Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  “Hey!” Finn said with mock indignation.

  “No offense.”

  “None taken. It's the venerated game of miniature golf you insulted.”

  Zia slammed her book shut with a scowl, dust puffing from the pages. “Why can't I go with you?”

  Willow refused to feel guilty. Zia was thirteen and still acted like a little kid. At her age, Willow had helped her lola cook tapsilog and nilagang baka, scrubbed the toilets, did all the laundry, and still maintained her grades. Zia needed to grow the hell up. “Because I'm stuck with you all the time!”

  Zia sank back in the chair. She did that big doe-eyed thing, like she was about to cry. “But—”

  “Just stop it! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you around!”

  Willow regretted the words as soon as she said them. But it was the truth. Zia would get over it. Everything was piling up on her—her irritation at her siblings, frustration with her mom, worry over Rihanna, the gut-wrenching disappointment of her whole stupid life.

  It was too much. She needed to get away. She needed to have a few moments of fun for herself or her head was going to explode. She hurried out of the library before she could see the hurt on her sister’s face.

  Willow strode beside Finn, trying not to wobble in her heels. They were another gift from Rihanna, and she wasn’t used to wearing them. The straps rubbed painfully against her blisters.

  They passed dozens of people huddled on the white seats in front of the ship's windows, staring down at their SmartFlex cuffs, tapping the screen, shaking their wrists, and holding it to their ears, like their volume just wasn't turned up enough. The connection must be severed ship-wide.

  “Your sister likes you,” Finn said. “That's cool.”

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, to relax. This was her time now. “She's a pain in the butt.”

  “You don't usually get along?”

  “It's—complicated. You have any siblings?”

  “Only child.”

  “You're lucky.”

  “It's actually pretty lonely. I don't recommend it.”

  They climbed the stairs to the lido deck and passed through the glass doors. Outside, the sky was a steely gray. The wind whipped her dress around her thighs and snarled her hair. “You have no idea what I'd give to be left alone—to just be without having to think about them all the time.”

  “I think you might miss it.”

  She reigned in her frustration. It wasn’t Finn’s fault. It wasn’t even Zia’s fault, really. Her mom was the one always running off to please her boss, abandoning Willow with her siblings. She’d make it up to Zia later. “I know, I know. You're telling me the grass is always greener on the other side.”

  “You know where the grass is greenest, right?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Over a septic tank.”

  She snorted.

  “Let that little pearl of wisdom sink in for a bit.”

  “I see your point. I don't concede, though. You've never shared a bathroom with my sister.” She winced at her mistake. Rich kids had their own bathrooms larger than her apartment. They never shared anything.

  But Finn didn't seem to notice. He moved to the glass railing. “Come look at these waves!”

  “I'll stay back here, thanks.”

  “What? Why?”

  She swallowed. “I have this little thing about heights. That's like fourteen stories straight down. Those glass railings are too low and flimsy. How are they not a safety hazard? I mean, a strong gust of wind could push you right over.”

  “Not me.” Finn flexed his arms, shooting her a goofy grin. “I'm much too strong and manly.”

  “I didn't mean you, of course. I would never suggest such a thing.” She felt lighter up here, finally free. For the first time, she actually felt like she was on vacation. She smiled, happier than she'd been in days, weeks, maybe months. “Are we gonna play this game or what?”

  15

  Gabriel

  Gabriel stared at the captain's slumped body, his stomach churning. “You didn't have to do that.”

  “He was irritating the hell out of me.” Kane glowered at him. “You got a problem?”

  “Nobody has a problem,” Simeon said coolly. “As long as we stick to the plan.”

  “That was part of the plan?” Gabriel gestured at the dead captain, his voice rising. It was difficult to breathe. There wasn't enough oxygen in the room. In all the months he'd imagined this scene, it hadn't gone like this. “He didn't do anything. He's not—”

  “Calm down, son. There is collateral damage in every war. Unfortunately, he chose his side long ago.”

