by Ian Walkley
“You get photo of this Scorpion Owl?”
“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
“No tomorrow!” Boroni shouted. “I be seeing what you spy on.” He checked several of the photographs on Mac’s camera, then glanced up at him, looking disappointed. “You take nice photographs. The bats. Very good. Eagle, very good.”
He checked their phones, but there were no emails or messages. Good thing they’d buried the computer and the satellite phone.
“Now, clothes.”
“Really, Colonel. That’s not necessary —”
“Off!” he yelled.
Boroni’s men were laughing and making such obviously crude remarks that Mac was glad they couldn’t understand.
“Hurry! I be a man of little patience!”
His men aimed their weapons.
“I refuse,” said Tally. “If you are proper Muslims, you wouldn’t put a woman through such a shameful ordeal.”
“Oh? You be an expert on Islam, madame? You be modest perhaps?” Boroni leaned close. “I do not think so. Western women have no hijab, no modesty. They walk around half naked, exposing their legs, their arms, their titties. We know western women love to show themselves, you see. They take clothes off at the beach with no regard for our customs. You want to be treated as Muslim woman? Nonsense! Take off clothes! Or I will let my men do it back at the barracks.”
“Better do as he says,” Mac said, starting to undress.
Tally slowly took her clothes off, trying her best to hide herself by turning towards him. He scowled as the soldiers ogled unashamedly at her. He wasn’t certain whether being forced to strip would satisfy Boroni’s urge to humiliate them or further inflame him and his men. But there was nothing he could do other than try not to upset the crazy military commander.
“Check their clothes!” Boroni yelled at one of his men. He stood in front of them, studying their bodies, taking a drag of his cigarette. “What be those?” he asked, pointing to the scars on Mac’s chest.
“I was a soldier a few years back. I was wounded and discharged.”
“A soldier, eh? When do you first meet Maurin?”
Maurin again. Had he done something else, apart from flying over Khalid’s land? “We hired him on Grand Comore as our pilot. I’d never met him until then. Is there a problem?”
“I be asking the questions. When the last time you saw him?”
“Day before yesterday, after he’d finished flying us around the island. Is he all right?”
Colonel Boroni paced slowly for several minutes. Finally, he holstered his pistol and barked some orders. “Get dressed! You will pack things and come with me.”
“For what purpose, Colonel?”
Boroni grinned, flicking his cigarette into the dying embers of the fire. “To see Olivier Maurin.”
~ * ~
53
There was no VapoRub under their noses and no air conditioning to disguise the ugly stench in the room, as the attendant switched on the light and pulled back the sheet.
Boroni was eyeing them carefully.
“Oh, I’m going to be sick.” Tally stumbled out the door. They could hear her retching. The mortuary attendant muttered some harsh words and threw a bucket into the corridor after her.
Mac stared at the abused corpse. It was covered in purple-black splotches. The nose and mouth had been caved in. The eyes were open, unfortunately. The arms and legs were misaligned, as though they’d been pulled out of their sockets. He had seen bad ones before, and this was bad. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you would be able to tell us. You being the last people to see him alive.” Boroni picked up a clipboard and grunted. “Autopsy report that Maurin run over with car. Almost every bone broken. But this be no traffic accident, you see.”
Mac suspected that Maurin’s bones had been broken before any vehicle was driven over him. And it was probably his fault, for asking Maurin to fly over Khalid’s land. He put his hand across his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment, telling the dead man he was sorry. But that wouldn’t bring him back for his two wives and his children on Andaran and Grand Comore. They would have to help Olivier’s families. “Why is the army involved, Colonel? Isn’t this a police matter?”
“Normally, monsieur. But Maurin had a reputation. Him be involved in previous coups against the Andaran Government. The army be here to stop disruptive forces in Andaran, you see.”
“I see.” Mac breathed a little easier. Perhaps Boroni didn’t know about the raid after all. “Yes, he did happen to mention that he’d been a mercenary.”
“And what about you, Mr. Maclean? You have confessed to being a soldier. And you carry equipment that be military in nature. This is why you be under suspicion. You have anything to say?”
“I’m not a soldier, or a mercenary. We had nothing to do with Olivier Maurin’s death. He was supposed to fly us out of here next week.”
Boroni narrowed his eyes. “I can have you locked up until you confess, do you know? Unfortunately, we have no jail for women. Your wife, she must be locked in cell with ten other men. It be easier if you confess, you see.”
“Colonel, there’s nothing more I can tell you. He flew us around the island.”
“Well, you must see the dangers that you face.”
He could see them very clearly. Boroni could easily dispose of them. They would have to get out of Andaran before he found out about the raid. He could return later, without Tally. “Perhaps it would be best if we made arrangements to leave. But not because we had anything to do with Captain Maurin’s death, you understand.”
