Hamilton sat nude in his wheelchair, Stewart sitting behind him reading. Hamilton was sweating and red, his frail body covered in varicose veins and white body hair.
A wave of anger and disgust washed over Patrick and without thinking he sprinted for Hamilton.
Stewart was on his feet and hooked Patrick in the jaw. The blow sent him reeling backward, but Stewart didn’t stop. He kicked him in the groin and as Patrick bent down a knee bashed into his face and sent him against the wall.
Stewart grabbed a chair and threw it at his head. Patrick ducked and it collided with the wall behind him. He then reached down to a strap around his ankle and Patrick saw the gleam of a knife.
The blade rushed at him and it was thrust near his face and Patrick spun out of the way as it caught his shoulder. Hamilton was screaming something and the girl was crying.
Stewart grunted like an animal as he swung downward with his knife. Patrick moved and kicked into the man’s face. He was tall and strong, but he was slow.
The knife was swung in an arch, trying to catch his belly, and it sliced through his clothing and caught flesh. Patrick rushed him and managed to grab the hand that held the knife. He gripped two of Stewart’s finger and bent them back almost to the forearm as they snapped and he screamed.
Patrick picked up the knife and in one powerful swing, thrust it into his face from underneath the chin, the knife buried up to the hilt. A small bump protruded from the top of Stewart’s skull.
The corpse collapsed to its knees and fell over. Patrick could instantly tell he was badly wounded. The knife had cut through the thin layer of fat and muscle over his belly and blood was beginning to drizzle over his pants and down his legs.
He kicked Hamilton’s chair, sending it flying back into the wall, and pain shot through his belly. It was a blinding pain that made him fall to the floor. He looked up to see Hamilton frantically pushing a button on his chair.
Patrick got up again just as three men rushed through the door. They tackled him and pinned his arms. One had a rifle and he stood up and bashed the butt against his skull, and the world went black.
* * *
54
Pain woke Patrick up. His head throbbed so badly he thought his skull might be getting crushed in a vice or ran over but when he opened his eyes he saw that he was laying on the floor in an empty room. He twisted onto his back and looked to the ceiling and then around the room. There was a porthole to one side and the sun was shining in.
He sat up, his vision blurry, and made his way to a wall and leaned against it. His abdomen burned from one side of his ribs to the other, but the bleeding had stopped. He lifted his shirt and saw the thin slice across his belly like a smile.
He looked out the window again. His head throbbed and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. The likelihood was that he had a concussion.
A friend of his had been injured in Iraq when a mortar hit their humvee and he was unconscious almost nine hours. He woke up and said he was fine and passed all the tests the physicians had for him. Two hours later, he was dead. His brain had been swelling against the inside of his skull and it eventually crushed the soft tissue of his hippocampus and cerebellum.
It made him uncomfortable to think of Iraq and he pushed it out of his mind.
He rose and made his way to the door. It was locked from the outside. The portholes were too small for him to get through and he scanned the rest of the space for an escape, but there was none. So he lay in the center of the room, his hands behind his head, and waited.
He waited what he guessed was hours; running through his life. He knew his father wouldn’t miss him; Andrew was the one that broke his heart. But Christopher and Jane probably would. Rodrigo certainly would; his nickname for him was bien blanquito. Referring to him as the only good gringo he had ever known.
There was something in that that Patrick needed. Something about being thought of after you’re gone that brought him some comfort.
The door creaked and opened and Hamilton rolled through with two men. They were armed with rifles and behind them was Christopher.
“How’s your head?” Hamilton asked.
“It’s been better.”
“You killed my assistant and bodyguard, Patrick. He was a good assistant; never questioned anything. Just did exactly as I instructed him. It’s going to be difficult to find another one.” He looked to Christopher and grinned. “Difficult, but not impossible.”
Christopher looked away, refusing to look at either of the men.
“You saw something you weren’t supposed to see.”
“You mean you raping that little girl?” Patrick said. “You’re a sick fuck.”
“We all have our temptations, Patrick. The things in our lives that we hide from the rest of the world but that haunts us when we’re alone. It’s challenging to fight. It’s a habit I picked up in Vietnam actually. Did I ever tell you I served as well? It was at the insistence of my father who was grooming me for politics. He thought a distinguished military career would be a boon and counteract the stigma of being a billionaire’s son.
“He wanted me in the champagne brigades. Air National Guard, something like that. I chose instead to go to the jungles of Pleiku. There was a group of men there, Patrick, a squadron of elite soldiers that would have sent a shiver down your spine just by looking at them. They abandoned all civility, morality, anything that linked them to civilization. In that war, it was encouraged. Everyone was seen as an enemy.
“I joined with them and before I knew it I had abandoned hope of ever getting out. Other squads would wear regulation uniforms and we would come out of the jungles when we had to and we looked like monsters. We had beards and long hair and our clothes were ripped to shreds. We carried ears and teeth from enemies we had killed, hair from women we had raped. Tell me, young man, could you come back from that and think you would have normal tastes?”
“I’ve seen war too. I’ve seen the killing and raping. What you were doing to that little girl has nothing to do with war.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The mind is infinitely complex. Who knows what influences our behavior?” He sighed and stared off into the distance, as if wiping a memory from his mind’s eye. “Regardless, the more pressing question is what to do with you now. I could drop you back on land, but I have a feeling you may not let this little mishap go as easily as I would like. I could shoot you and dump the body into the sea, but I wonder if that would come back to me at some point. I have a few good years left and I would hate to spend them in court. I have no doubt I would win; juries are easily bribed or intimidated. But my most precious commodity is time right now and I can’t waste a second of it. What do you think, Christopher? What should we do with your old friend?”
