by Kyla Stone
Simeon shot Kane a warning look. “That's not what we're here for.”
Kane laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. “We here for romance then? What the hell is this, Simeon?”
“Of course not!” Gabriel swallowed the words he wanted to say, but only for Simeon's sake. For the sake of the cause. He forced his voice to stay calm. “We're after her father, not her.”
Kane leered at him. “You think just 'cause you got a pretty face, a girl like that's gonna let you in her—”
“Don't be crude!” Simeon said sharply. He turned to Gabriel. “Your fervor and patriotism are noted. But I need you to do this. All will be clear in due time.”
“Understood, sir.” Gabriel tried to keep the resentment from his voice. He was as much a fighter as Simeon and Kane. He'd trained for years. He was strong. He was ready.
“And the girl?” Kane's upper lip curled. “I could give her a grand time in the good ol’ captain's quarters. You sure you don't want me to—”
“Can't you ever shut up?” Gabriel clenched his jaw, fighting to contain his anger and disgust. He was startled by the intensity of his reaction. He felt mild pity for the girl, a shock in itself. Before her, he never imagined he might feel anything but loathing for an elite. When Declan Black had laid into her last night, he’d wanted to kill him then and there.
Simeon put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Our mission has changed. It is now essential we take Black alive. He has critical information—information he may be unwilling to give us.”
“What do you mean? What’s changed?”
“All in good time, my faithful friend. For now, obedience is what I need from you. This is it. This is our time. The world changes tonight.”
“Tonight? I thought it was planned for tomorrow—”
“The schedule has changed. The Grand Voyager will be heading back to the mainland by this weekend, guaranteed.”
Kane spat over the railing. “Why?”
“The flu that's not a flu. The underground's full of chatter. They're calling it the Hydra virus. It keeps popping up everywhere. The virus is infectious, virulent, and lethal. More people are dying than the media are reporting. By the hundreds of thousands, if you believe some vloggers.
“My source just confirmed. She believes an announcement should come tomorrow from the White House. Americans will be banned from all domestic and international travel. Every international port will be turning us away shortly.”
Gabriel leaned against the glass railing, taking it in. He’d heard rumors, but he’d been so focused on the mission, he’d blocked most of it out. “What about—?”
“Our fellow Patriots are safe. For now. According to my source, the president himself may be ill. This information has not been released to the public. The average Joe believes he's on another golf vacation.”
Kane whistled.
Gabriel wondered, not for the first time, how Simeon could possibly know so much. New Patriots were entrenched in the government. Even more were sympathetic to their cause, fellow believers in a new order, a new government that would actually serve the people. But he didn't know how many there were or how high their influence and power reached. He only knew the members of his local chapter.
“As for us,” Simeon continued, “we need to act before the captain realizes the severity of the Grand Voyager's situation and changes course. We must reach our rendezvous point off the coast of Puerto Cortés.
“One other thing. Tropical storm Wyatt is headed directly toward our path. Normally, the captain would skirt the storm. But we must meet our deadline, including our final extraction point. Everything is too finely calibrated to adjust now. The others are in position. We’re prepared to neutralize the secret service and private security agents. Everything has gone according to plan. There was a slight snag with a crew member in the laundry, but it’s been dealt with.”
Gabriel took a breath. He hadn’t told Simeon about Micah. But it didn’t matter. The drugs were a cover. Micah had no idea what was really happening. He’d never turn Gabriel in. The mission was safe.
Simeon turned to Gabriel. “And the Coalition chairman’s bodyguard?”
“Jericho is always with Black except for the dinners at the captain’s table,” Gabriel said. “Black doesn’t seem to want him around for those. Jericho works out at the gym or spends time with the son, Silas.”
Simeon nodded and held his fist over his heart. Gabriel and Kane followed suit. “For the honor of true patriots and the love of country.”
The thrill of anticipation hummed through every cell of Gabriel’s body. It was time. The country was about to change for the better. Everything started today. It started with them, with him.
Gabriel spent the early part of the afternoon crouched on monkey island, located on the roof above the Grand Ballroom, with the radar antennae and the satellites. He cut power to the VHF and HF radio phones and dismantled the satellite wireless and communication systems.
He deactivated the GMDSS, the Global Maritime Distress and Safety Systems, which would send long-range distress signals to a series of orbiting satellites if activated. The ShipLoc satellite tracking device was supposed to be in a hidden location, but in their arrogance, Voyager Enterprises just stuck it on monkey island with everything else.
He left the orange buoys with the Emergency Position Indicator Radio Beacon on the bridge wings. To move them now, in full view of the bridge, would only invite suspicion. If they hit the water, they'd automatically activate their satellite-relayed hourly position to NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration headquarters in Washington, D.C. There was plenty of time to get those later.
Now, Gabriel strode the length of the glass catwalk, checking and rechecking the surveillance feeds. He'd copied several loops of undisturbed video last night, ready to hack them into the feeds.
“It's time.” Simeon's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. “Meet me on Deck Twelve in fifteen minutes.”
