by F Stone
“Not exactly. But Captain, you told me Mrs. Waterhouse had known someone who went by the name of Badger, right?”
Waterhouse’s gut tightened. “What about him?”
“He’s dead. Apparently he was found in his home, shot in the head — same day your prisoner was captured on this base. Had red lipstick on his face. The killer cleared a patch of blood off his face and kissed him. Christ, that’s sick. The rest of his troop has vanished, maybe dead or gone into hiding.”
“Any clues on the identity of the killer?”
“Not yet. His computers are gone. Clay said that since Joy was probably in his files, the killer will come after you once they decode them. Says you’d better watch your back.”
“Use discretion, Chris.”
“No problem, Captain. You’re still sure the admiral didn’t have anything to do with Joy’s accident?”
“Quite sure. He wouldn’t risk his political career. But he’s surely involved in something unusual right now. Perhaps there’s a connection with Badger’s death and this prisoner. And this guest of the admiral’s — a civilian, you say. See if you can find anything more about her.”
“Yes, sir. And your boys are doing fine. Watching ’em like a hawk, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll contact you when I arrive in Acapulco.”
Butchart disembarked without another word to Waterhouse. The officers and seamen were occupied with tending to the ship and preparing for the storm. The ship was now twenty years old, and though kept immaculate and in good repair, Waterhouse believed one more big storm would be more than the engines could handle. They’d been updated to provide speed, but felt the strain of pushing a hull meant for more leisurely travels.
In the evening, Waterhouse returned to the infirmary. As he approached Sidney’s bed, he saw she’d been cleaned up. Her hair had been washed and she had a fresh hospital gown on. She no longer needed the respirator and had more color in her face. She was beginning to resemble the photo in Butchart’s records of the attractive woman who’d entered the base on Tuesday. “She looks better, Doctor. You think she can make it?”
Dr. Duncan was startled and stood at attention.
“At ease, Doctor.”
“We cleaned her up.” The doctor shifted from one foot to the other. “She changes from one minute to the next. One moment she seems to be on the verge of taking her last breath, and the next, she seems more stable. I’ve never seen a case like this in my life.”
“Has she been awake? Talked at all?”
“Yes, I mean no, haven’t seen any response from her at all.”
Waterhouse picked up a chair and brought it over to sit close by her bedside. “Take a quick break, Doctor. I’ll watch her. So it doesn’t appear there’s anything we can do for her?”
“Not that I’ve found. I’ll be just fifteen minutes, Captain.”
Waterhouse listened to the sounds of the room after Dr. Duncan left — the hum of the ship’s engines, soft grunts and groans from within the ship. The Nonnah was feeling the ocean’s response to the storm. Everything in the room swayed as the ship rocked in rhythm with the sea.
The room had a peaceful feel to it. Waterhouse never spent much time there. Anything that reminded him of Joy’s last days was avoided. He paced aimlessly around the room, thinking of nothing and searching for nothing. Picking up medical instruments, he inspected their structure. The prisoner’s imminent death was nearly a replica of his wife’s. Were both women victims of the admiral’s secrets?
Doctor Duncan returned, and Waterhouse made his way to the navigation room.
Though the sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon, enough light remained to see the storm in the distance was full of wrath. The ocean waves surrounding the Nonnah were dark and seething with foam. The clouds were the color of slate with a slight tinge of green — like a vengeful monster moving and twisting, the gale thrusting them into shapes like dragons. The wind sprayed seawater high up onto the ship’s upper decks.
As Waterhouse entered the navigation room, the men and women there stood at attention.
“As you were. Any problems?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied Smart.
“Any other ships in the vicinity?”
“We have our sub cruising along with us a mile to our starboard. A Canadian freighter is one hundred seventy miles to the south, heading our way on its way north to Vancouver, and one Egyptian cruise ship is eighty miles on our port, heading east toward Mountiago, sir.”
“Our ETA to Acapulco?”
“We should arrive at Acapulco shortly after noon tomorrow, depending upon what this storm throws at us.”
