International Incident

by Melissa F. Miller

  Mina and Binh scrambled to their feet and fell in with the rest of the crew, jostling their way up the stairs. It didn’t pay to be last above deck. The last two men up would be swatted with the stick and tasked with swimming out into the inky ocean to pull in the nets—a dangerous job in the dark of night. Already one man, a Cambodian named Arun, had gotten tangled in the unseen nets and pulled under. Mina knew that his bloated corpse would bob in her nightmares about the sea the next time she closed her eyes. She threw her elbow into the back of the man ahead of her and wriggled in front of him.

  * * *

  “Sasha,” Connelly called, waving at her from across the room.

  She nodded to let him know she’d heard him and excused herself from the conversation with the retired minister and his delightful librarian wife. As she crossed the parquet dance floor, she reached out and snagged a bacon-wrapped scallop from a circulating waiter’s silver tray. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed. Then she smiled at her husband and his new friends—a deeply tanned man with a shock of silver hair and a pale, blue-eyed woman not much taller than Sasha herself.

  “Doctor Eleanor and Mister Oliver Kurck, this is my wife Sasha McCandless-Connelly.”

  The woman juggled her plate of cheese cubes into her left hand and extended her right. “Call me Elli. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Sasha shook the woman’s hand and noted that it was surprisingly calloused, given her expensive gown and their surroundings. “The pleasure’s all mine. What kind of doctor are you—if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Elli smiled. “I’m a professor of social justice. I teach at the University of Helsinki.” She looked down at her hands. “I just finished up some field work teaching my students how to build tents for refugees. I think I need a manicure.” Her English was flawless and lightly accented.

  “That sounds like important work,” Sasha said. “And, I wouldn’t worry about your nails. I’m told there’s a spa onboard.”

  “Ah, yes. This is a very posh ship, isn’t it? The cruise was Oliver’s idea. When he retired from investment banking, he insisted we travel through the exotic parts of Southeast Asia that I never get to see in the course of my research. So, here we are.”

  Sasha turned to the woman’s husband. “Retired? Congratulations.”

  His voice boomed. “Thank you. Yes, after twenty-seven years at the Nordic Investment Bank, I’m ready for some adventure. I hear from your husband that he, like me, is enjoying his freedom but you’re a hard-charging law firm partner.”

  “More like exhausted mother of twins,” she said with a wink.

  Elli nodded. “Our children are grown, but I remember those years.” She leaned forward, and Sasha caught a whiff of spicy perfume. “Just remember: the days are long, but the years are short.”

  Sasha was about to respond when Connelly caught her elbow. “If you’ll excuse us, I see the captain.”

  She cocked her head at the abrupt interruption.

  Oliver took it upon himself to explain Connelly’s weird behavior. “Captain van Metier likes to introduce himself to each of his guests. He’d stopped by to see us while you were chatting with that couple from one of the Dakotas. He made Leo promise to bring you over when you returned.”

  “North Dakota,” she interjected then continued, “Well, it was so nice to meet you both. I hope we—”

  “Oh, don’t worry you’ll see plenty of us,” Elli promised. “The husbands have already been making plans. I hope you weren’t expecting to have Leo all to yourself during this trip.”

  Sasha smiled. “I know better. Connelly’s a social butterfly. I’ll just be glad to have him to myself in bed.”

  The couple laughed politely as Sasha and Connelly walked toward the captain. Sasha’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she realized belatedly how she sounded.

  She turned to Connelly. “Oh my gosh—I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I just meant it would be nice not to wake up to feed someone or change a diaper in the middle of the night.”

  “I know. But you should have seen their expressions.” He laughed.

  Her flush deepened and she poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “Better behave. The captain might put you in the brig.”

  The captain was straight out of central casting. Craggy, weathered face, erect military bearing. When Connelly entered his line of vision, he nodded and turned away from the officer he’d been speaking with and pivoted to greet them.

  “Captain van Metier,” Connelly said, “I’d like to introduce my wife, Sasha McCandless-Connelly.”

