Haven, page 40
The FBI determined that a girl in her charge had been missing on a night some ten days before this when a man named Pratt was believed to have been killed. Pratt and two Muslims had been found a few days later. Those three were believed to have been killed by Martin Kessler who, impossibly, had now vanished. Who was this girl and what connection did she have with the events surrounding this terrorist act? Peter Cobb was able to attest that she had none. Her name, said Cobb, was Cherokee Blye. She had come, with Halaby, that day to watch tennis. She went on that boat with Halaby because she wouldn't stay behind. Children can be willful, they do stupid things. But that was the extent of her involvement.
“I feel foolish even asking," Peter Cobb said to Willis, "but have any of you heard from Martin Kessler?”
Willis shook his head. "Could there be any chance...”
“None," Peter answered. "Put it out of your mind. Martin Kessler is dead three times over.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because he's making me crazy. Because you said he promised to come back and see Stride.”
“She's gone too. We can't find her. She's run.”
“But why?" Peter asked. "I've kept my word to Kessler. She's in no way involved. Only Nadia.”
A sad smile washed over the face of Roy Willis. He answered, "She might have had a date.”
“Don't start.”
“Like I told you," said Willis, "She owed him a drink.”
Peter Cobb knew well where Kessler had to be. He had seen him pick up and examine that sea anchor when they carried Bandari out onto the deck. He knew that Kessler had waited until the tent was in place and until the NEST ship started pumping the foam. The outgoing tide was steady and strong. It had nearly lifted that yacht from the sand bar. What Kessler had done was ease over the side, between the hull and the boom with the tent attached to it.
He had executed Tarrant. Peter thought he knew why. Very likely to keep Tarrant from using the radio and alerting them that Kessler was gone. Or perhaps to keep Tarrant from destroying that briefcase and burning the maps of the terrorist, Ozal. The maps were interesting; they would lead, no doubt to some changes in security arrangements here and there. But as a serious scheme to cause economic havoc, he doubted that Ozal would have the means or the manpower. It was, more likely, one of those pipe dreams that terrorists are fond of sitting around and discussing but are useful in getting money from Libya or Iran. Tarrant's recordings, however, were a gold mine. Even more so was the briefcase of that banker on Grand Cayman. That one had recordings of its own. And names. Surprising names. By tomorrow they will all hear a knock on their doors.
But for now, back to Kessler.
He had swum under water as far as he was able, the sea anchor helping to pull him along. He probably surfaced more than once to get air. The sun was low. The glare on the water would have helped him go unseen. No one would have been watching the seaward side. There was nothing out there before Portugal.
Still, why would he do it? He could have died comfortably. Trailing blood from his belly he might have drawn sharks before he could let his lungs fill with water. All this for what? Just to leave people guessing? And why, for God's sake, would he change into trousers? The whole thing is crazy. Ridiculous.
And yet Peter felt a smile start to tug at his mouth. He remembered how Willis had smiled. Willis was smiling because he wanted to believe that Kessler and Stride are somewhere together. They're clinking their glasses in some distant saloon.
Damned if he didn't want to believe it himself.
EPILOGUE
A week had passed and then another.
Aisha had stayed. She did not go to New York. Nadia knew that she would have run away if she were sent there. She would have returned to the island somehow and waited for Elizabeth Stride to come back. And she would be back. Aisha knew it in her soul.
Every afternoon since Elizabeth left, Jasmine had driven her to the house on Marsh Drive. The house had not been locked since that day. Aisha searched the kitchen but could not find a key. She walked through the house checking tables and dressers in the hope of finding one there. She could not look further without opening drawers and closets. One closet in the bedroom was open, however. There was a space on the floor where a bag might have sat. But Jasmine didn't think she packed anything at all because her toothbrush and razor, her robe and her hair dryer were still in plain view in the bathroom. All that was missing seemed to be her red Bronco.
Aisha would take in her mail each day and the paper that was left in the driveway. The mail consisted only of bills and the odd piece of junk mail addressed to the "Occupant." On every second visit she would sweep off the driveway because the leaves from the big live oak trees were still shedding as new leaves pushed in behind them. She had finished planting the half tray of vinca that Elizabeth had left near the road. On every fourth visit she would water the houseplants and run the lawn sprinklers if there hadn't been rain. She would leave a note saying that this had been done. The note also said, "I must see you. It's important.”
One night, her mother appeared in a dream. This had happened before, many times, but this was different. In this dream her mother was sitting with Elizabeth. They were on the big lawn that slopes to the lagoon in the rear of Elizabeth's house. Their backs were toward Aisha. Both their knees were drawn up. They didn't seem to be talking or anything. Just sitting together, almost touching. Enjoying the breeze and the warmth of the sun, watching the mullet jump out of the water, watching the egrets wade the shallows.
