by R T Green
In the more populated areas of western Tobago she’d chosen to start searching, hiding the ship was risky. She’d just have to take that risk; without a safe haven, she wouldn’t succeed.
As darkness fell over another day, she set the ship down next to the Plantations Golf Course. There was little cover there, but at least the golfers had gone, back to the bar to compare stories of birdies and holes-in-one.
And it had begun to rain. That would help, keeping away casual walkers and sightseers.
Fifty yards away, a row of single-storey houses bordered one side of a straight suburban road. On the corner, where the road branched off the Claude Noel highway, sat the Masjid mosque.
She drew a deep breath, pulled the hood tight around her once again, and slipped through the shuttle’s access hatch into the dampness of the night.
Lights were on inside the building. She ignored the main entrance, skirted the side of the mosque looking for less obvious doors. At the rear were two of them, marked men and women. Slowly she eased open the women’s door, peered around it. The walkway was in darkness, but twenty feet away light was coming from a half-open door.
She slipped inside, began to edge towards the light. Voices. Getting nearer. No idea where she was going, she opened the door next to her. A storage cupboard, brooms and mops she almost knocked over in the dark.
Two women passed by, in Muslim dress, and left the building through the outside door.
Muslim dress, but not niqabs.
Back in the walkway, Zana could hear talking, women laughing. It sounded echoic, coming from the room with the light. She made the door, paused and listened to the voices. They weren’t so close, maybe in an adjoining room. She could hear water, faint splashing.
She edged the door open a little, the room was empty. It looked like a changing room, ceramic tiles on the floor, lockers and places to hang clothes. An open archway led somewhere, she couldn’t see where. But it had to be some kind of pool, the air damp and the voices and splashing coming from the other side of the arch.
Two long black women’s garments hung from the pegs. What were the chances?
One was a chador. Not concealing enough.
The other was an abaya, with a niqab to accompany it.
Unable to believe her luck, she glanced furtively around. The women in the pool were talking quietly, the occasional sound of moving water echoing in the moist air. Quickly she took off her cloak, slipped the abaya over her head, and then the niqab.
She left the room, putting the sunglasses back over her eyes as she headed for the exit. Again she’d stolen from people, a desperate act that had to be. And again it didn’t sit easy, but in the desolate situation she was in, for now it couldn’t matter.
She crossed the road, heading to the ship, turned to look back to the mosque that had given her the freedom to search unchallenged for the woman she loved.
The combination of the abaya, the niqab and the sunglasses meant she could move around freely, without anyone seeing a single one of her alien features.
Chapter 80
Ryland Cooper leapt back into the car, floored the throttle and spun the Nissan to head back the way they’d come. Two minutes ago.
‘For Christ’s sake Coop, can’t you drive like a Brit?’ Miles cried, as his head hit the roof yet again.
‘I ain’t a Brit, so quit your winging and don’t take your eyes off that fucking screen.’
Miles glanced to his partner, saw the look on his face, and decided shutting up was the wise thing to do. And didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
By some miracle they made it to the asphalt road in one piece. Zana’s tracker was way ahead of them, flying in the direction of the airport. Pretty much where they’d started their journey over three hours ago.
The temperature gauge on the old Nissan was climbing, Coop slowed a little and it levelled out.
‘Fuck!’ He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, frustrated at their lack of progress.
Miles tried to smile reassuringly to his partner. ‘She can’t get too far away, not on this island, mate.’
‘Yeah I know. Just need to be close at hand... in case she gets in trouble.’
‘Understand that. But thanks for the Sunday afternoon ride in the countryside. Enjoying it,’ Miles grinned.
‘The hell you is.’
‘Tea and scones would have been nice though.’
They were just north of Scarborough when Miles called out, ‘She’s stopped, Coop.’
‘Where?’
‘Not sure. West of Scarborough, might be a golf course. Right next to the highway.’
Coop frowned. ‘Reckon she knows something we don’t?’
Miles shrugged, Coop switched on the wipers to dispel the rain just beginning to fall, and pressed his right foot a little harder to the accelerator. It would still be the best part of an hour to reach her.
‘What the hell is she doing there?’
The slightly-steaming Nissan sat on the road across from the northern border of the golf course, right outside the Masjid mosque. Now they were up close to the tracker, its position was precise. Zana was somewhere inside.
‘Beats me,’ said Miles.
Unsure of their next move, they settled back to wait. The last thing Coop wanted was for Zana to know she was being tracked. Even though they saw each other as friends, coming face to face right then wouldn’t be a good move. She would realise straightaway she was being used to find Madeline.
Even though, for Coop at least, that wasn’t the only reason.
Forty-five minutes passed, the tracker hadn’t moved. Something was wrong.
‘We gotta go in, Miles.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the best...’
Miles didn’t get any further. His partner was already out of the car, walking quickly through the heavy rain.
A young Muslim man met them as they walked into the main entrance. ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’
‘We’re looking for a... woman, we think came in here in the last hour or two. Have you seen her, or has any incident taken place?’
The man lowered his head. ‘I see. Please wait here.’
He disappeared through a door. Miles looked at his partner. ‘Incident, Coop? You can’t let on who we are, we’re not even supposed to be here, remember?’
