Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  “Let me make one thing clear. There will be no fraternizing with the clients—or other crew members—while under my service.”

  “Understood.” Not that you needed to say it. Those brats are hardly attractive.

  Chen checked a few instruments on the navigation board. “What’s your impression of the equipment below?”

  Flynn hesitated. How direct can I be? I got in trouble with my last commander for being too honest. “It could use some improvements,” was the best truthful reply he could come up with, however understated.

  Chen nodded. “I’m no engineer, and even I could’ve said that.”

  So he’s not disillusioned, like my last CO.

  “I’ll need a few replacement parts to make it run better.”

  “You’ll have to make do with what we have on board. The owner hasn’t authorized payment for new equipment or parts.”

  Figures. A Penny Saved indeed.

  “The owner will be joining us in Singapore for the remainder of the trip,” Chen continued. “Anything you can do to make the equipment more efficient until then will be greatly appreciated. I’d like to arrive on time.”

  “Four days.”

  The captain blinked. “Four days?”

  “Until Singapore,” Flynn answered. If we’re meeting the owner in Singapore, then they can’t change the itinerary. Four days on this boat, then I can get Alanna to the U.S. Consulate.

  “Shore leave is for those who complete their duties and prove their work ethic,” the captain replied in a clipped tone. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  Another man strode onto the bridge, a younger Chinese with a stiff spine and tight uniform shirt. Either eighteen or forty, it was hard to decipher in his features. But clearly younger than Chen with a shaved face and patchy, faded pot marks. Indicative of a greenhorn in any other race.

  “This is First Officer and Navigator, Liang Wen. When I accompany the women ashore, he’s in charge.”

  Liang gave a slight bow in the traditional Chinese greeting, again with no smile like his superior. Without a word, he took the helm and went about his watch.

  I’m probably more experienced than this kid, but as long as they don’t ask me any questions, I’ll play along like a Capuchin monkey if I have to.

  Captain Chen motioned for Flynn to join him out of the wheelhouse, then led him around the corner. Before they reached the galley, the captain stopped him.

  “I don’t know what your relationship is with Miss Alanna, or how you received this job on late notice. I don’t care. My orders still stand.”

  “I’ve got it,” Flynn replied a little too sharply. “Keep my hands to myself and stick to the job. This isn’t my first charter.” Do I have a Troublemaker sign on my forehead?

  Chen’s expression sharpened in a blink. “Watch your tone. That’s your only warning.”

  Guess that’s a no on the satellite phone. He nodded and left, brushing passed the galley where Alfred and Alanna were cooking something that smelled delectable. Chocolaty. But he wasn’t in any mood for chatting.

  He made his way to the engine room below deck, where he could focus on things he liked: fiddling with engines, where the noise drowned out overbearing officers on power trips, who repeated themselves a dozen times like he was incompetent or deaf.

  If these men knew even half the things I can do, they’d never question or warn me again.

  So I guess I’ll have to prove it.

  Puerto Princesa’s waters were clear, pristine, and remote. But too shallow for the yacht to dock, so they had to anchor out several-hundred yards off shore, and shuttle the girls in on the tender.

  This was the perfect secluded spot for a private night dive. Calm sea, lush reef, with barely anyone to crowd them. With a full moon overhead, Alanna doubted the quartet would need flashlights at all. She would’ve loved to join them, despite Stacia’s presence. But the reluctant steward was stuck on the boat.

  They’d dropped anchor three hours before, just as the sun was setting. Most of the crew had finished their prep work and gone ashore for dinner and a brief break, except for Flynn who’d hidden himself in the engine room all afternoon. Whatever the captain said had clearly irritated him. She’d gone below once to talk to him, but with one look it was clear he wasn’t ready to vent. Letting him take it out on engine parts seemed the better choice, at least until they crashed later.

  Liang stayed behind to man the ship, not to mention Alfred, who’d prepped late night snacks for the clients’ return. Then conveniently complained of a headache and went to bed. Which left Alanna in charge of prepping the clients’ rooms for their return.

