International Incident

by Melissa F. Miller

  There was no need for Thiha Bo to translate that sentence. “Yes.” Binh’s dark eyes burned into his. “Help Binh.”

  Halfway there.

  Leo exhaled. “Okay, good. I’ll help you. But I need your help.”

  Thiha Bo repeated the words in Vietnamese. Binh wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

  “He wants to know how,” Thiha Bo said. “I do, too.”

  Leo rubbed the area between his upper lip and nose and thought how best to explain things. “I’m something like a police officer in the United States. I have contacts who can arrest Captain Vũ.” I hope. “I need some men to storm the bridge with me.”

  Fear sparked in Binh’s eyes when Thiha Bo told him what Leo had said, but the caged man tightened his grasp on the bars of his cage with his hands still tied at the wrists, squeezing so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Binh will help,” he said in English without hesitation.

  “Are you sure?”

  Thiha Bo translated, and Binh nodded yes. He was sure. His eyes burned with intensity. Leo searched the room for something, anything, he could use to break the rusty padlock on the cage. Thiha Bo coughed and reached into the folds of his oversized tan cotton shorts and produced a fillet knife.

  Leo held out his hand, and Thiha Bo carefully placed the curved blade in his palm. Then Leo crouched and took the padlock in his left hand, inspecting it. It was a large lock but cheaply made. He searched the recesses of his memory for his long-ago training. There would be no need to bust it apart after all. It was a simple pin-and-tumbler setup. Easy enough to pick. Finesse won out over brunt force.

  He eased the tip of the blade into the keyhole, pressed up, and wiggled the knife until he felt the springs press back. Then he pushed upward, jiggling the blade from side to side. Despite the size of the lock, Leo was sure there was only a single pin inside. A state-of-the-art lock would be overkill on a rundown shipping boat in the middle of nowhere.

  In fact, Leo thought, the padlock was probably unnecessary altogether. He could have simply placed Binh in the cage and shut the door. Given the dynamics on the boat, Leo doubted he’d have tried to get out.

  He gave the blade another good twist and felt the cylinder inside the lock rotate. He kept turning and, voila, it swung open. Thiha Bo’s mouth fell open in amazement, and Binh laughed in disbelief. Leo opened the door and gestured for Binh to raise his bound hands. Leo carefully sawed through the rope, and it fell to the floor. Binh stepped out into the room, arched his back and stretched, then rubbed his wrists. Leo would have liked to have given him a few moments to enjoy his freedom, but they didn’t have the time to spare.

  He turned to Thiha Bo and held up the knife. “Do you mind if I hang on to this for a bit?”

  “Please, keep it.” Thiha Bo swallowed. “I will help you, too.”

  Leo tucked it into his waistband and gave the Burmese man an approving smile. “Thank you. Are you two ready?”

  They flashed twin looks of uncertainty. He spoke reassuringly, “Just follow my lead. Captain Vũ won’t be expecting us. He’ll be surprised and slow to react. How many men will he have with him?”

  Thiha Bo thought. “Two, perhaps three.” His tone made it clear that he was guessing.

  “How many will be armed?”

  “Armed? With guns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just the captain. Nobody has weapons, not even his second in command.” Thiha Bo was on solid ground now—his voice grew stronger, more certain.

  Of course, Leo thought. A tyrant like Vũ would fear an uprising with good reason.

  “Good. I’ll take care of Captain Vũ. You two handle anyone else who’s hanging around.”

  Thiha Bo translated the instructions then asked a question. “What do you mean by handle?”

  “That’s up to you. If you can convince them to join us—or at least not to interfere—that’s ideal. But if any of the crew gets inspired to try to defend your captain, I’ll need you to try to hold them back or fight them off until I have Vũ under my control. Can you do that?”

  Thiha Bo laughed gutturally. “I don’t think many will join an insurrection. But I know no one will protect Captain Vũ.”

  Leo sincerely hoped Thiha Bo was right about that.

