by Sewell, Ron
***
A strong wind blew dust from the desert across Benghazi that night. Amadou, his head low to protect his eyes, threaded his way through the streets to his home. As he strode along ZZ joined him.
Their pace never faltered as ZZ spoke. “The fat man’s gone to his workshop and stayed. He never left.”
“Well done, ZZ. Thank you.” He checked the time. “Durrah will have prepared our meal by the time we arrive. Drop back until you can just see me and make certain I’m not being followed. You know what to do if I am.”
“ZZ smiled and faded into the gloom.
As Amadou approached his home, ZZ returned to his side. “I am hungry.”
“Today your work is finished.”
“I will miss Petros and Bear.”
“I agree they are men you can trust. A rare commodity these days.”
“You can trust me.”
Amadou opened the door to his house allowing ZZ to enter. “I know.” They strolled to the dining room where Durrah, Bear and Petros sat talking.
“Go clean up and I’ll serve the meal,” said Durrah.
A few minutes later Amadou and ZZ joined the others at the table, their plates full of meat and vegetables.
From his jacket pocket, Amadou pulled an envelope and tossed it towards Petros. “Your passports stamped with today’s date as are your exit visas.”
He emptied its contents on the table, checked and handed Bear his. “Wonderful things passports. They help the authorities find you when they want to.”
“You’re correct but it works if the organisation has knowledge of where you are in the first place. These are stamped but were never registered. The records prove you were never here.”
“Amadou, we may have a problem,” said Durrah.
He removed the fork from his mouth and nodded.
“Ibrahim has not used his house or office phone which implies he’s spoken to no one or used his mobile.”
Amadou scratched his chin with his fork. “I’d use a pay-as-you-go. Difficult to trace and harder to monitor. As Ibrahim did not leave his house, we’ll be cautious in our approach tonight.”
“You’re not bothered?” said Petros.
“I am not. Ibrahim is a fool who believes he is wise. Fools own boats I can use. Eat your fill my friends as it will be a few days before you eat like this again.”
“Durrah can I have another serving of that meat?” asked Bear.
***
A low rumble came from outside the house. Amadou peered through the window. “Bear, Petros, time to leave. Say your goodbyes. Hassim has arrived in his mobile fortress.
Petros kissed her on both cheeks. “Durrah, thank you for your hospitality,”
“Great food,” said Bear as he hugged her.
ZZ stood in the background with his head low.
“This is for you,” said Petros, he handed him a small parcel. “Listen to Amadou and be careful. The business you are entering is exciting but can be dangerous.”
With watery eyes ZZ hugged Petros and Bear. “Have a safe journey and may my God watch over you.”
“Let’s go,” said Amadou.
Durrah opened the door, checked the street and nodded. The three men descended the steps in three bounds. Inside the Hummer, Hassim grinned as he gunned the powerful engine.
They drove to the harbour by a circular route through deserted streets.
Hassim stopped in a side road closest to the main dual carriageway and studied the perimeter fencing. “The gate to the cement factory is open. This way no one will stop us.” With a roar, he charged across the four lanes and into the docks.
“How much further?” asked Bear.
Hassim chuckled. “Soon. Fish smell.” The pungent whiff of rotten fish crept through the Hummer’s ventilation ducts.
“There’s a boat halfway along the main sea wall,” said Hassim. “I’ll stop a few metres from it. No one move until I say so.”
Hassim alighted from his monster and strode towards the vessel. Lanterns swung from the main mast and nets and wires covered the deck. With both hands on the dock railings, he shouted, “Below – anyone there?”
From the shadows, a man replied, “What do you want?”
“Are you expecting anything?”
“What if I am? It has nothing to do with you.”
Hassim waved and returned to the Hummer. “One man. Amadou, I’ll take you home when you have completed your business.”
“Five minutes.”
The three men jumped from the rear section and walked towards the boat. The wind dropped as they descended the dockside steps.
Petros and Bear, with a canvas holdall in each hand, followed Amadou. The second their feet touched the deck, two men came from the shadows.
“We are associates of your owner Ibrahim,” said Amadou.
“He told us two men not three,” said the nearest.
“I am not travelling but before you leave, I must give you your instructions.”
“Ibrahim gave us our instructions. We take our vessel to Malta where it will be dry-docked and the hull painted.” He waved his machine pistol. “These two will leave when we arrive.”
“These men do not speak or understand Arabic. Look after them and I will see you are well rewarded on your return. Petros, Bear, enjoyed working with you. I’ll send Charles Haskell my bill. It sometimes helps in my business to have a sterling account.”
“Will be paid in full and if it works out, a bonus,” said Petros. “I gave ZZ two diamonds, when cut and polished they will be worth thousands. Make sure he doesn’t squander the money on cars and easy women.”
Amadou laughed. “With his good looks and cheeky mannerisms, the women will be paying him for the privilege. Bear watch Petros’ back. Trouble finds him.”
“That’s what I do best, drag him out of the shit. Thanks for everything. You never know we might work together in the future.”
“I look forward to that day,” said Amadou.
