International Incident

by Melissa F. Miller

  Mel exhaled loudly, her breath shaky, and holstered her gun. “Butler, huh? Must be a pretty nice boat.”

  Sasha raised her hand in greeting. “Hi, Bruce,” she called.

  Bruce waved back. A look of concern was painted across his face.

  The three met at a point roughly halfway between the cars. Mel turned to Sasha. “I don’t want to stand out here in the open and have a long goodbye. I promise I’ll track down your husband and get him back to you in one piece. And, like I said, Ron and I will take care of … that other matter.”

  “Thanks, Mel. Despite the circumstances, it’s been nice meeting you.” Sasha meant it.

  She extended her hand to shake goodbye, but to her surprise the legal attaché grabbed her and swept her into a fierce, quick hug. Mel released her as quickly as she’d embraced her.

  Mel turned to Bruce. “Take good care of her.”

  Bruce, expertly hiding any confusion he might have at Mel or Sasha’s behavior, bowed his head slightly. “I certainly shall, madam. It is, after all, my job.”

  And just like that, the Embassy’s handoff of an American citizen was complete. Mel returned to her sedan. Sasha and Bruce walked in silence to the SUV. When they reached the passenger side, he opened the door for her with a little flourish.

  She waited to speak until he’d buckled his seatbelt, started the engine, and had executed the U-turn that would take them back toward the port at Laem Chabang and the waiting ship. “Did they tell you why I need to go back to the ship?”

  Mel had insisted that Ron wouldn’t provide any details to Sacred Lotus or the crew of The Water Lily, but Sasha knew he would’ve told someone something. She was curious what Bruce had been told.

  He shifted his gaze from the road for a moment and studied her face. “I was contacted at the monastery and asked to pick you up because you’re having a medical issue. I understand you would feel more comfortable being treated by the ship’s doctor than by a local physician. A wise decision; Dr. Harmon is top-notch.”

  Sasha hmmed quietly. As far as cover stories went, she had to give Ron credit. Needing medical attention was a plausible feint and had the added benefit that most people would hesitate to pry for details.

  After a moment of silence, Bruce said, “Will we be picking up Mr. Connelly somewhere along the way?”

  The worry and fear that Sasha had been working so hard to hide rushed to the surface and she felt the blood drain from her face. She had to swallow hard before she answered because her throat had gone bone dry. She let out a long breath then said, “He’ll be meeting us back on the ship.” Then she squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a silent prayer that her statement would prove true.

  “I see.” Bruce returned his attention to the road.

  After several silent moments, Sasha’s eyes popped open. “I just realized you had to cut short your retreat. I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

  “Please, Mrs. McCandless-Connelly. It’s of no consequence.”

  “Of course is it,” she insisted. “This is your leave time. You were looking forward to meditating with the monks.”

  “I was,” he agreed. “But a person must find peace everywhere. Otherwise, he will not find peace anywhere.”

  She considered his words for a moment, wondering if they were some sort of Zen koan or his own personal philosophy. Either way, he seemed to be unperturbed by having to cut short his retreat to fetch her. The more she thought about his pronouncement, the more she began to wonder if the statement was intended as a message for her. She eyed him closely, but his face was an inscrutable mask. Finally, she leaned back against the headrest and focused on the sound of her own breathing—in and out, in and out—in an effort to calm her nerves and still her mind. She’d find her peace if it killed her.

  24

  Captain Jan van Metier shut the door of the black Lexus firmly and walked smartly up the ramp to his ship without a backward glance. In the altogether likely event that any of the crew or passengers who’d stayed behind saw him approach the ship, it was critically important to act as though he’d been dropped off by a hired chauffeur and not a street thug who had just attempted to intimidate and threaten him into doing his employer’s bidding.

  He squared his jaw and his shoulders. He’d deal with Thale from the privacy of his quarters. For now, his priority was to make a strong show of authority.

  Julia Otterbein trotted over to him as he boarded The Water Lily. “Captain van Metier, sir, is everything okay?” she asked, slightly breathless.

