Zayed turned and looked at Jill, then lightly commanded, “Yalla yalla.”
The dock rocked from side to side as she teetered her way over to Zayed. The ship squeaked as it hit the rubber on the dock. Zayed lunged onto the ship first, then turned and held out his strong hand to help her up over the side. The hull wasn’t that high, but it would be almost impossible to leap up onto it while adorned in her black dress. Jill was thankful the Indian looked away when she lifted her legs over the edge, knowing he would be surprised to see her army boots.
Jill prayed for air conditioning, but once on board it was the least of her problems. She immediately felt uneasy—not from believing she was in danger, but in a seasick kind of way. She didn’t have sea legs and the fear of motion sickness began to penetrate her brain, then her stomach. From a young age she had not fared well even in the back of a car that wasn’t being driven straight. No one knew this about her. On the Colorado River where she volunteered as a pilot on the large rafts she seemed to have no problems. But she had never been on any sort of large body of saltwater. All she could do now was try not to look stupid in front of Zayed.
Zayed followed the Indian to a pint-sized door at the front of the vessel. Looking through the tinted glass as she walked past, Jill could see steps leading up to the cockpit, and a staircase going down into the belly of the craft. The diminutive Indian tour guide did not have to crouch when he descended the wooden staircase. Zayed and Jill ducked their heads and went down into a living area.
The floors were wooden planks that continued up the walls. A large clock hung on a far wall, shaped like an oyster, complete with a pearl that the hands attached to. It read 2:16 a.m. To her left was the galley, a sink, and a mini fridge. The saloon was full of pirate character, like a backdrop from a Johnny Depp movie and was, to Jill’s surprise, clean. To her right were built-in benches with white vinyl seats, giving a feeling of newness. Pinned to the floor with large protruding bolts was a fitted wooden table lined with teak grout. Directly in front of them stood two closed doors like a pair of perfectly spaced short rectangles. The symbol on the left with a picture of a toilet hinted at what was behind door number one.
The Indian signaled them to door number two and it scraped slightly across the floor as it opened. Inside the room were four cots, two on each side, one above each other in bunk bed fashion. They were about three feet wide, just wide enough to fit a fully-grown man comfortably. Although it wasn’t the Shangri-La, the bunks looked fairly clean—almost like what you’d find in an old army hospital.
Zayed motioned the Indian to leave with the familiar hand gesture he gave Jill, and a “khalas.” The Indian smiled, waggled his head from side to side, turned, and left the room.
They were alone. “I know it’s not much, but it will take us out of here safely, Insha’Allah.”
“What does any of this have to do with God?” Jill spat. “I will take this bed,” she added, and plunked her carry-on onto the bottom bunk on the right.
“This is a boat owned by one of my colleagues, for whom I have done some work. Although equipped for fishing, it’s moored only in the harbor for what one might call suspicious activity, as far as Islam is concerned.” Jill thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “He would loan the boat out to friends so they’d have a place to drink forbidden alcohol. And sometimes these men would enjoy hired company.” Jill knew exactly what he meant and averted her gaze down at her bed. She didn’t know how she should feel about the history of her new cot.
Pointing towards the stairs, Zayed said, “He won’t come back in unless he asks me first, as I told him you would be taking off your abaya.” Jill knew the connotations of this. No man is allowed to see another man’s wife’s hair or skin. Tonight, the Muslim religion would be of benefit.
“I will leave you to change and get some rest.” He watched her pull off her cultured attire and added, “I will, however, be resting here.” He tossed his compact pack onto the bed across the narrow aisle from Jill’s. He turned quickly and closed the door. The light at the head of the beds cast a yellow glow on the dark wood walls, giving a sense of a cabin at summer camp. It was just enough light for Jill to pull the sheets back to look for any type of critter that might have found comfort in there. Thankfully, the crisp sheets boasted a newly laundered scent of fresh jasmine.
