“Please,” Mahdi said. “Quickly.” He led the way out of the mosque and a block down the street before turning on Sashi. “Tell me, what is this about?”
“You’re Mahdi Barakat,” Sashi said. “The linguist.”
Mahdi looked back and forth, alert for trouble. Another broken man. “What do you want?”
“To hire you,” Sashi said.
“You could have rang.”
Rowan noticed that Mahdi’s accent was more British than Middle Eastern. He’d either spent a lot of time in this part of the world, or he was faking it.
“You’re unlisted,” Sashi pointed out, hands on her hips. “And we both know why.”
The man blanched.
“Stop trying to intimidate him,” Talia said, “and tell him where he’d be going. If he’s any good at his job, he’ll understand what that means. The risks and rewards, and the odds of anyone finding him there.”
“Sentinel Island,” Sashi said. “In the Bay of Bengal. As I mentioned in the mosque, I work for the Indian—”
“Yes,” Mahdi said, but he wasn’t looking at Sashi, he was looking over her shoulder, back toward the mosque. Rowan followed his gaze and saw five men, traditionally dressed, holding their ground on the sidewalk. Their faces were hidden by thick beards, but their eyes were predatory. “When do we leave?”
“Now,” Rowan said, meeting Mahdi’s eyes. “That’s probably a good idea, right?”
Mahdi nodded. “Do you have a car?”
“Taxi,” Sashi said.
“We’ll take mine.” Mahdi pushed a button on his car key fob. The black BMW beside them flashed its hazards, and the doors unlocked. As the five men hurried toward them, they piled into Mahdi’s car, performed a quick three point turn resulting in angry honks and shouts, and sped away. Rowan looked through the rear window as they left the five men behind. They had narrowly avoided some kind of confrontation, but Rowan wasn’t confident that Mahdi had made the right choice.
He had done his homework, and if everything he’d read about Sentinel Island was true, Mahdi would have been safer in England.
4
“As far as government housing goes,” Rowan said, glancing back at the large villa that was built to look rustic, but was decked out with modern amenities including air conditioning, plush beds, and a jacuzzi tub, “this isn’t half bad.”
“You have no idea,” Talia replied. She leaned against a towering Padauk tree just ten feet from the light blue waters of the Bay of Bengal, sipping a yellow drink with a pink umbrella in it.
Mahdi tried not to look at her, but he found his willpower lacking. She wore a short flower-print sarong around her waist that did little to conceal her legs, a tank top, and sunglasses. The restraint she’d shown in covering herself back in the mosque had been left behind in England.
“Enjoying the view?” Rowan asked.
When Mahdi realized the American was speaking to him, he flinched and averted his eyes to the water. “Uh, yes. Very beautiful.”
Talia turned and smiled at him. “Better than the gray skies of London.”
Rowan gave him a knowing smile and said, “Warmer, too. Why don’t you shed some layers, Mahdi?”
While Rowan had made himself comfortable, wearing just shorts, Mahdi was still dressed in his slacks and button-down shirt from the previous day. The equatorial summer heat and humidity was getting to him, but the cargo shorts and T-shirt he’d been given did not meet his standards of what qualified for clothing. The bright orange color and logo made him think that the clothes had been pilfered from Rowan’s suitcase. Since he had left London, with only the clothing he had on, he knew he should be thankful—more for the quick exit than for the clothing—but he felt more confused than anything.
Why did these people need his help? He was a linguist, as they pointed out, and a gifted one at that, but he had never been to India and he had little interest in tribal people. That they were willing to pluck him off the street in London and fly him several thousand miles without questioning him about the men who’d been following him was a source of concern. Then again, those men were looking for him, not the people with whom he now shared a beach.
He had kept to himself during the flight, listening to Talia regale Rowan and Sashi with stories of jungle life. She spoke of hunts, and drinks, and sexual activities that would enrage the men of his homeland. She was wild, like the places and people she visited. Untamed. Rowan was a casual man, and fairly lighthearted, but during quiet moments, Mahdi saw struggle in the man’s eyes, and something darker. Sashi was nice enough, but kept an emotional distance, of which the other two seemed unaware. But this was to be expected of a government official. What wasn’t to be expected was the speed and efficiency with which she had gathered her ‘team.’