  He arched a silver eyebrow in response to the somewhat personal question coming from his senior hostess.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I do apologize,” she said, flustered. She proceeded to babble in an apparent effort to unruffle his feathers. “Did the American Embassy call you? I assured the gentleman who contacted us that we would take care of Ms. McCandless-Connelly. He didn’t need to disturb you, as well.” Her perfectly lipsticked mouth turned down in an irritated frown.

  Jan felt as though he had a golf ball stuck in his windpipe. “Mrs. Connelly?” he wheezed. “What in the blue blazes does Mrs. Connelly have to do with anything?”

  Julia’s eyes narrowed at his deliberate use of the personal title that he knew full-well the woman didn’t use. He pretended not to notice. He could not have cared less if some female lawyer preferred a hyphenated mouthful. He’d call her by her husband’s surname if he liked.

  Julia smoothed out her expression and gave him a tentative smile. “I must be confused. I thought you might have received a call, too. Ms. McCandless-Connelly took ill on the road to Bangkok and sought assistance from the United States Embassy. They asked that we come fetch her and bring her back here for medical attention.”

  “Is that so? She’s on board now?” Wheels had begun to turn in Jan’s mind. Perhaps he could broker a compromise with Thale.

  “Yes, sir. Bruce Totten was kind enough to cut short his shore leave and go get her. Dr. Harmon looked her over. My understanding is he offered her something for her nerves. She’s gone to her cabin to rest.”

  This could work. This could actually work.

  In his excitement, he nearly cheered, but he caught himself just in time. “Very good. Is there anything else she requires?” he asked in a stiffly formal voice.

  Julia shook her head. “Bruce is taking care of her. She did ask to borrow one of the ship’s mobile telephones. She and her husband became separated somehow, and she’s anxious to reach him.”

  Mr. Connelly, the broad-shouldered, hulking husband, wasn’t onboard? This opportunity was getting better and better.

  “Call off the hunt for a loaner phone. Tell Bruce I’ll personally see to it that Mrs. Connelly gets what she needs.”

  Julia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at his offer to involve himself in such a mundane passenger request, but he turned on his heel and hurried away before she could comment. He needed to contact Thale as soon as possible. He forced himself to walk at a brisk pace despite the fact that he desperately wanted to break into a run.

  When he reached the door to his suite, he had the key card ready in his hand. He passed it in front of the reader and slipped inside his private quarters before another crew member had the chance to waylay him. He removed his jacket and hung it in the closet, smoothing out the few wrinkles that had developed. Then he located the slip of paper that Panit had given to him in the car.

  The driver had scrawled a telephone number in slanted handwriting; no name. He punched the digits into his telephone. While he listened to the ringing, he leaned against his bureau and steadied his breathing. He had one chance to convince Thale to follow his plan. One chance to protect his career, his reputation, and his passengers. He exhaled.

  “Yes?” A voice growled.

  To his surprise, the speaker answered in English. To his further surprise, he recognized the voice. It was the man who ran the backroom at Bar Pavot. He’d expected to reach someone at Thale’s headquarters.

  “Van Metier?” the man
pressed, his impatience plain.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. I just realized I don’t know your name.”

  “No, you don’t.” The man paused for a beat. “You can call me Th̀ān.”

  Th̀ān. Thai for ‘sir,’ even he knew that much. He pushed aside the niggle of irritation at the man’s arrogance. He needed an ally, so ‘Th̀ān’ would have to do.

  “Very good, Th̀ān.”

  “You’re calling because you’ve reconsidered? Good.”

  He hesitated. “Not exactly. I have a counter-proposal.” Surely, even this criminal understood that he couldn’t possibly agree to Thale’s demand: no captain worth his salt would acquiesce to go along with the hijacking of his ship by armed men on the open sea. His passengers would panic; someone could be injured—or worse. The damage to Sacred Lotus’s reputation from such a scandal would be severe. And his career would almost certainly not survive the inquiry that would follow.