‘I ain’t that familiar with the Muslim faith Miles, but I do know what takes place inside a mosque stays inside a mosque. We’re safe.’
They waited five minutes, and then the young man reappeared. ‘Please, come with me. The Imam will speak with you.’
They were ushered into a small office, where an elderly man with a long dark-grey beard sat behind a wooden desk. He stood as his visitors entered, spoke to the young man in the doorway. ‘Please Asif, bring the garment to me.’
Coop held out a hand as he spoke, but the Imam didn’t take it. ‘Asalaamu alaikum. My name is Ryland Cooper. I apologise for the intrusion, sir.’
The Imam raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you of the Islamic faith, Mr. Cooper?’
‘I’m afraid not. We have reason to believe you may have had a... visitor this evening. Perhaps someone who did not wish to be seen?’
‘Do you come here in an official capacity?’
Coop hesitated, knowing he was unlikely to get answers unless he came clean. ‘We are representatives of the British government, sir. The person we seek is not a criminal, but we need to find her. She may be in trouble.’
‘I cannot help you...’
‘Please, it is very important we find her...’
‘I cannot help you with her whereabouts, but I will tell you she was here.’
‘Ok. I’m sorry, sir.’
‘At least, someone was here, who I assume is the person you seek.’
The young man appeared in the doorway. And Coop’s heart sank as his eyes fell onto what he was carrying. He handed it to the Imam, who noticed the look on his visitor’s face.
‘I assume you recognise this garme
nt, Mr. Cooper?’
He nodded, the red cape all too familiar.
‘A short time ago, one of our women was bathing in the women’s sacred water. Her abaya and niqab were in the changing rooms. When she came to dress she discovered they were gone, this garment left in their place.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
The Imam nodded. ‘It is sacrilege, Mr. Cooper. The woman cannot leave here until her husband arrives with fresh garments. She is very upset.’
‘I understand. May I take the cape?’
The Imam nodded to the young man, who handed it to Coop. The meeting was over; the leader of the mosque walked with the two agents to the entrance. ‘I must ask you gentlemen not to broadcast this event. In our religion the mosque is a sacred, private place of worship. We do not tolerate interference from those outside Islam.’
‘You have my word. It is also not in our interests to communicate any of this.’
Coop and Miles left the mosque, walked back to the car. ‘What now, mate?’ said Miles quietly.
Coop threw the red cape angrily onto the back seat, rubbed his hands across his face. ‘Fuck knows, Miles. Fuck knows.’
Chapter 81
The rain had stopped a couple of hours ago. As the sun dropped below the horizon and the light began to fade, I walked the half-mile to Joe’s bar.
It took a while. I needed to go, I didn’t want to. My head was mashed, confusing emotions trying to batter each other into submission. I thought back to the times I’d felt the same not so long ago, when Zana’s actions had forced me to spend countless hours trying to work her out. And even more hours trying to work me out, ignoring my heart as it screamed manically at me, ‘See, I do exist! So what are you going to do about it?’
Damn you, Zana. You’re dead and gone, and yet still leaving a legacy that turns my head to pulp.
Or my heart.
It was getting harder to tell.
The heart in question skipped a few beats as Joe’s came into view. Maybe because it brought back memories of the bar in Soho, early in our relationship, when I’d walked in knowing Zana would either be there, or about to arrive.
The first time we met she was intimidating, intoxicating. I’d had to hit the washroom then, to wipe the sweat from my brow.
I could feel it beading up again.
‘Hey, Madeline.’
Joe’s cheery face greeted me as I sat on one of the bamboo barstools. ‘Merry Christmas, Joe.’
He grinned, waved his arms around. ‘You like?’
I did. He and his staff had worked hard in what must have been a short space of time. A big Christmas tree sat next to the bar, multi-coloured lights flashing away in random patterns. A mass of streamers with an uncountable number of tiny lights draped their way around the walls and across the ceiling, extending right out into the covered part of the open terrace. It looked like... Christmas. Kind of.
‘Not much snow though, my friend,’ I smiled, glancing down to my shorts and sandals.
He laughed. ‘Would make it so if I could, for my favourite British girl!’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Joe. How you doing?’
‘Am good. Don’t think too many punters tonight though. The rain puttin’ them off.’ He handed me a Carib, I took a small sip. He wasn’t kidding about the lack of clients. I could see three other people, sitting together in a corner. No one else was there.
No Lisa.
‘Hey Joe... the girl I was talking with last night. You seen her tonight?’
He shook his head. ‘Still early though, girl.’
An hour passed. Lost in my mess of emotions, I still hadn’t finished my first bottle. I shook my head at myself. Why was I feeling so jittery? Madeline deWinter never gets nervous.
Never got nervous.
Since Zana forced me to discover my heart, it seems I also discovered a few other things I didn’t think existed. And lost a few things I used to have. The me who grew up hard and bitter on the tough streets of East London; the me who witnessed unspeakable horrors in army service in Afghanistan... she doesn’t exist anymore.
Part of me is scared shitless by that. When you don’t care about anything, you’re less vulnerable.
