by M. L. Banner
“Let’s keep the chatter down to only warnings from here on out. Okay?” the captain offered his soft reprimand.
“Yes, sir,” Ted quickly responded. He could see TJ nod her acceptance as well.
“OOD, everything look good still?” Wasano was holding his unit up to his mouth.
“Yes, sir. It’s all clear. I see two men. Another has joined the first on the dock after going into a small building at the other end. You’re good to go.”
Ted desperately wanted to switch back to the other channel to hear more about the warning.
“Ted, do you see anything out of the ordinary?” Wasano asked.
Ted wondered what the hell was ordinary, for comparison. “No. I see less than you do. I can’t even see the two people Jessica mentioned.”
Jean Pierre nodded and then held up his walkie. “We’ll see if we can move him into your view.” Then he added, “I want all eyes and ears on these people.”
The three with portables all refastened them to their belts and waited for the gangway bridge to unfurl itself onto the dock.
Ted knew he had to stay on SC2 for the duration, as well as watch them, even though any of his efforts felt superfluous. But at that moment, more than anything else, he wanted to desperately hear about the breach.
97
A Deal You Can’t Refuse
Jean Pierre strode to a stop, holding up at least fifty meters from the two men waiting for them. A quick glance at their exit confirmed that they were in view of the ship’s camera. He wanted as many eyes on them as possible. But the main reason for his abrupt stop was to move the negotiations in their direction.
He’d read endless books about negotiating at the insistence of his father, who wanted him to take over the family business, and Jean Pierre knew that a big part of starting a negotiation was controlling the negotiating venue. The venue favored this unknown group, because Jean Pierre’s people and their ship were in unfamiliar territory. And since the stakes of this meeting were so great, he thought he’d try to get things started by forcing these unknown men to walk to him. It was a little thing. But sometimes the little things made a difference.
The two men, midway on the dock, both wearing formal police uniforms, shot each other looks of surprise and then returned their gazes back to Intrepid’s away team. It was obvious they didn’t expect this.
Intrepid’s security director, Wasano, took his place right beside Jean Pierre, with his weapon moved from his back to his chest. Having a weapon was mostly as a show of force, indicating that they had the means and the will to use force, if they needed to. Wasano whispered, “I’m glad to see they’re both police.”
Jean Pierre also had this thought. At least at first. Then his mind started a game of devil’s advocate: Couldn’t these men have stolen their uniforms from dead police officers?
If this were true, they were probably in big trouble. If not, they’d probably make a deal.
His mind wasn’t done: If they’re police, why aren’t they armed?
Many European countries didn’t arm their officers and so this alone wasn’t strange.
But in a new world, where crazed animals and people could attack at any moment, wouldn’t you have weapons?
He remembered the radio broadcast, where the man said that Rage hadn’t touched his island. Still, he did expect them to be carrying weapons.
But...
Enough! he thought, no longer entertaining these ideas.
Maybe the opposite was true and these men were trying not to show themselves as the thugs anyone would have assumed they must be. Perhaps they were leaders, just like Jean Pierre, only trying to manage a crisis on behalf of their people. People were starving, from what their leader said on the radio.
One of the two police officers smiled from behind his oversized sunglasses—the kind he’d seen daily on the cruise ship, often worn by men and women twice this man’s age. This man also had more ornamentation than the other and so Jean Pierre assumed that he was the other’s superior.
The leader and the younger man beside him proceeded to walk in their direction. They were coming to Jean Pierre on his own terms.
The negotiations had begun.
“It looks like they have fuel, sir,” Wasano again whispered, making an obvious attempt at not letting the wind carry his voice to the other side.
Jean Pierre had also seen the fueling barge on the other side of the dock when they pulled up to the port. “Let’s hope it’s full of what we need.”
As both men waited for the two officers to arrive from their slow march, Jean Pierre admired the little town in front of them. It wasn’t the usual touristy town, whoring useless knick-knacks to ships full of people. It still had the flavor of the more familiar Azores villages. But this one existed to serve only its residents, who were mostly retired, government employees like these two men, and a few others who must have had some sort of employment, though he didn’t know what that might be. When the small military base, somewhere on the other side of the island, shut down a few years ago the town’s employment engine mostly died with it.
He had never been here and doubted any cruise ships had before them. The dock was way too small for a ship their size. The Intrepid didn’t really fit. They had to jerry-rig some of their mooring lines to the side of the ship to moor them to a buoy, just off the tip of the dock.
The small size of their town and its even smaller population mix might explain why Rage hadn’t hit their island. It was a logical explanation.
Just then, something rubbed up against his leg, jolting Jean Pierre from his thoughts. He looked down, expecting a sickly looking rat, which were way too common for his preference around ports. Instead, it was a black cat. It purred away like a little motorboat, doing side-swiping passes against his leg. The cute little thing looked up at him and meowed softly. Then it ratcheted its head forward, hissed loudly and then scurried behind him, out of his periphery.
“Captain Haddock, I presume?” asked the clean-shaven leader, with a welcoming grin and an outstretched hand. “I am Vila de Corvo’s PCP Police Chief, Salvadore Calderon, and this is my best agent, Tomas Novo, at your service.”
