Roberto didn’t like the Israeli’s tone. He wasn’t a grade school boy, and he could handle himself, he thought.
“Roberto,” Moshe said as he locked a serious stare onto him, pricking some fear. “I can see you’re not paying attention to me, so let me just tell you this.” Moshe cocked his head and looked thoughtful before he blurted out, “I am responsible for the safety of nearly thirty-four hundred people on this boat, including eleven hundred staff.” He cleared his throat for emphasis. “I cannot be everywhere at once. In addition to all the issues that normally come up on a cruise, I now have a war between ten Moroccan dancers and fourteen Brazilian ones. I don’t care what those guys say to you, you stand down, Roberto. Do it like your life depends on it, because it just might.”
“Fine,” he said timidly. “You’ll not have any more problems with me.”
“Glad to hear it.”
But Roberto knew in his heart of hearts he wasn’t going to obey. The holy war Moshe mentioned was nothing compared to his injured pride.
Everyone always underestimates me.
He had told the truth about the Moroccans. They were stupid animals. He’d be prepared next time they tried to accost him, and no, he wouldn’t be merciful. In fact, he might even enjoy the fight and watch their surprised faces just before he sent them back to Allah, if that’s what it took.
Chapter 15
‡
Maksym looked at the blood on the paper covering the plastic patient table, noting there was quite a bit of it for a simple flesh wound. The dancer Azziz sat shirtless, yelling at two of his troupe, who hung their heads.
I have to babysit assholes.
He wondered why they didn’t use more of his own people, there were so many disenfranchised Ukrainians these days, people who had played the game with the Russians, as well as the West, and found themselves caught in the middle, not trusted by either side. Dangerous people, he thought, without a loyalty to any country, like him, others who had lost everything they’d cared about.
His children would be attending the finest Russian schools, taken care of by the older rich Russian they would soon call Papa. Maksym would always be their father, but his wife’s sugar daddy, at least for as long as her looks held, would ensure the girls had a nice education and a beautiful home, and, most important, would be safe from interference from others. It was smart of the diplomat to choose a woman who had daughters she wanted protected. It ensured her complete loyalty.
But it still gnawed a hole in his stomach. He’d have laid down his life for them, something he doubted either his ex-wife or the diplomat she ran away with would ever do for anyone, including each other. Even though she’d cheated on him, he’d still have done it, if she’d come back to him.
What he shared with Helena was intense, which was what he needed, did not contain strings, which he really needed, and had a future involving a beach, an island somewhere and lots of sex with her, which he needed most of all. He just wanted to disappear.
But that meant he had to work with zealots who couldn’t keep their feelings to themselves, who hated everyone, including their own families. Maksym couldn’t understand those kinds of people. And he guessed they’d never understand him, either.
“So, Azziz,” he began in Tachelhit, the man’s Berber tongue, “I’m sure the Gray Wolf who set us up forgot to tell you the part about you keeping your mouth shut and not attracting attention. So I apologize for this oversight on his part.”
“The Brazilian said my mother fucked pigs and donkeys. That’s an offense that deserves the blade of my sword.”
“There are worse things than death, my good man,” he said to Azziz.
“Yes, living a dishonorable life.”
Maksym leaned forward and hissed, “So is having your skin peeled from your flesh a strip at a time and watching it being eaten by pigs and donkeys, Azziz. So help me, if you mess up this mission, I’ll make sure that is your fate.”
“You keep the Brazilian away from me.”
“I might let him kill you if you don’t behave. The man is dangerous. You stay away from him.”
“But we have the strength of Allah.”
“I think in Brazil they aren’t afraid of Allah. In fact, I don’t think Allah goes there very often.”
Azziz drew himself up, attempting to slide off the table and go for Maksym’s throat, but was restrained by his two friends and the Italian medic who had brought a tray of butterfly bandages. The tray flew to the side and hit the wall, scattering the little strips intended to help Azziz’s flesh heal.
