Danny was silent; there was a soft knock on the outer door. Danny went and opened it to admit Lisa. Obviously he had sent for her. He brought her into the cabin; she looked quizzically at me sitting on his bed.

“No; I didn’t get lucky. We’re heading for Alexandria.”

“Shit!”

“My thoughts entirely! Danny, I can’t leave the boat in Egypt.”

The voyage had been intended to end in Rhodes and we were intended to disembark there to fly back to the UK.

“Tell me what happened”.

I told him my story. He listened silently, only visibly reacting slightly on hearing that I’d actually been kidnapped as a male.

“OK, I get that you would be scared of going ashore, but there is no reason to expect that anyone is looking for you. After all, you were bought out of captivity; it’s not like you escaped” he eventually said.

“Scared is enough for me! If our cruise ends in Alexandria, I would have to fly out of Egypt. I’m not doing that!”

“If you don’t fly from Egypt, you’ll have to stay until Muscat. That’s going through Suez, stopping at Sharm el Sheikh and then a long haul down the Red Sea, past the Horn of Africa to Muscat, with maybe a stop in Salalah if we need fuel. That’s two weeks and through dangerous waters. There are both Somali and Yemeni pirates in this area so we’ll be travelling as fast as reasonable for the fuel load with a constant watch. And it’ll take at least two weeks. There’ll be no guests on board so I presume you girls won’t get paid”.

“I don’t care about being paid. We can help you with the watches.”

I hadn’t consulted Lisa on any of this, but she raised no objection. We were due to resume in college and this would probably delay us.

“Sorry Doll, if I was taking extra security on board, they would be army guys.”

“We don’t have to shoot to watch out, and I can shoot the Bren, SLR, and BAP.”

BAP is army shorthand for Browning Automatic Pistol, ubiquitous in Western armies at the time. SLR was the British Army self- loading rifle, identical to the FN used in Ireland but without the automatic function. The Bren gun had been originally produced for the old WW2 British .303 round and was still used in this calibre in the Irish reserves; the British had converted it to the NATO 7.62mm.

Danny looked sceptical.

“Where did you learn that?”

“FCA, the Irish version of your Territorials”.

Danny said nothing but went over to the drawers under the cabinet where I had already seen the Brens and SLRs stored. He fiddled around with his back to me, turned around suddenly and dropped a BAP on the table.

“OK, show me”.

The pistol had a magazine in it. This to me was bad practice as a gun should be visibly demonstrated as unloaded when passed between people in this circumstance. I picked the pistol up, pointed it into the corner away from everyone, dropped out the magazine, locked back the action and showed Danny and Lisa the empty chamber.

Danny just nodded; Lisa asked what she was supposed to see.

“That the gun is not loaded; look here, no bullet”.

I stick my finger into the breech end of the barrel to show her where to look.

“You always do this when you pick up a gun; I think Danny was giving me a little test”.

He nodded.

I field stripped the BAP on the table, reassembled it, checked it worked, then pulled back the slide, locked it open and passed it back to Danny.

“Can you do that with the SLR and Bren?”

“SLR, yes, but I’d be a lot slower with the Bren”.

“What about this?”

He opened the next drawer down and took out a Stirling Sub Machine gun. I shook my head.

“We used the Gustav SMG”

“Not much difference”, Danny shrugged

“We need to get back to the Birdcage”, Lisa was watching the time. We needed to get breakfast, shower, change, and appear at the pool at 11am.

“Before you go, where were you held in Alexandria?”

“Actually it was Cairo, the place was called “Ali’s Coffee House”… I don’t know the street name”.

I had never thought to ask where I was being held. It seemed irrelevant at the time, and I suppose no one would have told me anyway!

“Why do you ask?”

“I might just have it checked out… routine really. My Cairo contacts wouldn’t find it too much of a burden to have to go there on expenses!”

“There was one girl, Mayda, who looked after me. I’m sure she was kidnapped too; I saw marks on her ankles”.

