Articles liés à MV Ezadeen The Rising Tide of Migrants

MV Ezadeen The Rising Tide of Migrants - Couverture souple

Clark, Mr Nicholas P

 
9781723558108: MV Ezadeen The Rising Tide of Migrants

Synopsis

Prologue 2015, 17th of August / 19:27 / Corigliano Calabro, Italy It was yet another spectacular summer sunset, something the Mediterranean always gives out generously. Filtering the orange glow, flowing down on to the gulf from the forest-covered top of La Sila, through the glass of Chianti he held up slightly, Jack Malaney could not feel anything but grateful for his earlier idea to skip the Mediterranean Security Conference altogether. Instead of that scorching hot concrete wasteland called Naples, he could enjoy this radiant evening in one of his favourite hideouts in the Calabrian countryside. And who knows, he might just get even luckier tonight. “I like that feeling of accomplishment, when a good plan is well executed. But I also find that there is often something poetic when life shakes its dices well and brings up something utterly unexpected,” he said, as a mellow wave of regret washed over him warmly, and he realised that just two glasses of flawless Italian red had brought him to the brink of sentimentality. His dinner partner seemed to approve, however. “Our lives hang on how well we can command the circumstances we face, don’t they, Jack? It is only natural that sometimes we find more joy in unexpected pleasures, since that is a rare gift for people in our profession.” Oh, yes. Their profession. Jack felt a moment of admiration towards the woman sitting across the table. Only two of them were sitting there, on the terrace of Palazzo Castriota, a small medieval palace that had been refurbished into a humble, heart-warming 4 star hotel. Jack had a tab at this place, which was kept off the books. Since it was a silent and secluded place, only a few minutes drive from one of the main coast guard base harbours of the area – an area where rag-tagged barges of refugees reach the shore on a daily basis – it provided a glamorous, but also a strategic view of the gulf for him between the point and heel of the Italian boot. The hotel had become a sanctuary during his busy travels along the Calabrian coastline. The business, however, was far from bustling in these weeks of the summer season, so only two of them enjoyed the sunset dinner. As the southern spirit never borders on the obtrusive, the staff were friendly, welcoming and honest, but rarely tried to over-impress; so the waiter had not paid them a visit for a good ten minutes now. It was only them. Still, Jack and the intelligence people he was working with were pretty much used to being secretive and rarely mentioned anything about their – as the woman put it – “profession” out in the open, even when no one seemed to listen. It was seen as inappropriate, so his guest’s carefree spirit, as she casually referred to the clandestine nature of their past and present work, was slightly odd and equally liberating. He breathed it in, and took a sip from the red wine, enjoying its complex textures. Juliette wore her dark black hair in an elaborate bun, adorned with colourful pearls – a graceful nod at the partly African ancestry of her Yemeni mother. She wore a light, dark brown dress, her figure as graceful and muscled as ever – a commendable feat for a woman at the end of her forties. She looked at Jack with a quizzical grin, the white of her teeth and eyes glowing in the dark of her skin, and from the even darker depths of her brown gaze. If he went to Naples, like he was supposed to, not only would he have missed this glorious sunset and the exquisite taste in his mouth, but also this incomprehensibly slight chance to bounce into an old comrade de guerre, right here in Palazzo Castriota.

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