The Tears of Dark Water (12 page)

“Do you have U2?” he asked and the Captain’s face softened.

“Of course,” the Captain said, nodding to his son.

Ismail watched in amazement as Timaha took a smartphone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and brought the cabin to life with a pulsing guitar riff. “How did you—” he started to ask, but Bono cut him off, saying: “I Will Follow.” Seconds later, the band came in and the rock star began to sing.

Ismail took a seat in the nav station and listened to the song all the way through. He allowed the music to wash over him and rinse away a layer of filth in his soul, exposing, for a moment at least, the young man he had been before the horror—the devoted son, the doting brother, the university-bound student. He felt the sailboat rocking beneath him, saw the Captain slicing papaya, but for a few precious minutes he was back in Mogadishu, in the bedroom he shared with his brother, listening to songs he had downloaded on his hand-me-down laptop. Yusuf was there beside him, a sloppy grin on his face. Yasmin was on the bed, running fingers through her hair. Their mother, Khadija, was in the kitchen preparing goat stew, and Adan was on the couch, sipping tea.

When the song ended and another began, Ismail found himself smiling. He gestured at the phone in Timaha’s hands and spoke the question again: “How did you do that?”

“It’s connected by Bluetooth,” Timaha said. “There are speakers everywhere, even on deck.”

Out of curiosity, Ismail climbed the steps to the cockpit and heard the music over the churn of the engine. Guray, Osman, and Mas were dozing on the benches in the sun, their Kalashnikovs splayed about. Dhuuban and Sondare were resting on the coachroof beneath the boom. He went below again and felt the hunger growling in his belly. He looked around for a diversion and saw that the door to the aft cabin was open. He decided to take a look.

“I thought you were going to leave our belongings alone,” the Captain said.

Ismail put his hands up. “Don’t worry. I’m just curious.”

He stepped through the door and examined the berth. It was shaped like a wedge, with storage lockers near the door and a mattress that tapered down and slid underneath a bulkhead with portholes that looked into the cockpit. The space was confined but not cluttered. The Captain was a meticulous man. His sleeping bag and pillow were carefully arranged on the bed. His reading materials—two books and a magazine—sat neatly on a shelf beside a small lamp, secured by rigid bookends.

On the bulkhead was a digital display. Ismail pressed a button and saw the boat’s speed appear on the screen. Another button press and the wind velocity and direction appeared. A third press and he saw the depth under the hull.
This is a fine boat
, Ismail thought.
Not large but well outfitted.
It was a propitious sign. If the Captain had means, then Gedef’s negotiator could demand a higher price.

Ismail took one of the books off the shelf. It was called
Sailing Alone around the World
by Joshua Slocum. He read the description and shook his head in fascination. The man had been the first to complete a solo circumnavigation. He put the book back and selected another one. It was a heavy volume with no words on the spine or cover. When he opened it, he realized it was a photo album. He sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through the pages.

He saw the Captain as a young man in a park full of trees. His hair was longer, and he was with a woman with wavy red hair. Then time seemed to pass and their faces aged. Suddenly, they were with other people: a couple with graying hair, a baby who became a toddler and then a boy—Timaha. The settings, too, were different. They were at a lake surrounded by forest; at the helm of a sailboat; on an island with white sand and palm trees; in a concert hall dressed in tuxedos and gowns; skiing on a mountain; swimming in a pool beside an elegant house.
The American dream
, Ismail thought.
A world out of reach for the rest of us
. He looked closely at the red-haired woman—the Captain’s wife. When she dressed up, she wore emeralds that complemented her eyes. The older woman had diamonds. The older man wore tailored suits and a gold watch.
They will pay well
, Ismail concluded.

It was then that a thought occurred to him. With Gedef dead, would the investors honor his claim to the commander’s share? He knew the answer immediately.
No, they will claim it for themselves, and they will find someone from their clan to replace Gedef.
Ismail felt the bitterness again, along with the doubt he had long repressed. His parents had lived righteously, giving to the needy, being patient in adversity out of their love for God. But God had left them to the dogs.
I will not be wronged like my father was
, Ismail decided, putting the photo album back on the shelf.
Gedef’s share is mine. If I have to take it, I will take it. And then I will be finished with this godforsaken business.

Then I will go and find my sister.

Vanessa

Annapolis, Maryland

November 9, 2011

Vanessa Parker rose with the dawn. She had been awake for most of the night, tossing in her bed, but she didn’t start the day until the sun’s rays peeked through her window curtains, casting gauzy light on the floor. She went to the bathroom and disrobed, leaving her nightclothes on the hook beside the tub. She stepped into the shower and allowed herself five minutes in the stream, as she always did. She was tempted to stay longer, to turn the water hotter and let the fear bleed out of her in pain. But there was an order to her day, even a day like this. And that order she would keep.

For as long as she could remember, she had been a creature of routine. As a child, her rituals had been signposts in a dislocated world, a way of coping with her mother’s free-spirited recklessness. Over the years, the rituals had grown into an architecture of life, stabilizing her in the throes of motherhood and giving her direction as her marriage deteriorated. She had often wished she were more adaptable—the sort of person who takes the world as it comes. But her internal compass had been broken long ago. It worked now only in motion, within the arc of a predictable day.

After the shower, she went to her closet and dressed in a blue sweater and white jeans. She wasn’t going into the office today—she’d sent Aster an email the night before. She went to the kitchen and found a note from Curtis on the island:
Walking at Greenbury Point. Back soon. Keep the faith.
Skipper trotted to the patio door and she let him out after giving him a good scratch. She turned on the espresso machine Daniel had given her for her birthday and fixed a single shot, which she downed straight. She was relieved to have a quiet moment alone before the security consultant arrived. She needed a little time to find her bearings and prepare for the ordeal ahead.

