by Sean Blaise
Abdul was known to visit various brothels in Amsterdam. It was apparent to Pierre that Abdul was a slave only to the dollar. Someone had paid him a great deal to get in a boat and go after Alexi Popovich. But “why?” And “who?” were the million-dollar questions. He would have to get information from the Greek, which would probably prove nearly impossible.
Pierre dialed the number for the Interpol office in Cape Town and asked for the Greek’s case file.
“Closed” came the Afrikaans’ tainted-English reply.
“I’m sorry?” Pierre asked, not sure he understood. “Why is it closed?”
“Bru, the Greek has been killed. Murdered mate, robbery.”
Pierre asked for the file to be sent over anyway. He hung up the phone. Alexi’s picture was laying on his desk. Pierre pulled it toward him. What have you gotten into, Mr. Popovich? he thought.
Chapter 72
Two days later, the Ivana steamed into Mumbai harbor unannounced. The damage to her steering consoles had been painted over on the trip from Yemen. Sweeney pulled out the lines and fenders from the fo’c’sle on the Ivana’s bow and handed them to his crew. The deckhands took the fenders astern and began hanging the large, ten-foot air filled tubes over the sides of the Ivana to keep her gleaming white sides off the concrete pier.
Sweeney was looking forward to getting John back on board next week. He had done well during his temporary time as chief officer in John’s absence; but he hated the managerial side of the job. The paperwork bored him. He was happy to finally be back on deck. He took out the bow line and began to flake it back and forth across the deck. When he got to the eye of the line, he attached a heaving line to it. The heaving line was a smaller diameter line, that had a heavy “monkey’s fist” at its end. It could be thrown easily to the dock, where workers would be able to pull the large heavy dock line across with the smaller line.
As Sweeney attached the heaving line, he felt a bulge in the eye of the dock line. He thought it might be chafing, so he looked inside. That’s when a small black cylinder fell out from the weaving of the line. He picked it up, curiously, wondering whether it was part of the line. His radio suddenly squawked.
“Sweeney, you ready?” Captain Brown asked. Sweeney quickly thrust the black cylinder into his pocket and forgot about it.
Around the same time the Ivana was pulling into Mumbai, the Tsung Tao was pulling into the port of Dubai. Abdul had told Bae everything. Unbeknownst to him, Bae was under orders to keep Abdul alive anyway. The navy boarding had spooked his masters in Pyongyang. They didn’t want to risk the ship being seized if the navy was using drones to watch it and spotted the man being thrown overboard. They wanted no loose ends.
Abdul had caved before another nail was removed. He told Bae that he was hired to attack the Ivana specifically, and that he was under orders to retrieve a case. Bae wanted to know what was in the case. But Abdul had told him he didn’t know. That was when Abdul had offered to help Bae find out. He said, once in Dubai, he would contact his employer and Bae could ambush him.
Bae reveled at the idea of knowing what he was after for his bosses. It was working out well. His orders were to kill Abdul once they reached port. He would give Abdul a chance to produce his boss, if not he was dead anyway. Bae had nothing to lose and everything to gain by keeping him alive.
Abdul was no fool. He knew once he was in port, he had to make his move. The captain was going to kill him once he couldn’t produce the Sheikh. Abdul planned on somehow convincing Bae to get him off the ship, to somewhere secluded where he could make his move. But he also knew the Captain was no idiot. It would be tough. He knew that the Sheikh would never meet him or even take his call. He was on his own.
Chapter 73
The Sheikh received the call on his cell phone while he sat in his gold bathtub filled with almond milk. A voice on the other end of the line said, “the ship has arrived in port, sir.”
“Very well, call me when it is done.”
The Sheikh had two of his men placed on the customs team that was boarding the Tsung Tao upon arrival. Furthermore, he had placed a spotting team in one of the large gantry cranes overhanging the ship. They had watched the Tsung Tao since it entered port and had seen a handcuffed man removed from a tank after the customs team had left. Four of the Sheikh’s men were already creeping towards the gangway watch on Tsung Tao.
