The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  Sam had never even considered the President’s relationship with his father, but he had no doubt she was telling him the absolute truth.

  “After all, with your finances and your standing around the globe, who could possibly be entirely convinced as to where your true loyalties lay?” the Secretary of Defense said.

  Sam knew that it was a hollow threat.

  She, of all people, knew exactly how much honor meant to him. His word was like an ironclad bond, and when he gave it in service to his country, there was nothing and no one who could force him to break it.

  “That’s rubbish, ma’am, and with all due respect, your naiveté nearly got me killed this month.”

  “Should I take that as your formal request for resignation?” she asked, a seductive smile just forming.

  “No. Would you like to ask me for it?” It was Sam’s turn to be provocative.

  She paused, her head tilted just slightly to the left, as she mulled it over.

  “I would like that; you know I would. But I am duty-bound to the defense of this country, and in that regard, I’m obliged to retain the services of the most competent person for any position.” She eyed him up and down and then said, “And you, Reilly, have the most extraordinary credentials, which make you particularly useful. You’ve been an exemplary Navy SEAL, with the highest marks on record of any recruit, a highly-respected leader in marine biology and in the maritime world, and since you’re wealthier than any playboy pup, the world opens its arms wide for you, whereas any other official investigator would have their arms tied. No, we need you, Reilly. Just try not to fuck up our mission the next time out of your own good will.”

  The elevator door then opened, and she stepped out.

  “Yes, Madam Secretary.”

  The elevator continued its descent, and Sam couldn’t help wondering, just who was blackmailing John Wolfgang?

  *

  Sam Reilly took the helm of his newly built ship, Second Chance II, as it sliced through the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean. Aliana was at his side, as beautiful as ever, and they were sailing alone through some of the most pristine islands on earth.

  “Where did the name Second Chance come from?” Aliana asked him.

  “It’s exactly what the name says – it’s my second chance.”

  It was an answer, but Sam knew that it wasn’t what she wanted to know.

  “But, there’s more to it, isn’t there?” she persisted.

  Sam considered evading her question, or even making up a simple answer as he’d done so many times before, but today was different. Aliana was different, and he had no desire to lie to her about it as had been his usual reaction to that question.

  “Did you know that my mother was a very good sailor?”

  “No, you haven’t mentioned it before, or even said much about her for that matter.”

  “She was Australian, and in her youth had won a number of the Sydney to Hobart races.”

  Aliana’s gaze widened as he spoke.

  “She and my father used to be very well matched. They loved each other almost as much as they loved the sea. As you can imagine, my brother and I spent more time on the ocean than we did on land.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “I don’t anymore, he died many years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Aliana said, throwing her arms around him.

  “It’s okay,” Sam said quietly, but there were tears in his eyes. “My brother and I were both good sailors, but we were driven to prove ourselves to our father who was the skipper of the racing yacht. So, one year, when the Sydney to Hobart race advisers considered whether or not to cancel the race based on the tremendously violent and unpredictable weather patterns, my brother and I decided that’s how we would prove ourselves.”

  A part of him hoped that Aliana would accept his answer and not push to hear more about how it happened, but another part of him wanted her to make him continue.

  She persisted.

  “What happened?”

  “It was a particularly bad storm. The sea can be as kind as it can be unforgiving, but on that night it was entirely unforgiving. My brother and I had received numerous reports of other ships dropping out of the race, or being dismasted. Worse, we learned that one ship had already sunk. But, like all young fools, we thought we were invincible. At about three a.m., while we desperately needed to furl our headsail before the wind literally knocked our ship over, a small loop caught hold of a cleat at the front of our yacht. I noticed it, and should have gone forward. It would have been easy to unclip it, or at worst cut, but I hesitated. I was frightened. I knew the sea was more interested in being unforgiving that night than it was in being kind. As it was, my older brother noticed my hesitation, and he told me he would go and do it instead, and we would then try to ride the enormous wave at a thirty degree angle, so as to avoid broaching.” His tears were falling more frequently now.

  “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “My brother was an exceptional sailor. He alone could have beaten my father, and on that night, he saved my life. He unclipped the catch on the headsail, but while making his way back to the cockpit, he was caught by a secondary wave that crashed down from the other side of the one we were riding. There was no way he could have known it would happen, and by the time the water that crashed over the deck had dissipated, I could no longer see my brother. I sent out the alarm, and I tried my best to remain at the same location, but I never did see my brother again.”

  “My god, that’s awful,” Aliana said, holding onto him as she spoke.

  “I promised myself that night that if I survived, I would never return to the sea again. I meant to keep that promise too. I had completed a master's degree in marine biology, but the next day I joined the U.S. military and became a helicopter pilot. My mom blamed my father, and try as they might to repair their relationship, she never forgave him for it. When I got out of the Corps, something just told me it was time to come back to the ocean, to give myself a second chance at the life that I was meant to have. I’ve been trying to recreate that night for years so I can finally say goodbye to my brother properly, but I have never found just the right conditions.”

