~~~
Isabelle slipped on her worn gray dress. Her arms and legs and torso were freshly dressed after another round of inkwork. The tattoo artist wanted to finish one section at a time; she insisted he jump around. It was perplexing, but he didn’t care; it paid the same regardless. Maybe she liked the way the wraps looked, but he didn’t ask.
Isabelle locked her cabin door behind her and darted across Underworld’s main drag. She passed the River Styx and the packed room of revelers to the stairwell that led in and out of Underworld. Isabelle sprinted up one floor to the next, ignoring signs to turn back and quietly ducking beneath cover to avoid lax guards on the other sides of windowed doors. She exited the stairwell onto deck eleven, then slunk from shadow to shadow, careful to stay out of view like some phantom in the night.
The Elite, most of them, anyway, gathered at Presence, where they rambled on endlessly about past achievements and glory or how many people they smashed beneath their heels while climbing the rungs of success. She imagined herself cutting a swath of terror through the place, running from one end of the room to the other with a blade in hand, swinging wildly as she cut down all in her path. Perhaps another time. Tonight, she had specific prey in mind; a particular clique had gained her attention.
Word had traveled through the bowels of the ship of the misdeeds of a pair of siblings and their close associates—a greasy day trader and an elderly hag. They had cruelty in their hearts, and their ire was focused on some of Isabelle’s former road-mates. Isabelle would see that this potential conflict was avoided while it was still in its infancy. Outside of Presence, she found a darkened corner and waited for hours. Patrons came and went. Not a soul noticed her lurking in the darkness.
In time, the exit door swung open. Ian, Elsa, and Elias poured out of the club, inebriated. They hung onto each other for support and laughed.
“Let’s go play,” Elsa suggested.
“Good idea,” her brother answered, wide-eyed.
Isabelle followed them. She crept as one with the shadows while the trio snaked their way through winding corridors. When they hit the stairwell, Elsa relieved herself on the floor. The other two laughed and followed suit. They mocked the janitorial staff who would have to take care of this in the morning as they left their mess behind. Their trek ended in Underworld, where they took seats at the River Styx, ordered a round of drinks, and waited. Isabelle hid in plain sight by blending with the crowd. She waited and watched. Again, hours passed until at last Elsa approached a young working girl no older than twenty. The girl escorted the trio out of Underworld proper and to the wards, where her dingy quarters awaited.
Isabelle followed and snuck into a neighboring room that was unoccupied. She could observe from the darkness; the working girl had left her door cracked.
Elsa kissed the girl—smiled—then punched her in the face, hard. The girl stumbled back but stood ready as the assault continued. The Elite trio took turns hitting her. Each time one would land a blow, the other two peeled off a few chits and tossed them to the floor. When they finished having their fun, the three of them sauntered back toward the bar. Elias sat down for another round of drinks as the other two left arm in arm. Isabelle had time, it appeared, so she backtracked to the girl’s room.
“Fuck or fight,” the girl said as she stood in front of a mirror, touching up her makeup.
“What?”
“Do you want to fuck me, or do you want to fight me? One costs more than the other, so what do you want?”
“Neither.” Isabelle gently touched the bruises on the girl’s face. They would be swollen in the morning. “Don’t let them do that to you.”
“Mind your business, lady.” The girl pulled away. “If you don’t want anything, get out.”
Isabelle left as quietly as she had come.
Back at the River Styx, Isabelle slid up beside Elias. She was feigning drunkenness. “I’m bored. Want a freebie?”
“Absolutely!” Elias nearly spat out his drink before he said, “I’m digging the bride of Frankenstein look.” He bit his lower lip as he ogled her wraps and how they seemed to be purposefully pushed away to expose the sides of her breasts. Elias walked slow circles around Isabelle and imagined just how far the wrappings continued up her thighs beneath that dress. Her arms were covered in fresh gauze from her shoulders, and so was what he could see of her chest, but he would rip those off in no time.
