Morning Colors

by Sharon Timm

  Sam caught a glimpse of the weasel like man. He was glaring at her. His lips pulled back in and expression of sheer disgust, revealing the gap in his upper row of teeth. She read the hatred in his eyes, as the door snapped shut between them.

  The Colonel locked arms with Luca and Sam and led them, like two childhood friends, toward Luca's office. The equipment had been cleared away. The men were gone. Luca's office was back to the way it had been when she had first stood eye to eye with him defiantly demanding things and acting like a child.

  She smiled at the memory. She would miss this place, Luca, Venice. She had developed a strange, sick kind of attachment to the adventure which had overwhelmed the last four days of her life. She would get over it, of course. The sooner she could get back to her ship, the sooner she could start dealing with the memories. She had many more traumatic memories than Luca Danieli. She would be fine.

  "Colonel," she said as soon as the door was closed. "I would like to get back to my ship as soon as possible."

  Luca looked stunned.

  The Colonel blinked. He raised his eyebrows, glanced at Luca and stammered, "Tonight?" he asked. "You want to go to your ship tonight?" He paced the floor, a concerned look on his face. "The operation will require the ship and both helicopters. I am not sure how long it will take to decipher the code. Surely you can wait until tomorrow morning. Luca will take you to the hotel."

  "Look, Colonel," she said in an irritated tone, "I have bent over backwards for you and Maresciallo Danieli, here. I'm tired, I have been in great danger, my ship left without me... I would just like to go back to my ship, and, and...and sleep for a couple of days!"

  Luca threw the ultimate roadblock in her path, once again showing an extraordinary knowledge of Navy policies. "Are you certified for night flights?"

  Sam glared at him. How did he know about that? she wondered. Only certain people with advanced swimming and survival training were authorized to fly in helicopters after dark. The dangers of traversing the open ocean in small aircraft were real. While flying during daylight hours was pretty much a routine, night flights were only made for actual mission requirements or emergencies. Sam's job ensured that, in an emergency, she would be allowed to fly, this, however, was not an emergency.

  Sam balled her fists, stamped her foot and stared straight ahead. "No," she admitted, "I'm not night certified."

  The relief was evident on Luca's face. Sam thought the Colonel had noticed it too. "Then it is settled." the Colonel said, "We will continue to talk to our friend in the other room. Luca will escort you to the hotel. Incidentally, we have reserved a different room for you in the same hotel. Your bill has already been paid, courtesy of the Italian government."

  "But..." Sam protested.

  "No arguments, Chief." The Colonel was pulling rank. "We could not have resolved this little matter without your help. You are assigned to me, and part of my responsibility is to make sure you have a place to stay."

  "Yes sir," Sam said. She backed off. She had not achieved the rank of Chief Petty Officer by arguing with superiors. Something her husband had told her years before came back to her now, "If you can't follow, you will never lead." She wished she could thank him for the many times that thought had kept her on course and out of trouble.

  The Colonel approached her, held her shoulders with both hands and kissed her formally on both cheeks. "On behalf the government of Italy," he said, "Thank you."

  She liked this man. The Colonel was genuine. He, like so many of his countrymen, was a face-value person. It was such a change from what she was used to. She thought of Anna, and their instant friendship. She thought of the music at Luca's house and the people she had met. There were no facades, no pretenses. It was refreshing, yet strange.

  The Colonel turned with a nod and departed. Luca waited for Sam at the door. "Are you ready?" he asked.

  "Are we walking?" she demanded defiantly.

  Luca held up his palms. "No tricks, no set-ups, no gondolas."

  Sam walked past him and turned toward the front door. They walked in silence, briskly. It had been a warm day but the evening was cool. She should put her jacket on. Sam stopped abruptly and turned back toward the station. "I forgot my..."

  "Bag?" Luca asked handing it to her.

  "Stop reading my mind, Luca Danieli."

  "Stop running through mine, Samantha Logan."

