No Remorse (21 page)

Why the hell does this guy try to manage me by bullying?
“Derek, you should know by now that I don’t respond well to threats. In any case, I’m out of the Army and just a contractor, remember? I can just quit any time.”

“You think you can quit? Listen, Mac, think again. All we need to do is change a few pieces of paper on your file so it says that you’ve been AWOL all this time, trying to escape justice. No, you can’t just quit, buddy. And I’ll tighten the leash further if I have to. So I suggest you suck it up and behave.”

Locals displayed only a passing curiosity as two minders from the Yubani Resort escorted Sophia through the narrow stone walkways of the medina, the old city, to the Kimba souk. The market was close-packed with colorful stalls, all operated by men, even those selling women’s clothing and lingerie. They squeezed through the crush of customers negotiating purchases with a noisy banter amid drifting clouds of apple-scented tobacco.

She was not restrained, but her minders stayed close. They were fit-looking guys who could easily catch her if she ran. Still, she kept a lookout for fair-skinned tourists and signs or places that might prove useful. She just needed the right opportunity. They stopped at a stall selling music CDs and DVDs, which was next to a butcher displaying a cow’s head with its eyes turned back in death, only the whites showing.

One of the minders gestured towards the CDs. “You look at these,” he said in English.

She had asked Dr. Xi if she could go to the market again, this time to buy some music CDs. She had promised not to try to escape. He’d agreed, apparently in the belief that the music might cheer her up. She had lost nine pounds since being taken, which, after noting the date on Dr. Xi’s desk calendar, was twenty-two days ago. After the
Princess Aliya
had sailed away, she and the other remaining eight captives had been moved from the huts to a secure wing at the resort. Dr. Xi had ordered that they be weighed every day and have their eating supervised, and be exercised daily on the beach.

Sophia and the other captives had swapped stories and personal details in case any of them escaped, although they maintained a degree of detachment. It didn’t help to become too close. At first, when guards came to take one of them away, there were tears and sometimes physical confrontations. But as the numbers dwindled, the chosen ones began to walk out as their name was called, and those remaining had no choice but to accept it. Michael, from Ohio, one of the more outgoing of them, had joked that it was like elimination in a reality show, but none of the others laughed.

Michael and Adrian, a well-built Australian who’d been abducted in Italy, tried to escape during an exercise session by running along the beach and climbing along the base of the rocky cliffs that skirted the bay. The guards just watched and laughed, until they saw Adrian jump into the water. They raced out in a motorboat and brought him back, barely conscious and bleeding where the skin had been cut and torn. Dr. Xi told them later that Michael had been captured after falling and breaking a leg. Sophia didn’t see either boy again.

Dr. Xi warned them that barnacles and shellfish would tear their skin to shreds as waves pounded them against the rocky cliffs. “So it is no use trying to escape this place,” he said. “You will get your turn to leave eventually. You will do better to try to escape from your new owner. Just be patient.”

They’d stopped trying to escape after that. And now Sophia was the only one left. Any day now she too would be sold, probably to some horrible old man as a sex slave.

In the outdoor market, at the stall displaying the CDs, Sophia paused to watch a group of boys playing a game with polished stones. Nearby, at a butcher’s open air meat display, a man was pulling fluffy quail from a cage and shoving them into a sack. It seemed blatantly cruel to Sophia, but nobody else seemed bothered. A flat tray truck tooted its horn at two boys in ragged shorts and bare feet who were racing bicycle wheels along the road with sticks. They just missed a young woman with a bundle of firewood on her head and a child in tow, causing her to almost lose her load.

Sophia’s minders turned briefly at the distraction. This was her chance.

Moving closer to the counter to hide what she was doing, she reached under the abaya and took out the note she’d written using drawing materials they’d been given. It said that she was being held captive at the Yubani Resort and asked the finder to call her father, with her home phone number. As she flicked through the knock-off music CDs, she slipped the note between two CDs, then replaced them on the shelf, hoping an upstanding person or perhaps a foreign tourist would find it. Then she handed four other CDs to one of the minders. Not the solution she’d hoped for, but she hadn’t spotted any westerner tourists to slip the note to.