Maksym quickly zip-tied Azziz’s hands together. “You’ll behave until we can get more bandages on your neck, and then you’ll spend tonight locked in our cell. If you calm down, you can dance for the passengers tomorrow night, understood? Just like the trained monkey you are.”
Azziz reacted to this by screaming, “No! I will not be caged like an animal.”
“Azziz, you are an animal.”
“You cannot do this.” He began to rattle off some invectives Maksym could only imagine.
Maksym stole a look briefly at the medic. “How long will he bleed?”
“You mean without the bandages? About an hour. But he won’t heal right. It will leave a scar, and might get infected.”
“Perfect,” Maksym said as he hoisted Azziz up using one hand on the man’s bound wrists and the other on his belt at the back of his pants.
“You want me to calm him down?” the medic asked, holding up a syringe.
Maksym could probably handle him, he thought. But he didn’t want to get his uniform bloody, or get scratches he didn’t need. “Please.”
Azziz struggled, but the little dancer was no match for Maksym’s long arms and strong hands. He pulled his wrists up and over the Moroccan’s head backwards until Azziz began to scream. Within seconds after the medic administered the injection, the dancer began to get compliant.
“You two,” Maksym pointed to the other dancers, “help me with him, please.” He could have slung the Moroccan over his shoulder, could have sent him overboard without a bit of a struggle, but that could soil his clothes. He took the dancer’s callused brown feet encased in leather sandals, letting his friends take his head and shoulders, where all the blood was. He led the way down to the security office and the double jail bays. He opened the one on the right with a passkey and they placed the near-comatose Azziz on a cot, covering him up with a scratchy, green blanket.
“Now, you have a show to prepare for?” Maksym asked the two friends, who avoided making eye contact with him.
“Yes,” one of them mumbled.
“I’d better hear reports it was the best show of the cruise, understood?”
They nodded.
“You talk him out of being violent tomorrow, or I’ll drop all three of you off at Tenerife and let you worry about how to get home.”
“But…”
“He has to be controlled. Can you do that?” Maksym asked. Seeing one of the Indian security guards come into the office, he lowered his voice and whispered. “When is your next contact with the Wolf?”
“After the third stop. When we are on our way to the Equator.”
Maksym had no such timetable and he wondered why the man who had hired them all chose to be in contact with the dancers by prior arrangement, where he had received only a loose, “I’ll be in touch with further instructions.”
“I will be watching him very carefully,” Maksym added. “You prepare for your entertainment, and the other entertainment as well. If I don’t see a marked improvement, I’ll tell the Wolf, and I think it will piss him off. I might be kind and let you go. But the Wolf might want me to end your miserable lives. Do you understand?”
The dancers were shaking as he delivered that last piece. Maksym was almost a foot taller than either of them. He knew even his whispers were feared. And that was a good instinct on their part. That might keep them alive for another five days or so. Until they could get to the Equator.
After he got his money, he and Helena would be off someplace warm, never to be found again. It would be like dying and being reborn.
He’d have his own full-on religious experience.
Chapter 16
‡
Mark and Sophia exited the lifeboat discreetly, watching for crew members using the deck outside. They re-snapped the door in place. Mark patted the letters stenciled on the outside. In white fluorescent paint it said No. 26. It was going to be his new favorite number.
“I rather like cabin number twenty-six,” he said to the side of Sophia’s face. She giggled, which thrilled him. He loved hearing her laugh.
“It could do with a little decorating. A little more padding might be better as well.”
“Agreed. Wine. Some candles. I’ll bring them next time,” he said watching her try to straighten her hair, her clothes. “Just leave yourself mussed up. It turns me on, Sophia.”
“But I could get fired.”
“But if you get fired, then you could be my guest and we’d have my room.”
“No. That’s a violation of the contract I signed. They could send me back home if…”
He put his fingers on her lips. “Shhh. You talk too much. I liked it better when we let our bodies do the talking, before I knew you could speak and understand English.”