Jill sat on the bed and decided not to take her boots off until she got in. Her eyes moved to Zayed’s backpack, quickly glanced to the door, then back to the pack. It would take only a minute for her to go through it. She reached over and cautiously lifted it, rolled it over, and saw the clasp. Glancing again at the door and back to her treasure hunt, she was determined to figure out who Zayed was. “What is this?” She hadn’t seen a clasp like this. Open it fast. Her eyes darted from the door to the clasp. The clasp appeared to be a black plastic type of square box. On closer examination, the backpack was made from flak jacket material. “Bulletproof,” she whispered. Her fingers brushed the little black box looking for any sign of a clasp. Then as simple as a child’s bike lock, the lid of the box slid horizontally in a circle revealing a fingerprint receptacle. “Damn it.” Jill hurriedly tried to place the pack in its original spot when she thought she heard noise coming from the other room.
She opened the door slowly and found Zayed sitting and staring at nothing, in deep thought. His black hair draped his shoulders with a bit of a wave, his strong chest pushed against his tight black T-shirt. For a nanosecond, Jill thought she felt something stir deep within herself.
She looked away as he began to meet her gaze, then she turned and reached for the handle of the bathroom door. Jill had always had a bathroom fetish. David would wait at the door of a restaurant until she slipped into the bathroom to determine whether they would stay and enjoy a nice meal—or bolt out of the restaurant thanks to the bathroom’s lack of cleanliness.
This bathroom was much different than the rest of the ship. White fiberglass surrounded her; the floor in front of the toilet was also a makeshift shower with a wood-stained grated rack built above the drain. It was built from a prefabricated mold with a built-in sink and a toilet. Jill lifted the lid of the toilet—it was clean. Relief enveloped her and at that moment she knew she could make the eight-hour journey. Glancing up, she saw a tiny fog-framed mirror on the wall but could not see her whole face. Probably a good thing, she thought to herself, feeling the beads of sweat pucker on her skin in the sweltering room.
When she stepped back into the main room Zayed was no longer there. The door to the bedroom was open, the room was empty. The backpack in the same place she had returned it to. She grabbed her own pack and lugged it back into the saloon and sat down on the white leather sofa. She reached in and grabbed her phone but there was no reception. At least no missed calls meant no news.
Sitting in silence, Jill examined the room. In front of her was a stovetop built into the black countertop. Below it was the fridge and Jill quickly plucked herself up and opened the door; it was stocked with water, juices—and beer. Beer! She chugged down a quarter of a can to quench her thirst while she sat wondering what the night would bring for her, for David—for us.
Sipping the rest of the cool beer, Jill began to relax. She thought about what happened earlier tonight. What does someone from the Chechen Mafia really want with me? And what does this have to do with David?
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the cabin door open. Zayed clunked his way down the stairs.
Jill held up the beer and asked, “Is this okay?” He nodded, but she knew by his dismayed look that he wasn’t pleased. He’s just tolerating me. Jill offered to get him one but he said he didn’t drink; it was against his religion. Although Jill knew Zayed was an Arab, she hadn’t had the impression he was a devoted Muslim. It was a hard thing to picture, a feeling she had.
He looked at Jill intently. “We are leaving port and you need to get some rest. We have a long trip ahead of us to Abu Dhabi.” As he left the room to prepare for
sleep, Jill started to ask him about their plan for when they arrived in Abu Dhabi, but he curtly replied, “We can discuss it after we get some rest. Give me five minutes and then you can come in when you want.” He abruptly closed the door.
The bench seat puffed as Jill sat back down. The wave of exhaustion was pushing her past her desire for another beer. Just one, she said to herself, to help her sleep. That always sounded good to her. The roar of the starting engines brought her pleasure when she felt the room temperature drop. Looking around she noticed a tiny vent tucked high on the wall. She stood up and crossed the saloon, waved her hand in front of it, and touched it. Heaven … air conditioning!
