Ripple Effect

by Jerald, Tracey

  “Would have been easier if we could have just forced the issue.” At my sharp look, the Navy officer quirks a small smile. “Don’t get me started on international law. Bane of my existence.”

  “I just bet.” Watching over Sam’s shoulder, I can see two of the Sea Force crew members being held at gunpoint by a single man. “Is there any way to get them any kind of word without getting them killed?” I demand. The captain comes up quietly behind me.

  “I can try, but I can’t leave it up long,” Sam warns. Dropping back into his own chair, he clicks a few keys on the small device he plugged into the more powerful Navy mainframe. Within seconds, the screens around the room are replaced with computer language. “Come on, you little bastard, let me…no. That’s not the one I want. Not that console. I don’t want it near the reflection. What’s the other fucking console number?” He types quickly for a few moments before keystrokes fly so quickly on the screen, I can barely make out words on every third line. “US NAVY” “FRIENDLY” “TURN SHIPS CAMERAS ON.” Sam presses a button and suddenly, we watch as the screen he was working on disappears and the bridge camera comes back up. “Come on, come on, do your checks,” Sam mutters.

  “Why did you ask him to do that, Sam?” the captain asks.

  “Because while I can hack into most of the locations, it’s going to take too much time. If he gets the balls to help me out, then we’ll have eyes everywhere,” Sam says grimly. “It’s our best chance to be able to plan the attack.”

  “You don’t think they’ll notice?” I ask, disturbed that anything could risk the survivors’ lives.

  “I think if they would, they’d have their own guys in the chair, not the crew,” Sam replies.

  “Look!” Thorn calls out.

  All of our heads snap forward as the defeated first officer sits up a little straighter. His eyes narrow at the man holding the gun in front of his console before he announces, “We need to cycle some water before we overheat and we become a target.” It’s a trumped-up excuse.

  We all hold our collective breath.

  “Then do it!” the man screams. “Just do it!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Without a glance at the monitor in front of him, his fingers begin flying across the keyboard.

  Sam yells, “We’re getting eyes!” Then, “Oh, God. No.” Sam’s shocked face flies to mine.

  My stomach falls. What is it?

  “Throw them up on screen,” the captain barks.

  “Sir…” Sam’s voice is choked.

  “What are you waiting for, Sam. Just do it,” he orders.

  “Yes, sir,” comes his weak reply. Within seconds, we see the reason for his hesitation.

  “Oh, sweet God. Have mercy on their souls,” I whisper.

  “I…I need to call this in. How many…?”

  “Everyone,” Thorn says grimly. “Anyone we can’t see in the bar or on the bridge is dead.”

  We wanted to know how bad it was, and now we know. It’s worse than we could imagine, and it still isn’t over yet.

  75

  Calhoun

  Year Six - Five Years Ago from Present Day October 23 2340 Hours GMT

  “How many do you think…” Iris can’t even get the question out.

  I shake my head. Turning to Thorn, I ask, “What does this do for your plan?”

  “I never expected…” Even Thorn is at a loss for words as the cameras display a virtual bloodbath. “This has gone right to hell. We’ve got to call this into SecNav so the president can be briefed, sir,” he addresses the captain respectfully, all of his military training still in check even at a moment when his face is finally demonstrating the horror that’s been on mine ever since I learned Libby’s on the Sea Force.

  “I’ll worry about that; your only concern is how to get the remaining people off that ship. Alive,” the captain adds firmly. “Using whatever means possible.” Everyone in the room understands what’s being left unsaid; we no longer care about taking the hijackers alive. Not since we have the visual proof they’ve just become terrorists of not just our nation, but of those of any of the dead passengers and crew.

  Thorn claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work. We have to assume the hostages have been without food and water for at least thirty hours…”

  As if his words release all of us from the wretched images on the screens, which look like someone took a snapshot of a house of horrors and has it playing over and over on a loop, we jump back into action.

  Making my way over to Sam, I ask simply, “What do you need?”