“I can talk dirty in Italian. You’d like that,” she whispered and kissed him.
“Nope. I want to know what you’re saying to me. The imagination I can handle all on my own, thank you very much. I want to know what you’re saying when you talk dirty to me.”
“We can text.”
“Not if you do it in Italian. Besides, why can’t we meet here in our cabin? I want to do more than texting with you. Texting just isn’t going to be enough for me, honey.”
She frowned after his kiss.
“Oh, Sophia, are we having our first fight?” He couldn’t help himself. He felt great. Nothing could dampen his mood.
“Mark, we have to be extremely careful. Roberto—”
His mood quickly shifted dark. He didn’t like that she’d stopped telling him something about her fiancé’s—her ex-fiancé’s best friend.
“Who cares about Roberto?” he said casually as they opened the door to the meeting room. He was glad it was still vacant. “You’re going to break it off, right?”
“I’m not worried about my soon-to-be-ex. But Roberto is a crazy person. Something not quite right about him.”
“He’s just very full of himself. Jealous, I’d say. One of those guys who doesn’t like to lose.”
“I think you are right.” She faced him and placed her palms on his chest, giving him a quick, soft kiss. “Look. I want to play like we’re not a couple, just keep it from Roberto.”
“Why, baby?”
“I don’t know. Self-preservation? I mean if he gets wind that I’m not going back to Brazil to get married after all, he’d insert himself into my life—he’d feel like he didn’t have to be careful around me.”
“You think what he did tonight was careful? How do you suppose he shows affection? To his best friend’s fiancé? The guy’s not stable, and therefore you can’t count on him acting rationally.”
“But I think he’d be on better behavior if he thought he would get in trouble when he gets home to Brazil.”
“He’s already demonstrated his dislike of you. Sophia, why are you protecting him?”
She stared down at her feet.
Mark pulled her face up with fingers under her chin. “Hey, what are you not telling me?”
“He has a past, Mark. He’s killed people before.”
It wasn’t lost on Mark that he had as well. He decided not to remind her of that fact.
“Not sure I’m following your logic, Sophia.”
“I don’t think he dislikes me, Mark. I think he wants me for his own. If he thinks I’m free, he’ll do everything in his power to keep me close to him. He’ll be dangerous for you.”
“He doesn’t scare me.”
“He should. Don’t ever be alone with him. He’d kill you without thinking twice about it. Tonight confirmed what I’ve believed for some time now. My fiancé’s family is very rich and powerful. Roberto won’t cross them until he gets what he wants. He wants something. So he’s delivering me, and then he’ll ask the favor of them. I need to let him think he’s still winning this game.”
He didn’t like it, but Mark agreed for now to go along with keeping their affair private. He’d tell his Teammates, of course, but he wouldn’t be affectionate in public with her, or do anything to inflame Roberto any further. And, since he couldn’t protect Sophia day and night, he wanted to do anything that would make her safer.
“But it’s a requirement that I see you every night, you got that? We can meet here on the boat.”
“Yes. It will be our secret hideout, then,” she agreed. Her warm smile tugged at him. He almost begged her to stay with him a little longer. They exchanged their cell phone numbers for messages. Afterwards, she was all business. “I’ll walk out of the room first. You wait about two minutes, then you go, okay?”
He reluctantly let her slip away.
On the way back to their cabin, Mark passed the doorway of the dark lady he’d seen in Marrakesh. She’d opened it and stepped out into the hallway, almost bumping into him. Her dark eyes appraised him quickly. He could see she noted his muscular build, the fact that he could handle himself and react quickly. He’d been able to dart out of the way just in time to avoid a collision.
“Scusi,” she said with a slight bow, her long lashes falling on her cheeks and then drifting upward as she gave him a flirtatious look. Mark saw the danger in her gaze and the promise that she had some sort of dark secret. Years of interviewing and assessing tribal leaders overseas made him quick to discern when he could trust someone, and when he could not. And he didn’t trust her in the slightest.