Jill opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, cracked it open, and drank half of it. The rolling boat made her slightly stumble as she muddled her way to the bedroom. Tiptoeing in, she could hear a slight purr from Zayed. Was he sleeping already? His back was towards her. Jill sat down on the side of her cot. For a second she held back from taking off her boots and listened, wondering if she should leave them on. After the night’s events she didn’t really know what to do. Then she pulled her feet out of the boots and lifted her tired legs into the bed. She looked across at Zayed, still motionless. His rhythmic breathing was consistent. The beer, the dim light, and the rolling boat combined to lull her senses. Longing for David, she faded.
***
Jill sat up fast, only to be thrown onto the floor.
“Get up,” Zayed ordered. Another jolt, and she was flung in the other direction, slamming her shoulder so hard against the side of the bunk that she winced with pain. Jill realized that she was being tossed around the room like a crumpled piece of paper.
“We must be in rough sea!” Zayed yelled. “Stay put, hold onto something! I’ll see what is happening.”
Her stomach swayed. Unsteadily, Jill made her way from the bedroom to the bench seat and grabbed hold of the table. The light from the galley still on from last night shined brighter than she thought it should. She heard her empty can of beer on the floor, rolling from side to side, dancing to the ship’s chaotic rhythm.
The boat creaked as it rocked. She couldn't see outside and had no idea what time it was. Her stomach started to tap on her esophagus. The bridge door opened, whacking the wall behind it.
“Jill, come up now,” Zayed said, just in time.
“Ouch, shit!” Jill’s hip hit the solid sink hard as she tried to grope her way up the stairs.
She tasted salt as a spray of water hit her tongue. Balancing herself with one hand on the back of Zayed’s thick calf and the other on the side of the cockpit, she lifted her head to get her bearings. The horror of what Jill saw tore a screeching sound out of her lips. She didn’t know she could make such a sound.
The curdling fray of massive white bubbles churned to her right. Surrounded by giant swells in the darkness, the Indian captain was sweating trying to maneuver the creaking boat. They hit a wave and then there was a hard thump and a downward plunge as the boat crested, knocking Jill off her feet. Zayed pulled her up into the cockpit, protected from the heavy spray. She sat down to the left of the pilot on a bench and Zayed sat in between them. Jill could not see the Indian now but she wished she could see his facial expression. It would give her an idea of his competence in piloting this old fishing boat to safety.
“We are going to go closer to shore!” Zayed yelled above the crash of waves. “We need to get out of the rough sea!”
“Why are we so far out?” Jill questioned frantically. The next wave attacked, and Jill grabbed his thigh hard.
“Pirates, this area is full of them!” Zayed told her they had to sail out of view of the shores, as modern-day pirates combed the shorelines for unsuspecting boats. “Then there is the Saudi Arabia Coast Guard. They will not let us into their waters,” he finished, yelling over the sea.
Whack! Another thud from the rough sea. This time Zayed hooked his arm strongly around her shoulder, pulling her close. She looked for anything solid to grasp, as even Zayed was being thrown about. She could not see land; the large swells blocked her view of the open sea.
Time passed slowly. Finally, the swells began to shed their boiling whitecaps and became dancing giants. Rolling in the distance was something solid—land on the horizon. The salt crusted on her lips. Being careful not to lick them, she felt the rest of her face. Passing her fingers over the crust coating her skin, the dried salt made her feel like a blind person reading Braille. Jill looked down and realized she had no boots on her damp feet.
Still holding her tight, Zayed said a bit more calmly, “The worst is over. Why don’t you go back down to the cabin, get warm, and rest.” He slowly pulled his arm up and off her shoulder.
“How long until we get to Abu Dhabi?”
Zayed asked the Indian in Arabic. The Indian replied. Zayed looked back at Jill. “Two hours.”
Below deck, the room seemed to have changed in some way and Jill couldn’t figure out how. She reached down, picked up the beer can, and placed it into the sink. In the bathroom Jill was torn between whether to trust the water on the ship and wash her face or not. Turning on the tap, Jill cupped the water, smelled it, and splashed her face.
