Quest for Honor (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Somalia

T
he patio of
the villa offered a spectacular view of the coast and the Indian Ocean beyond, but Yusuf did not have time to appreciate it. He’d only come out here for privacy and a better cell phone signal. As it was, the transmission was scratchy and intermittent, but even so, Yusuf could hear the concern in Amir’s voice. “I do not trust these men, Yusuf,” Amir said. “They are competent, and friendly enough, but there is something about them I do not like.”

“I understand, my brother,” Yusuf said. The Quds Force commando team had arrived the previous morning, giving Yusuf only a few hours to evaluate them before he departed for the north. Heydar had left a captain, Khorsandi, in charge of the unit, which consisted of himself and five other men. There was little Yusuf could do here in Eyl some 800 kilometers away, except to encourage Amir to cooperate with the visitors. “When I return we shall talk. How is the training going?”

“It began this morning,” Amir said. “Yesterday they chose the men for the mission. Everyone volunteered, Yusuf. You should be proud of your fighters. Only fifty-five were chosen. The ones who will be left behind are very disappointed.”

“Reassure them we will have more work for them,” Yusuf said, although he had no idea what he would come up with. A field exercise of some sort might be in order. He was finding it hard to think ahead more than five days, when he was due to meet Simons again in Mogadishu, and, if he was favored by Allah, be delivered from this life he had come to despise.

“I will talk to them this evening,” Amir said. “How is Eyl? I have heard many stories about its wealth.”

“The stories are true, my friend,” Yusuf said. “I will have much to tell you when I return tomorrow.” Behind him, he could hear voices coming closer, a man’s laugh, and then a woman’s, with somewhat less enthusiasm. He glanced back, saw Heydar and their host coming through the French doors—made of glass, and without a scratch on them, unbelievably—along with four young women. “I must go, Amir. We should be back by noon tomorrow.”

“May Allah bring you safely back to us, Yusuf.”

Yusuf closed the cell phone and turned to his host with a smile. The slender, bearded Somali was grinning broadly, but his eyes weren’t as happy. Yusuf was not fooled by Ghedi Mahamud’s casual demeanor. One did not become the foremost pirate chieftain in Somalia by being overly trusting of men he had just met. That was to be expected. Although they were both Muslims and therefore ostensibly brothers, Ghedi was first and foremost a businessman, and Yusuf was sure the pirate considered him to be little more than a terrorist. A highly-regarded one, to be sure, but still a terrorist.

But one could do business with terrorists, and so Ghedi had graciously invited them to his home for an evening meal and, it appeared, some entertainment as well. Yusuf would have preferred to return to their hotel in the city, but it would have been bad form to refuse the invitation. Besides, it was clear Heydar was glad to be here. He had a woman on each side and his hands, Yusuf felt sure, were cupped on their shapely rumps.

For the long journey north to Eyl, Yusuf had chosen two of his most trusted men as security for himself and the Iranian major. Enduring the drive to Mogadishu in the SUV was nothing compared to the harrowing flight in the two-engine prop plane, but they’d arrived safely after nightfall. The plane would take them back to Mogadishu the next morning. The bodyguards were in one of the villa’s outbuildings now, awaiting Yusuf’s permission to go back into the city where they could dine at one of the many restaurants and seek out companionship of their own. He wasn’t sure about allowing them to leave even for a few hours, but after all, Mahamud’s own security team appeared to be quite competent.

And really, there was no security threat to be seen anywhere here. Eyl was the home base of the Somali pirate industry, and the wealth of ransom money over the years had transformed this sleepy port city into the most luxurious spot in the country. That was a relative term, Yusuf knew, but by Horn of Africa standards, Eyl was a world apart. Villas covered the hills and the Hafun Peninsula. In the city below, restaurants and hotels served the pirate clans and their “guests”, the foreign ship crews who had been unfortunate enough to have their ships seized and brought here.

“Is everything all right back home?” Ghedi asked. A gold tooth gleamed in the light of the setting sun over the hills to the west.

“Yes, thank you,” Yusuf answered in Arabic, the language they had chosen for their business dealings. “You have a beautiful view here, my friend.”