  “So, tonight, you sail on towards your second chance and this time, with me.”

  “And I am so very much the happier for it,” he said as he kissed her. “Come back with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever the perils of the world take us. Anywhere you want to go. Just come and do it with me.”

  “I would love to, but I still have my PhD to complete,” she said. “And, I intend to keep my promise to head up the research department for the Wolfgang Corporation.”

  “When you’re finished with your studies, give me a call. Work for me. We could certainly use someone with your background aboard the Maria Helena. Your corporation will still continue to produce brilliant medical research where it can help people in ten, perhaps fifteen years’ time, once it’s beaten the various ethics committees. Work with me, and I promise that you will get to see firsthand what a mind like yours can do for the good of the world in the present, rather than the future.”

  “If I work with you,” she said, grinning lasciviously, “am I still able to sleep with the boss?”

  “Not usually. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” he said, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  The End

  The Mahogany Ship - Prologue

  Southern Ocean, December 22, 1812

  Muttering a vicious oath, Jack Robertson threw up. Again.

  It was the most violent storm he’d endured since leaving England almost eight months earlier. The experience confirmed his vow that once he arrived at the settlement in Sydney Cove he’d never take to the sea again.

  The Emily Rose shuddered dramatically as her entire bow lifted, losing contact with the white frothy water. It dropped off the edge of an enormous wave, before the following one swamped
the entire back deck.

  From below, Jack fell to the wooden floor hard. Then he vomited twice more before continuing to man the pumps.

  Jack worked on his assigned pump throughout the night and into the following morning. His eyes drifted downwards. He, among so many others, had spewed until all contents of his stomach had been removed. This had then mixed with the sea water, which now mingled where his unsteady legs stood.

  Jack could have guessed at the filthy state of the pump room by smell alone. Even so, he smiled. The watermark had been reduced by an entire foot from their efforts. It was disgusting, dirty work, but they were going to survive.

  “Well, I’ll be the son of a whore!” Jack said.

  “Pardon me, sir?” Mr. John Langham asked.

  “I said, God be praised,” Jack replied, dutifully.

  The ship turned abruptly, rocking onto its side, causing a number of people to fall.

  What now?

  Leaving the others to continue pumping, Jack ran up the ladder to the deck and immediately saw the cause of the sudden change.

  A massive squall was coming directly from the south, and the helmsman was struggling with another on the wheel to maintain an easterly course.

  High in the rigging above, a number of men were aloft, trying to quickly reduce sail area.

  Boom!

  Lightning struck the mast just before the fore topsail. The five men who had been attempting to furl it were killed instantly. Above them, another three men were trying to climb back down when the now damaged mast snapped under the force of the wind. All eight men fell into the water below.

  The top half of the mast crashed into the water, but remained partially attached high up in the rigging. The sail area, having fallen into the water, was caught by the current. It was pulling the entire ship towards the rocky shore.

  Jack could hear the screams of the men in the water below, desperate for someone to help them. On deck, he saw the other sailors’ eyes were wide open, their faces contorted in horror, helpless to save the men.

  “Mr. Mills,” Captain Baxter’s voice boomed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you be so kind as to take some of your men and finish what God started on my mast before the damn thing drags us aground?”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Jack watched as the young midshipman – maybe just fifteen years old, certainly no older – eyed the damaged mast, which looked as though it could snap at any moment in the squall. Mr. Mills organized a rope and pulley from the main mast to take the weight of the damaged foremast. Next to him, a man started to swing an axe as confidently as if he were on the ground in order to sever the remaining shards of wood.

  Within seconds, the man had managed to cut through it and the massive broken mast swung from the rope, looking as though it was going to clear the deck. But at the last moment, the rope and pulley became entangled on the very tip of the yardarm.

  “Christ, almighty!” the sailor with the axe cursed.

  The rope needed cutting, but it was going to be a much harder, more dangerous job. The yardarm was basically a large tree log that sat perpendicular to the mast at various points to form a cross. From it, men in the rigging could unfurl and furl sails that sat directly underneath.

  The problem was, now that all the areas above this yardarm had been destroyed, any person trying to get to the end of it would have nothing above to hold on to.

  Through the downpour of rain, Jack could just make out the breaking waves upon the jagged shoreline. They were being dragged towards land. The sailor above must have seen it too, because he appeared to let go of all reservations and run along the yardarm.

  The man pulled the axe up, ready to swing.

  At that very moment, a large wave struck the starboard side of the ship and the man slipped into the violent sea below.

  Jack looked to see who would now risk his life to save the ship.

  No one moved.