Another hour, one more bottle. Wow, two bottles in two hours. Am I turning teetotal now as well? That’s a really scary thought.
No Lisa. Just a butt getting numb from a permanent weld to a less-than-comfortable barstool. Where are you, Lisa? I need to see you. Have to see you, explain.
I gave the butt a break, wandered outside. One or two people had drifted in, sitting on the terrace, but for sure Joe wouldn’t be turning a profit this night. A hazy moon shone a diffused light across the ocean, the air laden with a warm, damp moisture left behind by the rain.
The beach looked inviting. I walked slowly along the sand right next to the tiny waves, until I realised the bar was almost out of sight. I didn’t want that, needed to keep it in view in case Lisa turned up. I headed up to the tree line, sat underneath a coconut palm.
I noticed a fleeting movement next to the road, a dark shape in my view just for a second. I tried to focus, but it was gone. The curious part of me wanted to investigate, but somehow the rest of me just couldn’t be bothered. It was a public road after all.
I leant back against the wide base of the palm. The bottle in my hand was empty, but tonight it didn’t seem to matter. The breeze drifting through my hair was soothing, and the gentle sound of the waves calmed the battle raging between my guilt and my libido. I closed my eyes, enjoying just the sounds of the beach, and an unexpected lack of demons, who seemed to have fallen asleep without being injected with an overdose of alcohol.
‘Madeline?’
My eyes flicked open, trying to focus on the figure standing over me. ‘Lisa?’
‘I thought you were asleep for a moment.’
‘Think I was, almost.’
She had a Carib in each hand, gave one to me as she sat down. My heart missed a few beats again, I took a swig to try and restart it. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
‘Are you glad I did?’
‘Yeah. I wanted to talk with you... explain my crappy behaviour.’
She lowered her head, spoke quietly. ‘I understand, Madeline. You must have been very much in love with her.’
‘Her? I didn’t say it was a girl.’
She turned, her big eyes locking into mine, mashing my head to pulp again. ‘Yes you did. But by your actions, not your words.’
She leant into me, her scent intoxicating, filling me with desire as her lips touched mine, a moment of pure heaven before she pulled away. ‘You still feel loyal to her, I can tell.’
‘I’m trying.’
Her hand reached up, caressed my cheek, a perfect smile on her face as the simple touch of her soft warm fingers sent pulses of sheer desire through my whole body. She whispered the words. ‘Tell me her name, please?’
Her face was touching mine, delicate kisses drifting from my neck to my eyes, lighting the fuse sparking its way right to where it mattered. I was falling into her again, but somehow I didn’t want to answer her question. ‘I don’t think...’
‘Please. It will help me understand.’
I couldn’t resist. What did it matter anyway?
‘Zana.’
Her head dropped. For a moment she looked uncomfortable. Then she said quietly, ‘That is a nice name.’
‘I shall never forget her.’
She lifted her Carib. ‘Let us drink to her name. And to what the future may hold.’ We chinked bottles. I sank most of the contents, then stood up and held out a hand. ‘Let’s walk a little, think I need to move my body.’
She slipped an arm around my waist as we walked to the edge of the waves. I did the same, holding her tight to my side as we took slow steps back towards the bar. She rested her head against my shoulder, and somehow despite the confusion in my head, it felt so right.
No words were spoken for what seemed like an age, but then
she turned and looked at me with her big brown eyes tinged with sadness. ‘I like you, Madeline,’ she whispered.
I caressed her cheek, her flawless skin like silk beneath my fingers. ‘Then don’t look so sad. I like you too.’
She took my hand, kissed my fingers so delicately. ‘I know it is hard for you. In many ways it is the same for me.’
‘Then its baby steps, ok? One foot in front of the other, see how it goes?’
She looked relieved. ‘Thank you.’ And then her lips were against mine, a soft gentle kiss that held a thousand mixed emotions, melting us together in a shared confusion. She pulled away, and smiled.
‘Shall we meet again tomorrow... see if the baby can walk a little further?’
‘Hey, why not? I... I would like that too.’
She backed away a couple of steps, our eyes locked together, our hands still linked. Then she turned, and walked back to the road. I watched her as she disappeared into the night, my heart pumping a little harder than it should, my head asking it a hundred unanswerable questions.
I didn’t have a clue where this was going, but I knew I wanted to find out.
Chapter 82
The morning light didn’t bring any improvement to the mood in the hotel room. Miles had removed the tiny tracker from the lining of the cape, and then hung it up in the wardrobe.
Coop had gone for a swim in the bottom-lit pool, trying to clear his head and shake off the dread trying its best to floor him. Zana didn’t discover the tracker, he was sure about that. Once she’d found her new outfit at the mosque, the cape was redundant.
Maybe in a strange way her subconscious had made her leave it there, so the clothes were exchanged, not stolen.
It didn’t matter now. The harsh reality smacking into him like a wrecking ball was that her actions meant they now had no idea where she was.
For Coop, bringing Madeline back for the UK judicial system to deal with her had never been a prime objective. Although what the alternative to that was, he had no idea. As he clocked up length after length in the pool, Duncan Scott’s words kept reverberating around his head like a rubber ball that refused to stop bouncing.