by J G Alva
“This boat belongs on the bottom of the ocean,” Nick said, looking at the weapons.
Yilmaz grunted an unhappy confirmation.
After the search, they went back up on to the main deck. They had to: the air was so thick with the smells of corruption they couldn’t stand it.
“The question is, how do we sink it?” Nick asked, when he could breathe again without fear of choking.
Yilmaz considered this problem.
“There are two ways, I think. We can turn off the main pump, point it out in to the ocean, and run the motor. It would sink in time, but someone might find it before this happened.”
Nick didn’t like that idea.
“The guns,” he said.
“Yes. Or we run it in to the island. In to the rocks. Put the many guns in the water before. Then put the bodies in the water. Then start the engine and run the boat in to the rocks.”
Yilmaz held his hands up as if to say what do you think?
“I like that idea,” Nick said nodding.
They carried the guns up and threw them over the side. Nick took it upon himself to dispose of the rocket launcher; it was surprisingly light. It floated for half a minute before sinking.
While he was watching it, Yilmaz started the boat’s engines. It gave a throaty roar, and Nick went back inside to where Yilmaz was fiddling with the controls.
“We will have to jump, I am thinking,” Yilmaz said.
Nick blinked.
“What?”
“When it is starting to move, we must jump.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Yilmaz turned the boat slowly in the water toward the rocks, and then pushed the throttle to maximum. The engine roared, and Yilmaz shepherded Nick on to the deck.
“Jump, jump,” he said, and they both dove over the side of the boat.
It was a long drop, and Nick didn’t quite hit the water right; his side erupted, like he had been punched. Damn it.
He followed Yilmaz around the front of his cruiser, lagging behind, slightly winded, the pain in his side easing. When he reached the steps, Yilmaz was already on the stairs.
“I am an old man, but I am better swimmer than you, eh?” He said. He was grinning.
Nick went up the steps after him, and reached the main deck in time to see the other boat hit the rocks. It was something of an anti-climax for Nick; the ship rose slightly on the rocks, going up, up, where it stopped, and then he watched as it slipped back down slightly, settling. That was all.
They stood watching it for some moments and then went to work on the bodies. It was hard work, every one of the dead men incredibly heavy, and so loose that carrying them was almost impossible; they kept slipping out of Nick's grasp, like bags of compost. The man below in the main bedroom was the most difficult to dispose of, and the messiest; his blood covered most of the broad expanse of the bed. They eventually decided to wrap him up in those soiled sheets and he was the only one who went over the side with any ceremony, clothed as he was in some sort of white burial dress.
But finally it was done, and as they looked over the side at the bodies bobbing in the water, Agathe appeared with a bucketful of soapy water and some sponges, and all three of them cleaned up the blood. Nick watched Agathe’s face but besides a look of contained disgust she seemed to have no problem with what they were doing. After that was done, they threw the sponges and the bucket over the side as well. Disposing of the evidence, Nick noted, and as he watched the bucket bobbing chirpily away on the water thought I would have given my right arm for a bucket when we were on the island, and here we are just throwing it away. What a life.
“Now, let us get your friend,” Yilmaz said happily, and he went to the cockpit and started the engine.
◆◆◆
The raft sat on the beach but Rebekah was nowhere to be seen anywhere around it as they closed in with Yilmaz’s hulking white cruiser.
Yilmaz had to stop the cruiser some way out from the beach, as he explained there wasn’t enough depth for the ship’s hull. But he happily joined Nick in the small speedboat and started the motor on the back and propelled them in to shore, where they had to jump out and pull it far enough up the beach to stop the current taking it back out again.
A wild fear caught Nick around the throat. Rebekah was gone, something had happened, there had been one pirate that had escaped, had got to the island, had found Rebekah and had killed her, revenge for his fallen comrades, and the fear escalating beyond all control he ended up running up and down the beach shouting her name, his voice cracking with the force of his calls.
And then she was there suddenly, coming out of the shadows under the trees, and he ran to her, and pulled her in to his arms, and she was crying, and he felt the wetness on his own face and found he was crying too.
“We’re going,” he said. “We’re going home.”
◆◆◆
CHAPTER 11
Rebekah couldn’t seem to stop crying, not even when they were back aboard Yilmaz’s cruiser, sitting in the brown lounge and drinking the ‘special drink’ – which Rebekah politely refused.
“I don’t think I could handle it,” she said, before dissolving in to more sobbing.
She would not let go of Nick’s hand; it was like she was welded to him.
“What happened to the other boat?” Rebekah asked eventually, after the sobbing had eased enough to allow her some control.
An awkward silence descended upon the room. Rebekah sensed it, and tried to look at everyone’s face at once.
Yilmaz spoke cheerfully, “they went to another island. I think they were looking for good fish. Big fish.” He spread his hand to indicate the size of the fish they might be after.
But Rebekah wasn’t fooled.
“Nick?”
Nick shook his head at Yilmaz. He appreciated the effort to protect her, but they had been through too much together for Nick to lie to her.
“Dead,” Nick said. “They’re all dead.”