Isabelle took Elias by the hand and guided him past the bar and back to her room. He looked around her domicile and chuckled at the squalor. Isabelle slid out of her dress; being barely there, it dropped easily. As he suspected, her wraps continued from her ankles almost to the tops of her thighs. Elias eagerly undressed like a schoolboy on his first lucky night.
She pushed him onto her bed and just stood there with her hands behind her back, stretching.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked anxiously.
“Taking it all in,” Isabelle said as she slowly made her way up his body. Whenever he tried to touch her, she forced his hands back to the bed. “Patience,” she whispered. Isabelle straddled him and arched her back. She reached down between her legs and then back behind her to get a hold of his dick.
“Hey, not so rough,” Elias said as he attempted to rise.
Isabelle pushed him back down and straddled him with her knees on either side of his chest. She gyrated her hips in a circular motion atop his stomach while again reaching behind her for his manhood. Elias leaned his head back and closed his eyes as she moved down beyond the base of his penis to latch onto his testicles. She squeezed hard; he screamed. That was when Isabelle used her other hand to reach just beneath her shoulder blades.
A tearing sound filled the room as the wraps on Isabelle’s chest loosened and slid down to her stomach. She released his genitalia and quickly covered his mouth while she held a knife up to his face. The blade was a small karambit with a red blade; torn gauze and cloth medical tape dangled from its edge. Isabelle pressed the knife to his neck; its curved blade hugged his throat hard enough to draw blood. She leaned in; her lips brushed against his as she whispered, “Don’t move.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Quarry
A warm breeze was blowing in from the south. It reminded Miller of home and the earliest days of spring when the biting cold would finally relent. He leaned against the railing of his and Soraya’s small balcony as he sipped hot coffee. The first sun rays of the morning crept over the horizon, illuminating the cabin behind him as they began to drive away the cold. Soraya was still in bed. Miller never cared for the notion that everyone needed to be up at the crack of dawn; he would let her sleep in for as long as she liked.
Far below his feet, the waves lapped away at the bottom of the ship, though he couldn’t hear the pounding from above. He wondered if those people who lived below deck—or in Underworld—could hear and feel the vibration from the steady battering of the sea upon their walls. He imagined it would be maddening, the constant thud ceaseless, never-ending. Or maybe the noise was soothing. No matter. Even with Soraya now at his side, he had this constant nagging. A tinge of guilt always resided just below the surface.
His room with a view, with its clean white sheets and hot coffee out on his private balcony, was a perpetual reminder of his place in this world. He truly had it good here, but it didn’t stop there; even those in Underworld had it good, relatively speaking. For Miller, the fact that everyone aboard this ship, no matter their station, could sleep without the fear of carriers assaulting their camp in the night placed their living situation firmly in the good category. Safety was the only real metric for distinguishing good from bad anymore.
His attention drifted to a spot far off on the horizon. He tried to make out the shore, and he could only imagine what trials the people just out of his view were enduring. He curled his lip; this far-too-bitter cup of coffee would likely be the extent of his day’s troubles. That familiar sense of guilt began its creep again as a knock on th
e door yanked him from his thoughts. It was Cortez.
“Get dressed,” said Cortez as he stepped into the room. He saw that Soraya was lying in bed; she was face-down with the covers half off her and dangling to the floor. He opted to stay by the door. “The captain needs to see us immediately.”
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Raeni came to wake me personally. She said it was urgent and that the captain needed us both in the wheelhouse without delay.”
Miller quickly threw on pants and a shirt and his boots. He made sure the cabin door was locked behind him and was off.
Miller and Cortez cut through the nearly empty decks on their way to the wheelhouse. Staff and essential services were beginning their days—just another in a never-ending line of monotony—oblivious to whatever had their captain so unnerved. When they arrived at the wheelhouse, extra security was stationed outside the door. Four guards now, as opposed to the typical pair. Just how much private security did Kayembe employ, anyway? Miller thought. He filed that observation away for another time.
