Making Waves

by Tawna Fenske

“But I thought we checked—”

  “We confirmed it, Alex. We did. I just—”

  “Are those really what I think they are?”

  “Well what the hell else would they be?”

  Jake took a step forward and reached out, but Alex pulled him back. “Wait. Don’t touch anything. Not yet.”

  “But—”

  Before either of them could argue further, they heard sounds above deck. A distinct hum, the rev of an engine. The thud of footsteps. A gunshot.

  “Oh shit,” Alex said, dropping Jake’s arm. “They’re back early.”

  “They can’t be back yet,” Jake hissed. “It’s only been fifteen minutes. Phyllis looked too hot for them not to stay longer.”

  “Cody,” Alex said, heading for the stairs. “We’ve got to make sure Cody’s okay.”

  He sprinted out the door and headed down the narrow hall, taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear Jake plodding behind him as the blood pounded in his ears. Alex rounded a corner and reached for the gun on his belt.

  “That’s not a paintball gun, is it?” Jake whispered behind him.

  Alex stopped short, flattening himself against the wall on the other side of the deck where they’d left Cody. He braced himself to pounce.

  “No. Not a paintball gun. Yours?”

  Jake shook his head. Alex gripped the gun and peered slowly around the corner.

  What he saw made his blood run cold. On the deck of the cargo ship, the two unconscious men were still tied motionless, back-to-back, their wrists pinned together with the strings from Cody’s apron.

  And in the distance, a cigarette boat was racing full speed toward the horizon, four hulking men silhouetted against the screaming orange sun.

  Three men holding automatic weapons.

  One very tall man with his arms behind his back.

  “Jesus,” Jake hissed.

  “Cody,” Alex said, and he took off running.

  Chapter 14

  “So you agree deconstructionist and other poststructuralist strategies toward the interpretation of New-American poetic dissidents are ultimately futile?” Malcolm asked, staring thoughtfully at Juli as he signaled the bartender for another sherry.

  Juli leaned forward, fully engaged in the conversation with Malcolm now that she’d determined he was more interested in a theological discussion of literature than in allowing his brothers to gang rape them. Frankly, she was enjoying a little friendly, poetic banter with a rival pirate.

  “I agree that literary works don’t yield fixed, single meanings, but this effusion of philistine approaches to poetic deconstruction presents a challenge in the basic ideological notion that the social milieu implicit in the literary works are little more than an assessment of their relation to the pedagogy of Marxist interpretations.”

  “No shit,” Phyllis said, taking another slurp of her drink as Blythe and Percy stared adoringly at her cleavage.

  Juli glanced over at Phyllis, enjoying the sight of the older woman basking in more male attention than she’d probably seen in all her previous fifty-four years. Juli looked at her watch, surprised to see that more than an hour had passed since they’d entered the bar. Plenty of time for Alex and Jake and Cody to have conducted their spy mission.

  She should probably begin wrapping up their discussion and making excuses to cut the evening short, but she was having such a lovely time. Besides, Malcolm’s six brothers were so enraptured by the sight of Phyllis’s décolletage, it seemed a shame to deprive them.

  Suddenly, Alex burst through the door, his face ashen. His shirt was damp, and he was breathing like he’d just run to the bar from the other side of the island. Jake flew in behind him and doubled over, hands on his knees, his expression grim.

  Juli jumped off her barstool, spilling her drink in the process. “Alex—Jake—what are you doing here?”

  “There’s a problem,” Alex growled as he moved toward her. “We need to go.”

  Juli bit her lip and looked from Alex to Jake and back at Alex. Oh God, where was Cody? She gripped the edge of the bar as her knees started to give. Alex reached out and caught her elbow, holding her upright.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Malcolm beat her to it.

  “A problem?” he asked, standing up beside Juli. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. Malcolm J. Forthwald III. Always a pleasure to meet an acquaintance of such lovely and charming ladies.”

  He extended his hand to Alex, who took it with an expression that was equal parts bewilderment and suspicion.

  “Alex,” he said as he shook Malcolm’s hand. “Um, Juli—can I see you alone for a minute?”

  “Well, yes,” Juli stammered with a quick glance at Malcolm.

