Juan Gómez-Jurado - Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

‘Relax. Let me hold you up like I did before.’

‘Fuck,’ Andrea repeated, spitting out saltwater while the priest supported her from behind in the standard rescue position.

Suddenly a bright light blinded her. The powerful searchlights from the Behemoth had found them. The frigate came towards them then maintained its position close by as sailors shouted directions and pointed from the railings. Two of them tossed a couple of lifebelts in their direction. Andrea was exhausted and chilled to the bone now that her adrenalin and fear had subsided. The sailors threw them a line and Fowler pulled it around her under her arms, then knotted it.

‘How the devil did you manage to fall overboard?’ said the priest while they were being hauled up.

‘I didn’t fall, Father. I was pushed.’

‘Thank you. I didn’t think I was going to make it.’

Wrapped in a blanket and back on board, Andrea was still shivering. Fowler was sitting next to her, watching her with a preoccupied expression. The sailors left the deck, mindful of the prohibition against speaking to members of the expedition.

‘You have no idea how lucky we were. The propellers were turning very slowly. The Anderson turn, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I came out of my cabin to get some air and heard you taking your evening plunge, so I grabbed the nearest ship phone, yelled man overboard to port , and dove in after you. The ship had to make a complete circle, which is called the Anderson turn, but it should have been to port, not starboard.’

‘Because…?’

‘Because if the turn is made towards the side opposite where the person fell in, then they’ll be chopped into mincemeat by the propellers. That’s what almost happened to us.’

‘Somehow being turned into fish food wasn’t in my plans.’

‘Are you sure about what you told me before?’

‘As sure as I know my mother’s name.’

‘Did you see who pushed you?’

‘I only saw a dark shadow.’

‘Then if what you’re saying is true, the ship’s turning to starboard instead of port was no accident either…’

‘They might have misheard you, Father.’

Fowler paused for a minute before answering.

‘Ms Otero, please don’t tell anyone about your suspicions. When you’re asked, just say you fell. If it’s true that someone on board is trying to kill you, to reveal it now…’

‘… would warn the bastard.’

‘Exactly,’ Fowler said.

‘Don’t worry, Father. Those Armani shoes cost me two hundred euros,’ Andrea said, her lips still quivering slightly. ‘I want to catch the son of a bitch who sent them to the bottom of the Red Sea.’

AMMAN, JORDAN

Wednesday, 12 July 2006. 1:32 a.m.

Tahir entered his home in the dark, shaking with fear. An unfamiliar voice called to him from the living room.

‘Come in, Tahir.’

It took the bureaucrat all of his courage to cross the hallway towards the small living room. He searched for the light switch, but it didn’t work. He then felt a hand grab his arm and twist it, forcing him to his knees. The voice came from the shadows somewhere in front of him.

‘You’ve sinned, Tahir.’

‘No. No, please, sir. I have always lived my life according to taqwa , to honesty. The westerners tempted me many times and I never gave in. This has been my only mistake, sir.’

‘So you say you are honest, then?’

‘Yes, sir. I swear to Allah.’

‘And yet you allowed the kafirun , the infidels, to own a piece of our land.’

The one who was twisting his arm increased the pressure and Tahir gave a muffled scream.

‘Don’t scream, Tahir. If you love your family, do not scream.’

Tahir brought his other arm up to his mouth and bit down hard on the sleeve of his jacket. The pressure continued to increase.

There was a terrible dry crack.

Tahir fell, crying in silence. His right arm hung from his body like a stuffed sock.

‘Bravo, Tahir. Congratulations.’

‘Please, sir. I followed your instructions. No one will go near the excavation zone for the next few weeks.’

‘Are you certain of that?’

‘Yes, sir. Anyway, nobody ever goes there.’

‘And the desert police?’

‘The nearest road is just a track around four miles away. The police only visit the area two or three times a year. When the Americans set up camp, they’ll be yours, I swear.’

‘Good, Tahir. You’ve done a good job.’

At that point someone switched back the electricity and the lights came on in the living room. Tahir looked up from the floor and what he saw made his blood run cold.

His daughter Myesha and his wife Zayna were tied up and gagged on the sofa. But that wasn’t what shocked Tahir. His family had been in the same condition when he’d left five hours before to carry out the hooded men’s demands.

What filled him with terror is that the men no longer wore hoods.

‘Please, sir,’ Tahir said.

The bureaucrat had returned in the hope that everything would be all right. That the bribe from his American friends wouldn’t be revealed, and that the hooded men would leave him and his family in peace. That hope had now evaporated like a drop of water on a red-hot frying pan.

Tahir avoided the gaze of the man sitting between his wife and his daughter, their eyes red from crying.

‘Please, sir,’ he repeated.

The man had something in his hand. A gun. At the end of it was an empty plastic Coca-Cola bottle. Tahir knew exactly what it was: a primitive but effective silencer.

The bureaucrat couldn’t control his shaking.

‘You have nothing to worry about, Tahir,’ said the man, leaning down to whisper in his ear. ‘Hasn’t Allah prepared a place in Paradise for honest men?’

There was a light report, like a whiplash. The other two shots followed a few minutes apart. Putting on a new bottle and securing it with duct tape takes a little time.

GULF OF AQABA, RED SEA

Wednesday, 12 July 2006. 9:47 p.m.

Andrea woke up in the ship’s infirmary, a large room containing a pair of beds, a few glass cabinets and a desk. A worried Dr Harel had made Andrea spend the night there. She probably hadn’t slept much, because when Andrea opened her eyes she was already seated at the desk, reading a book as she sipped some coffee. Andrea yawned loudly.

‘Good morning, Andrea. You’re missing my beautiful country.’

Andrea got out of bed rubbing her eyes. The only thing she could distinguish clearly was the coffee maker on the table. The doctor watched her, amused as the caffeine began working its magic on the reporter.

‘Your beautiful country?’ Andrea said when she was able to speak. ‘Are we in Israel?’

‘Technically we’re in Jordanian waters. Let’s go out on deck and I’ll show you.’

When they came out of the infirmary, Andrea lifted her face to the morning sun. It was going to be a hot day. She breathed deeply and stretched in her pyjamas. The doctor leaned on the ship’s rail.

‘Be careful you don’t fall overboard again,’ she teased.

Andrea shuddered, aware of how lucky she was to be alive. The night before, with all the excitement of the rescue and her shame at having to lie and say she’d fallen overboard, she hadn’t really had the chance to feel afraid. But now, in the light of day, the noise of the propellers and the memory of cold dark water passed through her mind like a waking nightmare. She tried to concentrate on how beautiful everything looked from the ship.