  “Unfettered access to every mainframe I want, when I ask for it. Get those motherfuckers on the line, Cal, and tell them to stop dicking me around.” His fingers pause for the briefest moment. “Every moment I spend arguing with someone, we’re risking…there’s a chance…” He swallows hard to check his emotions. “Just get me what I need.”

  I’m already pulling my phone out to call Yarborough before Sam finishes, and step out of sight. He answers before the line can ring on my side. “How bad is it?” His voice is the Admiral that any man on this ship would cower under.

  Except me. Beneath it, I hear the worry for my wife, for me, for Sam and Iris. Because Rick knows none of us are coming out of this mission the same as when we went in it, no matter the outcome.

  “It’s worse than anything we could have ever imagined, and that’s without Libby being on board.” I don’t measure my words. The luxury of doing that flew out the window the minute we saw the true state of the ship. “Rick, we have eyes, and it’s worse than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever seen. Even Thorn’s in shock,” I tack on, knowing he’ll get the full magnitude of what we’re facing without my going into explicit details.

  “Dear God. What do you need, son?” Shaking off the shock, he becomes exactly what I need in this moment.

  The former Admiral who’s ready to knock heads together.

  “Sam needs unfettered access to assist Thorn. There’s no plan without it.”

  “You’ll have it within the hour,” Yarborough assures me.

  “Make it thirty.” I punch the Off button on the SAT phone and go back onto the bridge to wait.

  Twenty minutes later, I get a call back. “Tell Sam to call this number.” Yarborough rattles off a string of numbers to me which I immediately memorize. “The president made a call.”

  Not giving myself time to react, I turn to Sam and give him the information. “I’m heading down to see what Thorn needs.”

  “Copy,” Sam mutters as he dials. I hear him declare, “This is the USS Lassen. I have eyes on the Sea Force. I need access, now,” just as I turn the corner and head down the ladder to the floor below me to see what kind of party Thorn’s planning.

  * * *

  “You’re going to what?” The disbelief in my voice can’t be hidden.

  “We’re going to move the ship close enough so we can swim it,” Thorn assures me.

  “How?” I yell.

  “We’re going to have the captain call over with hostage requests from the families of all the passengers,” Thorn replies calmly. “We’re going to demand they bring all the hostages out for a visual inspection on deck.”

  I hate the fact it might just work.

  “Then what?”

  He rolls his eyes. “That’s where your boy comes in. We’re going to shut off all power to the Sea Force but our eyes before we board the craft.”

  Christ. I turn away, scrubbing my hands up and down my face until I grip my hair so tightly, I might be yanking it out by the roots. “You’re sure this is the best way?” I finally ask. “They could decide it’s not worth it and kill them all.”

  “Yes. They could.” My back stiffens at his words. “But Cal, it’s the best plan we have to get all the hostages in one place, keep our forces together, and get them out.”

  My breath whooshes out. “Right.” Around the room, my team’s scattered amid the Navy task force and SEALs we’ve been working w
ith—except Sam and Iris. They’re holding one another, giving each other a moment of comfort before we go to war.

  I catch Sam’s eye. So much of this lies on his shoulders. “Can you do this?” Holding up a hand before he responds, I tack on, “Be one hundred percent certain, Sam. Yes or no?”

  “Yes. I’m positive.”

  Thorn’s fist hits the table in front of him. “We’re wasting time,” he declares.

  “No, we’re not. If Sam says he can do it, then let’s get it done.” I lift my chin at my best friend.

  “Operation Mermaid is a go,” Thorn declares. “Team, gear up and stand by for my command.” The SEALs surge to their feet and move to the door.

  “Sam, team, back to the bridge,” I order.

  We have a limited time until we hold the lives of a few sole survivors in our hands.

  * * *

  “This is the captain of the USS Lassen. Please acknowledge this transmission.”

  We all hold our breath and wait.

  And wait.

  Finally, long moments later, we hear, “What do you want?” from a hostile voice with an Italian accent.