And for what?
Making contact with a tribe of natives locked on an island?
Talia’s excitement over the prospect was earnest. She believed it to be the chance of a lifetime, so much so that she wasn’t looking at the situation analytically, if she was even capable of doing so. Rowan was hired muscle. He didn’t strike Mahdi as unintelligent, but he wasn’t paid to ask questions.
And Mahdi? He didn’t know what to ask until now, and Sashi had yet to arrive. They were being housed at the Sandal-Foot Resort, a collection of villas tucked into the jungle on the west coast of South Andaman Island, just twenty miles from the infamous North Sentinel Island.
“So what’s your deal?” Rowan asked. “You seem like a nice enough guy, strong silent type, but you’re hard to get a read on.”
“There is not much to know,” Mahdi said.
“Says the Pakistani linguist hiding in England.”
Talia kicked sand at Rowan’s legs. “Give him a break.”
“Really? You’re not curious?”
“The majority of Israelis and Palestinians co-exist peacefully, like…Red Sox and Yankees fans. Especially those of us in the sciences. Elevated minds prevail across all cultures.”
Mahdi’s smile was honest. He had not known what to expect from Talia, but he appreciated the respect she had shown at the mosque, and now for all of Palestine. At the same time, she might have been raised in Israel, but she had been educated in the U.S. and spent the majority of her adult life living in a hut or under the open sky. Her countrymen and women still in Israel might not share her liberal viewpoints.
Rowan raised a defiant finger. “First, when was the last time you spent ten minutes with both a Red Sox fan and a Yankees fan? Because: Not pretty.” A second finger extended. “Second, my job is to keep you both safe. That includes from each other. Given the turbulent nature of your cultures, I think my line of questioning is fair.” A third finger. “Third, would you mind moving a few feet away. As much as I’d like you closer, I can smell your drink.”
Talia looked at her drink, frowned, and stepped into the sun-touched sand beyond the tall tree’s shadow. “Sorry. I forgot.”
“It’s okay.” He pointed at Mahdi. “I’ve got Mahdi to help me stay dry.”
“Actually,” Madhi said. “I could use a beer. But I will abstain in your presence.”
“Well, now I really feel like a dick.” Talia poured her drink into the sand.
Rowan watched the liquid fall, unconsciously licking his lips as the beach absorbed every drop. Then he turned to Mahdi, one eyebrow perched high on his forehead. “Wait, so you’re…”
“Not Muslim, no.”
Rowan appeared perplexed. “But…”
“Just as Talia is a Jew—”
“That was a little less derogatory sounding,” Talia said with a wink.
“But is not Jewish, as in the religion.”
“So I’m kicking it on the beach with a non-Jew Jew and a non-Muslim Muslim?”
Mahdi laughed. “Non-Muslim Arab. Or Palestinian.” There were people in the world who might kill Rowan for his comment, many of them members of Mahdi’s extended family, but he was not one of them. “And I am hanging with a white
man who is…” Mahdi’s joke stalled in his mouth. “Why are Americans not stereotyped by a single religion?”
“Because we’re a little more diverse?” Rowan scratched his bare chest. “Arabs are pretty much Muslim, right?”
Mahdi shook his head. “Ten percent of Arabs are Christian.”
“Huh,” Rowan said. “Well, so far, one hundred percent of the Arabs I know can’t tell a joke.”
Mahdi laughed again.
Talia rolled her eyes. “The bromance begins.”
“Bromance?” Mahdi asked, getting a rise out of both Talia and Rowan.
“We’re already making progress,” Rowan said. “Our linguist learned a new word.”
Their laughter was cut short by a clearing throat.
