by Ralph Kern
“Hello, I am Doctor Abeo Emodi, from the Atlantica,” the man said in a deep Nigerian accent. “I appreciate you have said you are well and the reason for your distress call is technical, but would you mind if I give you a once-over?”
“Ah, I’m fine, Doc.” Grayson replied, hearing the contrast between his own Southern accent and Dr. Emodi’s.
Smiling, Dr. Emodi held out his hands in a placating gesture. “I understand that, but please. Let me just give you a quick check.”
“It’s been awhile since my last check-up, Doc, so if you must. This doesn’t affect my health insurance though, does it?”
“No, no.” The paternal-seeming doctor laughed as he reached up and pulled Grayson’s eyelids apart and looked intently in them. “Any dizziness? Headaches, tiredness?”
“No, no, and no, Doc.”
“Good, have you been having sufficient food and water?”
“I’ve been surrounded by water for days. Of course I’ve been drinking enough.” Grayson saw a look of concern cross Dr. Emodi’s face. “But I’ve had my own stores. Don’t worry, I haven’t been drinking ocean water. Honestly, I’m fine. It’s a bit embarrassing but this is an equipment failure, not a medical situation.”
“Very well, Mister...?”
“Karl, Karl Grayson.”
“Well, Karl. Let’s get you up to the ship. I’m sure our staff captain, Liam Kendricks, will want to have a chat with you, but I’ll give you a full medical exam, courtesy of the Atlantica, before he does so.”
Shrugging his rucksack on his back. Karl grinned back at the rescue party. “That’ll be much appreciated. I’m already packed if you want to get me the hell off this spam can.”
***
“Staff Captain Kendricks, XO of the Atlantica,” the man said, extending his hand. Grayson grasped it and shook it enthusiastically. “Captain Solberg extends his compliments. Unfortunately, he’s indisposed at the moment.”
After his check-up by Dr. Emodi, Grayson had been given a small curtained cubical in one corner of Atlantica’s well-equipped clinic. He was sitting in the plastic chair, flicking through a magazine one of the nurses had brought him, when Kendricks walked in. On the bed was his rucksack, already checked by the ship’s security team.
“That’s fine, Captain Kendricks. Tell him thanks when you see him next.”
“I’ll be sure to,” Kendricks nodded as he propped himself against the crisply sheeted bed. “So you’ve been having navigation and communications difficulties? How long for?”
“That’s right... started a couple of days ago. I’ve heard nothing from no one. I was starting to get a little worried.”
“Quite,” Kendricks nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, but we had a look over the... what’s she called? The Mayfly?”
Grayson gave nod.
“The Mayfly. You were running pretty low on supplies there, buddy. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Yeah, I was just doing a bit of fishing out of Dunmore. They were biting and thought, why not? I’ll stay out. I didn’t expect my coms and nav to fail. The goddamn compass was even ass-backwards. Kept saying the sun was rising in the west and setting in the east. How fucked up is that?”
“Pretty fuck... pretty messed up,” Kendricks nodded sagely. “And you say all this started a couple of days ago?
“Give or take. It could’ve happened overnight and I’d not noticed.”
Kendricks reached into his pocket and pulled out the CB radio that the security team had taken out of Grayson’s rucksack when he’d come on board. It had been the only thing of any note they’d found among the sailor’s belongings, which had mostly comprised of clothes which looked as if they’d been worn a few too many times. “What’s with the CB?”
“Just a backup I’d had on me. I use it to speak to a few buddies when close to port. You know, tell hoary old sea dog tales.”
Kendricks turned the volume nob, switching it on. As when he had checked it before, nothing came through other than the soft crackle of static. Kendricks lifted it to his mouth. “Testing one, two, three?”
As expected, there was no answer. Grayson looked curiously at Kendricks. “If it had worked, I wouldn’t need you to save my ass.”
“Pity it doesn’t. Mister Grayson—”
“Karl, please.”
“Karl, the thing is, we’ve been having the same problems. GPS, RDF, everything is down at the moment. We can’t even raise anyone on the radio. And like you, our compass has even gone haywire.”
