by Laura Acton
That thought spurred a change in songs to a positive vein as he thought about Blaze’s solid and continual support of Danny. His dulcet voice sang ‘Father, Son’ by Peter Gabriel as he pulled out the knife Danny gave him for his birthday and flicked it open.
After rummaging in his pocket, he found the piece of wood he picked up from the abbey’s garden and started to whittle. The combined activity would distract him from his fears. He will like this when I finish.
Minnow – Main Deck – Galley – 1600 Hours
Mason entered the galley rubbing his hair with a towel, wanting a snack before taking a short nap. It took five latherings before he was able to wash off the offensive odor and remove the theater makeup which Anastasia used to hide a sizable portion of his scar, making the area appear to be a port wine birthmark.
“Goddammit!” Patch shouted as he slammed the cabinet closed.
“What’s wrong?” Mason asked as he grabbed a water bottle from the case on the table.
Patch hugged his queasy stomach as he turned. “I wanted some crackers. Didn’t want to dip into the stash the nuns packed for Blondie. Andrei said the boat was fully stocked, but all I found is that case of water and a few bouillon packets. I thought you guys reconned the boat.”
Overhearing on his way back from the crew quarters, unsuccessful in his search for deodorizer, Blaze became concerned. “Patch, are you certain? It was fully stocked when we checked.”
Leaning on the stove, Patch nodded as he tried to breathe through nausea.
Mason noted Patch’s pallid face and when the medic swayed, he rushed over to assist. Reaching him, Mason touched cold, clammy skin. “Whoa, buddy, here, sit down. You look sickly green.”
Wrenching away from the well-meaning hands, Patch turned in time to heave into the sink. All the water he consumed came back up.
Offering a steadying hand on Patch’s back as he became sick, Mason’s concerned eyes shifted to Blaze. “The fish stench is gone. He must be ill.”
Running a bit of water in the basin, Patch rinsed his mouth and splashed his face before wiping it dry with his sleeve. Pivoting, he faced Blaze. “Not ill. Damn, never been seasick before, but the motion is making my insides roll.”
“Do you have any scopolamine patches in your kit?” Blaze asked as he grabbed a trash can and strode forward as Mason moved Patch to the couch.
His expression doleful, Patch said, “Nope. No patches for Patch.”
Mason chuckled despite his concern as he applied pressure to Patch’s wrists. “Perhaps we could find something to use as a pressure band. Might help.”
Patch moaned, and Blaze shoved the can under his chin just in time as Mason rose and went to retrieve a damp paper towel. Peering up at Blaze, Patch grumbled, “I’m gonna hate our three-hour tour.”
Plopping down next to his brother, Mason wiped Patch’s brow and then placed the towel on the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, Gilligan, well take care of you.” When Patch stared at him in confusion, Mason grinned. “Little buddy, we’re on the Minnow … you know … Gilligan’s Island?”
Both Blaze and Patch groaned when Mason began to sing the theme song.
Out of the Pan, Into the Fire
59
June 1
Makhachkala Airport – Private Hanger – 1600 Hours
Mike finished loading the last of the extra fuel. Upon inspection of the seaplane, he found it to be in excellent condition, which eased one worry. Another concern fell by the wayside when he breezed through security without a hitch. Now all that was left to do was to pick up the others and fly the hell out of here.
His flight time would only be an hour to the rendezvous point, so he had about fifty minutes to kill before take-off. Cranking on the radio and adjusting to the preset frequency, he contacted the Minnow. He sent a short message when Anastasia answered. “All set. Meet you there. Out.”
Recalling a vending machine in the lounge area, Mike decided to grab a snack. As he ran a hand over his bald head, he snickered remembering Mason’s contorted face before he left. Revenge is so sweet … or in this case, stinky.
Makhachkala Airport – Pilot Lounge – 1610 Hours
Kicked back with his feet up on a chair, munching on a bag of chips and sipping a soda, Mike watched the local news channel. His gut clenched when the news story switched to the one involving the search for Maks and an unknown accomplice. When a newscaster interviewed a politsia lieutenant, Mike discovered the police now considered three incidents linked … the massive shooting at and burning of the Cherry Club, the two dead men found at Anzhi-Qala resort, and two more at the home of Boris Antonovich.
