Haven, p.13
Haven, page 13
There's Elizabeth for you, thought Kessler.
There's no pleasing her even in his head.
ELEVEN
The more that Mahfouz saw and heard of Faisal, the more he was convinced that this man was no fighter. A crazy man, maybe, and a bully for certain, but fighters take orders and maybe complain but they don't try to run down the man who is paying them.
“No more," the raging Faisal had insisted. "Back and forth, back and forth while you stare at your watch. Ten times back and forth is enough.”
“It is true that we now know the way well enough. On this I agree with you, Faisal.”
“No more back and forth. No more stupid orders. Tomorrow we stay in this cabin and sleep.”
Sleep, thought Mahfouz? His one time in America and he spends a day sleeping? He wanted to go to the beach tomorrow. He wanted to go there with a mattress in the jitney and buy sex from a girl with blond hair.
“Forget girls on the beach. I should not have agreed. Nine out of ten are diseased.”
“But for that the clinic near my village has a powder. They don't even write down your name.”
“Shut up about girls. Go make us some supper." Faisal folded his arms and turned away to show that the subject was closed. But if he could be stubborn, Mahfouz could be sly.
“Pratt told me to watch out for you," Mahfouz sniffed. "Pratt told me you don't keep your word.”
This led to another ten minutes of ranting. To be called without honor by a man such as Pratt was more than even this criminal could bear. But he still insisted that they should stay here and sleep because, unsaid, he was too afraid of Pratt and because tomorrow would surely be the night.
“As for sex with some kid, if that's all you want, you can have it with the girl while you're guarding her here.”
The suggestion made Mahfouz gasp. "Sex with Aisha Bandari? How can this be allowed?”
“What difference will it make?" Faisal tossed a hand. "Bandari will probably have her sewn up; that will make her a virgin again. And don't you think Pratt will be having his fun first?”
Mahfouz was now horrified. Nothing had been mentioned of this before now. All the Englishman said was that they'll keep her tied up until just before dawn. Then they'll take her to the seaplane in the little boat outside.
“I cannot permit this," said Mahfouz, rising. "It is too great a sin.”
“Oh, shut up. Go fix supper.”
“Pratt must not touch the niece of Gamal Bandari. He can have all he wants of the Algerian.”
“All he'll have of that whore," said Faisal, "is her head. Her head packed in ice goes back with the seaplane. The rest of her goes to the alligators.”
But Faisal, as he ate his lamb shanks and hummus, was envisioning Pratt's bare white ass on that girl. The thought of it threatened to bring up his supper. Pratt's breath by itself could well gas her to death. He slowly came around to Mahfouz' way of thinking. They should none of them touch her, especially not Pratt.
“Not with so many more on the beach," Mahfouz added. "All with bodies as firm as Aisha Bandari's but with these there's no sin because they're all whores.”
“I told you. Forget about the beach," snarled Faisal.
“No beach? Why no beach?”
“Because Pratt said we can't and I want to get paid. Give him an excuse and he'll cheat us.”
“Pratt said we can't? What are we, his dogs? When he told us to shave off our beards, did we do it?”
“Our beards are our beards," said Faisal.
“And are we his children? He says only drive, all day back and forth, back and forth to this cabin full of bugs that are trying to eat us alive.”
Faisal frowned for a moment but then only shrugged. "After this you'll have money. You can do what you want.”
“After this Pratt says I must go straight back to Egypt because my papers don't permit me to stay. But you have no papers and yet you will stay. Let me go with you to New York.”
Faisal started to say a definite no. But Mahfouz showed his fingers and rubbed them together, an offer that a bargain of some sort might be made. Now a slyness crept into the eyes of Faisal.
“New York is expensive," said the Hezbollah fighter who most likely was not Hezbollah at all. "There is much there to cause a man's juices to flow but the thing is it wouldn't be cheap.”
“I'll give you a tenth of the money I get.”