He hurried to meet Simeon, who stood with Kane and another New Patriot named Vera Hollis, a thin white woman with a sharp, angled face and auburn hair pulled into a tight bun. Two other men dressed in crew uniforms directed a laundry hover cart into the alcove of the crew hallway.
“Our fellow comrades are en route,” Simeon said. “Davison and Hernandez are outside the engine room, awaiting orders. The rest of the team are stationed and ready.”
“And the surveillance?” Kane asked.
“The relevant CCTV screens are set on a loop, ready to remote activate.” Gabriel glanced at the tablet in his hand. The ship's internal security system required two additional levels of access to hack, but he'd infiltrated them with ease.
Kane adjusted his body armor beneath his uniform. “Start the damn thing.”
When Simeon nodded, Gabriel tapped the tablet. Eight of the surveillance screens flickered and activated the recorded loops. “Done.”
Simeon nodded and put his right fist over his heart. The other men followed. Gabriel could feel his own heart beating through the fabric of his uniform. “For the honor of true patriots and the love of country.”
“For the honor of true patriots and the love of country,” he repeated.
He followed the men down a series of hallways to the central entrance to the bridge. They stopped before a reinforced steel door labeled 'Bridge: Authorized Entrants Only.'
The two men in crew uniforms pressed themselves against the right wall, out of sight of the camera over the door. They dumped the layer of towels from the laundry cart and pulled out three subsonic automatic rifles.
Simeon and Hollis did the same on the left side of the door, pistols outfitted with silencers now in their hands. Both groups pulled black masks over their faces.
Gabriel stood beside Kane in front of the camera and pressed the metal switch recessed into the left wall. The captain and bridge officers accessed the bridge through a retinal bioscanner. Everyone else entered the old-fashioned way.
The bridge officer on the other side of the door would glance at the CCTV monitor and see only Kane, a radio officer, and Gabriel, dressed smartly in his security uniform with the black epaulettes on the shoulders. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Reinforced steel couldn't protect against treachery. Gabriel's heart jolted at the word. This wasn't treachery. It was justice. Justice for the people. A new revolutionary war, beginning today. Beginning now.
The hatch swung open with a soft click.
Everything happened at once.
9
Willow
“Can we order dessert first?” Benjie asked, a goofy grin on his face. He pulled another pack of playing cards out of his Stars Wars backpack he carried with him everywhere. He was intent on practicing his latest magic trick, something about making a card disappear in his hands. “And breakfast for lunch!”
“Only if we eat broccoli last,” Willow’s mom said.
Zia wrinkled her nose. “No deal.”
They were in the middle of an early dinner at the Imagination Café. Willow’s stomach ached from stuffing her face every chance she got, but that didn’t stop her from eating more. Every morsel was the real deal, not that prefab or reconstituted crap that looked and tasted like a cardboard box.
They’d spent the morning at a local beach in Grand Cayman, exploring the shops crammed with cheap island ware and trinkets made in China. It hadn’t been as fun as she’d expected. Port security handed out respiratory face masks to everyone disembarking.
“Just a precaution,” they’d said with huge, white smiles. Apparently, the bat-flu had sickened a ton of people in Grand Cayman, too. It was unsettling. It reminded her of Rihanna, sick and miserable with the same flu back home.
Zia swiped the menu embedded in the table and entered their orders. “After lunch, let’s do low-grav karaoke again!”
“I’ll pass.” Zia could sing and dance, but Willow was about as graceful as a walrus on a trampoline, even when floating in midair. “How about we check out the sleep pods in the spa and take a nap? The simulation makes it seem like you’re sleeping on silk, furs, velvet, drifting in water, or floating. Sounds awesome, right?” According to the spa Smartbrochures, the latest model boasted pressurized air nodules that allowed guests to experience the weightlessness of space while they slept.
“Naps are for babies!” Benjie flipped his wrist and the Ace of Spades in his hand disappeared. “I don’t have to take a nap, do I, Mom?”
“No, honey,” her mom said. Willow’s mom was short, like Willow, like most of the Filipino titas, or aunties, in her family. Her black hair was cut in a crisp, angled bob. “I have to work after lunch. But I’ll be done before dinner, I promise.”
Willow forced herself not to roll her eyes. She had yet to do anything she wanted to do, and the damn cruise was more than half over. Guilt pricked her.
Benjie coughed into his arm.
Her mom frowned. “Are you okay? Do you have your inhaler in your backpack?”
“Of course he does. I always make sure.” Willow sighed. “Can I borrow your SmartFlex? I want to check in with Rihanna.”
“I’m sorry, I let the battery die. But here—take my staff band.” Her mom rooted around in her pocket until she pulled out the red wristband. “Unlimited wi-fi at the tech station, one of the perks of the job!”
One of the only perks. But Willow just said, “Thanks.”
“That’s an administrative key. It can access almost any door on the ship.”
Zia’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” her mom warned, locking eyes with Willow. “Please be responsible.”
“Of course.” She stifled a flare of resentment. When was she not responsible?
A service bot brought them virgin margaritas and artisanal chocolate truffles with sides of fresh fruit. Benjie shoved huge chunks of real watermelon into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. Pink juice dribbled down his chin.