When additional pictures flashed, Lieutenant Tikhonovich indicated they believe all incidents to be gang-related and hitmen had been hired to take over turf. He assured the general public it was not terror-related and the politsia was working diligently to find and apprehend all involved.
Relaxing a little now that blowback on the unit would be unlikely with authorities focusing on gangs, Mike scanned the area once again using more caution since he had no backup. Not an unobservant man, his job depended on his ability to perceive things, he didn’t fail to ascertain the connection between Blaze and Dan. If the others didn’t, they were blind.
He quietly observed the interaction of Brody, Dan, and Blaze as Dan entered the box earlier. Those three possessed a secret which they refused to share. The way Dan locked on to Blaze’s eyes and clung to Brody showed him Dan needed Blaze more than he did. Mike could take care of himself … often did when dealing with sensitive or covert issues for the general. So he suggested the change to the exfil plan.
Crumpling the empty bag, Mike stood, glanced around, and tossed the bag and soda can into the trash. He decided to wait in the plane … less probability of being spotted and connected with the recent events, even though he now appeared nothing like he did upon entry.
He surveyed the hanger area checking for issues. About to step out, the door on the opposite side of the room opened, and someone called out to him in Russian to halt. A sense of dread ran down his spine as he turned to find six armed officers bearing down on him. With no weapon and no option of running to the aircraft, Mike plastered on a smile and spoke Russian maintaining a calm voice, “What can I do for you officer?”
As they surrounded him, his intuition became validated as three guns aimed at his head, two officers grabbed his arms, yanking them behind him, as another locked his wrists in a set of handcuffs. Shit, what did I fail to notice?
Politsia Station – Interrogation Room – 1800 Hours
As he sat alone in this room, Mike’s mind ran through every scenario and still couldn’t figure out where he fucked up. The officers at the airport refused to talk, only shoving him forward, and keeping weapons trained on him as they escorted him to a waiting police van where they shacked his ankles.
Upon arriving at the rear of the station he was pulled out, and when he stumbled attempting to walk in the restraints, they let him fall. Without the use of his hand, his face struck the asphalt, and he now possessed a fat lip and sore jaw. His shoulders also ached from being unceremoniously hauled up and from having his hands bound behind his back.
They dragged him to the basement, down a dank hallway, and left him alone, chained to a chair in this bleak room. Mike had no idea what time it was now, but he did realize he would not be making the rendezvous on time. At least they are well stocked, two weeks’ worth according to Andrei, and can ride out the storm until I can escape and pick them up.
Al Sattar Palace – Sewer Prison – 6:30 p.m.
With no clue how he ended up here, Panin cowered in the corner of the humid room barely big enough for three men to lay down. The last thing he recalled was enjoying a steam bath, but when he awoke here hours ago, he wore filthy rags. He was also starving having nothing to eat all day after his two cellmates stole his meager portion of gruel and moldy bread.
The heavy, metal door squeaked open, and he shrank back further in
to his corner while the other two quickly laid prostrate on their stomachs and waited for the order to rise. Panin refused to debase himself by bowing in such a manner to the heathen. The fire of a whip as it lashed down on him caused him to conform to the man’s command.
At his overseer’s mandate, he crawled out the door and was separated from the two men when the guard told him to stop. His cellmates continued on, pushing buckets containing scrub brushes in front of them. Sighting Ifran, Panin hollered, “This is no way to treat an honored guest. Why am I here?”
Ifran and Shareef stood waiting for Panin. They decided to leave him alone all day to stew and wonder what happened. Allowing his sneer to appear, Ifran said, “You possess no honor. This is your new life.”
“What?!” Panin couldn’t believe the words.
“I am quiet, not blind. You assumed our guards to be deaf, dumb, and beneath you. They understood each word. You profited from and took pleasure in debasing and enslaving innocents. Your penance will be to scrub our sewers until you die since you are no better than the bilge flowing through them.”
