Adem felt the room slipping away. The heat? The situation? His water glass slipped through his palm, landed on the table, a two-inch drop and thump, splashing all over. He caught the lip, a tsunami of water soaking his sleeve.
Sufia cleared her throat, barely audible. Adem looked over. Did she want to speak? He gestured at her, nodded.
She said, "Two point one million. That is the number. It is the only number any more."
What was she doing? If she shut this down by taking a hard stance, they were dead. Shark chum, same as that crew. What the hell?
He used her code name, "Miss Leyla, please-"
"A moment more. I am not speaking for the Captain or for Mr. Mohammed. I am simply setting the bottom line, which Mr. Mohammed has so far been kind enough to refrain from."
The execs looked shocked. The younger one, eyes wide for a moment, recovered and said, "Well, Miss Leyla, I had no idea you had the authority to speak on this matter." To Adem. "Does she? What's the game here?"
"There is no game other than the one you are playing." Think, Adem, think. "Time is running out. We should take a short break to allow time to consider-"
"I don't think they need any more time." Sufia again. Where had this come from? Was she working for someone else now? "I believe it's now or nothing."
The older exec sat forward in his chair, the first time he hadn't looked bored all session. He was about to say something, Adem was sure, but then he looked back over his shoulder at the line of secretaries and other hangers-on seated in chairs against the wall. He nodded at the one named Derrick Iles, who launched from his chair and stepped to the exec's side. Braced one hand on the table, his other arm on the back of the man's chair. Not quite whispering, not quite talking. But Iles shook his head several times. The exec finally said, "Are you sure?" Iles said something else, and the exec lifted his eyes to Adem. It was sudden, unexpected, and the exec looked away again quickly.
What did they know?
"Maybe the break is unnecessary," Adem said, interrupting Iles and the executive. "But I would like one just the same. Perhaps we can ask about the air in this room."
He turned to Sufia, his back to the other side of the table. "What was that?"
"Not in front of the Canadians."
He was speechless. He wanted to take her hand, drag her to the empty conference room next door, and beg her to tell him. But they had to be careful, not let any more of their hand show. As if it wasn't obvious that Sufia had surprised the hell out of him. Farah surely hadn't given her permission to negotiate, had he? And not told Adem?
They walked through the corridors, through the lobby, outside into the early evening, still hot enough to stick their clothes to their backs. They strolled easily, as if not at all wanting to scream at each other.
She went first. "They were stalling. They've been stalling. We need an advantage. It's like they're waiting for something."
"You could've passed me a note."
"Idiot. They expect it from you. They don't know me. When I spoke, all of those eyes were riveted, confused, and panicked. He called Iles over, did you see?"
What, was he blind now? "Of course I did. I think he said something about me."
" Of course he did." She shot the same tone right back at him. "You're the one. It's still your game. But you were playing it to tie, not to win."
"If I do that, it makes me one of them."
"Them? Businessmen? Or them, pirates? You are afraid of the pirates? At least they don't lie about their intentions or motives."
Adem laughed as if she'd told a joke. "Neither do I. But no one needs to die. No one at all."
"Everyone dies. Better to die for something."
"Die because someone else wants money?"
She stopped. The expression was definitely not one he would expect from a secretary. There was her superior curled lip, the long blink. "How high-minded. As if the shipping companies don't risk lives for money all the time."
Adem crossed his arms. He wanted to retreat within himself, avoid the manic pace of the street, the chatter, the dust. "I'll call Farah. We'll see."
"Do that. He'll agree with me."
"I'm not saying he won't. Why now? What have I done to make you so mad?"
"You don't even listen! Not one word."
"Sufia…" He reached for her hand.
She pulled away. "Go back in and make the deal. They're up to something. We have to cut them off before they can make it happen."
Same thing Adem saw. She was right, absolutely. But the company was a lot closer to being ready with whatever scheme they were planning than they were to handing over two point one million. She turned away. Adem pulled out his mobile, was about to ring Farah when a hotel bellboy walked up to him. Stood there quietly. Adem lowered his phone. "You need something?"
The bellboy held out a folded scrap of paper. Adem took it, opened it. Handwritten: "Hotel International. Room 14. Now."
He looked up. The bellboy was still standing there. "Who sent this?"
"Iles. Mr. Iles."
"Iles?"
"He sent me to find you, give you this. Alright, sir? Thank you sir." He nodded, took a few steps backwards, then turned and jogged away.
Adem turned back to Sufia, her eyebrows squinched. "Iles? Derrick Iles?"
"So we should have been paying more attention to him."
"You don't know that yet. Let's go meet him."
Adem shook his head. "I want Garaad to come along. You need to stay here in case something happens. You can step in for me."
She was a whirlwind, the loose end of her hijab flying as she waved in the air like she was backhanding him. Inches away. "He would not have asked for you had I not spoken!"
"You don't know that."
"Then why now? I deserve to be there. I am as much a part of this negotiation as you are."
"Yes, you are." How could he deny her? He had given her the opportunity, but the more awake she became, the more she was pulling away from him. "Yes. But we can't risk it. You can't go there alone. And we need someone here. And I need someone with a gun."
She tossed the end of her hijab over her shoulder. Looked off down the street, all the people walking, a few cars coming and going from the hotel. "I understand."
"Please. This will be over soon, somehow. Let me try to end this as quietly as I can. I can get them to pay. But they have to be convinced it's the only way."
"The only way?"
"A failed raid makes them look stupid, reckless. A successful raid means the pirates will be nastier the next time around. The only way, then, is to pay."
"Yes, yes, I know what you mean. I know. But the true only way here is for them to fear us. Fear what we can do to them."
Spoken like a true pirate. Adem sucked in his top lip. Bit lightly. He lifted the phone again, eyes on Sufia as he pressed a button, held it to his ear. Several rings.
"Garaad? I need you. Bring two pistols." He closed the phone, put it back in his pocket.
Sufia brushed past him, headed back into the hotel, making Adem regret the day he'd ever met her.
*
The driver took Adem and Garaad to the hotel, one of the newest in town. While white like so many of the other buildings in Bosaso, almost a Mediterranean feel, this hotel immediately felt phony. Prefab rather than organic. Adem was sure there would be a lot more of that, as he'd seen back home, with strip malls around Minneapolis going up in miraculous amounts of time while abandoned buildings sat collecting graffiti and broken windows. How long before that split was obvious in Bosaso?
Very busy, lots of fancy cars, much like their own. Europeans on holiday, mostly. Adem was forgetting the shock of Mogadishu here, so much growth so quickly that he felt swept up in it, no longer afraid like in those first days when he went to sleep in his locked condo thinking Garaad would let in a brigade of young soldiers to drag him back into the desert.