As was normally the case when they came to meet the captain, the wheelhouse door swung open as they approached. The wheelhouse was bustling with activity; a sense of urgency filled the air. Maps were being poured over while meticulous notes were taken. Three sets of binoculars constantly surveilled the shore miles off. The clock hanging above read five minutes to five.
Arnold met them just inside. His demeanor was sour. “Right this way, gentlemen.” His typical cordiality was nonexistent this morning; he escorted Miller and Cortez straight to the captain.
The captain skipped the pleasantries. He was haggard; heavy bags beneath his eyes betrayed a man that hadn’t slept in some time. “I won’t mince words. My ship is in the midst of a security crisis. Excursion team two has been kidnapped while they were exploring a limestone quarry.”
“Goddammit,” Cortez muttered. “Lance deviated from his planned route again, didn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so. The quarry was not on his itinerary. We lost communication with his team yesterday and they missed their rendezvous last night. Just before midnight, we received a call from someone using Lance’s credentials, and naturally, we assumed that his team encountered a group of carriers en route to the LZ and had to deviate from course.”
“But that’s not what happened.” Miller became rigid.
“No. The man using Lance’s radio is a raider, nothing more. He’s taken Lance and his team hostage.”
“Raider?”
Cortez answered. “It’s what we’ve come to call organized bands of violent scavengers.”
Miller nodded. “Has he at least offered demands?”
Kayembe continued. “He said he wants supplies—food, medicine, weapons, and ammunition. That’s for starters. If we don’t agree to his terms by 6:00 a.m., he’ll start killing one of our team every hour until we comply.”
“And by noon they’ll all be dead.” Miller slowly nodded.
“Shit,” Cortez cursed. “Fucking Lance. He’s not cut out for this, Captain.”
“We can discuss the merits of Lance’s lack of leadership abilities later, but for now, we need to get him and his people back.”
The helmsman interrupted. “Sir, we have a communiqué coming through from the hostage-taker.”
“Patch him through to comms.” Captain Kayembe addressed the hostage-taker in a stern manner. He would lead the conversation; he wasn’t in the habit of letting anyone dictate terms regarding the well-being of his ship or those under his care. “You are speaking with Captain Kayembe of the ocean liner Haven. Release my people at once and we can discuss the terms of sharing of resources that I assure you will be beneficial to all involved.”
“Hello, Captain. Can you hear me?” The raider came through the radio in a playful but condescending voice. “I didn’t catch that last part. Did you say you were bringing my supplies right over personally, or are you sending someone?”
“Release my people at once and we can discuss the sharing of resources.”
“You seem to have misunderstood my intent, Captain. I haven’t called to negotiate. I’m laying down terms. I told you what I wanted last night. I will accept nothing less for the lives of your team, all six of them.”
“How do I even know they’re still alive?”
Miller stayed silent and cautioned for Cortez to do the same.
The raider continued. “You know they’re alive because I say they’re alive. That’s all the reassurance you need. Most of them can still walk, but if we keep this game up, I can’t guarantee that my men will keep them that way. You see, living playthings are a touch more fun than the rotten ones. I’m sure you will agree. I want you to send my supplies down the main quarry road. When you reach the dig site, you’ll know you’re there. And oh yeah, this should go without saying, but come unarmed. I’d hate for my men to misconstrue a peaceful transfer of supplies for an attack and kill whoever you sent. That would only serve to put us right back where we are now, and I do so hate when my time is wasted. Seeing as you are the captain of a ship, I’m sure you can appreciate my concern for punctuality and efficiency. Send one man alone with the largest box of supplies he can carry.”
Miller tapped Kayembe on the shoulder. He held up his fingers to signal for the captain to insist on sending two men.
“This crate you’re asking for would need to be rather large to accommodate enough provisions for everyone in your party. Moving this many supplies safely and efficiently will require at least two men to transport on foot.”