He turned, ascended the steps and returned to the growling Hummer.
One of the men touched Bear on the shoulder and beckoned to follow. They meandered forward, their feet avoiding trailing ropes and wires. On climbing one ladder they entered the cramped accommodation section. The man opened the door to a cabin. The interior reeked of tobacco smoke and fish. He pointed and smiled.
“Home, sweet home,” said Petros.
“Three days in here will be more than enough,” said Bear. “I don’t think I’ll be getting undressed for bed.”
The man thumped the mattress. ”Okay?”
Bear grinned. “Okay.”
“Top or bottom?” said Petros.
“I don’t suppose there’s anywhere on this tub that doesn’t stink of fish.”
“After two days you won’t notice it,” said Petros.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. I’ll take the bottom. Don’t suppose that window opens.”
Petros studied the circular glass fitting. “No, it’s not meant to.”
“I’m going on deck. It must smell better than in here.”
“Good idea.”
Outside, the breeze diluted the stink of the dock. In the bow and on the aft deck, one of the crew unravelled the ropes that held the vessel to the jetty. On releasing his, the man on the bow clambered to the bridge. The dull throb of the engines as they increased revolutions indicated power on as the craft headed for the dock entrance and open water.
Chapter Twenty -Two
Out of the harbour a heavy swell washed over the bow. The vessel tossed and rolled in a violent motion.
Wind slapped their faces. “Jesus Christ, three days of this and in that cabin will be the death of me,” said Bear.
“You’ll get your sea legs by the morning. Let’s try and rest.”
***
The grey sky dawned through the solitary porthole. Petros and Bear, having slept on the deck, woke stiff and tired.
“I wonder if they serve breakfast,” said Bear.<
br />
“We’ll be lucky to get fed,” said Petros. “But we might as well go and have a look.”
In the long swell, the craft’s movement continued to be problematic. Both men dragged themselves along the steel-walled passage and up a ladder to the bridge.
“What the hell?” said Bear as his eyes scanned the deserted space.
Petros shifted his frame to the main control consol. “Set to auto-pilot. My guess is the crew are in bed.”
Bear glanced at his watch. “Driving around the Med with no one steering does not endear me to boats.”
“This has a collision avoidance fitted,” said Petros. “I’ve seen them and they work providing the ship you are trying to miss follows the rules. And, of course, they’ve been set up in the correct manner.”
“Couldn’t give a shit. This tub seems to corkscrew whatever its direction.”
“You sleep on a plane.”
“Yeah and that has two pilots in the cockpit for most of the time. It may be hands-free but they’re there just in case.” Rain started to lash the windows obscuring the sea. “This we could do without.”
The bow pitched and vanished under a wall of grey water. Both men clung to the stainless-steel safety rail that curved around the bridge.
Grim-faced, Petros pointed at the heading on the auto-pilot. “My geography might not be to degree level but from Benghazi to Malta is to steer west, north west. They’ve set due north.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” said Bear. “If they wanted to get rid us, they could just toss us overboard.”
The man with the deep voice shouted in Arabic and motioned with his gutting knife for them to move away from the controls.
“Ready?” said Petros. He slammed the throttle levers to their stops while flicking the auto-pilot to manual.
Bear launched himself with such a force he flew at the man and head butted him in the face. The collision threw them back against the steel bulkhead. The man fell away and slumped, his nose broken and bleeding, unconscious to the deck.
“Not bad for an old man.”
Bear ignored the comment as he nursed his head. “That fucking hurt. Anyway, one fast asleep and one to go.”
Petros grabbed the cable tray on the deck-head, his fingers white from holding on, as the craft, turning and out of control hit a wave. Bear dropped to the deck and slid to the port side.
With a flick of a switch, Petros reset the auto-pilot.
“It was him or us.”
Petros checked the man. “Thank Christ he’s still breathing. Help me get him tied up and out of the way. The other one will start to wonder where he’s gone.”
“I suggest we wait for him to arrive.”
“I’ll check where we are and alter our course towards Malta. You stand back from that hatch. And when you hit him, be gentle.”
A strong wind blew across the bridge. A figure loomed through the doorway and shouted in Arabic. Petros, his face set in a frown, completed a position and course check before turning. He smiled as the well-built man with his muscular arms outstretched, staggered across the deck. Bear struck the man’s head with a clenched fist.
“Great punch.”
“PK, I’ll tie this creep up and dump him with his friend. Pity we can’t speak Arabic.”
Petros stood at the front of the bridge and pushed the throttle hard to the stops. His eyes scanned the horizon but the sea remained empty. “Bear, stay here and touch nothing.”
“Where are you going?”
The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes gave evidence of little sleep. “Self preservation. I need to check how much fuel we have and make sure the supply is open from how many tanks we have.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I know boats. Perhaps not as plush as Dream Chaser but it floats and moves. When I return you can have the honour of discovering what’s for breakfast.”
Bear bowed. “Yes, Captain.”
Twenty minutes later Petros, his clothes reeking of diesel, returned to the bridge. “Fuel tanks open and I reckon we’ll make Malta with no problems. I’ll take over while you do what you do best.”
