Of course, what he didn’t know at the time was that his wife was already banging the diplomat and making her exit plans. He’d lost his wife that day, he’d thought, because of his own stupidity. Truth was, he’d lost her nearly six months earlier. All he managed to do that day was break Eniko’s heart, too. The sweet little dancer who naively thought she would surprise him. She deserved way more than she got. Way more.
Afterwards, he’d tried to call her, to make things right, but each time she rebuffed him. And who could blame her? She was a beautiful girl, a good girl, and he was a dog of the first order.
So when Helena came into his life, he already considered himself a flawed man with needs all the women in the world couldn’t satisfy. What he’d really been looking for was someone who could command him. He didn’t care if it wasn’t love. He just liked that she enjoyed pushing him around and surprising him to death and back. The sex was like glue that held them together until maybe something else could show up.
No, life with Helena was what he deserved now. He’d played by some rules and gotten caught breaking some others. She was a perfect match for his appetites, and he made her feel like she wasn’t with someone too dangerous. Underneath all her bravado, was a scared little girl with daddy issues. She knew how to take care of herself by riding men to the top of their careers and getting out just before the fall, switching ponies so she never had to worry about being dragged into some despicable lot in life. Maksym thought of her as smart.
Smart women made him hard.
He had an hour’s leave from the bridge since they were still in port, and he needed to check with his chief of engineering. The bowels of the ship were usually hot and sweaty. Didn’t make it easier that the laundry was also nearby and fresh soap and moist air mixed with the smells of the huge diesel engines made it almost feel like home to a seaman. He knew many engineers who would rather stay all day with their equipment and didn’t care a fuck for where the ship was headed or where it docked. His guy was like that.
Anton Boiko had served under him in the Navy and had been the best chief engineer he’d ever had. He didn’t know much about the man, except for his all-consuming hatred of the Russians, which was one of Maksym’s top requirements for Maksym. Only thing better than hijacking an American vessel would have been to hijack a Russian vessel. But the Russians placed no value on the passenger’s lives, like the Americans did. And the American companies had insurance, something that was problematic in Russia. It did keep the lawsuits down, however.
Boiko was cleaning a metal part with a dirty, oil-stained rag. He’d taken to wearing red bandanas around his neck like a pirate. His little act of defiance, if anyone had looked too closely. Though it was forbidden, Boiko also smoked like a chimney. One look from the ruddy red-faced hulk of a man, who easily outweighed Maksym by more than thirty-five kilos, nearly eighty pounds, and whoever was going to ask him not to smoke quickly changed their minds. Boiko didn’t allow anyone else to smoke, though.
“I trust myself not to blow us all up. I have no such trust for anyone else,” he’d told Maksym one day when he questioned it. He liked that his engineer didn’t smoke while the ship was fully powered up, something he found rare on the crews. Anton kept his mouth shut and was loyal, keeping to himself. But Maksym could always count on him to let him know if trouble was brewing.
His engineer knew what their plans were: to stop the ship, allow pirates to take over, and hold the entire contingent of passengers hostage until ransom was paid. When they received verification the funds had been deposited in the Maltese bank accounts they opened before they set sail, they’d be transported to the coast of Brazil and left to find their own to find their way to the Caribbean. Boiko was the only person Maksym would allow to travel with him and Helena.
The simple plan was relatively risk free, since Maksym wouldn’t be identified as one of the terrorists. He just had to make sure the ship stopped where it was supposed. He’d allow himself to be taken hostage on the pirate vessel, like he was sacrificing something. They’d somehow get Helena there, too, and his engineer, so none of them would have to answer questions when the plot was discovered and the secret negotiations he knew would take place with Wolf’s team in Miami were made public. He’d be long gone. Kicking back and counting his money, and how many times he could make Helena come that night.
“Everything set?” he asked his engineer.
“Set, boss,” Anton answered in English.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” he asked.
Boiko set down the piece he was cleaning. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
Maksym didn’t like the tone of his voice.
He gestured for Maksym to follow as he opened the door to a storeroom with his key card. Inside, Maksym saw a large, white, oddly shaped box large enough to smuggle a body.
“How come you never told me about this?” Anton said, pointing to the box.
“What is it?”
“How the hell do I know? I was told you wanted it left here. Going to be damned inconvenient starting tomorrow. We’ll be taking on some parts in Cape Verde and I’m going to need the space. Can’t you put it somewhere else?” Anton’s disapproving glare worried Maksym.
“I knew nothing except they were expecting something and I was supposed to let them bring it aboard. No one told me it had to stay here. I thought they’d keep it with them. Who put it here?”
“A couple of your dark-skinned teenage messengers of death, you ask me.”
“Teenagers?”
“They’re an odd bunch. North Africans. Don’t mix with anyone. Don’t understand any language I put in front of them. All sign language, except for the English phrase, ‘He will be joining us before Brazil.’” Boiko scratched his scalp.
“Who?”
“They said the man we all work for.”
“They use any names?”
“Wolf. They knew I was in on it.”
Maksym went back to peering at the box. “I’ve never seen this before in my life. Knew nothing about it being stored here.” He turned his head at an angle, seeing some light pink liquid seep through the white porous packing crate.