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” Th̀ān barked.

  “Please, hear me out.”

  The only response was a grunt. Jan decided to treat that as a ‘yes’ and began his pitch. “As I understand the issue, Thale—”

  “No names!”

  “Right, apologies. Your employer needs to, err, neutralize a single passenger. The American woman.”

  “Yes. And our plan will accomplish that.”

  “I have a simpler plan. Right now, the ship is mostly empty. All but a handful of the passengers and many of the crew are off on excursions to Bangkok until mid-morning tomorrow.”

  “We’re aware.” His tone suggested the captain had better get to the point more quickly.

  Jan continued hurriedly, “Right, right. But the woman you need is onboard now. Her embassy contacted us, claiming she’d taken ill and required medical treatment. When I returned, she was already here. She’s in her cabin, apparently, resting. Her husband is still on land, presumably there in Samut Prakan. But the ship is nearly deserted. Send your men now.”

  “Hijackings occur at sea.”

  Jan shook his head at the lack of creative thinking. “Come, man, then make it a kidnapping. If they board quietly, I may not even be alerted. And I assure you, I’ll take my time contacting port security once I am made aware of the issue. It’ll make the entire operation far easier for your men if we’re stationary.”

  After a long silence, the man said, “Make sure she’s easy to find.”

  “I’ll personally see to it that her door is unlocked.”

  Th̀ān grunted again and hung up without another word.

  Jan closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. The difficult part was over.

  * * *

  Sasha paced around the stateroom like an agitated lioness. She’d been back on The Water Lily for over an hour and so far Bruce had stopped by three separate times, bearing herbal tea, the pills Dr. Harmon had prescribed for her ‘nerves’ (which she’d promptly pitched in the wastepaper basket under the bathroom vanity), and an aromatherapy pillow Julia had liberated from the spa’s gift shop. What she really needed, she’d reminded him as gently as she’d been able to manage, was a cellular phone capable of making calls to the mainland. She hadn’t bothered to ensure she’d have coverage on her phone; she’d figured she could just use Connelly’s phone when she needed to make calls. Now, they were separated, and her phone was no more useful than a paperweight.

  She paused in her stalking long enough to shake out her hands and take several deep breaths. If Bruce couldn’t get a phone for her, she’d simply have to engage in some self-help. Surely someone had left an unsecured phone somewhere on the ship. She’d ‘borrow’ it and return it before anyone was the wiser.

  The prospect of doing something—anything—immediately reduced her anxiety level. She laced up her running shoes, pulled her hair into a low ponytail, and grabbed her keycard off the antique desk near the door. She was halfway out the door when she nearly bounced off a uniformed chest. She looked up and met Captain van Metier’s steely gaze.

  Great.

  “Mrs. Connelly, are you quite sure you should be out of bed?”

  “Pardon?” Sasha asked, certain she’d misheard him.

  “Julia tells me that Dr. Harmon recommended that you rest.”

  “Oh, right. I just wanted to get some fresh air.” She tilted her head toward the door in the universal signal for ‘get out of my way.’

  He frowned down at her and continued to block her path. “I don’t think that’s advisable.”

  She gave him a blank look. “I’m fine. Really. If you’ll excuse me …” she trailed off and gestured for him to move aside because he really was blocking her path.

  He pressed a rugged-looking mobile phone into her hands. “I understand you need to make some calls.”

  She was instantly glad she’d resisted the urge to shoulder him out of the way. “Thanks so much,” she chirped, as she grabbed the phone and whirled back into her room.

  * * *

  Jan rubbed his chin in thought. Given the American woman’s penchant for wandering around the ship, overriding her door locks so that the door was unlocked might cause more problems than it solved. But how else to ensure Thale’s men could get to her? He grimaced at the thought of what would happen if the men who stormed the ship didn’t find her in her room.

  He sighed. Much as he might have liked to, he couldn’t very well lock her in. The electronic system didn’t work that way. It was out of his hands. The telephone he’d given her did have an active GPS locator, but he wasn’t entirely sure how granular that data would be. He’d have to hope for the best.