  Sam stared at Luca. She was speechless. She cautioned herself against saying anything. There was no right thing to say. Too many times she had said the wrong thing and driven the conversation down blind alleys and into areas she wasn't ready to explore. She pulled her jacket on, turned and began walking toward the hotel. She heard Luca sigh heavily behind her. She ignored him.

  They walked quickly, both absorbed in their own thoughts, both distracted. Neither of them was watching. Neither was ready for what happened.

  Two men approached from opposite directions. One passed Sam and turned. The other was walking behind Luca. When the guns came out of their pockets it was too late to react. With cold steel pressed into her back and an iron grip on her arm, Sam had no choice but turn down the alley. She wondered briefly if this was another one of Luca's tricks, but Luca, she noticed, was right beside her.

  "Do what they say, Sam." Luca whispered. His concerned look was real.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Luca was thrown against the wall while his captor searched him for weapons. His pistol was located and taken by the man brandishing a gun. They removed his small radio from his jacket pocket and smashed it on the ground.

  Luca and Sam were forced down the alley. Sam faked a stumble and grabbed Luca's arm. She turned her head furtively and peeked over his shoulder. A uniformed man was running toward them. He looked like one of Luca's men. Sam hoped he was and hoped he had seen them being forced down the alley. She faced forward again, not wanting to risk alerting their captors to the man she hoped was following.

  She was still clinging to Luca's arm when they were shoved roughly into a boat that was waiting where the alley ended abruptly on the canal. There were no walkways on either side of the alley. Her heart sank. No one could see them. No one would notice that they were gone. Sam crouched on the floor of the boat. Luca held her and shielded her with his body. She took advantage of his concealing position to stare down the alley as the boat was untied and pushed out into the narrow canal.

  Sam was relieved to see that the uniformed officer had indeed seen them. He glanced carefully around the corner at the end of the alley and ducked back into the shadows. Sam looked back at Luca. He had not noticed his officer. He was staring at their captors.

  There were three of them. She could not see any of their features in the dim light of the canal. The pilot was a short, broad man with a wool hat pulled low over his brow. He'd been waiting in the boat for them. He didn't speak. The two who had brought them, at gunpoint, to the boat spoke to each other softly. One was tall, the other short. Both were thin. They were wearing what looked like knitted caps. Sam moved slightly. She leaned back into Luca's crouching form until her lips were close to his ear. "What are they saying?" she asked.

  She hunched forward slowly to hear his reply. "Not Italian." he mouthed the words in a barely audible whisper.

  There were no words to describe the fear that gripped her. This was her fault. She had let her guard down. Worse, she had turned this into another personal crisis between her and Luca. She'd acted childishly, again, and Luca, spending entirely too much time trying to figure her out, had dropped his guard also. She thought it was over. She thought she was safe. Big mistake!

  The boat picked up speed. The pilot didn't look back, but concentrated on navigating across the darkness of the ebony water guided only by known landmarks and the reflections of the channel marker lights.

  It dawned on her that the pilot must have been hired locally. He probably wasn't a foreigner. Maybe that is why he didn't speak. If he was from Venice, he probably recognized the Chief of Police, and that
explained why he stared straight ahead.

  Satisfied that she'd figured the pilot out, Sam turned her attention to the other men taking her mental snapshots of them memorizing each detail. They were arguing in their native tongue. The taller man was pointing and gesturing. The shorter man waved his arms around and raised his voice. The men were unsophisticated thugs. They didn't fit her idea of a foreign intelligence service. She wondered who they were. She remembered the tangled web that the Colonel had described. Who were these kidnappers and who did they work for?

  Whoever they were, they were taking Sam and Luca on a one way trip. Kidnapping the Chief of Police was not something you would do if you planned to stay in the country. She wondered where they were going. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed the last faint glimmer of color at the edge of the dark sky, behind them. They were heading due east. The swell was rising and she could see the channel markers end ahead. She remembered coming through a breakwater while returning from the ship in the police boat. She could just make out the low dark outline of the long pile of stones that marked the transition into the rougher waters of the Gulf of Venice. They were headed out into the darkness where the black night met the sea.

