is actually no longer important.”

  “How did they know about us?” Christine objected.

  “They might have assumed someone would eventually show up with money. Otherwise, they might have simple common sense. Our activity, if not headline material, is well publicized. How difficult would it be to figure an organization like ours will take an interest in such a case?”

  They were both silent for a while, concentrating on their menus.

  “What did you find out about the boy?” Jack asked after they had ordered.

  ”As you predicted, he showed up about an hour after we had left the house,” Christine recalled. “He came on foot and met with a group of kids his own age on the south side. They methodically went around the boardwalk through the hotels and back to the market. That’s where I lost him. The gang suddenly dispersed and I had no idea where he went. I went back to the south side but he did not pass by there. That’s when I decided to purchase these clothes.”

  “Let’s drive by the house later, see if we can spot him.” Jack suggested. “I’d put money down that he’s not Yusuf's son.”

  “We might also want to try and find Hussni and Clair’s boy. Clair believes they’re here. The boy may be tramping around with those gangs,” Christine suggested.

  “Do you know what he looks like?” Jack asked.

  “Of course. I have a photo. It may be a little out of date but we could definitely use it.”

  “Done,” Jack agreed. “You go have a look tomorrow. I’ll have another chat with Abdullah.”

  They swung by the house after they had finished their dinner, finding it lit with both Yusuf and the boy present. They were seated around the kitchen table, a woman in a black robe serving them dinner.

  Back at the Katarina Inn Jack retired for the night but Christine felt restless. She remained in the lobby’s corner bar for a while sipping more red wine then walked out into the night. She went through the resort’s array of pools among darkened palm trees and trickling waterfalls to the secluded beach area. There were still people around particularly couples in isolated corners.

  She took off her sandals and walked on the sand. It felt cool around her feet. She kept thinking of Clair and how bravely she was handling herself in that wretched place the Egyptians called prison. She had serious doubts whether she could have survived a day under such conditions let alone two months.

  On a whim she decided to go there.

  Glad that Jack had left her the keys to the rental since he was meeting Abdullah at the resort in the morning, she ran back through the lobby and jumped in the car.

  The old splintered building stood dark and threatening as she approached it. A bare lamp lit the only entrance where a guard sat with his weapon slouched on his knees. She parked the car and hesitantly walked toward him. He did not move until she was upon him. Flashing a set of crooked teeth made to look grotesque in the shadow of the lamp above, he stood up and pointed the gun at her.

  She stopped in her tracks.

  “I would like to see the French woman,” she said in English but the guard’s expression did not change. She tried it in French and his crooked smile disappeared. He blurted a few words in Arabic pointing the gun extremely close to her face. She took a step back and took out a wad of bills she had stashed in her sarong.

  She waved it in front of her face and he became interested. The barrel of the gun was lowered and he motioned for her to step closer. She peeled off several bills and handed it over. The guard studied the bundle then motioned for more. She gave the rest of her French currency to him and stepped to the door. He opened the creaking prison gate and led her in. He walked quickly through dark corridors and down a flight of stairs to a reeking round dungeon with jail cells occupying all sides. It was pitch dark but for the guard’s flashlight. He flashed it in the direction of one particular cell illuminating several bodies sprawled on the floor. One of them immediately got up. It was Clair.

  Christine ran to her and grabbed her hands through the bars. “I can’t stand you being locked in here,” she whispered in French. Clair squeezed her wrists tight. “You are completely mad coming here now.”

  “I don’t care,” Christine said. “I’m responsible for this. I should have watched you closer.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m the stupid one. Now get on out of here before they throw you in with me.”

  “I’ll be looking for Hussni and Ibrahim tomorrow. I have a feeling you’re right. They are in town.”

  “I’m sure of it.” Clair said. “They may be hiding in one of the hotels.”

  “I’ll make sure and look. If we find them, they’ll have to drop your case.”

  “Watch out, Chris. These people don’t have to do anything. They can find other excuses to keep me in here.”

  “Be strong. We’ll get you out.” Christine said. Tears in her eyes she squeezed Clair’s hands one last time and turned to go. The guard, who had been squatting by the entrance quietly smoking, demolished his cigarette, turned on his flashlight, and led Christine back out.

  Abdullah showed up mid-morning. Black Jack waited for him in the resort’s lounge. They ordered coffee and sat at a corner sofa by a large glass window overlooking the pools and beach area.

  “If anything happens to Clair it’s your head,” Black Jack said after a few moments of silence.

  “She will not be harmed,” Abdullah said, “but she may have to stand trial.”

  “This was a set up,” Black Jack complained.

  Abdullah remained silent.

  “What’s your share in this?” Jack persisted.

  “I will represent the accused,” Abdullah said dryly.

  “The brothers set her up,” Jack retorted. “They brought her here so they can extort money.”

  “She obviously chased the wrong boy,” Abdullah remarked.

