Her questions opened a gap between them. Silence hung heavy. He never answered her questions.
He opened a trap door in the floor and pulled out a scuba suit. He stripped down to his boxer briefs. Marisa had seen younger men before, in magazines and such. But to have one undress, one with firm pecs and a flat stomach, did nothing for her. Relief rushed through her. Yes, the bared chest and muscular legs were nice to look at it but her heart was with Stephen, extra tummy flab and everything. If anything, she was a bit embarrassed at the tight quarters.
“How long will you be?” she asked.
Will zipped up the front. “About two hours. I’ll swim to shore. Scout out the monastery. My family hid a rowboat in the tall reeds on the eastern side of the island. I’ll return in it and then you and I will head ashore. I don’t want there to be any surprises.”
“You’re not going to kill anyone or anything, are you?” She ran her hands along the wall behind her for support as the boat moved with the water.
“Don’t plan on it.” Will smirked. “But as you know, anything can happen.” He fit his feet into flippers and sat on the edge of the boat.
She followed him, thinking of all the things that could go wrong on a boat this far out from shore. “Where are the life jackets?”
“Under the benches.” He slipped on the air tank. “Pour yourself a drink and enjoy the solitude. He sat on the edge, nodded goodbye, and fell backwards into the water.
Marisa couldn’t help but think how very dark it seemed now that she was alone. She peered into the night and didn’t look away until Will disappeared under the water.
The inky blackness rolled back on her causing a shiver to ripple across her shoulders. Alone as can be, she snuggled into the padded bench at the front of the boat, forgetting what exactly that was called. Port? Starboard? Who cares? What were Stephen and Savvy doing at home right now? Getting ready for the party on Saturday? Preparing the favors?
England and Paris were exciting, an escape from laundry and dirty dishes. But having spent so much time lately creating fake files and personas and keeping up the appearance that she was scrapbooking, she’d barely seen her family.
Never mind the sleepless nights, waking at every sound, fearing for their safety.
Time passed slowly. The sway of the boat and the feel of the waves gently rocking created a false sense of security. Invade a monastery? Sounded like nonsense. But looking back over the last hour or so and their ride out here, Will seemed different. Less annoyed with her this time and more of a grim determination. Clearly, he couldn’t stand working with her and this was something his family put him up to. So why now would he be less annoyed?
It took more than a few seconds, but the puzzle pieces clicked. What if? No way. She shook it off. He needed her tonight. On this mission.
But…
Her throat closed and she leaned forward and put her head between her knees. The realization sank in. Every sound increased her panic. Every noise became a threat. She imagined Will waiting out on the water for just the right moment gun in hand.
Was she the target tonight?
She cringed. After a few deep breaths, she sat. She just had to think like Beatrice DeWilflower. What would she do?
Search the boat for evidence. Clues. Maybe if she found the goods on Will and his family she could go to the police and end this whole nightmare. Or maybe she’d find clues about her past.
With one last penetrating stare into the darkness, straining to hear the sound of Will’s return, she slipped down the stairs into the captain’s quarters.
She prodded and poked but once she realized that nothing on the surface looked questionable or gave anything away, she sighed. Maybe this was all in her head. She had too much time sitting on a boat with nothing to do and no one to talk to. How long had Will been gone?
Maybe one last look around. Instead of rifling through every random drawer with no plan of attack, she stood and observed. Did anything look out of place? Everyone leaves some evidence behind.
Anything can happen.
Will’s last words repeated in her mind. Was that a subtle slip? Did it really make sense that he left her behind? Why a boat hidden near the island? Why not a dingy attached to the sailboat? Nothing made sense. Why couldn’t she see it before?
With a fresh wave of panic the cabin blurred until her eyes locked on the small fridge and everything came into focus. It seemed rather silly to have a fridge on a sailboat with no electricity. Though, it could be used like a cooler, to keep bread from going moldy and things like that.
Her mouth fell open. No snacks. No cookies. No breakfast croissants.
Different colors wires sprouted out from a simple kitchen timer and sticks of dynamite. Marisa shut the fridge door and slumped to the ground. A bomb? A homemade bomb?
Holy shit. A bomb!
Marisa raced back up the narrow stairs. Her breaths came fast and hard. She leaned over trying to calm down and think rationally. This was all happening way too fast. How many seconds did she have left?
She dropped to her knees and whipped open the compartments under the padded benches, searching for the life vests. She’d swim if she had to. But wait. What was that? Even better. Clawing at the plastic, she ripped open the package.
What felt like a small explosion blew her backward. She fell and landed on her side. Bright orange covered her. The plastic of the life raft never smelled so good. Ignoring the pain and cringing with the anticipation of a real explosion, she slipped the small boat into the water. Then half-jumped half-fell into it. She’d wasted so much time, trusting, waiting.
With her hands on the oars, she paddled hard. Tears welled in her eyes. She wasn’t one to cry much, unless you count the one Regency romance that had her blubbering like a baby, but this was different. She was Will’s enemy. He’d said so himself. He was on missions to kill and she had stopped them inadvertently. Because of that, he believed she knew what she was doing, that she was a spy, his enemy.