“Did she not tell you?”

“We never talked about our stories; we weren’t allowed and all that mattered was the present and the future. Who had been bought out, who had several visits from the one man and might be bought by him, that kind of thing”.

“What about Mayda?”

“Just how she’s doing… she’s very pretty so probably has been bought out by now…”

“We’ve really got to go”, Lisa was now getting anxious.

We headed back to the Birdcage, quickly showered and changed and ate a light breakfast. Annette and Angeline were both there, discussing where they would go this year; they were leaving the boat in Alexandria. We arrived at the pool in reasonable time and slipped back into our familiar routine. After lunch, Danny called me over the intercom to go to the security cabin. There was some joking about me being in trouble now as I got my bikini top back on and slipped on a short, white A-line miniskirt.

As I was making my way to the security cabin, another announcement, by Clive this time, said that there would be some test firing of weapons at the stern of the boat in preparation for going through the Red Sea. Danny met me at the security cabin door and we headed off to the stern. Plastic canisters from the galley were lined up to be the targets; environmental awareness was less developed in the 1980s! We could hear some chatter on the pool deck above as some of the guests came to look at the practice. Danny handed me a BAP and a magazine; I faced aft loaded and put a round up the breech. He then threw a canister over the stern. My first shots were bad, then, although the target was receding, I began to hit it as I steadied up and remembered my training. When I had emptied the magazine I got a round of applause from the pool deck. As the target was now too far away for a pistol, Danny handed me an SLR. I dropped to one knee, steadied the rifle on the rail, and started to get hits after about three rounds. Another round of applause!

When the rifle magazine was empty, Danny showed me how to hold the Sterling, load and unload the magazine. After a few minutes, when I was comfortable, he handed me a full magazine. I loaded and waited as he threw the next target overboard. I started to fire very short bursts with the Sterling, often just two rounds, tapping and releasing the trigger rapidly, and soon the target was full of holes and sinking.

“Nice technique for the ranges but you might need to be a bit more generous with the lead if someone’s firing back”.

Clive had arrived with a Bren gun which he proceeded to attach to the railing. The spectators had apparently bored of the spectacle and had gone back to lazing around the pool. He gestured to me to take the gun. I checked the breech and adjusted the sights to 200m. It could have been yards, it didn’t really matter. Clive passed me a full magazine. This was different to what I had used before; a straight magazine with 7.62mm rounds, not the curved .303 inch magazine that I had used before. Other than that, no real user difference. Danny threw another target… I let it drift astern, then demolished it on my first burst of about 4-5 rounds.

“Ok, you can shoot: Just remember it’s very different when the target shoots back! You’d better get back to your charges or they’ll start to miss you.”

Danny seemed happy enough with my shooting and I now expected that he was going to keep us on until Muscat, otherwise why bother?

There was some good-natured joking when I arrived back at the pool deck and I was temporarily renamed Annie, as in Annie Oakley. The rest of the day passed as normal and the following morning the SuperYacht was moored in the Eastern Harbour at Alexandria, the same harbour as Aristotle’s yacht had moored a lifetime ago. I had expected this; this boat could not get into the marinas further West. The official boat was already alongside and some additional security personnel had already boarded.

“You know we suspect that it was one of our local security men who set me up to be abducted?” I remarked to Danny who was leaning on a rail looking at the shore.

“Not one of these guys”, he remarked. “They’re military police unofficially rented from the army.”

Somewhat reassured, I headed back to the Birdcage. Annette and Angeline were packing up; they would be leaving as soon as the last guests had departed. When the boat came alongside to pick up the guests we dutifully kissed them goodbye and looked forward to meeting them again next year! That done, Annette & Angeline left shortly afterwards in a service boat and Lisa and I had the Birdcage all to ourselves. It actually felt lonely without their constant chatter.

