“No, thank you.” But he sure could use a beer.
He glanced out the window at the shops and restaurants, now opening. Merchants hanging out everything from carpets to carcasses of what he figured were goats and lambs. Pretty gross if you asked him.
A few of the men were dressed traditionally in long white robes, their heads covered with white caps. Most wore western cloths, especially the women, although they did dress modestly. Some had their hair covered, at least partially. Rashid thought they looked pretty sexy with hair peeking out the fronts of their scarves. Weren’t those things supposed to hide women’s hair and keep them from looking tempting?
It reminded him of McCabe when that curl had fallen down a couple times on the news. And he’d watched her mindlessly play with it when she talked with her friends at chow too. He didn’t even think she knew she did it. Goddamn women had no idea the power they held over men. Maybe the Arabs had the right idea. Keep the women subservient and covered up so they couldn’t go turning on other men with their wily ways.
Hakim glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Many businesses have been closed all day to observe Ramadan. Now they will remain open all night because that is when people will do their shopping—along with celebrating with their families.”
“My contact back in the States told me the rich people sleep all day so they don’t really benefit from the suffering part. Then they stay up all night. Is that true?”
“Yes, that is often the case. It is never fun to be a poor man, is it?”
“No, I guess not. So how far is it? Where are we going anyway?” He was starting to feel a little claustrophobic stuck in traffic in this foreign place. But what was the worst that could happen? He could die. And wasn’t he already planning that? No, not like this. He had a mission to complete. He took a deep breath, sucking down his unease.
“It is only about two kilometers more. We should be there soon, once these trucks move, sir.”
Rashid sure liked that sir stuff. Each time Hakim said it, Rashid felt a sweet stroke on his soul, like grazing his thumb across a soft blanket. It reminded him of that time Mrs. Buckley complimented him in front of the whole class in fourth grade and every-one had clapped. It had felt like sunshine flowing through his veins. It might have been the happiest moment of his life. If you’d asked him a year ago he would have said it was the day he met Rosie.
But he’d flushed all the good memories of her down the toilet with the bad. So yeah, a fucking fourth grade memory was what he was living on. Until tonight. This driver didn’t even know him and yet he showed him respect.
They passed several more blocks of open-air shops, with dresses and scarves and sari-looking things. Did they have Indians in Egypt? Everything was colorful and bright and the people radiated warmth as they greeted each other on the sidewalks and in the open doorways of the shops. They passed a mosque with what looked like hundreds of pairs of shoes on the steps. He guessed the people were all inside doing that prayer to Mecca thing on carpets or something.
The taxi passed another block of stores that clearly sold jewelry, probably lots of gold. Ibrahim would have liked this. But this market probably carried real gold, not that gold-filled shit at Anchorage Mall. “This is the gold souq, sadiqi. Perhaps you wish to purchase some gold this evening? To send home to your sweetheart. Oh, sorry. Perhaps to your mother?”
“No, thanks.” His heart banged as he worked overtime to erase a picture of Rosie, with bright eighteen-carat gold chains—fine as angel hair—on her soft, smooth, perfect neck. She always wore a cross and a small diamond pendant he’d given her, along with his favorite, a charm that said, “Randy’s Girl.” He’d gotten that on his last cruise, in a souq such as this in Bahrain.
Venom coursed through his veins as he pictured himself ripping the delicate chains from her neck, then grabbing her throat and practically tearing her limb from limb. He cranked down the taxi window enough to take in a lungful of the pungent, spice-filled air, trying not to puke, remembering how he’d almost killed her the night he’d discovered her extracurricular activities. He could feel the chains wrapped around his hands, biting into them as his hands bit into her. He breathed in more of the hot Egyptian air, shut his eyes, and exhaled deeply.
Thank God she hadn’t pressed charges. She’d just walked out the door and he didn’t see her again until they met with the divorce lawyers. Where had she gone? Where had she stayed? The only thing better than punishing the men she’d slept with would be if he could take Rosie out with them. He breathed deeply again, finding his equilibrium, put the window back up. Christ it was hot out there. And dusty.
The taxi turned into the carpet souq, where merchants were hanging their merchandise outside. Rashid could only imagine how much dirt the rugs absorbed from the dust blowing in from the desert.
“Here we are, sir.” Hakim jumped out of the driver’s seat, ran around, and opened his door. Rashid reached for his wallet. “Oh, no, sir. There is no charge. It is my honor to drive you tonight.”
He led Rashid to the door of a carpet shop that had no rugs for sale outside. The shop was dark and a sign in the window sported a “Closed for Prayer” sign. The driver slipped off his sandals and indicated that Rashid should remove his shoes as well. Bells jingled over the doorway as they were greeted by a man in western clothing.
“Assalam alaykum,” the man said with a welcoming smile.
Rashid could barely see through the blanket of cigarette smoke that engulfed him as he entered the shop. The men were probably smoking a day’s worth of cigarettes now that the sun had set and they could indulge. But Ibrahim had trained him well and he knew how to respond. He blinked and sniffed once and replied, “Waalaykum assalam.” Peace be upon you as well.