“Yes, I am. Greetings Chief Calderon and Agent Novo,” Jean Pierre replied, shaking each man’s hand. “This is my security director, Wasano Agarwal.”
“Ahh, a French captain? Thought all of you were from Iceland.”
“Belgium, actually. Regal European has”—his mind flashed, HAD—“captains from all over the world. So tell me about your fuel.”
“Ha-ha, right to the point. Okay...”
The man seemed very composed, as if he just didn’t care whether or not they made a deal. But he also seemed to be hiding something. And Tomas, his police deputy, or what he called “Agent,” looked decidedly ill at ease: the man’s face was as serious as death and his eyes darted everywhere and nowhere.
“Here’s the deal,” stated the chief. “The fuel barge you see here crashed on our shore a few days ago, carrying in it heavy fuel and MGO. We don’t need heavy fuel and we already have an ample supply of diesel fuel for our boats. What we don’t have is food, and I’m guessing you do, looking at the size of your ship. So here’s my offer. We want three-quarters of all of your food. In return you can fill up your ship with all the heavy fuel you want.” His smile remained, seemingly a permanent fixture on his face when he wasn’t speaking.
Jean Pierre knew that this was just the first offer in their negotiations. But he also knew that he couldn’t really spare that much food and he didn’t really have anything else to bargain with. He also knew that every moment he waited here brought them another moment closer to running out of fuel. And that surely meant they were doomed. He had little time to stand around wagging their tongues with back and forth offers and counter-offers. He needed to close this deal. Now.
“That’s crazy. We’re a cruise ship of 3000 people”—he had decided it was better to exaggerate their actual population—“and we’re low on supplie
s already after being at sea for over ten days. If we gave you three-quarters of our food, we’d all starve in a couple of days.
“We’ll give you one quarter of our food and we’ll take not only all the heavy fuel our ship will accept, but also your MGO as well.
“That’s my final offer.”
Jean Pierre shut up and willed himself not to breathe another word before Calderon did. This was another negotiating technique he’d learned: the one who said something first usually lost.
“Would you mind if I speak to Tomas about this in private?” asked Calderon.
“Of course,” Jean Pierre replied, still acting as if everything was fine, although he was now starting to wonder if he pushed it too far. He was prepared to give away whatever he had to, in order to secure the fuel.
Wasano leaned in and muttered, “Sir, can we even afford to give away one quarter of all of our food? With so many mouths to feed, I fear we’ll run out without any other options for finding food.”
Jean Pierre remained stoically silent and waited to answer his security director, while he carefully watched Calderon for some sign as to what they’d do next. Calderon instructed Agent Tomas something. This appeared to light a fire in Tomas, who then turned and ran back down the dock.
Jean Pierre still didn’t respond to Wasano’s unanswered question, as he watched Chief Calderon return. He had planned to explain his future plans to everyone in the next couple of days. But only after they had their fuel.
The chief’s smile rose higher on his face. “I sent my man back to get help to unload the food.”
“So you agree to our terms?” Jean Pierre asked.
“Yes, of course.” The chief thrust out his hand.
Jean Pierre couldn’t hold back his own smile and vigorously shook Calderon’s hand. The man has quite a grip.
Only then did Jean Pierre realize he must have been more nervous than he thought, because his palm felt hot and sweaty compared to the chief’s cool and dry hand.
He then saw a dozen men already moving toward them. Jean Pierre had two thoughts then. They must have been desperate for a deal as well. And he should have offered one fifth of his food instead.
“My men will come in and inventory your food. And maybe you can help us with the offloading?”
“Of course. My procurement manager has already prepared an inventory for you and awaits your men inside. And what about the fuel?”
“As you can see, it’s already making its way. Prepare for it on your starboard side.”
He could see that the barge had started up its engine and several crewmen were already untying the mooring lines.
Jean Pierre breathed out a deep sigh. He was actually starting to believe this was all going to work out.
~~~
Even before the black cat had darted from the captain’s legs, Flavio was anxious. This had quickly progressed to worry.
Like TJ, Flavio had been asked by the security director to hang back from the “negotiations” and to watch for trouble. He had done this, scrutinizing not only his captain, security director and the other two, but also the several men flooding into a small building at the beginning of the concrete dock they were all standing on. He also eyed the men on top of the fueling barge, just a few meters away. He felt certain that something was about to happen, at any second.
Then the cat appeared by the captain’s legs. At the time, he thought nothing of it, even though it was black—he never believed in the old wives’ tales. It was when the cat reacted to the leader of this island group with a hiss that something in Flavio’s brain said this was all wrong. He knew dogs were good judges of character and wondered if the same thing were true about cats. That’s when something did happen, which he would have never suspected.
The cat dashed in his direction then, rather than scurrying past him, it leapt onto his leg. As if he was some sort of damned tree, it dug its sharp claws into him. Because he was trying to be hyper-attentive to his surroundings and he felt sure that something was going to happen, he tried to ignore the cat, thinking it would eventually jump down. Instead, it started to scale his leg like a kitty-climbing wall, each paw’s needle-like talons pricking his skin with each slow pull.
