Ocean Grave

by Matt Serafini

  “Recall then that I had a small army with me when we took your ship. Those ranks are not easily replenished.”

  “Hard times.”

  They watched each other like bitter enemies. Kaahin knew this was not a person to be underestimated. He’d never lost more bodies than during the assault on the Frozen Cocktail.

  He also suspected that the dark-skinned girl would listen to the American. Him and no one else.

  It was easier this way. Their alliance necessary.

  “Know what kills me,” the American said. He did not wait for Kaahin to answer. “I had good people working for me. People who only wanted the opportunity to support their families. Working class.”

  “There is no working class here,” Kaahin said. “Only the working poor.”

  “Sounds a lot like the way politicians have made my country.”

  “Hardly,” Kaahin said. “People are born into this life and some will never earn so much as the plane fare out.”

  “You got the means, pal. Fly them out.”

  “Like Robin Hood?” Kaahin mocked.

  “People I employ only wanted to earn a wage. You pay people to be murderers. Your economy is blood. They work for you because they think it’s viable to pick up an AK-47. Your world tells them there’s no other way to do it. So they don’t come work for guys like me.”

  “This is not a land of opportunity, American. And you may pay a few men more than others, but you are not doing anything to change the way of life here.”

  “Maybe you need to think about it differently.”

  “What should I do? Spend the rest of my life taking westerners, Saudis, Japanese on ocean tours? Cruise these waters with a smile plastered on my face because the hypocrites who come here pretend to respect us? Maybe employ ten other people at most? Is that what I am supposed to do?”

  “Better than being a murdering thief.”

  “Is it?”

  “Your life expectancy’s so short they wouldn’t print it on the side of a cigarette pack, pal. People who follow you get dead before their kids are out of diapers.”

  “You think they would follow me if there was a better life on the other side of that mountain? I’m not exploiting anyone. I’m giving them a chance to change things.”

  “By terrorizing your own people,” the American said. “We had weapons on our ship in the event of guys like you. And you know what? There wasn’t a person in my employ who hesitated to kill you. You’re a parasite. Exploiting a weakness in your homeland for profit.”

  “So your half of the treasure goes to charity?”

  The American laughed hard and long. “I’m my own charity case. We find that island, I’m going to disappear off the grid forever.”

  “What a legacy.”

  “Not everyone’s concerned with one of those.”

  Two men appeared out of the tree line, pulling a bull that had gasoline cans hooked all the way around it. The American pressed the shotgun barrel deeper into Kaahin’s ribs as if they could see that gesture from their position.

  “There is no easy way up here,” Kaahin said, ignoring the pain in his side. “That is the best way to bring the fuel. They will fill us up and be on their way. I mentioned the safe house...”

  The men shuffled past the plane window without acknowledging them. They fumbled with the gas latch and went to work on refueling.

  “You do not care about my land,” Kaahin said. “I do not blame you.”

  “Whatever you say,” the American sighed. “Want to know what I’ll do with my share? Pay the widows of the men you murdered. Make sure they never have to worry.”

  “Noble.”

  “Someone’s got to, don’t you think?”

  “Know what I will do?”

  The American’s nod was sardonic.

  “Once that fish dies,” Kaahin said, “and we have raided Roche’s vault, and I have more money than I will ever need... I will sponsor an uprising that will change my land once and for all.”

  “How realistic.”

  “You know what’s realistic?” Kaahin said. “Our health and education systems are crumbling. And our leaders—”

  “The ones you bribe to look the other way?”

  “A necessary evil for now,” Kaahin said. “For they are in charge.”

  “Can’t win if you don’t play the game?”

  “Exactly. And they will never see me coming. Something needs to change. We are one of the world’s poorest countries. Negative GDP, an external debt of five billion to your country, the United States... everyone’s friend. More than half of my people live on less than two dollars a day. Should I begin telling you about our infant mortality rate? So, yes, something must change. I will bring it.”

  “Let me tell you about a guy I used to work with,” the American said. “Guy called Zarif. Story ain’t exactly about him, though. His wife, Kya, waitressed at a resort. Her beat was the pleasure cruises. One of those got boarded by pirates. See, you guys have changed everything up. More often than not these days, you leave the Americans and the Europeans alone. You don’t want the attention of those governments. But you’ll disappear your own people without a second thought, won’t you, motherfucker? Yeah, that’s what I thought. People who ain’t got a pot to piss in get to beg their corrupt government for help with ransom. My guy, Zarif, got pictures of his girl, naked and hog tied, in his fuckin’ Facebook DMs... you believe that? Fucking Zuckerberg says there’s no way to stop it. ‘Reconnect with old friends and allow terrorists to reach you wherever you are.’ What a fuckin’ world we’ve made.”

  “Your point has been made.”

  The American continued like he didn’t hear it. “They kept Kya for one whole week. Pictures coming nonstop. Gun in her mouth. Gun to her head. Gun between her legs. Pay up or we’ll make her wish she was dead. Government wasn’t going to do that. You fuckers knew that. And Zarif... well, he got real desperate. This working class guy that you care so much about got himself shot to death trying to rob a resort casino. Only way he could pay your goddamn ransom.”