Just then Commander Moon arrived. “Commander, what’s the intensity level of the approaching storm?”
“It’s been building up steam, sir. So far the reports don’t show signs of hurricane force. It should remain only as a gale. Everything has been fastened down and covered. We’re ready for a ride.”
Waterhouse nodded. “You have the bridge, number one. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Evening, July 4
It took Danik one full day to arrive back at Hawk’s Island. He’d been able to telepathically contact Ryan, who covertly picked him up on a small mountain near New Seattle and deposited him safely in the haven of the Guardian community. By evening, Danik was seated in the meditation lodge, surrounded by the Elders. He sought their wisdom. What was he to do? He suffered pains of guilt for a mission gone terribly wrong. When attempting to contact Sidney again, he’d encountered a wall he couldn’t penetrate. He looked to Sidney’s mentor for guidance.
Greystone appeared unmoved by Sidney’s circumstances. But then, the Elders’ serenity was seldom touched by dark events of the physical world — not for more than a moment or two. Finally, he spoke.
“Why do you fear for Sidney?”
“They’re going to kill her!” Danik shouted, more angry than he thought was possible in the meditation lodge. He got up and paced frantically. He tossed a log of spruce into the fire, and the sparks scattered up toward the dark ceiling. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m responsible for all this. We, I have to — ”
Greystone held up his hand. “Danik, stop. Yes, Sidney may die. But none of us can come to her aid. She’s placed a shield surrounding her body’s Holy Membrane.
Danik winced.
Greystone continued. “Only Seamus can help her, and, perhaps one other.” He glanced toward Birthstone. “But even Seamus may simply allow her to pass from this world to his.”
“What other one?” He recalled the spirit child who occasionally visited Sidney. “Savannah?” Danik demanded.
Danik’s mentor, Livingstone, called to his pupil. “Danik, come sit beside me.”
Danik continued his pacing. “I … I can’t. I have to do something, anything!”
“You’re right. You have to do something. You have to sit here.” Livingstone pointed to the floor. “Now!”
Danik had to look only briefly into his mentor’s eyes to realize how far he’d strayed from his Guardian nature and the sacred truths. Still agitated, he slumped down beside Livingstone and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Now, tell me about the sacred truths.”
Danik recited, “Our path’s burden is equal to our strength. We won’t suffer failure if we remember the Creator’s love is the source of our power. If we seek the Light and truth, the higher good will be served. Our actions and thoughts are energies that return to us ten fold in the same manner as we delivered them into the universe. As you believe, so shall it be. We are one. We are eternal.” He spoke as if reading from a page in a book.
“Again.”
Again Danik recited the sacred truths without heart or thought.
“Again.”
Again and again, Danik spoke the sacred truths until he paused after reciting, “We are one.” He turned to Livingstone as if suddenly waking from his sleep. “We are eternal.”
Livingstone nodded. “Yo
u’ll meditate here with me for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow morning you’ll resume your chores with the livestock. You’ll also need to maintain the home you share with Sidney. The students will need you in the afternoon to help them with their telepathy exercises. You’ll return here after the evening meal for more guidance. We won’t lose you to fear. Understood?”
Danik reached for his mentor’s hands and grasped them tightly. And so, the meditation began.
7. Gift For the Captain
Friday, July 5, 0215 Hours: Waterhouse woke to the sound of his comlink’s alarm. He jumped out of bed and grabbed his communicator.
“Captain Waterhouse.” He glanced at his watch. It was 0215 hours.
“Sir, the prisoner’s condition has deteriorated. She may be dying,” Dr. Duncan informed him. “Do you want to come to the infirmary?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” Waterhouse pulled on his navy uniform. He tied his long hair back and grabbed his hat. In three minutes he was running down the corridors. As he stepped into the room he noticed Lorna and two of Dr. Duncan’s assistants trying to restrain Sidney. The patient was thrashing and flailing at invisible objects.
“Captain, you want to witness her passing or do you have something else in mind?” Dr. Duncan asked.
