by Lyle Howard
“And what about the regular cameras? When will they be functioning?”
Gregor swiveled in his chair. “I will have to go to the bridge to see what extent of damage that the lightening did. For now, I would say that thermal imaging is our best bet, unless you want me to turn on the running lights.”
Von Robles toyed with his lower lip. “We cannot do that. I think our unexpected pit stop has attracted enough attention to ourselves. Lighting up the ship like we were on the open sea would only serve to lure more curiosity seekers, would you not agree?”
The technician’s expression turned skeptical. “Since when have we not wished to attract intruders?”
Von Robles never took his focus off the screen, watching as his pair of henchmen cautiously approached the aft deck. “Since we are no longer dictators of our own destiny; as long as we are stuck on this God-forsaken outcropping. Out on the ocean, we are unhampered to take whatever we need, from whoever is unfortunate enough to cross our wake. But here … stranded on this minuscule blemish on the nautical charts, I need not remind you that we must observe the utmost restraint and caution.”
The technician frowned knowingly. “Only taking what we need to get by.”
Von Robles looked up at his nearly empty blood bag and grimaced as well. “Yes, taking only what we most desperately require.”
Gregor tapped a few buttons on his keyboard. “Alexi and Ian have reached the intruder.”
Von Robles leaned forward in his chair. Even watching it on a monitor, his fresh blood raced with the exhilaration of the hunt.
The computer image pitched slightly to port to keep the three silhouettes centered in the frame. Two nebulous orange shapes slowly circled one in the center, like moons orbiting a planet.
“He must be attempting to resist,” the technician observed.
Von Robles eyes sparkled, like an excited child unwrapping his birthday presents. “This is excellent, Gregor! Keep the sensors trained on them!”
In rapid succession, the outer shapes lashed out at the inner figure with blows that on the monitor resembled sparks coming off the tail end of a roman candle. Whenever the intruder would dare to strike out, the henchman standing behind him would brutally retaliate in a flawless offensive strategy. Two against one never looked so painful.
“Look! The intruder is down!” the technician announced enthusiastically. Alexi and Ian are making mincemeat of him!”
Von Robles watched as the blurry orange figure in the center collapsed to its knees. He shook his head. “Too easy.”
“Excuse me?”
Von Robles continued shaking his head. “I do not like this. He is up to something.”
The technician pointed to the screen. “Up to something? Is the monitor showing you something that I do not see? The man has fallen to his knees and is probably begging for Alexis and Ian’s mercy at this very moment!”
Von Robles studied the doubled-over figure. “He is not down.”
The technician disagreed. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but you know our men as well as I do. Our intruder is as good as locked away in the hold!”
Von Robles seethed through clenched teeth. “Then why is he turning like that?”
The technician swallowed hard. The figure on the ground had made an excruciating slow 180 degree turn, and the two henchmen were following in kind. Thinking they had drubbed the intruder into submission, they stood together over him, their backs now turned to the rest of the ship.
“Why is he doing that?” the technician asked under his breath.
Von Robles slammed his fist down on the arm of the wheelchair. “It’s the other one!”
As his enraged theory echoed through the cabin, the thermal sensor went berserk, beeping like a Geiger counter at Chernobyl. From the corner of the screen, the targeting box narrowed in on a fourth orange figure, this one a blur of speed looking like a comet blazing across the monitor.
“They do not see him!” the technician screamed.
Von Robles sprang from his seat and tore the catheter from his arm. “Those imbeciles!”
On the screen, the fireball paused for a brief second, stooped as if to pick something up, and then launched itself over the highest railing, pouncing mercilessly upon the unsuspecting flunkies below.
If the punches and kicks that Von Robles’ men threw resembled the fizzles from a roman candle, then the flurry of blows this new contender delivered resembled a barrage of solar flares! At blinding speed, bursts of orange shot out of the constantly moving and dodging fireball. No matter how they tried, this experienced combatant would not let himself be cornered between the two henchmen.
Von Robles began to pace. “I told you that one would be a problem!”
The technician could feel a bead of nervous perspiration trickle down the side of his face. “Should I send for Raimund?” he asked faintheartedly.
Already, one of Von Robles’ men was down on the deck and no longer moving.
There was an uncharacteristic tone in Von Robles’ voice. To the technician it almost sounded like resignation. “Let him sleep.”
“But...”
Seconds later, there were now two bright shapes laying twisted and motionless on the deck while the second commando lifted his companion to his feet, a sprig of orange arm curling around the battered one’s torso.
Von Robles walked up to the screen and outlined the image with his finger as the two shapes hurdled themselves over the fantail into the water. “I want the engines fixed as soon as possible. Even at quarter speed, we must be underway within the hour!”
The technician was about to argue against the nearly impossible task his employer had commanded, but the words caught in his throat as Von Robles stormed out of the control room.
Fifteen
Raimund noticed the light coming from beneath her door as he walked down the passageway. Stopping at her room, his fist paused a few inches from the door. He tilted his ear to listen but heard nothing.