We wandered down to the security cabin to try and find Danny to confirm plans for the next weeks. All we knew at this stage was that our jobs had now finished but we didn’t want to leave the boat here. We found him in the cabin talking to one of the security contractors; he waved us in. The Egyptian security guard looked us up and down as he was leaving. With all the locals around, we had worn our most modest dresses, but these still pushed the local boundaries: We should get some more appropriate attire, but couldn’t go ashore to buy any.

“You’re ok to stay on board to Muscat; no pay, but no charge for food or accommodation either.” He grinned when he included the latter part.

“Thanks Ken, I really needed to hear that!”

“Your friend Mayda”, he continued. “She’s still there.”

“Still there?”

I was very surprised. The turnover of the girls, especially girls as pretty as Mayda, was high as they were bought out as companions or even wives by clients.

“She’s a Syrian Kurd, kidnapped by some Bedu militia and sold on. Kurds have a reputation as being troublesome and of not making compliant wives. Looks like she’s there for the long haul.”

This was devastating news for me. I had always believed, or hoped, that she would have secured as happy a situation as possible in the circumstance.

“Sorry…sorry”

Lisa and Danny said it almost simultaneously: My face obviously betrayed my emotions.

I turned to leave, then a thought…

“Can I buy her? How much would it cost?”

“I’ll give you my money as well.”

This was very generous of Lisa; we had taken the jobs to set us up in London. My giving away my money was bad enough but Lisa would making a great sacrifice as all our fairly substantial summer earnings could be gone.

Danny frowned.

“I don’t know how much it would cost; I’m not much in favour of giving money to scumbags!”

“Maybe we don’t actually have to pay…”. I was developing a plan as I spoke. “I was handed over in some quiet place in Cairo. If your friends could agree a price with an offsite handover, we meet them with guns and simply take her.”

Danny looked surprised.

“That’s the kind of thing I’m supposed to suggest! What would you do with the sellers?”

“Maybe cut his balls off? I’d happily shoot him but I guess that’s illegal.”

“Just to be clear… no unnecessary violence, no matter what your history is with this man. We could maybe get away with stealing, or rather rescuing, a slave, but anything more would draw attention and compromise all of us, this boat and our employer.

Anyway, if you were to dispose of him, what happens the rest of the girls? They’re out on the streets. Believe me, no matter what their situation is now, that’s their worst option”.

I knew he was right.

“You’re not thinking of actually doing this?

Lisa had turned white.

“Do what?”

Clive had just walked in.

“We’re going to steal a girl. Or, to be exact, I am.”

“Haven’t we enough with these two?”

Clive was unperturbed with Danny’s statement. Obviously these two had some history of unusual activities.

“What do you mean, just you?”

I was not happy with his suggestion that I would not be in on the act.

“You’ll need help; there were two of them when I was sold”.

“No f***ing way you’re doing this!”

Lisa was beginning to panic: She never used profanity. Clive put his arms around her and began to rock her gently.

“I know that you can shoot, but you’ve never shot anyone?”

Danny asked that in a way which led me to believe that he had. I shook my head.

“Ever shot at anyone? Ever been shot at?”

Again I shook my head.

“You said yourself that there would be no unnecessary violence, so we’re mainly acting. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past three months.”

I was determined to be in on this.

“Acting? Is that what you call it?”

Clive’s wit was beginning to grate!

“Besides, how do you know if you’ve the right girl? Maybe they recycle the names? And I want to be there! I want to see his face when we do this! I’ve earned it!

“Shsssss…”

Danny put a finger to his lips… my voice had been rising. He caught be at the hips and gently pushed me down onto a chair.

“This is just madness… yesterday you fainted at the thought of even docking here… now you’re wanting to go ashore and do…this…”

Lisa was finding it hard to describe the planned escapade… was it theft, a rescue, a kidnapping?

“Yesterday I wasn’t thinking of going ashore with a gun and guarded by a spook!”

“We prefer Intelligence Officer” Danny grinned, thus inadvertently divulging his previous occupation. I had guessed as much. He and Clive were obviously ex military and, almost certainly officers. The British army had, and probably still has, somewhat of a class divide between officers and soldiers.

