Murdoch explains to the reader that he was an avid sailor in his youth, calling his affinity for boats “the one thing for which I had a natural gift. Apart from deceit, of course” (183). His rebellious choice to abandon the sport, ignoring the cost to his relationship with Bill Murdoch, is one of his lingering regrets. In this way, boats come to represent part of his better nature, a self often lost to the life of espionage.

Like Murdoch, Zakaria al-Nassouri spends time near the sea—his father is a marine zoologist in the city of Jeddah. However, the young al-Nassouri’s father is executed by the state, making the clownfish, his research study, a reminder of loss and vengeance. In descriptions of both characters, Hayes frequently uses nautical and oceanic metaphors: When the young, still unknown al-Nassouri becomes the Saracen when he leaves for Afghanistan, he watches his family “sailing quietly across the dark oceans of sleep” (95). His farewell to them for a life in Afghanistan, which is mostly desert, is a kind of abandonment of his own better self.

Murdoch has repeated visions of sailing alone after his return from a life of espionage, and part of his dread of a return to Bodrum includes his memories of a water operation there in the Theater of Death, submerged Roman gladiatorial ruins reachable only by boat and walkable only at extreme low tide.