His knuckles rapped twice on the door. He waited for a few seconds and repeated the knock. A shadow moved across the light beneath the door. His enormous hands were clammy … not unusual whenever he was around her.
Rachel cracked the door open and eyed the bodyguard. “Is everything alright?” she asked.
“I was about to ask the same of you,” Raimund replied. “May I come in?”
Rachel opened the door slowly and stepped out of the way for the big man. Raimund ducked his head to enter the cabin and looked around. The walls were covered with pictures of faraway places that Rachel had torn out of magazines and taped to the bulkheads. Raimund couldn’t find a spot that wasn’t covered by some world-famous landmark or vista. “Your handiwork impresses me more each time I come in here,” he said politely as he moved across the cabin.
Rachel was wearing a long white cotton nightgown that on anyone else might have looked frumpy, but Raimund thought she looked stunning. “It is all that I am allowed to have,” she admitted. “My dreams.”
The big man walked awkwardly toward her breakfast nook and pulled a chair out from the small anchored table. “May I?”
Rachel nodded. The bodyguard looked even more gargantuan crouched in the normal-sized chair. He was aware of how it must have looked and he blushed a bit with embarrassment.
“Is this a social visit,” Rachel asked, “or has my father sent you to check up on me?”
Raimund looked down at his fingers timidly. “Your father does not know I am here. I came to see how you were doing because I wanted to know.”
Rachel walked up to her unmade bunk and pulled the blanket up to make it look more presentable. She propped up two pillows against the headboard and sat down on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a ponytail held together by a yellow rubber band. “How do you think I am?” she asked sarcastically. “My father holds me prisoner on this ship while the entire world passes by my porthole. I don’t know how much longer I can take this isolation.”
Raimund crossed one enormous leg over the other. This young woman was like a delicate flower that was withering before his eyes. All he wanted to do was to hold her—to tell her that the world was not all sunsets and optimism like the photos on her walls. Where they came from was a horrible place, full of brutality and human suffering. A land torn apart by civil war and famine. A place that world leaders chose to ignore.
Raimund knew that this beautiful young woman had no idea how fortunate she really was. She was born of noble heritage and did not seem to be infected or at least had shown no symptoms of it yet. It was only because of this horrific disease that there was no future for them in their homeland.
The family had been ostracized and her parents reviled. They resorted to their macabre behavior only to stay alive. Yet, it was their humanity that made her father flee with his only daughter, while her mother chose to stay behind and search for a cure.
“You are not a prisoner here,” he scolded her. “You are surrounded by your father and many others who care for you a great deal. We must make the best of our situation and try to remain optimistic that someday we will return home.”
Rachel crawled forward toward the foot of the bed and stopped when she was only a few feet away from him. She wore no perfume but smelled fresh, like baby powder. “Why would I ever want to return home? Our home is a wasteland.”
Raimund’s eyes narrowed. “But your mother…”
Rachel crossed her arms on her chest. “She chose to stay there. She abandoned us.”
Raimund shook his head. “You are so misguided. How many times must we dwell on this same issue? You mother loves you very much. She stayed behind because she believes that is where she can do the most good. For you, your father and our homeland.”
Rachel stood up and walked over to a large picture of Victoria Falls in Zambia. “It’s not fair. I am not like them. I don’t deserve to be held against my will.” She pointed at another picture of the Louvre Museum in Paris. “There is so much for me to see, so many places I want to visit! Don’t you understand? For most of my life, I have seen nothing but poverty, misery and grayness. I want to see color!” she said, spinning around. “Look at all of this color. The world is such a wondrous place! I want to see more than the inky blue darkness of the ocean. I want to smell air that doesn’t sting my nose from salt.” She reached out and took one of Raimund’s huge hands. “You saw all of those people in that bar! You heard the laughter … and the music.” She spun around gleefully again, her soft nightgown flowing like a sail. “Oh my goodness … the music was amazing! How can you say that I am not a hostage on this ship?”
Raimund squeezed her hand gently, like he was holding a little bird. “Please don’t judge the outside world from your one hour excursion onshore. You watch the news, you’ve obviously read the magazines before; you decorate your cabin with them,” he said almost managing a smile. “Your father has sheltered you from so much of the sadness and pain that he lived through. He could have left you with your mother, but you were young and neither of them wanted that life for you. They both thought you deserved better.”
Rachel pulled her hand back and spread out her arms. “You believe this is better? This is a fantasy of my own creation. When I watch the news, they only speak of the dark side of life. Rarely do I hear of the good things that people do. So what is my father sheltering me from? How long does he think he can protect my innocence? All I have to do is listen to the screams of his victims to understand that the dark world is right outside my cabin door.”
Raimund stood up.
“He cannot shield me any longer, Raimund,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “Tell him I want to leave on the next supply ship. Tell my father to let me go or he will lose me.”
The bodyguard gently held his arms around her like a cocoon. He wished he could have held her longer … wished he could be the one to protect her from the darkness. He wished he could make her fantasy world a reality. “I will speak to your father on your behalf.”
