Controlling Interest (35 page)

Natalie could understand how Yasmine got confused. The Interstate exchange where I – 165 met I – 10 at Water Street was a snarl of bridges, tunnels, and underpasses, with conflicting signage that would give the most seasoned truck driver a headache. Natalie, at least, had the advantage of familiarity with the English language and the American interstate system.

Eventually she made it to the USS
Alabama
exit. Veering off the causeway, she entered Battleship Park and parked in the lot next to the battleship. Shaking her head, she got out of the car. Yasmine must have been severely shaken up to have taken this for a military ops base.

She opened the door of the gift shop and looked around. On a Friday morning it was fairly deserted. Most school field trips had been taken long ago, and the summer tourist season wouldn't start for another few weeks. She approached the ticket counter, where a gray-haired woman wearing a navy polo embroidered with the battleship insignia sat reading a magazine.

Natalie greeted her and got down to business. “I'm looking for a dark-haired young woman about my age. She has a Middle Eastern accent . . .”

“Oh, yes.” The woman jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “She's in the café. Just walk through that door.”

Natalie pushed open the glass door, savoring a little shiver of anticipation. She was halfway afraid Yasmine might have slipped away again. But the woman she'd been chasing for over a week sat at a table, sipping at a straw stuck in a can of Sprite. Natalie stopped for a moment and closed her eyes in thankful prayer.

She approached Yasmine with a great deal more caution than she'd exhibited in the Memphis airport. “Yasmine? Remember me?”

Yasmine, tense as a drawn bow, set the soda can on the table. “Hello, Natalie.”

Natalie's emotions cartwheeled. Relief. Joy. A smidge of resentment at the struggle she'd endured just to land in the same room with Yasmine. She smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat across from her erstwhile quarry. “How are you?”

Yasmine sighed. “I am very tired. And confused. And — ” She smiled wryly. “And a little scared of what you will do.”

Natalie spread her hands. “Why? I just want to help. Your father asked my dad to pick you up from the airport. Now that I know why you ran away — ” She halted abruptly. “Yasmine, you're a grown woman, you're in America, and nobody can make you go back to your family if you don't want to.”

Yasmine looked as if she might blurt something out. She pressed her lips together.

“Why didn't you tell them you're afraid of Haq?”

Silence.

Natalie sighed. “Does your family know you're a Christian?”

Yasmine hung her head. “No.” Her voice was a whisper. “I am afraid to tell. And I am ashamed that I am afraid.”

“Dr. Kasuri said it's a very serious thing for a Muslim to convert to Christianity.”

“Who is this Dr. Kasuri?”

“Never mind. Will they really cut you out of the family once they know you're a Christian?”

“I do not know. Probably.” Yasmine hunched her shoulders, pain tightening her face. “I cannot go back to them anyway. So I suppose it does not matter.”

Natalie could tell that it mattered very much. “I'm so sorry, Yasmine.” She fumbled for direction. “Matt and I talked to Zach the other night. He seems like a wonderful man, and he's very worried about you.”

“You talked to Zach?” Yasmine's expression lightened. “Is he well? Can you help me get to him?”

“He said he would be flying back to the States — into Pensacola, in fact — yesterday. Of course I'll take you there.”

“Oh!” Yasmine lit up as if her personal sun had risen. “You are so kind. The good God has listened to me.”

“Matt's over in Pensacola right now, trying to locate him.” Natalie flipped open her cell phone. “Let's see what he's up to.”

Matt cooled his heels in the NCIS outer office while Carothers made arrangements to go in search of Haq. Unable to sit still, he got up and yanked a Dixie cup out of the dispenser next to the water cooler. He filled it, tossed it back in one swallow, and poured another.

Digman, clicking away on the computer behind his desk, gave Matt a sour look. “I could probably find you a bigger glass, sir.”

“No, thanks. I'm just bored. How much longer do you think — ” His cell phone rang. Natalie's number chased across the display. “Hey, Nat. What's up?”

“You're never going to believe who's sitting across from me.”

“Who?”

“Yasmine.”

“No way!”

“Yep. Matt, she's really nice — ”

“I'm sure she is. Just don't let her get away again. I've got news too. I found Zach Carothers.”

“Really? So do you want us to come to you, or what?”

“Sit tight. Where are you, anyhow?”

“In the gift shop of the battleship
Alabama
. You know — the one off the causeway?”

“I passed right by there on my way to Pensacola. It's a little hard to miss.” He paused. “What are you doing there?”

“It's a long story. I'll fill you in later. Right now Yasmine wants to talk to Zach.”

“He's not here. He's gone to finalize some paperwork. I'll have him call as soon as I can.”

“Wonderful. Matt . . .” Silence pulsed for a moment.

“What?” Something in him fluttered at her pause, and he held his breath, although he wasn't sure why.

“Never mind.” The phone clicked in his ear.

He looked at the phone. Most of the time Natalie couldn't keep her mouth shut. Yet the minute he
wanted
her to say something, she went mum as an oyster.

He met Digman's curious gaze and grimaced. “My partner. We don't communicate too well sometimes.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

N
atalie closed the phone and released a big sigh. To Yasmine, her new friend's smile seemed forced.

“Matt said for us not to leave,” said Natalie. “He and Zach are coming here.”

“I can hardly believe it!” Yasmine tweaked the front of her T-shirt. “I wish I had my beautiful clothes back.”

“Yasmine, you could wear a flour sack and look like a super-model.” Natalie's eyes twinkled. “We have a little while. Tell me how you met Zach.”

