Barracuda 945 by Patrick Robinson

Author:Patrick Robinson [Robinson, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780060086633
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2003-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

SHAKIRA SABAH, at the age of twenty-seven, married the former Major Raymond Kerman in a Muslim ceremony in their Damascus home on Sharia Bab Touma in early November2007. The marriage was conducted by a local law officer, and because of the groom’s lack of family, indeed any relatives, they were obliged to dispense with most of the traditional Muslim five-day festivities, and the giving of many gifts. They did, however, receive a private blessing from the imam at the nearby beautiful Mosque of Sheik Farrag.

For the wedding ceremony, attended by only six people, Shakira wore a simple long, white dress, with a traditional hat and veil, which made her look even more like a goddess than usual. The groom wore a dark gray Western suit and promised to care for Shakira for all the days of her life, having already deposited $100,000, the Muslim mehmet, into her private bank account.

This lifelong pledge appeared to reflect the ancient Islamic creed that women, beyond the home, must play a somewhat subservient role to that of men. General Rashood thought that was not too bad an idea, given his new wife’s inclination to assert herself, not to mention her flair for blowing up the armed battle tanks of those who displeased her.

However, as the cool, wet month of January wore on, the newlyweds were hovering around the edges of their first major row. Not beating about the bush, Shakira Rashood wanted to take part in the Barracuda’s mission to the eastern side of the Pacific Ocean. Not in a shore-based, nonoperational, executive role, which Ravi assumed she meant. Shakira actually wanted an executive position on the submarine itself.

On this rainy Friday evening, as it grew dark outside, they returned to the subject for the third time in twenty-four hours.

“Locked up under the water with sixty men, the only woman in the crew—you can’t do that,” said Ravi, smiling but dismissive.

“Yes, I can,” said Shakira, not smiling, not submissive.

“Might I remind you that no woman has ever served on board a submarine, not in any Navy, anywhere in the world? It’s too confining, too claustrophobic, and it’s surely no place for a woman.”

“Yes, it is,” said Shakira. “When I work, I’m no different from you. Oh, yes, I understand the Arab world believes you to be a some kind of a God of War—and I know I’m not in that league—but I’m as good as most of your soldiers, you’d have to admit that.”

Shakira’s gaze was steady. Ravi knew that look only too well. His wife had no intention of backing down. He was obliged to resort to reason.

“Look,” he said, “there have been great strides to include women in the Navies of both the U.K. and the United States. They have recruited them, allowed them to serve on warships. But they’ve often proved to be a complete bloody nuisance—people falling in love with them, trying to get their clothes off in parked helicopters, and God knows what. And that’s just in big surface ships.

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