Still, as they headed back to the resort, she felt more upbeat than she had since they kidnapped her. That night, she ate a full meal and prayed harder than ever that God would send the right person to find the note.

Ziad watched the exchange in silence as Fanning avoided his gaze. It was amusing to see the change that had come over the engineer since he’d returned the stolen plans and been told he could go. But he’d had to wait until Sheik Khalid returned from the funeral to formalize things.

“Bill, I understand you’re leaving us,” Khalid said quietly, as Fanning stood in front of him. “I was hoping to see Mai. Some other time, perhaps. Regrettably, I must fly out to Paris tonight on urgent business.”

Fanning was shifting his weight from side to side, looking very relieved. “Yes, next time perhaps, Highness. We’ll look forward to it. I’m very sorry about your father’s passing.”

“He was an old man. But he lived a full life, I think. That’s the main thing that Allah requires of us.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Ziad squeezed his fists behind his back. At this point, Fanning would agree with anything. The man had no shame for what he had done, trying to deceive them.

Khalid continued: “Well, enjoy your stay at the Castles. Mai and George will be there very soon. Room 1801. We’ve arranged a little pampering session at the spa for both of you. Please feel free to use the facilities as much as you wish, with my gratitude.”

“You are most generous, Highness.” An exaggerated smile.

“More importantly, your four-million-dollar bonus will be released to your account tomorrow, now that the plans and keys have been returned.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Highness. And I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused. I was only seeking to ensure the safety of the fortress. I’ll just go and pack my things and be on my way.”

Ziad tightened his lips, but remained silent.

Khalid nodded and shook Fanning’s hand. There was nothing more to be said.

Half an hour later, Ziad, crouched behind a chair on the dark balcony outside room 1801, watched through the transparent curtains as Fanning entered and switched on the lights. He paid the porter, closed the door and locked it. Stretching out his arms, he flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes.

“Fuck you, Khalid! Fuck you, Ziad!”

Ziad’s lips tightened, but he stayed where he was and signaled Sadiq and Ali to stay put for the moment. They needed to wait a few minutes after the porter left. Fanning laughed again, and after a few moments sat up and turned off one of the lamps, making the lighting softer, no doubt in eager anticipation of his wife’s arrival. But she would never come. Ziad felt a surge of resentment flush his face at the anticipated pleasure denied him because of her escape. Now Fanning would pay. He would never get to see his wife, touch her, smell her, fuck her, ever again.

Fanning glanced at his watch and looked over toward the balcony, where the thin curtains were fluttering with the breeze. They’d left the sliding door open so they could hear, in case he contacted the police. Fanning wouldn’t suspect anything amiss, as it was the usual practice of cleaning staff in Dubai to leave external doors open if a smoker had been in the room. Fanning got up like he was going to close the door and Ziad tensed, but the phone rang.

“Mai?”

Someone spoke on the other end.

“Oh. Yes, fine. Excellent. Thank you… Actually, could I order some room service?”

A waste of time.

“Uh, a bottle of champagne. Two glasses. And a kid-size bowl of ice cream.”

Fanning glanced at the curtains and frowned. Had he seen them?

“Yes, thank you… Good night.”

Fanning replaced the handset and walked to the bar, opened a bottle of scotch, poured a glass and took a sip. Then swallowed the lot. He walked over and pulled back the curtains.

They moved fast.

“What’s this—?” Fanning stumbled back. His face paled. “No, please…”

Sadiq and Ali grabbed his arms and Ziad punched him under the ribcage, where he’d winded him before. Fanning buckled, gasping for breath. As the others held him down, Ziad forced the neck of the bottle of scotch into his mouth.

“No, wait…” Fanning pleaded with them.

Ziad ignored him and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow, or else he’d drown in a flood of whisky.

“Ess… mo…” Fanning spluttered as he gulped the burning spirit.

After he had poured around half the bottle down Fanning’s throat, Ziad removed it and gestured to his men. They hauled Fanning out onto the balcony. Pleading for his life, Fanning grabbed frantically at the rail, but they wrenched his hands off and heaved him up and over.