  “That was not me,” Kaahin said, his throat feeble. “There are others who—”

  “I give a shit who it was,” the American growled. “You done people just as raw. So when you tell me this is all in service of Making Madagascar Great Again or whatever the fuck, I think you need to remember the people you destroyed to get there.”

  “Every war has casualties.”

  The American looked him over for one long, unending moment. A difficult man to read, especially now. Something bothered him. It was either Kaahin’s greyed out moral compass, or the fact that he understood where that compass was coming from.

  “I will recover the Star Time and sell it to the Saudis. Use that and my share of the treasure to directly finance a movement. No more piracy. That is the past.”

  “Glad to see you’ve got a new lease on life.”

  “Some things are more important.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to stop at your share.”

  The gun dug so hard against Kaahin’s chest that his ribs were beginning to bruise. “You seem to be looking for reasons to shoot me.”

  “Save myself a headache later on.”

  The men outside finished refueling and disappeared into the trees without acknowledging completion of their task.

  “Okay,” Kaahin said. “Are you going to trust me enough to have dinner at the safe house?”

  “No.”

  “Wherever the Star Time is headed, we can close the distance in a few hours. If we take off now, without aim, and have to come back, I may not be able to prevent suspicion.”

  The American didn’t like it. He performed an exaggerated groan so that Kaahin knew it. But then he followed him down a thin trail to a tiny hut roofed with cornhusks.

  The place was unlocked. The interior sparsely populated. A few pieces of equipment on the far table, a machete, a few handguns, and a rifle. Beside it, a rickety desk that possessed a few different r
adio types.

  The place was useful. Well-hidden. Nearly impossible to access because of the surrounding terrain. It was outfitted with enough amenities to pass a few hours as the rain followed them off the Indian Ocean, beginning to soak the island in a furious tantrum.

  Tonight there would be food and drink and an attempt to find common ground. He needed this man’s loyalty for at least a few more days. This was the first westerner to ever set foot inside one of his safe houses. Every so often, Kaahin caught a death glare and thought the end was coming. That this rabid dog cowboy would try killing him on the spot because Americans loved to think justice mattered above all else.

  Couldn’t Kaahin drum up a few more loyalists to take back the Star Time in one final push? He didn’t know. He’d left the island a few days ago with a handful of men who would never be seen again. This immediately following a failed CIA sting that had murdered his longtime friend. Following the Pirate King was a deadly business these days.

  The only leverage Kaahin had over the American was possession of the jewel. It was the one thing that prevented him from losing everything.

  Kaahin steamed some rice and boiled a pot of water to heat up some legumes. “I think probably your employees appreciated working for you,” he said.

  “Tryin’ to romance me before dinner?”

  “We are a beautiful country here. There is no ethnic nationalism, which is my way of saying there is plenty of room for you. And for what it’s worth... you were well liked among your men.”

  The American wasn’t interested in compliments. Or in this heart-to-heart. He fell quiet and turned toward the corner.

  “I’ve got to get a hold of Sara,” he said. “Find out where they’re going. And where we can meet them.”

  “In due time.” Kaahin sat with a satellite phone in his hand while he waited for the water to boil. He dialed the number and closed his eyes.

  It only had to ring once.

  “Yes.”

  “Lissa,” he said and tried to keep the American from hearing his throat wobble, repeating the name into the receiver. “Lissa.”

  The reception wasn’t good. It popped and crackled and Lissa’s voice was static. “I’m here.”

  “How are you?”

  “Certain you were dead.”

  “I couldn’t contact you sooner—”

  “You still shouldn’t.”

  “Tell me quickly, how are the kids?”

  “Trying to pretend their lives are normal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They are not hiding anymore. Black vans at the end of the driveway. Following the kids everywhere they go, thinking they’ll find you there. How long until they get desperate and take us? Take us to lure you out? Would you even come?”

  “Of course,” he said without a trace of conviction.

  “Yes,” Lissa gave a spiteful laugh. “Of course.”

  “Are they close by?” he asked. “The kids.”

  “They are at my sister’s... I think... I think I am going there, too.”

  His heart dropped through his chest and cratered at the bottom of his stomach. Across the room, the American fiddled with the maritime radio, flipping through frequencies.

  “I am sorry,” Kaahin said. There was more to say, though he couldn’t now.

  “Me too,” Lissa said. “I regret everything.”

  The phone clicked and she was gone. Kaahin felt as though he was standing outside his body, staring at himself slumped in the seat. Watching the tears begin to nest in the corners of his eyes. Lissa was right. It was his fault. He didn’t get to regret it now.

  “Take it your wife wasn’t in a talking mood?” the American said.

  “She is going to her sister’s.”

  “Ouch. Nice to see some things don’t change no matter where you are in the world.”

  “She doesn’t have a sister,” Kaahin said. It was her way of telling him to stay away. Far away. Kaahin had made her promise never to use it unless there was no way back.

  He dropped the phone to the floor. A piece of it broke off and went skittering beneath a cabinet. His life was in tatters and there was nothing left to lose.