  Before she went ashore, Marie had shown her how to properly turn down the beds and fold the towels. The little white chocolates on the pillows were a nice touch, and coincidentally Alanna’s favorite. The last task was folding the towels in the dryer.

  Since no one was around, Alanna set the basket on the sofa in the salon and turned on the massive flat screen television, praying she’d catch some local news channel. Maybe they’d have an update on Solana or news of her brother.

  Please let me find something. The weight in the pack around her waist grew heavier with every flip of the channel. Everything was static.

  “What are you doing?”

  Alanna spun and faced Liang’s accusing stare. The steaming cup in his hand smelled of strong coffee. His eyes were dark, as if his irises had disappeared. He was hard to read.

  “I was looking for a news station.”

  Liang eyed her, then held out his hand for the remote.

  Alanna pursed her lips. Unbelievable. They won’t even allow me to find the news when the ship is empty. So many damn rules, just like the palace. She handed him the remote.

  With a few buttons, Liang turned the television to BBC. “Make sure it’s off and these towels are cleared by the time they return.” His Chinese accent was thick, but the words were clear.

  Alanna smiled. He didn’t return it, but he nodded, and retreated downstairs.

  Nine towels later, as Alanna was losing hope of hearing anything, a picture of her father flashed on the screen. She dropped the towel, scrambling for the remote to turn up the volume.

  “King Rodrigo Peralta’s death and the subsequent takeover of Solana have outraged the international community. The United Nations condemns the attack, demanding the Philippines government to intervene. Until now, they’ve refused to take a harsher stance against the drug cartels, who are believed responsible for the royal family’s assassination.”

  The picture of her father was from his last dignitary visit to the UK several years before. Alanna had joined him for a play in London’s West End. He’d worn his favorite navy blue suit and green-striped tie, and had always smelled like the tropical flowers in the palace gardens. Whenever Alanna had hugged him, she’d savored it.

  Her father wore the blue sash across his chest when out in public, held in place with a jeweled, gold pin of the Hawk of Solana in the center. Its eyes were made of the ice-blue ammephire stone, and its wings spread wide in flight. But in the picture, her father’s face was more wrinkled, more tired than she remembered. As loving and doting as he was, the demands of his country, the loss of her mother, and more recently, the exile of her brother had taken its toll on him.

  “The attacks appear coordinated with the attempted assassination of both the Solanian prime minister, as well as the king’s eldest son, Prince André in Las Vegas, Nevada. Though the prince escaped, the prime minister is now unaccounted for. The future of the Solanian royal family remains in question, with the youngest, Princess Alanna, still missing.”

  The picture changed to hers, the same one she saw earlier. Her bright eyes smiled back at her, almost mocking her current despair, completely unaware of the catastrophe approaching.

  “By law, Princess Alanna is next in line for the throne due to her elder brother’s exile and Crown Prince Tulio’s death. But with most of its parliament members either killed or scatte
red, the chain of command falls on the heavily damaged military powers. The United Nations Security Council has postponed the vote to send in troops until tomorrow, at the U.S. Ambassador’s request, citing conflicting intelligence reports.”

  “Que?” Alanna shouted at the television. “Conflicting intelligence reports? What the hell does that mean?”

  Her already-heavy heart dropped to the floor. The contingency plan was based on her father’s agreement with the United States to keep her safe in times of crisis. Everything she’d done since she fled Solana was to get to a U.S. Consulate. Now they were the ones blocking UN intervention.

  The news flashed more videos of the destruction of government buildings on Solana, and citizens running for cover from a mass horde of armed mercenaries flooding the streets. The main market behind the marina was completely ablaze.

  What the hell is conflicting about these images? They’re being slaughtered—it can’t get clearer than that.