  Malcolm set his drink on the bar and regarded Alex with a serious expression. “Sir, if I may, I can assure you that I completely understand any needs you may have for the utmost discretion, and perhaps my knowledge of this island and my familiarity with delicate business matters can help you in your—”

  “It’s Cody,” Alex interrupted, looking at Juli. “Three thugs with automatic weapons just kidnapped Cody and took off in a cigarette boat.”

  “Oh, merciful heavens,” Malcolm said and clucked disapprovingly. “Was the boat, by any chance, a thirty-six-foot Racing Gladiator with a rebuilt 750-horsepower Richie Zul engine and a Bravo One XR drive?”

  Alex stared at him. Then he looked at Juli. She gave him a small nod. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I trust him.”

  “Trust,” Alex said. “Right.” He looked at Malcolm. “I couldn’t tell for certain, but that sounds right on the boat. Why?”

  “Oh, dear.” Malcolm turned to his brothers and began chattering rapidly in Bajan. Juli perked up, trying hard to eavesdrop without looking like she was eavesdropping. Alex caught her eye and gave her a questioning look.

  “You two are okay?” Alex whispered.

  Juli nodded. “We’re fine. We don’t need rescuing. But Cody—”

  Malcolm turned back to them as his brothers lined up in a row behind him.

  “Let us help,” he said. “We’re partly responsible, after all. The cigarette boat is ours—it was tied down right beside a boat we recently acquired in a routine business transaction. And if my hunch is correct, the formidable crew you speak of were captives who’ve apparently escaped our control and are now, obviously, wreaking havoc and committing unsavory acts.”

  “Captives?” Juli asked, feigning innocence. “You’re a literary theologian and a thug, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm waved his hand, dismissing the details. “Gentlemen who were crewing a ship we gained control of the other day. Purely business; we required the boat for other cargo. These hostages, they’re friendly chaps—the original crew of the ship, you see. But they’re certainly not the most intellectual specimens. Truly, I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Phyllis frowned. “So let me get this straight, Malcolm. You stole a boat and took some hostages, but now the hostages have stolen your boat and taken Cody as their hostage?”

  Malcolm looked thoughtful. “Yes, that does sound correct, my dear.”

  Jake tucked his ski mask in his pocket and gave Phyllis a warning look. “Alex and I were just out for a stroll down by the harbor when we saw Cody being kidnapped. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

  Alex didn’t reply. His eyes were on Juli, his expression guarded. “There’s a note,” he said and reached into his back pocket. Juli saw his hand shake as he unfolded it and held it out.

  “May I?” Malcolm asked, extending his hand. Alex looked at Juli again, and she nodded.

  He handed him the note, and Juli peered over Malcolm’s shoulder.

  “‘Dear Pirates,’” she read. “‘We borrowed you’re boat—’” She stopped and threw up her hands in exasperation. “God, I hate that, don’t you? The contraction for ‘you are’ is misused so often it just makes me want to scream!”

  “Indeed!” Malcolm agreed. “Truly, this abuse of the English language is a
n atrocity of the highest magnitude.”

  “Focus, guys,” Alex said, tapping the corner of the note.

  Juli grabbed the note and kept reading: “‘We borrowed you’re boat, and we borrowed you’re guy. Just let us get away fast and we’ll send you’re guy back tomorrow with you’re boat. If you come after us, we’ll—’” Juli scrunched up her face. “What is that word there?”

  Alex closed his eyes. “I believe that’s supposed to be ‘torture.’”

  “Spelled with a ch?” Malcolm said, aghast. “Honestly, I don’t understand this lack of education in—” He stopped and looked at Juli. “You’ve gone very pale, my dear.”

  “Cody,” she whispered and looked at the note again. “Someone would torture Cody?”

  Alex gritted his teeth. Juli saw a tiny muscle twitch at the corner of his eye.

  “It appears that way,” he said.

  “We have to get him back.” Her voice sounded very small to her.

  Malcolm nodded once, then turned to his brothers and gave two sharp claps.

  “Blythe, Percy, Winchester, Prescott, Pierson, Phillip, shall we see what we can do to be of service to our new friends?”

