The Moonlit Earth

by Christopher Rice

  There was a sound like cannon fire, then a blast of pressure threatened to suck her inside the tube by both arms. A thousand burning needles tore into her flesh. But then came the impact she was praying for—the impact of a human body. A jumble of living, flailing flesh in her hands. She turned her hands to claws and grabbed at what she could. Then it felt like she had been punched in the face. Her head was thrown back as water geysered up and out of the opening, flooding the crawlspace all around her.

  She knew with sudden certainty that she was about to drown, but she held on. She held on so tight she squeezed all the way through her brother’s flesh, down to the bone. Which bone? An arm? A leg? She had no idea. Whatever it was, she held on to it, even as her nostrils and her throat caught fire and she knew she was breathing in the water that was exploding up and out of the tube. But it didn’t matter. Because in her hands, she could feel not only the rough rope around her brother’s wrists, she could feel the edges of his fingers closing around several of her own.

  And she knew the water that threatened to drown her was a blessed thing; it was siphoning off the pressure against Cameron’s body as it shot down the crawlspace and out the access door and into the engine room.

  “Lights!” Aabid shouted.

  “Now?” the captain cried. “Are you serious? You really—”

  “Now!”

  The captain hit several switches and suddenly the churning sea before them was lit with enough power to illuminate the ribbons of foam lacing each swell. And there was the lifeboat bobbing on the surface about forty yards ahead of them.

  Obviously Aabid wanted Faud to have enough light to take aim by, and now he had it. No gunshot erupted from the bow, but the man was visible where he lay stomach down at the very nose of the yacht, like a skilled sniper forced to use a tiny, pathetic weapon that would never suit his talent.

  “Wait a minute,” the captain said. “Wait just a fuckin’ minute.” Just then, three of the screens on the control panel flickered and a piercing wail cut the tense silence. It was an alarm, and it was wailing throughout the entire vessel. It was joined by several flashing red buttons on the control panel.

  “What the bloody hell is going on in the engine room?” the captain shouted. “We’ve got some kind of breach and I’m havin’ electrical problems all over the place.” Realization dawned as he consulted one of his control panels. He killed the switch on the propulsion system and the boat beneath them jerked and began to lose speed. “Bloody hell. We got water in the engine room. How the hell did we get water in the engine room?”

  In the blaze of lights from the bow, the lifeboat rose and fell on the ocean swells. It was drifting right into their path and Majed saw no trace of life on its open deck.

  “Stop the boat!” Aabid cried. “We’re going to hit them!”

  “We’ll hit them even if I stop,” the captain shot back. “Who the hell is driving that thing?”

  “No one,” Majed said.

  Suddenly, Faud shot to his feet and was waving his arms back and forth, trying to get their attention.

  “He thinks we can’t see it?” the captain said.

  Behind Faud, the lifeboat was only yards in front of the yacht’s nose, and now Majed could see what had sent Faud to his feet. The lifeboat’s deck was devoid of life, but in the shadows behind the empty captain’s chair he saw several dark shapes. What were they? By the time the answer came to him, the lifeboat had already disappeared under the yacht’s nose and the captain was shouting for all of them to prepare for impact.

  But it wasn’t just an impact that followed. A geyser of orange flame erupted from beneath the nose of the yacht, sending Faud up into the air, his arms flailing as if he were still trying to warn them of disaster to come. Fuel barrels, Majed said to himself.

  Aabid and the captain had both hit the floor, but Majed was still standing, arms raised to protect his face as debris pummeled the windows, biting into the glass and making a sound like furious rain.

  It felt like acid was coming out of her nostrils, but Megan had managed to untie the rope from her brother’s wrists. She had felt like crying when his hands came free, but they disappeared from view and then there was silence. Now she was waiting for him to pull free whatever gag was in his mouth, like a mother awaiting her newborn baby’s first cry.

  Then the walls around her shook violently, and she was knocked to one side. Not again, she thought. Jesus Christ. Not again.

  But there was no blast of water through the propulsion tube. The walls went still after a few minutes, while a high-pitched whine seemed to travel through the aluminum itself like the song of a dying whale. It seemed as if the entire boat were rising and falling beneath her, and in her delirium, she wondered if they had collided with some giant mythical sea beast.

  Then she could hear her brother’s hacking, fluid-filled coughs. She called out to him and he said her name over and over again. He was probably half out of his mind, but each time he said her name it sounded like he was edging closer to sanity.

  His freed hands appeared at the opening; he pulled at it without any real direction or determination. She brought her face to it, looked down, and saw his bloodshot eyes, blinking madly, his bloodied lips and his scratched cheeks. He was shaking all over but he reached up, grabbed her hand, and pulled it to his mouth. She couldn’t tell if he had actually kissed her fingers. She didn’t care.

  “Stay here,” she told him. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  He nodded but he was staring vacantly into space like a blind person. She crawled backward without bothering to turn around.

  When she emerged through the access door, she saw that the overhead fluorescent lights were out. The electrical consoles were still sparking where the water had doused them, and the engine room was lit by harsh, red emergency lights. The floor was covered in trapped, swirling seawater, but the detritus it carried included tools, tools she could use to set her brother free.