  “Didn't we need him?” Hollis asked.

  “Anything you needed from him, I can do.” The Second Officer wiped in vain at several specks of red on her uniform. “Aisha Walsh, at your service.”

  Kane slung his rifle over his shoulder and dragged the two bodies around the other side of the console. The two remaining hostages huddled against the far wall in silence, their faces drained of color.

  Simeon spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Mission completed. No casualties on our side.”

  “What happens next?” Gabriel asked. “When do the others get here?”

  “Didn't I say to trust me, son?” Simeon slapped his shoulder. “Walsh will take command of the ship. We’ve taken out the secret service and private security agents per the information you provided us earlier. Everything is on schedule.”

  Hollis set up the portable satellite navigation system, since the ship’s communications were still down. She placed two EMMASAT satphones on the console. “We continue as if nothing has happened, at least until our friends arrive.”

  Simeon grinned. “And we have many friends. More than we can count.”

  The radar blipped and Walsh turned back to the console. “These are your boys?” She pointed to five small green dots making their way toward the ship.

  Simeon jerked his ski mask off his face. “Captain Cheng and his men, right on time.”

  “Is he a Patriot?” Gabriel asked.

  “Just hired grunts, like I said before.”

  “Pirates,” Hollis said in disgust.

  Gabriel rubbed his slick palms against his pant legs. “Pirates?”

  Simeon shrugged. “Look, this is a twenty-billion dollar a year business—hijacking, cargo theft, drug running, smuggling. Syndicates go after ships containing high value commodities easy to sell on the black market: diesel fuel, rubber, steel, copper and aluminum concentrates.”

  “Captain Cheng is part of the Singapore syndicate,” Kane said. “They control the South China Sea and Malacca Strait, with branches in Vietnam, Malaysia, Sumatra, Cambodia, the Philippines, and now South and Central America. Their connections with officials in the U.S. government and senior officials on mainland China keep their operations well protected.”

  Gabriel still couldn't breathe properly. The stench of blood stung his nostrils. He could taste it, sour and metallic. He’d known others were involved. He’d just assumed they would be fellow Patriots, not hired criminals. Not pirates. “Who are these people?”

  “Gabriel, my son.” Simeon put his hand on his shoulder. “We need them. They're a means to an end. How do you think we infiltrated the ship so easily as crew? The syndicate uses body shops based in radicalized countries—Indonesia, Pakistan, the Philippines. The syndicate pays the agencies to place certain applicants on the rolls, even with zero experience, with screening completely bypassed or fabricated, including retinal and bioscans.”

  “It’s the perfect crime.” Kane cracked his knuckles. “How would anyone even begin to investigate? In which jurisdiction? A ship built in Japan, owned by a corporation in Malta, managed by a company in Cypress, crewed by Filipinos, financed by a British bank, chartered by the Swiss, carrying cargo by multinational companies or international passengers. How would you begin to follow such a paper trail? Any investigation is hopelessly entangled before it begins. Dirty officials eithe
r look the other way or actively take part in the piracy.”

  “There's too much money pouring in, and everyone wants a drink,” Simeon said. “Less than ten percent of attacks are even reported.”

  Kane grinned. “Of course, we'll proudly admit to ours. Even then, the government will have a hell of a time nailing any actual evidence to the wall.”

  Simeon moved to the main console. “Bottom line, these guys know how to take over a ship. They've made a profession of it. And they'll do anything for the right price. Offer them twenty grand apiece, they'll massacre the entire ship.”

  Gabriel tried to keep his expression flat, but the blood drained from his face.

  “Calm down, kid,” Hollis said. “It's just first-time jitters. You'll be fine.”

  He didn't feel fine. His stomach roiled. But arguing only made him sound weak. Complaining only deepened Simeon's irritation. He was here because Simeon vouched for him. He had to prove his worth, his value to the cause. He fell silent.

