Escape to San Sebastian (Mystery)

I was so thrilled to reach the semi-final stage in the NYC Midnight 2016 Short Story Challenge with this story, written over the course of three days. NYC Midnight assigned me the following parameters:

Genre: Mystery
Subject: A horoscope
Character: A birdwatcher

Escape to San Sebastian

By Jessica Ramesch 

The megaliner had been in port for 45 minutes already. It had to clear customs, then passengers would be allowed to disembark. Ben stood patiently with the other guides, holding his big sign like a staff.  

Debarkation began soon enough, but only five people zeroed in on Ben. Guides with signs like “Discover Scuba” and “Snorkel with the Stingrays” led away groups of 20 or more. They’d rake in the money and tips.

“Birds of the Rainforest” just didn’t have the same wow factor. But being semi-retired, Ben was happy to have gainful work. He never could stand sitting at home, alone with his thoughts.

“Ok folks, if you’ll follow me, we have a bus waiting. It’s a 20-minute ride to San Sebastian Rainforest Preserve.” Words Ben had said a million times.

Unremarkable faces stared back at him. Some smiled. Some eyed the 200-yard stretch between the gangway and the tour buses apprehensively. What was it with tourists these days? No one wanted to walk anymore.

A young woman with shocking red hair stepped out from behind a rather large, red-faced man. The man didn’t look too happy—he was already panting in the heat—but the the woman wore a look of excitement.

“Um, will there be anywhere to buy souvenirs?” she asked.

Ben smiled. Tourists. They came all the way to paradise, and all they wanted was to buy plastic magnets and and painted feathers. A photo with a native in traditional costume, and the trip was considered a success. “Yep, have to walk through the gift shop to get to the canopy tower,” he replied.

The young lady turned out to be okay, despite her interest in souvenirs. She sat up front on the bus and asked Ben questions about the town and his life in San Sebastian. She struck Ben as one of those new age-y, obsessed with yoga types. Too many necklaces.

At the end of the tour, however, she was one of the few passengers that approached him to tip. She dropped a battered looking journal as she rummaged for ones. Ben reached for it, but she snatched it up.

There was something cagey about the way she shoved the book into her bag. Like it was top secret stuff. Ben caught a glimpse of what looked like an astrological chart on the cover. It was a large circle, and he thought he’d seen the word Taurus and a crude drawing of a bull. Next to it was Aries, the ram. For some strange reason, he wished for a better look.

The ship’s horn began to sound, and the last of the passengers rushed to the gangway to re-embark. He saw a shock of red hair bounce in, then out of view.

Ben watched the vessel until it pulled away from the shore. He had never set foot on a big ship like that. Not since he sailed from Europe at the age of 24.

***

“Ben, where you been all day?” Rock coughed his hacking, phlegmy cough. Rattled the dominoes in the middle of the table. Ready to play.

“Big ship in port today, Rocket Man. The Fiesta Mythos,” Ben said, taking his usual seat at the picnic table. “Pompous ass name if you ask me.” Ben didn’t want to get grilled about his day.

Something had felt off about that woman. Strange that she’d never mentioned her name or volunteered any information about herself. Most tourists did. And come to think of it, she never stopped in the gift shop. She had pretty much stayed beside Ben, drinking in everything he had to say about tanagers and toucans.

“What did you do all day, you lazy ass?” Ben asked.

Rock was busy peeking at his dominoes. “Hmm? Oh, get this. My stupid son-in-law ordered ten of them fancy new weed-whackers to try and sell at my store. Matter of fact, I was yelling at him when some feller came in and asked about you. Been wondering whether he found you.”

“Why would anyone ask about me?”

“Said he had a package for you. From someone in the old country,” Rock wheezed.

When Ben had first stepped off the boat in San Sebastian, he had nothing but a tattered pea-green suitcase to his name. There was no one left that he cared about in the old country. Nothing to look back on with nostalgia. No reason to go back and visit, ever.