Boroni frowned. “But of course. You will please permit me to escort you to the airport myself. I insist. There is a flight leaving this afternoon, you see. I be most pleased to find two seats for you.”
~ * ~
54
“Ah, Sheriti, your timing is excellent, as always. Come in,” Khalid said. He could feel his heart rate increase from the woody musk of her body scent as she brushed by him in a sarong and bikini top. He turned to his bodyguard. “Wait outside, Seth. See that we’re not disturbed.” He followed her into the expansive living area of the antique-furnished King Louis Suite, admiring the sway of her hips through the sheer batik.
She put her case of therapeutic oils on the writing desk next to his computer, which was switched off, and took out two bottles. “Such a beautiful Paris day. You need to get out, have some exercise, Khalid. Would you like to go for a run first?”
He liked hearing Sheriti call him Khalid. It was more intimate. But he allowed it only when they were alone. “After dinner I’ll walk with Jamila. Now I need to relax, with your help,” he said coming up close. Sheriti’s arms remained at her side and her face remained impassive as he unrolled the sarong at her waist, letting it drop to the floor. She wore nothing underneath, and he immediately became aroused. Sheriti smiled, which only increased his arousal.
“No, Khalid. Control. Do not allow your body to control you. You must control your body,” she said. “Remember your breathing.”
“Yes, yes.” He closed his eyes and breathed deep. After a few moments he could feel the blood flowing from his member and he opened his eyes.
“Better,” she said. She turned around slowly and unclasped her bikini top. She bent over to pick up the sarong, allowing him a clear view of her female parts. She stood up and placed the clothes carefully on one of the antique pink-and-white-striped fauteuil armchairs. She tied her hair in a knot and turned on the shower. “Where is Jamila?”
“Rubi has taken her shopping. The television interview with her this morning was a disaster.” He began to undress. “She spoke out of turn, and I had to discipline her. She is such an impetuous teenager. I need a more mature woman as a companion, I think.”
Sheriti gave no indication that she had understood the subtlety of what he was suggesting, and put her finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She stepped into the shower. “Come.”
Khalid threw his clothes on the
floor and stepped in with her. His erection was still a problem, causing him considerable frustration, all the more because he knew that Sheriti would not have sex with him. He was determined to persist. One day, Allah willing, Sheriti would have his son.
“Let’s begin by releasing the toxins that are causing you stress,” she said softly, taking hold of him and doing something that quickly made him go limp. “There. Now tell me all the things that are worrying you today. We’ll wash them away together.”
He had never felt so calm and in control as he did after the sessions with Sheriti. She had explained that her technique opened his chakras, allowing the energy to flow more freely through his body. This slowed the frequency of his brain waves, allowing his mind to rest much more than from regular sleep. But whether it was the gentle, unhurried movement of her hands caressing his skin, or the chance to get his problems off his chest, it didn’t matter too much. It worked.
Her sessions were as erotic as they were relaxing, with Sheriti often naked, moving her body against his. But she wouldn’t permit him to kiss her, let alone touch her anywhere intimate. This was tantric yoga, she would say firmly, not lovemaking or sex. One had to get past one’s base desires in order to reach the spiritual level of the tantra.
To his delight, Sheriti’s training in deferred gratification was so successful that he was now able to delay his climax for almost half an hour, and the eventual orgasm was stronger than he’d ever experienced. Sex, even with his wives, was greatly enhanced and he was able to get more pleasure from his women.
And so, as Sheriti sponged him in the shower, he reeled off his frustrations: difficulties in recruiting trustworthy personnel for the Princess Aliya, a greedy supplier who had tried to overcharge him, gang warfare here in Paris resulting in the death of one of their best suppliers, his brothers’ allegation that he was a thief, and several other matters. He would not mention his anxiety about whether Ibrahim and Masoud had succeeded in retrieving the two containers buried in the desert of Saudi Arabia, or his concerns about the Israelis abducting Mai Fanning.
“And finally, there’s the added pressure of trying to get Jamila pregnant. She’s exasperating in her persistence. Every night she demands sex, several times. I feel like a sperm donor. But I know that once she is pregnant, I can send her home.”
“If you worry, Khalid, your sperm count will be reduced so it’ll be harder to impregnate Jamila. You must leave the worry to Allah. And only once a day with Jamila, no more.” She went down on her knees.
Khalid took a sharp intake of breath as she grasped his scrotum and began sponging his penis. He concentrated on his breathing. “Jamila won’t be pleased with your restrictions.”
Sheriti raised her eyebrows and brought her face so close that for a moment he thought she was going to take him in her mouth. His muscles went rigid.
She stood up. “See how easily you become stiff. What is causing this stress, Khalid? I sense there’s something else you haven’t spoken of.”