“Not enough," said Faisal. "Make it half.”
“Two tenths and no more," Mahfouz countered. "Don't forget I have parents in Egypt to feed.”
“You can feed them with your half and give me the other.”
Mahfouz looked at his wrist watch. He did so with longing. He waited for Faisal to notice.
“That watch," said Faisal. "That watch and two tenths would be fair.”
“Hah! A robbery, you mean. This watch is the finest one made by the Swiss. The diamonds alone are worth half. Even Cyril Pratt wants to buy this watch. He has already made me an offer.”
This had its effect. Faisal twisted his lips in a sneer. "The watch and one tenth, then, and this is a gift. It is only so that pig doesn't get it.”
“The watch and one tenth. But only after you take me to New York. Plus tomorrow we go to the beach.”
“Maybe the beach. But for one hour only.”
“I agree to one hour. But you can't count the time I spend striking a bargain.”
“Agreed," said Faisal.
“You have robbed me," said Mahfouz.
He picked up their plates and walked to the kitchen. He did this lest Faisal see his smile. Faisal knows guns and he knows how to bully but in bargaining this man is an infant. In New York, Pratt had told him, there's a place called Canal Street where the twin of this watch is sold on the sidewalks. He will find such a twin for Faisal. On Canal Street, says Pratt, it is only ten dollars, which is why Cyril Pratt offered twenty. Pratt must think he's a fool. This watch is a Rolex, made by the Swiss. Would Bandari wear a watch that was only twenty dollars? This watch is worth easily fifty.
TWELVE
It was well past noon of the second day, Friday, before Kessler understood what was different this time. What was different was that Pratt wasn't drinking.
Pratt had spent the morning on his terrace as before. He sat sipping coffee from a room service thermos, watching the students and instructors at their drills. He seemed to have no further need of his camcorder.
When the students took their lunch break so did he. Pratt took a table at the outdoor restaurant where he pretended to study a book about tennis. He ordered more coffee. No Gleneagles, no beer, not even a Bloody Mary. Another thing different was the bulge in his pocket. Kessler's thought at first that it might be a weapon but it was his cellular phone. It rang as the waitress set a salad plate before him. A salad, for this man, was different as well.
Pratt rose from his chair with the phone at his ear and turned his back to the neighboring tables. He nodded his head as he listened. Abruptly he returned to his table and opened his book about tennis. Tucked inside, Kessler saw, was the blue and green map of the place that was not on this island. He opened the map to a different fold and traced a finger over one section. The finger stopped and he nodded again. He spoke a few words of acknowledgment as he marked
the spot with a pen. It was clear from Pratt's manner that he was receiving instructions. But from where Kessler stood, the place that he marked seemed not to be on dry land. It seemed like the middle of a river or sound. Kessler memorized the look of that fold.
Pratt broke the connection and dialed again. He paced and snapped his fingers as it rang. At last someone answered. Now it was Pratt who was giving instructions but he seemed to be getting an argument. It didn't take much for Pratt's color to rise, his skin was so pasty and pale. Kessler saw that it was rising again now. He was hissing at whoever had answered. It was Kessler's hunch that the voice on the other end could only belong to the driver of that jitney. The one who had wanted to run Pratt down. The one with the short Muslim beard.
The lunch break ended at half past one. The students were filing back toward the courts. Kessler heard some of them talking as they passed. One girl asked another if she wanted to go play some miniature golf. The other said no, she was going rollerblading instead. She asked still another. She said, "Cherokee? Wanna go?”
“Not today," came the answer. "I think that I'm going to ride my bike to the beach.”
Pretty girl, Kessler noted as he had the day before. Her voice was a regular teenager's voice but her diction seemed unusually precise. He didn't know why that surprised him a little. Did he think that all Indians sounded like Tonto? Should she have said, "I ride bike now. I go beach?”
