Sounded good. Sounded right. If Mustafa would stick with that, it was all good. "He's got to testify about Jibriil killing Cindy. If your boy fired one shot-"
"Don't push it. Don't even."
Okay. Okay. Thinking. "Just the two of us?"
"I still have family over there. Battle-hardened men. We'll have help."
He didn't need to hear any more. "I'm in."
Mustafa rolled the window down more. "For real? Look at you, can't even dress yourself."
"A bad month, that's all. Deal me in."
Mustafa looked out across the ice, hand dangling over the top of his steering wheel. The snow blew right in on him. He didn't flinch.
Then, "Let's get you back to the shack. Fuck those bagels, man. I want some McDonald's. Then we've got to book some tickets."
Bleeker said alright and went back to his car. He climbed in, started back towards the ice shack. More snow. Heavier and heavier. But so what? He finally felt like he was thawing out. Turned on the radio. Oldies. "Dancing in the Streets". Bleeker hated that song. Didn't matter. He tapped out the rhythm on the wheel and realized he hated ice fishing almost as much as anything in the world.
SEVENTEEN
Air conditioning. Six weeks without it, Adem would never take it for granted again. He'd also never live anywhere this hot as soon as this job was done. The suits fit nicely, the shirts very soft, fine. The shoes, Italian leather. He had silk ties but only wore them when he knew there would be cameras.
Like today. The negotiators for the Canadians had asked for a break. Farah had let Adem handle the meeting on his own for the first time, and he could tell the men on the other side were a little uncomfortable with that. Maybe they believed he was softer than Farah. Maybe the whole break was meant to throw him off his game. Adem and Sufia stayed behind in the hotel meeting room as it emptied out, leaving only the two of them and their pirate bodyguards. Not Garaad, though, since he always seemed to be out of sight except when Adem wanted him that way.
He kept smiling at simple things. The pitchers of clean water around the table for anyone to drink at any time. The easy internet access-although he never had much time to look at it and Garaad was always right there in case Adem were to write emails back home. No, he knew what that would mean. He had to be careful.
Adem leaned towards Sufia. "What did you think?"
She looked at her notes. "They're stalling, obviously. Hoping the Americans will help, give them a cheaper way out."
Although she'd been forced to take the job, she was coming to relish it. Adem treated her as an equal and let her talk in meetings. He'd given her more than she had expected from his own payments so she could buy nice clothes and afford a good room. She was staying a block away from his condo, the home of an older couple with two rooms to rent since their children had left home. An ideal situation.
He nodded at her assessment. "I think Farah can be convinced that he should look to end this before the US sticks its nose in. He knows the hostages are worth a lot, but not that much."
"They've only ever come shooting after the cruise ship. Never for a freighter. And the President isn't looking for another war."
"How far do they want to push? If we come down in price a few hundred thousand-"
Sufia covered her mouth with her hand. He knew what she was hiding.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're laughing at me."
She sighed. "You've done this twice now. Always ready to cut the price."
Was she calling him a coward? He didn't like it, but he liked it. Showing a side of herself that would have been unheard of-punishable, even-back in Mogadishu. Sufia was playing the devil's advocate, teasing him.
"The first time was nerves. This time, it's reality. If the Canadians think the Americans will swoop down and rescue them-"
"More likely with money than manpower. We will get the number we want." She didn't need to say Because that's good for our own pocketbooks, too.
Adem lifted his water glass. Condensation made it slippery. He gripped tighter, took a drink. A small piece of ice washed into his mouth. He crunched it, liked the cold on his tongue. The simple things. Ice on his tongue. He'd missed ice.
Sufia closed her notes, stacked her papers. Adem never carried his own. Hands always free to shake or embrace as needed.
He said, "Hungry?"
Another of her You don't get it looks. "Please, Adem."
"We're partners. It's a business lunch. Come on."
The wheels turned. Always turning. She'd already played the social game once in London, so why was she so guarded now? A few more seconds of stacking, arranging, and she said, "Okay, just lunch."
That was good enough. He rose from the chair, buttoned his suit coat, and escorted her out of the air-conditioned conference room into the lobby, and then to the hotel's restaurant.
*
The condo, lush. The only problem was that Garaad lived with him. Garadd was too loud, too selfish. He hogged the television. He wanted to know what Adem was doing every moment they were in the condo together. Garaad also held onto Adem's cell phone. Adem had to ask to use it. Humiliating. He wondered if any of these people would ever trust him.
But the nights, oh the nights. A queen-sized bed all to himself. Fine sheets, several pillows. Adem opened the windows every night and listened to the ocean. Garaad also had a bedroom, but mostly he ended up falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV, volume up to wall-shaking. The couch had been pristine when they arrived. Now it was covered with boot stains, dirt stains, sweat. Never mind, there were plenty of other chairs in the place, and Adem made sure not to allow Garaad into his room. Even had a lock and key.
And an honest-to-Allah bathroom. A shower! A sink! Adem's shower that first day took nearly an hour, half of the time standing under the hot water, crying. As for Garaad, he didn't seem as enthused about it. Their first fight was over Garaad taking a shower, since he didn't want to but Adem kept pushing, more and more angry, how important these people were, the ones they had to meet. Businessmen. Power brokers. If they sensed weakness, rusticity, simple-mindedness, then all hope for a successful negotiation was gone. Adem also ordered him to dump the battlefield clothes for something that made more sense. Some khakis, perhaps. A loose shirt to help hide handguns.
Even though the car wasn't his, it was still a Mercedes SUV with a private driver at his call, any time, day or night. He and Sufia saw the city from the back of the car, ate in as many of the restaurants as they could, shopped. Garaad was always lurking, but Adem had learned the limits pretty quickly-no phones, no travel outside of the city, no long conversations that were not related to the job.
He'd only met the Captain of these particular pirates once, the first day, as the helicopter landed on the huge Dutch ship before taking them to their new digs. It was impressive, so small on the horizon, surrounded by nothing but water for miles, a few small surveillance ships and small pirate boats, light and fast. But as they closed in, the ship was like a city block, maybe two. Adem had only seen them at a distance from the Lake Superior shore. No idea they were this humongous. How did they stay afloat?
They'd landed, the pad on the center of the wheelhouse's roof. Outside, the deck stretched on forever ahead of them. Farah had ordered Sufia to stay in the chopper, but Adem wanted her along.
A wicked smile on Farah's face. "Dangling meat in front of starving dogs?"
So she stayed. Adem's heart in his throat every moment away, so sure they would fly her away and he would be stuck here at the whims of pirates. An elaborate trick-let the pirates cut him up and throw him overboard instead of having to let Jibriil make that hard decision. Later, they would tell the young leader that Adem had died at the hands of government forces. Something like that.