Sashi approached them with a man in tow. While she wore the flowing colors of her homeland, he was dressed in a tailored business suit that must have retained heat like an oven. Despite the thick fabric and dark color, there wasn’t a bead of sweat on the man’s forehead. A local, Mahdi decided, accustomed to the tropical environment. Mahdi was fairly resistant to the adverse effects of dry heat, but his body didn’t know how to handle humidity. He was relieved to see fresh, folded clothes in Sashi’s hands.
She handed him a white, short sleeve, button-down shirt, a pair of pleated shorts, and leather boat shoes. “A little more your style?”
Mahdi accepted the clothing. “Yes, thank you.”
“So these are the intrepid explorers,” the newcomer said, his Indian accent far thicker than Sashi’s. His perfect smile looked more expensive than his suit, and his perfectly styled gray hair defied the ocean breeze. “North Sentinel Island is not for the faint of heart.”
“Everyone, this is Rattan Ambani.” Sashi motioned to the man, who pressed his hands together and bowed like a Hollywood star receiving an award. “He owns the Sandal-Foot Resort. When he heard about our expedition, he graciously offered his assistance, providing us with villas to stay in, the use of the grounds, and not to mention a ship and a captain to take us to the island.”
“The government hadn’t already paid for lodging and transportation?” Mahdi asked.
“The Indian government is happy to accept the generosity of its citizens,” she replied, her smile now forced. “And Mr. Ambani is one of our best.”
“I must admit,” Ambani said, “that I am somewhat infatuated with the Sentinelese people. I saw them once. When I was young and foolish. My friends and I took a yacht and anchored off the coast. The natives came out, of course, shooting arrows into the water, rudely gesturing.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Talia said, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.
“Yes, yes,” Ambani said. “I know that now. But we had heard the stories, of course. The bravado of youth propelled us to stupidity, but we knew well enough to leave before the sunset. I have not returned to the island, but I do occasionally wake upon hearing a noise, wondering if the Sentinelese finally decided to raid the mainland.”
“They wouldn’t be able to reach it,” Talia said.
“Mmm.” Ambani seemed to seriously consider this, and then his smile returned. “Regardless, I will sleep better knowing that the Sentinelese have been pacified.”
“Pacified!” Talia looked ready to attack. Rowan was quick to his feet, blocking her path.
Ambani held his palms up. “What I mean to say, is that I will sleep better knowing peaceful contact has been made. That the Sentinelese transition into the modern world is without conflict. That is the nature of your expedition, is it not?” He motioned to Talia. “To bridge the ancient and modern worlds.” Then to Mahdi. “To communicate as friends.” Then to Rowan. “And make sure no one is killed in the process.”
“You know a lot about us,” Rowan noted.
Ambani placed a thick hand on Sashi’s shoulder, with the weight of it, or perhaps her discomfort, forcing her arm lower. “Ms. Batta and I shared a delightful meal this afternoon. She was kind enough to reveal the details of your undertaking.”
“Something she has yet to do with us,” Mahdi said. He had questions that needed answering, and he preferred to get them from Sashi, rather than second-hand through a hotel tycoon, or from the other people who had been hastily hired for the job. He had requested details both on the way to the airport and on the plane, but Sashi had said they would be briefed after settling in. Other than a few scant bits of information about North Sentinel Island and the people who dwell there, he was mostly in the dark. Instinct told him to press for more, but when Sashi had revealed how much he would be paid for his services, he had refrained from asking any more questions. But that was yesterday. Today, far from home, he needed answers.
“My sincerest apologies,” the businessman said. “I did not mean to step on toes. I am merely excited.” He turned to Sashi. “I have prepared the conference room, as you directed. Would it be too much to ask if I could listen in on your presentation?”
“That would be fine,” Sashi said to the man, before turning to the others and mouthing, ‘Sorry.’
“I will see you all there,” he said with a strange kind of fist pumping motion that Mahdi took to be a sign of victory. The man might be a tycoon, but he radiated the innocent excitement of a small boy. Mahdi couldn’t decide whether or not he liked the paradoxical man, but he found himself shaking his head, along with the others, as the man strutted back toward the resort’s main building.