Back in the paint locker, Bae’s men pulled Abdul to his feet and dragged him towards the chair in the middle of the room. Three of Abdul’s nails had already been removed, to prove that he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t. He had told Bae everything and he knew his only chance was the Sheikh.
Bae sat down opposite Abdul. “The number, please.” Abdul merely nodded. He gave Bae the Sheikh’s number, which he had memorized before the mission. Bae dialed the digits on the local and prepaid cell phone he had a member of his crew purchase. He held the phone out on speaker.
The Sheikh was startled when the cell phone rang again by his bath. It was an unknown number, but he recognized the area code as Dubai. Nobody but his people knew that particular phone number. Maybe something had gone wrong. He was fearful all of a sudden to answer. He sat up in the tub, the milk now becoming uncomfortably cold. His hand shook a little as he lifted the phone and glanced again at the numbers. The phone continued to ring.
Abdul began to panic. The Sheikh was not answering. Bae held the gun lazily at his side and stared at Abdul carefully. There was no other way, if the Sheikh didn’t answer all of Abdul’s planning was gone. He was a dead man. The phone stopped ringing. There was no voicemail, it was simply cut off after twenty rings. Abdul shook his head. Bae simply lifted the gun and pointed it point blank at Abdul’s head.
“Wait! Wait!” yelled Abdul, “please redial. Please.”
Abdul knew he had no options. His arms and legs were still bound by the chair, he had no move. Only the Sheikh answering the phone would allow him to get his plan in motion.
The Sheikh jumped when his phone rang again. He trembled as he clicked on the green Accept button and brought the phone to his ear. He said nothing, fearing his voice was being recorded instead he listened.
Abdul heard the ringing stop, but there was a deafening silence on the other end.
“Sheikh, it’s Abdul. I have the case. I’m in Dubai.”
The Sheikh clicked the end button and Abdul heard the dial tone. He looked up; Captain Bae smirked as he lifted the gun. Abdul watched as the hammer on the pistol began to move back.
BANG!
Abdul jumped as he heard the shot. Bae screamed as his blood splashed over Abdul’s face. Bae lurched forward and stumbled towards the exit door at the stern of the paint locker. More shots rang out, when two men dressed in black entered the paint locker. Abdul turned and saw Bae shoot at the men, as he pushed open the back door. Abdul shoved his chair over to avoid getting hit in the crossfire and saw one of the men in black go down from Bae’s shots. It was the Americans! It must be! Abdul thought.
One of the men, leaned over him and cut his hands and feet free. “Yallah,” he yelled in Arabic.
Then Abdul knew _ the Sheikh.
Bae shoved himself out the back door of the paint locker and ran towards the pilot house. Gun shots were ringing out from behind him, when he saw someone step out of the shadows in front of him. He lifted his gun, “wait, it’s me!” shouted his first officer. Bae lowered his weapon and the officer’s men rushed forward firing in the direction of locker giving the captain cover.
Bae slumped into the arms of his first officer as they dragged him back towards the helm.
“Sir, we are under attack! Shall I call headquarters?”
“Say it’s a robbery, call the police. Dispose of weapons,” Bae said as he clutched at the wound on his arm.
Abdul felt himself being rushed down the steps of the gangway followed by three men in black. A truck was waiting for them, and the sounds of sirens could already be heard in the background. They shoved Abdul inside the
car and were gone.
Chapter 74
Captain Bae had explained to the harbor police that two of his men had been murdered by robbers who had stormed the vessel in an attempt to steal cargo. It wasn’t uncommon. After all, cargo ships were nearly always fully laden with luxury items, like computers and cameras, and were an easy target for armed thugs. He received minor first aid for his arm gunshot wound but refused treatment at the local hospital. The last thing he needed was something on the record.
The call to his boss did not go as well. But the fact that he had shot Abdul dead in the chair had nullified much of this boss’s anger. The fact that it wasn’t true, and that the lie could probably get Bae executed, was a minor matter at this point. His boss could never know that Abdul had escaped alive.