“Very perceptive, my Egyptian Princess.” He’d learned to trust Sheriti with many things, but there were some secrets he didn’t share with anyone, even his sister Rubi. “My father has left me a considerable inheritance. It will be difficult, perhaps dangerous, to recover it, even here in Paris. I regret that I cannot discuss the details with you. Not with anyone.” He turned off the shower, stepped out, and grabbed a towel.
Sheriti shimmied past him to fetch a towel, her bottom wiggling provocatively with each step. The draft of the air conditioner caused her skin to form goose bumps. “In that case, there’s nothing further to be gained from prolonging this tension between us.”
He didn’t understand. Was she resigning? Was she going to stop the tantric sessions? He stared at her as she towelled off. “What do you mean?”
She took a deep breath and released it. “I think you need distracting, Khalid. Today we move to the bed. I think you’re ready to take things to the next level. Go lie down on your back.”
From a blue cylindrical bottle she poured scented oil on her breasts and spread it down her belly and between her legs. She lay on top of him and rubbed her body against his, and the gentle friction aroused him despite his efforts. After a few minutes of this, she whispered, “Good. The aura around your head is golden. Now we will assume the position.”
Once they were facing each other, sitting with their legs crossed, she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. “Now we begin to open the chakras... It is essential that you maintain control. Just relax... Deep breaths... Squeeze the pelvic muscle... Hold it... That’s it...”
He took shallow breaths, trying to keep his pulse and his penis under control. He knew it would become more difficult later.
“Today, we introduce the sacred female place. The Yoni.” She took his right hand and slowly directed it between her legs.
He inhaled sharply. His body shuddered.
“You must remember, Khalid, that contentment is something you cannot buy. It is so much more than satisfying the lingam between your legs that constantly waves its frustrations at me.”
“Yes,” he murmured between short breaths. “I understand. Oh, yes.”
“First, we will explore by touch. Once I’m satisfied that you are in control, we shall try an exercise of penetration. Shallow at first, and no thrusting. And no kissing. Once I see that you are able to maintain control for twenty minutes without ejaculation, we will attempt full penetration. Then you’ll begin to really feel the benefits of the tantra.”
At last, she consents to be mine! “Yes, yes. I understand..
“Now, as we move slowly into position and hold, you will tell me all of the things that you hope to achieve in the next six months...”
“Y’Allah. Oh yes, my Sheriti. There is something I very much want to happen soon...”
~ * ~
55
The pain was chewing his left eyeball, making it difficult for Ziad to keep his voice steady. “Hmmm. Good work, Colonel Boroni. Perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of calling before releasing the offenders, if this happens again. As for Maurin, there’ll be a bonus for that.” He disconnected the call and threw his cell phone across the room, just missing Ali who was browsing a Paris Match magazine. The handset bounced off the sofa onto the floor. “The incompetent fool! How could he have let them go? He didn’t even take photos of them! They were Israelis. Had to be.”
Ali jumped up off the chair and dropped the magazine. “What happened?” He picked up the cell phone and handed it back.
“Never mind. Get on the phone to Sergei and get him on the first flight to Paris. And I want a full check on all our computers.” He pushed hard against his eyeball, trying to relieve the throbbing. Khalid had ordered him to increase security after the Mai Fanning incident. And with what sounded like the same husband and wife team from Dubai snooping around Andaran, he felt an even greater urgency to tighten security in all areas. He had already arranged for additional security personnel aboard the Princess Aliya.
An electronic beep sounded and Sadiq entered the room. “I’m back. Seth is on his shift.”
Ziad waved a dismissive hand. “Sadiq, contact The Frenchman’s people and set up some appointments while we’re in Paris. We need a new supplier to replace Emil. He was killed a week ago in a war between rival clubs. Find out who is sourcing girls for the clubs now. And Ali, go out and buy ten of the latest iPhones. Pay cash. We need some spares that are not identifiable.”
The two men left and Ziad opened his room safe. He took out a small baggie and pinched some white powder between his thumb and forefinger before raising it to his nostril and sharply inhaling. He did it a second time with the other nostril, brushing off the residue on top of the safe before replacing the baggie. He closed his eyes for a few moments and waited for his head to clear. The coke seemed to help with the headaches and the stress. Lately, things had not been going as smoothly as they should.
He checked his phone. It still seemed to work, so he call
ed Inspector Fareed Al Bohameed in Dubai. The deep voice came on the line and they exchanged ritual greetings.
“Fareed, I need a favour.”
“Of course, brother. What is it you ask? I’ll try to assist. But Ziad, you should be aware that I’ve had some difficulties over the Fanning death.”
“What? What difficulties?”
“The British Consulate pressed for a Coroner’s Inquest. I managed to avoid that outcome, but there are many British expatriates here in influential positions, including in the Police Department. I must tread very carefully, my friend.”
“Of course, Fareed.” He didn’t care how carefully Bohameed had to tread. The man was well paid and he was not going to be let off the hook now. “Have you heard any word on when Fanning’s body is to be released for the funeral?”