“How…?” She looked around at everyone again.
“Nick,” Agathe said, a warm expression on her face directed toward him. “We owe him our lifes.”
Nick said, “it was the same men that took the St. Anne.”
Rebekah’s eyes went wide.
“The same ones?”
He nodded.
“Yes. This must be their area. Their hunting ground.”
She took that in, and then set her mouth in a grim line, nodded, and squeezed his hand.
“Then I’m glad they’re dead.”
“Mike hired them,” Nick said. “One of them told me.”
“Well.” Rebekah made a face. “There was never any doubt, was there.”
“No, but...” Nick sighed. “Having it confirmed...that was something else.”
There was a funny expression on her face.
“And...Jessica?”
Nick nodded.
“Alive. Along with everyone else.”
She nodded, as if she had expected this, a distant look in her eyes.
“I’m glad.” Then after a pause added, “for your sake.”
Nick raised his eyebrows but did not reply.
Agathe rose.
“Come,” she said to Rebekah, extending her hand.
Rebekah looked nervous in that moment.
“Come,” Agathe repeated. “I have many clothes. You are not so different from me, yes? Perhaps a little shorter. We will go and try on clothes.”
“Really?” Rebekah said, a light in her eyes. She looked down at herself. They weren’t clothes anymore, they were more like rags. Memories of rags. She put down her glass of water and rose as well. “That sounds great.”
She seemed reluctant to let go of Nick’s hand, but with a regretful smile she did just that.
“Go on,” Nick said, smiling himself. “Enjoy yourself.”
Kate joined them, and the three girls left the room, chatting happily together. Nick looked after them, amazed at how things had turned out. Nev
er in his wildest dreams had he imagined anything like this.
Yilmaz got up as well, and wandered over to the bar.
Nick followed him.
“We shall make for Mahé,” Yilmaz said,
“How far is that?” Nick asked.
“A day perhaps,” Yilmaz said.
“Okay.”
“I have clothes also, which I shall give to you.”
Nick looked down at himself.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
“And perhaps you are thinking of shaving?”
Nick touched his beard.
“That would be nice.”
Yilmaz smiled. He wasn’t exactly clean shaven himself, with the dark smudge of a five o’ clock shadow covering his jaw, but Nick wondered if that wasn’t his natural state.
Some look came over Yilmaz’s face that Nick couldn’t identify, a troubled expression that sent a flutter of worry through Nick.
Yilmaz stopped fiddling with the bottles eventually and looked at Nick.
“What?” Nick asked.
“You were on the island for some time, yes?”
“Over two years.”
Yilmaz sighed.
“That is much time to be alone together. There is a special – how you say? – connection, with such a thing, no?”
Nick nodded.
“I almost died. She saved me.”
“She is a pretty woman,” he said, and gave Nick that look again.
Nick suddenly realised what that look meant, and felt acutely uncomfortable under Yilmaz’s gaze. He felt a blush creeping up his neck and fought to stop it. He moved to one of the stools and sat on it and put his head in his hands. Yes, he knew that look alright, and he had expected as much from anybody who knew how young she was; they couldn’t hide the obvious affection they felt for each other, and he thought angrily why the hell should we? And why should I care what anyone else thinks? They weren’t on the island with me. They can all go and fuck themselves.
But of course he did care. Maybe not everyone’s opinion, but certainly Yilmaz’s. And other opinions of course, not withstanding their immediate families. How would he explain it to his mother? And Rebekah to her aunt?
And then of course there was Jessica. He did not know how to feel about that, could not decide what he should be feeling. It made his head hurt to think about it.
“Yes,” Nick said woodenly.
Yilmaz did not respond, and eventually Nick raised his head to look at him. Yilmaz’s eyes held an equal measure of compassion and understanding, and the smile seemed to seal the bargain.
“So. She is young, but not so young. Look at my wife, Agathe. I am an old man. She is not so old. People did not think that we could love, but this is not so. People do not understand, but then they are not...how do you say? Clever. Inside. My life would not be as you see it now if not for Agathe.”
“She seems very lovely.”
“Yes. She is too good for old Yilmaz. But I could not live without my Agathe. This is the way of it.”
Nick sighed.
“There’s a problem though,” Nick said.
“Oh?”
Nick stared at Yilmaz.
“I’m married.”
“Ah.” Yilmaz nodded. “A problem. Yes.”
“I don’t know, it’s been two years, my God, I thought she was dead until about an hour ago, and it’s even possible she’s married again but, I don’t know...it might be possible she had something to do with...what happened to me.”
Yilmaz stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth.
“You think she was involved with these...bad men?”
Nick shook his head but said, “it’s possible.”
There was another moment of silence.
Nick sighed.
“But...she’s still my wife.”
“Yes.”
More silence, and looking to his right, through the window, Nick could see the bright blue sea and a wedge of the island and thought what is this? An hour off the island and it’s already gotten complicated, and he started to wonder if he didn’t miss the island, the simplicity of it, even just a little bit.