But why here? He could’ve killed her at any point, any time, anywhere. Obviously, she’d failed his tests. He wanted something to look like a complete accident.
Marisa rowed hard. She dipped the oars in and out of the water. They slapped the sea but the dingy didn’t seem to go anywhere fast. How much time did she have left? Seconds?
Scrapping the get-away boat, she flopped into the cool sea and swam. Water went up her nose and down her throat as she flailed her arms and kicked. At least she was faster than the boat. She didn’t look back but kept at it. Pressure in her chest seemed to stab at her heart. She’d never thought about swimming lessons.
She wasn’t quite one hundred feet away when the boom echoed across the water, pounding against her head. Heat rushed past her. She ducked under water and swam until her lungs were about to burst. Finally, she surfaced and gulped in the air. She turned, bobbing in the water.
Giant flames shot up from the sailboat.
Twelve
The flames lit the sky on fire, rushing pillars of heat. Black smoke smothered what remained of the sailboat.
A bomb.
Meant for her.
Will. His implied threats swirled through her head. Marisa didn’t have time to think; she just swam. She pushed through water, away from the boat, away from the fire, away from her fears. After about ten yards, she stopped and doggy paddled, struggling to stay afloat.
She turned away from the sailboat, straining to hear oars splashing in the water. She peered through the smoky haze for any sign of Will. A small rowboat headed right toward her. It had to be Will, returning to make sure the job was finished.
That she was dead.
Frantically, she pushed through the water, heading back to the sailboat. She swam faster. Smoke burned the back of her throat. The heat from the flames warmed her face but her insides were cold as ice. Splinters of wood lay topside in the water. The mast. Parts of the sail. The hull.
A ruined ship.
The closer she got, the more
wreckage floated by.
A piece of mast crashed into the water. She stifled a scream as the hell closed in on her. Never ending fire. The heat. She swam into the heart of it to hide.
Crashing pieces of the boat and shooting flames engulfed her. A sob rose from her chest and she fought to stay afloat. Tears mixed with water. Clumps of hair draped across her face.
The fire hissed and the wood cracked, each sound ricocheting in her chest, like a gunshot. Her brain screamed for her to escape, to start toward shore. She wanted to laugh as the irony of the sailboat in flames around her was exactly like her life. Everything had changed tonight.
She didn’t know if she could go back.
Out of the hissing and sputtering, she heard Will softly calling her name. Yes, the fire was a threat. But Will was the bigger threat. The boat drew closer. Marisa swam through the water as quiet as she could until she found a big chunk of the hull. She moved behind it, hiding, listening.
“Marisa!” Will’s voice was loud and clear. “Are you okay? Please answer me!”
Marisa doubted. He sounded like he cared. What if this was all in her head and he didn’t plant the bomb? Maybe his family had?
“I don’t know how this happened. I heard the blast and saw the flames from shore. I left right away. I don’t care about the damn boat. Where are you?” Silence. “Marisa?”
She peeked around the edge of the hull, tempted to call his name.
Will pointed a pistol at the water. The black gleamed in the firelight. Evil flickered on his face. He lowered his voice and didn’t sound nearly as scared. “Marisa?”
She held her breath and sank lower into the water.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way. But we’ve been looking for your family for decades. The only way to see if you knew about your history was to bring you on board.” He laughed. “And when you saved the poor little boy, it couldn’t have been chance. Even though you seemed clueless, you played your cover too well.”
He paused in his firelight confession. The flames were dying and off in the distance Marisa heard sirens. She had to escape. Will had to think her life had ended with the explosion.
“I’ll miss working together. You’ve turned into quite the little helper, but your time has expired. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on your family. Goodbye, Marisa.” And then she heard nothing. The noise of the fire and burning wood hid the slap of his oars.
Rage welled up inside Marisa and let loose. She wanted to scream. Tell him to leave her family alone. She might have gone on to call him all sorts of nasty names except the last remaining part of the mast snapped off and hit her head on the way down.
Pain exploded and spots danced in front of her eyes. Blindly she moved forward. Everything blurred. She focused on the orange dingy, which had floated closer to the fire. She must reach it. Her movements seemed so slow, her army and legs heavy. Her head pounded.
Stroke by stroke she pushed toward her saving grace. Once there, she latched onto it with one arm and pulled herself up but she kept slipping.
“I’m sorry, Stephen.” Her voice shook.
Memories tugged at her heart. Like her life was flashing before her eyes before she departed from this world. The night Stephen almost proposed. He’d made his mom’s meatloaf, offered her a candlelit dinner, and took her dancing. But he didn’t ask her that night. He chickened out. It was the next week during a small fight. He’d shut her up with a kiss and whispered in her ear, “Marry me.”
But he’d be okay. It was Savvy. Her daughter. A girl can’t lose her mother at her age. Just couldn’t. She tried again. And just as darkness closed in around her, Marisa managed to flop into the boat.
The orange dingy floated aimlessly into the night. As the police pulled into the scene, clouds drifted past the moon, and they never caught sight of the life raft or the woman’s hand draped over the side. No body was ever found and the cause of the fire remained a mystery. In fact, the whole incident was quickly forgotten.