  Forty-Two

  Wherever Sara went on the boat, she felt stir crazy.

  No more sleeping. Even Carly had taken to pacing the bow, doing her best to spot the clouds that could signal Roche’s island.

  The sky had cleared at some point during the night, and by the time early evening had rolled back around, the world was back to being baby blue.

  Sara changed into sweat shorts and snuck into the onboard gym to jog the treadmill. After six miles her legs were jelly and she wobbled above deck to do some cool-downs.

  No matter how hard she pushed, she felt no better. No more relaxed. Just a heap of discomfort and nothing that could be traced back to a single point of trauma.

  She went to the main deck with her gun, drawing on the sea and screaming as she imagined the dunkleosteus knifing straight for them. Fifteen shots broke the surface and she pictured every one of them bouncing helplessly off the creature’s plated face.

  The way the gun rocked in her wrist was power. It gave some catharsis. And she reloaded with a satisfying click.

  By the time she put her elbows on the railing and watched the shifting waves, she realized what had been eating her.

  Isabella.

  The girl was near.

  This wasn’t something Sara wanted to do, but it was closure. She was determined to bring it for the both of them.

  Neither Guillaume nor Jean-Philippe had bothered to come out and check the gunshots. She didn’t see either of them until nightfall and only then because she spotted Guillaume watching in shadows from the next platform up. He puffed a cigar that smelled like the ones her father used to smoke. The only time she could see him was when he took a drag and the embers lit the edges of his face.

  There were four people aboard this ship, and it didn’t even feel like that many.

  Something had happened to the couple. Something had turned them into strangers. The pilot’s death, yes, but it had been there even before. Sara thought back to that night in the Emerald Tides bar, the way Jean-Philippe had griped about his job, and Sara realized the discontent had always been there.

  Jean-Philippe spoke to Carly more than anyone. He remained friendly with Sara, though there was iciness there. Probably because she had gravitated toward Guillaume since the beginning.

  Nearly two days later and it was Carly who called “Land Ho” while leaning over the rail off the portside. She passed the telescope to Sara. “Look straight on.”

  The island was a tiny scratch in the distance. A sole puff of midnight-colored clouds hovered over it, lightning cracks sparking from inside. The most ominous sight Sara had ever seen.

  “Do you want to turn around as much as I do?” Carly said.

  “Kind of,” Sara agreed. That wasn’t true, but she had no desire to go out there, either.

  “I just want to get back to my daughter,” Carly said. “Please let me get back.”

  “You will,” Sara told her. “Look, there’s something I want to tell you before we make land—”

  Jean-Philippe cleared his throat as he appeared at their backs. “You’ve already seen it, I see.”

  “Tell me you’ve got a plan,” Sara said.

  “Not one we can agree on.”

  “Carly and I should get ready then.”

  “We wait for daylight,” he said.

  So they told Jean-Philippe goodnight and walked down to the supply room. Sara slipped back into her tactical gear, stuffing her holster with spare magazines and attaching climbing equipment she couldn’t imagine needing. Better to be overprepared than not at all.

  Someone had to survive this ordeal.

  She found Guillaume in his bunk, doing push-ups in the nude. He made no effort to cover his modesty when Sara and Carly appeared in the doorway. His body was oily from sweat and he stood glistening like a cent
erfold model. His uncircumcised business swung between his legs.

  Carly was suddenly diffident. Hanging back against the far wall, eyes anywhere but on the naked man.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” Sara said. “Shit’s been weird ever since leaving port.”

  “A difference of opinion.”

  “Anything we need to know about?”

  Guillaume shrugged this off with the wave of his hand. No desire to discuss his relationship with the expendables. The silence between the three of them grew.

  “Good talk,” Sara said and left him standing there.

  Carly followed but couldn’t keep up. Sara went to the bar and perched atop one of the stools. Carly slid behind the counter and poured two glasses of Stoli.

  “Jean-Philippe doesn’t think we can retrieve the treasure,” Carly said. “He thinks our troubles are only beginning as soon as we land.”

  He might be right. But Guillaume hadn’t come all this way to be talked out of it. And neither had Sara.

  “It’s more than that,” Sara whispered. “Jean-Philippe wants out, and he thinks catching that fish is his ticket to freedom.”

  “He hasn’t said—”

  “He doesn’t have to say it,” Sara said. “You see the way he stares out at that ocean, like he’s trying to wrap his head around crazy.”

  “Shit,” Carly said. “I think you’re probably right.”

  “Need you on my side more than ever, Carly.”

  Carly put a hand on Sara’s forearm and smiled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The women clanked their glasses and drank in silence.

  ***

  “Sara would you come up here?” Jean-Philippe asked over the ship’s intercom. It was morning and he was still at the helm.

  Sara sat up and rubbed her palm against her temple. Beside her, a naked Carly rolled over onto her side and grumbled something beneath her breath.

  Sara took a cold shower and dressed in yesterday’s fatigues.

  Jean-Philippe waved to her as she came up through the kitchenette. “Someone’s on the radio asking to speak to you.”