Chapter 32
I t was late afternoon when they cycled into the small fishing port of Hamesh. The fresh air was a welcome relief after the dry dusty heat of the interior. As they rode through the palm trees and cycads, Tom finally felt some of the tension dissolve. This was the last leg of their journey.
They stashed their bikes behind a small convenience store. He’d disposed of his rifle in a drain outside the town. It would draw too much attention to them here, and they had to keep a low profile. A gun-slinging rebel would raise eyebrows. He kept the handgun, though.
They walked down a dirt road, worn from centuries of use to a half-moon beach and a little marina where an assortment of small fishing vessels and luxury yachts jostled for space.
Further along the coast was a larger, commercial port. They could see the long cement platform jutting out into the bay like an oversized runway dotted with bright yellow loading cranes and containers.
Tom counted five container ships moored in the quays waiting to be loaded, or unloaded, with several more out in the bay. That was a busy working harbor.
“We made it.” Hannah shook the dust out of her clothing. He could see by her pinched expression that she was exhausted. Even he felt weary, the effects of the day beginning to tell. They needed food, water and rest.
But first they had to find passage off the island.
“Let’s head to the marina and see if we can find a boat.”
She nodded, trailing behind him. Tom studied the fishing dock. Most boats would be heading back to shore after a hard day’s fishing out on the reef. He needed something different, something faster.
If they didn’t get the intel back to his CO in the next seven hours, the NATO strike would go ahead. A boat to the mainland would take three hours at the most, even in rough seas. That left just enough time to call HQ and deliver the information that would end the war.
He led Hannah to a shady bench under a palm tree, overlooking the marina. She sank down gratefully. “What kind of boat are you looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
He scanned the coastal area for signs of police or the army. It seemed clear. Their ploy at the plantation must have worked. The only activity was the normal comings and goings of commercial vessels, fishing dhows, and private yachts.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
At the end of one of the marina’s rickety wooden piers, a small merchant vessel was moored. She obviously wasn’t big enough to warrant a mooring at the quays, or perhaps she didn’t want to pay the berthing cost.
“Over there. Keep your eyes peeled.”
She followed him down the pier.
Tom called to one of the weathered men on the boat.
He looked up. “Eh?”
“Ask him if he takes passengers,” he murmured to Hannah.
She did so.
The man waved a hand in the air. “No people.” He motioned to his cargo. “Bahrain.”
That’ll do.
“Tell him we’ll pay him. US Dollars.”
She relayed the information. It was obvious by the man’s response that he was keen. US Dollars, the universal currency.
“Tell him we’ll give him a hundred dollars for a ride to the mainland.” A hundred pounds was a lot of money in the current economic crisis–in the midst of a civil war.
Hannah turned to Tom. “He says to meet us back here at six p.m.”
“Great.” He nodded to show the man he understood.
With transport arranged, Tom took Hannah to a small diner a few roads back from the marina. It wouldn’t win any culinary awards, but it sold food and got them off the street for an hour.
They sat at the back, away from the windows. The only other customers were two elderly men playing backgammon.
A teenager with pock-marked skin took their order. Chicken kebabs and pita bread. They were both starving.
“I can’t remember when I last ate,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“We need to keep our energy levels up. We’re not in the clear yet.”
“But we’re nearly there, right?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her. “Nearly there.”
In one hour, they’d be off this island for good.
The food came and they ate with gusto. It was surprisingly good, or perhaps that was just because they were so darned hungry.
Afterwards, Hannah said she wanted to go and freshen up in the restroom, so he went down to the boat. “Meet me down on the pier when you’re done.”
He got halfway down when he noticed the mooring was empty. The merchant vessel had vanished.
“What the hell?”
Tom broke into a run. Sure enough, the boat could be seen chugging toward the horizon.
Bastard!
He kicked a wooden pole and turned around. Now they’d have to find another vessel to take them to the mainland.
He got to the café, and immediately noticed the two elderly men had gone. So had the pimply waiter. He pulled out his handgun. Dread clutched at his chest as he ran inside.
It was empty.
“Hannah!” he called, charging into the ladies restroom.
No reply.
He kicked in all the doors, but the cubicles were empty.
She was gone.
A muffled scream got his attention.
Hannah!
It was coming from out the back, behind the diner.
He stormed out the back and into a small car park. Two burly policemen held a struggling Hannah between them.
Tom raised his weapon. “Let her go.”
He’d underestimated the crafty Chief of Security. Abdul Anwar had known they’d head here. This was the only viable option they had left. He hadn’t been fooled by their little charade at the grain factory, or he was covering all his bases. Either way, he’d found them.
“Tom.” Hannah sobbed his name. He kept his gun trained on the men holding her.
Before he had time to act, a black SUV pulled up. The doors swung open and four armed police officers jumped out. Four rifles aimed at his head.
Not good odds.
He watched helplessly as they wrestled Hannah into the vehicle. He couldn’t let them take her. They’d torture her, then kill her. There’d be no mercy. His finger hovered on the trigger.
“Don’t,” she cried, as they shoved her inside the car. “You have to get back to the mainland. You can’t afford to die.”
He didn’t move.
“Please, Tom. Go. . .” The rest of her words were cut off when they shut the car door.
“Take care of him,” spat one of the men before climbing into the passenger seat.
The SUV sped off, while Tom yelled in frustration.