by Jan Thompson
“Trained? So you’re not just a translator?”
“Many ordinary people in various professions are sometimes called to help the government in times of war. You know that back in the World War II era, even Julia Child—the world-renowned chef—was asked to listen in.”
“Are we at war, Marie?”
Marie shrugged. “We’re always at war. The point is, I was in the middle of an assignment, when your bungling PI waltzed in, brandishing photos of our son and me to everyone.”
Logan’s heart dropped. “I put you in danger.”
“Yes, you did. I was reassigned after that, but the enemies went to Atlanta to track down the boy in the photo.”
“Our son. I put our son in danger.”
Marie stopped him from berating himself. “I paid Espy to send someone from Mendenhall Security to Atlanta to keep an eye on Jonas.”
“I had no idea.” Logan drew a deep breath. “It must have cost a fortune.”
“What is the price of our son’s head?”
Logan was taken aback by the question.
Marie sat down. “The good news was that after nine months, we—they—caught the bad guys, and so Jonas wasn’t in danger anymore at that time.”
Logan left the sofa. He sat down on the carpet in front of Marie’s armchair. “I wish you had told me. We could have dealt with it together.”
“I wasn’t sure how normal you could act. I couldn’t risk it.”
“I think I would’ve freaked out.”
“See what I mean.” Marie ran her palm over his hair. “Both of you had to go about your daily business as normal as possible.”
“Unfortunately, a year after that something happened.” Logan rested his hand on one of Marie’s knees. She didn’t protest.
In fact, she placed her hand over his. “I wish I were there.”
“We couldn’t find you. I fired the PI, and I wasn’t about to try again. I reported the break-in and attempted abduction to the local police. They somehow contacted the FBI and then next thing I knew, two agents showed up at my office.”
“What were their names?”
“I can’t remember, but I’m sure my secretary does. I’ll ask her tomorrow if you must know.”
“Let me know their names.” Marie sighed. “Someone tried to harass us when Jonas was two years old. Then someone else entered your house when he was four years old. And here we are.”
Us.
She said “harass us.”
Logan almost felt like they were a family again.
“I wonder if it’s related to my work,” Marie said. “Or yours. Do you have enemies?”
“You mean like business rivals or competitors?” Logan couldn’t imagine that any of his business associates would be criminal elements. “We have those all the time.”
“Are they mean-spirited enough to try to disturb your family in any form?”
Logan shrugged. “What can I say about human nature? Sin is sin is sin is sin.”
“Indeed. So it could be my work then. I will make some phone calls. Make all these go away.”
“Is that all it’s going to take?” Logan asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did we forget that ultimately God is in control of our lives?”
“And that He will protect us and keep us safe.” Marie sniffled. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“This morning, in my quiet time with God, I read Psalm 61:3. May I read it to us now?” Logan reached for his phone.
Marie nodded.
Logan swiped his phone and read the verse. “I have been camping out on this verse for a while. ‘For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.’ Today, I started praying this verse for our family. Little did I know we were going to need it within twenty-four hours.”
“God’s Word never returns void. Look up Proverbs 18:10, please.”
Logan did. “Another verse about a God as our strong tower. ‘The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.’ You like that verse?”
“Whenever I’m in—hmm… Let’s just say whenever I’m at work, God has been my protector.”
“Has been?”
“So far. He will continue to protect me, to be sure.”
Logan detected a hesitancy. “But you’re tired of the job.”
“Of my career, really. I think I need a change of pace. Maybe I need a sabbatical.”
Logan smiled. “How about taking a sabbatical in Atlanta? Stay in our own five-star hotel. Any room you want, including the penthouse. Free chauffeurs service twenty-four seven. And a very active five-year-old concierge. When would you like to check in?”
Marie chuckled. “You’re funny.”
“I’ve always been funny, but maybe I want to be more than that to you.”
Marie cleared her throat. “We were discussing our son’s safety.”
“Right. Right.” Logan chided himself for forgetting that. Truth be told, he wasn’t forgetting all that. But sitting here at Marie’s feet…
Too close.
Yet he felt totally at home. Like he was meant to be there with her.
“I miss you, Marie,” he blurted.
Truth was better told just the way it was, unvarnished, untamed, uncovered.
“I’m sorry for the danger I put you in,” Marie said. “I had to stay away, hoping that maybe they would leave you two alone, but they didn’t.”
“I’m partly to blame for that. I wish I never hired the PI. He cost me a fortune.”
“What’s done is done, as my mother says.”
“If we could do it over, would you have left?” Logan didn’t know why he asked.
“I would’ve chosen Jonas over my job, yes. In retrospect.”
“And me? Where do I fit in?”
“You will always be the father of my son.”
“Is that all you think of me?” Logan wasn’t sure whether to cry or take what she said as a joke.
“Until the day we can be transparent with each other, there will always be something between us, blocking us from truly being a couple,” Marie said.
“So be transparent with me.”
“I took an oath of office.”