Boiko followed his gaze. “I’d say this box is bleeding,” the engineer said.
That is what it looked like. Maksym was thoroughly confused.
A box big enough for a body, bleeding like it contained an injured body, the man was joining them soon…and what?
Maksym was going to take out his utility knife and rip it open above the stain, when he heard unmistakable sounds of something moving inside the box. Something with a tail that flopped around inside the cavity. Something that hissed. More than one thing that hissed.
“Mother of God,” he whispered. “They’ve brought snakes on board my ship.”
“Well, I didn’t notice that until just now, Maksym. But there’s something else.”
Boiko leaned over and placed his ear near the surface and begged him to do the same. When Maksym got close enough to the crate surface he could hear the unmistakable sounds of ticking.
Fucking Moroccans.
He wondered what kind of diabolical scheme they had hatched. Smuggling snakes on board his ship for what purpose? To sell on the side to make some kind of sick profit? Or were these part of the plan?
A plan that was looking like something he knew fuck-all about.
“Maksym, are you planning to blow up your own ship?” Boiko asked.
“Fuckin’ not if I can help it. No. This. Definitely. Isn’t. The. Plan.”
“You better call him.”
“You don’t let anyone in here until I’ve had my talk with the Wolf. No one, understood? Especially not the Moroccans.”
“With what kind of force?”
“Deadly. Until I know what the hell is going on, I want it contained in here.”
“Yeah, until it blows us all up.”
“Anton, there’s not going to be any blowing us all up. My guess is this is the decoy, the thing that makes
them believe the ransom demand is serious. I don’t think there’s a real bomb in there. But I’m going to find out.”
He tore out of the engine room and caught the freight escalator. His last view of Anton was of the old engineer peering back up to him with worry like he’d never seen in the man’s face before. It mirrored his own fears.
On Deck 5 he found the outer walkway occupied by mostly cook and wait staff, their favorite place to stand outside and have a cigarette. He chirped open his Sat phone and dialed the three-digit number.
The ringtone sounded slightly distorted, he thought.
“You promised never to call me unless it was an emergency,” the deep Italian voice on the other end of the line said quickly.
“Well, it is an emergency. You had the Moroccans smuggle snakes and a bomb on board my ship.”
“First Maksym, it isn’t your ship.”
“How about some answers, Wolf?”
“Well if you’d be more patient, Maksym. Maybe Azziz would be able to talk to you.”
“Never agreed to take orders from a Moroccan.”
“You don’t take orders from them. You take orders from me. And I’ve told you to cooperate with them.”
“A fuckin’ bomb, Wolf? And snakes.”
“Snakes?” the voice asked.
“So you don’t know anything about that? Or about the ticking?”
“The ticking, yes. That’s supposed to happen at this stage of the operation. But there is plenty of time. This is not a life-ending event, Maksym.”
“Will be for the souls in the bag.”
“Well then, perhaps they deserved it?”
“Listen, I was never told about a bomb.”
“It’s a delivery device. Not a bomb.”
Maksym hesitated. The Italian was being evasive. Years of training and interrogating prisoners told him this trained Italian knew exactly what was going on and had decided, for some reason, not to level with him.
“You can call it anything you like. It’s making noise and getting attention. Somehow I didn’t think that was part of your plan, sir.”
“All in due time, my son.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ son. And I don’t want to die. I want to live long enough to spend my money.” Maksym was seeing Helena’s naked body on the white, sandy beach, writhing beneath him. The sun on his back. She had sand on her boobs, oil and sand mixed into her shoulders that smelled of coconut and vanilla…
“Everything is going according to plan. Now that we have the box on board, the success of the mission is almost one hundred percent assured.”
“I never heard about a bomb,” Maksym said, still smelling the coconut, her imagined moans so loud he thought perhaps Wolf could hear them too.
“Again, let me correct you. Everything is going according to plan. In the end, you will be rewarded your fair share. Don’t worry. Now let’s hang up and discuss this another time, shall we? Call me in twenty-four hours, exactly.”
Maksym recognized a cold shoulder when he ran into one. He was being played, and he didn’t like it one bit. It was about thirty hours until the big event.
He hung up the phone and found a doorway to walk through to the main quarters of the ship.
Mark heard the door slam and peered out the clear vinyl door opening to the lifeboat. He’d brought a sidearm and hidden it at the bottom of the life vest box. He was going to take a nap on the bedspread and pillows where she’d lain with him. Where her naked body had sent him to heaven. He’d been hoping that wrapping himself in her scent would calm him. Just his luck he was awakened by angry speech from the officer he didn’t trust, and, of all things, he was talking about a bomb on board the ship.
His interest became laser-focused right quick, while he tried to memorize everything the officer said to the person on the other end of the line. He wished he knew what that voice said, but from the sounds of it, Maksym wasn’t pleased.
He mulled over what he’d heard. There was a bomb on board. There was some kind of plan and other accomplices, since Maksym seemed to be upset he wasn’t the one in the know. So Maksym was a stupid soldier, an expendable soldier. Mark wondered if the man realized this. He got the idea that some blinding hatred of something, someone, was causing Maksym to stop being the hero he must have been at one time.