“You may have a point”, he continued. “Although no matter what, we’ll probably have to go through with the job once it starts. Assuming it is the right girl, you can keep her calm as we’re getting her back on board, and, if I turn up with a woman in tow, they’ll let their guard down… no one would be mad enough to get involved in this with a woman…”

“They don’t know some of the women we’ve worked with!”

Clive was still in fine form. Clearly neither he nor Danny were in the least bit concerned with the situation. He was still holding Lisa, who started to sob…

“Please don’t do this, let the lads take care of it… they know what they’re doing.”

I stood up and kissed her tears away.

“I’ll be ok… Danny will see to that.”

“Can you take Lisa for a walk?”

Danny wanted to get down to business.

**********************************.***.*****.***********

We were sitting in an old Peugeot 405 parked along the side of a quiet square. The run up to this point had been hectic as we only had two days before the SuperYacht sailed. Only Clive, Danny, Lisa and I were aware of the job in hand; the Greek skipper (are all Yacht skippers Greek?) had been kept in the dark as he would have vetoed the idea. I had funded the job with £1,000 from my earnings to pay some local associates of Danny; he didn’t want to be seen to use any of his employer’s funds, and I had to backpay him for the initial recce, as it would amount to embezzlement. Lisa was still unhappy, but reconciled to my going.

The story and plan were fairly simple. A local associate of Danny would agree a price for Mayda, on behalf of a procurer for a private collection, subject to a final check over at the handover. The handover would be off site in order not to alert local police of the presence of this procurer who believed that Mastar’s place was under at least sporadic police surveillance. This was believable as it was probably true. The location would be remote in order to be able to spot the arrival of any unwanted attention.

“Charlie, Oscar, Delta, Figures Bravo, Papa.”

The rather bulky HF radio crackled into life. The message indicated that Mastar had left the brothel, with Mayda, and one other person… obviously one of the Goons… same as when I had been sold. It also indicated that the sender was in loose pursuit of Mastar. There was no need for a close pursuit as they knew already where he was going. Danny shut down the radio and hefted it into the boot. It was impossible to hide in the car and it’s constant hissing and squeaking would betray its presence if left on.

He sat back into the drivers’ seat.

“Remember, move fast when you have to, and don’t get between me and them.”

He was only nervous because I was a rookie. I squeezed his knee…

“Don’t worry Ken, I’ll be careful.”

I was wearing a long brown shapeless dress, like that worn by local observant women. I had a large white scarf or veil around my head and across my mouth and nose. This was uncommon at the time in Cairo, but sometimes seen. My relatively white hands and feet had been overpainted with tan and then decorated with henna by Lisa. After some discussion, I had been given a Walter PPK as the Browning Pistol showed up as a weight in the pocket of my dress. Danny had his Browning in a concealed shoulder holster; in his supposed line of work it wouldn’t cause much comment even if noticed.

An old Mercedes pulled slowly into the square. Everyone in Cairo seems to drive these. Danny got out and stood beside the Peugeot. The Mercedes stopped about three car lengths away. Mastar got out of the driver’s seat and stood looking at Danny. I had to struggle to retain my composure; even in this situation I realised that I was still terrified of him.

Deep breaths, calm down, don’t blow this.

Mastar looked at the Peugeot; I was visible inside. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his robe; I had never seen him stand with his hands in his pockets in this way. He spoke in Arabic.

“You’re not alone; who’s that.”

“A woman, to check the girl”.

“Let me see her.”

I didn’t move. Danny and I had agreed that I would only react to his instructions. Danny turned to the car and said, abruptly, in Arabic.

“Woman, get out.”

I got out and moved to the front of the Peugeot, eyes and head slightly down. Mastar looked at me, grunted, looked back at Danny.

“The money.”

“First we see the girl.”