Regular Joes like Rock, they’d gone back plenty times. To find wives, and later to introduce their spoiled kids to true adversity. A delivery from back home wouldn’t seem strange to Rock. But Ben’s heart began to pound in his chest. What could it be, after all this time?

San Sebastian was small, so whoever was looking for Ben wouldn’t have to look long. Someone would point the stranger in the direction of the park, where all the geezers played chess and dominoes. Or perhaps even Ben’s small A-frame.

Stay at the park or go home, it would make no difference. “One more game, Rock. Then I gotta go feed the cat,” said Ben.

As he walked home, Ben couldn’t help but think about his past life. His parents had died when he was very young, and he couldn’t really remember them. His brother had died young as well. Ben had learned to fend for himself from the age of 13.

He had slept everywhere from street corners to makeshift shelters along the Sava River. There were introductions to beer, and women, and eventually the stability of a factory job. No more looting to fill his belly. No more war.

***

The knock came after breakfast. Ben had made his usual Sunday fare—pancakes for one. He was sponging sticky maple syrup off the yellow linoleum when he heard it. A polite tap-tap-tap. The man at the door was young, mid-forties at most.

“Mister Tesich? My name is Martin Soloy, from the ICC, may I come in?”

“Might as well,” Ben murmured, stepping back so the man could push his way into the small sitting room. 

“I think, sir, you know why I’m here?” Soloy phrased it as a question, raising his brow as he looked Ben full in the face.

“Sit, let’s sit,” said Ben. “Can’t say that I do. You were the one asking about me?”

Soloy perched himself on the edge of the old beige sofa and nodded once.

“I haven’t had a single visitor from the old country since I left it. And I have no family to send me packages or name me in their wills. So I am very curious,” Ben said.

Soloy took a manila envelope out of his briefcase and handed it to Ben. Inside were two photographs of a smiling woman. Young, attractive…shocking red hair.

“I- I met this woman yesterday,” said Ben. “She’s a New Yorker. She was here on a cruise. I took a group to the canopy tower for a birding tour. Why on earth do you got pictures of her?” When Ben got nervous, his accent sounded thicker.

“That woman,” Soloy breathed, “is Sandy Alexander. She has been missing for two weeks.”

“How can she be missing when she’s a registered passenger on a cruise ship? Those things are impossible to stow away on or disappear from,” Ben almost shouted. “Call the ship’s agent here in town, he can find out I’m sure!”

Ben insisted Soloy use his phone to call immediately. Soloy made it clear he did not believe Ben, but he played along. As Ben sat waiting for the call to end, he noticed a file titled “Nick Tesich” peeking out of Soloy’s briefcase.

He stared at the file. He heard the beep that meant Soloy was off the phone, but didn’t turn to look at the man. Nick Tesich. That was a name Ben hadn’t heard—or uttered—in almost fifty years.

Soloy spoke first. “There is no record, Mister Tesich, of a Sandy Alexander on any Fiesta ship.”

“Why you got a file on my dead brother, Soloy?” Ben responded. He turned to look at the man standing in his kitchen. The man that had the nerve to be young and wearing a splendid suit…and to come into Ben’s home with a file…a file on…

Ben had half stood, but he sat again. “I think now is time you explain to me—fully—what the hell is going on here.”

“You know what the ICC is? The International Criminal Court. Sandy worked for me as a researcher. She was tracking you, Mister Tesich, as you’ve been wanted for a very long time for crimes committed following the Belgrade Offensive.”

“I was twelve years old during the Belgrade Offensive, you idiot. I never held a gun! And what does this have to do with my brother?”

“Oh I heard, you go by the name of Ben here in the tropics, where you surely thought no one would find you,” said Soloy. “None of us ever thought we’d find you. But Sandy did. The game’s up. We know you are Nick Tesich. And you will face the crimes you are accused of.”

“Nick died.” Ben’s hand trembled. He took out his hanky and wiped his lips. “No one ever saw him again. Ever.”

 Soloy just plowed on, talking over Ben. “The red purges were a horrible time in Serbia. Much is still unaccounted for. We have multiple interviews on file indicating that you knew the locations of the secret burial grounds. The descendants of the victims deserve to know, Mister Tesich.”

