Strange Tide Read Free Page A

someone stirred in uneasy sleep. Those awake kept silent, such was their fear of discovery.
    Only Ali Bensaud made a sound. He shook his head and whispered, ‘It’s taking too long. Why won’t he run the engine?’
    Ismael Rahman shrugged. ‘He says his company doesn’t give him enough gasoline to make the round trip. He is lying. He’s pocketing the money.’
    Ali passed his friend the Russian vodka bottle that had been refilled with
bokha
. Ismael took a swig that caught in his throat. He wiped his mouth. ‘I keep thinking it was wrong to run away.’
    â€˜Half of bravery is running away, brother,’ said Ali.
    â€˜But my business is in Tripoli. To leave my homeland—’
    â€˜What is homeland?’ Ali shook his head. ‘I have no loyalty to Libya. My parents are Armenian. My name is short for Alishan; that’s a traditional Armenian name.’
    â€˜You tell me this once a day,’ said Ismael. ‘But you’ve lived there all your life—’
    â€˜Yes, and now I will live somewhere else. I will make it to England and be more English than the most English man alive.’ His grin shone in the dark. ‘I will make so much money that we will wash in it. You know why? The English are Britons, and where did they first travel from? Armenia! Libya is your homeland, not mine. What is left for me there?’ He shifted closer, lowering his voice. ‘The Martyrs Brigade is using missile launchers on its own people. You’ve seen such things with your own eyes. I have a clever tongue, but how many more times could I get caught by the militiamen and talk my way out of it? My own father threatened to turn me in. You know this to be true.’
    â€˜You put all those things online, Ali, you kept a diary for everyone to read,’ said Ismael. ‘I warned you often enough.’
    â€˜Yes, and perhaps I was wrong to do so. What’s done is done. Sooner or later they were going to come for me. My luck was all used up, brother. This was the only way. What other option did we have? All will be well now. We’re going to a land where people don’t even bother to count the things they own. We’ll look out for each other, just as we’ve always done. I will look after you. We will be well,
insha’allah
. Now try to get some rest.’
    â€˜How can I sleep?’ Ismael moaned. The gunwale was digging into his back. ‘We should have been picked up by now. There are NATO boats out there, and American Navy SEALs.’
    â€˜They’re looking for oil-runners,’ Ali reminded him, ‘not a bunch of people trying to get to somewhere with a McDonald’s. We’re not important to them. Let me take your mind off such things. Want me to show you a magic trick? It’s a new one.’
    But Ismael shook his head. Even Ali’s sleight-of-hand games couldn’t help him relax tonight.
    They could not sleep; their excitement was too great. They sat side by side with their chins on their knees, and an itchy grey blanket that smelled of engine oil wrapped around their shoulders. There was no coastline. There was no horizon at all. No world existed beyond the overcrowded cargo vessel with the silver jellyfish on its hull. The boat had been freshly painted and had looked smart enough when they first saw it from a distance, but it was much smaller than they had been led to believe, and was barely seaworthy. It had no lifeboats, no radar, no crew except the captain and his mate. They had cut the engine to conserve fuel and now they were adrift.
    The escape route ran from North Africa to Greece and Italy, but since the start of the crisis the borders were closing up across Europe. The EU’s border security force was now planning to line the Greek–Turkish frontier with a reinforced steel fence, and Israel was talking of doing the same with its Egyptian border in the Sinai Desert. Until recently it had been