  The swell became more pronounced. The small boat rocked up and down slamming the bow through the waves, then cresting and accelerating the vessel into the next wave. The boat was about the same size as a twenty six foot Navy motor whaleboat. Surely they were not going to sea in this open boat. There had to be a larger boat out there somewhere. Sam scanned the horizon cautiously, searching for the red and green running lights of a vessel approaching. She stared a moment to the North, at a point off shore where her ship had rested at anchor just a few days before. Where was the DONELSON now, she wondered. She swept the horizon with her eyes but saw nothing.

  "There has to be another boat," she whispered to Luca.

  He nodded. "This one is too small for a long trip," he agreed. He was silent a moment then whispered. "Unless this is supposed to be a very short trip."

  Sam shuddered and looked over the side at the inky black sea.

  Their captors ignored them. They were still arguing loudly when Luca made his move.

  He stood suddenly, catching the men off guard. He shoved one of the men overboard. The other man was slow to react and Luca grabbed the pistol he had in his hand. Luca tried to force it down and away from Sam. The pilot, wheeled to see what was happening. He abandoned the wheel and the boat turned, breaking its rhythm and listing heavily into the next wave at a bad angle. The forward momentum of the boat shifted and the sudden motion threw Luca and the man off their balance. They fell heavily and the weapon discharged with a loud explosion at point blank range.

  Luca collapsed with a groan and slid writhing in pain to the floor of the boat, grasping his leg. The man with the gun waved it at Luca and yelled something to the pilot. The pilot spun the wheel and doubled back, following the faint phosphorescence of the boat's wake.

  Sam pushed Luca's hands away and felt carefully for the wound on his leg. She found a small entrance wound at mid-thigh and felt expertly along the trembling muscle of his leg. His bone was not broken. She reached under his thigh and confirmed her suspicion. The bullet had passed through, and the exit wound was severe, and bleeding badly. She could not see the wound in the darkness, but applied gentle pressure over both wounds. The blood was flowing steadily but not pumping. It was a good sign. Maybe there was no arterial bleeding.

  She reached under Luca's jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and tore his undershirt off his body. She ripped it into strips and fashioned two bandages by folding pieces of the material into squares.

  The bullet had made a small hole in his pants at the entry point. She tore this hole a bit larger and slipped one of the bandages inside and over the wound. Working blindly, using only her sense of touch, she slipped the other bandage inside the tear where the bullet had ripped through the back of his leg. He groaned in pain as she wrapped the entire leg with long strips torn from the rest of the shirt and tied them firmly in place.

  She tested the fit by inserting her finger under the finished dressing. She didn't want to make the binding too tight. It was not supposed to be a tourniquet. A tourniquet in these conditions would ensure his leg would require amputation by the time they reached a hospital.

  She took Luca's hand and showed him how to apply pressure directly to the dressing over the exit wound.

  The boat slowed as they pulled alongside the splashing man and he dragged himself back into the boat. He jumped to his feet, yelled unintelligibly and kicked savagely at Luca. Sam dove protectively to cover Luca. The man's foot grazed her cheek bone. She fell back against the gunwale, striking her head. She winced in pain and felt a lump already beginning to form. The wet man prepared to kick again but his partner pulled him away and hurled him forward toward the pilot.

  The angry, wet man turned to face the other, and found himself staring at the muzzle of the pistol. Having lost his own weapon, apparently, when Luca pushed him overboard, the man was forced to calm down.

  The man with the gun moved it from person to person, pointing it in turn at Luca, then at Sam, then back to his partner.