  The captain smiled and gave a formal little bow from his waist as he reached for Sasha’s hand and clasped it between his own instead of shaking it. “Ah, Mrs. Connelly, how nice to meet you.”

  Sasha slipped her hand out of his grasp and smiled. “Captain.” She tried not giggle at his anachronistic chivalry. He was definitely the Old-World European sort.

  “I’m so glad your husband brought you over. I take my guests’ comfort very seriously. I encourage you to bring any concerns or problems that you may encounter to my attention directly, and I will ensure that they are addressed by our top-notch staff to your satisfaction.”

  Sasha arched an eyebrow. “That’s very kind of you, Captain. But I assume you’ll be pretty busy piloting the ship, won’t you?” Surely the dozens of uniformed staff members could handle any issues short of steering the ship.

  He chuckled. “The Water Lily is a marvel of technology, Mrs. Connelly. At the risk of talking myself right out of a job, I must admit that computers do most of the driving these days. You’ll have to come visit the bridge. It looks like it should be part of your country’s space program with all the screens and gadgets, if my memories of my trip to Florida are reliable.”

  Sasha smiled and cut her eyes back to her husband. The little one-on-one with the captain was a nice touch, but she was ready to find a place to sit down and have something a little more substantial than hors d’oeuvres.

  The captain seemed to read her mind.

  “The dining venues will be opening shortly. I trust you’ll find something appropriately scrumptious to dine on and, please be sure to toast to the voyage with a flute of champagne before we set sail. It’s believed to be good luck.”

  “Well, if I must,” Sasha joked.

  The captain bowed again, kissed Sasha’s hand with a flourish, then turned back to the officer to resume their discussion.

  3

  Leo smiled and nodded at the cheerful man across the table, who was halfway through his lengthy play-by-play of a cricket match. Leo was only half listening. Most of his attention was on Sasha, who was fading—and fast. She stifled her third yawn in about ten minutes and gave him an apologetic look before turning back to the woman to her left, a schoolteacher from Mexico City.

  His five-foot-tall, green-eyed firecracker in three-inch heels was severely sleep deprived. The long hours of lawyering and mothering she’d put in so as to pull off a nine-day absence from her responsibilities had left her depleted. Add in the international travel and the time change—not to mention the fact that she found the coffee in Singapore to be insufferably weak—and it all amounted to a woman about to fall asleep on her feet.

  He took a long sip of the velvety, twenty-one-year-old single barrel malt scotch that the waiter had wisely recommended and waited for Raj to pause for a breath. Then he jumped in, “Well, sounds like the Londoners team sure pulled out a daisy cutter! If you’ll excuse us, Sasha and I have had a long day with a lot of excitement. We’re going to go back to the room and rest.” He folded his linen napkin over his dessert plate and pushed back his chair.

  Sasha blinked in surprise at his announcement. She checked her watch. “Are you sure? It’s not even nine-thirty yet.”

  He noted the dark half circles under her eyes. “I’m sure.”

  She made her excuses to the schoolteacher and gave her after-dinner coffee one last wistful glance before circling the table to take his arm.r />
  He bent and spoke in her ear. “I think you need a soft pillow and a warm blanket even more than you need your hit of coffee.”

  She opened her mouth in what he assumed would be an attempt at a protest, but instead raised her hand to cover yet another little yawn. She gave a rueful laugh. “I guess you’re right. Anyway, I spoke to Julia earlier, and she promised to hook me up with some whole beans, a grinder, and a French press in the morning so I can make some coffee that’s at least slightly stronger than water.”

  Why wasn’t he surprised?

  “Of course you did.”

  He put his hand on the small of her narrow back to pilot her across the edge of the dance floor. Oliver Kurck twirled Elli in his arms and called out, “Not dancing tonight? Perhaps you’re headed to the gaming tables, eh?”

  “Oh, no, we’re going to call it a night,” he answered.

