All the Young Warriors

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Who was more dangerous? The pirates or Iles? Who was more willing to take someone's head off? It had to be a bluff.

  Kept looking at himself, leaned on the sink. His own eyes. Coward? Wouldn't anyone be in the same situation?

  No time to think about it anymore. He would have to decide at the table. He straightened his shirt, his jacket, and stood straight.

  *

  Before entering the room, Adem heard her voice. Loud, demanding. The usual. No, more than the usual, because she wasn't saying it to him, but to another. Adem rounded the corner in time to see her shaking her hands in the air, Garaad getting the brunt of her tirade. She was speaking fast, echoing in the empty meeting room. Adem heard "Stupid to let him…" and "Never let him out of your…" and "Ruined! You are an idiot!"

  Garaad took it all with his usual inane grin, hands in his pockets, hat tilted forward just so. But when he struck, it was like a cobra. His expression was flat, didn't change. Grabbed her arm with his left hand, pulled her close, backhanded her across the face with his right. She let out a yelp and he hit her again.

  Adem rushed out of the hall, into the room. "Hey!"

  Garaad turned. Still no expression. Daring Adem to come closer. The provocation he'd wanted all along.

  But Adem stayed put. Not putting his best foot forward. Garaad, still gripping Sufia's arm. She pulled back from him but the bodyguard wouldn't budge. Staring down Adem. Waiting for the right moment.

  "She works for me!" Adam was loud but shaky. "Never hit her! Never! Do you understand?"

  Garaad. Solid as a rock, eyes peeking out from the brim of the hat like ice. Sufia tried to wrench his fingers off with her free hand. Garaad swatted them down without looking.

  "Let her go."

  Nothing.

  Adem stepped further into the room. Flinching. If he was going to get his ass kicked again, it might as well be over Sufia. Here where she could see him taking a stand for her. Closer and closer. Fists tight.

  "I said let her go." Adem reached for Garaad's arm. Got swatted away, too. So he reached again. Latched on, the three of them linked together. Garaad's muscles rock-hard and no end in sight. Adem turned to Sufia. "Are you alright?"

  Seething through her teeth. "He's hurting me."

  Adem stepped even closer, putting himself between Sufia and Garrad, touching both, nose to nose with his supposed protector. The grin, like a worm, curled Garaad's lips again. He let go of Sufia's arm. Adem still held firm. Garaad looked at the arm, then Adem, then back at the arm.

  Adem let go. Garaad nodded slowly, then walked backwards out of the room. Quietly, gently.

  Adem turned to Sufia, put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? Let me see where he hurt you." He lifted her arm, was about to push her sleeve back when she yanked it away, rubbed it.

  "I'm fine." Her cheek was swelling. "You shouldn't have spoken to Mr. Iles on your own. Garaad should have been there."

  "Forget that. He's history. I'll call Farah for another guard and get rid of this creep."

  "He should have been there! Why are you not listening to me? What did the man have to say? What made you so ill?"

  Garaad must've enjoyed telling her that part.

  "They're not going to pay." He touched her cheek. "We should get some ice for this."

  "What do you mean they're not going to pay?"

  "Let's go back to my condo."

  "I don't think so."

  "I'll tell you all about it there. Please, you can't sit at the table looking like this." He put everything he had into that line. Whatever it took to make her see it his way. Pleading eyes. A tender voice. "Please, Sufia."

  She dropped her eyes. Nodded.

  He led her out through the lobby, out of the hotel, and hailed a cab. He didn't need the driver keeping tabs on him. He told the driver where to go, received a long look from his eyes the rearview.

  "Did you hear me? Hurry!"

  The driver pulled away from the curb. Adem hoped he would never be back at that hotel again. Whatever happened next, his life as a negotiator was finished.

  *

  At the apartment, Adem had Sufia sit on the couch while he wrapped ice in a wet cloth. Garaad wasn't there. Adem would call him, send him on some errand to keep him away. But later. Right now, it was all about Sufia. He brought her the ice and she held it to her cheek. He crouched in front of her.

  "You'll be safe here. I'll make sure Garaad doesn't come back."

  Sitting there, she relaxed, but that soon turned to tears. Not out and out crying. She tried hard to keep from showing how she felt. Tight lips. Hard chin.