“We are honored to have you visit with us, Rashid,” said the man who had welcomed him. “I am Mohammed. Please follow me.”
Hakim called to him. “I will wait for you outside, sir. Let me know when you are ready to leave.”
Rashid kind of wanted the driver to stick with him, as the host led him to a back room. He glanced over his shoulder and waved to the driver. “Okay.” About to give him a thumbs-up, he remembered it was an obscene gesture in the Middle East. Almost as bad as showing the sole of one’s shoe to someone. Crazy Arabs.
Mohammed escorted Rashid to a large room where a gigantic red Oriental rug covered the floor. Colorful piles of carpets stood stacked like barricades around the room, while geometric designs in earthy tones covered the walls.
Four men sat clustered around a table, sipping tea, eating, and smoking. They all rose to welcome him, walking over in their stocking feet. “Assalam alaykum.”
“Waalaykum assalam,” he responded as Ibrahim had instructed him.
“Rashid, welcome to Egypt,” one said. They each smiled warmly and shook his hand.
“Come, sit down, sadiqi,” said Mohammed. “We are indulging in a light snack. It has been a long day of fasting.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied as another man handed him a small glass of hot tea. The men raised their glasses and toasted him. Rashid smiled, took a sip of his tea and almost spit it across the table. One sip was enough to rot his teeth. How did they drink this sweet stuff?
They made small talk about the shop and the holiday and shared details of their fasting for that day. Ibrahim had told him the rules of etiquette. There would be at least three glasses of tea before they would discuss business. Rashid wasn’t sure he could stomach three glasses of it, but he’d do his best to be polite. Even if each sip made him pucker inside.
There wasn’t a lot to talk about yet. The weather? Hot. The cruise? Routine, so far. His visit to Port Said? This outing was going to be it. But rules were rules and nothing of import could be discussed until they had finished with the pleasantries.
“So what do you think of Port Said, Rashid?”
<
br /> “This is my first time ashore here, sir. Although I have been through the Suez Canal on a previous deployment. It is very exciting to see so much action in the streets this late at night. I guess because of the holiday. It’s kind of odd to see so many people shopping at eight, nine at night.”
The man laughed. “It will go on like this into the early hours of the morning. The people will eat and drink and visit long into the night, preparing for another day of fasting tomorrow. Come join us in the meal.”
He thought it was very cool how they dined the traditional way, dipping their right hands into the large tray of roast lamb, kebobs, and rice. Hummus, tabouli, and melon slices on the side. Scooping it all up with bread. Oh, well, when in Rome. Rashid picked up a piece of pita bread and joined them.
When they had finished eating, a young man cleared the table and poured each of them a third glass of tea. Everyone except Rashid lit a cigarette and worked at refilling the shop with smoke.
A man named Saied Ghassan leaned back, burped, and smiled at Rashid. He revealed yellowed teeth beneath his thick moustache. Never had Rashid seen a more chilling smile. Rashid had already figured out this was the boss man tonight. “So, sadiqi, we finally get to thank you for your help in our mission.”
“I guess so, sir.”
“I wish there was a better way to show our gratitude than sharing a simple meal with you, but please know that we appreciate all the information you have sent.”
All the men nodded their heads, smiled at him, and mumbled “Shukron.” Thank you.
“Afwan,” he replied as Ibrahim had taught him. “You’re most welcome, all of you.”
“I know I am speaking for our brothers who are spread far and wide throughout the world, when I say thank you for what you are prepared to do for our cause.”
“It is my pleasure, sir. It also meets my needs.”
The man took out his prayer beads, flipping them in his hand, stroking the thirty-three beads. They were meant to keep track of prayers as someone recited them, but Rashid had come to understand why they were referred to as “worry beads.” Wished he had some of his own to flip around in his sweaty palms while these men discussed his death as if it was business as usual. Wished he smoked too. However, with the amount of smoke in the air, he was probably inhaling as much as they were.
“So tell us. Your ship will be transiting the canal soon?”
“Yes, sir. We’re going through in two days. We should be in the Gulf by September first. I don’t think there will be a problem finding us on the ninth. It appears we’ll be near Dubai for Eid.”
Ghassan smiled, but it didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Which is when you will help us celebrate with fireworks.” He turned to an-other man at the table. “It’s still several weeks, but I think we can plan to use the dhows near our southern target area. Alert the powers-that-be to make advanced preparations to transport the fishermen and the explosives to Doha.” He looked back to Rashid. “But you will let us know if anything changes. Using the code, of course.”
“Certainly, sir. As best I can. I believe I made it clear that we do not always have access to email.”
“Yes, yes. I understand. But you will stay in contact with Hot Mama as often as possible?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Everything sounds good, Rashid, although we have an important question. We understand you will be traveling with other American ships. Five, I think. Will they be a problem for our fishermen?”
“No. See, the escort ships are there to protect us.” He raised his hand to counter the eyebrows that were raised at that information. “Sure they carry all sorts of advanced systems and weaponry. But they’re not geared to protect us from common fishing boats. So say the Iranians decide to send a missile our way or a ship of their own or a submarine. The smaller ships of the Carrier Strike Group would intercede and protect us, but you’re talking about dime a dozen fishing boats. Five out of hundreds that float around us whenever we’re in confined spaces, or in port, or in the Gulf.