  Elli giggled, probably remembering Sasha’s earlier remark. “To be sure.”

  “Good night, friends.” And with that, Oliver spun his wife back toward the middle of the dance floor.

  “They’re cute,” Sasha remarked as they turned out of the ballroom and continued along the hallway to the wide stairs leading up to the suites.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he responded, distracted by the way her hip bumped against his thigh. “I thought you looked like you could use some sleep. But if you’d rather make better use of our time alone…” His voice trailed off and he gave her a suggestive look.

  She peeked up at him from under her long eyelashes. “Mr. Connelly, whatever did you have in mind?”

  His pulse quickened. Maybe the evening was going to go a little differently than he thought. He leaned in close. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

  He mounted the steps behind her, pausing to enjoy the view. She looked over her shoulder at him and giggled. It was right about then that he realized no obstacles in the form of a diaper change, a burping, or a feeding stood between him, his wife, and a king bed piled high with fluffy pillows. He managed to suppress the urge to pump his fist.

  When they reached the outer door to their rooms, they bumped into Bruce, their valet—who insisted on calling himself their personal butler—on his way out.

  “Mrs. Connelly; Mr. Connelly,” he said in his precise British accent as he held the door open, “I’ve just turned down your bed and left fresh ice and the makings of your nightcap. Please do let me know if you require any other assistance before you retire.”

  “Thanks so much,” Sasha said as she slipped past him and through the open door.

  “Yes, thank you, Bruce. But Mrs. Connelly and I have everything we need for the rest of the night. Please see that we’re not disturbed until morning.” Leo gave him a meaningful look.

  Bruce nodded knowingly. “Very good, sir.”

  Leo followed his wife into the room and locked the deadbolt. Then gathered Sasha into his arms and nuzzled her neck. “Now where were we?”

  She gave him a dazzling smile. “I believe we were going to make good use of this magically baby-free night. Will you help me out of this dress?” She turned and lifted her hair off her neck

  He lowered her zipper as slowly as he could manage, savoring the moment. The evening gown puddled at her feet and she stepped out of it. He scooped it up and headed for the closet, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt one-handed as he walked.

  “Be back in a second,” he promised.

  Sasha ran her hands along the snow white comforter that stretched across the expanse of the bed. “I’ll be right here.”

  Approximately forty seconds later, he emerged from the closet to find that she was as good as her word. She was right there, all right.

  Face down, smack in the middle of the bed, already drooling on one of the silk pillows, her back rising and falling with her deep, even breaths.

  Leo shook his head and walked over to the bar to fix himself a drink. He didn’t have the heart to wake her.

  * * *

  Should he wake her?

  Binh gnawed on the jagged skin around his cuticle and thought. As he worried, he kept his eyes on Mina. She was definitely sleeping. Her head lolled back against the splintered wood of the mast and her limp hands hung at her sides.

  He’d seen her returning with a load of herring to deposit in the rusted bucket, but then instead of returning to her position on the net, she’d rested her head against the wood and closed her eyes. He understood the need to pause to rest. He was sure she was tired. He was tired. They were all tired.

  They fished in the darkness of the night because the silver sparkling fish were easier to see in the black water when the sun wasn’t glinting off the waves. And they slept during the heat of the day. But the hammocks were too crowded, the tight space too packed, for everyone to sleep all afternoon. So they took turns napping, grabbing an hour or two, three if they were very fortunate. Unless there were many fish to sort. Then no one slept until the work was done.

  The schedule left everyone fatigued and shaky. But that didn’t matter. If Captain Vũ happened to come by and catch her sleeping, it would be bad. If she were lucky, she’d be whipped. If she were unlucky … he shuddered, and his eyes slid involuntarily away from the sleeping girl to the inky water below. The last crew member with bad luck had suffered a bout of pneumonia and been dumped overboard, still wheezing.

  Yes, definitely wake her.