Mastar looked back towards the Mercedes and beckoned with his left hand. He was right-handed, and his right hand was still in his pocket. A goon stepped out and dragged a figure from the back seat. She was covered completely in a big Afghan dress, similar to the one I was hidden in when brought out to be sold. I recognised the goon. We called him Abdul Ali, probably not his real name. He wasn’t the worst of the goons; slightly human, he had occasionally mentioned that he was saving to send his two sons to college so that they wouldn’t have to work in a brothel like him. He brought the girl forward slowly. She was taking very short steps and I guessed that she was shackled. Even Mastar must be nervous of the reputation of the Kurds!
The goon stopped beside Mastar with the girl.

“Come on woman, be quick!”

Danny was enjoying bossing me about; we had agreed that he would treat me as a lower form of life in keeping with our roles. I came forward and lifted the big dress off the girl; it was Mayda. Her eyes looked scared; she couldn’t talk as she was gagged. She was wearing a dancing costume, her hands were handcuffed behind her back and she had shackles on her feet. I started a pretence of an inspection, opened her top to look at her breasts, pulled her skirt aside to look at her legs. Behind Mastar and Abdul Ali, and across the square, I saw a dim red light flash three times; the backup was in place. These were the two locals who had followed Mastar and were now in place both as backup, in case things turned nasty, and to see that we weren’t disturbed.

I turned to Danny.

“The keys”

I pointed to Mayda’s handcuffs and shackles as if I wanted to undo them before continuing my check. Mastar didn’t wait for Danny to repeat my request. He pulled some keys from his left pocked and held them up.

“When I get my money.”

Danny nodded.

“Come on woman, help me with the seat.”

Before hurrying over, I caught Mayda and swept her legs to the side and left her sitting on her Afghan dress. This was to get her below the line of fire should any shooting start.

“If she falls and gets marked I’ll be blamed”,

I said to Danny as I moved to the right-hand side of the car, leaving Danny on the left, where Mastar, Abdul Ali and Mayda were standing, or, in the latter case, sitting. We both opened the rear door as if getting ready to lift the seat, the inference being that that’s where the money was.

“I think he has a gun, right pocket” I whispered as we fumbled a bit, then on Danny’s “now” we both picked up a Sterling SMG from the back floor and swung to confront Mastar and Abdul Ali, cocking the guns at the same time. This was deliberate; we could have left the guns cocked and on “safe”, but cocking a gun tends to frighten the opposition. To add to the apparent menace, both Sterlings were fitted with silencers which made them look bigger and more intimidating.

Abdul Ali jumped before he recovered his wits and stood still, facing Danny, trembling. I was leaning my Sterling on the roof of the car, watching Mastar. He didn’t move, but kept his right hand in his robe pocket.

“Take your hand out of your pocket… it better come out empty or I’ll blow your ugly head off!”

Danny’s voice was growling, menacing and frightening. I had never seen this side of him. Mastar slowly took his hand out of his pocket and raised them as Danny gestured with the SMG. I collected some cable ties from the back seat and moved around behind Mastar and Abdul Ali.

“Abdul Ali, you son of a rabid bitch. Do what your told and you’ll live to see your two sons finish college.”

The fact that I knew so much about him would serve to further undermine his confidence. He practically whimpered.

“Please, I am only a servant. Don’t shoot me. I won’t cause any trouble.”

“I know that; it’s only a concern for you if you live or die, it’s all the same to me. Put your legs together!”

I couldn’t emulate Danny’s growl, so I adopted a sweet, menacing tone. Abdul Ali stood with his feet together and, with my Sterling on my lap, I knelt behind him and cabletied his ankles together. This was the most dangerous part of the job; had he turned on me, Danny would have had to shoot him and likely Mastar. Luckily, his cowardice served him well. I was tempted to push him off balance onto his face, but couldn’t bring myself to do it; he really wasn’t the worst of the Goons. I cabletied his hands behind his back and left him standing precariously; one move and he’d likely smash his face on the ground as he fell over.