  “I’m not convinced,” Jack replied. “The boy we met at the house is not Yusuf’s son and I doubt the house belongs to Yusuf.”

  Abdullah raised his hands in regret, not giving anything away.

  “It’s Yusuf who brought her here you know,” Jack continued, accusingly. “He pointed her to the house, telling her her son was there.”

  Abdullah lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at the large window.

  “Five grand,” Jack blurted, sounding more frustrated than he wanted to.

  “I’ll take it up with the judge,” Abdullah said.

  “Make sure the chief is agreeable,” Jack reminded him.

  Abdullah did not respond. Instead, he flipped his burning cigarette in an ashtray on the table and got up to leave.

  Jack caught him by the arm. “World opinion would not be favorable, if this gets around. Tell the judge it’s in your best interest to settle this quickly and quietly. If you push me, I will turn this trial into a media circus.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Abdullah said turning to leave.

  “And make damn sure they treat her right,” Jack uttered behind Abdullah’s back marching out the lounge door.

  Christine had methodically combed each and every hotel on the Dahab strip by noontime. She looked in lobbies, bars, restaurants, pools and beach areas with nothing to show for. She was reluctant to check hotel guest lists knowing word got around quick, plus she could not think of an appropriate excuse. Once again she approached the market, mingling with the bustling crowd.

  At a fruit stand she saw several kids from the gang she had followed the previous day. They were in the act of robbing a banana cluster from a busy market trader. One boy c
reated a diversion on one side of the stand while the others swiped the bananas and dispersed in all directions. Christine was positioned in the path of one of the getaway routes and when a large boy came running her way, she stuck out her leg and tripped him. The boy flew sprawling on the ground the banana cluster flying out of his hands. In the mayhem of escaping looters and angry pursuers, Christine managed to trap the dumbfounded boy into a corner and threaten with hand language to turn him in. He sat up stunned, his back to a wooden hut, and looked up at Christine who held a photo of Clair’s boy, inches from his face.

  It took the boy a few seconds to adjust his focus, but the look on his face when the image registered told Christine she had hit home. She grabbed the boy by the hair and stood him up. He gingerly walked the first few steps, wiping the dust off his clothes, then increased his strides leading her through the maze of narrow alleyways to the south side of the boardwalk. They left the boardwalk and walked up a plateau overlooking the coast to a neighborhood of low beach houses, not far from the house where Yusuf and his so-called “son” were residing. They continued on for about a mile across sand dunes to a hidden alcove in which a wooden house was raised above a small inlet with a wooden deck stretched out into the water where a white sail boat with Arab inscriptions sat leisurely rocking tied to the pier.

  The boy stopped, pointing in the direction of the house and boat, then took off running, back where they came from.

  Christine sat on the sand dune and surveyed the house. She sensed activity but could not quite detect it. She edged a little closer, trying to gain a different angle, but still could not see any people.

  Chief Halil startled her when he appeared out of no-where and sat himself cross-legged in front of her.

  “A girl could disappear in these places without leaving a trace,” he said, smiling slyly.

  Christine needed a moment to catch her breath before she could reply. “You’re too smart for that,” she managed to blurt.

  “Indeed I am,” the chief asserted, smiling broadly now, “which is the reason I let you visit the woman last night and allowed you to come this close to the kid.”

  “So he is here!” Christine exclaimed.

  The chief slumped his head, exasperated. “You Westerners never learn, do you? You think your noble rules apply everywhere, don’t you? You think you can come in here and force us to abide by what you think is right or fair.”

  “What type of law does apply here?” Christine asked.

  “Laws of the poor and the hungry, in case you haven’t noticed,” the chief said. “That boy stealing a banana, it’s most likely his only meal of the day.”

  “So you let him steal?”

  “Who will stop him? My men, who earn less in a year than what you earn in a week?”

  "Does this justify throwing a poor mother in a hell hole for two months, treating her like an animal when all she wanted was her son back?”

  “You westerners have made this place a battle zone, killing tens of thousands of our people over the years, so don’t talk to me about justice. There is none. None for us, none for you.”

  Christine became wary the conversation was going nowhere, at least nowhere that would help her cause, so she clamped up and said nothing.

  The chief looked at her hard for a long moment then got up, wiping the sand off his trousers. “You tell your partner to be more cooperative if you ever want to see that woman again. Now go on, get out of here before I throw you in with her.”

  Christine got up, turned and raced down the sand dune not looking back. The chief was still there staring in her direction when she got to the inhabited beach area.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A day later, Black Jack was called to the judge for one last session in which they settled on five grand and Clair was let go. Jack and Christine met her at the prison gate and took her to the resort to clean up and enjoy a decent meal, her first in two months. The judge ordered Clair deported from Egypt but allowed Black Jack to perform the deed so he could get his pay. Jack needed three days to deliver the money.

  “I will not leave without my boy,” Clair said once they had settled for drinks after dinner.

  “He’s well-guarded,” Christine pointed out. “There’s no reaching that house without being seen.”

