Mahmood tapped the gun against Adem's face. "I never bluff. It's never a bluff."
"If that's so, then you will lose with the best hand. That's how it works sometimes. Right, Farah?"
Mahmood growled, retreated to his chair, barked out something to his henchmen. Looked to Farah, who nodded ever so slightly. Adem caught it too late. And they were on him, one pinning his arms behind his back, the other punching him in the gut.
He doubled over and lost his breath and coughed, the hacking hurting worse than the punch. The pirate at his back kneed him upright again. The bruiser in front of him took another shot, same spot. More clenching, more hacking, strings of saliva dripping from Adem's mouth.
Mahmood was laughing. Farah was not. More punches, measured, the attacker taking his time between each one. Mahmood bellowed, "Not his face! His pretty face! He can't go back to the table with a broken face!"
Adem tried to talk between punches, finally got a lungful and shouted, "There is no more table! They will not negotiate!"
Mahmood waved off his pirates. Adem, spaghetti-legged, lumbered against the wall behind him, held himself up, barely. The Captain approached, bent at the waist, eye to eye.
"You call them. They will come back to the table for you. They will. We will tell them I surrender, but with terms, and once at the table, you announce I'm going to kill the crew, desecrate the bodies, and sink the ship."
Adem's eyes widened. He couldn't believe it. How did such a crazy bastard become Captain? Was it on some sort of dare? "They are done. They don't care anymore. It's a write-off."
Mahmood shouted for Farah, made Adem flinch and blink more. His guts were melting like candle wax. Farah handed Mahmood a cell phone, a throwaway, and the Captain handed it to Adem. "You call. They will listen to you. Unless you need more motivation."
Adem took the phone without thinking. "I don't know…I don't know the number."
Mahmood slapped the phone from his hand. "Idiot!" Spun around to Farah. "This is who you bring me? An idiot? A traitor?"
Farah shook his head. "Give him a chance."
"Oh, I am. I am absolutely giving him a chance. The same way you gave me one." Mahmood lifted the gun, not even a second's hesitation. Blew a hole in Farah's face, his left eye. Splatter all over the Captain's chair. Farah fell into a heap. Silence. Adem was frozen in place, crouched against the back wall, shivering in the heat. Mahmood stepped over the body, told his pirates to get rid of the asshole. And to find some bleach. He swiped the blood, brain and skull off his chair, then sat down. It was like he'd forgotten Adem was even in the room. The two pirates each grabbed one of Farah's legs and dragged him out of the wheelhouse, Mahmood screwing up his face and shouting after them, "Make sure you mop it all up!"
A couple of minutes passed. Adem strained against his aching gut, used his hand on the wall to guide him towards the door. Almost out when Mahmood said, "So now, I'm the boss. You go back, call them. Tell them what I said."
Adem nodded, stifled the yelp in his throat before speaking. "Yes, yes, I will. I'm sorry. I will call them." He didn't plan on doing that at all.
On the deck, he saw Farah's blood trail head the opposite way from his path to the chopper. He sucked in air, slowly made his way to the landing pad. The pilot saw him and started up. Adem climbed in. When they lifted off, the boat looked like that dark, haunted ruin again, no clue to anyone of the lunatic inside making life and death decisions on a whim.
Adem closed his eyes for the rest of the ride back to Bosaso.
*
Once there, he had the driver take him to the condo. He wanted to get Sufia and go see Derrick Iles right away. Make the deal. Iles would help. Where Mahmood would shoot his own superior without thinking, Iles liked to appear the hero without thinking. Made him feel good. That was his weakness.
The SUV pulled up to the curb outside the condo, and Adem nearly fell out, hit the ground running, fumbling his keys. Up the stairs, down the corridor, key in hand. He missed the lock a couple of times, then finally stabbed the key inside, turned the bolt, clicked the handle, and…
Garaad sat on the couch where he'd left Sufia only a couple of hours earlier. Garraad, hat tipped just right, his arms spread across the back of the couch, legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
They stared at each other until Garaad's grin unnerved Adem and he shouted "Sufia!" and began checking the apartment. Checked his room, checked Garaad's room, checked the closets, the kitchen, the bathroom, outside the windows. She was nowhere. She was gone.
Adem stood before Garaad, still reclined, still grinning.
"What have you done with her? Where is she?"
He shrugged. "I didn't do anything."
"Liar! What did you do?" Hyperventilating.
"Calm down. Relax. Sit down." Garaad patted the cushion beside him. "Let's talk about your next meeting."
Adem kicked Garaad's boot off his other one. Garaad pushed himself off the couch, slapped Adem across the face. It stung with enough force to take him down, but he kept standing, straightened, and lifted his hand to return the favor. Garaad caught it in mid-flight. Shoved Adem all the way to the wall, crashing into it. Adem's back pulsed with pain. Garaad's forearm was pressing into his throat.
"Listen." The bodyguard's foul breath made Adem hold his. "They took her. Our people. They took her back to Mogadishu, where she belongs. She was a distraction to your work. Now it's just you and me. We'll do what needs to be done to get the bastards back to the table."
Adem tried to answer, couldn't.
"If you need more convincing, let me call your friend Jibriil. Do you want me to do that? Will that help?"
Adem nodded, best he could with Garaad's arm crushing his throat. Garaad let go, stepped back, and whipped out his mobile. Slid it open and punched a number. Adem limped away towards the window, rubbing his throat. The raised scar. What would they do with Sufia? Why would Jibriil do this?
Garaad said, "Hey."
Adem turned around. Garaad was holding out the phone. "For you."
He didn't want to take it at first. Didn't want to know the answers anymore because he wouldn't like them. He would be helpless again, like he was back in the desert. But the phone was hanging there, Garaad gripping it, his hand bouncing.
Adem took it. "Hello?"
Jibriil so loud the phone's speaker sound like it was ripped all over. "Idiot! What were you thinking? I was trying to help you! Why, Adem, why?"
"Um…I don't know…what you are talking-"
" You sold us out! You think we don't know? You met with the enemy, then you come to the boat and say there's no money. You bring Sufia to your own condo! You've lost your mind. You brought it on yourself."
"Brought what? Are you crazy? Farah's dead now. What can I do? That crazy bastard shot Farah!"
"Of course he did. I told him to. He was as bad as you, more interested in money than the cause."
A long silence. How out of the loop was he, really? "Where's Sufia? I need her for the meetings. What have you done with her?"
A laugh. "You don't need her for anything other than fucking. That's what you wanted. I should've known. I should've said no, but I gave you some room. I thought you'd see it my way."
"Where is she?" Anger rising in his voice. "What have you done?"
"Shut up. How dare you."
Shouting now. "Jibriil! I'll find you! I swear, if anything happens to her!"
"If anything happens, it's your own fault. Remember that. You listen. I don't know how to punish her, but I'll figure it out. And it's all because of you. You couldn't live without her, could you? And now…well, she's got a mouth on her, sure enough. That's the key, I think. Keeping her quiet. Agreed?"
"She hasn't done anything wrong. Don't kill her. Please, don't kill her. I'm begging you."