“I think there is too much thinking here,” Yilmaz said. “You have been through too much. And now too much thinking...it is not good for you. You are on a boat with your good friend Yilmaz, and now is not a time for thinking, but a time for drinking, and dancing. Do you not think so?”
Nick smiled wanly.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Tomorrow, in Mahé, we will think,” Yilmaz said. “We will talk together, and think, and we will decide what is to do. But for now it is best not to think. Come. We will get some clothes, and we will turn the ship to Mahé, and Agathe will cook some good food – perhaps Kleftiko, yes? – and we will have good time.”
Nick nodded. It sounded like a good plan, and it was an immeasurable relief to have someone else make the decisions for him for a change.
“Alright,” he agreed.
◆◆◆
Powerful lights lit the deck up like a football stadium, and seemed to leach some of the colour out of everything; Nick looked and couldn’t even pick out the damp pools where they had washed the deck clean of blood.
But even if he couldn’t see them, the knowledge of them sat glowing in his mind, a reminder, a weight, that kept him slightly removed from the evening.
A large circular glass table had been brought out and put on deck and all five of them sat around it, drinking and laughing and eating. Various bowls of different shapes and sizes filled the entire surface of the table, so Nick barely had room for a drink and a napkin, and in each bowl was a food Nick did not recognise. Still, Rebekah and Nick ate greedily; it had been so long since they had tasted something other than fish that it was like they were new born, and discovering it all over again. Spices exploded in Nick’s mouth and he thought that he had never tasted anything like it before, the spices seemed to jump out of the food on to his tongue, and a little later in the evening when a little wind began to pick up, Nick realised he had become slightly drunk, for the first time in over two years, and the weight of the day’s events had diminished to the point where he could almost ignore them, and enjoy himself.
Kate was told it was time for bed, and the protests began in earnest. Nick wondered at how well she had dealt with the trauma of a near rape, but when Agathe insisted she went below the damage became evident as Kate stormed and screamed and cried and begged not to be sent to bed. Agathe went down with her and spent a good half hour with her, until she fell asleep, and then returned, reclaiming her seat next to Yilmaz. Nick marvelled that she could sleep at all, and didn’t think he was in store for any sort of a restful night; he wondered if any of them would sleep soundly. It was good not to try and think too hard about what had happened, and for the most part, with the help of the alcohol, Nick was succeeding, but you couldn’t keep the mind at bay forever, and Nick knew he would pay in the small hours of the morning for the lives he had taken. In some strange way, he was looking forward to it, to the punishment. He felt it was well deserved.
With alarm, Nick thought that Agathe looked something close to embarrassed, and hung her head.
“Forgive my daughter, she is still unwell about what was happening today.”
“She’s a brave girl,” Nick said. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”
Agathe nodded, and her eyes flicked furtively to Nick.
“I do not know, she would not tell, the man, would he, I do not, did he, I, it is only – "
Nick knew where she had been going and said, “no. He never raped her. He never got the chance.”
Agathe relaxed visibly, relieved. Yilmaz made a small happy noise.
The night was quiet, the sea calm. Only a sliver of moon glowed brightly above the horizon, and the stars seemed unbelievably close, close enough to touch even. They had passed two small islands on their way back to Mahé before it had gotten too dark to see, Yilmaz confessing he was not much of a sailor and woul
d prefer to anchor and start again in the morning rather than rely on instruments alone. They had anchored slightly north of a small island that seemed to be nothing more than a large lump of sand put down in the middle of the ocean. Atolls. Nick had looked but could not see any lights from anything anywhere. He recalled his thought about a nuclear war when he had first gotten to the island, and it came back to him now, that sense of isolation, that idea that the human race had been wiped off the face of the earth. Was that such a bad thing?
“The food was great, Agathe,” Rebekah said.
Agathe dipped her head.
“Thank you, Rebekah.”
“What the hell have you done to her, Agathe?” Nick said, indicating Rebekah. “I hardly recognise her.”
The outfit she had borrowed from Agathe was a black corset top and black skirt that ended just below the knee, and Nick thought she looked beautiful in it. The skirt was speckled with thousands of jewels, and glittered in the glow of the deck lights, and the corset top hugged all her curves, highlighting the expanse of bosom on offer.
Agathe looked nonplussed.
“What – I don’t – "
“Ignore him, Agathe,” Rebekah said. “He’s only teasing. It’s a Carmen Marc Volco. What do you think?”
He leaned close and whispered, “I think you look good enough to eat.”
She had done something with her hair also, with Agathe’s help, she confessed, cutting it a little and styling it, and then arranging it all on her head in a couple of neat folds. It made her look older, maybe twenty one or two, certainly not a few weeks shy of her nineteenth birthday.
She took his breath away.
But with Yilmaz’s and Agathe’s benevolent eyes on them, Nick suddenly became self-conscious in the way he was reacting to her, the knowledge that she was too young for him – too young for any sort of sexual relationship, well, maybe not too young, but certainly not the right age to be going out with a man almost two decades older than her – there in the back of his mind, cooling his ardour. He ached to touch her, but could not, and he supposed that was a punishment of sorts as well.