  “Then we’ll get him at night,” Clair persisted. “They won’t be expecting it after all this.”

  Christine looked for Jack to talk some sense into the woman but he had a mischievous grin on his face.

  “It could work,” he said thoughtfully. “We could surprise the bastards.”

  Christine was taken aback by the idea of risking being thrown in a dungeon and who knows where else for the remainder of their lives, if they failed, but waited to hear more before she voiced her opinion.

  “We could use that yacht to get away,” Jack was saying warming up to the idea. “With the right kind of wind we could be in Israeli waters in less than five hours.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that yacht,” Christine said. “It didn’t look like it has seen much use from where I was standing.”

  “How could you tell?” Black jack asked.

  “It just didn’t look seaworthy - the peeling paint, the crooked mast, the overall shape. It just looked old and unused.”

  “The Israeli border isn’t that far with a car,” Clair pointed out. “If we press, we could get there in four hours.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got roadblocks along that route that could quickly be alerted,” Jack remarked, then added, looking at Christine, “But we’ll have to risk it, or we’ll never get him out.”

  Christine took a deep breath, but did not comment. The decision had been made. She worried but could not oppose it.

  Nights over the Sinai Peninsula were as clear as day most of the year and the three nights left at their disposal looked to be no different. They hoped the element of surprise would be on their side if they acted quickly and decisively on the very first night, allowing minimum suspicions to creep in.

  The plan was simple. Jack and Clair would sneak in via the sea and try to lure the boy to join them. They had no idea what the boy felt for his mother after so many years, but at least she was a person he would recognize and trust. Christine would wait with the rental at close proximity, ready to spring. Then they would try to make it to the Israeli border at Eilat, hoping they could reach it before word reached any of the roadblocks or border patrols.

  They packed the car with only the essentials, leaving most of their belongings in their rooms, and ventured out for “dinner” at the Dahab strip. After an exceptionally long meal at a typical Middle Eastern restaurant serving salads and meats, they took a long stroll on the boardwalk, stopping now and then to check whether they were being followed. They stopped again at an open café and slowly sipped coffee before continuing on their outing. Finally, after midnight, when they could clearly see the strip emptied, they hopped into the car and drove to the southern end of town just beyond the outmost neighborhood as close to the sea as possible.

  Jack and Clair stripped to their under garments, Jack to his bathing suit, Clair to a bathing suit given to her by Christine. They looked chilled for a moment, stuffing their clothes in the car, then took off and disappeared into the shimmering Red Sea.

  They swam along the coral reef, beyond the incoming tide, careful to keep silent and not cut themselves on the sharp corals. They kept looking for the small alcove with the lonely house, the pier, and the yacht. Christine had estimated it to be no more than a kilometer away, which meant that it should take them approximately twenty minutes of hard swimming. They slowed their pace after fifteen minutes and concentrated on the coastline. After thirty minutes the deserted beach suddenly took a sharp turn into a darkened niche, where they were able to discern the pier and the sailboat. They swam toward it and reached the house, keeping within the confines of the logs holding the pier.

  Jack motioned to Clair who steadied herself on his shoulders to carefully survey the scene. W
hat she saw mesmerized her. There was her boy, Ibrahim, sitting by a lighted window looking out to sea, as if waiting for her to appear.

  She sprang off Jack’s shoulders and approached him on the creaking wooden pier. At first, the boy did not notice her, he seemed to be absorbed in some distant view, daydreaming. Then he suddenly looked sideways, gazed hard at her, stood up and went out through a side door. He came toward her, unsure, until he finally grasped who the woman was. At that moment a voice called out to him from inside, but the boy calmly dismissed it in Arabic.

  Jack saw mother and son embrace. Then the boy took off his clothes and jumped in the water, Clair right behind. The three swam back out beyond the tide, and headed back along the coral reef to where Christine was waiting. After half an hour they saw her flashing lights and headed in toward the beach.

  Shivering from cold, their bodies half numb, they welcomed Christine’s waiting towels, quickly drying themselves and putting on fresh clothes. In a few moments they were racing the rental toward the main coastal road and freedom.

  It did not take long for hell to break loose. Chief Halil was alerted from his bed and a posse was formed quickly. Roadblocks were alerted in both directions, south toward Sharm el Sheikh and north toward Nueba and the border with Israel. Two mini convoys were streaking after the fugitives within the hour.

  Jack’s intuition told him they should abandon the coastal road as soon as possible. He did not like their prospects after hearing Ibrahim’s father call the boy from within the house. He had no illusions their coup would be discovered the minute Hussni noticed his son’s absence and was actually surprised they had made it as far as they had. Ibrahim had explained it was quite common for him to go swimming at night but that could not buy them the needed time to get to the Israeli border. Christine was driving and he was scrutinizing a detailed map under the dim cabin light of the rental. Clair, with Ibrahim in the back, was looking over his shoulder.