The Ionian Paradigm

by Daniel Leston

  * * * *

  The familiar voices of Ivan and Pavel outside Jake’s locked compartment door the following morning coincided with the scratchy insertion of the key. But the boy wasn’t caught off guard or taken by surprise. Far from it. Despite having no real way to calculate time, the regularity of each daily visit had become such a fixed routine that his internal clock always gave him ample opportunity to prepare in advance. Lying motionless on his side with his slack face to the wall, he was ready to continue his practiced game of deception.

  Jake’s shoulder was prodded and shaken, to which he feigned almost no response save for an unintelligible muttering of confusion,

  “Has he been fed lately?”

  “Not since yesterday. Besides, considering how close we are to being shed of him, what’s the point really?”

  “I suppose so. As long as he continues drinking the water.” Pavel’s voice hesitated briefly. “Think maybe you’ve overdosed him? If he’s incapable of walking on his own you’ll have to physically carry him to the rail.”

  “Either way works for me.”

  “What about a proper weight?”

  “No problem. I’ve got something more than adequate for the job. So when do you figure? Sometime tomorrow?”

  A lengthy silence as this was considered.

  “In the evening—and only well after sunset. I don’t want any prying eyes.”

  “There won’t be any.”

  Moments later came the sound of both men leaving, relocking the door.

  Jake remained motionless for several minutes, his now drug-free brain struggling to suppress a growing sense of shock. His worse fear over the last several days was actually coming true! The two men had casually discussed his impending murder as if it was nothing more than an incidental task, something to be accomplished efficiently and—and what? Then forgotten?

  Damn if he was going to let this happen!

  The now determined teenager sat up and got to his feet, testing his legs and stretching his arms, conscious his strength was at least close to fully returned. His former muscle coordination was once again working in conjunction with a clear mind; not as well as it once did, he knew, but certainly enough to give him a fighting chance. Since his execution wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow evening, this gave him time to regain his strength even further.

  Jake looked with disgust at the three new plastic bottles of drugged water left for him on the small table, his anger mounting as he walked over to the toilet and removed the heavy porcelain lid covering its holding tank. As he had for the past few days, he scooped up handfuls of water in his cupped hands, easing his thirst before replacing the cover. He then poured half of a plastic bottle down the toilet and flushed, leaving enough in the bottle to avoid suspicion should Ivan return. As highly unlikely as this was, he reasoned now wasn’t the time to take any unnecessary risks.

  This done, Jake moved about his restricted enclosure, not just to exercise his legs, but examining every detail of his surroundings with fresh eyes. What he desperately needed was to find something—anything!—that he could fashion into a viable weapon of some sort. Preferably something relatively small and inconspicuous; something so unobvious as to—

  There! Was this what he sought?

  He believed so.

  One of the back table legs was splintered and cracked, a ten-inch section tapering to a sharp point midway down from the underside. He determined it was already loose. Good! Removal shouldn’t be a problem, hopefully leaving the leg itself still stable. Though there was no metal involved, the dried wood felt extremely hard, looking almost knife-like in appearance and thus potentially lethal. Wasting no time he knelt and set himself to the task. Tomorrow evening would tell.

  Unknown to Jake, he wouldn’t have to wait near this long to find out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  7:17 AM. The Following Morning.

  To everyone’s growing frustration, the slow passage out of the Bosphorus into the open waters of the Black Sea had taken almost ninety minutes longer than Captain Giannis’ best prediction. The fault wasn’t his. It was the unexpected and delaying myriad of late summer commercial traffic.

  David’s original plan was to remotely detonate the plastic explosive in the darkness of predawn, then immediately bring the Safira alongside the disabled freighter for boarding. But this wasn’t going to happen. At least not as he’d hoped. Now the assault must take place in broad daylight for anyone with eyes to see—which included Alexei Talanov up ahead on his yacht, Corrina. Yet David believed the plan still remained very viable as long as everyone performed his or her assigned task.

  When the opportunity finally came, Captain Giannis carefully maneuvered the Safira closer to the stern of the Varna’s aft side—not so near as to yet alarm the slow-moving ship, but definitely close enough to focus concentration on the zig/zag series of personnel boarding stairs beneath the bridge’s superstructure. Once he indicated his ship was in the best possible position, he signaled David who then mentally crossed his fingers and flipped the remote activation switch, triggering the explosive charge. An instantaneous eruption of water at the freighter’s stern momentarily rocked both vessels, bringing the Varna to a noticeable reduction of forward momentum. Clearly, the plastic charge had done its intended damage.

  Reacting in conjunction with this, Giannis then quickly throttled the Safira up to the staggered boarding platforms, expertly holding his vessel steady as David and crew immediately disembarked.

  Weapons drawn, all five sped up the stairs.

  * * * *

  Jake likewise felt the momentary shudder that ran through the freighter, little recognizing how propitious this would be toward resolving the lingering dilemma that had kept him awake throughout the entire night. How, he wondered, was he to successfully overcome Ivan and Pavel this coming evening during his planned hour of execution? Even with the element of surprise on his side—plus the weapon now concealed under the thin mattress at his thigh—the despairing boy wondered if he actually had a prayer in hell of disabling two bastards such as these. It went beyond unlikely! Just one of them was perhaps feasible. At least then he stood some semblance of a chance. But both at the same time? No matter how he envisioned it happening, the odds seemed simply too great.