  And we let out a breath as the first hurdle has been breached.

  We’re in play.

  76

  Elizabeth

  Year Six - Five Years Ago from Present Day October 24 0500 Hours GMT

  “Alessio! Come quickly to the bridge!”

  The high-pitched yell from Diego snaps me from my pain-riddled lethargy against the wall. What’s happening now?

  Alessio takes no mind as he stomps on my bare feet as he races past me to get to the door. I don’t even cry out as it’s just another ache in my overly abused body. For just a moment, I tip my head back and close my eyes against the bright sun that’s blinding me. Or maybe it’s guiding me?

  Inside the Titan Bar, all sounds have ceased. The quiet of yesterday has become more deadly—as if that’s even possible. I can hear the electric humming of the air-conditioning, but it still doesn’t prevent the sweat dampening my skin or dry the tears from my eyes. Hazarding a glance at Linc—who managed to land near me after his last run with Diego—I see his breathing is shallow. Risking another round with the sadist myself, I barely breathe the word, “Ribs?”

  Without acknowledging he heard me, his head bobs up and down. Then he risks more by saying, “Escape if you can.”

  “What?” I’m so dehydrated I must be borderline delirious.

  “Help…” He coughs before turning his head to the side and spitting. God, I hope it’s not blood. Linc goes on. “GPS not moving. They’ll come.”

  With dawning hope and horror, I realize that must be why Alessio was called to the bridge. And I whisper, “We’ll both make it.”

  Linc shakes his head. “Cam…”

  And I get it. I just haven’t said it aloud. Without Cal, without his baby that I’m certain is gone, what do I have to go back to that’s worth fighting for?

  “Promise me, Libby,” Linc coughs again.

  And I do, because I can’t imagine we’ll have the chance where escape will be a possibility. Besides, I’m too weak. “I will.”

  With a sigh, his body rests against mine for just a moment before we hear thunderous footsteps approaching. “I will too.”

  Alessio bursts back into the room, a wild look on his face.

  “I hope you all can walk. Everyone will be moving down to the pool bar on deck two in less than an hour. And you’d better smile pretty; your lives depend upon it.” Alessio stands in front of me and Linc. “Especially both of you. Libby, dear, for shame.” My head is turned sideways with the casual crack of his hand against my cheek. “You didn’t mention all of the money your family would be willing to pay to get you back.” The bastard chuckles as he moves away. “One hour! Diego, begin to untie their legs. Get them on their feet.” Then he tacks on, “Shoot them if they run.”

  “Of course.” Diego fires a shot into the ceiling just for fun. We all cower. “Now, who wants to be next?”

  Unsurprisingly, no one volunteers. Diego just laughs.

  It’s then I realize it’s either Alessio or me who’s leaving the Sea Force alive, but it isn’t going to be both of us. There’s no way that could happen.

  It’s almost a calming thought to know it will all be over soon—one way or another.

  * * *

  An hour later, we’re frog-marched down four flights of stairs. At one point, I have to slam my body back to prevent Linc from tumbling headfirst. Alessio frowns darkly but doesn’t reprimand me with word or fist.

  I guess we’re both too valuable.

  From the stairwell, we’re led out into the sunlight. I blink repeatedly to try to adjust my eyes, but it’s next to impossible. Even though I’ve been staring at the light for days, I didn’t realize the bar windows were tinted until just now.

  I’m so delirious between the blood loss, the lack of food, and the bright light I wonder if the shape in front of me is really a ship in the distance or just my desperate imagination. As I walk past Diego, he shoots his gun off at nothing, for no reason. I can’t take the chance.

  I promised Linc, and this may be my only opportunity.

  They line us up in a straight line. It could be because of the gray blur I see in the distance or because they finally plan on picking us off one by one. I have to go on the assumption the gunshots were a precursor to what’s to be my fate. After all, if someone was coming to rescue us, why haven’t they done anything by now?

  It has to be a ruse.