“Well... shit,” Grayson said.
“Yeah. Either way, we’re heading back the direction we think Nassau is. But without nav equipment, we’re going on the best heading. We’re navigating by the sun, that’s how low tech we’ve had to get.”
“Okay... How long ‘til we get back to Nassau?”
“A day. Without accurate nav data, we’ll probably approach the coast a little away from the port. If so, it’ll be a bit longer as we figure out where we are.” Kendricks pushed himself off the bed. “We’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks,” Grayson said. “Hey, can I have my CB back?”
Looking at the small device in his hand, Kendricks asked, “Why? No one’s on the other end.”
“Those things are expensive, man.” Grayson smiled. “I can keep trying for you. If I get anyone on it, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that. Get some rest,” Kendricks said as he placed the handheld CB radio on the bed. Reaching into his pocket again, he pulled out a ship’s wristband. “When you get hungry, this wristband is loaded with some ship’s credit. You can use it in any of the complimentary restaurants.”
“Thanks. Can I ask, will this get me any booze?”
“Ha, I’m sure someone will comp you a beer,” Kendricks said as he slid open the curtains and stepped out of the cubical.
***
Captain Solberg removed his glasses and gently laid them on his walnut desk before reclining back in his plush leather chair. His office, just off the bridge, was well appointed, although minimalistic. The captain hated clutter with a passion. The only decoration was a large painting on the wall behind him of the Atlantica, backdropped by a sunny tropical island.
“So he can’t help at all?”
“Nope.” Kendricks took a sip of coffee from his steaming mug. “He did say something curious, though. He reckoned he’s had the same technical troubles we’ve been having, only his have been going on for a couple of days.”
“I see. So whatever has affected us, has him, too, just for longer,” Solberg said. “Interesting. This isn’t making any sense at all, Liam.”
“I agree, but I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on when we get back to civilization.”
Chapter 6 – Day 2
The two-lane all-weather running track circumnavigated the deck of Atlantica. It was mostly empty at 9:30 pm other than the occasional couple strolling the deck, who were easily avoided. The majority of people left top side were clustered near the neon-lit bars by the pools, thumping music washing out from the oases of revelry.
Jack concentrated hard as he ran, one foot in front of the prosthetic other. His pace would have put most people to shame, but for him it was a mere shadow of his former top physical ability. Long months recuperating in Walter Reed Army Medical Center had helped; they had an okay fitness regime in there, but it wasn’t up to Marine Force Recon standards by any stretch.
His step was heavy as he thudded his way along the track, the rail to his left. Darkness had set in, with just the light from the bars, stars, and the waning moon illuminating the deck. He’d finally switched to shorts, having snuck up one of the lesser-used stairwells so as few people as possible could see his... Problem.
As he rounded the flow rider and mini golf course at the stern of the ship, he could see another figure running the opposite way toward him. Jack looked down at the tan asphalt, not wanting to make eye contact.
“Hey,” a familiar voice called out as he sen
sed the figure approaching him.
Oh, for god’s sake! It was her. Jack looked up to see Laurie’s lycra-clad athletic body.
“Oh, hi,” Jack said as both came to a halt on the fresh, breezy deck. Laurie lightly jogged on the spot, her exposed skin glistened with perspiration.
“You never came back.” Laurie raised an eyebrow at Jack.
“Yeah, I kinda got distracted with something.”
“Something?” Laurie’s eyes were twinkling with reflected light. “Something that caused you not to return a girl’s precious after-sun lotion. Which was sorely needed, I might add.”
“About that...” Jack said, feeling sheepish he’d effectively ran off with a lady’s belongings. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I guess you saw the Captain’s announcement, too. Back to Nassau, huh? Well, it was beautiful. I certainly don’t mind a second look at the place.”
The breeze, annoying when trying to sunbathe and refreshing when jogging, was now freezing on their sweat-slickened bodies.
“I’m getting cold. Want some company for your run?” Laurie asked, still bouncing from one foot to the other.