  If only . . .

  The noticeable jolt that traversed the length of the Varna occurred only seconds after the two men delivered what was meant to be the youth’s last daily supply of drugged water.

  They looked at each other in surprise.

  “What in hell was that?” asked Ivan.

  “Don’t know. Stay here while I check it out.”

  Less than a minute later, a shaken Pavel bolted back through the open door and gave hurried instructions to his henchman.

  “We’re being boarded. It must be Manning! Kill and dump the kid now before they make it this far forward! Use your garrote and do it quickly. I’ll do what I can to slow them down and buy you time. I’m counting on you!”

  Believing his prayers were suddenly answered on two critical levels, Jake kept his deception going by lethargically easing himself over onto his back, watching through narrowed eyes as Ivan re-closed the door and approached the narrow cot. While his over-confident executioner did so, the boy located and clasped his weapon, keeping it out of sight at his side. Had his parents finally come to rescue him from this long nightmare?

  If so, now he must do his part!

  Concentrating all of his renewed physical energy, Jake fairly leaped to his feet and struck just as an unsuspecting Ivan had dropped to one knee and crouched over him, the teenager’s slashing weapon directed straight at the man’s exposed throat. As surprised and taken aback as Ivan was, however, his naturally quick reflexes saved him from what should’ve been a lethal wound. He arched backward at the last possible moment, the sharp tip of the boy’s knifelike weapon missing its target by a hair’s width, instead opening a bloody horizontal gash along the man’s jawline.

  Painful,
certainly, but hardly fatal . . .

  Thrown off balance by his split-second escape—and teetering backward to the floor—Ivan instinctively attempted to steady himself by throwing his forearm across the table’s flat surface.

  It was a mistake he instantly regretted.

  With his one clear shot at Ivan’s throat no longer available, Jake raised the handle of his makeshift weapon with both hands and went for the single target presented to him—this being the man’s badly scarred right hand pressed palm down atop the table. Not hesitating, he plunged it dead center into the ragged scar tissue with all the strength he possessed, eliciting a shrill cry of acute agony from the recipient as the tip passed completely through flesh, bones, and tendons. If the makeshift weapon had been made of metal, not wood, the force of its impact would’ve literally impaled Ivan’s hand to the table. As the man screamed and cursed in pain, the youth jerked it free, knowing his escape could no longer be delayed. Pavel might return at any moment—so it had to be now!

  Jake opened the door, checking the hallway. Finding it empty, he slipped through and began to run. What he sought and desperately needed was someplace to hide until his father came for him.

  But where?

  The boy had no clue.

  * * * *

  David’s small team successfully completed phase one of his plan by rushing onto the bridge and securing a lone and befuddled ship’s captain who could only stare in silent shock at five raised pistols. Though two were held by women, all were aimed directly into his upper chest. If he entertained any doubt of the seriousness of his situation, David’s next words eliminated them entirely.

  “Give us any trouble,” he said in an overly grim tone, “and you’re a dead man!” It was meant as the strongest possible warning, clearly having its intended effect by the sudden widening of the captain’s eyes above his short beard as he gulped and swallowed hard.

  “No, I—I—! Please, I—”

  David had no time to listen.

  Instead, he clasped Nick’s arm, signaling that phase two of the plan must be implemented without further delay. “This won’t take us long,” he told the others over his shoulder as both men then rushed from the bridge.

  After dropping down two levels via a steel-railed stairwell, they immediately turned left at the first passageway. They knew precisely where they were going, for the room’s location had been duly memorized off Ted’s blueprints. Reaching it, David twisted the doorknob and burst inside—only to face an instant wave of disappointment, one that literally froze him in his tracks. The small compartment was completely empty, its confines bearing zero resemblance to the images transmitted to him after Jake’s kidnapping. No cot, no table—no evidence whatsoever his son had ever been here.

  “Damn!”

  Though never a believer in fate, David began to question the veracity of his long-held presumption. How could he not? So far, providence seemed determined to put stumbling blocks in his path. With his son’s life at stake, his plan appeared to be painfully unraveling. It began with their failure to board the Varna under the cloak of predawn as intended. Bad as this was, he knew the only other likely location of Jake’s imprisonment was the second compartment previously identified up near the bow. With half the freighter’s crew now probably awake, fighting their way forward might be their only option.

  Would there even be time for this?

  When back on the bridge, he quickly exchanged Nick for Omar, for he knew the latter was by far now the better qualified to accompany him. Omar had proven himself in dangerous situations several times in the past, someone never reluctant to effectively employ his weapon whenever it became necessary.

  Before heading out, David demanded of the Varna’s captain, “How many crewmen are aboard?”

  “T-Twelve—but they are all simple workers, unlikely to—”

  “Anyone else? Don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not. It’s twelve—plus two more from the Corrina who—”

  “What two?”

