"You'll be safe here. I'll make sure Garaad doesn't come back."
Sitting there, she relaxed, but that soon turned to tears. Not out and out crying. She tried hard to keep from showing how she felt. Tight lips. Hard chin.
"It's okay, really."
"He did what he had to do. I should have kept my voice down."
Adem placed his hand on her knee. "You did nothing wrong. A man should never treat a woman like that, I don't care what god he thinks justifies it."
"He was right to do it. I deserved it."
"How can you say that? You deserve the best. I can give you the best. Give me a couple of hours, I promise, we can leave. You can go back to London. I can go with you. Or Kenya, or even Minneapolis. We can do it."
She shushed him. Then, a hard whisper: "Foolish talk!"
He took his hand away, sat back on his haunches. "I don't understand. What have I done? What have I said?"
She took the ice from her face, shielded her eyes. "How can I leave again? I came back, I honored my father's wishes, I am doing what I think is right, or was, until you dragged me into this."
"You can always come back once this war is over, when it's time to rebuild and make a new country. Even I would come back for that. But for now, we need to run. Please, come with me." He grabbed her hand. Her fingers remained limp in his grip. "If you really want to leave once we're safe, I'll buy you the ticket myself."
She shook her head, laughed. Bitter and sharp. "Why don't you slap me and get it over with? At least Garaad was being honest when he did that. Once you get me out of the country, I know what will happen."
Sufia pushed herself from the couch. Adem collapsed onto his rear, stayed seated on the floor, peering up like he was worshiping her. He didn't understand her at all. A strong woman, one with an independent mind and heart but who was loyal to a tyrannical father and an army of female-hating thugs.
She kept on. "You'll swear I'm free to choose, but you'll say the time isn't right. That I should stay another few weeks. Then you will keep pushing me to act more like them. To wear what they wear. To go to pubs like they do. Brainwashing me, that's what you'll do."
"I swear I won't."
"See? Already with the swearing." She crossed her arms. "You think you know what's best for me, but you do not."
Adem climbed up from the floor. He pointed to the cloth full of ice, and Sufia lifted it to her cheek again.
He said, "Then we'll do it your way. We need to get away from here, away from Garaad and the pirates and Derrick Iles, but you tell me where we can go. I'll follow you anywhere."
"Anywhere?"
She had him. Would he go back to Mogadishu for her? Rejoin the cause?
He said, "Anywhere safe."
Adem expected the withering laugh again. A sneer. Anything. But instead he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. Of what? Of failure? Running away?
She said, "Egypt."
"Yeah?"
"We can go to Cairo. Would you go to Cairo with me?"
He nodded. "Yes, yes, I would. We can do that."
"From there, maybe Dubai. Maybe. I don't know. I have to think."
Adem's heart beat harder, faster. He could do this. He could save his dad and Sufia and and and…not the crew of the ship, though. This would kill them. But they knew the risks. They knew. They were on their own. Adem needed to get the money, get his dad, and get some plane tickets. And he needed to keep Garaad as far away from here as possible.
Cell phone already in his hand as he headed for the door, Adem said, "Keep the door locked. Garaad won't be coming, but if anyone does, pretend you're not here. If they break in, you can step out onto the walkway out the bedroom window. Just, please, be careful. I'll be back in two hours."
"What if you're not? What will I do?"
Hand on the doorknob. He tried to find an answer. "You go to Derrick Iles, tell him I tried, and tell him you want to go to Cairo."
Out the door, into the hall, phone up to his ear.
First, Garaad: "I need you to watch Iles. Don't let him out of your sight until I call you again. It's vital." Which should keep him out of the condo all night.
Then, Farah: "We need to meet. Send a chopper. I'm coming to the boat."
*
The ship at night was like an ancient ruin, dark and haunted. The pirates were hiding in the shadows, in plain sight, keeping an eye on the waters around them. He wondered if any of them had an inkling about Iles's soliders, somewhere out there waiting for the order. Watching the watchers.
The smell of diesel and sweat and whatever produce was rotting on deck, a portion of the goods being shipped, now worthless, was sweetly sickening. Adem's stomach was already touchy. Each step made his nausea worse. But he had to hold it together. Had to make this work.
Farah led him to the wheelhouse, dark except for a small lantern set on the floor. The windows had been mostly covered with plastic, wood, cardboard, whatever worked. Protection from snipers and night vision. But still Mahmood kept the lights off. Adem thought it was because he was paranoid. One sliver of light, and the magic bullet would find his head.
The Captain was draped across his chair, a leg dangling over the armrest. A pistol in his hand, which he was rotating, over and over. There were a few others with him, half-asleep or either experts at being still. Better trained than he had imagined. The ship's regular captain was nowhere to be seen, not like the Dutch Captain. Adem wondered if that was by choice or if Mahmood banished him. Or worse, maybe the man was sick, or maybe they'd killed him. Adem doubted that, since they really wanted the money. The pirates were good to their word-pay them, everyone lives. If they say they're going to kill someone, they do. Simple.
Mahmood looked sleepy. Did they have to wake him for this meeting? Like he had a say in this? The man's mood ran between manic and foul. Tonight, his eyes were slits. Didn't even try some American movie quote on him. Not a good sign.
Farah took a seat, nodded at Adem.
Adem pulled himself together, fingers interlaced behind his back. "It's time to abandon ship. They are not going to pay. If you do not give up the ship, they will attack. They're ready. We don't have much time."
That got the Captain's eyes open. He sat up, leaned forward, very much like an old-timey pirate. Farah's face was stone.
"What do you mean? Your job is to make it happen. You didn't make it happen?"
"Sir…I tried. I even tried talking them back into their first offer. But this time they have mercenaries. An army of them. And they don't care if the crew lives or dies. You'll all die and be dumped over the side before morning. It would be like this never happened."
"No! You go back and tell them I start killing the crew! Within the hour! You tell them! We are Clint Eastwood, remember? We are Blackbeard!"
Adem shook his head. Flicked his eyes towards Farah, who covered his mouth with his hand. He was the one to convince. "We are outnumbered. There are other ships. Let them have this one."
Mahmood pounded the butt of his pistol on the armrest. Adem saw that his finger was wrapped around the trigger. Lucky it hadn't gone off.
"What happened to you?"
Adem's jaw tightened. Thinking: Don't let it become about me. This is not my trial. He said, "I don't think they care about the crew. If you make threats now, if you slice off their heads, if you scream and yell for the cameras, no matter what you do, you will not get any money. You will have the world after you. They will find you and kill you and it won't even make the news."
He'd not finished when Mahmood bolted from the chair, pistol in Adem's face. Adem clenched. Blinked over and over.
"This is treachery! You…it's all planned, isn't it? They promised you a reward. You want to jump ship!"
Adem held his ground, still blinking, the gun barrel now on his lips. "I've done all I can! It's them, not me! Not us! They've called our hand. Now, is it a bluff or not?"