Ziad felt a tingling in his scrotum as he watched Fanning plunge head-first into the garden bed below. Satisfied, he led the other two back inside. They checked the room, and after wiping the bottle with a cloth, he placed it next to the glass beside the bed. Checking the corridor was clear, they left.

Ziad said, as they entered the elevator, “We will exit at different floors and meet in the car park. The others are waiting,” He pressed three random buttons.

“What was Fanning trying to say back there, do you think?” Ali said as the lift dropped fast.

What did it matter?
“Perhaps he was saying, ‘Where’s Mai?’” Ziad said, lifting his shoulders casually.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Sadiq said. “I thought he was saying: ‘There’s more.’”

Mac’s heart sped up as the island of Andaran appeared ahead. If Sophia and Danni weren’t on the
Princess Aliya
, they may well have passed through Andaran, he figured, and Tally agreed. Tally was on board with the program now, he decided, even if Wisebaum was still a pain in the butt. Rain began to pound the helicopter’s cabin as they flew under clouds obscuring the summit of Mount Ngouyaezi, the largest of the island’s volcanoes. Down the side of the mountain a waterfall cascaded to an impenetrable green-blue lake, casting a shimmering rainbow across the dense hinterland.

The helicopter’s air conditioner struggled against the pilot’s stale tobacco and cheap deodorant. Captain Olivier Maurin adjusted the microphone as his throaty voice came through the Bose headsets. “The summit of Mt. Ngouyaezi is one of the wettest places on earth. It rains about 360 days of the year, maybe more.”

Wisebaum had arranged for Maurin to collect them at Grand Comore airport. They had the chopper booked for a week, to the delight of the grizzled French expatriate, who explained that his business was suffering the usual seasonal downturn.

“Andaran is an autonomous island. So poor that we cannot even afford a seat at the United Nations. Most people have never heard of us. We are not even classed as a country! Andarans are a mix of African and Arab, but we have a strong Muslim cultural influence, and a French legal system.” Maurin shrugged. “Sometimes it works.”

Mac pointed the duty-free Canon EOS at the beach of sooty black volcanic sand cluttered with rubbish—mostly plastics along the high tide mark that had been washed ashore. Small canoes with outriggers rested on their hulls and fishermen sat around smoking and repairing damaged nets while kids swam in the shallows and played soccer. He needed plenty of travelogue photos for their cover.

Maurin continued: “Back in eighty-six, more than a hundred mercenaries, mostly former French Foreign Legionnaires, landed on that beach in Zodiacs and took the island, hardly firing a shot. The people loved us! Regrettably, France didn’t. When the media made big waves, Paris denied everything—but it was
them
that gave the order!
Cochons!
”

“I can relate to that,” Mac replied, over the intercom.

“You military? You
look
military. The sunglasses, perhaps. But they’re a type, no?”

“They’re a type, all right,” Tally muttered from the back seat.

“Was,” he said, ignoring the jibe. “What did Derek Wisebaum tell you about us, Olivier?”

“Derek and I go way back. He tells me only your cover story, monsieur. It is better that I know nothing. You are a developer of tourist resorts on his honeymoon with his beautiful wife, on the lookout for suitable land to build a resort. And that you are a keen wildlife photographer. I must warn you though, here you may hold hands, but don’t kiss in public.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Tally said firmly.

“
But,
you will need to behave as husband and wife, otherwise people will talk. And do not discuss politics or religion. We have an Arab billionaire who owns much of the island and is very powerful. He is protected by the Army. This is a subject not to be discussed.”

“Sheik Khalid?”

“Ah, madame. I should have realized. Please, be
very
careful.”

They crossed the western tip of the island, which was flat and intensively cultivated. “See those? Cananga trees,” said Maurin. “They bear the ylang-ylang flowers used in the perfume industry. Probably about one percent of the French economy is in some way dependent on the crops in Andaran. This is why the French like to keep an eye on the place. Wiped out many of our indigenous species and birdlife.”

“Tally’s been reading up on the wildlife. You have a rare owl, and unusual species of bats, I believe.”