  Simeon bent over the GPS holo map, then pointed. “Here.”

  Walsh raised her eyebrows. “That will take us right through the tropical storm, sir.”

  “The storm will provide cover. Besides, we only have a small window to meet our extraction point. We've paid our weight in gold, but the syndicate doesn't mess around. We make it, or we're left stranded on the ship. Can we make it, Captain Walsh?”

  After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. She swiped the console screen, adjusting their course.

  “Gabriel, come with me.” Simeon took his arm and led him through the exterior starboard door. The bridge wing looked like the narrow wing of an aircraft. It was a suspended walkway supported by thin corbeled struts extending over the ocean a hundred feet below.

  The sea was choppy, the silver water crinkling like foil. The wind beat about his face, whipping his uniform. The sky was battleship gray, as if preparing for war.

  He couldn't get the images of those bodies out of his mind. Nausea roiled through him. His stomach heaved, and he vomited over the side. He spat the sour acid out of his mouth and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Shame swept over him at his failure. “I'm sorry.”

  “I hurled at my first dead body, too. Don't worry.”

  Silence stretched between them. Even speaking the words felt like a betrayal. “We didn't have to kill them, the captain and the helmsman. They weren't—”

  Simeon kept his hand on Gabriel's arm. “The helmsman refused to listen to the warning I offered him. He could have lived. He chose otherwise. The captain wouldn't listen to reason. I wouldn't have chosen for him to die, but it is what it is. We were prepared for the possibility. That’s why we recruited Walsh. She’s a Patriot, and a damn fine one. She’ll fulfill the duties of the captain. We must accept this, Gabriel.”

  He stared down at the water, fighting against the weakness inside him. The body of the captain and his dead eyes shimmered in his vision. He blinked.

  “Every good soldier in every war experiences the same thing,” Simeon said quietly. “In the Revolutionary War, neighbors fought on opposite sides. In the Civil War, brother killed brother. In World War Two, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing hundreds of thousands of civilians. That bomb America dropped on North Korea three years ago prevented nuclear war. Why did they do it? Because they were fighting for a larger cause, a greater good.

  “We are fighting for the greater good, Gabriel. You must never forget. Innocent people are killed in war every day, including those sanctioned by our own government. But you seldom hear our government speak of this, unless they're attacking someone else for doing the exact same thing.”

  Gabriel’s hands curled into fists. Every word Simeon spoke was true. He believed it.

  “They will try to get in your head,” Simeon said. “They will try to twist your own goodness and use it against you. We must remain strong. Your mother died needlessly because of corporate greed. Your father died of a blight manufactured by corporations right here in America. We’ve lost more and more of our freedoms even as the government leaves us to starve. And now they want to chip us, too? This is what we fight for. Yes, we may have to deal with certain . . . undesirables. But it is all for the cause. We are true patriots, fighting for our freedom.”

  He nodded, clenching his jaw. “We are freedom fighters.”

  “Yes, we are. And I need you. Now is the time to collect the daughter of Declan Black and get her somewhere safe, until I call for you. Take her by force if you have to, but until the rest of the ship is secured, it would be best to stay under the radar.”

  Gabriel kept his expression even. He felt nothing for her. Then why did the thought of kidnapping her by force twist his gut in revulsion? Last night, when he’d seen her cowering before her father, he’d longed to smash Declan Black’s perfect white teeth down his arrogant throat.

  He took a deep breath, forcing out thoughts of the girl, forcing out the images of dead bodies, forcing out his fear and doubt and hesitation. He was a soldier. He couldn't afford misgivings. Not now. The arrogant, indifferent elite had to pay for their crimes. The starving, suffering people needed a voice. They needed someone who would fight for them.

  The New Patriots fought for them. Gabriel fought for them. This was his purpose. This was a cause worth killing for, dying for.

  “I'm ready,” he said, stronger now. “But my brother. I haven't had a chance to warn him. I know you wanted him to fight for us. But he won’t. It’s not in him.” Another pang of regret struck him. He should never have let Micah on the ship.