Rachel looked up and their eyes locked. “You will?”
Raimund tenderly stroked the top of her head. “I know that this ship is no place for you. You are destined for greater things. You see the world for what it can be, not what it is.”
Rachel’s arms couldn’t even fully reach around Raimund’s waist, but she hugged him tightly.
“You have all the money you will need to start over wherever fate takes you. The walls are closing in on us here, but I have sworn an oath to protect your father and I must honor it. As much as it would sadden me to see you leave, I will talk to him for you.”
She pulled back and smiled. “You mean more to me than you will ever know, Raimund. You may be my father’s employee, but you are my family.”
The bodyguard reached down and held her face in one of his enormous hands. “Think positive thoughts and pack your belongings just in case. The supply ship will be here soon.”
Sixteen
Plunging downward through the torrential rain, Mackey and Geiger splashed into the whitecaps as clumsily as two sacks of potatoes. Together they submerged deep into the lagoon, their feet touching the silty bottom at close to twenty feet. All the way down, Cal held tightly onto his friend for fear of losing him in the murky water. The struggle upward was placed squarely on Cal’s broad shoulders as the deputy remained helplessly dazed.
It had all happened so fast, Geiger never had the opportunity to draw in a deep breath. Jumping thirty feet off of anything was never on Artie Geiger’s wish list, and certainly not under these circumstances. Before he could utter a protest, he was being hauled over the railing and freefalling toward what he prayed would only be a soft landing. He tried to scream, but realized too late that it was a real bad idea. Salt water rushed into his yawning mouth. As soon as he felt his shoes hit bottom, he began involuntarily thrashing to free himself from whatever or whoever had this vise-like grip on him. The bitter water burned at his insides and he thought for sure his lungs were going to burst through his rib cage at any second.
To Cal, it felt like he was wrestling an alligator. Long a traditional exhibition performed by the local Seminole or Miccosukee Indians for throngs of awestruck tourists, the brave and sometimes disfigured Native American warrior usually managed to sedate the oversized reptile by rolling it over on its back and massaging its stomach. That burden seemed a walk in the park compared to the whirling dervish he was having to contend with here.
Normally, a diver is taught to follow his air bubbles to the surface should he ever become disoriented. This practice assumes that the diver is wearing a mask and can see the trail of bubbles. With Artie flailing like a wild man beside him, and his eyes closed to keep out the stinging salt water, Cal had no alternative but to let the strength of his legs and his natural buoyancy carry them both upward.
Mackey’s boots felt like they had nearly tripled their dry weight. He knew that each kick was propelling them closer to the surface, but enveloped in this void he had no idea how much further, nor how much longer, that would be. Thankfully, it was a short trip.
Their heads broke the surface of the lagoon gasping for the sweetness of fresh air. Cal held his partner around the waist and urged him to cough up whatever salt water he had swallowed. In a series of hideous-sounding convulsions, the deputy managed to spew forth whatever impurities his system had held, which unfortunately included tidbits from his last two meals.
A few yards behind the bobbing duo, obscured through the hazy curtain of rain, the port side of the Nocturne rose out of the water like an imposing black wall that seemed to stretch upward forever. Cal was never as overwhelmed by its size until this moment. Dwarfed by this colossal marvel of engineering, he suddenly felt insignificant by comparison.
“Cal...” Geiger called out between heaves.
Cal was treading water like he was competing in the Tour de France. “I’m right here, Artie. Calm down, you’re gonna be alright. I’ve got you!”
Geiger
let his body go limp. “I feel like a punching bag, Cal!”
Cal had his arms entwined beneath the deputy’s armpits and began pulling him around the stern of the ship toward the dock. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hang in there a little longer. We’re gettin’ there!”
“Those guys came out of nowhere, Cal!” Geiger protested between spits of salt water.
Mackey blew out a mouthful of seawater himself. “Yeah, I know. There was a live monitor in the bridge. I was pretty damned lucky to spot them coming after you.”
Geiger leaned his head back, letting the pounding rain refresh his face. “So they knew we were there the whole time?”
Cal feverishly stroked the water with his right arm and held on for dear life to his friend with his left. “You should have seen the inside of the bridge, Artie. I’ve seen casinos with less security.”
Cutting off his thought in mid-sentence, the air became filled with a terrifying noise. Even over the intermittent thunder, the howling wind, and the steady drone of the rain, this din was loud enough to rivet both men’s attention. Less than twenty feet away from where they were struggling, the water began churning and frothing like one of Cal’s blenders as the Nocturne’s massive twin screws started up beneath the surface. No one had to tell either man that with the incredible thrust these propellers were capable of generating, they could easily be sucked back into the blades’ vortex.
“Unless you wanna get ground up like taco filling, you’d better give me some help here, Artie!” Mackey pleaded.
If it was physically possible to sweat while you were neck deep in tepid water, the deputy was doing it. Kicking as hard as he could, it felt like the old bullet scar on his abdomen was going to tear itself open. “I’m trying, Cal,” he screamed between spits of seawater, “but those guys really must have busted me up!”