Chapter Nine
R ayan was on his way home from his last class at the center when his phone rang. It was Mathias.
“I need you to come down to Bassin Carnot.” He sounded annoyed, the way he did when he expected things to function as they should and then life went and threw a wrench in his plans. “Use the west entrance to the port, and look for berth six.”
Rayan marveled at how little their phone conversations had changed since he’d worked as the man’s second. Is a simple greeting too much to ask for? Hello, how was your day?
“I’m heading over.”
The port wasn’t far from the center, and it didn’t take him long to find his way to the inner harbor and follow the signs to berth six.
Mathias was standing with a man in a brown oilskin jacket, both smoking agitatedly.
Behind them in the water, a small cargo ship was docked with its lights on.
Rayan could hear the distant chatter of crewmen on board.
It was early evening, but the sky was already dark, transforming the ocean beyond into a vast inky blackness. He walked over to Mathias, taking in the surly looking man beside him with a full beard and skin the color of milky coffee. The bearded man scowled as Rayan approached.
“There’s a shipment of mine they’re refusing to unload,” Mathias said tightly, tapping his ash. “The ship’s master is AWOL and Kareem, here, is the only person available with any authority to speak on the matter. But he seems to have difficulty communicating. Perhaps you can translate.”
Before Rayan could introduce himself, Kareem began speaking in rapid-fire Khaleeji, his meaty hands slicing through the air in a series of irate gestures.
It wasn’t a dialect Rayan was overly familiar with, common in the Gulf states and different from the Levantine Arabic that he’d grown up with, which more closely resembled that spoken by the Syrians at the camp.
There were so many regional variations of the language, some more easily understood than others.
Dialects aside, Kareem was certainly making his irritation clear.
“What’s he saying?” Mathias demanded.
“Just insults at the moment. He says he doesn’t like your face.”
“Tell him I don’t like his.”
Rayan clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to do that.”
He asked Kareem about the shipment, and the man launched into another tirade, this one containing a lot more salient information.
“He said your import license has been revoked.”
“Fuck,” Mathias muttered.
“He can’t release the shipment until you’re clean on the department’s register.”
“Tell him I’ll sort it, but I expect him back here as soon as the paperwork clears.”
When Rayan relayed this instruction, his tone remarkably different from the fervent crescendo of Kareem’s, the man looked at him with a glitter of contempt. He sneered before giving his reply.
“He said, why should he listen to some arrogant Frenchman?”
“Tell him if his boss wants to get paid, he’ll do what this arrogant Frenchman says.”
This time Kareem didn’t mince words. He launched a string of profanities at Rayan, flecks of spit gathering at the corners of his mouth.
Apparently, Rayan was a half-breed, dog-faced, colonial bootlicker too pale to be a real Arab.
But it was his final jab that made Rayan’s stomach curdle.
Without thinking, he advanced toward Kareem, his right fist clenched at his side, ready to make impact.
“Hey, hey!” Mathias barked, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stepping between them. He put a hand on Rayan’s chest. “We’re done here.”
Mathias guided him away from Kareem, but not before Rayan let fly some choice insults of his own. They left Kareem leering by the dock and headed back in the direction of the port entrance.
“You’d think I trained you better,” Mathias chided him.
“He called my mother a whore,” Rayan said through clenched teeth.
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
Rayan shot him a look.
“What, you think it’s less insulting when it’s a fact?” Mathias’s tone was easy, but there was a hard glint in his eye.
Rayan swallowed his careless reply.
“Come on. I’m parked around the corner,” Mathias said.
The drive back to the house took them past the beach, dark and empty on a cold autumn evening. Rayan glanced over at Mathias and could tell from his pensive frown that he was preoccupied with this new information.
“Mathias,” he asked carefully. “Is someone targeting the business?”
Mathias remained silent.
“Does this have anything to do with that crate of smashed figures at the warehouse?”
“Christ, Rayan,” Mathias snapped. “Don’t you have enough to do without meddling in my shit?”
Whatever was concerning him, it was clear he had no interest in discussing it.
Rayan turned to look out the window and saw a flash of light out in the ocean.
It appeared only briefly before disappearing into the darkness.
It was too close to shore for a commercial ship and the wrong time of day for a pleasure cruiser.
“Stop the car,” Rayan said.
“What?”
But Rayan was already pulling open the door. Mathias braked hard to bring the car to a stop on the side of the road.
“The fuck are you—Rayan!”
Rayan got out and heard a scream from the beach below. “A boat,” he said. Squinting, he could just make out the shape of a capsized raft floating in the surf. Around it, a handful of people bobbed up and down in the water as the waves pushed them under. A jolt of fear gripped him. “They’ll drown.”
“Rayan!”
Ignoring Mathias, he vaulted over the barrier down onto the sand.
As he sprinted toward the ocean, he threw off his coat before plunging into the freezing water.
While his ability had improved—a benefit of living close to the coast—Rayan still wasn’t a strong swimmer.
But he knew who was on that raft—women and children without life jackets, weighed down by bags and heavy clothing.
Whatever skill he possessed, it had to be better than what they were up against.
The waves battered him as he attempted to get closer to the boat.
He could barely see in the dark, and the slap of salty water stung his eyes.
He passed a man clearly struggling, his arms thrashing as his head dipped below water.
Rayan reached for him and hooked a hand beneath one of his armpits, yanking him up.
The man spluttered, calling out in a panicked voice what Rayan assumed were names.
He began tugging the man back toward where he thought the beach was, but it was impossible to tell.
Everything was black and churning. The weight of the man kept pulling him under, and Rayan found himself swallowing mouthfuls of seawater, searing his throat.
His limbs were impossibly heavy, already exhausted, and he had trouble keeping himself afloat.