Abdul Ali now hors de combat, I looked at Mayda; she was looking up at me quite wide-eyed. I gave her a thumbs up, hoping she’d remember a gesture I’d often used with her to indicate that I was OK. I couldn’t tell if she recognised it from her reaction. I moved behind Mastar and cabletied his feet, then his hands, leaving him standing as well. From behind, I put my hand into his right pocket, felt the handle of a gun, and pulled out a well preserved old British Army Webley. I broke it open; five rounds with one chamber empty. Very sensible to leave an empty chamber under the hammer in a gun this old. I tipped the rounds out into my palm silently and slipped them into my pocket. I dipped into his left pocket and took out the keys. I snapped the revolver shut and walked around partly in front of Mastar, but not blocking Danny’s line of fire, even though the danger now was minimal. I slipped the revolver into my pocket and held the Sterling in one hand. With my other hand I slowly and deliberately opened my veil and pulled it off my head. Mayda recognised me first; I heard something between a grunt and a squeal into her gag. Then Mastar’s eyes widened as he slowly remembered me… after all I was only another girl, or whatever I was at the time, to him.

I turned to Danny, took out and waved the Webley. Unlike Mastar, Danny had seen me unload it.

“I think I’ll shoot his balls off first?”

“Whatever you think he deserves.”

I aimed the revolver at Mastar’s groin; his composure started to crack.

“Please, by all that’s holy, I swear I’ll compensate you… please don’t hurt me… please don’t kill me….”

He was whimpering… and my fear had gone. He was now just another coward.

“Say your prayers, or whatever you do before you die.”

I was beginning to enjoy this.

“Please..please…don’t…”

I raised the Webley to his groin…

“One, two, three…”

I pulled the trigger and the hammer fell on an empty chamber…

“Shit… bad ammo… I guess I’ll just have to do a head shot…”

A dark blotches appeared on the front of his robe… he had pissed himself. He was whimpering and crying…

“Please…please…”

I lifted the revolver to his face; he still hadn’t realised that it was unloaded.

“Please…please…”

I pulled the trigger… another click… he moaned…

I went around behind him and tipped him on his face; it made a satisfying thud as it hit the ground!

I went over to Mayda and undid her ankle shackles. As agreed with Danny in the planning, I left her gag and handcuffs in place until we got into the car. We simply didn’t know how she’d react and didn’t want to have to try to subdue her if she tried to run away, grab a gun, or something similar.

I slid into the back with Mayda; Danny drove. His shoulders were shaking…

“You OK Ken?”

“Just remind me to never get on your bad side, Doll”, he laughed.

I turned to Mayda and pulled the gag out of her mouth. I remembered how I had felt after being gagged and first offered her a sip of water. She drank, and coughed as some water got caught in her throat.

“Xania, you came back for me!”

“You’re safe now Mayda. We’ll look after you”.

Now wasn’t the time to try to get into nuances. I hadn’t actually come back for her; I had just ended up in Alexandria by chance and Danny had organised the rescue. I got her handcuffs off and we just lay in one another’s arms in the back seat of the Peugeot.

“Will you be able to go home?”

Danny was talking to Mayda in Arabic from the front seat as he drove. She didn’t answer for a few moments, then said, sadly;

“No, I have been dishonoured. My family cannot accept me back.”

Danny switched to English and spoke to me.

“That really means that they would kill her; it’s called an honour killing. We’ll have to get her into the UK.”

The journey back to Alexandria continued interminably involving a switch of cars and clothing for all of us. Mayda and I both wore dresses which I had brought from the SuperYacht. She was uncomfortable with the dress but relented when I explained that she was to look like an Alexandrian hooker. The local security men would see her being brought on board as quite normal whereas they would remember a girl in a dancing costume. They already would have seen me, guessed my role on board, and assumed that I had simply picked up another girl for the party.