“Fine, send two but no more or the deal is off. Noon, Captain. My supplies had better be at the quarry by noon or you won’t like our next conversation. See you soon.”
Kayembe was near a rage as the line went dead. “Goddammit.”
“Fucking Lance,” Cortez cursed.
Miller asked, “What can you tell me about Lance?”
“Do you remember when I told you that showboating wouldn’t be tolerated on excursions?”
Miller nodded.
“Lance was a member of my unit. He’s a cocky son of a bitch who’s more concerned with how he looks doing a thing than what he’s doing. I can’t work like that, so I kicked him off my team. Unfortunately, we needed bodies and he is capable, so he was put on team two. After a mishap that cost that team its leader, he was put in charge. There’s not a doubt in my mind that whatever the missing team has gotten themselves into can be tied directly to him.”
Miller noted that the captain didn’t disagree with Cortez’s assessment. He let Kayembe, Cortez, and Arnold discuss options for a moment before stepping forward. “You should have let me know the second this guy called in last night, but what’s done is done. I’ll take it from here, but I need to know everything. Where was Lance’s team scavenging and what were they after? What was the last thing you spoke about? How many people are in Lance’s unit, and when were they due back? I need you to describe each member of his team for me: what they look like and how they carry themselves. I don’t want there to be any confusion on who’s who when I get there.”
Arnold answered. “In our last communication before they missed their rendezvous, Lance said that they learned of a nearby quarry. He hoped to find heavy equipment at the dig site.”
“What possible purpose could Haven have for dig site tools?”
“It’s not the machinery they were after,” said Arnold. “They were looking for fuel reserves.”
“I see.”
Arnold continued. “This guy—this raider—he almost sounded like he wasn’t very serious, almost like we could maybe trust him.”
“Don’t fall for that, Arnold. That’s exactly what guys like this want. They want you to let your guard down. Get you thinking you can trust them or, worse, underestimate them. This guy is just as likely to kill Lance and the rest of us as soon as he sees that his supplies are en route.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Cortez asked with a mix of concern and anger.
“First, I’m taking point on this. Everyone needs to follow my lead. I’ve dealt with these types before.”
“Done.” Cortez didn’t hesitate in deferring leadership to Miller.
The captain nodded in approval.
Miller continued. “We need to know this area better than those raiders do. I’ll need to know the geography of the region and how best we can use it to our advantage. Where are we exactly?”
“Just outside of Boca Raton,” said Arnold as he hurriedly brought up files on the ship’s intranet.
“Okay, I’ll need maps, anything you can find. Outdated will work, but the most up to date is obviously preferred. I need to know Lance’s exact itinerary—where they were going, where they’ve been, when they’ve checked in, and where they slept. We’ll need to copy their movements step for step. And one more thing: I’m going to need a large wooden crate.”
“For? You can’t be suggesting that we actually agree to his demands?” Captain Kayembe asked.
“We’re going to give them everything they want.”
“Not what I expected to hear,” Cortez added.
“And you and I are going alone.”
“Out of the question,” said Captain Kayembe.
“Do you want your people back or not?”
Kayembe didn’t answer. He wasn’t one for stating the obvious. “In the best interest of getting my people back, Haven will defer to your judgment, Miller.” He turned to Arnold. “Check with Todd. See if stowage has any large wooden crates.” He returned his attention back to Miller. “We’re going to give these bastards everything they want.”
“I’ll get your team back, Captain. Just follow my lead and they’ll all be back here in one piece in time for dinner.”
Cortez nodded in silent approval.
Kayembe was pleased; he was right in grooming Miller for a leadership position. The former Army captain knew how and when to take charge, but most importantly, he knew when to take the back seat and let others lead. Now was Miller’s time to show his worth. If he could bring the other team back safely, he would show that he was more than capable of leading in Cortez’s absence, should the need arise.
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 39