He felt the cold grip of panic and desperately tried to stay calm as he fought frantically against the unforgiving swirl of the sea.
After what felt like a lifetime, Rayan’s feet brushed land, and he launched himself and the man onto the shore, coughing and heaving.
Around them on the beach was a scatter of people, drenched and sobbing.
The man staggered upright, wrenching at Rayan’s shoulder, and repeated the names over and over, his face white with fear.
“Your daughters?” Rayan asked, still fighting to pull air into his lungs.
“Please help me find them.”
Rayan’s eyes snapped back to the ocean. The raft had disappeared, and the sea was an angry, frothing spray of waves. His heart dropped. If they were still out there, they didn’t stand a chance.
“They might be here,” Rayan offered weakly, gesturing at the people around them. “Do you see them?”
The man scanned the group gathering on the sand, shaking his head frantically.
Then farther down the beach, Rayan spotted a flash of yellow as someone emerged from the water, clutching a bundle of skinny limbs wrapped in a fluorescent life jacket.
“Amina! Zahra!” the man screamed and began running toward the figure.
Rayan followed closely at his heels. It was only when he got closer that he realized it was Mathias. The man’s chest heaved beneath his sodden white shirt, and in his arms, two little girls clung to him for dear life.
Mathias had gotten out of the car and stared uncomprehendingly at Rayan sprinting down the beach toward the sea.
His mind had clouded with a rapid succession of nightmare scenarios.
Then he tore off his jacket, yanked his phone out of his pocket, and tossed both into the driver’s seat.
He left the keys in the ignition, pitying the poor soul brazen enough to steal it, then slammed the car door and headed down to the sand.
When Mathias made it to the black, turbulent water, Rayan had already disappeared. Cursing the man and his blind stupidity, Mathias surged into the ocean after him.
His clothes pulled him under as the waves crashed over his head.
He refused to think about how Rayan, far less confident in the water, was faring.
The sea was rough and choppy, which was likely why the raft had overturned.
There was no shortage of stories about them in the newspaper—cheap and hastily constructed vessels that had little chance of staying afloat in a swimming pool, let alone crossing the English Channel.
Smugglers often cut corners by refusing to provide life vests, leaving their passengers at the mercy of the elements.
It was just another sad fact among an avalanche of sad facts about the world that Mathias tuned out. He didn’t see the point of languishing in other people’s suffering. That was, until he unwittingly found himself in the thick of it, trying to save the reckless idiot of a man he happened to love.
As Mathias swam through the water, he passed several others heading back to the shore. He scanned their faces but didn’t spot Rayan. He struggled to control his breathing, which quickened with exhaustion, his body no match for the unrelenting batter of the surf.
Mathias resurfaced to find a bundle of yellow bobbing beside him. His shoulder brushed against something solid, and then two small hands, the nails like claws, dug into his arm. Mathias grabbed the back of the life vest and pulled it up above the water.
It contained not one but two small children. The vest had been tied around them both in a crude attempt at protection. They clutched at him, gasping and spluttering, as Mathias attempted to keep their heads above the waves.
He scoured the ocean around him for any sign of Rayan, but it was almost impossible to see in the darkness. Hampered by the weight of the children clinging to his neck, he had no choice but to head back. Mathias fought a choking fear as he turned and began to make his way toward the shore.
He staggered onto the beach, panting. His lungs burned. Neither child had loosened their grip, and two pairs of brown eyes stared up at him, wide and glittering. Then he’d heard a series of yelps, and a frantic man with tears streaming down his face had hurtled toward them.
The children pushed against him, squirming for Mathias to let them go.
He lowered them to the sand, and the man scooped them up, sobbing into their hair.
The father wrestled the children from their shared life vest and Mathias saw they were both girls, long wet hair sticking to the backs of their dresses.
When he looked up, Rayan was hurrying toward him. He was soaked through, and his face was lined with concern. “Are you all right?” Rayan asked.
Mathias could barely hide the relief that surged through him. It was supplanted by an immediate rush of anger. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled, torn by the conflicting impulses to knock Rayan to the ground and crush him to his chest.
But before Rayan could answer, the father stood and began gesturing wildly at the sea and the other migrants gathered on the sand. Despite being reunited with his daughters, he didn’t look any less panicked. He called out hoarsely in a language Mathias didn’t understand.
“Mama!” One of the girls began to scream, ragged and piercing. “Mama!”
Mathias felt a dread in the pit of his stomach as he watched Rayan’s face slacken and his eyes go dull.
“Mama!”
The sound seemed to rise above the rumble of the ocean, a single hollow point of pain. Rayan turned and took off toward the water. Mathias lunged forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.
In the distance, he could hear the approaching wail of emergency sirens drowning out the muffled cries of the people on the beach. Yet Rayan wouldn’t relent. He struggled against Mathias’s grip with an inhuman strength, like he would have torn off his own arm to break free.
“She’s still out there—”
Mathias yanked him hard. “Listen, you hear that?” The sirens were louder now, and he could see the first police car pulling up along the shorefront. “That’s the cops. We can’t afford to be here right now. Do you understand? We need to go.”
Rayan froze, his expression torn. He knew as well as Mathias that no good would come from them drawing the attention of the police. Mathias used the opportunity to drag him away from the family and back up to the road.
When they reached the car, Mathias looked down at the scene unfolding on the beach below.
An ambulance and a second police car had joined the first, and several paramedics with thermal blankets were rushing over to the huddles of people.
Out in the water, he could see the floodlights of an approaching coast guard ship.
It would be searching for survivors. Or there to help recover bodies.
Mathias’s throat was raw, and his drenched skin felt like ice in the cold night air. Beside him, Rayan bent over, one hand pressed against the car for support, and retched up a stomachful of seawater.