  Simeon held up a hand. His eyes were kind. “Your emotions are your weakness. In war, compassion is a flaw, a risk. Don't let your feelings for anyone get in the way. Especially your brother. Do you understand?”

  His throat tightened. He wouldn't let Simeon down again. He wouldn't let the cause down. “Yes, sir. But—”

  “You attend to your duty, and I will ensure that he's out of harm's way.”

  “Yes, sir.” They turned back toward the bridge. The wind swirled around them. The sky darkened, the horizon deepening like a dark, pulsing bruise.

  “Take a moment, son.” Triumph thrummed through Simeon's voice. “We have officially taken command of the Grand Voyager.”

  16

  Amelia

  Ten minutes into dinner, a headache struck Amelia's skull like an axe splitting open a log. The pain pulsed from the base of her neck to her temples, throbbing behind her eyes.

  At the captain's table, the captain was conspicuously missing. Her father was huddled with one of his advisers just outside the Oasis main entrance, his expression strained. The remaining guests talked in hushed, agitated voices and repeatedly checked their disconnected SmartFlex cuffs. Among the strained whispers, she heard the word Hydra mentioned more than once, whatever that meant.

  The Maître d' announced the outside decks would be closing due to the weather and then made some lame joke about using the forced break from technology as an opportunity to try a hot stone massage. His only response was a trickle of uneasy laughter.

  The passengers were tense—upset over what might or might not be happening back home, irritated over the canceled shore excursion in Belize coupled with losing their net connections, and now this—lousy weather to top it off. The waves were choppy, and some people looked green as the floor rolled beneath them.

  Maybe you should play, her mother mouthed from her seat across the table. Amelia shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was play the violin to a restless crowd. And she was too upset and unsettled herself.

  She scanned the opulent dining room and caught sight of Gabriel standing outside the starboard side doorway. He lifted his fingers to his lips and mimed a smoke.

  Her stomach turned over. She wanted to see him. And her father wasn’t there to stop her. “I'm getting some air.” She tucked her clutch under her arm and escaped the Oasis dining room.

  She breathed in the scent of brine,
the wild and salty sea. The wind whipped her hair across her face. The ozone-tinged air raised goosebumps on her arms. For a moment, she closed her eyes and just listened to the crashing waves and the roar of the wind, willing herself to calm down.

  “Did I miss the costume party memo?”

  “What?”

  Gabriel eyed her dress. “The Greek goddess getup.”

  She blushed and smoothed her gown. Three crystal-encrusted straps wrapped around her shoulders, with another glittering belt at the bust line. The soft fabric draped around her, shimmering between ivory and silver. If only she felt the way she looked. “My father picked it out.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “He picks out all your clothes?”

  “Of course not. It's . . . complicated.” A wave slapped the hull. She held the railing for balance.

  Gabriel peered through the Oasis doorway, his expression anxious. “Have you seen my brother? I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah, Micah. He’s a waiter. I think he’s your waiter, actually.”

  “The shy, cute one with the glasses?”

  Gabriel snorted. “Yep. Add a book to that picture, and you’ve pegged him exactly.”

  She shifted against the railing. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, nothing like that.” But Gabriel’s face was tense, his shoulders hunched as if warding off something. Or preparing for it. “We're just not exactly talking right now.”

  She thought of Silas, the parting words he'd hurled at her during their fight in Ocho Rios. He’d accused her of being just like their mother. Weak and subservient. Pathetic. She winced. “I know the feeling.”

  “I want to make sure—oh, never mind.” He sighed and turned his gaze back to her. “Are you okay? You seemed upset the last time we talked.”

  “I'm fine. A bit of a headache.” Just one more lie to pile on top of all the others. She took a closer look at him. “Are you okay?”

  His jaw was clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. A shadow crossed his face, something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read.