  The one that ripped at her mind the most was the still-smoking Royal Square, the main courtyard outside the palace, with the sky-blue dome roof visible above the palm tree line. She’d seen the explosion that destroyed the Royal Guard’s offices, undoubtedly killing everyone inside. A cry threatened to crawl up her throat.

  “…coordinated by the Lozano cartel based in Manila. The Philippine government claims the leader, Santos Lozano, has been in hiding for the last year, relying on his generals to conduct most of his business, despite a massive manhunt for the capture of this brutal criminal.”

  Alanna scoffed. They’re not trying that hard to find him. He has everyone paid off so he can park his massive yacht in their front yard.

  “Bugga’ me.”

  Alanna turned. Alfred stood at the top of the stairs in matching burgundy pajama shirt and pants. He stared at the television, slack-jawed. “Princess?”

  Her picture was still on screen, tiara and all.

  Mierde!

  “THAT’S YOU, ISN’T IT?” ALFRED stood there looking back and forth at her and the news.

  Alanna froze. What do I say? She couldn’t possibly deny it now. But there was still the risk of him turning her in. The captain would certainly notify the authorities on Palawan, and the cartel might’ve paid them off as well. They’d probably bribed the officials in every major city through the Philippines. She’d be in Lozano’s hands faster than a rogue tidal wave.

  A roaring engine cut through her mental panic. The tender was returning from land, no doubt with the captain and their clients.

  Alanna turned off the television.

  Alfred still stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “Please…don’t say anything,” she whispered.

  Alfred blinked. His gaze moved to the door, finally registering the sound of returning guests. He glanced at the couch covered with folded towels. In a dash, he threw them into the basket. Alanna grabbed for them, but Alfred pulled it away. His wide-eyes were impossible to read.

  “When they retire, we need to talk,” Then he escaped downstairs.

  All Alanna could do was stand there staring at the empty doorway.

  The engine outside cut off, replaced by the girls’ whines and chatters. In their wake, bright yellow lights bounced off the window.

  “Where the hell is everyone?”

  The bellowing voice was decidedly Stacia’s. Alanna whirled to double check the television.

  Off.

  Wait. The rest of the crew is still ashore. What are the clients doing back so early?

  The lights flashed brighter. Alanna glanced out the window.

  Police patrol boats? Three of them circled the yacht’s stern less than fifty yards out.

  Everything went cold. Her feet numbed and her knees tingled.

  They’re here for me. How did they find me so fast? Where’s Flynn?

  “Flynn…” The name came off her tongue in a panicked whisper.

  Liang rushed past her. “Secure the lines,” he threw at her as he turned the corner and hurried along the deck.

  But her feet only took her a few steps. She couldn’t make herself go past the door. If the police were here for her, she had to hide. Find someplace below deck, wherever Flynn was.

  Find Flynn.

  But her feet still wouldn’t move. Through the window, Alanna saw the girls climb on board, scowls marring their sun-kissed faces. But none more pronounced than Captain Chen’s. From the look of him, he was probably just strip-searched by the cops, now idling in a semi-circle twenty yards out.

  “Can you believe that guy?” The natural blonde climbed on deck, dangling flip-flops from her fingers. “So freakin’ rude. I’ll have my daddy sue him for mental anguish and defamation of character.”

  “Give it a rest, Portia,” Becca whined, her hair still wet with newly braided dreadlocks. “That tiny man is hardly worth the effort. I doubt he has more than a few thousand dollars.”

  Liang took Becca’s hand, but addressed the captain. “Apologies, sir. The rest of the crew is still ashore. I’ll alert them via radio and send the tender for them immediately.”

  Chen’s lips pursed. “I want this ship ready to push off the minute they’re on board. Per Puerto Princesa authorities’ request.”

  If Liang was as stunned as Alanna by that piece of information, he didn’t show it. But it was enough to pull Alanna the rest of the way out on deck.

  They’re not here for me.