Gaping at the changed demeanor of the crown prince, Panin’s expression became incredulous, as he shrieked, “I brought your brother home. You owe me!” He started to rise, and the scowling guard shoved him back to his knees.
Shareef glared at Panin. “You are not fit to dwell with us, let alone speak to us. My brother is dead because of you.”
“I didn’t kill Fakhir. The Maks impostor shot him. I’m innocent. Release me this instant.” He moved, attempting to stand again and received a kick to his chest from Shareef which sent him sprawling on his back. He howled, “I’m going to kill you for that.”
“An empty threat. You belong to me … my property now. Only fitting since you sold others into slavery. You reap what you sow.” Ifran wickedly smiled as he waved a hand around the room. “This is where you will stay. You will be guarded at all times so you will have no opportunity to escape. And if you think you can bribe my guards, think again.
“They are aware of the consequences of betraying the family. Your two roommates are former guards. Their crime … disregarding an order of the emir. Their sentence, two years in this sewer.”
Ifran turned to leave, and Panin yelled, “I’ll destroy you. I will.” The cat-o’-nine-tails cracked across his belly leaving stinging red welts. Panin glared at Ifran’s back and vowed to find a way out of this hell hole and slaughter the entire Al Sattar family and the giant bodyguard who strangled him. Then he would locate Magic Mike and Boris Antonovich and execute them too because it was ultimately their fault the fake Maks came to his bordello.
As the overseer barked at him to move, he felt the bite of the whip on his back for not going fast enough. Panin comforted himself with thoughts of how the poison he intended to use would torture each one before they died just like the blond. They would pay for this a thousand-fold. His hatred bloomed and took firm root in his blacken soul as he crawled toward the putrid sewer.
Minnow – Sun Deck – 1950 Hours
Blaze continued to scan the horizon with binoculars. “Still no visual. We lose the light in ten minutes.”
“Over an hour late. Something is amiss,” Mason uttered the obvious.
“I should’ve gone with him.” Blaze slammed his fist on the railing.
“Don’t start. Blame and what-ifs aren’t going to fix our issues.” Mason stared at his CO noting the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders. “Mike knew the risks. Going alone was his idea, and we all agreed. And, we don’t know what the trouble is yet. He never checked in when he took off so we can assume he didn’t. Perhaps there is a problem with the aircraft.”
“He would’ve contacted us if that were the issue.”
“Perhaps that is the holdup … maybe the radio fritzed out.”
“Not likely. Otherwise, Mike wouldn’t have communicated all set to Anastasia. I let him go with no backup.” Blaze lifted the field glasses again, searching in vain and severely questioning his leadership ability.
Mason laid a hand on Blaze’s shoulder. “You are only human. You are not omnipresent nor omniscient as much as we would like to think otherwise. You made the best decision with the available facts. I suggest we turn our thoughts to preparing to ride out the impending storm.”
Lowering the binoculars Blaze shifted his gaze to Mason. He didn’t understand, and Blaze couldn’t share with him. Blondie would be a friggin mess psychologically. This might screw him up, and after all the work he did to return that would suck.
“Something else is bothering you. This is about Blondie,” Mason stated instead of asked. When Blaze’s eyes flicked away, he realized he hit the nail on the head. “We all saw his weakened health condition today. We will take care of him. We haven’t worked this hard to fail him now. How long is the storm supposed to last?”
Blaze blew out a breath, he could go with physical health. “Two or three days. Besides the danger of the gale, there is no food beyond what the nuns sent and the few packets of dehydrated broth. Blondie’s body can’t take much more deprivation. Patch is incapacitated. We don’t have saline to keep either of them hydrated.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, basically we’re out of the pan and into the fire. What are we gonna do about it?” Mason kept contact with his lieutenant’s eyes, nudging him to put aside his guilt and become the leader they all trusted and admired. This mission is one stress on top of another with Blondie almost dying so soon after his recovery. Blaze is allowed a moment of emotion … he is only a man after all, and Blondie is a son to him. Blaze needs my support, and I will give him one hundred percent.
Feeding on the faith in Mason’s eyes, Blaze straightened and said, “We need to pow-wow with Anastasia. She possesses the most expertise. I’ll go inform Brody and meet you two in the galley in five.”