  “Talanov’s second-in-command, Pavel Bedev. And also a man called Ivan, I think.”

  “Where are they?”

  The captain shook his head in uncertainty. “I—I believe it’s where they’ve always been . . . up front near the bow.”

  It was as David feared. There could only be one reason for their presence.

  “Get on the ship’s intercom and order your crew to remain in their quarters for their own safety. Make no mistake, Captain. Like you, anyone who interferes with this is a dead man, understand?”

  “Yessir—”

  “Then do it!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Not forty feet past his place of imprisonment, Jake knew he must make a critical decision.

  And quickly!

  Though he still clung to his makeshift knife, its actual value was now questionable. Worse, not far behind was the sound of a cursing Ivan scrambling to his feet in preparation for pursuit—and Jake had yet to find anywhere to hide.

  A wide circular ‘up and down’ stairwell appeared on the boy’s right and he darted into it a split second before Ivan entered the empty hallway. The temptation to immediately race upward was difficult to resist.

  But was this really the smart direction to take?

  He thought not. Wouldn’t Ivan just assume this would be his choice? If he could partially confuse the man—even slightly—then it might buy him extra moments to locate a place of concealment. Thus he headed downward, making an effort to muffle his quick footsteps on the metal grating.

  But this didn’t deceive the sharp-eared Ivan.

  Upon reaching the bottom level, Jake was confronted by a large metal door going into what he suspected was the ship’s cargo hold. Knowing he’d be trapped if it didn’t open, he pushed the horizontal release bar. Thankfully, it clicked and swung inward.

  As it did so, however, he could hear Ivan rapidly closing in.

  Then came the unmistakable report of a gunshot from above—which coincided instantaneously with a bullet impacting mere inches from his wrist. Terrified, he darted through and slammed the door shut, hoping it had an inside locking mechanism.

  But it didn’t.

  Nothing! So how was he to secure—? Wait!

  The answer was right there in his hand. Thank God he hadn’t discarded his makeshift knife! Placing the tapering wood tip at a midpoint under the thick door, he jammed the widening wedge as deep as he was physically able. It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew, but at least forcing it open from the other side promised to be difficult—and most important for Jake, time-consuming!

  It bought him what he most needed.

  As he spun to view his surroundings, he felt a rising surge of confidence. Visible in the faint light were long staggered rows of wooden crates, all of varied sizes, heights and shapes. Some were relatively small, others quite huge.

  Surely in this maze he could find someplace to hide until help arrived!

  * * * *

  Three levels above, David and Omar came to a sudden halt as they raced toward the forward compartment where they believed Jake was being held. Two bullets had impacted head-high, chinking wood from a cabin wall directly beside them. Too close for comfort, thought David, as he dropped to one knee. Pivoting his pistol in the direction of their attacker, he drove the smallish man back out of sight with two rapid shots of his own. If he had to guess, he figured this was probably Talanov’s right-hand man, Pavel Bedev. Unfortunately, David saw no evidence either of his bullets struck its intended target. Was Pavel just buying time for his henchman known as Ivan?

  The compartment they sought was relatively close—much too close not to go for it. Getting back to his feet, David told Omar, “Cover me! I don’t think he’ll return, but you can never tell.”

  “I’m on it! Go!”

  David made his run, pistol ready for whatever he might find as he burst through the door. A mere glance was all it took to confirm this cabin perfectly matched the images transmitted over Jake�
�s phone camera—but there was no one inside! No Jake. No Ivan. Even more disturbing was a visible patch of fresh blood on the table’s surface and floor. Not a significant amount; yet definitely blood, nevertheless . . .

  The thought of it belonging to his son chilled him to the bone. If so, to where had Jake been taken? He must somehow find—

  There!

  A previously unnoticed trail of blood droplets on the floor pointed the way, directing him and Omar to a large circular ‘up and down’ stairwell. “Wait,” whispered David. “Did you hear that?”

  “No.”

  “It’s stopped—like a muffled thumping noise.”

  “Up or down?”

  “Definitely from below.”

  * * * *

  When a furious Ivan finally dislodged the wedge and shouldered his way inside, the first thing he did was locate and throw the wall-mounted electrical breaker. Doing so immediately dispelled the murky darkness the boy had heavily counted upon after entering the ship’s hold several minutes before. When it happened, Jake silently cursed himself for not having anticipated the improved lighting. Had he done so, he would’ve certainly retreated much further back amongst the many crates with the ample time given him.

  Now it was too late!

  He intuitively felt that the slightest sound or movement on his part would only serve to pinpoint his location among the maze of boxes—which was exactly what Ivan now tried to encourage!

  “Give it up, kid,” he taunted. “Make it easy on yourself. You know I’m going to find you.”

  Through a narrow gap between two large crates, Jake watched Ivan’s stealthy progress as he carefully worked his way ever closer, the man’s head and eyes pivoting slowly from side to side, hoping to pick up any indication of where his young victim might be concealed. A painstaking long minute passed in dead silence. The closer Ivan got, the more the boy saw his fate unraveling.

  Eventually, Jake realized only one option remained to him. Either he moved now—or died waiting here where he crouched.

  But it never came to this.