“Is the job more important than family? Than life?” Logan hoped he didn’t go too far with this line of reasoning.
“No, but it’s all I know to do.”
“What is? Translating?”
“Serving my country.”
“Which country? France? The USA?”
Marie didn’t say.
“You didn’t give up your US citizenship, did you?” Logan asked, suddenly alarmed.
“No. I was thinking about your question.” Marie scooted out of her armchair and stepped away, as though Logan sitting there at her feet was too close for comfort.
Logan knew her well enough to know that it meant she couldn’t handle talking further about it at this time. He decided he’d pray for her and try again another night. They had two more nights to go on the cruise.
Marie went to the small refrigerator. “Want some mineral water? Cranberry juice? Those are all I have.”
“Water is fine.” Logan peeled himself off the carpet and padded to the sliding glass door. “Look, it stopped raining. The moon is out. Let’s go sit outside. We’ll talk about our troubles later.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you out there in a minute.” Marie closed the bathroom door.
Logan stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding glass door ajar behind him. The wind tossed his wavy hair a bit, and flapped his dress shirt. The rain had stopped.
A small dark cloud covered the moon. Logan looked up to see if it was going to rain again, and if the cloud would move. He wanted to get a photo of the moon.
The dark cloud was still there.
Oddly enough, the cloud started to come toward the small balcony, making weird motor or engine noises, and turning into odd-shaped shadows as they approached Logan—standing there with h
is jaw hanging down.
The cloud turned into what looked like several pairs of giant black boots—or something. Logan couldn’t tell in the dim balcony light.
“What in the—”
Oomph!
The heavy objects made contact with Logan’s torso. He fell backwards, his shoulders smashing against the partially opened sliding glass door—
And he heard a sharp, loud crack in his left arm.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marie stepped out of the bathroom to the sound of jetpacks and the sight of men in black landing on her small balcony. Someone in a light-colored shirt was moaning on the floor at the sliding glass door.
“Logan!” Marie ran toward her ex-husband, fully aware that her Sig Sauer was still locked inside the safe. Great. “Siri! Call security!”
The barrel ends of two handguns with silencers, each held by a different person, appeared in front of her nose.
“Make a move, Lucy, and your husband dies.” His voice was gruff and slightly muffled behind the ski mask.
Marie wanted to correct him, but now wasn’t the time. It was also pointless to try to pin down his accent. In today’s world of mercenary work, he could be from anywhere.
Instead, she tried the benign. “Who is Lucy? You must have gotten the wrong stateroom.”
“You both still die.” Gruffy Voice nodded to the other intruder, who then slowly moved around Marie to point his gun at the back of her head.
God, help us.
Out there on the balcony, a fourth intruder was pulling Logan to his feet. He yowled in pain, holding his left arm. Marie couldn’t tell if he had been shot.
Marie wasn’t sure how she was going to defend herself and Logan against three armed men.
Well, she assumed they were men by their physiology, but Marie couldn’t tell for sure since they all wore ski masks and hid behind Kevlar vests—or something similarly bulletproof—although it mattered not at this point. They had weapons. She had none.
There was little she could do standing in between the two men. She could do even less for Logan, now being hauled into the stateroom.
“Who are you?” Marie asked Gruffy.
No response.
“What do you want?”
Gruffy made a noise, something guttural, something unintelligible. To Marie, it sounded like a cross between a bear and an elephant.
“I guess you don’t want money,” Marie continued the charade.
She waited for more intruders to arrive, but these three were all there were.
“You know we’re not in international waters.” Logan grimaced.
“Oh, an intellectual.” Gruffy muttered and expletive. To his men, he said, “Tie them up.”
One of them went through his own pockets. “Uh…”
“You forgot the ties.” Gruffy rolled his eyes.
The other intruder also did not have any cable ties with him.
Keystone Cops!
Thank You, Lord, for small victories before we all die.
Marie tried to contain her relief.
Gruffy pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”
“You’re in the USA.” Logan sat down.
“Water is water. When we throw your dead bodies overboard, it doesn’t matter who has jurisdiction. Dead is dead.”
Gruffy turned to Marie. “Sit.”
Marie did as she was told, but slowly. She prayed for wisdom. She reminded herself of her time in training and years in the field.
She glanced at Logan. He might not survive this.
I’m sorry, Logan.
“This is a cruise ship with over five thousand people,” Logan said. “You can’t hold all of us hostage.”
Be quiet, Logan.
Marie tried to make eye contact with Logan, but he didn’t look her way.
She could only pray that Siri on her iPhone in her purse on the side cabinet was smart enough to call shipboard security, not the one back at Ketchikan, which was probably too far away from them. Maybe Siri could call the Coast Guard.
She prayed that God would keep Jonas safer next door. Mrs. Ping shared the room to keep an eye on him. Marie guessed it was past midnight and they were both asleep.
Regardless, Mrs. Ping knew what to do in the event of danger.
Marie wished she could get a message to Mrs. Ping to get Jonas to safety. She could take him to the captain, and the shipboard security would know what to do about their hostage situation.
