Those in Peril (Unlocked) Read Online Free PDF Page B

relish. His elegant manners seemed out of place in these surroundings.
    Before leaving he paused at the hatch and waved his thanks to the chef. Then he went up on the stern deck where the crew were permitted to exercise or to relax in their off-duty periods. He looked up at the sickle moon. He felt a deep longing to pray here under this symbol of his faith. He wanted to expunge the memory of the Christian whore and make atonement for the sacrilege he had been forced to commit with her by his grandfather’s orders. But he could not pray out here. There was too great a danger of being observed. He had let it be known on board that he was a Roman Catholic from Marseille. This explained his North African complexion.
    Before he went below he looked to the northern horizon and was able to fix the direction of Mecca in his memory. He went down to his tiny cabin, collected his wash bag and towel, and went along the passage to the shower and toilet that were shared by all the lower deck crew. He washed his face and body carefully, brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth in ritual purification. When he had dried himself he knotted the towel around his waist, returned to his cabin and bolted the door. He took his kitbag down from the rack above his bunk and unpacked his silk prayer mat and his spotless white prayer caftan. He spread the mat on the deck facing Mecca, whose direction he had calculated from the yacht’s heading. There was barely enough space on the deck for the mat. He slipped the caftan over his head and let the hem fall to his ankles. He stood at the foot of the rug and whispered a short introductory prayer in Arabic. He did not wish to chance being overheard by any of his shipmates as they passed his cabin door:
    ‘In the sight of Allah the Merciful and of his prophet I declare that I am Adam Abdul Tippoo Tip and that from the day of my birth I have embraced Islam and I am now and have always been a true believer. I confess my sins in that I have cohabited with the infidel and have taken unto myself the infidel name of Rogier Marcel Moreau. I pray your pardon for these deeds; which I have committed only in the service of Islam and of Allah the Most Merciful and not by my own wishes or desires.’ Long before Rogier’s birth his sainted grandfather had taken the precaution of sending his pregnant wives and the wives of his sons and grandsons to give birth to their offspring on the tiny island of Réunion in the south-eastern corner of the Indian Ocean. By a happy chance his grandfather had himself been born on the island and so he knew just how convenient this birthplace was. Réunion Island was a directorate of Greater France and thus any person born on its rugged black volcanic slopes was a citizen of France and entitled to all the rights and privileges which that entailed. Two years previously at the beginning of the present operation, and at the insistence of his grandfather, Adam had formally changed his name by deed poll in the directorate of Auvergne in France and had been issued with a new French passport. As soon as he had delivered his personal appeal to Allah, Rogier began the evening prayer with the Arabic salutation:
    ‘I intend to offer four Rakats of the Isha prayer and face the Qibla, the direction of Mecca, for the sake of Allah and Allah alone.’ He commenced the complicated series of bowing, kneeling and prostrating as he whispered the required prayers. When he had finished he felt enlivened and powerful in body and in faith. It was time for the next move against the infidel and the blasphemer. He removed his prayer robe and rolled it into the silk rug, and returned both items to the bottom of the large kitbag. Then he dressed in a pair of denim jeans, a dark shirt and black windcheater. Next he brought down his rucksack from the luggage rack above his bunk, and opened the side flap of one of the pockets. He took out a black Nokia mobile phone. It was an identical model to the one he used for