  Binh, who seemed to have caught the tenor of the conversation, if not its specifics, spat on the floor. His face was dark and resolute.

  Leo surveyed his ragtag backup detail one last time. “Let’s go.”

  28

  Sasha watched as Elli turned the corner and began to make her way down to the library. Once she was out of sight, Sasha sneaked along the deck, duck walking low and hewing close to the ship’s bulwark. People were trickling from all directions, and the real danger of being spotted was making her pulse skyrocket. She paused and took several deep breaths. She told herself that almost everyone would make a beeline for the elevator rather than the stairs. All she had to do was make it to the stairwell unseen. Just ten more yards.

  She started inching forward again, ignoring the cramping that had started to burn along her thigh muscles. Another twelve feet and she’d be at the top of the stairs. She could see the landing now.

  The sound of the elevator swooshing by on its way up to the Lido Deck filled her ears, and she pressed herself against the wall and froze, sweat beading at her hairline. She had no idea whether she was visible from within the glass-walled elevator car or if anyone was looking in her direction. She waited until the car passed and then raced forward, covering the remaining distance to the stairs as rapidly as she could.

  Once she reached the stairs, she more or less threw herself down them, hanging on to the bannister and running at full speed down each set, across the landing, and to the next. She didn’t stop until she reached the lowest deck. Away from passengers’ eyes, this deck was purely utilitarian and devoid of opulent finishes. Neatly labeled compartments housed the main engines, generators, electrical systems, and mechanical systems behind steel doors. Enormous pipes snaked overhead in a tangle of colors. The floor hummed with energy.

  She skulked around to the ship’s stern. There, she leaned over the railing and surveyed the water on the starboard side first, on a hunch. The men were wearing wetsuits. If they had boarded from the port, the whole wetsuit thing wouldn’t have been necessary. She spotted a pair of black wave runners or jet skis or whatever they were called bobbing in the waves in the shadow of the hull.

  But how had they boarded the ship? She hoisted herself up, balanced her feet on the bottom rail, then hung over the top rail and scanned the side. No rope, no grappling hook, no makeshift ladder. Nothing that suggested a way onto the boat.

  Weird.

  Well, she’d have plenty of time to puzzle over it while she waited for Mr. Big, Dumb, and Angry to make his way down to the deck. Now, her priority was to find a spot to lie in wait. She walked a few paces until she found a suitable architectural column then settled into place behind it.

  * * *

  Leo raised his left hand in a fist, almost as if he were about to knock on the door to the pilot room. Instead he turned his head and looked first at Binh, who was just a few steps behind him, and then Thiha Bo, who stood near the far end of the short corridor, ready to invent a distraction if someone walked up behind them. He raised his index finger, then his middle, and finally his ring finger to give them the count.

  One, two, three.

  He turned to his right and shouldered the door open with his full weight. As he rammed it open, the wood cracked and splintered. He kept on going, letting his momentum carry him into the room, and went straight for the captain.

  There was no doubt which man was Vũ. He wore a filthy white captain’s hat, and his lined, weathered face was hard and rat-like. On either side of him stood a barefoot man dressed in tattered shorts. His officers, apparently. They didn’t look as though they received any easier treatment than did the crew and, true to Thiha Bo’s prediction, they didn’t seem inclined to get involved. They stood, hands a
t their sides, and stared at Leo.

  Captain Vũ, meanwhile, had grabbed his radio and was shouting into it. Leo couldn’t make out the words, but it was clear from the tone that he was making an S-O-S call. He stepped forward and slapped the radio out of Vũ’s hand. It bounced off the instrument panel and dangled by its cord upside down.

  Vũ’s face contorted into a mask of rage. He reached his hand into his right pocket, keeping his eyes on Leo.

  Leo took another step forward. Now he was nose to nose with the captain. He grabbed the back of Vũ’s head with his left hand and jammed the fillet knife under Vũ’s chin.

  “No.” He repeated it in Vietnamese. “Không.”

  Vũ froze, his hand still in his pocket.

  “Thiha Bo!” Leo shouted without turning around.