Speaking of whom, where was security?
Siri should have called them by now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
This was not my idea of a family cruise.
Logan cradled his left arm against his ribs. He winced. He had quite a high tolerance for pain, but he knew he had to get medical help.
Lord, what is going on?
Who are these people?
Why do they think Marie’s name is Lucy?
Logan counted three masked gunmen. There was no way he and Marie could fight their way out of this. First, they were unarmed. Second, Logan couldn’t remember judo moves from middle school.
These days, he fought in corporate boardrooms and in online marketing battles.
Not on a cruise ship with people carrying silencers.
Yes, he knew what that was. Back in the days when the Urquhart family had armed bodyguards, Logan had learned a thing or two about weapons.
All this must have been a big mistake.
Could Marie be right? Could they have entered the wrong stateroom?
Or could this episode tonight be related to Marie’s day job?
Logan was too afraid to move to reach out to Marie to hold her hand. She had her arms folded across her chest, her face revealing nothing. No fear. No worries.
That told Logan that she at least halfway knew what was going on here.
Who is Marie Bouchard, really?
Someday, she would have to come clean if she wanted their relationship restored. Then again, maybe it was best if they went their separate ways.
Why were these gunmen after her?
Clearly, they are not after me. I don’t even have a parking ticket.
To be fair, Logan reminded himself that his full-time chauffeur drove him around.
The leader of the intruders made a phone call, speaking in a language that Logan didn’t understand, but it sounded Middle Eastern. Maybe Arabic or Farsi or something else.
The man tapped his cell phone, and place it on the coffee table in front of Marie.
“Lucy.” The voice on the phone was deep but calm.
There they go again, looking for Lucy.
Logan waited for Marie to respond. She didn’t at first.
“I know you’re there, Lucy.”
Logan wondered why Marie didn’t answer.
“You may not remember me, but Tel Aviv was mine.”
“Failed work, Mr. Buchanan?” Marie asked.
“She speaks.” Buchanan laughed.
What? What?
Logan felt a jab of pain in his broken elbow.
Tel Aviv? Logan was stunned. He had thought that Marie worked primarily in Europe. Was this a translation job? Logan had no idea that translators were in some sort of war.
Then again, Logan knew that Marie traveled wherever there was work. Still, Tel Aviv was a long way from France.
“If I hadn’t trusted you…” Buchanan’s voice trailed off.
“I’m only a translator,” Marie said.
“So they all say.”
“You know I’m telling you the truth.”
“So says someone who used a fake name in my organization.”
“I sometimes use an alias,” Marie explained. Maybe more to Logan than for Buchanan’s benefit.
“Your supervisor at the State Department or at the CIA made you do it?” Buchanan’s voice grew deeper.
Logan’s eyes widened. CIA. State Deparment.
He had no idea who he had married.
Marie didn’t answer.
To Logan
, it meant that Buchanan could be telling the truth, or Marie worked for neither, or she worked for one and not the other, or…
Logan felt a headache coming.
I’m a simple businessman, is all. I don’t do spy games.
“No, Mr. Buchanan,” Marie said. “Lucy is the name I would have named my daughter if I had one. It’s a pretty name. You said so yourself.”
Daughter? Logan felt uneasy. Had Marie been thinking of more kids? With whom?
“You chose to be Lucy in Yemen,” Buchanan continued. “I know your real name, but I like Lucy better.”
Yemen? Logan stared at Marie. Once again, she did not look at him.
“I was paid to translate.” Marie’s voice was even and calm. “I did my job, just as you did yours.”
“You interrupted mine because you overheard something I said to my people. Then you disappeared for three years.”
“I was assigned new projects. Like I said, I translate—”
Mr. Buchanan laughed. “I don’t forget my enemies so easily, Lucy.”
“Am I your enemy? I helped you avert a crisis in your organization, didn’t I? Prevented you from taking a sabbatical in an Iranian prison when the missiles you sold to them turned out to be duds.”
“Yes, you did—but you also spied on me for the USA and France and whoever else is involved.”
“Like I said, Mr. Buchanan, I’m a translator. I translate when I am paid. I don’t take sides.”
“You don’t have to take sides. You only have to pay back what I lost.” Mr. Buchanan paused. “In fact, your husband and your son will pay on your behalf.”
“You mean my ex-husband?” Marie asked. “We’re currently not married to each other.”
“From what we’ve seen the last few days, you might have gotten back together.”
“What do you mean?” Logan finally spoke. “Have you been watching us?”
Was Buchanan implying that he had a spy onboard the cruise ship? Logan didn’t know what to think except that his son could be in danger. He prayed that God would protect Jonas.
He regretted not hiring a bodyguard, but he had an aversion to them, after living most of his life under guard and scrutiny. I am not as paranoid as Dad.
“If I were you, Logan Urquhart, I wouldn’t have let my wife go so easily,” Buchanan said. “Then again, you’re how we found her.”