  The six brothers were still staring at Phyllis’s legs. Malcolm sighed, then sucker punched Percy in the gut.

  “Gentlemen?”

  “Yes, Malcolm,” they murmured and bowed their heads.

  Alex just stared, words failing him. Juli gave him a guarded smile and touched his arm.

  “Honor among thieves, right?” she said.

  Alex closed his eyes and shook his head. “This was really not part of the plan.”

  ***

  Alex was trying hard to understand what was going on. Apparently, Juli’s new pirate friend was more interested in literature and chivalrous conduct than in acquiring prostitutes or pondering the technicalities of illegal activity.

  “He doesn’t know we’re pirates,” Juli pointed out back at the hotel room as she and Phyllis hastily swapped out their hooker garb for more practical attire. “For all he knows, we’re just hapless vacationers whose friend has been kidnapped.”

  Phyllis was hunched over her laptop, alternately tapping at keys and wriggling out of her bustier. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for online, but it seemed important that he keep his eyes averted as she undressed.

  Jake, on the other hand, offered no such courtesy.

  “You need any help with those little hook things, Phyllis?”

  Alex sighed. He had bigger things to worry about than Phyllis’s privacy. Like where the hell those guys were taking Cody. And how the hell he might go about getting him back. And whether Cody’s kidnappers had a clue their new hostage was a former employee of Kranston Shipping—the same company that wrote their paychecks.

  “Are you sure Malcolm is trustworthy?” he asked Juli, ducking as she flung her bra across the room and began tossing clothing out of her knapsack.

  He watched as she pulled out the urn and set it on the nightstand before reaching back into her bag to continue flinging clothing. She yanked a pale blue tank top over her head and wriggled her arms through the holes before turning to give him an incredulous look. “Define trustworthy,” she said. “I don’t think he’d hurt us, but he is a pirate. He’s probably missing a few scruples, but isn’t that exactly why we need him?”

  Jake looked up from where he was chivalrously assisting Phyllis with the zipper on her thigh-high boot. “We sure as hell need his boat and his firepower. Where else are we going to get a go-fast boat on short notice?”

  “Or the ability to clear customs with no questions asked,” Phyllis added. “Which is something Malcolm seems to have.”

  Alex sighed. They had him there. Wherever the hell those guys were taking Cody, they could get there about three times faster in their cigarette boat than Alex and the crew could possibly move in the fifty-three-foot powerboat.

  Not that they had any idea where they were going. The thugs in the cigarette boat had been headed north–northwest when he and Jake had lost sight of them, but they could be anywhere by now. Lucky for them, Malcolm was willing to provide a boat and assistance slipping into foreign harbors with minimal hassle. Trustworthy or not, Malcolm and his brothers were good allies to have right then.

  Alex couldn’t stop checking his watch. Couldn’t stop blaming himself. Twenty minutes. Cody had been gone twenty minutes. They could be anywhere by now.

  “Ohmygod! Check this out!” Phyllis shrieked, buttoning up her blouse with one hand as she scrolled through something on her laptop with the other.

  Phyllis finished buttoning and turned the laptop screen toward Alex. “I’ve been monitoring communications since the boat was seized yesterday, and there hasn’t been anything at all about the hijacking. Not a word, which seems weird since he would have gotten the ShipSafe alert too. But look what came through just a few minutes ago.”

  Alex stared. It was a simple e-mail, vague enough to sound like correspondence conducted through the normal course of business. But to Phyllis, Alex, and Jake—who’d spent the last twenty years reading between the lines in Tom Portelli’s communications—it was clear the hijacked crew had gotten in touch with him. The same guys who now had Cody were communicating with Portelli, and now they were set to rendezvous.

  “St. Lucia,” Alex said, snatching a map off the counter. “Makes sense. It’s the closest neighboring island.”

  Jake nodded, already penciling it out on a chart. “It’s one hundred miles due west. They’ve still got a half-hour head start, but we can make it in under two hours if we take Malcolm’s cigarette boat.”

  “Malcolm’s not just loaning us the boat, right?” Juli asked. “I mean, he’s going with us?”

  “They want their stolen boat back,” Alex said. “I’m sure they’ll want to be there to reclaim it from the guys who took it.”