“If Nick were alive, he would be 85. I’m ten years younger. Look at me! And why would you think I am Nick? What kind of proof you have? Plus, this woman, I saw her get back on that ship. No wonder she was so interested in me.” Ben stood up, anger flushing his cheeks. “She thought I was a war criminal? And she’s making nice talk about tropical birds and plastic magnets? This is cuckoo-ness! What you gonna do, fly me back to Serbia? Put me in jail? At this age?”

“Look,” said Ben, “my life is an open book. I lost my parents and my brother. I left Europe and sailed to New York, and then I tried Chicago. Too cold and competitive. When I heard there was a community of former Yugoslavs here, I left the States. I’ve been here twenty years. Living a peaceful life, I might add.”

“I don’t have the authority to extradite you from San Sebastian,” said Soloy. “I will make appeals through diplomatic channels, but there’s no treaty.” He got up and crossed to the door, then turned back. “But sir, I entreat you. You’ve lived a good life. Spend your last years making it right for the victims and their families.” And with that, he was gone.

Ben thought he was having a heart attack. He took an aspirin, not because he thought it would help, but because that was what he took for everything. Then he didn’t know what to do, so he laid down for a nap. But that was no good. The older he got, the less he was able to sleep.

“If only I could find that woman,” he said to himself. “No…not if only. I’ve got to find her.”

He got out of bed and headed to the ship agent’s office.

***

Amateur sleuthing was hard work, but thankfully Ben had been in the cruise and tourism industry for a great many years. With help from the ship agent and a friendly Chief Purser, he was able to get the list of the five people that went on the birding tour. No Sandy Alexander, but there were only two women. One was named Mildred Hay, and the other Lindy Anderson.

Ben dialed the ship’s satellite number. It took a few attempts, but he finally got through to the purser’s office and then connected to Lindy’s room. No answer. Frustrated and tired beyond belief, he left a message.

At 2 a.m., his phone began to ring. He had taken it to bed with him, so he answered immediately.

“Oh I am so glad I caught you,” crackled the voice at the other end of the line.

“Of course you caught me, it’s two in the morning,” he mumbled. “But thank you for calling me. I’m being questioned about all kinds of crazy things and on top of it all, they seem to think I’m responsible for your disappearance. You are Sandy Alexander, are you not?”

“Yes,” she squealed. “Oh…shit, these calls are like $4 a minute. How do I explain quickly? Look, my boss was convinced that you were actually your brother, but he’s a hothead. And I just knew—I knew—that you hadn’t done all those terrible things. I had to get away. I took some vacation time and on a whim I hopped that cruise. I mean, it seemed like the perfect way to meet you. I could just take one of your tours.”

“But Miss Alexander—”

“Call me Sandy!”

“Okay, okay. Sandy. I’m in a lotta trouble here. You gotta talk some sense into Soloy!”

“I’ll call him so he knows I’m alive and well. I’ll do it right now, in fact. He deserves to be woken up! And I talked to an advisor at the ICC. They can’t extradite you from San Sebastian, Ben. You’re going to be okay.”

“But— So you believe that I am Ben, yes? You must have some evidence, some proof you can use to convince Soloy as well.”

“No, Ben, I don’t. When I was working your case, I just had a feeling that you were innocent. I went to my guru and he helped me do your chart. You know, an Indian horoscope.”

Even in his panic, Ben had to suppress a groan. New age-y types. “And that’s what convinced you?”

“It was so clear. You’re a decent person. That was all I needed to know,” Sandy said. There was a click, and she was gone.

Ben sank back into his pillow, and allowed himself a glimmer of hope. ‘I am a decent person,’ he thought.

He had never truly believed that, though. He didn’t think he deserved love. Never married or had kids. But hadn’t he lived a model life these past fifty years? He hadn’t wanted to take part in the purge. He was just doing what his commanding officer told him to do. Just following orders.

He rolled over and tried to sleep. But it wouldn’t come.