And that made him dangerous to both sides.
Mark wished that even though Maksym was the enemy in this rotten little game now threatening the lives of all the passengers—including the wives of his best buds, and Sophia—he wished that Maksym would grow eyes in the back of his head.
And be careful. One misstep would kill them all. Or trigger the loss of innocent lives. That just wasn’t going to happen on his watch. Not while he had all his faculties.
Chapter 23
‡
Sophia was numb for the rest of the tour, unaware even of the gentle hum of the diesel bus as it rode the twists and turns of the two-lane highway down the volcano, around and through the demonstration farm and the vineyard. She watched people making commerce, going to work in offices and holding school children by the hand. Nothing interested or appealed to her. She didn’t pay attention to the bus guide, who spoke horrible Italian anyway. Several of her group members slipped closer to her and asked for translation. Half the world thought Greece and Italy were the same country, so naturally their Greek guide was someone’s idea of customer service.
Her sadness rode on her shoulders like a tattered shawl until four o’clock, when they headed back to the ship. Her duties were over once her group was delivered to the arms of the terminal’s little tourist shops. Hucksters were older women with no teeth and young teenage boys wanting to sell handmade bracelets and plastic trinkets that had been made in China.
She pushed by them all, saying a brief goodbye to her charges, some of whom dropped coin in her hand. The Greek guide saw it and looked disgusted. He hadn’t gotten any tips from the passengers. She reversed course and went back to the man, who was arguing with the bus driver, who was probably supposed to receive a share of the tips. She deposited every penny she’d been given into his palms.
“Have a nice day,” she said in English, hoping they didn’t understand.
The gangway was sparsely populated. At the top, she said hello to the handsome Indian security officer, Kumar.
“Miss Sophia, Miss Sophia. We were most distressed when we didn’t see you or Roberto for the dance instruction this afternoon.” He was a good catch, with his dark skin, beautiful white teeth, and striking build, with a height over six feet something. She and Kumar had consoled each other over cappuccinos during a few late nights on prior cruises. She actually was pretty fond of him. The guy was decent, with a heart as big as the ocean that had been trounced on pretty regularly.
Poor Kumar. Maybe this was to be her plight as well. One lonely cruise after another. Daring to find a brief love that was really just a sexual hookup. Confused. Making promises and then breaking them. Not sure what world she lived in. Missing something of her American side while not feeling as comfortable and carefree as her Italian side. Her mother’s family’s secure, exuberant way of life was usually something that brought strength. That, and the travel. She’d told herself constant travel didn’t remind her so often of the fact that she didn’t belong anywhere. At least it was better than staying in one place and knowing you didn’t belong there. That would drive her crazy.
And she was crazy. Crazy for the American SEAL. Crazy for everything he was that she was not. Crazy to believe in a hero. God, he’d laid his heart at her feet and she’d had the nerve to tell him she wasn’t sure. On which continent was she sure? On an island off the coast of Africa? Was she surer in Savona? In Sacramento, at the funeral of her dead father? With her mother in the little piazzas in Savona, where she pretended she was happy? Would she be happy in Brazil with a wealthy husband who insisted she stop traveling? No doubt he had plans to keep her pregnant and all to himself. Locked in a gilded cage with things most of the
world’s women would want.
But that’s not me.
She’d rather be penniless with the American with the strong blue eyes that she saw ignite whenever she kissed him, as she played with him, and yes, as she enchanted him. It wasn’t fair, this effect she had on him. But she loved being his muse, his fantasy love. Surely that wasn’t a bad thing.
Or am I being selfish?
Kumar handed her the cotton satchel she’d brought with her as it came off the metal detector. He slung it over her shoulder and softly spoke to her so no one else could hear.
“You okay, Miss Sophia? I am worried for you.”
“Thanks, Kumar.” She glanced up at the grinning officer. He must have been a cute little schoolboy with doting aunties and elderly Indian family members, as he’d lost his mother when he was young. He obviously felt more comfortable in the company of women. “I’m just tired.”
“The cruise director is most distressed. Most distressed.” Kumar pushed his dark-rimmed glasses back onto his nose. Sophia knew he’d be even handsomer if he could get contacts. She decided to counsel him about next time they were spilling out their painful heart stories.
The cruise director can go fuck himself.
“Roberto’s had a little altercation and will be detained. I’m not sure he’s coming back to the ship.” As she said this and watched Kumar’s surprised expression, she hoped it was true.
Then it dawned on her. If Roberto wasn’t on board, that left the time available for Mark. They wouldn’t have to slink around and be careful to avoid Roberto and his temper. She was grateful the evening demonstration would now be cancelled. Or was that wise?
“Kumar, do you dance?”
“Most definitely,” he said as he handed bags to two people behind Sophia. She stood to the side so she wouldn’t block the passengers streaming onboard.
“I mean Latin dancing.”
“I’m afraid I do ballroom, but no tango. I can do the cha-cha,” he said moving his hips and snapping his fingers. She could see a budding dancer in the man’s movements.
Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5 Page 16
