Refugee

Chapter Twelve - Kos.

The ferry from Bodrum left right on time at 9:30 the next morning, it was a short crossing. Just over an hour later, Jordan was walking along the road from the harbour in Kos. The sun peeked through rolling clouds that tumbled over a calm sea. He stopped on the deserted promenade, sitting down on one of the wooden benches beneath the tall palm trees. A bicycle approached; then glided almost silently behind him on the cycle path.

Looking out to sea, he could easily make out the dark grey shape of the Turkish mainland. He took his phone from the pocket of his jeans, studied the screen a moment, thinking what he was going to say. Then he found the boys' number and hit call.

There was a short gap before it rang, once, twice... Jordan looked out across the path and railings at the gently moving waves. "Ello...," the voice at the other end answered.

"It's Jordan... is that you Amar?" he asked.

"Yes, Mister Jordan. How do you doing?"

It was difficult not to smile; he didn't recall that Amar dropped his  Hs. Always the joker, perhaps he was laying on the foreign accent a bit thick. "I'm doing fine, Amar. I'm in Greece."

"Good for you, Mister Jordan. We are all still here."

"Is everything okay there?" Jordan hoped there hadn't been any problems.

"Everything is good. Don't worry. Hey, Firas wants to say hello."

"Jordan," that was Firas' voice, "it is so good to hear from you. Did you have a nice trip?"

"Yes, Firas," Jordan liked the boy a lot. Despite all the stuff he'd been through, he always seemed cheerful. Always willing to help people, never one to put himself first. "And you? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, everything is okay. Mehmet is kind, Fadil is also kind. I'm helping in the kitchen sometimes."

"Okay, good," Jordan replied. "And Samir?"

"Yes, Samir too. He is good. Don't say much, but a word sometimes. He's got Amar. Those two... you know."

Yes, he did know. Jordan could easily recall those two having sex in the hotel room. He'd not said anything, but it hadn't escaped his attention. That incident and the way the two of them were with each other all the time.

"Well good," Jordan told him. "I'll call again tomorrow. I'm off to meet my uncle now."

"Goodbye, Jordan."

The line went dead. As he replaced the phone in his pocket, he kept thinking about Firas. He was he supposed the one on his own, but then the three of them were a tight knit group, even if the other two had something going on between them. He stood up and continued on to the marina. Once there it was easy to find Uncle Ted's yacht, even though he'd never seen it before, the marina was not very big, and he'd got precise directions.

Ted and Jordan had done quite a bit of sailing together back home, but that was a few years ago and on a different boat. It was his uncle who more or less taught him all he knew about sailing, and it was his uncle who pushed him to get qualified. Which he had, at least as far as coastal navigation. That was after all what they had done back in Virginia, but they had done quite a few weekends and some holidays sailing the Chesapeake Bay and even up the Potomac. Uncle Ted was a long time member of the Virginia Yacht Club, based near Deltaville at Dozier’s Marina.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Jordan smiled at his uncle standing at the other end of the gangplank.

"Jordan!" Uncle Ted exclaimed. "Come onboard, lad, we've been waiting for you."