The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 42





Suleiman galloped in front, holding Yusuf’s abandoned sandals. They left the cloud behind, gunfire rattling and fading at their backs.

They rounded a corner into the starboard rail corridor. The guns on the far side of the ship stopped snapping. Yusuf and Suleiman swept the muzzles of their Kalashnikovs left and right to be certain they were not being trailed. The moon had ridden high enough to show the corridor empty, but that meant little. The Americans could appear out of darkness and smoke anywhere on the ship. Yes, Yusuf thought, like demons. But the one he’d killed had died like any other man.

He wiped the knife on his khameez, a bloody man. He slid it into the sheath in his waistband.

A hundred meters toward the stern, at the top of the super-structure, the broad windshield of the bridge stayed dark. The freighter surged toward Qandala as if nothing were wrong.

“We’ve got to get to Guleed,” Yusuf said. “As long as we hold the controls, we can make it. The sun will be up in a few hours.”

Suleiman did not face him. He focused on the last wisps of smoke behind them, as though the puffs were more ghosts. Yusuf spoke to his cousin’s narrow back.

“We need to get to the bridge.”

“I agree.”

“Let’s go.”

“You must go, cousin.” Suleiman turned. “My brother.”

“We go together.”

Suleiman’s gold teeth sparkled. “We have traveled beside each other a long time. We go separate ways now.”

Yusuf set a palm to Suleiman’s thin chest. “It doesn’t have to be like that. You said we would fight together. Please, no more signs.”

“This is not a sign. It is a choice.” Suleiman covered Yusuf’s hand with his. “There is no jihad in piracy. There never was. I’m done with it. I won’t fight for this ship anymore.”

“You said to have faith. We’ll get through this. We’ll get home.”

Suleiman laughed. “I have absolute faith, cousin. If I am to live or die, I submit myself to Allah for a better cause than ransom.”

“Those are men.” Yusuf held out a stained and tacky hand. “Just men.”

“They may be men and still be sent by Allah.”

Suleiman scanned the stars. His words seemed intended as much for them as for Yusuf.

“I do not believe we will both survive this night.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I did not say I was sure. I said I believe.”

Yusuf bunched Suleiman’s tunic into his fist. “This is madness.”

“No. I have not gone mad. I am still a fighter, like you. And if Allah decides I must die by his hand, it will need to be a strong hand.”

“What about Qandala?”

“Qandala, the ransom, Robow—those are for you, cousin. Not for me.”

“What will you do?”

Suleiman squeezed Yusuf’s bloodied wrist.

“I will attack. I will slow them, perhaps kill a few more, enough to give you a better chance. You go to the bridge. Save Guleed and yourself, get this ship home. If I am alive at sunup, I will pay for your wedding. But if I am to die tonight, it will be to save my two kinsmen.”

Suleiman wrapped Yusuf in both arms. The Kalashnikovs bulged between them.

Yusuf whispered, “Our paths have always been side by side.”

Suleiman’s head shook gently. “This is not a new path for us. It’s the one we’ve always been on. Now mine stays here. Yours leads to the bridge. Run, Yusuf. Allah rewards those who run to their destiny.”

Suleiman kissed both Yusuf’s cheeks, then released him. Suleiman was the elder, but Yusuf remained clan chief. Suleiman turned away but did not walk off. He faced the bow and rising moon. This let Yusuf depart first, as was proper. At his back, Yusuf heard his cousin climb a ladder, up to the cargo deck.




Yusuf sprinted sternward, brandishing his Kalashnikov in case he surprised an enemy in the corridor. The narrow passage stayed empty, the wake’s hiss the only sound. Yusuf swung his shoulders to dodge the pillars, jumped across the bodies of clansmen.

The soldiers had gone quiet. Jama and the last three pirates on deck had died in explosions and smoke. No one was left to oppose them but Suleiman.

Yusuf ran as his cousin said. With every stride he felt the severing of their fates.

Bolting down the dark passage, he fingered the trigger of his rifle. Should he have allowed Suleiman to talk him into letting him stay behind? Yusuf was tempted to turn around and go kill the rest of the soldiers alongside his cousin. He’d throw their carcasses off this ship and shout to him, “See this! Allah has chosen for you to live!”

Yusuf reached the superstructure. He stopped to catch his wind. He pointed the Kalashnikov in every direction until all the shadows proved themselves motionless.

The six stairwells to the bridge loomed very high. Yusuf, alone and breathing hard, was tempted not to go up them. He might stand his ground and deal with whatever came out of the dark for him, like Suleiman.

He could not stay here. He was not Suleiman, did not share his destiny. Guleed, Drozdov, the hostages, the American soldiers, Qandala—all those fates waited on Yusuf to move.

He spit over the rail. He picked one star to breathe in.

Yusuf entered the superstructure to take the elevator.