Her musical workout came next. Much like a trip to the gym, she played exercise pieces in the morning and evocative pieces in the evening—her reward after work. She picked up the Bissolotti and checked its tune, preparing to play Paganini’s fourth caprice. But the telephone rang before she could begin. She put the violin down and walked to the office nook in the hallway. The Caller ID on the handset read “Blocked.” Her heart skipped a beat. It had to be someone official.

She answered the phone, trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Parker,” said a woman in a voice as soothing as a late-night radio DJ. “My name is Mary Patterson, and I’m with the FBI’s Crisis Negotiation Unit. I’m sorry to call you at such an early hour, but I wanted to reach you as soon as possible. Do you have a minute?”

Vanessa’s heartbeat increased. “Of course.”

“I understand you’ve been informed about the situation.”

“I have,” Vanessa said, struggling to banish the image that had been haunting her since the call came from Curtis—Quentin staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Then you know that we’re absolutely committed to bringing your husband and son home.”

Vanessa choked up. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mary said. “The Navy is taking the lead, but my unit is essential to the effort. We’ve dispatched two negotiators to the scene. My job is to offer you support. We can’t predict how this is going to go. But we have a lot of experience. And Paul Derrick, the lead negotiator, is the best there is.”

Vanessa felt her head beginning to spin. “What kind of support?”

Mary waited a beat before answering. “If I were in your shoes, I’d feel very much alone right now. Maybe you’re stronger than I am, but in a crisis everyone can use a friend. I’m calling in case you’d like a friend in the government. A lot of things are going to happen before this is over, and it can be overwhelming. I’d like to help you make sense of it.”

Vanessa took a deep breath and let it out. “We have a security consultant coming over in an hour—Duke Strong from the Sagittarius Group. Will that present a problem?”

“I know Duke,” Mary replied without breaking stride. “He was with the Bureau a long time.”

Vanessa considered the offer. She had never been one to give her trust away easily, but somehow Mary Patterson had managed to charm her over the telephone. She was obviously a professional, and she had access to the people at the center of the action, which meant she could keep the information flowing. “Are you in the area?” Vanessa asked, telegraphing her consent.

Mary spoke frankly. “I’ll be at your house in fifteen minutes.”

Vanessa heard the car pull into the drive and opened the door for Mary. She was surprised by what she saw. Instead of a D.C. power suit, as Vanessa had expected, the FBI agent was wearing jeans, a collared shirt, a hacking jacket, and leather boots. She had a pleasant face with chestnut hair and expressive hazel eyes that crinkled when she smiled. She met Vanessa in the foyer and offered her a hug, as if they were old friends. From any other stranger, the gesture would have seemed awkward, but Mary did it so naturally that Vanessa accepted it without resistance.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Mary said, stepping back. “I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.” She glanced at Skipper. “Who do we have here?” she asked, letting the dog lick her hand.

“That’s Skipper,” Vanessa replied and showed Mary to the couch in the living room. “Would you like some coffee? Espresso, cappuccino, latte—whatever you prefer.”

Mary took a seat. “I’d love a cappuccino. I never turn down caffeine.”

Vanessa served the drink in a ceramic mug, then sat beside her on her favorite chair. “Daniel’s parents are staying in the guest wing. They should be back any minute. Should we wait?”

Mary shrugged. “That’s up to you. But I don’t mind repeating myself.”

Vanessa’s nerves made her decision for her. “Go ahead.”

Mary smiled compassionately. “I should get one thing out of the way at the start. While my team is a part of the government, we leave matters of foreign policy to the White House and the State Department. Our goal is to negotiate the release of your husband and son. We want nothing more than to bring them back to you as soon as possible.”

Vanessa tried to keep her feelings in check, but she felt her eyes moisten. “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I never imagined this would happen.”

Mary shook her head. “That’s something else you should know. You never have to apologize. A lot of what we’re going to be doing is waiting. It’ll get under your skin. It always does. If you find at any point that you need to scream or curse or cry, go right ahead. No emotion is invalid.”

Vanessa laughed through her tears. “You sound like a therapist.”

Mary’s eyes twinkled. “I take that as a compliment. Here’s another ground rule. I will never lie to you, and I will never conceal critical information. I’m your advocate for as long as this lasts. If I can’t do something you want me to do, I’ll tell you why. If there are things Duke Strong can do that I can’t, I’ll defer to him. If you ever feel that I’m representing the interests of the government over the interests of your family, I want you to show me the door. Is that fair?”

Vanessa was astonished by Mary’s candor. She nodded, her mind abuzz with questions. “Are the SEALs going to try to rescue them? I remember a story from a couple of years ago. I don’t recall the captain’s name, but they got him out.”

“Every case is unique,” Mary answered. “With Richard Phillips, there were four pirates and one hostage in a lifeboat. The pirates agreed to put the lifeboat under tow, and the Navy reeled it in until the snipers were in position to take a simultaneous shot. We don’t know how many pirates are on the
Renaissance
.
A tactical operation might be too risky. That’s for the Navy to decide.”

Vanessa felt the pressure inside her rising. She remembered her first emergency room rotation as an intern at Georgetown—the intensity of the atmosphere, the litany of need. The panic she felt had almost derailed her medical career. But she had discovered a way out of the badlands. She had to focus on the problem in front of her, nothing else.

She went to the window and looked out at the forest robed in crimson and gold. “If the Navy doesn’t rescue them, we’ll need to come up with a ransom payment, is that right?”

Mary angled her head thoughtfully. “A lot of overseas kidnappings are resolved by ransom. If it comes to that, Duke Strong can help you more than I can.”