Bae was told to proceed to Mumbai, and to follow the yacht. But he was told that his orders to change course would probably be forthcoming. His boss had already launched another operation and he expected it to be concluded shortly. If it succeeded, Bae would no longer be needed. Bae hung up the phone. He was all too aware that his career was probably over.
Abdul was relieved when the hood was finally taken off. It was a good sign that his hands hadn’t been bound. The two men standing in the room with him looked vaguely familiar. He then remembered where he’d seen them before, the Sheikh’s mansion in Saudi Arabia. The Sheikh’s butler, evidently had more talents than serving mint tea.
The men hadn’t said anything in the car ride out from the port of Dubai. They had been waved through the security checkpoint without stopping. The Sheikh had obviously cleared the way. Abdul was racking his mind about what to say to the Sheikh, to ensure his newfound freedom wasn’t short-lived.
After what seemed like hours, the door opened and in walked the Sheikh. His beard was long, and he looked freshly showered. Abdul felt an instant moment of rage when he looked at the man, Faris was dead because of him. But Abdul knew, Faris was also dead because of him, too. The Sheikh had a large smile on his face and opened his arms as if Abdul was his long-lost brother.
Abdul stood up and figured he’d play along.
“As-salamu alaykum,” the Sheikh said, which
literally translated to “peace be upon you.”
Abdul felt the Sheikh’s soft and manicured hands, pat his back and the man’s belly press against his stomach. The Sheikh leaned back, still smiling.
He indicated for Abdul to sit again and he followed suit. He looked at Abdul long and hard, a smile etched in stone on his fat face. Finally, the Sheikh’s never-ending smile grew tired and waned, dropping slowly into a concerned frown. “Tell me a story Abdul. Tell me what happened. Tell me why you, of all my men, are the only one not in paradise.”
Abdul took a deep breath and began his tale.
Chapter 75
Abdul finished the story again. The Sheikh had made him repeat the finer points multiple times. Like how he had been captured by the Asian ship, and how the captain had asked only about the case. This seemed to worry the Sheikh.
“And this man, he beat you? Tortured you to find out why you attacked the Ivana?” asked the Sheikh again.
Abdul swallowed hard trying not to lash out in frustration. He knew his life was still hanging by a thread at best.
“Yes, he seemed to know everything about this case and this Russian. He only wanted to know why we were after it.”
“And what did you tell him?” The Sheikh asked with an airy wave of his bloated hand.
“What could I tell him? Nothing. I know nothing. I told him we were after a rich yacht to ransom, that is all.”
“Did he believe you?”
Abdul held up his hand missing multiple fingernails. “I do not know.”
The Sheikh smiled and nodded.
“Sheikh, what are we after?”
The Sheikh looked bemused. “We? We are after nothing. I sent you to do a job and you failed. All of my men are killed, and I am no closer to what I seek. So, we are nothing. You are nothing to me now.” The Sheikh said as he rose with disgust. It was now obvious to Abdul that his freedom was to be very short-lived.
“Wait. Sir, I can still recover what you seek. I too have lost a man, a very good man, a brother. I would like to go after this Russian pig again. I can find him, kill him, and recover the case.”
The Sheikh looked at his butler. “The squeals of a puppy begging for a bone. He knows his fate.”
Abdul ignored him. “Do you have another plan? Do you have another team? Another man that has a European passport? I don’t believe you do. I can follow him and find the Russian. On land, without trying to attack him on the sea. On land, I can’t be stopped. It is obvious this is of great importance to the cause,” Abdul said. He was desperately hoping to make a connection with the zealot.
The Sheikh turned to look at Abdul with scorn. “And what do you know of the cause?”
Abdul repeated the mantra he’d heard a thousand times before, infidels in a fiery death, and such. He tried to muster as much vitriol as he could, but he was a poor actor. He had assumed whatever was in the case, was valuable to the extremists, so he played the only chip he had left.
The Sheikh finally nodded “clean him up, find out where the Ivana is going, and you will go with him. And, Abdul, this time, you will not return unless you succeed. That I guarantee.”