“She seems to be trying to say something. What have you heard her say so far?”
“Most of it’s just mumbling. Can’t make out most of it. She did call for someone, though. Someone by the name of Dan or Danny.”
Sidney continued to struggle with the medical staff. Waterhouse walked over to her bed and saw she was soaked with perspiration. She let out a scream. Waterhouse took off his hat and tossed it onto the bedside table.
“Let me try.” He stroked her forehead tenderly, and his voice became soft, almost a whisper. “Sidney, Dan is here. Everything’s okay now. Tell me what’s wrong.” He wasn’t sure she’d understand but hoped she might respond to Dan’s name. It worked. Sidney stopped struggling and became quiet. “That’s better. I’ll stay here with you. Everything’s okay.”
Sidney’s eyes didn’t focus on anything or anyone. Her breathing was rapid.
“Dan?”
“Yes, I’m here, Sidney. Everything’s okay now.”
Her breathing slowed. In another fifteen minutes the monitor showed a slight improvement in her body temperature. Her faced was still flushed, and her entire body was covered with sweat. Her lungs sounded like they were drowning in fluid. Waterhouse noticed the medical gadgets and equipment. They dominated the room. It restricted closeness with the patient. Just like with Joy. Tubing, lines, sensors, and traction equipment had made it impossible to hold her.
He stepped over to Dr. Duncan and spoke in a whisper. “I want you to take her off these machines. She’s dying. Make her at least comfortable. I’ll stay with her for the rest of the time just in case she gives away information. Everyone else is to leave.”
“Okay, Captain. I’ll need you to record the time of her death for my records.” Dr. Duncan’s staff quickly disconnected the scanning monitors and removed all medical equipment from the room. In minutes they were gone and Waterhouse was alone with her.
Sidney began to fuss and mumble again. Again, Waterhouse gently stroked her forehead and called to her.
“Sidney, this is Dan. Calm down. How are you feeling?”
“Can’t move. Trapped. Help me, Dan.”
Waterhouse could see the panic in Sidney’s eyes.
“You’re not trapped, Sidney. You’re okay, sweetheart.”
“No. It’s so dark. Where are you?”
“I’m right here.” Waterhouse held her hand tightly to his chest as he leaned close. “You’re safe, Sidney. Are you ready to go home?”
“Home?” Her voice was a mere whisper. Waterhouse had to listen carefully.
“Yes, home. We should go home.”
“Home. Take me home, Dan.”
“Back to Canada?”
“No. Home.”
Waterhouse had to stop and consider her answer. She’d reported on her application form that she was from Canada. Where else could she be from?
“Back to New Seattle?”
“No. Take me home, Dan.”
“Okay, Sidney, we’ll go home.”
He let her rest. All the while he held onto her hand and stroked her forehead. He listened to her breathing and kept two fingers over the pulse in her wrist, just in case her heart stopped.
“Dan?”
“Yes, Sidney. I’m here.”
“Cold. So cold.” She became frantic, struggling with the bed covers.
“I’ll get another blanket for you.” Sidney grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go.
“Hold me, Dan. Hold me. Cold,” she whispered.
Waterhouse sat on the bed and shifted his position so his back was against the headboard. He raised her shoulders to rest against his chest and cradled her in his arms. Immediately, she became calm. Waterhouse was certain this wouldn’t be considered appropriate action, but in the dim light of the room, there was little need for his rule book. His heart was with Joy, a million miles away from military protocol.
“Hold me, Dan. Please. Don’t go.”
“I won’t leave, Sidney.” He had to remember to call her Sidney. His thoughts were of Joy.
“I love you, Dan. Hold … me,” she rasped, breathless.
Waterhouse wondered how this man, Dan, could have ever let someone he loved go on a hopeless mission. If he really loved her, why he didn’t stop her like he himself should have stopped Joy? Was it his guilt in not protecting Joy that had left him too mute to say goodbye to her?