Minnow – Lower Deck – Midship Cabin – 1955 Hours
Brody helped Patch to the berth and put the cold rag into his hands. “Rest now.” He covered Patch with a light blanket and set the trash bin close in case Patch couldn’t make it to the toilet to heave.
Death warmed over would be an improvement to how Patch felt at the moment, but he turned his eyes to Blondie. “Any signs of waking yet? The sedative should’ve worn off by now.”
Brody checked Danny. “None yet. Still sleeping.”
“I’m worried, give me his vitals.” Patch fought constant nausea as he listened to Brody rattle off the numbers. “All normal. Probably his body trying to recover from his exhaustion earlier.”
Standing in the entry, Blaze overheard and a tiny part of him was glad Blondie remained asleep … at least for now. He strode in the cabin and sat at the edge of the bed near Patch. “How you holding?”
“Can’t get off this boat soon enough. Is everything ready?” Patch asked. He had not heard the plane but assumed that was because he had been too busy paying homage to the toilet.
“About that …” his eyes sought out Brody, “Mike is overdue, and we will be spending the night on the yacht. Even if he shows in the next ten minutes, there will not be enough light to safely transfer everyone. We need to prepare for the storm.”
Patch groaned. “Mason had to jinx us with his damned Gilligan Island comments.”
“A storm?” Brody’s eyes widened as they turned to Danny.
“We’ll have to ride it out. Anastasia is well versed. We have another problem though. The provisions Andrei stocked appear to have been stolen after we reconned the yacht. We only have water, the stuff Mary Catherine sent, and the few packets of dehydrated broth Patch found,” Blaze explained.
Blaze stood and went to the door. “Mason, Anastasia, and I will handle things topside. Brody, I need you to stay here to look after Patch and Blondie.”
“Roger.”
“Need anything, holler up.” Blaze left and headed for the galley.
Brody’s stomach took a nose dive to the bottom of the sea. How would he hide Danny’s fear from Patch with them in
the same room? Patch’s renewed heaving pushed aside his concern as he focused on Patch’s needs.
Dan’s world came into view, dim lights and the sound of someone throwing up. For a moment he thought it might be him. When the noise registered behind him, he rolled over and caught sight of Brody holding Patch as their medic bent in two dry-heaving. His hand brushed the front of him, initially thinking he wore his tactical vest until his situation became evident with the slight back and forth motion. I’m on a boat. Anxiety shot through the roof and Dan’s hands began to tremor.
“Brody.” Dan’s one word came out weak and soft, but Brody’s head whipped to him.
“I’m here, Danny.” Brody assisted Patch to his back again. “Give me a sec. Patch isn’t doing so well.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Dan noted the paleness.
“I hate boats,” Patch moaned at the same time Brody said, “Seasick.”
Dan clenched his hands into fists to hide the shaking. “Can I help?” Dan asked trying to distract himself from his fear.
“I got this, you just …” Brody glanced at Dan, and the lightbulb went on. Assisting would be a diversion for Danny, much like Danny’s response to Julie’s cruelty sidetracked him on their last flight. “Yeah, if I move Patch closer, can you hold the cool rag to his neck, seems to make him feel a bit better.”
“Yeah. Least I can do for all Patch has done for me,” Dan poured false confidence in his voice.
Brody handed over the cloth, and several minutes later, Patch dropped into sleep, his body exhausted from near constant heaving the past four hours. When Dan turned his eyes to him, he whispered, “Weather is gonna get rough soon, but we will ride out this storm together like we always do. I gave you my word … you will not drown.”
Trusting Brody and needing a connection to him Dan reached for his hand. “Okay, but this sucks.”
“Yes, yes, it does.” Brody squeezed Dan’s hand.
Minnow – Main Deck – Galley – 2000 Hours
Anastasia joined Blaze and Mason in the galley after having obtained the latest weather report when the winds picked up, and she noted dense, gray clouds rolling in quicker than anticipated. She laid the nautical chart on the table and slid into a seat as she said, “We have a problem. The storm is moving in much faster than initially forecasted.