Standing still for a second, she wondered how she could let another man besides David hold her so close. She dismissed the exchange as pure chivalry.
Jill stepped back into the galley, walked over to the fridge, and retrieved a bottle of water. She drank it down fast, diluting the salt on her tongue. A pang of hunger twinged as she laid back down on the cot. The rolling boat rocked her into a deep sleep.
***
I am flying high above the desert when I swoop down and land on a hoodoo. Below me I see something familiar but I don’t know what it is. The heat of the day ruffles my feathers as I try to understand what I am seeing.
Chapter Ten
4:52 Zulu Time—ABU DHABI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES
A knock on the bedroom door startled Jill awake and her body snapped upwards. “Yeah?”
“We are pulling into the Abu Dhabi port,” Zayed shouted through the door. “Get dressed and come up on deck now.”
Aye, aye, Captain Crunch. Jill reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook, held it up to the faint light, and turned to the page where she had last read her visions.
Click, click, click. Jill kept pushing the pen’s button while she reviewed her notes. What, now I am seeing from a bird’s perspective? “Enough of the mystery, Grams!” Jill’s brow furrowed. And without a hint of intent, Jill wrote the word “family” and circled it.
She stepped into her boots, pulled on the black robe, and with her last glance around spotted Zayed’s pack on the rumpled bed. She plucked up the pack and looked at the locked black clasp. She took one last glance around the room, flung his pack onto her shoulder, turned, and walked up onto the deck. She was momentarily blind in the bright sun. After her vision cleared, looking to her right, she saw water that was a beautiful turquoise, calm water; the slight breeze felt refreshing against the newly risen sun’s heat.
“What time is it?” Jill queried as she handed Zayed his pack.
“Close to nine,” he replied. “Thanks.”
The ship was parallel to a grandiose building checkered with hundreds of windows on the shoreline to her right. She realized it must be a hotel when she saw all the beach chairs and umbrellas dotted across a breathtaking beach. The center of the building had a giant square with a large dome on top of it. The peak of the dome had a mosaic painting laced with gold inlay. Surrounding the square were low-to-the-ground buildings that stretched for hundreds of yards.
Jill looked over at the pilot and Zayed, then mumbled something barely audible. How dumb that I have to wear this. Does he think that the guy didn’t see me in the storm? Moron. As she gazed up towards the water's edge, She was surprised to see a large island connected by a busy road, with a sizable shopping mall and a tall sign on a post that read IKEA. Stretched high into the sky above the mall was a tower wit
h a round spaceship-looking structure. She was impressed by how modern the buildings looked. Further along the brimming horizon was another island with open-faced square tents that speckled the sand as far as she could see. When their boat passed the last tent, she noticed white people, two adults and a small child, enjoying the day before it got too hot.
Jill turned around fast when she heard a sound. Jet skis zoomed past their boat, several of them chasing and almost hitting each other as they popped over the boat’s wake. Arab teenagers, that much was clear to her. Jill didn’t understand what they were doing, and her thoughts turned to the Chechens.
She wanted to speak to Zayed but knew he would shush her with that damn hand and frankly she wasn’t in the mood to be shushed again.
When they cruised past the island, Abu Dhabi, in all its contemporary splendor, sprawled out before them. Everything sparkled as rays of sunlight bounced off the glass towers of the city. The view from the sea was stunning until the boat turned left and the scene quickly changed. They were approaching a ruddy fishing village, similar to the one in Doha, but smaller. Just before they reached the dock, Jill spied something. Ahead on two rusted steel posts, stood an extravagant portrait of an Arabian man—the size of a large billboard—towering over the boats.
As they coasted up to the main dock, several Indians scattered about and began assisting the pilot with tying the boat. The boat’s buoys squeaked as they rubbed against the old dock. Just as they were about to disembark, Jill noticed Zayed reach into his pack, pull out an envelope, and hand it to the captain. He smiled at Zayed without a word, just nodded, and with the boat secure, descended below deck.
Jill Oliver Deception Thrillers Page 9