Zia giggled. Benjie made a silly face at her and then they both cracked up. Zia's shoulders convulsed. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. She did that gasping, donkey-bray laugh she'd perfected as a little kid. Her mom laughed, too.
Willow smiled, but it felt tight, like it didn’t fit her face. She was being selfish, she knew that. She loved her family; she just wished she didn’t resent them so much.
The cruise director's chirpy voice came over the ship's speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you had a wonderful time enjoying Grand Cayman today! A quick note of unfortunate news. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Grand Voyager won't be docking in Belize tomorrow morning as planned.”
A collective groan rose from the passengers.
Zia wrinkled her nose again. “What's going on?”
Her mom shrugged. “I think they're trying to avoid that big storm, what's-its-name. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t care about missing Belize,” Zia said. “I’m just glad we’re here.”
Her mom smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Me too, honey. Me, too.” Her mom looked so relaxed as she sipped her margarita. Content and peaceful. Like Willow hadn't seen her for a long time. It made her happy and sad at the same time.
She popped a chocolate raspberry truffle in her mouth and watched the sunlight glimmering across the ocean like burnished steel. It was so beautiful, her heart hurt. Every day that passed made her heart hurt worse.
Pretty soon, this would all be gone. And she’d never get it back again.
10
Gabriel
The bridge door swung open. One of the Patriots tossed Gabriel a rifle as he rushed in.
He glimpsed the panoramic windows encircling the room. The long, rectangular console featured a bank of digital charts, position readouts, and satmaps hovering over the sleek surface. He'd been in the bridge dozens of times. But never like this.
Time seemed to slow. All sounds faded save for the blood whooshing through his ears. Two bridge officers, a security officer, and the helmsman turned toward them. The captain stood at the center of the console in front of the helm.
“Don't move!” Hollis screamed at the helmsman, a British man who started for the mayday button as soon as he saw the guns. He lunged for the center console, not hesitating for a moment.
Neither did Hollis. She slammed out two shots in quick succession, puncturing the helmsman's chest. He dropped to the floor, red spots spreading like ink stains across his shirt.
The sound ricocheted louder than Gabriel expected. Silencers couldn't suppress all noise from a projectile weapon, not like a pulse gun. But they wouldn't be heard through the steel door and thick walls.
The remaining officers gaped at the fallen body. Gabriel stared with them, fighting down the acid rising in his throat. The rifle hung limply at his side.
Simeon moved swiftly to Captain Johannes Liebenberg and pressed the gun against his head. “No one does anything foolish, and you'll all live. This fight is not with you. Do you understand?”
Hollis swiveled, aiming her pistol at each of the officers until they nodded. The Second Officer, an attractive African-American woman with short hair, stood frozen next to the captain.
The Third Officer stood halfway between the console and the exterior door to the portside wing. He trembled, sweat beading his forehead.
“You'll never get away with this,” Captain Liebenberg growled.
“Oh, but we already have.” Simeon's voice was steady, but Gabriel recognized the rush of his words. Adrenaline must be kicking through him the same way it streaked through his own veins, filling him with frenetic energy. His heart slammed against his ribs.
“This was easier than hijacking a semi-truck.” Hollis laughed, her eyes gleaming. “At sea, there's no law enforcement. No surveillance drones. It’s like stealing candy from a baby. A rich, gold-gilded baby.”
Gabriel turned to the right, where the security monitors mimicked those in the security room—a large transp
arent screen showing images in quadrants of four, the feed shifting to various hallways and external areas of the ship in ten-second intervals.
Not a thing looked out of place, though fellow freedom fighters were barging into the radio and engine rooms that very second. The screens revealed nothing.
“Everyone against the wall,” Simeon ordered. “Davison and Hernandez, tie them up.”
“Why are you doing this?” The third officer's voice trembled. He was middle-aged, with short blonde hair and a harsh Ukrainian accent tinged with fear. “Are you pirates? Are you with one of the syndicates? Are you—”
Simeon smiled at him. “You read the daily reports from the Maritime Bureau's Piracy Reporting Center. You tell me—what should you do now?”
The man licked his lips, his chin trembling. “If pirates board your ship, do not resist. They're after money and ransom. Do what they say, they'll leave you alone. Let the company worry about losses.”
“Exactly. Now sit down, hold out your hands, and shut up.”
“Voyager Enterprises will pay you. They have hostage insurance. Just tell us what—”
“You're no pirate.” The captain’s voice was laced with barely contained rage. “This isn't the southern Red Sea or the coast of Somalia.”
“Sir, I must respectfully ask that you stop talking,” Simeon said.
“You're Americans!” Captain Liebenberg glared at Kane and Gabriel, the only two men not wearing ski masks. “You’ve both served this ship for months, if not years. You're traitors!”
“Shut the hell up!” Kane barked.
“You're terrorists!”
Simeon slammed the butt of his gun against the captain's head. “I said that's enough!”
Liebenberg's head lolled to the side. A trickle of blood dripped down his forehead and thickened in his left eyebrow. “Whatever you want from me, I will not give it to you.”