  Men were yelling orders everywhere and the Captain, whose voice was normally so calm it appeared malevolent, was screaming for the young midshipman to find a replacement to cut the rope.

  And still, nothing was being done.

  All right God, I’ll go and save this ship – but then we’re even.

  Jack was an atheist, but fools who are willing to risk it all believe in hedging their bets.

  He picked up the fallen axe, which had landed unceremoniously, lodging itself into the deck where its previous owner had fallen to his death. It took the strength of both his arms to pull it free. And then he started to climb the rigging thirty feet into the air where the others were trying to create a roping system to support someone when they climbed out onto the edge of the yardarm.

  “Out of my way,” Jack snarled.

  No one questioned his authority.

  Although no one on board could have guessed as to the extent of his violent past, most men aboard the Emily Rose kept their distance. There was something about him that suggested danger.

  Jack crawled along the yardarm, his stomach churning. The damn ship seemed to sway even worse from thirty feet in the air. Crouching at the very end, he pulled the axe up and swung it at the rope.

  The blade only cut one of the three main strands of the rope and then slipped past, the weight of it very nearly dragging Jack down with it.

  He caught himself at the last second and braced himself.

  Without waiting, he pulled the big axe once more and swung it down upon the rope. This time it connected perfectly, and the remnants of the massive mast and sail broke free. Below, he could hear the helmsman cry “Huzzah” as he regained control of the ship.

  That was close. Christ, but I do hate sailing.

  Jack shuffled back until he could hug the top of the surviving mast and then climb down to the deck below. He was greeted by the multiple pats on his back by the sailors who had failed to reach it.

  “Well done, sir,” the Captain said.

  Then came the sound no sailor ever wants to hear.

  Wood scraping along the jagged rocks below the keel.

  *

  John Langham heard the sound.

  No sooner had its meaning registered in his mind than he saw the water spurting through more than a hundred holes below the bilge.

  He stopped working the pump, a wasted effort. The ship was going down and quickly.

  Instead of running up towards the deck, he turned and ran aft where the water was now already waist deep. It was cold, but he’d been working the pump long enough that it didn’t matter much to him.

  John knew he was risking a lot to reach it, but after all the pain he’d caused to reach this point in his life – somehow he knew, as though God had told him, that it was important to retrieve it and save it from a watery grave.

  Worth risking his life.

  He found his sleeping net swinging in the sinking ship. Sitting loosely on top he saw what he was after, his Bible.

  He took a moment to inspect the vital contents within, then tucked it on the inside of his trouser pants. John looked at the companionway he’d come from. Water had now flooded that part of the ship, which creaked as if it were close to tearing itself apart.

  His eyes scanned the other direction.

  The water was so deep he would have to hold his breath to swim through some of the passageways, but it would be his only chance. He cursed himself for his stupidity and continued pushing through the now flowing water that was trying to drag him back down towards the ballast of the ship.

  There was a loud crash, followed by the harsh vibration of the bow of the ship grating along sand and rock, which ended when the ship no longer had any forward momentum.

  She’s hit solid rock.

  John pulled himself up through the final hatch using a rope to overcome the weight of the water, which flowed over him from his chest down.

  He saw the captain’s eyes – they told him everything he needed to know. They were done for. The Emily Rose was going to sink. His eyes
cast into the distance – no more than three hundred feet away, he could see land clear as day.

  Well, that’s something, that is. But where on God’s green earth are we?

  Almost in response, the ship broke in two.

  John fell into the water.

  His hands thrashed about, trying to reach anything that might keep him afloat long enough to survive. His head went under. As the next wave pulled him up, he managed another gulp of air before being dragged down once more.

  It was dark, and the wave had spun him around several times before his hand reached hold of something solid. It was wooden. Perhaps a barrel? He gripped it with all his might and, despite being a poor swimmer, held on until he reached the shore.

  There he quickly stumbled up on land. Sick and exhausted, John looked back at the wreck of the Emily Rose for the first time. Only the bow remained, sticking several feet out of the water.

  Heads were bobbing near the wreck site. Some of them were accompanied by the frantic movements of arms attempting to stave off drowning, while others no longer moved at all.

  Lord have mercy.

  Lacking strength to help any one of them, he pulled out the Bible from inside his trouser pants and opened to the middle of the leather bound book.

  Inside the cut pages, he was relieved to see that it was still there. A single gold ring, a small ruby embedded on top.

  He held it up towards the light so that he could read the inscription.

  Rose Mills 1810.

  He thought about the promise he’d made to the woman to whom that ring had belonged.

  He would not dishonor his sacred oath.

  *

  Jack Robertson met the morning’s sun with the confidence of a man who knew that he’d cheated death once more. Of the entire 138 people aboard the Emily Rose, he was shocked to discover that fewer than thirty had survived.