  “So how many people can fit in one of those little cigarette boats?” Juli asked.

  “There’s only room for four or five people, and I’m sure Malcolm will want at least one or two of his brothers along,” Alex said.

  Phyllis frowned. “Shouldn’t someone stay here in case Cody’s kidnappers try to contact us for ransom or something?”

  They all stared at each other. Jake was the first to speak. “Alex, you and Juli should go. Phyllis and I will stay here in case Cody gets in touch.”

  Alex scratched his chin, not sure that was the best plan. “Well—”

  “He’s right,” Phyllis said. “Malcolm loves Juli; she needs to go. It’ll keep him in line. And at least one of you boys needs to be on that boat, and one needs to stay here.”

  “And someone needs to be here to make sure the cargo ship doesn’t disappear before we figure out what’s going on,” Jake added. “Maybe we can even get back on board while you’re gone, get a closer look at that cargo. Maybe see if you and I missed something the first time through.”

  Alex looked at Juli. She’d been terrified of the water less than a week ago. Now she was getting dragged out into the open ocean in a cigarette boat. Could she really handle that?

  Juli looked up at him and offered a weak smile. Alex cleared his throat. “Juli? You all right with this?”

  Juli’s eyes were wide and a little fearful, but she nodded. “Got any ginger?”

  He tossed her a bag, and Juli caught it with one hand—a hand, Alex noticed, over which she’d already slipped her seasick bands. She was ready.

  “Do I have time to pee?” she asked.

  Alex nodded and watched as she disappeared around the corner and into the bathroom. The second she locked the door behind her, he picked up the urn.

  “Alex, no!” Phyllis hissed. “Not now.”

  Jake glanced in the direction Juli had vanished, then back at Alex. “Do it quick.”

  Alex hesitated. Was it wrong to invade her privacy? Not to trust her after how much they’d shared?

  “Hurry,” Jake urged. “Just a quick peek inside. Then we’ll know
if she’s hiding something.”

  Alex shook his head. “No.” He started to set the urn back on the nightstand. Then he picked it up again, studying it.

  “Oh, give it to me,” Jake snapped, marching over and snatching it from his hand.

  “Jake, wait—”

  With a quick flick of his thumb, Jake popped the lever on the bottom. The top of the urn flipped open and Jake squinted inside.

  Alex held his breath.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jake said.

  “What?” Phyllis asked. “What is it?”

  Alex heard the water running in the bathroom and felt his heart speed up. He looked at the door, then back at Jake. “What is it?”

  Jake closed the lid and set the urn back on the nightstand. “Cremated remains.”

  Alex felt his chest tighten. “You sure?”

  Jake nodded and stepped back. “I’m sure. Looks just like what spilled out of my grandma’s urn when my brother and I knocked it over playing football in the house last Thanksgiving.”

  Alex nodded, not sure whether to feel disappointed, relieved, or just plain guilty over snooping. He wanted to trust her, he really did. But still—

  Juli came rushing out of the bathroom drying her hands on the leg of her capris. “Ready?” she asked, looking at Alex. When he didn’t respond right away, she looked at Jake, then Phyllis. “What? Is something going on?”

  “Nothing,” Alex said. “Just worried about Cody.”

  “Uncle Frank,” Juli said and scooped up the urn.

  Alex stole a glance at it to make sure they hadn’t left the lid off, but everything looked just like it had before. “You’re not bringing that, are you?”

  “I have to. I can’t just leave him here. It’s my job to look after him.”

  Alex sighed as Juli stuffed the urn into her knapsack. “Let’s go then.”

  ***

  Alex seemed edgy on the boat ride to St. Lucia. Juli tried several times to talk to him, but the noise of the boat and the darkness of his mood made it impossible. It was just as well, since she had plenty of her own dark thoughts to contend with. Where was Cody? Had he been hurt?

  The second they hit St. Lucia, Malcolm and the two brothers he’d brought along hustled off to deal with customs officials. Alex hopped out of the boat and turned to offer Juli a hand up. She took it, annoyed with herself for feeling light-headed at his touch even now with Cody in trouble and their mission in shambles.