  While there’s frantic screaming in a language I don’t understand, I run. A shot whizzes by my head before I roll my body over the rail. And for the first time since this nightmare began, for a small immeasurable moment between the boat and the water with the air racing over my skin, I’m free.

  Maybe not my body, but my soul is.

  There’s no more pain of remembering as I smash against the high waves causing the water caps to ripple out. There’s nothing aching in my body as my body is sucked beneath the cold.

  Death doesn’t frighten me because I’ve realized I won’t hurt anymore. And if I die, at least I did so because I made the decision to try to save myself, not because people on a boat somewhere were listening to our hell and needed to plot and plan. If I die, it will be by choking on the water I tried to use to escape from the loss of love.

  Being in love is like the waves of the ocean against a boat adrift at sea. It can be peaceful, lulling you into a sense of tranquility. Other times it’s like a tidal wave—a force of destruction so powerful, you’re going under no matter how you try to protect yourself.

  Either way you’re at the mercy of the waves.

  Today, I would gladly drown for having experienced it at all again with a man like Cal. And yet, even under the onslaught of pain racking my body, I don’t have regrets.

  I want my last memory to be the fierceness of his eyes from the first moment I saw him to the last when he was begging me to listen and all the moments in between when he talked about the love he had for his job, his colleagues—and now that I’ve had nothing to do but think about where we went wrong, for me.

  The freezing water drags me under ceaselessly since I don’t have the use of my arms. The silver dress, which I was so desperate to hang on to in the Titan Bar, now makes me wish I could strip it off. Even if it’s a millisecond more, it might help me to survive.

  I just want another moment to live so I can apologize for my mistakes. Even if it’s only in my heart, I pray my words are heard.

  I wish I was stronger, but I feel so exhausted.

  I stop fighting the current, and I use the last bit of my strength to conjure the image of Cal I’ve been carrying in my mind, knowing it’s the last time I’ll see him.

  Too bad he’s yelling at me to fight. A weak tip of my lips lets in salt water I don’t bother to spit out.

  I know despite everything, I will always be Cal’s. Oh, how I wish I’d have picked up that call before I boa
rded that plane for Spain. I content myself as I drift downward with recalling his voice the first time he told me, “I will always be yours.”

  Now, as my heart is ready to burst, or maybe that’s my lungs, I send up one final prayer. I love you, Cal. Be happy. Whether that’s with Iris or with someone else. Find your forever.

  My eyes flutter shut just as Cal appears in front of me. Magnificent. But I know I can’t be headed to heaven; God wouldn’t be so cruel as to remind me for eternity of the beauty I threw away because I wouldn’t listen.

  My last conscious thought before the black engulfs me is I will always be yours.

  * * *

  I wake up feeling like I’m choking on salt water and blood. I expect the whiz of the bullets to whiz by my head.

  Did I dream it all? My hand twitches against my bare leg. I feel an icy wetness. No, my plunge into the Atlantic happened.

  I’m just reaching out to feel something attached to my arm when I hear the unexpected.

  An American voice.

  “Mrs. Sullivan, my name is Jessica Fields. I’m the ship’s doctor on the USS Lassen. Can you hear me?”

  I try to speak, but my voice is shredded from the lack of moisture and the screams. All I can manage is a hoarse “Yes.”

  Is it possible I’m not dreaming? Tears start to well. I know if they fall and it’s a dream, I’ll soon be ripped from my mind to pay for them.

  A comforting hand squeezes the one that’s just only bruised and maybe not broken. “Cry, Elizabeth. It’s safe to cry now.”

  So I do, for a long time. There are other people in the room—men, women, I don’t know which and I don’t care. I focus solely on her gentle hand holding mine and ignore everything else, which includes cutting off the shredded silver sequined dress I’ve been wearing—has it been days?—still on my body. My plunge into the water washed away the foulest of the stenches, but I’m still wiped down with antiseptic cloths before a gentle, but necessary, physical exam is conducted. Dr. Fields reassures me throughout, keeping me calm with a low conversation that ends up with me in some more tears.