On the bridge, Petros relaxed and watched the choppy sea change colour as clouds drifted across the sun. He heard footsteps as Bear dragged his bulk up the companionway.
“Black coffee. Bread, dried meat and cheese. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is bare. I don’t think they intended to stay out for long.”
“It’ll have to do,” said Petros. I’ll do until noon and take over when the sun sets.”
“Good plan. Eat or I’ll have seconds.”
“This bread tastes stale.”
Bear grinned. “But I placed the mouldy bits where you can’t see them. Get it eaten. A dose of penicillin won’t do you any harm.”
With their food consumed, Bear jammed his frame between two cupboards and slept.
Petros glanced left and right. Not a ship in sight. He checked the bonds securing the two men. Satisfied they were secure he motioned with his right hand and said, “Water?”
The conscious man nodded.
“So you understand English.”
He nodded.
Petros pointed at his unaware partner. “Why did he attack me?”
The man shrugged.
He descended the companionway, found a coffee-stained mug in a cabin, rinsed and filled it with clean water and returned to the bridge. One quick glance confirmed a still empty sea. With one hand holding on, he assisted the man to drink. “Water’s what you’ll get until we dock in Malta.”
The man grimaced but stayed silent. The other opened his eyes, shook his head and glared at Bear.
“Water?”
The man shouted what appeared to be abuse.
“No water,” said Bear. .
Petros stood on the port bridge wing, rested his back against the bulkhead and stared ahead at the dark sea, the sun developing into a scorcher. At noon, he shook Bear. “Lunch time.”
Bear grunted, dragged himself to his feet and breathed deep. “My head hurts and something smells similar to shit.”
“Your wound is seeping. One of our passengers has soiled himself. Go and have a rummage and see if you can find a first aid kit. What passes for the captain’s cabin is under this deck.”
Bear descended the ladder, his feet clattering on the steel, to return minutes later with a small bottle of iodine, a bandage and a plate of dried meat. “Don’t know what this is, but it tastes not unlike beef. The bread’s walking with maggots so I didn’t bother. We’re on a diet until Malta.”
“We should sight land tomorrow afternoon. You’ll survive until then. So breakfast included fresh bugs, wonderful.”
“The penicillin will have killed them, no problem.”
Both men laughed and ate the coarse cut meat.
Petros soaked Bear’s head wound with the iodine and bandaged as best he could. “Should be okay but when we get home see a doctor, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case it’s worse than I think.”
“Rest, I’ll watch the horizon until it gets dark.”
“I saw an old wicker chair in the cabin below this deck. I’ll get it, jam it in a corner and snooze on the bridge wing. Any problems, give me a kick.”
Petros woke in an instant when Bear shook his shoulder. “My shut-eye time. Give me a shake when you’re knackered”
“When the sun rises,” said Petros
One hour followed another. The drifting spray plastered his frame as he attempted to name the stars he could see. Tired, his eyelids drooping, he shook his head aware dawn was not far off. He swayed with the rise and fall of the craft as it carved a wake of white foam but continued to scan their course.
With the hint of daylight, the sun’s rays edged over the horizon. Petros marked the grubby chart with a cross. “There or thereabouts,” he muttered. He nudged Bear with his foot. “Wakey, wakey.”
Bear rubbed his eyes and stretched. “I
hate boats, in particular smelly, noisy fishing boats with steel decks. I’m getting too old to play this game.”
“Stop complaining and take over before I fall over. And give those two a drink of water.”
“I could toss them overboard.”
“Just give them water and shut up.”
Bear pulled himself to his feet. “Have I the time for a dump?”
“You’re full of it. Now shift your arse before I fall asleep on my feet.”
Ten minutes later Bear strolled to the centre of the bridge, stood beside Petros, flexing his knees as the craft punched its way through the waves. PK’s ability to sleep was uncanny. The instant his head rested on a life-jacket, his eyes closed and he slept.
***
Petros woke and saw Bear peering at him. “Problems?”
“There’s a hunk of land in front of us which if your navigation is correct might be Malta.”
Petros checked the time, 1510. They were on schedule. He steadied his thoughts. “Give me five minutes.”
“I’ll make sure we don’t hit anything.”
“And I slept believing that’s what you were doing.”
Bear strolled to the port bridge wing chuckling. “You’re the boat person. I’m akin to Charlie, your dog. I avoid them whenever possible.”
Petros vanished below and returned minutes later tucking his shirt into his trousers, as he leaned over the chart. “We’ll get close, turn to starboard, hug the coast and Grand Harbour should be round that headland.”
“Easy peasy.”
“For the next few hours maybe but we need to berth this wreck.” He took a quick two point eyeball fix and placed another cross on the chart and altered the auto-pilot to a new course.
“Have you been here before?”
“No.
“So what do we do?”
Petros shaded his eyes as he looked for a ship-to-shore radio. “Talk to the harbour master. There you are.”
At the rear of the bridge an ancient transmitter-receiver clung to the bulkhead. A flexible cable connected a handset and tit. With his left hand, he turned on the power.