Jack desperately tried to think of an excuse, but none was forthcoming.
“Come on,” Laurie punched Jack playfully in the chest. “I’ll try not to leave you in the dust.”
Without giving him the opportunity to refuse, she turned and set off in the direction he had been running.
Giving a sigh, Jack set off after her, struggling to keep up. One foot in front of the other.
Sensing his slightly slower pace, Laurie slowed down, allowing Jack to catch up.
“I take it you’re more of a gym rat than a CV bunny,” she said, barely panting.
“I’m a bit of both,” he said, not panting either. His cardiovascular system wasn’t the problem, mobility was.
The two dropped into companionable silence, completing lap after lap.
Jack started to wander if she was ever going to give up. He could feel his leg, in the cup where it met the prosthetic below the knee, starting to chafe. He would pay hell for this tomorrow, but the pragmatic side to him said he had to wear himself in. The only way he’d get used to running again was to keep trying.
Finally, they ambled to a stop. Laurie leaned over and began stretching out one hamstring while Jack did his best to ignore her shapely backside.
“You did well,” Laurie said as she swapped legs. “So, how long has it been? If you don’t mind me asking.”
That’s it, she’s seen. I won’t see her again now. She’ll just make her excuses and disappear. “This?” Jack glanced down at his left leg. Below the knee was little more than a metal rod until it met the false trainer-clad foot. “Six months.”
“Was it an accident?” Laurie stood, interlocked her fingers and pressed her arms upwards.
Her directness was almost refreshing. So many people skirted around the subject. Or ignored it completely. The problem was, Jack hadn’t figured out which approach he preferred yet.
“No,” Jack said. “I was in the marines. It... happened in Syria.”
“I don’t mean to pry.” She smiled briefly, before getting serious again, an earnest look to her gaze. “Look, I’m sorry for the crack about you being drunk earlier. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay. I don’t exactly advertise it,” Jack said, finally meeting her gaze.
“If you want to prove I’m forgiven, why don’t you come join me for a nightcap? My father is up in the Platinum Lounge,” Laurie said.
“Nah, no thank you.” Once again, a direct excuse was eluding him. “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
“Don’t make me beg, Jack. Up there is a bunch of stuffy old men and women who frankly bore my tits off.” Her cultured British accent contrasted with the crudity of her words, causing Jack to raise an eyebrow. “Let’s join them for a drink, then go hit one of the nightclubs. Come on, I’m a damsel in distress here.”
Jack got the impression Laurie would take it as a mortal insult if he were to refuse. She was pushy, but in a way which, despite himself, he found welcoming. Jack finally came to a decision and smiled at the woman. “I’m guessing you’ll let me go grab a shower first?”
Putting on a poor imitation of his accent she grinned back at him. “You guess right.”
***
Every lounge on Atlantica was richly appointed, but the Platinum Lounge took opulence to whole new levels. Leather armchairs and couches were dotted around the highest bar on the ship. The panoramic windows had a near 360-degree view of the deck, dark seas, and star-dusted night sky. The elevators and small service area alongside the bar provided the only obstructions to the view. The only area open to passengers higher was the sky chapel.
Black and white tuxedoed wait staff served the drinks—missing was the tablet-ordering system that permeated the other bars; here it was only the personal touch for the Platinum Lounge customers.
The doors of the elevator slid open and Jack stepped out. He looked around the room and spotted Laurie standing among a group of several men and women. He gave a low whistle under his breath. She was wearing a black dress, demure enough to be just below knee-length, yet showing her sun-bronzed calves. She looked simply stunning.
Glancing toward the elevator, she gave a little wave to Jack and gestured him over to the group. Suddenly he felt very underdressed for the occasion. He’d dug a shirt and trousers out of his luggage, but the blazers the men were wearing probably cost as much as his entire wardrobe.
“Jack.” Laurie air-kissed him just off each cheek, giving a theatrical “Mwah” as she did so. “Thank you so much for coming. Daddy, this is Jack, my new friend I was telling you about.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jack,” John Reynolds said while shaking Jack’s hand, his grip strong.
