“And leave you here? That’s stupid. Why can’t we all go?”
“Because Tariq and I have unfinished business and somebody has to tell the authorities. Just stay on the road until you reach Bilbao. Find the garrison for Guardia Civil. Explain what’s happened – the terrorist attack on the camp and how you managed to escape. Somebody will need to get up there. There may still be survivors. They’ll need help. Then call the university.”
“I don’t understand. What about him?” she nodded toward Tariq. “And you. What am I supposed to say?”
“Nothing. As far as anyone needs to know, he doesn’t exist and you have no idea what became of me.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. “You’re not serious…” she said at last. “Are you? I mean you can’t just disappear.”
Corbett said nothing. Clearly troubled, Ella managed a slow nod, staring into his eyes, unable to look away as the reality set in. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”
“Hard to say. Never’s a long time,” he half grinned then took her by the arm. As he started to help her climb into the front seat behind the wheel, she turned back. Framing his face in her hands, she drew him to her. He started to resist but couldn’t. The moment lingered, their lips barely touching until he finally found the will to end it.
“You’d better go,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. She slipped behind the wheel. Stepping back at last, he shut the driver’s side door. She looked up at him, her eyes holding his. Having expected to be the one to end it, she now found herself filled with an unexpected sense of loss. The words of a half-remembered poem filled her mind: “The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing alive enough to have the strength to die...”
Turning away at last, she engaged the clutch.
He watched as she slipped it into first. The Rover shuddered and threatened to stall. But she double-clutched and stepped on the gas. Lurching forward, it regained the road. Then shifting gears, she drove off. He watched until the taillights disappeared.
Reaching down, Corbett unzipped the side pocket of his cargo pants and took out the LED flashlight. Turning, he looked at Tariq.
“Ready?”
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
Taking a half-dozen steps onto the beach, Corbett stared out across the wine-dark sea. There, perhaps 500 meters from shore, what appeared to be a fishing trawler rode at anchor just beyond the breakwater. He raised the light and began to signal: SHORT-LONG-SHORT. No response. He signaled again. Still nothing. He glanced at Tariq who showed no sign of emotion.
Then without warning, a lamp mounted on the afterdeck of the ship sent back the same reply. Corbett countered by repeating the code twice in quick succession. From across the water came the sound of an outboard motor as a launch carrying three sailors started for shore.
“That’s it. Let’s go.” Corbett motioned toward the swiftly approaching outboard.
Crossing the sand together, the two men moved quickly down to the water’s edge. Neither spoke as an awkward silence enveloped the moment. Beyond the rocky promontory, the beached fishing boats huddled together like silent witnesses.
“You okay…?” Corbett asked at last, breaking the silence.
Tariq nodded, struggling to put into words what needed to be said. “Back in Xeria, the moment I heard you had come for me, my first thought was to refuse. To send you away, even fight you if it came to that. But after they bombed the clinic and I saw the devastation – the look on Amaia’s face, her fear for our daughter – I knew there could be no other way. To stay would make things worse. That the only way to save them, was for me to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” Corbett said. “Sometimes no matter which way you cut it, it’s a bad deal.”
“That is life.” Tariq replied, his voice now filled with resignation. “Insha’Allah… Whatever Allah intends, so shall it be.”
Slipping past the breakwater, the launch made its way toward the shore. Stopping twenty meters out, the helmsman cut the motor to an idle.
“That’s as close as he can get,” Corbett turned to face his friend one last time. “You’ll have to wade out.”
“So, this is it… How do I thank you?”
“Just be your father’s son.” He took Tariq’s hand in his own. The two men embraced.
Separating, the Iraqi nodded. “Until we meet in a better place.” Then turning, he started to wade out to the waiting launch.
Corbett watched as the sailors helped Tariq into the boat. Then turning, they started back toward the waiting trawler. He was still staring after them when he heard the whine of the pickup’s engine as it raced along the road from the village. Unslinging the carbine from his shoulder, he turned and started back toward the beached boats on the run.
As the lights of the Ford pickup appeared out of the darkness, Corbett raced for the cluster of hulls and threw himself down into a firing position behind them.
*****
Having driven past the outskirts of Elantxobe with no sign of the Land Rover, Jarral had begun to despair that somehow Tariq had managed to escape. But as they approached the beach beyond, he noticed what appeared to be some sort of launch heading back through the breakwater. At this hour, who else could it be? Looking beyond, he spotted the fishing trawler anchored several hundred meters out. Pointing, he began to shout.
“There…” he cried. “Over there! The boat…!”
Leaving the surface of the roadway, the Ford lost traction in the sand as Jarral urged Furag to go faster. Completely fixated on the motor launch, Jarral had failed to notice the American as he raced back from the water’s edge and disappeared behind the overturned
