by Alan May
In theory, Phillip should have found this idea reassuring. Technically, after all, he wouldn’t be killing Anika. No, he would be watching as she and the doctor were tossed overboard (would they be conscious when this happened? would they struggle?), leaving them to nature’s devices.
Which meant certain death. No one could survive long in these waters. So, instead of a swift, merciful killing, a bullet to the head, say, he’d be subjecting Anika—and the guy, too, the doctor—to a brutal, agonizing end by drowning or exposure or starvation or sharks.
There had to be some way to save her, to save both of them. The guards, okay, he hadn’t felt good about having to kill them either, but at least it was all over and done with quickly; they hadn’t suffered. Besides, it was a dangerous job, being a guard for the cartel. They accepted the risk when they signed on. Occupational hazard. And he hadn’t known them personally, either. They were just nameless, faceless guards, hardly human at all.
Not like Anika.
As soon as his watch was over, he would go and talk to her. She’d see that it was in her best interest—and in her friend the doctor’s best interest—to cooperate with him. He wasn’t asking for much, anyway; a small price to pay for the privilege of continuing to exist. She was a smart girl; she’d see. And then he’d only have to get Stefano—and Juan—to see. That would be a little more difficult, but he’d think of some way of persuading them. The first thing was to make Anika see.
Anika didn’t see.
She opened her cabin door a crack in response to Phillip’s tap and looked at him warily.
“Open up,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice was flat.
“Your future.”
Anika opened the door just wide enough for him to squeeze through sideways.
Phillip seemed to be taking up most of the narrow space in the cabin. Anika wanted to back away, but there was nowhere to go except the bunk, so she held her ground. She could feel his warmth, smell his breath.
She raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eye.
You had to hand it to her, Phillip thought, you really did. She was one plucky little chick. That was one of the things he liked about her, that air of defiance in the face of danger, that brave façade that masked her vulnerability. But he was going to like unmasking the façade even more.
His voice low, he told her of Stefano’s plan to abandon her to the ocean. Her eyes grew wider, but she didn’t flinch, not even when he told her about the sharks that live in this part of the Pacific.
“I know you don’t want that to happen,” he concluded. “I don’t want it to either.”
He took another step toward her.
“What can you do to prevent it?”
“It’s what you are willing to do to prevent it that counts. Remember, we’re not just talking about your life here, but your friend the doctor’s as well. I don’t think it’s asking too much for you to give me a small token of thanks for saving your flesh.”
“What sort of token?” Anika asked.
She braced herself for the reply she was certain was coming.
Phillip took a step closer. Flesh in exchange for flesh, that was to be the bargain, just as she had known it would be. He was now so close she couldn’t keep his face in focus; his features swam before her like a surreal painting, all leering eyes and greedy mouth. Phillip bent his head down to hers and began to force her lips apart with his tongue.
Stefano would have locked Phillip up along with Anika and the doctor if the little puñetero hadn’t been needed. If he wasn’t too banged up to be useful, that is, after what the girl had done to him. Maybe he should just chuck him overboard.
But his injuries were less serious than they’d first appeared. Stefano and the doctor had nearly collided rushing to her cabin when they’d heard her screams. Phillip was lying doubled over on the floor in a pool of blood, holding his groin and moaning. The girl had sobbed out the story while the doctor cleaned Phillip up and applied a makeshift bandage to his nose, which was never going to look quite the same again.
The muchacha had given him a sharp knee in the cojónes; then, while he was writhing, had followed up with a straight arm to the nose. He’d be sore for a while, and the broken nose would take some time to heal, but there was no reason Phillip couldn’t still pull his weight onboard.
Idiota!
What did he think he was doing, spilling everything to the girl in return for laying her? Now the hostages would have to be kept under guard, locked in the forward cabin, and one man assigned to keeping an eye on them at all times. What a waste. What a loser.
And what would Juan do when he found out?
36
Air Force pilot Nick Anastapolou had just taken his final photo of the Coincidence, now some eighty miles from its last sighting. He was heading back to base when he heard the emergency distress beacon. Abruptly altering course, he homed in on the source of the signal. There it was. Yep, that had to be the Inspiration, all right, he was sure of it. He circled overhead and radioed headquarters.
“I’m reducing altitude now in preparation for a close flyby,” he said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Heads up, mates!” Mac called.
Pierre and Ryan, rust-busting on the deck, looked up to where the bosun was pointing. They saw nothing. Then their ears picked up a faint whine, which grew gradually louder; they squinted in the direction of the noise, and a spot appeared, grew larger, and finally materialized into an airplane.
An airplane!
Pierre took off at lightning speed to find Melissa, knocking on the classroom doors and alerting everyone he saw along the way to her cabin. Soon the deck was swarming with Floaties and staff, all of them shouting and cheering and waving their arms off.
“I didn’t see any obvious signs of distress onboard,” Nick reported. “Just a slew of people waving at me.”
He reported on photos he had taken.
“They’ve got five sails flying. Must not have any engine power. On course for Easter Island, but going real slow.
