Nothing could get the man's mood down, though. The easy-going nature didn't feel like an act. "Sorry about that. I'm more like a consultant. You've been doing a great job, I wanted to tell you. These guys were smart to hire you on. Otherwise the whole incident could've gone to hell pretty quickly."
Iles was on his feet again. Not exactly pacing. The door to the bedroom was closed, and Adem wondered why that one wasn't left open, too, or if the room was full of men ready to rush him and wire him up to a car battery.
"You want a drink?"
Adem waved it off.
"Or water? If you're a Muslim, you wouldn't drink. Sorry, about that. Do you mind if I…?" Iles held up a bottle of wine. "South African. Good stuff."
"We'll need to get back to the table soon." Adem looked at his watch. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Iles poured his glass of wine, deep violet. He swirled it around the glass, legs thick as syrup. "Right, okay, right. I don't mean to hold you up or anything. Still, if you don't mind me asking, how'd they find you? An ad in the paper? Friend of a friend?"
Adem's legs twitched. He wanted to kick like the doctor was testing his reflexes. "Again, I appreciate the chance to, um…get to know you better. But I must insist. The gentlemen will be waiting for us."
Still standing, leaning against the wet bar. Still swirling. "That's not a problem. They won't meet unless I tell them it's okay. It's already taken care of. We can talk as long as you'd like."
Adem's leg shot out, banged the coffee table. He reeled it in. Breathing quicker. Shit. This man, shit, he was the one, shit. He was the shit. The one in charge.
"Good to know. What would you like to talk about?"
Iles reached down for the laptop, one-handed it to Adem. "Take a look. Tell me if you know these guys."
As Iles handed it off, before he saw the screen, Adem expected to see Jibriil and other soldiers, hung by the neck. Or Garaad on his knees, blindfolded. He thought he had prepared himself for whatever it was so he wouldn't react. He had to keep his cool.
Then he saw the screen.
The whine that escaped his lips was a dead giveaway. Arms weak. The computer dropped onto his lap.
A photo of two men, one white, one black. The black man was his dad, Mustafa Abdi Bahdoon. Holy shit. Both were alive, in a room much like the one they were in now. Same paint on the walls. Sitting on a bed, it looked like.
"Does that mean you know them?"
"No, I'm sorry." Adem cleared his throat. "I don't know these men."
Iles's grin turned funny, furrowed brow. "Really? Is it a bad photo? You should look again."
Adem looked. He didn't want to, but he was busy thinking, wondering if his dad was in the bedroom. Wondering what he was even doing here. Was Iles powerful enough to grab his father from the States, bring him over? And who was this man in front of him?
The blanks were filling themselves in. Not Iles's fault. Dad must have come over on his own. The white man had to be helping him somehow, like a guide. Not doing a very good job.
Adem closed the laptop. "I'm sorry."
"That's a shame. How long has it been since you've seen your dad, then?"
Adem uncrossed his legs before another spasm hit. He stood, smoothed his suit jacket. "I don't understand what that has to do-"
"Look, Adem, I deal in information. I know a lot of things. So I'll stop kidding around if you will. Very soon, we're taking the ship back. It's going to be messy and a lot of people might die, even the hostages. No one wants that, but that's the way it is. The company would rather pay me than give one dime to the fucking pirates."
"Please, don't."
"It's my job. But we never go rushing in guns blazing. That's the cool thing about information. If we have enough, we can achieve the objective without all the dirty work. My men still get paid. I still get paid. It's pretty sweet." Iles finally took a sip of the wine, made a bitter face. "Gah, I've had better."
Adem decided to take a chance. He walked past the couch and over to the bedroom door and flung it open.
Empty. Not even a back-up guard. A rumpled bed, some empty wine glasses, and his most recent suit, tossed on the mattress.
Iles came up behind him. "Yeah, no. I'm not that stupid. It was easy to catch them, too. Soon as you showed up on the scene, I had some people start digging. Turns out you and your buddy left a bit of a mess back home. Then these two turn up. The mourning cop and the crazy gangbanger daddy. I knew about it when they caught the plane over. I knew when they tried to zig zag, go off the grid. And I knew when their boat landed here. We were there to pick them up."
Adem tried laughing. So fake. "This is ridiculous. Obviously, there is a misunderstanding."
Iles squeezed past him, sat on the bed. "Sure, you need to do this, I get it. Part of the script or whatever. Here's what we do. You get Farah to give up the boat. I know he's the real pirate captain here. Get his people off, leave the crew on-board and safe. Not one drop of blood. Get them off. We're not out to make some symbolic strike against piracy, god no. We want the ship back. Period. If you convince him to do that, I'll give you twenty grand and let your pop go. You two can get the hell out of the country or whatever. If you can't do it and I have to go ahead with my raid, Daddy and his buddy aren't going to make it. Sorry. Some sort of boating accident."
Adem braced himself on the doorframe. What had happened to him? Where was the smooth? Come on, Adem, talk him down or up or something. "Twenty grand?"
"Well, I'm not a Bond villain." Another sip of wine. Another grimace. "I'm a businessman, and I know money is a better incentive than almost anything. You try, you fail? Your dad dies, and you tell yourself it was inevitable. But toss some cash in? You try, and you try, and you fucking try, man. From what I know about you, this sort of lifestyle suits you. Condo near the beach, nice suits, chauffer, good food. Easy money."
"You don't know me. I do what I do for our cause."
"You didn't believe in that cause until six weeks ago. Come on. I saw the video online." Iles drug a finger across his neck. "Almost lost your head. Goddamn, that was nasty. You pissed off a lot of crazy people, then you pop up here. That's not for the cause. That's someone saving your ass."
Adem stood up straight. "I'm not sure why you insist on this… mistake. What if I were to persuade Mahmood-"
"Farah. Fuck Mahmood. What sort of movie did he climb out of?"
"Fine, Farah, then, to accept your original offer? Three sixty-eight. Or let's round it up to an even four. I'm sure-"
"Wrong!" Iles slapped the glass onto the bedside table, sloshing his wine over the rim. "Not even that. Not anymore. This is no longer about the pirates. They get nothing. They either get nothing and live, or they get nothing and die. Their choice. I'm guessing they'll muddle on, survive, and will probably not hire you to work for them anymore."
He stood, came right up to Adem, inches from his chest.
"This is about you," Iles poked Adem right over his heart. "And me. Don't tell your partner or your bodyguard. Don't tell the pirate leader. This has to feel like it's coming from you. Farah's a smart one. He'll understand. This is our little secret. Drop by after they jump ship, collect your fee and your old man, then we're done."
Adem's cheek itched. He wanted to scratch it. Instead, he backed up a step into the other room. He didn't like Iles's body wash and sweat, too sweet and sour. His breath was like rotting vegetables. Adem swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.
"You're not ready for the raid. I know this. We have our own sources."
Iles nodded. "Good, I like that. Maybe I'll hire you after all this. But the price on your head after you accept my offer will probably screw up the insurance costs, so forget it."