Danny and Clive had a quick exchange on the small Motorola VHF sets that they normally carried when we arrived on the quay. We boarded a service boat and took care to approach the SuperYacht slowly and from astern. Clive met us at the bathing platform and Danny handed up the heavy HF radio, now innocuously concealed in what looked like an accordion case, and another case with all the guns. I passed up a bag with our spare clothing, including Mayda’s dancing costume. Clive helped first me, then Mayda on board; the local security guards looked us over, and grinned broadly.

“I see that you’ll be having a pleasant voyage”, one offered as we led Mayda along a companionway to the guest deck. Clive was in front keeping an eye out for normal crew members, but, apart from a bridge watch, all were turned in in anticipation of an early departure. We moved silently to the Birdcage, opened the door, and slid in.

Lisa was sitting up in bed, reading. Silent in response to Clive’s finger to his lips, she jumped up and threw her arms around me and held on as if she’d never let me go. Eventually she released me and I held her hand and introduced her to Mayda as my friend. We’d work on the girlfriend bit later! Mayda didn’t really know how to react and smiled nervously: Lisa went over and kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a small hug. I assumed that communication was going to be a problem as Lisa had no Arabic, and Mayda had no English. Somewhat to my surprise, she responded in good French when Lisa tried that language; I had forgotten that Syria had been a French “Mandate”, actually a form of colony, from the end of the Ottoman Empire to shortly after the Second World War and some French influence remained. At least we had a working language as Lisa and I both had school French and some practice with our previous two companions.

Clive had slipped out. Now he returned with some food that he had picked up from the galley and headed off again. Mayda, Lisa and I sat around for a while nibbling at the food. I noticed that Mayda avoided the ham, and declined our offer of a glass of wine. Neither had been available in the brothel when we were held there together and I hadn’t realised that she was, at least, mildly observant. Eventually we slipped off to bed, Lisa and I together, Mayda in the second bed. We were careful not to “do” anything as we didn’t want to make her uncomfortable on her first night of freedom in over two years.

***********************

The boat was rocking gently when we awoke late the next morning. Mayda also slept late; that was the usual routine for the girls in the brothel, for obvious reasons. As I stepped out of the en-suite “heads” after my shower, I noticed Mayda looking at me.

“You’re a girl now? How? Why?”

Mayda had only known me as a kind of involuntary hermaphrodite, a mukhannathun, and the concept of GRS would have been unknown in her world.

I explained that I could never really be a man again, and now preferred to be a girl. A doctor had “sorted things out”. She was astonished that I preferred to live as a woman, in her world a second-class person. Somewhat tongue in cheek, I explained that this wasn’t how things worked in our world, but that a woman still wasn’t always fully regarded as a man’s equal. It was all a bit nuanced, but we would have time to sort it out. Lisa also explained that she and I were “together” before I was kidnapped and had remained together since my rescue. Mayda’s religion and world view would have seen Lesbianism as a sin, but brothel life had tempered this view. Also the fact that we had started off as a (somewhat) heterosexual couple somewhat alleviated the seriousness of our current transgressions!

“Please forgive me if I seem difficult, ungrateful. I am grateful; just your world is so different”, she eventually said as we finished the breakfast that had been sent up.

Getting dressed raised another issue. We simply did not have any dresses which the now-free Mayda was comfortable to be seen wearing. Rather naively I had expected that her previous incarceration would have removed any inhibitions on dress, but not so. She had a view of what would be appropriate for a free woman to wear and was not sure that we were actually fully free given our apparel. We explained that we used our looks and men’s desire to make our way in the world. She would be free to make her own way and live whatever life she might choose. She looked somewhat dubious.

Danny called in. The skipper was furious; our actions had compromised the boat and the owner! He would be taking the matter up when he reached port. Clearly he could not raise the issue over the radio, or even telephone, as this risked monitoring by the authorities in Egypt but trouble loomed when we got into the Gulf proper!

“Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”, I asked. Talk was a euphemism.