“It is quite nice, yes. But it is becoming crowded, I think. Many Somalis come here to find work. I am fortunate to have found this location here. Not as crowded as the city, where I used to live.”

This place had probably cost more than a few shillings, Yusuf knew, but the pirates had money. Their thievery brought them millions, and it was said that the pirate clans in Eyl had more money than the entire state of Puntland, of which Eyl was the seventh-largest city. Enough to provide the clan leaders with estates like this one, and protection from the Puntland Security Force. It hadn’t taken Yusuf long to see why the Western powers did not attempt a military rescue of the dozens of hostages being held down in the city. There were enough fighters and weapons down there to make any invasion a very costly affair. He’d even seen some tanks, hulking old Soviet models that wouldn’t last fifteen minutes in the field against modern NATO armor, but in an urban environment like this they would be very difficult to dislodge.

“Did you enjoy the meal, Yusuf?” Mahamud asked.

“Very much so, thank you,” Yusuf said. Indeed, the meal had been delicious,
baasto
pasta and
digaag,
a traditional chicken dish. He was glad his host had not served the more common
cambuulo,
a mixture of
azuki
beans, butter and sugar; he had eaten that at the hotel the night before and suffered a bout of flatulence afterwards. Heydar’s two helpings had caused him much distress, to Yusuf’s secret amusement. From inside the house now, Yusuf could smell the frankincense, which had been burning on a censer. It was not unpleasant, but to one used to the raw frontier life of the camp, it was somewhat pungent. Not as pungent as Heydar had been the night before, though, and Yusuf could not stifle a chuckle at the memory.

“A private joke, Yusuf?” the Iranian asked.

He could not resist. “Our host graces us with the fragrance of
lubaan,
my friend. A bit more pleasant than the hotel, don’t you think?”

Ghedi roared with laughter. “I know well the restaurant where you dined last night, my friends. I hope my table has turned out to be somewhat more agreeable for you. And, the entertainment I have provided will be better as well, I think.”

Yusuf didn’t need to have that spelled out. The Holy Quran did not condone casual sex outside the bonds of marriage, of course, but exceptions could be made in certain circumstances, and in Yusuf’s experience those circumstances depended upon the man who was making the decision. He himself had tried hard to remain chaste since the death of his second wife five years earlier. His grief had been intense, but on rare occasions since then he had taken a woman, if only for the release of his tensions. Tonight, though, he most certainly was not in such a mood.

Besides, there was still the matter of their business to conclude. “The ship you showed us today was most impressive, hoogamiye, and I am sure the crew you will provide will be very qualified,” he said, making sure to add the Somali honorific for his host. “The price you quoted seemed a bit steep, if I may say so.”

Ghedi’s eyes gleamed and his gold tooth flashed again. “It is the only ship I have that meets your requirements,” he said. “And the men I will send with you are some of my best. I will have to delay some of my own operations while they are gone. Delays cost money, as I’m sure you know.”

“One million euros, in cash, hoogamiye,” Yusuf said, shaking his head in dismay. “My superiors did not authorize me to approve a sum that high, I’m afraid.”

“It is a bargain at that price. Where else in all of Somalia could you find such a vessel?”

Heydar left the company of the two women. “May I have a word with my colleague?” he asked in his rather stiff Arabic.

He motioned Yusuf over to the edge of the patio, where they stood looking out over the ocean. Down in the harbor they could see the ship they’d toured a few hours before, a Dutch freighter that had been captured three months ago. “It is the best available ship,” Heydar said. “None others have the ability to launch the speedboats we will use to assault our target. The ship is also in very good condition, and relatively fast.”

“I have been authorized to pay only three-quarters of that price, Heydar.”

The Iranian gazed out at the ocean and then sighed. “I believe the balance can be provided by my superiors,” he said, sounding reluctant. Yusuf felt certain it was an act. The mullahs in Tehran could have bought a fleet of ships lock, stock and barrel if they wanted to, even though their nation’s economy was being squeezed by the West’s sanctions.

“Very well,” Yusuf said. “I have brought enough for the deposit.”

They turned back to Ghedi, and Yusuf approached him with his hand held out. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend, but a fair one. We have a deal.”