Flavio released his tensed fingers from his rifle, slung it around his neck and rested it on his chest. His hands found the soft little creature and he gently encouraged it to stop its trek upward and to release. He knew if he yanked it off, he’d lose some of his treasured skin in the process. Surprisingly, the cat let go and slowly walked along his straightened forearm, purring its delight at him.
“Looks like you have your hands full with a new girlfriend,” chortled TJ.
An uncontrollable smirk cracked his facade. “Yes, Mrs. Villiams. I have a vay with women,” he said, purposely emphasizing his accent.
He let the animal down and silently cursed either the blood or perspiration trickling unseen down his pant leg. At least it hadn’t done this around his white-shirted upper body, which would have shone through. He glared at the cat, which was indifferent and continued its purring and rubbing up against his leg. Then it parked itself up against his shoe, where it proceeded to preen itself.
“Now she has to take a bath after you’re done with her.”
“Ha-ha-ha.” He was not amused, even if he couldn’t help but feel something for the little animal.
“Hey Flavio,” TJ huffed. “It looks like JP made a deal.”
Flavio glanced up, forgetting his new friend, and saw she was right. They were shaking hands and the other police officer—if they really were police—was returning with close to a dozen men from the building at the other end of the dock.
Flavio leaned in closer to TJ. “Do you smell anything about these men or this place? You know, are they infected?”
She removed her nose plug again—he’d seen her do this a few times earlier in the ten-plus minutes they had been out there. She shook her head. “I smell you now, but barely. It’s hard to smell anything with this stiff breeze.”
TJ slipped back on her nose plug, just as the captain and security director returned.
“Okay, a deal has been made,” Jean Pierre announced, sounding somewhat jubilant. “They’re giving us all the fuel we need, in return for one quarter of our food.”
“Sir, you don’t trust them, do you?” Flavio interrupted.
“Doesn’t matter, Mr. Petrovich. I’m asking you and Mrs. Williams to escort some of their men to our procurement officer, who is waiting for you on deck 1, in the refrigerated food storage area. You both will be my eyes to make sure they don’t try anything... funny. We’re almost out of fuel and as you can see, their fueling ship is already moving to our starboard side to begin refueling. So I want this to go smoothly but quickly. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Flavio said.
“Aye aye, captain,” TJ stated.
Jean Pierre smiled and then followed Wasano up the gangway and back onto the ship, while Wasano spoke with his refueling crew on his radio.
Flavio didn’t care for the brevity of all of this. The negotiation, the execution of the deal. It was happening way too fast. No time for planning and no time to consider the consequences if something happened. But his captain gave him an order and he would follow it.
As he followed the two men inside, he heard TJ, behind him now, casually announce the details of the deal on her radio.
He had to admit, he was beginning to feel very glad to have TJ with him. He felt surer by the minute that he was going to have to rely on her more than he wanted to imagine.
98
Otto
“Are you sure dis is all right?” gasped Otto. The rotund German had to stop again to catch a breath and wipe off the sweat rolling down his face. His heart raced like a freight train moving uphill, and he wondered if he might suffer a heart attack if he continued at this pace.
“You work for me now, lazy tourist. You do what I say,” his new boss, Bohdan, huffed back.
The two o
ther black-jumpsuited crew members chortled their amusement at their supervisor ordering around the former guest of their ship. The insults didn’t really bother Otto; he just wasn't used to this kind of physical labor. Most days, he sat at a desk at his office in Munich, where all the running around was done by the younger associates of König AG, his namesake engineering firm.
Now, he was the errand boy for these three mechanical crew members, who seemed like they were up to no good, even though they swore otherwise. But what could he say? He was literally threatened with being kicked off the ship if he didn't do his duties. And he assumed the captain supported this way of thinking, based on his public statement and having crew with these attitudes. The man at the top is always responsible for his people’s actions.
At some point soon he would have to talk to the captain. Not to complain. But to promote the fact that a man with his skills could be put to better use than running physical errands. He would need to do this soon though. Because he wasn’t liable to live through this kind of work much longer.
“That's enough. Rest over!” Bohdan bellowed. “We don't have much time to complete our work.”
Otto exhaled his frustration, bent over to pick up the full 5 gallon water bottle and pulled upward. His back protested with a stabbing pain, a threat it was about to go out or just a warning—he didn’t know. Somehow he was able to hoist up the heavy bottle to his side hip with both arms. He took a wobbly step forward. Then another.
“Come on, lazy tourist. This way,” his immediate supervisor demanded. Bohdan was already many steps ahead of him, the others in tow, beckoning their struggling new crew member forward.
Otto wasn't sure what they were having him do, but he felt pretty sure it was not part of their normal duties. He had lots of evidence for this.
Their entry to this restricted area, off engineering, was done with some stealth. They pretended to be nervously fiddling with some controls, near a small access door, making sure they were not being watched. Only then did they produce a key card—Otto suspected the one he was given wouldn’t work on that same door—and entered the tight access way. Through this, they had made their way up and over to where they were now.