  "It's okay, really."

  "He did what he had to do. I should have kept my voice down."

  Adem placed his hand on her knee. "You did nothing wrong. A man should never treat a woman like that, I don't care what god he thinks justifies it."

  "He was right to do it. I deserved it."

  "How can you say that? You deserve the best. I can give you the best. Give me a couple of hours, I promise, we can leave. You can go back to London. I can go with you. Or Kenya, or even Minneapolis. We can do it."

  She shushed him. Then, a hard whisper: "Foolish talk!"

  He took his hand away, sat back on his haunches. "I don't understand. What have I done? What have I said?"

  She took the ice from her face, shielded her eyes. "How can I leave again? I came back, I honored my father's wishes, I am doing what I think is right, or was, until you dragged me into this."

  "You can always come back once this war is over, when it's time to rebuild and make a new country. Even I would come back for that. But for now, we need to run. Please, come with me." He grabbed her hand. Her fingers remained limp in his grip. "If you really want to leave once we're safe, I'll buy you the ticket myself."

  She shook her head, laughed. Bitter and sharp. "Why don't you slap me and get it over with? At least Garaad was being honest when he did that. Once you get me out of the country, I know what will happen."

  Sufia pushed herself from the couch. Adem collapsed onto his rear, stayed seated on the floor, peering up like he was worshiping her. He didn't understand her at all. A strong woman, one with an independent mind and heart but who was loyal to a tyrannical father and an army of female-hating thugs.

  She kept on. "You'll swear I'm free to choose, but you'll say the time isn't right. That I should stay another few weeks. Then you will keep pushing me to act more like them. To wear what they wear. To go to pubs like they do. Brainwashing me, that's what you'll do."

  "I swear I won't."

  "See? Already with the swearing." She crossed her arms. "You think you know what's best for me, but you do not."

  Adem climbed up from the floor. He pointed to the cloth full of ice, and Sufia lifted it to her cheek again.

  He said, "Then we'll do it your way. We need to get away from here, away from Garaad and the pirates and Derrick Iles, but you tell me where we can go. I'll follow you anywhere."

  "Anywhere?"

  She had him. Would he go back to Mogadishu for her? Rejoin the cause?

  He said, "Anywhere safe."

  Adem expected the withering laugh again. A sneer. Anything. But instead he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. Of what? Of failure? Running away?

  She said, "Egypt."

  "Yeah?"

  "We can go to Cairo. Would you go to Cairo with me?"

  He nodded. "Yes, yes, I would. We can do that."

  "From there, maybe Dubai. Maybe. I don't know. I have to think."

  Adem's heart beat harder, faster. He could do this. He could save his dad and Sufia and and and…not the crew of the ship, though. This would kill them. But they knew the risks. They knew. They were on their own. Adem needed to get the money, get his dad, and get some plane tickets. And he needed to keep Garaad as far away from here as possible.

  Cell phone already in his hand as he headed for the door, Adem said, "Keep the door locked. Garaad won't be coming, but if anyone does, pretend you're
not here. If they break in, you can step out onto the walkway out the bedroom window. Just, please, be careful. I'll be back in two hours."

  "What if you're not? What will I do?"

  Hand on the doorknob. He tried to find an answer. "You go to Derrick Iles, tell him I tried, and tell him you want to go to Cairo."

  Out the door, into the hall, phone up to his ear.

  First, Garaad: "I need you to watch Iles. Don't let him out of your sight until I call you again. It's vital." Which should keep him out of the condo all night.

  Then, Farah: "We need to meet. Send a chopper. I'm coming to the boat."

  *

  The ship at night was like an ancient ruin, dark and haunted. The pirates were hiding in the shadows, in plain sight, keeping an eye on the waters around them. He wondered if any of them had an inkling about Iles's soliders, somewhere out there waiting for the order. Watching the watchers.

  The smell of diesel and sweat and whatever produce was rotting on deck, a portion of the goods being shipped, now worthless, was sweetly sickening. Adem's stomach was already touchy. Each step made his nausea worse. But he had to hold it together. Had to make this work.