The pirate broke out some Turkish tea, the local variety known as
shaax xawaash,
to celebrate their agreement. The four women lounged casually on nearby divans while the men drank and talked of the weather and Somali politics. Finally, Ghedi put down his teacup. “My friends, I am sure you wish to retire early to rest up for your journey tomorrow,” he said with a wink. “I have taken the liberty of providing you with companionship for the rest of the evening. Major Heydar, I believe you have already met Abyan and Libaxo.” He clapped his hands twice, and two of the women unwound themselves from their divan and sashayed almost comically over to the Iranian. He whispered in the ear of one of them and she giggled. The major bade them good evening and allowed the women to lead him toward the rear of the villa.

Yusuf eyed the other two women cautiously. Sex was the furthest thing from his mind these days, and even though they were attractive, he knew he’d have to come up with a way to turn down his host’s offer without giving offense. “Hoogamiye, I am honored and flattered by your generous hospitality, but—“

“Oh, they are not for you, my friend,” Ghedi said, standing. “They are for my own pleasure. Come with me.”

Puzzled, Yusuf followed the pirate down another hallway to a closed door at the end. “This suite I save for my most important guests,” Ghedi said. He knocked, then opened the door halfway. “Your entertainment came to me by way of a colleague of mine. Enjoy yourself, my friend,” he said with another wink.

Yusuf stepped inside and caught his breath. The door shut behind him, but he didn’t hear it. A woman was sitting on the bed, and with a small smile she stood, facing him. She was very tall, very blonde, and the gown she wore was almost transparent.

He was transfixed by her beauty, her alabaster purity, and any reservations he had about what might happen receded very quickly to a small back room of his mind. It had been many years since he’d been with a white woman, and while a small—and getting smaller—part of him said that should make no difference, it did. How long had it been? Amazingly, he recalled, not since his university days, and his long-lost Märta. He had not seen her since his visit to Stockholm the summer after their graduation.

“My name is Ingrid,” the vision in white said, walking toward him. She was taller than him by at least two inches, younger by at least twenty years. “I am here to please you.” Her English carried a northern European accent, but he couldn’t quite place it, so long had it been since he’d conversed with such people.

She stood before him, and he reached out to grasp her full, wide hips. “How is it you find yourself in this place?” he asked as his hands moved up and down, feeling the flesh through the gauzy fabric.

“My husband’s yacht was captured at sea by Ghedi’s men,” she said, and he could hear the pain in her voice.

“Where is he now?” He felt he had to ask the question, if only to be polite, although as his hands explored her, his concern for courtesy was growing less by the minute.

He heard her sigh as she looked away, toward the window. “He was killed resisting the pirates,” she said. “Two months ago. His family is negotiating my ransom. But…Ghedi told me I would be released next week if I performed this service for him.”

Yusuf’s hands came up to her full breasts and he gently tweaked her hardening nipples. “He is a trustworthy man, I think, for a pirate,” he said. His thumbs stopped their movement, and with his last shred of dignity he forced himself to step back. “I am sorry,” he said. “It is not right for me to take advantage of you. It is not honorable. Perhaps if we just spent some time together here, and talked, I could then tell him you fulfilled your part of the bargain.”

She smiled down at him. “Thank you,” she said. “But…there is no reason we cannot relax a little bit, is there?”

The woman was truly a vision as the gown slipped to the floor with a whisper. He laid on the bed, naked, his clothes having been removed by her very delicately, very expertly. Whatever resistance he’d mustered was long gone. He felt like a young man again, and his manhood responded in a way that brought him the joy any man his age would have. Now he waited for her, and she climbed onto the bed and lowered herself on top of him. He felt her mound, her downy blonde hair, rubbing against him ever so slightly. Then her lips were on his, and her tongue darted inside. She certainly did not seem to be the typical grieving widow, but Yusuf shoved that irritating thought into a closet in his brain and shut the door.

Their lips parted and she smiled at him, but her green-blue eyes were…different. She continued to move on top of him, just enough to entice him. But something deep within his mind, the part that was ever-vigilant, opened the closet door and came out with a question. “You are magnificent,” he said to her, smiling. “Where are you from?”