  24

  Cameron was telling her about this new frozen yogurt place that had opened close to his old apartment in West Hollywood. The captain was holding him up on his right side, and she was holding him by his left, and together the three of them mounted the steps from the engine room and emerged onto the back deck. In the yacht’s wake, the lifeboat’s flaming remains glowed on the black water like the lights of a distant shore.

  “It’s kind of tart, see,” he said. “And that’s why everyone likes it. But it turns out the secret ingredient is Slice. Remember that old soda?”

  “Absolutely,” Megan said.

  “I should take you there. You like yogurt, right?”

  “Absolutely. As soon as we’re home, you can take me there.”

  She envied him his shock. A similar emotional state might have distracted her from the intense physical pain throughout her body. Her jaw was singing as if she had been punched, and she might have mistaken the burning in her chest for heart-burn if she hadn’t already noticed the bruising below her collarbone. Her hands were caked in dried blood, but her fingers were numb.

  The captain had already informed her that Faud had been killed by the blast, and while the fire hadn’t lasted for more than a few minutes, there was a slight breach in the hull and they were taking on water. Obviously, Ali hadn’t meant to sink the yacht, just damage it to the degree that Aabid would be forced to do the last thing he wanted to do: call for help.

  The Prince himself was waiting for them in the sitting room. When he saw Cameron, he let out a small cry and ran to him. But Megan and the captain both knew if they let go of Cameron he would pitch forward and slide to the floor in Aabid’s skinny arms, so they held on, which allowed Megan to feel how little her brother yielded to the embrace of his supposed friend. But Aabid’s touch seemed to wear off some of Cameron’s shock; tears slipped from her brother’s eyes so forcefully that he screwed them shut to stop the flow.

  Majed appeared in the doorway, a few steps from the staircase. His eyes were glazed, his hair d
amp and his face smoke-blackened.

  Cameron found his footing and was slowly easing out of the grip she held on his shoulder. She let him stand on his own, and the captain did the same. Aabid must have sensed some new emotion passing through Cameron’s body, because he pulled away and took a step back. For a few seconds, the two men just stared at each other. Then Cameron slapped him. The sound was loud enough to make Megan wince.

  Aabid brought one hand to his face and turned away from the man who had, for a brief moment in time, tried to be his friend. No one said a word until the young man found a seat on the nearby sofa, clasped his hands between his knees, and stared down at the floor with a vacant expression. Megan wanted to believe it was shame on Aabid’s face, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

  “Well,” the captain said, breaking the long silence. “Not sure how necessary that was. …”

  “All of you held him captive when he needed medical attention.” She guided Cameron to a nearby chair. Her twenty-seven-year-old brother was hobbling like a senior citizen. And her own throat was so burned by salt water, she had to clear it between every few words. “I can’t even tell which injuries are from the bombing … or from what happened in the engine room.”

  A series of hacking coughs seized her. No one in the room said a word as she fought to regain control of herself. “We’re leaving,” she finally said. “We’re done.”

  “That might not be safe,” Majed said. “Not yet.”

  “Your captain here says this boat’s only got a few hours.”

  “Yes. But for some reason Ali felt safe jumping off the lifeboat in the middle of the ocean. That means there is someone in the area to pick him up. Someone who works for Holder.”

  “So you suggest we stay on a sinking ship?” Megan asked.

  “The bastard better’uve had scuba gear,” the captain muttered. “There’s no one on radar ’cept for some freighters close to Taiwan.”

  In the silence that followed, Majed crossed the room. He wouldn’t pull the gun on them to prevent them from leaving, would he? He fell to one knee in front of her brother and placed a hand on his leg.

  “I am sorry,” Majed said. “I never should have brought you back here.”

  The best response Cameron could manage was a slight nod of the head and a small, pained grunt. Majed couldn’t hide his disappointment at this. He withdrew his hand from Cameron’s knee and got to his feet. Then he turned to Megan as if he were about to speak, but it was Aabid who broke the silence.

  “We will wait for my father,” Aabid said. “My father is coming. We will wait for him.”

  “You know what, little boy?” Megan said.

  “Megan, please,” Majed whispered.

  “No, really. Enough of this shit! We don’t know for sure that Ali was lying about what your father wanted. Because he’s not here to tell us. Sure, it’s possible he didn’t ask him to kill Majed. But a lot of things are possible. Majed pretended he was sure your father was not a murderer to stop you from killing me. But he doesn’t know for sure and you don’t know either. So wait for him if you want to. But he’s not getting anywhere near me or my brother. Do you understand? Does everyone understand this?”

  Majed placed a hand against her shoulder, as if he thought by holding her in place he could stop her flow of words. For a long while, no one said anything. Aabid stared at the carpet and rubbed his hands together gently as the silence stretched on. Was he simply exhausted beyond the point of being able to fight? Or had he recognized some truth in what she had just said to him?

  “I have hidden money,” Aabid finally said. “In different places, in case he ever … in case he could not accept me. For what you have done for me, I will give you a new life. Come with me.” He lifted his eyes, but it wasn’t clear to Megan which one of them he was speaking to.