But Marisa drifted silently onward. The gentle rocking of the boat caused waves of pain to crash in her head. Her stomach revolted; and more than once, she puked. But she could not rouse herself to cry for help or paddle to shore. The night air sent goosebumps across her chilled body and she shivered uncontrollably.
And she drifted.
Thirteen
In the early hours of morning, a monk sat on the rocky shore staring out at the waters, meditating. The morning breeze caused the hood of his robes to graze his cheek. His name was Adamos and he’d woken from a puzzling dream, a vision. He’d dreamed of a girl with long black hair like spun silk; and a fire with red-hot flames.
The girl needed help.
As he sat, watching the wind create small white caps on the water, he grew frustrated. What was he supposed to do with this vision? Was it from God?
Soon, as the morning fog lifted, he caught sight of a boat drifting closer to shore. The raft was blackened with patches of dirty orange showing through. It wasn’t often a life raft floated by the monastery, so he peered through the morning mist rising off the waters.
An icy grip clamped inside his chest.
A pale white arm, cold from a night on the sea, hung over the side.
At once, he scrambled to his feet and rushed into the water. The waves crashed against his chest and flowed up through his robe, the material fanning around him. He pushed through the water to meet the raft and pulled it back to shore.
He took one look at the woman lying in the boat, the puke sloshing about in the bottom and the ugly red welt on her head, and he dragged the raft onto the rocky beach. He raced back into the monastery and called for a few of the brethren to help.
He returned and they pulled the lady from the boat and carried her inside. They did not know of whom she spoke as she rattled off names and mumbled to herself.
Inside, in a small modest guest room, Adamos stripped off her soaked clothes, turning stiff from the salt, and wrapped her in the orange robes they all wore. He brought hot tea and left it by her bed. Then he sat and watched for her to wake.
***
Marisa stirred. Even though her body felt weighted down by bricks, she had to get up. She had to be somewhere. A fog had taken up residence in her brain and she could barely remember her name.
A heavily accented voice spoke, his English flawless. “Would you like some hot tea?”
She blinked her eyes open, lifting her hand to create a shield from the light, however dim. Slowly, she adjusted to the small dark room. With a groan, she turned. A modest bedside table with a small washbasin on top stood next to the bed.
A man sat beside her.
Images of guns and shooting flames created instant panic. Marisa shot up in bed but stabbing pain forced her to slump back down.
The man, wearing orange robes, dabbed her forehead with a cloth. “You should not sit up so fast. You received a blow to the head. You need time.”
“Who are you?” she managed to ask, her breath raspy from the smoke.
“My name is Adamos. I am one of the brethren. Your boat washed up on shore yesterday morning. You’ve been sleeping ever since.”
Birthday party! Marisa shoved Adamos aside and stumbled from the bed, even though rocket-like pain shot between her ears. She bit back a groan and searched wildly for her clothes. “Clothes. I need clothes.” The tears, unbidden, came. “My daughter. It’s her birthday. I promised I’d be there. I have to be there.”
Then his words sank in. “Yesterday?” She sagged onto the bed. “The birthday party was last night. I was supposed to be there.” Tears dripped off her nose.
Adamos reached over and rubbed her arm. “You are not ready to travel. You’re welcome to stay here for however long you need. Maybe when you feel better and if you want, you can tell me your story. I am a good listener.”
Her story? “My life is a mess.”
He nodded, kindness and understanding written into the way he smiled and the way his eyes were open and honest. “That
’s okay. My life was once a mess too. You will survive. Drink the tea, and I will be back with some hot broth. You must be hungry.”
Adamos left and Marisa wrapped her hands around the warm mug. Images returned from her dreams over the last twenty-four hours. Dreams of daring adventurous women who went on dangerous rescue missions to all parts of the world. But it was more than that. The images and fragments of tales were set in all different time periods.
She racked her tired brain, her adrenaline racing.
That was when memories burst into her mind, flooding in all at once. The snickerdoodles! Growing up, every time her mom baked, she’d tell stories. Maybe her mom was really telling her the past, providing her proof for when this day came. The snickerdoodles were meant to be a memory trigger. Of course, Marisa couldn’t prove it, but the pounding of her heart and the gathering sense of dread in her stomach, told her that Will had been telling her the truth.
She’d just forgotten.
No wonder he didn’t believe that her successful missions were accidental. No wonder he tried to kill her. After all that had been his plan, but a part of her had never quite believed him. She was safe here. What about once she left these protective walls?
The lines had been drawn.
She knew the dangerous truth. Thankfully, Will thought she was dead. He was watching her family. Her heart squeezed inside her chest at the repercussions of her situation. She felt suffocated as if she couldn’t draw breath. As long as Stephen and Savvy acted innocent and continued on with their life, never interfering in Will’s life, they would be safe.
It would be her life’s mission to make sure that happened. A lone tear slid down her cheek, a silent goodbye to the ones she loved, because she could never go home.
Adamos entered with a tray and steaming bowl on it. Marisa would be forever grateful for this man who took a chance on her. “Is it possible that I write a letter to my family?”
Vanishing Point (Circle of Spies Novella) Page 7