The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 50





He ran from the boy’s death. Guleed had died the same way as Drozdov, on many bullets.

Gone from Yusuf’s grasp were both cousins, the ship, twenty-one clansmen, Qandala; these hounded him down the steel corridor. He slowed to hear if the soldiers chased him. They had control of the ship; would they just allow him to escape? No, they could not. Yusuf knew what was on this freighter and where it was going. They wouldn’t let that knowledge loose in the hands of a pirate.

Yusuf made his way forward along the starboard corridor. He passed three life raft canisters but let them alone. He jumped over four corpses. None had weapons. Yusuf was left with only his knife.

He ran the full passageway to the bow, not knowing how much time he had. Where was Suleiman’s body? Both cousins had died to save Yusuf. He could do nothing for brave Guleed, but he would try to take Suleiman home for proper burial and honor. If Yusuf could do this, he would not have lost all.

He carried the American radio in one hand, the onyx-handled knife in the other. The Americans would have to move more slowly than he did, afraid of ambush. The thought of ambush made Yusuf calculate what Suleiman might have done.

Where could his cousin have hidden, from where could he spring?

Or drop?

Yusuf leaped onto the closest ladder to the cargo deck.

The moon, high and peering white, lit the vast field. He gazed as far as the cluttered deck allowed, seeing no sign of Suleiman. Dropping to the corridor, Yusuf bolted to the next ladder, climbed again to the deck to find no trace, then ran forward to climb another. There, in the center of the white steel expanse, lay the dark blotch of his kinsman’s body.

Yusuf ran across the open steel. Hatred stoked in his heart, anger hardened his grip on the knife. He knelt in Suleiman’s blood without words or time to mourn. Those were for later, on Somali ground. The soldiers who’d done this and more, who would put a bullet through his heart too, could not be far behind. Tucking hands under his limp cousin, Yusuf bit his teeth to stop himself from shouting.

The body was light enough. He carried Suleiman quickly to set him beside the ladder well. He did not use the rungs but dropped down into the narrow passageway, choosing speed over silence.

The woman in the corridor could not avoid him.

She ran only a few steps toward the stern until he snared her by the back of the blouse. Yusuf yanked her to a stop, then whirled her to face him.

“You,” he breathed, “are Iris Cherlina.” Yusuf rolled the onyx-handled knife in his fingers. She inched away along the rail. “Don’t run. I’m out of patience.”

Iris Cherlina crossed hands over her breasts as a naked woman might do.

“I am Yusuf Raage. The one you sent for.”

She shook her head, saying no to whatever he might do to her. She said, “I’m sorry.”

“I should cut your throat.”

Even with Yusuf’s warning for her to stand still, the woman crept backward. He stepped forward, halting her retreat.

She said again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“That is a lie. You knew what was on this ship. You knew soldiers would come take it back.”

She raised one palm off her chest. “I swear I didn’t. We made the accident a hundred miles from the coast because no armies could get here fast enough. I wanted the ship to reach shore. I’d never heard of these American rescuemen. And if I had, I wouldn’t have believed they could…”

Iris Cherlina pulled up short in her confession. Yusuf lunged before she could speak more or back away. Snagging her wrist, he dragged her toward the bow, to the dead Darood sprawled nearby beneath the rail. He flashed his hand behind her head, pressing her to kneel into the shadows and stench. Yusuf pointed at the twin black holes over the corpse’s heart glistening like coal.

“That they could do this? To all of my men?”

Yusuf squeezed her neck, lifting her to face him. He hauled her to the ladder, where he tugged Suleiman’s body down to his arms. The woman did not move. Yusuf placed his dead kinsman on the deck, then held the blade close to Iris Cherlina’s chin, twisting it to catch the moonlight.

“You are a scientist.”

“Yes.”

“Were you going to Iran with all the Israeli machines? Were you part of the deal?”

“Yes. I was.”

“What is the machine in the bow?”

“An electromagnetic railgun. A weapon. It’s what Iran wants most.”

“Is that why you brought me here to hijack this ship? To stop it? Your fat sailor says you have a conscience.”

“That’s correct.”

Yusuf, as he had with Grisha, pushed the point of the blade under her chin. This backed the woman against the steel wall. She rose onto her toes.

“I will ask once. You hid this weapon and the machines from the crew. You wanted it hijacked because you couldn’t stand to see it all in the hands of Iran. Is that right?”

Her answer came without more tremors on the tip of the knife. Iris Cherlina dropped her pretense of fear.

“Yes.”

“You wanted me to take this ship back to the Islamists, have them lay it all out for the world to see.”

“Yes.”

“And you would be the invisible hand behind it all. Because you are a patriot?”

Yusuf increased the pressure on the knife into her chin. She tried to nod but could not on the tip of the dagger.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps.”

She grunted. “There is no other answer.”

He eased the blade from her flesh. She smoothed a pretty finger under her chin.

An ingenious scheme, if true. Use Sheikh Robow and al-Qaeda to bring forth pirates. Slow the ship to make certain they could board. Stop Iran from getting the hardware, embarrass the governments responsible, blame the pirates, all tracks covered.

“How much were the Iranians paying you to come work for them?”

“I’ve been paid two million dollars. I get another million per year.”

Yusuf’s sandals shuffled backward involuntarily.

“You must be quite the scientist.”

“I am.”

He pointed the dagger at her. A shame not to have been able to ransom her alongside the crew and cargo. She’d be worth a great deal.

“You’ve failed. The Americans have stopped me from taking the ship. It will go on to Beirut. Nothing has changed except all my men are dead.”

“This ship is not going to Beirut. Iran will never see any of the machines, or the railgun, or me.”

“How can that be?”

“It is going to sink. It can’t be stopped.”

“How did you—”

She had the fat sailor’s master key. She could go anywhere.

“It will blow in less than five minutes. You’ll be blamed for it.”

It struck Yusuf then that this woman had pulled every string from the beginning. Starting weeks ago, when Robow arrived at the wedding, right to this moment. Suleiman said that Allah rewards those who run to their fate. Yusuf had been running to her.

He pointed at the dark heap near his feet.

“That is my cousin. Suleiman Abdikarim.” He said this because everything on the ship belonged to Iris Cherlina, including the corpses.

She advanced at his raised blade. She brushed it aside, slipping past him in the narrow passage toward the stern.

“I owe you, Yusuf Raage. Get off this ship. Do it now. If you live, I will find you. I’ll send you money. Again, I’m sorry.”

She did not break into a run but walked away, confident that Yusuf had been settled. What sort of man did she take him for? A pirate, bought with the promise of money? He’d been that when he came on board the Valnea, yes, but that was when he had a ship to capture, men and kin beside him to do it. All that was gone now. Yusuf was not a pirate any longer on this ship. He was only Darood, the last living on board, and chieftain of his dead.

Yusuf surged at Iris Cherlina. Before she could turn, he’d wrapped her throat in the crook of his elbow. She struggled. He could squeeze until she choked, or cut her throat. But this woman had value greater than her own death.

Yusuf tightened around the woman’s long neck enough to still her. He tugged the walkie-talkie from his waistband and brought it to his lips.

“Americans.”