Danny winced; he had had an expectation of my exclusive attention for the rest of the trip once we got Mayda sorted out. Clive had similar designs on Lisa. Danny had spoken in English, for Lisa’s benefit, and I translated for Mayda.

“Why would he listen to you, a woman, if he does not listen to a man?”, she asked.

“Remember what I was saying about how a woman can get on in our world?”

“You mean that you have to have sex with him to stop him causing trouble over me?”

“Maybe.”

Mayda looked unhappy.

“It is not right that you should have to do this for me. I’ll talk to him.”

There did appear to be a contradiction in Mayda’s mindset; this was the woman who didn’t want to wear a short tight dress.

“Maybe we’re not a free in your world as you think?”, she added.

Lisa and I were both silent; she had a point.

“You can’t go to the Skipper; he’ll likely blow a gasket.”

I translated Danny’s colloquialism for Mayda and added that we had rescued her from prostitution and didn’t want to see her coerced back into the role.

“But you are prepared to do it!”, she retorted.

“Yes, because I don’t see it the same way as you. For me it’s not a problem; you see things differently, you are a more honourable person!”

This conversation was getting uncomfortable. The inference from what I had just said painted Lisa and myself as two whores.

“These were choices we made”, Lisa eventually said. “Maybe not the most honourable, but some good has come as you are now free”.

Mayda’s eyes started to mist over.

“I’m sorry, I do not mean to offend. You’ve all done so much for me and I don’t understand your world yet.” She brightened up a bit. “But I did enjoy seeing you make Mastar wet himself like a young boy!”

Danny and I both laughed, Mayda joined in, Lisa gave me a raised eyebrow query. Danny spotted this and realising that we hadn’t gotten around to telling her the story, explained my terrorising Mastar. We all had a second laugh.

“I’ve just remembered, I still have the revolver. Can I keep it?”

“Not on board, but I’ll give it back to you when you’re leaving the boat in Muscat. Remember that you’ll have to report it to the police in the UK and get a licence when you arrive. The embassy in Muscat might be able to give you a kind of transit letter.”

I passed him the revolver which I fished out of our still unpacked bag of spare clothes. He started to leave but Mayda interrupted.

“Please sit.”

Danny sat down on our bed.

“Xania, sorry I mean Jasmine, will bring me to the Skipper and explain our story. I’ll thank him for carrying me on his boat and explain that I wish to make sure that he is rewarded for his generous act. That is how it will happen!”

She was quite forceful and adamant. She took her dancing costume from the bag of clothes, shook it out and went into the heads to change.

“See what they say about Kurds?”, Danny whispered to Lisa and me. “I’ll leave you girls to it.”

Mayda came back into the cabin in her costume and started to retrieve her jewellery from the bag of clothes. I helped her dress her hair and noticed Lisa watching us in the mirror. Lisa always had an eye for a pretty girl, and I guessed that she rather fancied Mayda. Fortunately, Mayda didn’t appear to notice.

I dressed in one of my dresses, white, tight, with a slit up the right leg. I picked this one as it fully displayed my tattoo. Paired with white heels, I was doing the smart tart bit: Beside me, Mayda looked incredibly exotic and desirable. We headed for the Skipper’s day cabin. I knocked, and entered when called. He looked up and scowled.

Speaking in Arabic which he had to understand given his position, I introduced Mayda and, showing both our tattoos, explained how we were once captives together. I explained that Mayda wished to thank him for his generosity. His scowl was abating as we both smiled. Mayda took over and graciously, and unmistakably, made it clear what was on offer. She twirled around…

“Of course, if you don’t like me…”

“I like you …”,

he interrupted, beckoning her to come over to his side of the desk. I slipped out the door. That was a clever approach I thought. Basically, she had said, in the sweetest way possible, if you’re man enough, you’ll take me up on my offer.

The voyage settled back to its usual routine. By evening we were alongside in the rather uninviting city of Port Said, waiting to start the passage through the Suez canal the next day.