From the way all the students were talking, thought Kessler, this was to be a short day. But of course it was Friday, he realized. Soon the students will be off to do what teenagers do which means their instructors will have free time as well. He wondered how Nadia spends her free time. Does she stay pretty close to her Roys and her Sams? Or does she get careless? Cyril Pratt, he suspected, knows the answer to that question already.
The drills lasted two hours more. At the end of that time the students were gathered and Nadia read several announcements. Most had to do with the weekend's activities, a special exhibition of some sort that evening and a tour of historic Savannah on Sunday. They ended with a reminder that those having dinner elsewhere on the island were bound by a nine o'clock curfew. The announcements concluded and the students dispersed. Kessler kept one eye on Pratt who had once again pulled out his phone. He tapped out a number and waited.
No answer, it seemed. Again he dialed and again he waited. Again there seemed no answer. And once more his color was rising. He stood for a moment, slowly shaking his head, angry lips revealing his teeth. At last, with a curse, he snapped the phone shut and stormed off in the direction of the parking lot. Kessler followed but kept to a distance.
Without looking back, Pratt started his car and drove out through the Players Club entrance. But now he turned right, not left to Cordillo. To the right was only the road to the beach. Kessler was reluctant to follow him now; there was not enough traffic that way. But Pratt's mind, he hoped, would be on where he was headed and not on who might be behind him. Kessler followed in his own white Toyota.
Down the road was a circle, called Coligny Circle. To the right was a Holiday Inn. To the left was parking for the public beach. Pratt's car pulled into that parking lot. He found the nearest place and stopped. He opened his door and stood up on his runner in order to give himself height. He was scanning the hundred of cars and RV's when Pratt's head jerked to a sudden stop and he banged an angry fist against his roof. Kessler followed his eyes. He was not much surprised where they settled. The jitney was parked four rows over.
Kessler quickly found a space of his own. Pratt in the meanwhile had walked to the jitney and was peering through the darkened glass windows. Whatever he saw in the rear of that vehicle made him throw up his hands in despair. Kessler had no time to see what it was because Pratt was now headed across to the beach. Again, Kessler followed at a distance.
The beach was quite crowded for this time of year but the temperature had reached the low seventies. Of those sunning themselves, a few were adults but most were young people in their teens. Only the hardiest had entered the water which had not yet been warmed by the flow from the tropics. Kessler heard a burst of laughter from his right. He traced it to a group partly blocked by a dune. From the sound they all seemed to be girls. Pratt heard it as well but had trouble locating it because he'd been scanning the beach to his left. One hand had formed a visor at his brow. Kessler shifted his position out of Pratt's line of sight but where he now had the source of the laughter in view.
There on a blanket were four young girls, the oldest no more than fifteen. All four of their faces looked up at two men who were standing with their backs turned to Kessler. There were dressed in dark slacks, white shirts and street shoes. Kessler knew at once who these two men must be and that one or both men had short beards. The girls looking up at them had a range of expressions from stunned disbelief to high humor but none showed any real sign of alarm. The four huddled briefly then burst into laughter. The taller of the two men was already fidgeting. He reached for the arm of the other and began to try to pull him away from the blanket.
All at once, there was Pratt. He came stomping through the sand as he shouted a name. It sounded like "Fooz," or perhaps he called them "fools." Now the big one was dragging the other in earnest, but Pratt moved to cut off their retreat. He lurched through some flotsam at the line of high tide and tripped on a tangle of seaweed. This allowed the two men to gain a few steps but it added all the more to Pratt's fury. Kessler wanted to watch this and to hear what he could but he saw no good place of concealment. It was best, he decided, to get back where they parked and where he could be ready to follow. He retreated to the edge of the Holiday Inn and picked out a line to his car. Just then, in Pratt's voice, he heard the word "Shit!!”