At sunrise, during prayer, she remembered the dream. A chill went through her as she thought about its meaning. Either her mother was there on Marsh Drive with Elizabeth or Elizabeth had gone where her parents had gone. The scene from her dream could well have been heaven. She finished her prayers and dressed quickly. She ran down the hall and rapped on Jasmine's door. Ten minutes later, Jasmine still grumbling, Jasmine's car turned into Marsh Drive. She fell silent when she saw the Red Bronco. It was dirty. It looked tired. Jasmine turned to Aisha.
“You're a piece of work, kid," she said softly.
Jasmine waited. Aisha knocked. She saw lights but heard no sound. But she did smell coffee. Elizabeth was home. She peered through the beveled glass panels of the door. She saw nothing until she raised her eyes to the sliding glass doors that led back off the living room. She could see through the house and out toward the lagoon. And there she saw Elizabeth.
She was sitting on the grass. Her knees were folded up to her chin as they were in the dream with her mother. She was hugging her knees tightly. It made her top, a white silk blouse, ride up toward her bra baring part of her back. Aisha saw what looked like an ugly round scar. She remembered how Elizabeth had reacted to her own scar and now thought perhaps that was why.
At Elizabeth's side was not her mother's ghost but only a small blue duffel. As she watched, Elizabeth reached for the duffel and rose slowly, stiffly to her feet. She rocked the duffel forward, then back, and then threw it. She threw it underhand as far as she could. It splashed like the mullet in the middle of the lagoon. Elizabeth sank back to her knees.
“How long have you been there," she asked, not turning, when she heard Aisha clear her throat behind her.
“Just now.”
“What did you see?”
“You're back. You came back. That's all that I care about.”
“I saw your note. Thank you.”
“Then you're staying?”
“No, I'm not.”
“Well...I'm like a bad penny, too.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She saw Elizabeth swallow. Elizabeth turned her head away even further as if she were trying to hide tears. Aisha knelt at her side.
“I...brought you something. Something from Martin. He told me to get it and give it to you.”
She reached for a pouch that she wore around her neck and pulled it over her head. "These are diamonds," she said. "Martin wanted you to have them. He said he tried to tell you...have a nice ice-cold drink for him...but then he was afraid you'd be...”
“Too dumb to catch on?" The words caught in her throat.
“He didn't say dumb. He said sad.”
Elizabeth made no move to accept the pouch. Aisha set it down by her feet.
“Jasmine and I went and got them from his freezer. Jasmine had to break in but she's good at stuff like that.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“Jasmine kept all his other things. She thought you might want them. She said the FBI would have taken them if we didn't.”
Still nothing. One hand wiped an eye.
“Could I ask you a question?”
No answer. But a shrug.
“Why do you think he did that? I mean, swim away? Why didn't he want them to find him?”
“Because he's Martin Kessler." The words burst from her, angrily. "Because he never grew up. Because he's still a boy who likes to play ga..." She choked on the last word before she could say it and a great heaving sob rose up in her chest. She bolted to her feet before Aisha could touch her. She moved several steps to be out of her reach and stood hunched with both hands pressed hard against her mouth. She said, "Damn him." She said it twice more. The third time was only a whisper.
Aisha was not sure that she could speak either. But she had to; she had promised Martin that she would. She glanced behind her as if looking for help. She saw Jasmine standing at the side of house. Jasmine took a step back and put a finger to her lips. She held up a hand and waved it a little. The gesture said, "Stay. I'll be waiting out front.”
“I have things to tell you," she said to Elizabeth. "I'll start with the easiest. I have a picture to show you.”
She held it up so that Elizabeth could see it. She only glanced. "That's my neighbor. What about her?" It was a photo of the woman two doors up with the poodle; the one who told Aisha Elizabeth's name.
“Roy Willis took it. Now Mr. Cobb has it. There's a file on a bunch of Elizabeth Strides. There's a new on you. They had to start it because word got around that another Elizabeth lives here on this island. This picture now goes with that file. Do you get it?”
Elizabeth hesitated.
“From now on anyone who looks at that file will see that you can't be that other Elizabeth. You don't have to be, either. Not anymore.”
Elizabeth didn't speak for a very long moment. She started to form words several times before she spoke them. Finally, she asked, "What...do you think of that Elizabeth Stride.”
“I don't know. I'm not sure. I only know you.”
“Aisha...I think you know what I'm asking.”
“Um...I'm Cherokee again for a while.”
A sigh. "Never mind.”