He let her pass, but just before he rounded his corner, he glanced over his shoulder at her fine frame undulating down the hallway, and saw her sneak back a look at him as well.
That was the telltale signal for him that she had an agenda of some sort. Did she know he’d already seen the two of them together?
Kyle and Armando were in his cabin when he returned, counting Sanouk’s winnings.
“Looks like he’s made just over $4000,” Kyle announced, examining the chits Sanouk had accumulated. “Sanouk, you take good care of these, okay? No way to prove you won this. Anyone who walks into the teller with this paper can walk away with your money.” He held the fistful of white paper slips in front of him, waving them back and forth. “Don’t lose them.”
“I should go do it now,” Sanouk replied. “Mr. Mark, would you accompany me?”
Mark was tired, but he wanted to make sure Sanouk got his fair share.
“Oh, I’ll go,” said Jones as he walked through the adjoining doorway from the cabin next door. “Mark here has been exerting himself, if I have my geography and real estate down right.”
That earned him some catcalls and whistles. He was beginning to think maybe someone pulled sentry duty to keep an eye on him and Sophia in the little boat. In spite of himself, he blushed and couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll tag along too,” Mark said.
“I was going to meet Kyle upstairs, so we’ll join you,” Armando said.
Six members of SEAL Team 3 accompanied Sanouk to the teller box to the side of the poker room, just beyond the slot machines. He wanted to get the cash, rather than have it added to his onboard bill for the ship. Mark guessed Sanouk was frugal, and didn’t buy much of anything for himself. But with more than $3,400 now stashed in the kid’s cabin, Mark had some concerns for Sanouk’s safety.
“You don’t go walking around any of the ports carrying more than about $100, hear?” Kyle instructed the young Thai. “And you don’t brag.”
Just then, several Brazilian poker players who had lost to Sanouk sauntered over to congratu
late him. The SEALs made a barrier around Sanouk, who tried to shake hands, but couldn’t because the Team wouldn’t let him.
As they walked away, Mark added softly, “You got that much money on you, Sanouk, and you watch out for anyone. Anyone you don’t know. Someone bumps into you, and then someone else relieves you of your money.”
Sanouk agreed to be careful. “Holy cow, guys. Never knew having so much money was such a complete drag,” Sanouk replied. “I mean, it’s more money than I’ve ever seen before.”
“So how did you learn to play poker without money, kid?” Jones wanted to know.
“We played for cans of soda. Once I won a $50 Starbuck’s card and a set of golf clubs.”
Everyone laughed.
Kyle and Armando headed over to one of the bars at the end of the Deck 5. “We’re meeting Moshe for a drink, gents,” Kyle said. “Make sure Sanouk gets back safely, hear?”
“I’m on it,” Jones said. Fredo nodded and was joined by Rory. Mark drifted towards Kyle and Armando.
“Mind if I join you?” Mark asked.
“No problem.” Kyle said and plopped his massive arm over Mark’s shoulder. Together, they watched their Teammates amble up the stairway to Deck 6, and hopefully to the safety of their cabins.
“You missed some action today, Marky Mark,” Armando quipped. “Your ears burnin’?”
“I’m just doin’ what you’d have been doin’, if you get my drift,” Mark said.
“Roger that, Marky. I’m happy for you, but there’s a complication, and I think Moshe will be able to fill us in. Something’s not right about the dynamics down below,” said Kyle.
As if on cue, Sophia’s dance partner, Roberto, rounded the corner, giving Mark an appraisal straight from Hell itself. He was wearing jeans and a tight knit tee stretched across broad, muscular shoulders. Mark noted his arms and chest were nearly as big as some of the Team guys. Roberto fisted his hands at his sides, locked his jaw and passed them like it required great effort to do so without a fight.
Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5 Page 11