“They’re not responding to radio calls. What say we try dropping off a VHF radio on a life raft on the morning run tomorrow? I think they’ll be okay till then.”
Melissa gripped Pierre’s arm as she watched the plane bank, turn, and disappear into the horizon.
Captain Marzynski deactivated the beacon. No point in using it now. The plane must have come in response to the signal; the pilot was very likely alerting the authorities right now. And even if not, the signal would have been picked up on shore via satellite. And of course they could always reactivate it if necessary.
Mac propelled the newly repaired Zodiac as fast as he could out to the bobbing life raft, some three hundred feet away. To the crowd assembled on deck, it seemed to take him an inordinately long time to reach the small bundle; in fact it was a matter of minutes. He leaned over and fished it out of the water, set it in the dinghy beside him, and turned back toward the Inspiration to the crowd’s cheers. The plane that had dropped it circled overhead—the same plane that had appeared yesterday in response to the emergency signal.
Classes had been stopped to allow everyone to see what was going on. The air was still, the deck unnaturally quiet, as all hands gathered around, watching as Mac made his way back. Pulling up beside the boat, he heaved the yellow parcel up into Charlie’s waiting hands. Charlie put it down amid the throng of silent spectators. Waiting for Mac to climb back onboard, no one hazarded a guess as to what might be inside—not aloud, at any rate.
Captain Marzynski did the honors, deftly loosening the knots that bound the life raft around its contents. The raft flopped open, revealing another layer of packaging—black plastic crisscrossed with duct tape.
Melissa thought immediately of Christmas, of the intricately wrapped presents her Uncle Jack infuriated and delighted her with every year. The image brought a fleeting smile to her face; Pierre caught the change in her expression and shot her an
inquiring glance. But almost at once the smile vanished, and Melissa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from breaking into sobs at the very real possibility that there would be no more Christmases at home—no more Christmases, period.
Now she could only hope that whatever was inside this mysterious package would turn out to be as wonderful and useful a gift as those Uncle Jack had bestowed upon her. He had an uncanny knack for coming up with exactly the right thing at the right time, whether she knew she needed it or not.
The captain knelt and slit the tape open with a slim pocket-knife. The black plastic fell away. It took just a moment for the crowd to register what the object was. Then an excited murmur began, intensifying by the second until Melissa could barely hear the crackling static over the jubilation.
It seemed the gift giver in the airplane above was every bit as clever as Uncle Jack.
37
Phillip stood on deck, glowering at the ocean. His nose was swollen and throbbing, its initial redness turning blotchy purple. There wasn’t a part of his body, stem to stern, that didn’t hurt like hell.
In even worse shape than his body, though, were his spirits. Stefano was pissed as hell at him, and Juan—well, Juan would have finished off the pummeling Anika had started if Stefano hadn’t stopped him.
Anika! What was wrong with her anyway? She’d rather be thrown to the sharks than give up her precious frigging maiden-hood? C’mon. What did she think this was, a Victorian novel? Not that he believed for a minute that her maidenhood was intact. A girl like that? In this day and age? Hell, no.
So that meant she’d rather be thrown to the sharks than go to bed with him.
The only reason Juan and Stefano hadn’t thrown him to the sharks yesterday was that they needed him on the boat. He could tell by the brothers’ whispered conference outside Anika’s cabin, where he lay having his nose wrapped up, that it had taken a good deal of persuading for Juan to allow even that much.
It was clear to Phillip that by the time they reached Easter Island, he would no longer be needed for anything. He wouldn’t be going ashore any more than the hostages would. And all because that ungrateful little—
His watchman’s eye picked up a faint glint on the water far in the distance off the starboard bow. He shaded his eyes and kept the glint in view; little by little it came closer, eventually assuming the outline of a ship.
He shouted out to Esteban, on deck behind him.
“Come here! Now, damn it! Move it!”
Esteban put down the bucket he was holding and ambled over to where Phillip stood watch.
“Take over!” Phillip hissed as he ran to the bridge.
Severo sat at the controls, chewing a wad of gum.
“Hola, Felipe, how’s the nose?” he snickered as Phillip banged the door open. Phillip shoved him from his chair.
“Get Stefano!” he barked and sat down at the VHF radio.
Within three minutes, Stefano came storming through the door, with Severo trailing behind.
“What you think you’re—” Stefano began.
Phillip silenced him with a furious shaking of his head and hands, and pointed to the radio.
The three waited with their ears cocked as the VHF crackled.
After a moment, Stefano began again.
“Madre de Cristo! What the hell you—”
Suddenly the signal on the VHF changed. The static intensified, then was replaced by a screech. The screeching faded away and Stefano fell silent as a clear voice emanated from the box on the console.
“This is Captain Ritchie on the Coast Guard cutter Serendipity. We are now three miles off your starboard bow. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”
Severo reeled backward against the wall.
“It’s all over!” he wailed. “I knew it would end like this! It’s no use. We can’t run—”
“Chucha!” Stefano bellowed at him. “Shut up! We don’t know what they want. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe just routine, they searching all ships going through here. We don’t know.”
He nodded at Phillip.