Yasmine felt herself blush. She had kept her love story close inside for so long, it felt strange to share it with anyone but her journal. “I was very sheltered, as most Pakistani young women are. The only men I knew well were my father and my Uncle Rais. I spent my teenage years in an English boarding school.” She spread her hands. “Then a bit of freedom came when I worked in the embassy in Islamabad.”

“You were a translator, right?”

Yasmine nodded. “I was in the market looking for dinner one evening after work, when some American sailors accosted me. An officer chased them away and escorted me home to my apartment. He was so kind and respectful and spoke perfect Urdu. We met again in the market — accidentally once, then more and more often by assignation. He was so different from my male relatives. He listened to me as if my opinion mattered. He told me about his home. I'd always dreamed of visiting America.”

“I always wanted to travel too.” Natalie smiled.

“It was very strange, my feelings when the plane landed — as you say in America, ‘conflicted,' yes? When I saw you waiting for me, I asked myself hard questions. How could I disappoint such friendliness? How could I do this thing — abandon my family forever, for an American I'd known for only three months? Lose your life, I remind myself.”

“That verse means a lot to me too.” Natalie hesitated. “Although, I have to admit I've probably never experienced the reality of it the way you have. I mean, my parents aren't Christians either, but at least they haven't disowned me.”

The confession warmed Yasmine. “Anyway, I did it — sent you away for coffee and I ran for the exit.”

“You left your clothes and everything. I saw the guys in the electrical van drive away with you.”

“Joey and Leland. Angels sent by God.”

Natalie laughed. “In a really good disguise. Never would have guessed you'd agree to go to a dive like Porky's.”

“I normally would not,” Yasmine agreed. “But I had no choice. And I wasn't there long. There was a big bearded man standing near the door — ”

“That would be Dean.”

“Yes, Dean. He very kindly called a cab for me.”

Natalie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don't know that
kind
is exactly the word I'd associate with Big Dean.” She pushed back her chair. “We've got nearly an hour before the guys will get back across the bay. Come on, let's buy a ticket and wander around the ship while we wait. I've always wanted to see this thing.”

Yasmine shrugged and followed Natalie back into the welcome center/gift shop. She needed something to take her mind off her impatience to see Zach.

Tickets in hand, she and Natalie tromped across the metal gangway onto the
Alabama
. Yasmine stared up at the battleship, squinting against the midmorning sun. A flock of seagulls dodged in screaming circles around its gun turrets, turning the morning to playtime. The ship, nearly twenty stories high, dwarfed her with its bulk and strength. It represented Zach. His service, his loyalty. Now that she was about to be reunited with him, her fear of Jarrar Haq lessened.

A plaque posted beside the first hatch said the ship had been built in 1942 and saw service during World War II from 1943 – 1945. Yasmine had little concept of American naval history except what she'd studied in school. All she knew was that the ship was big, cold, and ruthlessly neat, with what seemed like miles of gray iron and steel stretching in every direction. Natalie led the way through a succession of cabins on the first deck, pointing out the displays set up to represent what the ship would have looked like in its heyday. Fascinating to note the antique machinery — a manual typewriter on a metal desk, radios, radar, and teletype machines. Miraculous that
anybody
could win a war with such equipment.

Clambering behind Natalie up a set of spiral stairs that led from one deck to another, Yasmine found her thoughts wandering from the sailors who had manned this ship over sixty years ago to the man whose influence had brought her here. A knot of nerves returned to claw her stomach. It had been two months since she'd seen or heard from Zach. Did she really know him? He was an American naval officer — an agent, she suspected from the mysterious nature of his assignments. How could she be sure that what he'd told her was truth?

“Hey, Yasmine? You coming?”

Startled, she looked up to find Natalie staring down at her from the top of the stairs. Halfway up, a hand on the rail, she'd been caught in a brown study. “Oh, my — I am sorry. I was thinking about . . .” Natalie wouldn't care. “Nothing.”

Natalie's green eyes softened. “Are you tired? We could find a place to sit for a few minutes. I think there's a lounge type place up here somewhere.”

“No, no. Thank you. I am well.” Yasmine pushed her apprehension away and continued the noisy climb up the narrow stairs. When Zach arrived, everything would be fine.

They emerged at the top in an empty, echoing metal shaft with low ceilings and uneven floors. It felt like a torpedo shaft. A couple of turns through connecting corridors brought them to a row of cell-like rooms with glass windows. The rooms had been appointed as officer's quarters with a narrow bunk and tiny desk taking up all the floor space. A mannequin dressed in a World War II uniform sat in the desk chair, poring over a letter.

Yasmine stared at the dummy's pensive profile, her eyes filling with tears. She jumped when Natalie touched her arm.

“You'll see him in just a little while,” Natalie said softly.

“I'm not — ” Yasmine sighed. Why was she pretending? “What if I misunderstood him? What if I have come all this way for nothing?”

Natalie looked troubled. “There's always a risk, I suppose.” She glanced away. “I'm not the best at figuring out a man's intentions.”

Yasmine walked up to the glass and pressed her hands against it. The mannequin, intent on his letter, ignored her. “I found a note in my Bible after Zach left Islamabad. He said he wanted me to be happy with a man of my own culture. He knew that my family would put me out if they thought I had been converted by the influence of an American Christian. At first I thought he was being noble because he really loved me. But what if he was using me for information?”

“Information? What kind of information?”

Yasmine laid her forehead against the window. She couldn't pinpoint when it had occurred to her. The events of the last eight days had stripped away naïveté until suspicion warred with the desire to believe in the man she loved. Zach had asked many questions about the Haq family. She might be in more trouble than she'd thought. Jarrar's family belonged to a politically conservative sect. Their loyalties were distinctly Muslim. What if Yasmine, tied to the Haqs, was suspected of aiding Al-Qaeda?