  He started across the deck, careful not to slip on the boards, which were slick with saltwater and fish guts. As he made his way toward her, the captain rounded the corner and instantly began to bark at him in Vietnamese, angrily ordering Binh back to his spot at the net. He ducked his head and scurried as quickly as he dared across the wet floor. He didn’t dare defy a direct order. He couldn’t risk it.

  When he’d first learned that the captain was Vietnamese, too, he thought for a moment he might receive kinder treatment than the others. He’d been wrong. It was almost as if Captain Vũ reserved the worst treatment for his countrymen. Binh’s rice bowl often contained no fish. It sometimes contained roaches—too often to be a coincidence. He was reprimanded for being too slow, for being clumsy, for accidentally putting a mackerel in the bucket for sardines. Every transgression, no matter how minor, earned Binh a lashing. He winced at the memory, and the deep scars that crisscrossed his back seemed to ache more than usual. He trod to his position at the enormous mesh net and stared unblinkingly down into the churning water.

  Afraid to glance back at the sleeping girl, he kept his eyes fixed on the black sea. But his lips moved wordlessly as he repeated a silent mantra: Wake up, Mina. Wake up, Mina. Please wake up.

  4

  The Gulf of Thailand

  Binh was dozing when the sound of a woman screaming penetrated his dream. He jolted awake, his arms and legs jerking, and swiveled his head wildly, looking for the source of the noise. It could only be Mina. She had to stop—quickly, right now—before the unmistakably feminine sound revealed the truth about her.

  He scrambled to his feet. He had to find her and plead with her to stop before she got herself in trouble. He raced toward the sound of the screaming coming from below deck. When he reached the top of the stairs , he stopped in his tracks. Captain Vũ had a fistful of Mina’s thin white T-shirt and was dragging her up the stairs. She fell to her knees and pleaded in rapid-fire Malay that Binh doubted the captain understood any more than he did, but the tone made her message clear: she was begging for her life. Captain Vũ’s face was red, redder than blood, and his mouth was set in a hard slash. He yanked her roughly, her shins banging against the steps.

  Binh shrank back against the wall, pressing himself into the wood in an effort not to draw the captain’s attention. At this point there was nothing he could do for the girl—she was going to be punished, and given Captain Vũ’s naked hatred for him, intervening on her behalf would only make it worse for both of them. All he could do was hope she didn’t say his name when she passed by and drag him into her mess. He pinned his eyes
to the ground as the captain and his captive clattered up the stairs. But he was unable to stop himself from sneaking a glance at her as she passed him.

  Mina was pale with fright and pulling against the captain’s grip with all her might, but she gave no indication that she recognized him or thought that anyone might help her. Boys and men stopped what they were doing and poured out from every crevice of the ship to gather on the mid-deck and watch the spectacle in a mixture of horror and anticipation. The captain ignored them all and continued to march, ramrod straight, toward his office with Mina in tow.

  When they were several feet away, Binh spotted the red bloom of menstrual blood staining the back of her shorts and he knew that her gender had been revealed before she screamed. He made a silent wish that Captain Vũ would be merciful and that her beating would be quick. Wide awake now and with a sour taste in his mouth, he wandered aimlessly along the deck. His crew mates were chattering in excitement at the novelty of a woman on the ship.

  Binh shifted from hoping the captain would deliver a light beating to fervently praying he kept her locked up in one of the cages reserved for troublemakers, if only for her own protection. Many of these men had been at sea for months. Some, like the Cambodians, said they’d been on the water for years. Binh didn’t know how long he’d been on the ship. In the beginning, he scratched a line into the floorboards near the kitchen at the end of each day; but after receiving a particularly brutal beating, he decided he no longer wanted to know how long it had been.

  There were a lot of men on the ship who had not had the company of a woman in a very long time. Mina’s worst punishment might come if she were released back to the crew.

  For many hours, Binh thought the universe had answered his request. After Captain Vũ dragged Mina out of sight and into his office, she didn’t reemerge. The adrenaline rush of the scene died as quickly as it had flared, and the crew turned back to their work.