“I guarantee the escort ships will not pose a problem for you. And remember, I will be the one monitoring the radar on September ninth, so don’t worry about a thing. Any other concerns?”
Smiles lit faces around the table.
One man who had not spoken yet this evening now spoke up. “Rashid, I have a concern for your soul.”
Whoa. That sure as hell had come out of left field. “My soul?”
“Yes. Our fishermen have a cause, all part of Jihad. This is their mission for Allah. They know they will go to Paradise, but I worry about your soul, son.”
“My soul is just fine, thank you.” Even though his heart was pounding to beat the band.
“I just wanted to make certain to remind you that it is not too late to embrace Islam. You could still have a chance to go to your reward for your help in our Jihad.”
“I appreciate your concern, sir, and I will take that into consideration.”
The man seemed satisfied. “Good. I would feel remiss if I had not brought that to your attention.”
Rashid noticed at least two of the men sneaking peeks at their watches. He knew it would be impolite for them to leave before the honored guest, and he really wanted to look into finding a beer. He pushed his chair back and stood, “Well, I mustn’t keep you, sadiqis. I know this is a holiday night and I’m sure you have celebrations to attend. Thank you, Mr. Mohammed for your hospitality. I wish everyone the best for the remainder of Ramadan and may all of you have a satisfying Eid.”
They stood to shake his hand and give him bear hugs, slapping him lightly on the back. “May Allah bless you, Rashid.”
Ghassan hugged him, then cupped Rashid’s face in his hands. “Peace be with you, sadiqi. And may everything go according to plan. Inshallah.”
As God wills it.
Stepping out of the air conditioned store, Rashid felt as if someone had opened the oven door. He’d traded the thick, smoky air in the carpet shop for a blast of hot, dry heat that smacked him in the face. He found himself looking forward to getting back to the ship so he could breathe again. A man could suffocate in this heat.
He’d been through the canal before. Beyond its banks was barren desert in all directions, where the air baked all day long and now even at nine o’clock at night it was easily ninety degrees. Yeah, yeah. He’d heard the old, “but it’s dry heat.”
It was still fucking hot.
The streets bustled with shoppers as Hakim drove him back to the docks. They made small talk about the crowds and the traffic and the good smells permeating the air. He felt bad for Hakim, that maybe he hadn’t yet eaten after fasting all day. He should have asked for a doggie bag or something.
“Sir, is there anything else I can do for you before I return you to the piers?”
“Yeah, can you find me a beer?” There were still a few hours before the final liberty launch sailed back to the ship. This would be his last night ever to enjoy a brew. He’d even spring for an expensive one. Forget it. His last chance to imbibe in this lifetime? He deserved whiskey. But he’d have to take it easy. It was vitally important he remain in control at all times. He’d nurse one whiskey. Two tops, then take the next launch back to the ship.
The taxi driver pulled up near the docks where bars catered to sailors who traversed the canal. He opened Rashid’s door, shook his hand, then held onto it. It was clear he had something important to say. “Just remember, sadiqi, it is not too late to embrace the one true faith. If you do, you will go directly to Paradise with the fishermen, and your death will not be in vain.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Hakim. And thanks for driving me tonight. Your service made me feel good. Thank you.” They hugged, then he said goodbye to the kind man who had called him sir all evening. As he walked into the closest bar, most likely filled with American sail
ors, he mulled over what Hakim had just said. And that other man too. He was touched that they cared about his eternal soul. Offering him Paradise along with the fishermen. But Rashid wasn’t crazy like the fanatics. He didn’t need seventy-two virgins in Paradise.
All he wanted was that one bitch to roast in hell with him for all eternity.
Chapter 23
Philip had room service delivered to their little corner of paradise. No way could he and Hallie chance being seen in a restaurant together by a shipmate. They were well aware that several couples had recently gone to Captain’s Mast and punished for “having relationships.” All of them had been enlisted. They couldn’t even imagine what would happen to a commissioned officer.
Proposing to her in a fancy restaurant wasn’t worth the scuttlebutt that would fly, let alone a chewing-out if they were seen together in public. So if that meant he was going to propose to her in bed, so be it. The least he could do was pull out the five-star terry cloth robes. Proposing in bed was one thing. Naked was another. He wondered how many men on the ship would give their left nut to be in his shoes.
Or his bathrobe.
He hated to spoil the ambience, but over a late dinner in bed, while curled up in the fluffy white robes, it was time to talk about serious matters. Like Rick for starters.
“Hallie, I called my dad and had him do a little checking on Captain Amerson. The aviator community is pretty tight and he contacted a couple of buddies. I didn’t tell him much, just asked him to find out if Andrew Amerson ever went by Rick. He emailed me this morning. That’s what the Captain’s close friends still call him.”
“Good work, Johnston. You want to be my assistant at CNN?”
“So we’ve determined the Captain is your father. What are you planning to do with the information?”
Forgive & Forget (Love in the Fleet) Page 19