"I didn't have much to eat at the hospital."
"But it was enough."
He pushed spicy chunks of chicken around on his plate. Not hungry anymore. "What have I done to offend you? I thought…you and me…"
She took a sip of water and then went right to, "When we resume, I think you should be cautious with the American." She flipped through her notes, but Adem knew she didn't need to. All the names were committed to memory, same as with him. "Derrick Iles. We still don't know why he is in the room, but he's been receiving notes and calls today, quite a few."
He didn't want to talk business. Tired of business. He had expected a break between ships, but it seemed as if only a handful of hours after the Dutch ship was released, Mahmood leapt onto the Canadian boat and Farah put him back to work. "Listen, truly, I want us to be friends."
A strained smile. "We are, Adem."
"I know you have ways of doing things different from me, I understand that. But then let me do things the proper way. Tell me what it takes."
"I don't think this is the time."
"It never is. It never will be. Is there some reason you are closing the door on me?"
"You assume I had opened one?"
"Well…if not, then I apologize. It was never my intention-"
"It was. Don't lie. Not now. You've been as honest as a man can be until now. I knew it wouldn't last forever." She dabbed her lips with the linen napkin. "You make a big leap and expect me to follow. You forced me to come with you. I had no choice. You asked for me and they handed me over. What made you think-"
"Are you telling me you don't love every minute of it?" He had raised his voice. Caught the attention of other diners, even a couple of Canadians from the negotiation room. He brought it down, eased his chair closer to hers. "This sort of work, you're great at it. Whenever we talk about the work, I've never seen you more alive, more vital!"
"The work. Not how I got here. You expect me to throw myself at you like an American whore. Like all of us are really American whores at heart, and that's the last thing we are. We are jewels! We are valuable! Allah has made it so. It is men like yourselves, dirty in your hearts, who mess up the will of God. Especially you. Americans. The light of the world. Freedom above all else. That's what you believe. God follows the flag, not the other way around."
The words, the heat behind them, took their toll on Adem. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar. Throat bulging. "I…I really didn't know. I…it seemed…"
What to say?
"I thought you were different, but I was wary. Good thing. Of all people, I thought you would ask me. Not send a soldier, force me onto a jeep."
"I didn't have a choice, either. Did you think about that? I had to choose, right then. Go or not. If I had chosen not, then my fate was in the air. I had to, and I chose you. If I could've told you face to face, don't you think I would have?"
She pushed her chair from the table. Adem began to rise as she did, but a cut of her eyes sent him down again. "I don't know. This way you got to be my hero. How does that feel now?"
He looked around, raised his hand. "Please, sit. Please. Where would you go?"
Sufia huffed, but she sat. Adem was about to pour out his heart, every contrite thing he could think of to bleed at her feet. Make her see the real Adem. No, he knew better. The Adem he wanted to be for her. The man he wanted to be from then on.
But he looked up and saw Garaad weaving through the tables, approaching fast. Adem wondered if he'd seen any of the fight, especially Sufia trying to run off. But Garaad was oblivious, a sheen of sweat all over him, his new lightweight button-up silk shirt and thin linen pants sticking to his skin in spots. The obvious bulge of gun and the tip of his knife. Not subtle, but better than the whole camo get-up.
He took a seat without asking, reached over for an empty water glass, filled it from the pitcher. Downed the whole glass. Slammed the empty on the table, let out a loud belch. More attention from the diners. Great.
"I did what she told me." He never spoke to Sufia directly unless it was an order. "I followed Iles."
Adem hadn't known about this. Yes, the American had become more active after a couple of days when he had seemed some sort of government token player, never saying a word or even paying close attention. Today, though, it was as if he was the center of attention, all unspoken. The Canadians would stop speaking when a text message buzzed, or when someone handed him a slip of paper. He would take a look, and either nod to have the speaker continue, or he would leave the room, coming back minutes later with either a head shake or wink. Three hours of that today. At least ten times.
Adem said, "What did you find?"
"He goes back to his hotel. I pay a girl on staff to tell me what it's like. He makes a lot of requests-laundry, room service, extra pillows and towels. He's not carrying a weapon. He is constantly on the cell phone, never raises his voice. Definitely some rich asshole."
Adem thought he could've figured that out without paying anyone. "What else?"
"Lots of men in and out. Some of the Canadians. Some Americans who haven't been in the room. Some of these men, all pretty tough. They are armed. I don't know how. I
don't know if they are military. Maybe CIA."
"Why would the CIA care about a Canadian freighter?" Adem said it aloud before realizing it. Garaad glared.
Sufia said, "Unless it's an undercover operation. Not really what it appears to be."
"Maybe so. Which is also why they are treating us this way. Lazy negotiating. No movement. I thought it was a strategy. Maybe they're waiting for something, though."
"For us?"
"No. But we can push the agenda. I need to talk to Farah, explain."
Garaad pointed at the leftover food. "You done?"
Adem waved the plate away. Garaad took both his and Sufia's. The sound she made, she must've still been hungry. But not a word. She watched Garaad devour the food. Adem picked up his phone, said to her, "Why don't you take a break? Make sure your mobile is on. I'll see you back in there."
Maybe she was tired of him ordering her around, but the relief at being sent away from the table was obvious all over her. Once she was gone, Garaad made a rude noise. Eyes on Adem. Then: "Don't worry. She'll be eating out of your hand again soon."
"Excuse me?"
Garaad smiled. It stung whenever he did. Something so smug about it. "Lover's spat. But you grab her by the neck, she'll fall in line."
Adem shoved his chair back, nearly knocked it over. Gripped his phone tightly, like he might crack it. "I have a call to make."
"You already paid the bill, right?"
Adem ignored the guy, shoveling in food without taking a breath. He walked out and called Farah, told him Mahmood needed to go batshit crazy on cue. "Sometime around two this afternoon would work."
Closed the phone. Found a cozy chair in the lobby. He rubbed his temples with his fingers and closed his eyes. Repeated in his mind, You will go home again, she will go with you, You will go home again, she will…
EIGHTEEN
By the time Bleeker and Mustafa stepped off the boat in Bosaso, Bleeker was in awe of how two American teenagers had managed to make it even farther. It had taken a day or two of planning the trip, trying not to draw attention to where they were ultimately headed. They needed to leave separately, different airports, different destinations. Then, once there (New York and Toronto), book flights to London. Same airport, but still not ready to travel together. Two more flights, one to Prague, one to Northern Italy. Bleeker traveled by train from Prague to meet up with Mustafa at a mountain villa, where they began laying down plans for the rest of the trip.
It had cost Bleeker all of his savings, plus a quickie loan from the local bank, where he had a few longtime friends. One of the vice presidents had gone to school with him in the Eighties. Sure, Ray could have twenty grand if he really needed it. Everyone had heard how tragic his loss had been, how he needed a new place to live. He was good for it.