  The mother-ship Sam had expected, materialized out of nowhere. It was bigger than the boat they were on. From the extended booms and pulleys protruding from the sides of the vessel, Sam identified it as a fishing boat, designed for high seas and heavy weather. In this boat they could be taken anywhere!

  The smaller boat pulled alongside and the pilot tied the bow securely to a cleat, while the man with the gun secured it aft. He motioned with the gun and Sam moved to the short rope ladder, draped over the side of the larger boat and climbed onto the deck. Luca hobbled over, groaning in pain. Sam helped pull him on board.

  They were handled roughly, pushed and shoved through a small watertight door and down a steep ladder, into a pitch black, foul smelling hold. Sam checked Luca's bandage, then carefully explored their surroundings with her hands. The hold was small, perhaps six feet by eight feet. She could stand upright in the center of the hold but its height dropped off steeply to each side, due to the curvature of the hull and the camber of the deck above. There were no windows. With the exception of the ladder they had come down, she found no exits. She listened to the muffled voices and heard the rhythmic bumping of the boat alongside. When the bumping stopped, she heard engines retreating.

  "What do you think," Luca asked. His voice sounded hopeless.

  "I think we are in a bunch of trouble. We are on a fishing boat. Last time I checked we were heading due east, but that was on the small boat." She described the hold felt herself beginning to lose hope.

  "Can you tell which way we are going?" Luca asked as the engines of the boat roared to life.

  "Which way was the wind blowing?"

  "From the east I thought," Luca confirmed what Sam remembered.

  "We were going due east, into the waves, when I looked back toward the city. If the boat goes east or west it should be a fairly steady ride," she reasoned. "We would pitch up and down but not roll much from side to side. If the boat takes a diagonal course to the wind we should feel some rolling from side to side. Each roll into the waves will cause more noise on the leading side than the settling roll when the wave is cleared."

  Luca whistled softly. "You are amazing, Sam."

  Sam sat in the center of the boat with her back toward the aft bulkhead. As the boat picked up speed she felt the motions and tried to imagine their course. Her theories were sound, but in the total darkness with no visual reference she was becoming confused. They began heading what she estimated to be due east. When the boat heeled over to starboard she knew they were turning left. She listened for the crashing waves against the bow. As she anticipated the sound was strongest to starboard, the boat still pitched but now it traveled with a distinct side to side roll. She plotted her mental course. "We started going east then turned."

  "Northeast?" Luca queried through clenched teeth
.

  They sat side by side, concentrating on each movement and blindly plotting an ever changing course. At each turn they called out the new direction. "East. West. Northeast. Southwest...."

  Luca didn't always speak. Sam realized he was drifting in and out of consciousness with pain. She concentrated on each movement of the boat. Each change in direction confused her more.

  "Luca," she said suddenly, "They aren't taking us anywhere. We are going around in circles."

  "Not circles, Sam" Luca said a moment later. "They are doing a trawling pattern, pretending to be fishing in case anyone is watching on radar."

  The course changes ceased and the trip became smoother. The pitching was much less severe now, with her back to the bulkhead Sam realized they were heading west, with following seas.

  "Do you feel that, Luca?" she asked.

  "What am I supposed to be feeling other than the pain in my leg?" he gasped.

  "Do you feel the way the waves are pushing the boat from behind?"

  "I'll take your word for it."

  "They ran us around in circles to disorient us, and like you said, confuse the radar. I think we're going back to Venice."

  Sam's suspicion was bolstered several minutes later when the engines dropped to a lower pitch and the ride became even smoother. Sam wondered if they were back in the Venice lagoon.

  The boat heeled gently over on its port side, then heeled to starboard. Sam felt each maneuver and commented on the direction she thought they were going. She noticed that there was no rocking or pitching motion.

  "Are there any other lagoons, like Venice, in the area, Luca?"

  "What did you say?" Luca moaned. His pain was obviously blocking everything else from his mind.

  "Is Venice the only lagoon?"

  "It's the only one big enough to do this much turning around in," he said.