“I am sorry,” Sashi said, when the man was out of earshot. “Truly. Like all of you, I am merely doing the wishes of those who write my paychecks. Mr. Ambani has been generous, and kind, but he can be…”
“Ignorant,” Talia said. There was no doubting how she felt about the man.
“Overbearing,” Sashi said. “But we must endure him. At least while we are on his grounds, which after today, will only be at night.” She clapped her hands. “Now then, I’m glad to see you all getting along, but it is time for the answers for which you have all so patiently waited, and to meet the rest of our team.”
“Rest of our team?” Rowan asked. “How many people am I supposed to protect?”
“Our captain and the first officer, both of whom will remain on the ship at all times—”
Talia raised a hand. “Umm, I think pretty much everyone will remain on the ship at all times. Maybe with the exception of me, but that’s only if I’m sure I won’t be skewered the moment I step on shore. My methods might be unusual, but I’m still alive for a reason.”
“Not that I want to shake hands with these people—” Mahdi began.
“Because that would be monumentally stupid as they have no cultural basis for hand shaking, and casual contact could transmit diseases for which they have no defense.”
Mahdi sighed. Talia was an intriguing, but difficult woman. “It was a figure of speech.”
She gave a nod. “Then the answer is, you’ll shout from the boat, but probably mostly listen, and if you have something to say, I’ll say it for you.”
“We can discuss all this inside,” Sashi said, walking backward and motioning for them to follow. “And we really should get started. There is a lot to go over, and I suggest an early bed time. We leave at first light.”
Talia and Rowan followed. Mahdi walked behind them, listening as Talia joked, “I think I’d sleep better if Mr. Ambani was stuck on Sentinel Island, too.”
Rowan made a faux pouty face and spoke with a horrible Indian accent. “Oh, but then I would definitely be dead.”
Mahdi laughed again, considered a return to the running derogatory gag, but then the reality of his situation began to sink in. If spending a single night on Sentinel Island was a death sentence, why the hell were they going?
5
From the dark depths of the jungle to a plush conference room over the course of a week. While the path of Talia Mayer’s life had been chaotic, she had only experienced such a dramatic transition once before, and she preferred not to talk or even think about that.
She hoped t
his experience would be better, though the soft chairs, tables piled with plates of cut tropical fruit, and the bitter-cold air conditioning were offending her sensibilities. Most of the world got along just fine, and were perfectly happy, without such excess. Despite growing up in a wealthy suburb of Tel Aviv, she didn’t understand why modern man couldn’t seem to live without absolute comfort at all times.
Every minute she stayed in the chilly room, she looked more forward to visiting North Sentinel Island. In her opinion, the Sentinelese lived the good life. From what she knew of them, their lifestyle wouldn’t be that dissimilar to the Peruvian Mashco-Piro, with the exception of subsisting off the sea, rather than the jungle.
They deserved to maintain that life, as did the Mashco-Piro and nearly a hundred other tribes around the world who had yet to be tainted by first world envy. But that was not reality, and she accepted that. If the Indian government was set on making contact, then better it be through someone like her, than a stick-in-the-mud pencil pusher who carried a rifle for fear of the natives he was supposed to protect.
At the same time, she had never been hired by a government agency before. Her treks into the Amazon had been self-motivated and self-funded, due to a sizable inheritance. Thanks to her off-the-beaten-path lifestyle, most of that money still sat in her bank account, but when she needed to travel, bribe an official, or purchase medicine for a threatened people, she had the necessary resources. She had been beholden to no one, until now.
She sat between Rowan, who had a plate piled with fruit, and Mahdi, who hadn’t stopped squeezing his fingers. Both men had been a surprise. She didn’t know how well they would work in the field, but Rowan’s easygoing sense of humor and Mahdi’s straightforward intellect were helping her transition back into the modern world.
At the same time, they were both enigmas, whose presence here was just as odd as her own. They were a motley, unconventional crew. The Indian government either had very little experience with contacting the few remaining tribal peoples under their rule, or better—more traditional—options had not been available.
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