Kessler glanced back. Pratt had caught the two men and had each by the neck. Only the bigger one struggled, and only until Pratt said something in his ear. At that the two bearded men tensed. They stood as if frozen and all three were averting their faces. Kessler's first thought was that maybe they'd spotted him but now he could see what had alarmed them. Coming in from the road was the tennis school student named Cherokee. She had changed her clothing. She wore cut-off jeans over a blue one-piece swim suit and a wide straw hat of the cowboy variety with a cluster of those same blue feathers in the band. The Englishman must have feared that his whites would draw her eye, that she might remember seeing him at the club, that she might wonder who the two bearded men could be and might mention to someone that she'd seen them. But the girl never looked in their direction. She pedaled on past them and stopped at a rack where she paused to lock up her bike.
For Kessler, this was a good time to leave. He crossed Forest Beach Drive to the parking lot where he entered his car and sat low. He adjusted his mirror and watched as the three men approached. Cyril Pratt was practically frothing. Of the two bearded men, the smaller one cowered visibly while the bigger one first tried some bluster of his own but ended up blaming the one known as Fooz. The big one's English was heavily accented but Kessler felt sure that he'd heard the word, "mattress." And indeed he had because Pratt now repeated it and once again began frothing.
“That's what that's for?" he shouted at the big one. "You let him bring a fucking mattress along? You could have cost me a million fucking dollars, you ass. It a wonder they didn't call the police. If they did the cops would have clubbed your cocks flat if you'd waved them in front of those girls.”
To Kessler this was an interesting image but the mention of a million is what held his attention. This was the same bounty that was offered for Elizabeth and yet Elizabeth was clearly not the object of his visit. Could Nadia Halaby be worth a million dollars? If so, why and to whom? He would have to find out but the question at hand was who to follow. In his mind he urged Pratt to go back to the Players Club. Give these two a kick in the ass if you like but then send them packing and quickly. I want to see where on that map they end up and I bet it's that cabin I saw pictured in your car.
Except for the kick, Pratt did as he hoped. On exhausting his supply of invective, Pratt pulled out his phone and held it so both men could see it. Kessler could not hear all the words but he had little doubt of their meaning. Pratt was saying that he would be calling them often to be sure that they stayed where they should. One more stunt like this and they're finished, he said.
The jitney pulled out onto Forest Beach Drive and turned toward Coligny Circle. Pratt walked to his own car still fuming. He reached for his key but he hesitated. He looked once in the direction the jitney had taken and then turned and walked back toward the beach. Damage control, surmised Kessler. Pratt would now go and talk to those girls on the beach. He would tell them, most likely, that he was just passing by when he saw those two tourists annoying them. He would say that he's now going to call the police so no action on their part is necessary.
Kessler could not wait until Pratt reached the dunes before pulling out after the jitney. He could not risk a high speed chase to catch up. But catch up he must if he wants to know where they intend to take Nadia Halaby.
Elizabeth, as usual, is right, he reflected. They will see this car following. They will lead him straight to their door. Kessler wished that he'd thought to buy a white floppy tennis hat. They'll be watching for a white floppy hat.
THIRTEEN
She was on her screened porch enjoying the sunset when her kitchen telephone rang. She would have bet half her diamonds that the caller would be Martin.
“You're still on the island, aren't you," said Elizabeth at the sound of his voice. It was more an accusation than a question.
“Not exactly," he answered. "But I need to come see you.”
“Is this your idea of giving me time?”
“Nag me later, my darling. There are things you should know. And don't be alarmed when a white Toyota Camry pulls into your driveway. That's not Cyril Pratt. That's me.”
“License BVT228?" she asked dryly. "Your left rear tire needs air.”
“Cute, Elizabeth. You want to be cute? Your bike chain could also use oil.”
That had always been one of their problems, thought Elizabeth. They knew each other too well. There was no use in saying that she didn't want to hear it. He knew that she needed to know what he was up to and whether it affected her life here. If it didn't involve her he knew that she'd say, "This is interesting, Martin, but it's none of my business so get off this island right now." And therefore she was not going to say it.