“And you, sir,” Jack said.
“And Jack this is my father, John.”
Jack quickly took in the late middle-aged man’s bearing. A back that was ramrod straight, physically still fit, and with an air of calmness he knew well. He flicked his eyes at the flash of silver on John’s tie, a tie slide with a small crown in it.
“I’ll save you the trouble of having to find an excuse to look closer.” John Reynold’s eyes had a twinkle to them. “I’m formally of the Royal Navy.”
“Ah.” Jack nodded. “Your daughter didn’t say, but you can take the man out of the Navy—”
“But not the Navy out of the man,” John finished with a smile. “Laurie tells me you used to be in the military yourself. U.S., I take it?”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s cultured tones and the confident calm demeanor gave Jack the distinct impression this man had either been an officer or senior NCO. Either way, he felt a hell of a lot safer calling him “sir”. “United States Marines, Force Recon.”
“Hmm, Force Recon,” John said appreciatively. “A unit with a reputation as excellent as it is deserved. I did some work with them alongside our own Royal Marines back in the second Gulf War. Even our own SBS boys said good things, and let me tell you, they’re notoriously difficult to impress. Please, let me get you a drink.”
Gesturing with one hand, Reynolds called a waiter over. “I appreciate it’s probably not your normal fare, but I have a bottle of Harlan Estate behind the bar. A glass if you please, my good man.”
The waiter nodded and returned to the bar as Reynolds turned to the others. “I am being rude, Jack. As much as I would love to talk shop to you, we best include the others. This is Miranda and Brett Jenson, Martha and Wayne Cahill...”
Jack shook hands with the men and air-kissed the women as he was introduced. The waiter brought his glass over and he took a long gulp of it. The flavor was delicious. It was velvety and warm with a hint of fruit to it. It was, by far, the best wine he had ever tasted.
“Wow, this is good stuff. I might have to get me some when I get back stateside.”
“I can set you up with a good supplier,” Brett grinned. The sl
ight condescending tone to his voice wasn’t lost on Jack. “I could probably get you some for a steal. Around $700 a bottle.”
Jack’s eyes bulged out, but he quickly suppressed it. Looking Brett straight back in the eye, he said, “That would be real good of you. Thank you.”
The interplay wasn’t lost on Reynolds and his daughter, who rolled her eyes not so subtly.
“Personally,” John said, giving a wink as he extended the glass to Jack in a mock salute, “I think you can’t beat a good beer, but sometimes you just have to slum it.”
“Roger that,” Jack said, clinking his glass on the side of Reynolds’s and taking a more restrained sip.
“So, Admiral,” Brett said, changing the subject, but putting an emphasis on the older man’s rank in a clear attempt to put the younger man back in his place. “As a man of the sea, what’s your take on the course reversal?”
Jack mouthed “Admiral?” at Laurie as Reynolds looked over at Brett. She gave a little shrug, as if to say, “And?”
“It’s nothing too concerning,” Reynolds said with his own shrug. “Every new ship has bugs that need to be worked out. If Captain Solberg feels the need to reverse course, then he reverses course.”
“But you don’t believe it to be anything dangerous?”
“Son, if it was dangerous, I’d be wandering around in a life jacket right now. I had one hurting ship under me in the Falklands War as a fresh-faced middy. I can assure you, Atlantica doesn’t feel like a hurting ship. At the most, this is an inconvenience but undoubtedly they will make up the time, if for no other reason than they don’t want to pay any compensation.”
“Hmm, quite. Well, as long as we don’t lose any time in Bermuda I suppose. I, for one, was looking forwards to a spot of Scuba Diving out there.” Brett took a sip of his wine. “So James— “
“Jack,” Laurie cut in.
“Jack, my apologies,” Brett waved his free hand dismissively. “How’s your suite?
“Just fine,” Jack was getting irritated at the man’s condescending tone. He had gone for the cheapest option available when he’d surfed the internet. Although it was hardly steerage, his small stateroom certainly looked nothing like the huge, palatial suites which could be bought. “Nothing too fancy.”