  She moved forward to take the girls’ bags, careful to keep her eyes on the patrol boats. Just in case. They continued to idle in the calm bay, the guards remaining still on their bows, rifles strapped behind their backs.

  “Are we to be boarded, sir?” Liang eyed the police.

  “No. They’re ensuring our departure.”

  “Keep your claws away from my Prada,” Stacia screeched at Alanna with a vicious glare. “I’ve had enough people snooping through it tonight.” She stormed off, followed by Portia and Becca, bickering the whole way to their cabins.

  The pale brunette, also with newly braided dreadlocks, lingered with the captain, her expression more embarrassed than angry. “I apologize, Captain,” she said. “If this incident in anyway impacts your—”

  “Miss Kinsley,” the captain interrupted. “Please go below.”

  Kinsley nodded and retreated inside. Alanna followed at a distance, but the captain’s exchange with Liang was easily heard.

  “The jeweler next to the dive shop accused Miss Stacia of theft. She was less than cooperative, to say the least.”

  “Have we been fined?”

  “No. Instructed to disembark immediately if she didn’t want to be arrested. Please take the tender ashore to fetch the rest of the crew. I’ll see to the logbook. Is there a problem, Miss Alanna?”

  His stern glare moved to her in one fluid motion.

  “No, sir.” With a final glance at the flashing lights from the surrounding police boats, she moved inside the yacht.

  The staterooms comprised the top floor, offering the best view of the ocean and most luxurious accommodations. Becca shared the owner’s cabin with Kinsley, while Stacia and Portia each had their own rooms—albeit smaller—down the hall.

  Alanna hung each of their bags on the hooks behind their respective doors. Stacia slammed hers shut continuing to rant, her swearing easily heard through the walls.

  “Where’s my damn champagne?” Something slammed against the wall in her room. “I want a glass every time I set foot on this floating raft!”

  Alanna followed Becca and Kinsley into their stateroom. Becca rolled her eyes and emptied her bag. “We weren’t even ten feet down before Stacia freaked out.” She handed a dirty towel to Alanna, otherwise not acknowledging her presence.

  “Maybe she should’ve started with a daytime dive first.” Kinsley wrung out of her braided hair. Colorful strings were woven in a few of them.

  “She said she’d been diving before.”

  Kinsley snorted. “Yeah, and claims to be a descendent of French kings, too.
Do you believe everything she says?”

  Becca smirked. “Cut her some slack. She’s suffering through Stepmom Number Four, who’s barely older than us, and happens to be spending Stacia’s inheritance. Vacations like this are the only chance she has to get away.” Becca checked her braids in the mirror.

  Kinsley rolled her eyes. “Is that when she went to the jewelers?”

  Becca nodded. “But she wouldn’t have stolen anything. She already has so much jewelry, stuff much nicer than that shop’s flimsy pieces.”

  Kinsley shook her head and retreated into the attached bathroom.

  Never leave your dive buddy. That was a cardinal rule of scuba, just as important as never holding one’s breath. People died that way.

  “Is there anything else you need, Miss?” Alanna asked sweetly.

  “No,” Becca replied, now roving through her clothes in the closet.

  She’s clueless as to how reckless her friend is.

  “When Miss Stacia went back to shore, were you alone in the water?”

  Becca turned to Alanna, her narrow eyes wider. Alanna half expected her to yell, but she didn’t. “Yes.”

  “Underwater? Alone?”

  Becca faced Alanna full-on, putting her hands on her waist. “If you’re implying I’m a child, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” She stuck her chin up in the way toddlers do when stretching boundaries.

  “Not at all. But even experienced divers know leaving someone alone underwater is extremely dangerous. What if your regulator stopped working? Or you got caught in the reef? You’d have had no help.”

  A glare flickered in Becca’s eyes.

  “Just an observation.” Alanna picked up the last dirty towel from the floor. When she grabbed the door handle, Becca finally found her voice.

  “It’s not your job to criticize me or my friends. Mind your own business, or I’ll have you fired.”