  Farah led him to the wheelhouse, dark except for a small lantern set on the floor. The windows had been mostly covered with plastic, wood, cardboard, whatever worked. Protection from snipers and night vision. But still Mahmood kept the lights off. Adem thought it was because he was paranoid. One sliver of light, and the magic bullet would find his head.

  The Captain was draped across his chair, a leg dangling over the armrest. A pistol in his hand, which he was rotating, over and over. There were a few others with him, half-asleep or either experts at being still. Better trained than he had imagined. The ship's regular captain was nowhere to be seen, not like the Dutch Captain. Adem wondered if that was by choice or if Mahmood banished him. Or worse, maybe the man was sick, or maybe they'd killed him. Adem doubted that, since they really wanted the money. The pirates were good to their word—pay them, everyone lives. If they say they're going to kill someone, they do. Simple.

  Mahmood looked sleepy. Did they have to wake him for this meeting? Like he had a say in this? The man's mood ran between manic and foul. Tonight, his eyes were slits. Didn't even try some American movie quote on him. Not a good sign.

  Farah took a seat, nodded at Adem.

  Adem pulled himself together, fingers interlaced behind his back. "It's time to abandon ship. They are not going to pay. If you do not give up the ship, they will attack. They're ready. We don't have much time."

  That got the Captain's eyes open. He sat up, leaned forward, very much like an old-timey pirate. Farah's face was stone.

  "What do you mean? Your job is to make it happen. You didn't make it happen?"

  "Sir…I tried. I even tried talking them back into their first offer. But this time they have mercenaries. An army of them. And they don't care if the crew lives or dies. You'll all die and be dumped over the side before morning. It would be like this never happened."

  "No! You go back and tell them I start killing the crew! Within the hour! You tell them! We are Clint Eastwood, remember? We are Blackbeard!"

  Adem shook his head. Flicked his eyes towards Farah, who covered his mouth with his hand. He was the one to convince. "We are outnumbered. There are other ships. Let them have this one."

  Mahmood pounded the butt of his pistol on the armrest. Adem saw that his finger was wrapped around the trigger. Lucky it hadn't gone off.

  "What happened to you?"

  Adem's jaw tightened. Thinking: Don't let it become about me. This is not my trial. He said, "I don't think they care about the crew. If you make threats now, if you slice off their heads, if you scream and yell for the cameras, no matter what you do, you will not get any money. You will have the world after you. They will find you and kill you and it won't even make the news."

  He'd not finished when Mahmood bolted from the chair, pistol in Adem's face. Adem clenched. Blinked over and over.

  "This is treachery! You…it's all planned, isn't it? They promised you a reward. You want to jump ship!"

  Adem held his ground, still blinking, the gun barrel now on his lips. "I've done all I can! It's them, not me! Not us! They've called our hand. Now, is it a bluff or not?"

  Mahmood tapped the gun against Adem's face. "I never bluff. It's never a bluff."

  "If that's so, then you will lose with the best hand. That's how it works sometimes. Right, Farah?"

  Mahmood growled, retreated to his chair, barked out something to his henchmen. Looked to Farah, who nodded ever so slightly. Adem caught it too late. And they were on him, one pinning his arms behind his back, the other punching him in the gut.

  He doubled over and lost his breath and coughed, the hacking hurting worse than the punch. The pirate at his back kneed him upright again. The bruiser in front of him took another shot, same spot. More clenching, more hacking, strings of saliva dripping from Adem's mouth.

  Mahmood was laughing. Farah was not. More punches, measured, the attacker taking his time between each one. Mahmood bellowed, "Not his face! His pretty face! He can't go back to the table with a broken face!"

  Adem tried to talk between punches, finally got a lungful and shouted, "There is no more table! They will not negotiate!"

  Mahmood waved off his pirates. Adem, spaghetti-legged, lumbered against the wall behind him, held himself up, barely. The Captain approached, bent at the waist, eye to eye.

  "You call them. They will come back to the table for you. They will. We will tell them I surrender, but with terms, and once at the table, you announce I'm going to kill the crew, desecrate the bodies, and sink the ship."

  Adem's eyes widened. He couldn't believe it. How did such a crazy bastard become Captain? Was it on some sort of dare? "They are done. They don't care anymore. It's a write-off."