  “Yes?” He entered the room meekly.

  “Tell Captain Vũ that if he takes his gun out of his pocket, I’ll slit his throat before he even has a chance to pull the trigger.”

  Thiha Bo nodded and translated. He must have sounded convincing because Captain Vũ slowly removed his hand. He held it out toward Leo to show that it was empty. Leo kept the knife pressed on the man’s throat and used his left hand to fish the gun out of the man’s pocket.

  Vũ’s officers exchanged a look. The one standing to the left of the captain cleared his throat and said something to Thiha Bo. The other one took off and tried to skitter out of the room. Binh stepped into his path to block him.

  “What did he say?” Leo asked. He jerked his head to the one who hadn’t run.

  “He asked if you’re going to kill them.”

  Leo let his eyes travel over the two officers. “Should I?”

  Thiha Bo shook his head wildly. “No. They’re weak and foolish. They only served the captain out of fear.”

  “They’ve probably made some enemies among the crew. Tell them they can go but they should keep a low profile. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the men want to settle old scores.”

  Thiha Bo repeated the instruction, the officers bobbed their heads in understanding, and Binh moved aside. The men raced out of the room.

  “Could you bring me the rope?” Leo said.

  Thiha Bo stepped forward with a length of fishing rope.

  “Tie him up, please,” Leo instructed, stepping to his right so that Thiha Bo could do so. He continued to hold the knife against Vũ’s throat.

  Thiha Bo fastened a tight, expert knot around the captain’s wrists and held on to the end of the rope. He looked at Leo with an expectant expression.

  “Good. Now he goes in one of his own cages. Let Binh do the honors. I need you to help me place a radio call to the American embassy in Bangkok. And then you can explain to the others what’s happening.”

  Thiha Bo handed the rope to Binh, and Leo returned Thiha Bo’s fillet knife. Binh led his prisoner out of the room.

  Leo examined the captain’s compact Smith & Wesson 9-millimeter. As a rule, the only gun he trusted was his gun. This one, he distrusted in particular. He hit the magazine release, cleared the cartridge from the chamber, and locked the slide open. If the captain’s weapon maintenance was anything like the care and attention he afforded his vessel and crew, Leo figured the gun hadn’t been cleaned, oiled, or checked in years, maybe decades. The last thing he needed was to shoot himself in the thigh because the recoil spring was bad or the thing jammed from years of storage in humid conditions. He slid the cartridge into his pocket and rested the unloaded weapon on the top of the instrument panel. Then he turned his attention to the radio.

  * * *

  Sasha shifted her weight from one leg to the other. The space she’d squeezed into between the column and the ship’s wall was tight, but she had to stay loose and keep her muscles warmed up so she was ready to pounce as soon as she saw the big guy.

  If she ever saw the big guy.

  She’d been certain she’d predicted the men’s plan. It was the only logical strategy. And they clearly weren’t amateurs. But as the minutes ticked by, she began to have doubts. Maybe the thin guy had sent the big one to the library and was busy checking all the empty rooms for her. Or maybe they hadn’t split up at all and would come down here together eventually. Which would be an unfortunate development. Or maybe—

  Her worrying was interrupted by the sound of someone clanging down the steps. Someone heavy-footed. She risked a peek around the column and couldn’t suppress a grin. There he was, right on cue.

  She exhaled and ran through the steps she’d sketched out: wait until he walked over to the railing to check on the watercraft vehicles. He’d undoubtedly check to make sure they were still anchored. It was human nature. And when he did, she’d rush him from behind while he was bent over, looking down into the water. This was the riskiest part of the maneuver for the simple reason that her Krav Maga instructor taught self-defense, not attacks. She didn’t have a fluid, well-ingrained attack sequence to spring on the man.

  But, she reasoned, it hardly mattered. Once she hit him, he’d strike back. And then she’d be on more familiar ground. Striking first was still the smart play. It would surprise him, throw him off balance, and give her the upper hand from the very beginning. She shook out her hands and rolled her neck from side to side.