“No, wait, Elizabeth. I'm really not sure. But I can tell you what Jasmine thinks. Jasmine says she would have done the same thing in your place. She's not just talking; I don't know if I told you, but...”
“She's been in prison. You did.”
“Nadia says...well, she thinks you're scary. But if it's true that you once cut off a man's hands, she would have done the same thing to my uncle.”
Elizabeth looked away. She said nothing.
“And Mr. Willis...he likes you. The only thing he feels bad about...he wishes he had known Martin Kessler. Um...you...weren't with him these past two weeks, were you?”
“No. No, I wasn't with Martin.”
“You know what I bet Jasmine? I bet you went to France. I bet you went to see Rada Khoury.”
“I thought about that. But I didn't.”
“Martin asked me to tell you something. Except not right away. He said I should make you say it first.”
“That I love him?”
“I don't know. Are you saying it?”
“Listen, Aisha...Cherokee." A shuddering breath. "I don't think I can handle this right now.”
Aisha had left her. She went into the house through the rear sliding doors. She returned with a mug of steaming coffee and handed it to Elizabeth. They stood in silence a while longer.
“I lost both my parents. You know that," said Aisha.
Elizabeth sipped from her mug.
“I miss them but I don't really feel that they're gone. I feel them with me. They talk to me sometimes. I know they're in heaven because they both died as martyrs. They died for trying to do a good thing.”
Elizabeth thought of Pratt's tape that was still in the duffel, now bubbling from the bottom of her lagoon. She reached to touch Aisha. "I know.”
“That they did a good thing? Or that they're still with me?”
“I know...that they're still in your heart.”
“Not just in my heart. They're here. They're not gone. Martin Kessler isn't gone either.”
Elizabeth sighed deeply. "Cherokee...listen. It's good you have your faith...”
“I'm not talking about Islam. This isn't just Islam. Martin Kessler is a martyr by anyone's faith. He's a martyr even if you have no faith at all.”
Aisha reminded her of what Martin had done. He saved Dr. Leidner, all those tourists near the bomb. "He saved us when we were chasing him because that thing he found on board would have poisoned us, too. He saved all the other people who would have died if the rest of those warheads were used. If that's not a martyr, what is it?”
“A lunatic.”
Aisha stared at her. Angrily. "You shouldn't have said that.”
Elizabeth reached for her. Aisha backed away.
“Okay. I'm sorry. But you just don't know Martin. If he could hear you, calling him a martyr...”
“Then a hero. Is that better? That way it's not religious.”
Elizabeth didn't know how she could explain. Martin's not a hero. He simply does things. He has a mind that...well maybe it's not actually deranged ...it's a mind that doesn't think, it just does.
“Last chance, Elizabeth.” Martin’s voice in her mind. “Fess up. Tell Aisha you love me.”
“Damn you, Martin...”
“Say it, Elizabeth. I don't have all day. Leyna Bandari has asked me to play tennis.”
Oh, God. Don't start this, said Elizabeth to herself.
“After that she wants to cool off and go swimming but I think I've had enough water for awhile.”
“Aisha, honey...look, let's go inside.”
“It's Cherokee. She just told you. Get it straight.”
“Aish...Cherokee, I loved him. I did.”
“That’s past tense.” Martin’s voice. “Why past tense? I'm here talking to you.”
“And he loves you. He still does," said the girl.
“I know." The tears began to well again.
“So do I. If you'll let me.”
“No matter what?" She dabbed at her eyes.
“There isn't any no matter what.”
Elizabeth hugged her. So generous. So kind A beautiful moment, but Martin kept talking. “Your Ingram, your big knife, are sunk with that duffel? You're not Ozzie and Harriet quite yet, Elizabeth. Even that woman in your driveway keeps a weapon.”
“I'm not going to do this. I'm not talking to you.”
“Except I don't think anyone will come looking for you now. But they'll be spotting me, like Elvis, all over Europe. You wait and see if they don't.”
“Martin...”
Forget it.
She asked Aisha, “Is that Jasmine or Nadia who brought you?”
“It's Jasmine. She's waiting out front.”
“Let's go ask her in. I'll put on some breakfast.”
“She'd like that. I'd like that very much.”
“After that we'll see what we can do about your hair.”
End
Note: Stride, Aisha and – possibly – Martin Kessler are back in Bannerman’s Ghosts and The Aisha Prophecy. In this last, so is Harry Whistler whom you may have met in Whistler’s Angel.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY ONE
THIRTY TWO
THIRTY THREE
THIRTY FOUR
THIRTY FIVE
THIRTY SIX
THIRTY SEVEN
THIRTY EIGHT
THIRTY NINE
EPILOGUE
John R. Maxim, Haven