  Mahmood shouted for Farah, made Adem flinch and blink more. His guts were melting like candle wax. Farah handed Mahmood a cell phone, a throwaway, and the Captain handed it to Adem. "You call. They will listen to you. Unless you need more motivation."

  Adem took the phone without thinking. "I don't know…I don't know the number."

  Mahmood slapped the phone from his hand. "Idiot!" Spun around to Farah. "This is who you bring me? An idiot? A traitor?"

  Farah shook his head. "Give him a chance."

  "Oh, I am. I am absolutely giving him a chance. The same way you gave me one." Mahmood lifted the gun, not even a second's hesitation. Blew a hole in Farah's face, his left eye. Splatter all over the Captain's chair. Farah fell into a heap. Silence. Adem was frozen in place, crouched against the back wall, shivering in the heat. Mahmood stepped over the body, told his pirates to get rid of the asshole. And to find some bleach. He swiped the blood, brain and skull off his chair, then sat down. It was like he'd forgotten Adem was even in the room. The two pirates each grabbed one of Farah's legs and dragged him out of the wheelhouse, Mahmood screwing up his face and shouting after them, "Make sure you mop it all up!"

  A couple of minutes passed. Adem strained against his aching gut, used his hand on the wall to guide him towards the door. Almost out when Mahmood said, "So now, I'm the boss. You go back, call them. Tell them what I said."

  Adem nodded, stifled the yelp in his throat before speaking. "Yes, yes, I will. I'm sorry. I will call them." He didn't plan on doing that at all.

  On the deck, he saw Farah's blood trail head the opposite way from his path to the chopper. He sucked in air, slowly made his way to the landing pad. The pilot saw him and started up. Adem climbed in. When they lifted off, the boat looked like that dark, haunted ruin again, no clue to anyone of the lunatic inside making life and death decisions on a whim.

  Adem closed his eyes for the rest of the ride back to Bosaso.

  *

  Once there, he had the driver take him to the condo. He wanted to get Sufia and go see Derrick Iles right away. Make the deal. Iles would help. Where Mahmood would shoot his own supe
rior without thinking, Iles liked to appear the hero without thinking. Made him feel good. That was his weakness.

  The SUV pulled up to the curb outside the condo, and Adem nearly fell out, hit the ground running, fumbling his keys. Up the stairs, down the corridor, key in hand. He missed the lock a couple of times, then finally stabbed the key inside, turned the bolt, clicked the handle, and…

  Garaad sat on the couch where he'd left Sufia only a couple of hours earlier. Garraad, hat tipped just right, his arms spread across the back of the couch, legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

  They stared at each other until Garaad's grin unnerved Adem and he shouted "Sufia!" and began checking the apartment. Checked his room, checked Garaad's room, checked the closets, the kitchen, the bathroom, outside the windows. She was nowhere. She was gone.

  Adem stood before Garaad, still reclined, still grinning.

  "What have you done with her? Where is she?"

  He shrugged. "I didn't do anything."

  "Liar! What did you do?" Hyperventilating.

  "Calm down. Relax. Sit down." Garaad patted the cushion beside him. "Let's talk about your next meeting."

  Adem kicked Garaad's boot off his other one. Garaad pushed himself off the couch, slapped Adem across the face. It stung with enough force to take him down, but he kept standing, straightened, and lifted his hand to return the favor. Garaad caught it in mid-flight. Shoved Adem all the way to the wall, crashing into it. Adem's back pulsed with pain. Garaad's forearm was pressing into his throat.

  "Listen." The bodyguard's foul breath made Adem hold his. "They took her. Our people. They took her back to Mogadishu, where she belongs. She was a distraction to your work. Now it's just you and me. We'll do what needs to be done to get the bastards back to the table."

  Adem tried to answer, couldn't.

  "If you need more convincing, let me call your friend Jibriil. Do you want me to do that? Will that help?"

  Adem nodded, best he could with Garaad's arm crushing his throat. Garaad let go, stepped back, and whipped out his mobile. Slid it open and punched a number. Adem limped away towards the window, rubbing his throat. The raised scar. What would they do with Sufia? Why would Jibriil do this?