Chapter 76
A week later, John stood in front of the bathroom mirror nude. He was in a swanky hotel in Mumbai and planned on joining the Ivana the next day. He knew that the boat had arrived the week before and that the repairs were all but complete. Alexi had insisted John stay and rest at the hotel and return to work the following day.
He glanced over his body with an appraising look. Not bad, he thought. His stomach was no longer defined with his usual six pack, but it was still flat. The time spent laying in hospital beds had cost him. He looked over the shoulder wound closely. The German plastic surgeon that Alexi had hired had done an admirable job on the bullet hole. The stitching had been small and precise, closing the wound in a more delicate way than the surgeons on the carrier had in their haste to save him. The overall scar was still large, and a different color than his normal tan skin.
John shaved his face and washed it. He took a deep breath and stared at his face. He looked tired; a slight purple hue was hanging underneath both of his eyes. He hadn’t slept much since Berlin. The prospect of getting back aboard the Ivana, the scene of the attack, was daunting. He’d spoken with Sweeney, and Alexi, and he was surprised when Alexi had asked him to hurry back onboard, if he could. It led him to believe once again, that something Mr. Clark had said had some truth to it.
John had not thought much about the attack. On purpose. He didn’t want to think about the man he’d shot with the spear and no doubt killed. Or the moment when he thought his life was over, when that kid had pointed the gun right at him. John had nightmares about that kid, aiming the gun right at him, trying to pull the trigger. And the man behind the wheel, the dark one with eyes filled with hatred.
Otter knew what he was doing by pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind like that. It was what he did whenever something painful occurred in his life. Like his father’s untimely death. Or the murder on the sail training ship “Beagle”. It wasn't healthy, and he knew it; but it was his coping method. And for now, it was working.
John sat down on the edge of the bed. He wondered what his father would say. It had been a while since he had thought of him at all. His dad had been a calamity magnet, and John wondered whether that curse had rubbed off on him too. Bad shit just seemed to follow John around. He thought about his childhood, and the endless negativity he had to shoulder at the hands of his depressed father. Depression ran in the family, and even though John felt he dealt with it well, he could always feel the shadow of the affliction walking behind him. Threatening to swallow him up. It was one of the reasons he always kept moving. So long as he was moving it wouldn’t be able to catch him.
He was
also running from the memory of his father. Everything John did, was to make sure he didn’t become that man. His father had broken down early in life, feeling that he had so much potential that was never realized. There was nothing worse, than being told your whole life you would become someone great to realize you never quite made it. His father had never been able to recover after not reaching his dreams. Instead he had taken to booze and taken the easy way out. Not John. The hard way was the only thing he was used to. He reminded himself that he had made it, he had reached the pinnacle of his career. He was chasing shipwrecks, living on a yacht and working for a billionaire. Yes, he got shot. There was always a price to pay for success.
There was a knock on John's hotel door. He cursed himself for not having placed the Do Not Disturb sign on it. He wrapped a towel around himself and made his way to the door. He opened it, and there she was, as gorgeous as ever. Claire.
"I thought you were dead," she said, tears forming in her eyes. John tried to put on a carefree grin, but he couldn't. He had thought he was dead, too.
"I'm sorry," was all he thought to mumble out. Claire rushed into his arms, kissing him passionately. She kissed him fast, and he responded like a starving man. She felt his big hands close around her butt and she groaned as he squeezed it. She darted her tongue into his mouth, playing, and bit his lip as she pushed her hand down his towel.
He pushed her to the bed and slid her shorts off. Her panties held on for the briefest of seconds as she lifted her hips while simultaneously pulling her shirt off.
John moved between her legs, and Claire reached down to guide him inside. Instead, she felt his large hands close around her small wrists as he pushed both her hands above her head. She looked at him, questioningly. But she felt his manhood grazing her mound. She raised her hips trying to help, when it happened. She spread her legs instinctively, trying to draw him in further, but she didn't need to. She felt his power take over and moaned at the excruciating pleasure of him filling her with a deep stroke. Her nails scratched his back as he drove into her again, with more and more power, making her cry out in pure pleasure. Claire had never been taken like this before. Every cell in her body moaned as he pushed into her again and again, never stopping his rhythm.