“Tell them to come. Severo, you and Polo go and tie up the girl and the doctor. Make sure they can’t make no noise—lots of duct tape over their mouths. Stay with them. Find my brother first. Send him in here. Vaya!”
“Captain, we are stopping our engines now,” Phillip said as soon as Severo had gone. “Continue your approach.”
He turned to Stefano. For a moment the two men simply stared at each other, each trying desperately to hold onto hope, to quell their rising panic.
“Might be they’re only looking for the Two Wise,” Phillip said slowly. “That wouldn’t tie us in with the drugs necessarily. They’ll know the boat’s stolen, though; the camouflage is only good from the air.”
“A random drug check maybe? It’s possible?”
“Possible, I guess. Not probable. This isn’t exactly a high drug area. But we’ve got to decide now what to do with the coke. Once they’ve boarded, for whatever reason, it’ll be too late. And there’s no way we can outrun them. That cutter can go four times our best speed.”
A shadow loomed across the open doorway. Juan. Stefano exchanged glances with his brother. Phillip had never seen Juan look quite so venomous, and all of his anger seemed to be directed at him—though how the hell Juan could pin the blame for this on him he couldn’t see. But Juan had no head for logic; he’d lash out first and ask questions later. Which method of his imminent death would be the worst: gun-wielding authorities, ravenous sharks, or Juan?
Stalling for time, Phillip said, “Look, why don’t I just ask them what’s up, why they want to board, anyway? At least that way we’ll know what it is we’re dealing with.”
Stefano grunted his consent, and Juan did nothing to stop him, so Phillip went ahead.
“Serendipity? Could you tell us the—uh, the nature of your inquiry? We’re in international waters here. Why do you want to come aboard?”
The radio crackled again before the captain’s voice came through, calm and brisk.
“Coincidence, this is a routine check only. We monitor all ship traffic in this area. We are now launching a boarding party; it will arrive in a few minutes.”
Captain’s Ritchie’s tone was noncommittal; it almost sounded bored. But something about his explanation did not ring true. Why would the U.S. Coast Guard monitor all ships in this part of the world? Did they even have the authority to do so?
The men kept their eyes on the launch as it plowed the water toward them. Phillip’s eyes began to ache with the strain.
There were five of them on the launch. Five men in flak jackets. Five men with rifles trained on the Coincidence.
Stefano froze for an instant at the sight. Then he whirred into action, reaching into a locker behind him as he shouted out orders in staccato bursts.
“Juanito!”
He withdrew a rifle from the locker and tossed it to Juan.
“Get ready to fire!” he said, grabbing a second weapon for himself.
“You!” he yelled to Phillip. “Put the boat in gear! Go!”
As the boat began to move, Stefano and Juan took aim at the launch, which abruptly changed direction and headed back toward the Serendipity. Stefano wheeled around.
“Esteban! The hostages! Bring them here!”
Esteban looked up.
“Now, muchachote, now!”
The Serendipity was closing in on them, cutting them off. Two crew members stood on the bow, their weapons cocked. As Anika and the doctor reached the bridge, hands bound with rope, mouths taped shut, a shot cracked through the air. Two hundred feet in front of the Coincidence, a shell smacked down, sending a spray of water over its hull.
Stefano pushed Elliott and Anika onto the bridge in full view of the cutter.
“You tell them leave us alone or we will shoot them and throw them overboard,” he told Philip. “They can’t touch us once we get near the island.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Phillip said, shak
ing his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He looked at Stefano, who was wild-eyed, still believing there was a way out.
“The police will be waiting for us on Easter Island,” he said in a low voice.
“So? We throw the coke overboard now! No evidence!”
“It’s pointless.”
The radio crackled to life again.
“This is Captain Ritchie on the Serendipity. Don’t do anything foolish. It will do you no good, anyway. We know the names of your crew and your hostages. We know your boat is the Two Wise, stolen in Costa Rica. We know you killed the six guards in Colombia. We know you have the coke onboard.
“We are prepared to make you one offer, and one offer only: Stop your vessel now, surrender with no harm to the hostages, and we will take you back to the States to stand trial.
“If you reject this offer, we will board by force and turn you over to the Colombian authorities, who will administer their own brand of justice.”
The captain paused.
“Consider where you’d prefer to be jailed, and whether you prefer to stop on your own or have your vessel rammed.”
Another pause.
“What’s your decision?”
Stefano stood motionless. His face was drained of color, and his eyes were blank.
In Phillip’s mind, jail in Colombia ranked just below death by sharks. He stopped the engines and picked up the microphone.
38
Dabbing at his chin with olive oil, Dr. Elliott Williams was ruing the day he’d decided to grow a beard. Then again, he could hardly have imagined, as a young resident, that his casual decision to give up shaving in exchange for a few extra minutes of precious sleep every morning would lead to so much misery fourteen years later. He’d surely never dreamed that his practice of medicine was going to involve such tribulations as removing duct-tape residue from his facial hair.
The task had been far simpler for Anika; she’d smeared cleansing lotion over her face, rinsed it off, repeated, and, except for a little redness, was practically as good as new.