  His feet hit the deck with a thud. She peered out from behind the support. After a glance in each direction, he headed straight for the railing. She tensed, ready to pounce.

  He was approximately five feet away from the edge of the ship when a ringtone sounded from inside the small waterproof sack slung over his back. He stopped, unzipped the back, dug out a mobile phone encased in a rugged cover, and answered the call.

  “Ye-ah?” His voice gave him away as an American, and he spoke with a distinct twang of a Southern accent. He listened for a moment, frowning.

  “What’d ya’ mean there’s a disturbance? What do they want us to do about it now—I thought we’re supposed to get the girl?” He waved his arm like an angry gorilla while he spoke.

  The caller must have tried to further explain because he fell silent again. Then he shrugged. “Whatever. It’s Thale’s dime. Did she show up in the library?”

  A pause and then a snort. “Naw, that’s fine. I’ll go. How hard can it be to quell a rebellion of half-starved sea slaves? You stay here and grab the woman. I’ll take care of Vũ’s crew. Hell, in a couple hours’ work, we can manage a double payday, my brother.”

  He laughed and slapped his thigh in excitement. Then he stowed his phone and removed a set of suction cups from the pouch. Sasha watched intently as he lowered himself over the railing and disappeared from view.

  She considered what she’d heard and recalculated her odds. Now there was only one armed man to contend with, but she was without a weapon. Part of the point of jumping the cowboy was to wrest control of his gun. She might not know how or be willing to use it, but his partner wouldn’t have known it.

  Now what?

  It was time for another plan. She waited until she heard the PWC’s engine roar to life in the water below and then slipped out from behind the column.

  29

  Jan van Metier could no longer ignore his latest headache. This one had been building behind his temples from the moment he’d arrived back on The Water Lily. Currently, he felt as though his head were screwed firmly into a vise, which was being twisted ever so slowly.

  He grimaced at his visitor and palmed a handful of pain relievers from the bottle. The presence of Thale’s hired guns was assuredly not helping matters. Nor was the fact that the blasted Connelly woman remained unaccounted for. Add in the utter public relations nightmare of passengers and crew being corralled for an indeterminate length of time under the guise of a headcount, and it all amounted to a mess. He took a swig of water to wash down the pills then wiped his mouth.

  “What do you propose we do?” he asked the man, Derek Something or Other, who was standing in the middle of the control room in his glossy black wetsuit with a gun dangling from his ri
ght hand.

  Derek’s expression dripped with disdain. “What’re you asking me for? My job was to board the ship, snatch up the woman, and get off fast. No fuss, no muss. Your job was to make her available. I’ve been cooling my heels waiting for her to turn up in your library, but she hasn’t. So where is she?”

  Where, indeed? How was it possible for a single person—and an exceedingly small one, at that—to cause so much trouble?

  He sighed. “I wish I knew.”

  “Wishes are for losers, captain. What this calls for is action.”

  Jan studied the man’s craggy face. He looked like a man with a plan, and that worried Jan. “What sort of action?”

  Derek raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to sweep this ship top to bottom, shooting everyone who hasn’t reported to the tiki bar or the library, as ordered. How’s that sound?”

  Jan’s mouth went dry but he barked out a response nonetheless. “That’s unacceptable.” He knew better than to plead with this man or to try to reason with him. He’d encountered Derek’s type before—in the navy. Blood-thirsty loose cannons looking for action. The only way to keep them in line was to remind them of the hierarchy. He may not have direct command over the mercenary, but he was the captain of The Water Lily. This was his ship, and there would be no mayhem and carnage on his watch.

  Derek waited.

  “We can’t keep the passengers holed up drinking cocktails and submitting to a manufactured head count forever. I’ll help you find the Connelly woman myself and deliver her to you and your partner. Where is he, by the way?” He needed to keep tabs on these two. He couldn’t have armed men patrolling the cruise ship willy-nilly. They were liable to bump into the ship’s security officers, who were already asking uncomfortable questions about the headcount.