  He passed his key fob over her doorknob, deactivating the lock, then slipped the fob into his pocket and strolled away. Once he reached the sun deck, he took out his own cell phone and called Th̀ān. “Your men should hurry. Her door’s unlocked, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay inside. I’ll try to keep tabs on her. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re professionals.”

  Jan hesitated. “They need to remove her from the ship before they … do whatever it is they plan to do.”

  “The phrase you’re searching for is ‘kill her.’ We need to silence her. And, yes, they’ve been told not to make a mess on your precious cruise ship.”

  This time, Jan ended the call before the Thai could hang up on him.

  25

  Derek didn’t like surprises. He’d been prepared to hijack the cruise ship on its way to Ho Chi Minh City and shoot the woman during the chaos. That had been the plan. The sudden change of strategy irked him and pricked at him like a splinter as he steered the gleaming black personal watercraft vehicle through the roiling waves.

  He also didn’t particularly like driving the PWC--especially not when the sea was this choppy. He tightened his grip on the handlebars. He risked a quick glance at Austin. Austin, who kept a picture of his motorcycle pinned up over his bunk like he was some lovesick GI and the bike was his girl back home, was grinning like an idiot. Of course he was.

  “Yee-haw!” Austin shouted.

  Derek could barely hear him over the deafening thunder of their racing engines. He shook his head, sending a spray of water droplets into his own face. His partner might view the unusual transportation as a perk of this particular job, but he didn’t. The job itself was straightforward enough: grab the girl, take her out to sea, kill her, and dump the body. It was just all this action hero bullcrap that was rubbing him the wrong way. But Thale had offered them a juicy premium for piloting PWCs, squeezing themselves into ridiculous wetsuits, and boarding a docked boat to silence a witness.

  Of course, the whole reason they even had to silence her was Thale’s own sloppiness. He should have just listened to his gut in the first place and insisted they shoot the Malaysian chick away from the cruise ship. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It was too late now.

  Derek spotted The Water Lily docked right where they’d been told they’d find it. He cut his engine and slashed his finger across his neck, signaling
for Austin to do the same.

  They bobbed closer to the hull of the cruise ship. Austin tossed his sandbag anchor into the water, and Derek followed his lead.

  They’d been told to board the ship by climbing its side, being sure to stay out of sight of the port workers, which was easy enough to say. He eyed the massive ship. “How the devil are we supposed to get the girl off without being seen?” he grumbled, more to himself than to Austin.

  Austin answered him anyway. “They said take her off the boat alive. Nobody said anything about her being conscious.”

  Derek had to hand it to him—every once in a while a pearl of wisdom half-buried in a clump of Skoal fell out of Austin’s mouth. He removed his suction cup contraption from his backpack and eyed it skeptically. “Here goes nothing.”

  He’d been hoping for grappling hooks but he’d been unable to find any lying around the armory. Austin swore the suction cups would work to scale the side of the ship and would have the added bonus of being nearly silent. Derek hoisted himself and started spidering his way up. Austin stuck himself to the boat a few feet away and also scuttled up the slick steel hull toward the lower deck.

  Derek settled into a rhythm. Stick, stick, climb, climb. Stick, stick, climb, climb. He scaled the side as quickly as he could. Nothing made a guy feel more vulnerable than being splayed out against the side of a ship. He reached a sort of lip or shelf that was cut out for the lifeboats and used it to gain a toehold to pull himself up and over the railing.

  Then he dropped down on to the deck to survey the immediate vicinity. Austin landed beside him in a crouch. As promised, the cruise ship was nearly deserted, although Derek imagined passengers would have little reason to be on this deck, which housed the mechanicals and a dizzying maze of color-coded piping. They sneaked along the bulwark to a set of stairs. The centerpiece of The Water Lily was a sleek, glass elevator, but using it would be the equivalent of announcing their presence through a megaphone. So, they hoofed it.