He placed his fingers again over Sidney’s wrist to check her pulse. It was weak. Her body was very warm, her hair and pajamas soaked in sweat. Not much longer, he thought. He clasped her hand in his with the tenderness of a bird sheltering her chicks under her wings. He felt the smallness of her hand. With his palm against hers, he felt a soothing energy wash over him. It seeped into his bones and swam throughout his body, gathering up all his tension. Remembering his meditation practice from years ago, he set aside his need to be in control and silenced the rules that governed Captain Waterhouse. The true essence of Sam emerged and quickly surrendered to a gentle, yet powerful force. In a moment he was asleep.
Friday, July 5, En Route to Acapulco Harbor
A few hours later, Dr. Duncan entered the infirmary looking somber. “Good morning, Captain. What time did she die?”
Until last night, Waterhouse saw himself as only a captain clinging to his rule book to define himself and to dull the pain. Now, he saw that he was, first and foremost, Sam Waterhouse using the rule book to guide his officers. Sam stood with his arms folded across his chest. He grinned and wasn’t sure how to tell the doctor that he was going to have to deal with Sidney’s peculiar physiology a little longer.
“Take a look, Doctor. She’s much better. In another day, she’ll be ready for interrogation.”
Sam gestured toward Sidney’s bed, and Dr. Duncan froze. She was indeed alive.
After leaving the doctor to care for his patient and changing into his exercise clothes, Sam went to the ship’s deck for his morning jog. The sun was just lifting its rays over the ocean’s horizon. He took in a lungful of crisp, salty air and savored the elation that surged through him, hoping to trap it. For the first time in a long, long time, he was actually looking forward to the day and whatever it brought. He sensed a shift had taken place within himself. It was nothing he could explain rationally. But when he woke, still holding his prisoner, he felt a power that energized his body and mind. No, it was more a clarity. And something else. For some reason, he no longer felt alone. He tried to find an explanation for this new way of being, but then he understood that acceptance was enough.
At 0900 hours, the informal breakfast meeting with his senior officers began. All six of them were waiting when he arrived in the boardroom, and the food and fresh brewed coffee had been delivered. The oth
er officers briefly snapped to attention and then relaxed with Sam’s “As you were.”
Eagerly, they filled their plates and sat down. As far as they knew, there was only one item on the agenda — the prisoner. But Sam was determined to maintain the routine. He asked each officer to present his or her report. Commander Moon reported the events that had transpired during the stormy night.
“Several nearby ships, including those anchored in Mountiago Bay, were reported to have suffered major damage. The Nonnah easily sailed through the storm. In fact, the raging gale had seemed to be all around us, but, as we sailed on, the sea in our path became calmer. It was good fortune.”
Sam noted he’d hadn’t noticed the storm while he was in the infirmary. He remembered only a sense of peace.
Robert John, the Engineer Officer, gave a brief overview of the recent engine leak. “Nothing to be overly concerned about, Skipper. Replacement parts will be at the Acapulco harbor.”
The Communication, Navigation, and Personnel Officers reported on preparations underway for the Nonnah’s arrival at Acapulco in the early afternoon. Lastly, Sam asked Dr. Duncan to present his findings on the prisoner. The doctor reported that she was still alive. He described her unusual physiology just as he’d reported to Sam the previous evening.
“Why was the prisoner in such a terrible state, Captain?” asked Casey Cropley, the Communications Officer.
“She tried to escape and was shot. Following that, the interrogation methods resulted in her becoming quite ill. The rest of the information concerning the prisoner is strictly between Admiral Garland and myself.”
The officers nodded, with the exception of Casey. He shook his head and was about to respond. Sam raised his hand, an indication that the discussion was over.
Dr. Duncan cleared his throat. He shifted in his chair and tapped the table with a large, brown envelope. He’d brought one more item to the meeting.
“A gift for you, sir, I think,” the doctor said.
He shoved the envelope across the table, and it easily skidded across the polished, dark walnut and came to rest in front of Sam. The captain smiled, suspecting the officers were playing a joke.