  “Never,” Cameron whispered.

  “Not you,” Aabid said.

  Majed released Megan’s shoulder and turned to face the young man who had employed him for a month. After a while, Majed nodded his assent. This seemed to bring about a stillness inside of Aabid. He took a studied deep breath and got to his feet. “You are right, Megan. I no longer know what to believe. And there is only one thing I can do.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Disappear. Then wait, and see how my father reacts. If he seeks to distance himself from me, if he strives only to save his own name, then I will know that the terrible things you said about him are the truth. But if he does not do those things, then perhaps I will see my family again someday. Until then, I can only pray to Allah that my family will treat me as you have treated your brother.”

  Aabid leveled his gaze on her brother, and allowed the silence to continue until Cameron lifted his head and did his best to look Aabid in the eye. “I understand if you never forgive me. But I thank you for everything. Most of all, I thank you for the Simon Cabaret.”

  Aabid hesitated for a bit; it paid off. Cameron nodded and managed a small, knowing smile. But he reached up to take hold of the hand Megan had placed on his shoulder as he did this, as if acknowledging any kind words from the little tyrant would place him back in his clutches.

  To the captain, Majed said, “How long does this boat have?”

  “Christ almighty. Six hours? Seven, maybe? It’s a slow leak but there’s no pluggin’ it without a full crew and a bunch of equipment we don’t got.”

  “It’s almost dawn,” Majed said. “Help will be here as soon as you call for it. We will take the last Zodiac.”

  With that, he started for the staircase. Megan followed him. Once they were both out of the room, she grabbed his elbow and stopped him. “You think I believe for a minute you want to start a new life with him? You think I don’t know why you’re doing this? If you’re truly sorry for what you did, you would come with us.”

  “You heard the captain. There is no one on radar. You’ll be safe.”

  “We need you to back up our story.”

  “There are other ways I can help you. Far more effective ways.”

  “Just say it. Just say what it is you’re—”

  “You write stories for people, Megan Reynolds. You decide what they are thinking and feeling and you lecture them about it. It is only natural. I have spent time in your country. I know it is governed by therapy and television. For me, you have written a story. I am a victim of all this just like you. I reject this story. Perhaps it was my destiny to kill all of those people.”

  “You didn’t kill any of them.”

  “So you say. But there is one thing I am proud of and that is calling you. You were the only thing about which your brother could be serious. The only subject that was not a joke to him. Maybe this is how I knew that you could save him. And you lived up to my expectations, Megan. I am sorry I have not lived up to yours.”

  He kissed the middle three fingers on his right hand and pressed them to her forehead, then he hurried up the stairs.

  There were no good-byes. The last Zodiac was stored on the open deck in front of the wheelhouse and though it had been blackened by smoke, it was undamaged. Megan stayed with Cameron on the main deck as the captain operated the winch that lowered the Zodiac into the water. Together, Megan and Cameron watched the tiny raft whine away from the yacht. It looked so small and vulnerable on the open sea, Megan had to remind herself that it was actually the boat she was standing on that was in danger of going under.

  Once they were a good distance away, Aabid stood and raised one arm in a gesture of farewell. Megan couldn’t bring herself to wave back, but when she glanced down, she saw that Cameron had extended one arm and opened his palm. The eastern horizon was flushed with the eggshell-colored light of first dawn. She heard footsteps behind her and saw the captain standing at the wet bar. He had fixed himself a drink.

  “Did you call for help?” she asked him.

  He sputtered and took a slug of his drink. “From the sound of it, they’ll be sending the whole Taiwanese air force after u
s. Guess I shouldn’ta told him who I had onboard. You want a drink, miss?”

  “No thanks.”

  “How about your brother there?”

  Cameron didn’t respond. The captain toasted them and moved deeper into the cabin. Megan squeezed Cameron’s shoulder, just to make sure he was still somewhere inside his own body.

  “I guess a lot of people are going to want to talk to me,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Everything. We have nothing to hide.”

  “Everything,” he whispered.

  She sat down on the banquette sofa next to him and curved an arm around his back. As the sun rose over the water, her eyes grew heavier and she sank into his shoulder as the exhaustion started to overtake her. Then she was awakened by the rotary chop of an approaching helicopter. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but when she opened her eyes and stared out at the water, she saw a military helicopter approaching under a blinding sun. A new day had arrived with brilliant, unforgiving clarity.

  25

  Later, Megan learned that the key to the FBI’s investigation into the bombing of the Nordham Hotel was in custody by the time she landed in Hong Kong. The man’s name wouldn’t be made known to the public until the case against Broman Hyde went to trial, but word of his existence leaked to the media long before then, along with the code name he had been given by the agents who had handled his surrender in Hong Kong—Mr. Green.

  He was a veteran of Army Special Forces who had entered the private security world just in time for the Iraq War. Mr. Green had taken hits from two different IEDs while working contracts inside Iraq, but word of his drinking problem got around, and the only company that would hire him was a new venture with a contract from the Thai government to train police forces along its southern border in how best to deal with the rising threat of Islamofascists. The name of the company was Broman Hyde.