Christopher was looking in the opposite direction, not saying anything. He glanced up once and their eyes locked and Patrick knew instantly that he had made his choice.
“Let him go, but put him in a raft. He might make it back to shore, he might not. Either way your hands are clean. If he does start causing trouble, you can bribe almost anyone here to ignore him. It wouldn’t be a problem.”
Hamilton nodded in approval. “You see, Patrick? How long have you known Christopher? How close were the two of you? And in a short amount of time his loyalty has transferred to me. That is man, Patrick. That is his soul: do what’s best for you and everyone else be damned.” He looked to the two guards. “Take him up to the deck when it’s dark and throw him in a raft. Have some more men with you when you do it, he’s quite the little fighter.”
Hamilton left and Christopher stayed, staring at Patrick.
“I’m sorry, Patty. I don’t know what else to do.”
The door slammed shut, and Patrick was alone again.
* * *
55
Night came quickly and Patrick was feeling the pain from wounds that adrenaline had covered. His shoulder had a puncture in it as well and it was aching and sending shooting pains down his arm to
his fingers. His belly still burned and it wasn’t scabbing as any movement he made opened it back up.
The door opened and several men appeared. They pointed their rifles and Patrick stood up.
They led him through the corridors and up the ladder, over the middle deck but away from the mess hall. They got to the main deck and it was dark but the moon illuminated everything around him in its icy glow.
Mitch and Christopher stood with Hamilton near what looked like a long board sticking out from the railing, two men holding it flush.
“I know this is a bit silly,” Hamilton said, “but I’ve always been a big fan of the old pirate movies from the fifties and sixties. I thought how wonderful it would be to make someone walk a plank.”
A barrel pressed into his lower back but Patrick didn’t move.
“Come now, young man. Don’t be foolish. We both know my men can easily pick you up and throw you into the water. Perhaps breaking or cutting off a few things along the way. This is much cleaner and simpler.”
As Patrick walked past them he saw Mitch staring down at the deck, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Where’s Jane?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Hamilton said. “We will take good care of her.”
“Mitch,” Patrick said, panic in his voice, “you promised me a favor. You know what I want in return.”
Mitch didn’t acknowledge him as the men pushed him up onto the board.
Patrick looked down to the dark sea. There was no raft; just an ocean that appeared black as pitch from up close and shimmering blue from far away. He walked to the edge of the board, and looked up to the sky. A single cloud was drifting over the moon and darkness descended briefly before passing and the light came back over him.
The board was pulled out from underneath him, and he fell.
56
The first thing Patrick noticed about being in the ocean at night was the beauty of the moon through the water. It appeared wavy and white and perfectly spherical. Its rays broke through the water and lit up everything around him for a few feet; blackness beyond that.
He swam to the surface, treading water, and looked up to the ship. Mitch was the only one still remaining. He disappeared from view a few moments and then came back and threw down a rubber box.
“Good luck, mate.”
The box was a raft and Patrick pulled the cord and it began to inflate on its own. When it had stopped inflating he climbed onboard and lay on his back. The raft was maybe three feet by six feet; enough for one person. There were no rations, no cover from sun, no water.
He began to drift on the small waves away from the ship and he watched as it shrunk into the distance. Before he had even caught his breath from the fall, it was gone.
There was no oar and he began to paddle east, back toward shore, with his hands. He was no match for the current and the raft hardly moved. He took off his shoes, lying flat on his stomach and scooting back until his legs were in the water. Kicking the water, he felt like one of those old GI Joe dolls with the flippers that children would put in bathtubs; watching as they helplessly flailed for five or ten seconds and then sputtered out.
He climbed back into the raft, out of breath and with his legs burning. He knew he had to get out of his wet clothes and he stripped them off and laid them as flat as possible. The moonlight made his skin appear whiter than it was; like smooth alabaster. Gooseflesh covered him and he ran his hands along his body, trying to warm it.
But the night wasn’t cold and there was no breeze. Civilization had been stripped from him; his only link to it a piece of rubber holding him above the water. Nude and under the moon, adrift at sea, he felt utterly and completely alone.
*****
Sleep was nearly impossible, but Patrick had managed to doze off a few times throughout the night. He would hear splashing nearby and jump up, look around him, and then lay back down.
He tried desperately not to think about what was out here and attempted to fill his head with memories of old girlfriends and football games and speculations about what his old army buddies were up to now.
When the sun finally came, it came with vengeful force. The sunrise made the sky look like it had been lit on fire. The clouds were a soft red and the water seemed to absorb the color of the sky. On the horizon, it was difficult to tell where the sea ended and the heavens began.
It only took a couple of hours for Patrick to have to dip into the sea to cool off. The sun scorched him from head to toe and parts of the raft would grow so hot he thought they would melt. He had to constantly dump water over himself and the raft and though annoying at first, it gave him purpose and occupied his mind.
He took his shirt and wrapped it around his head, then leaned back onto the raft and closed his eyes.
* * *
57
Ignacio came to the docks and watched the small vessel as the three men ran through a safety check. It was something done for his benefit, to assure him that they were professionals. But when no one was watching, such things never took place.
Hector came next to him. “It is a little small.”
“It’s perfect.”
“They loaded all the dynamite that you wanted, Jefe.”
“Good. Make sure they have everything that we need.”
“We?”
“I’m going with them.”
“Why? There’s no reason. You have never even fished.”
“I worked for some time on a boat when I was younger. I’ll be fine.”
“This is not a good idea. We need you here. What am I to do if Nico calls looking for you?”
“Tell him I’m unavailable. He won’t ask anything after that.”
Hector shook his head. “Why do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is a stupid reason.”
“Remember your place, Hector.”
“I meant no disrespect, Jefe. I was nothing before you found me. I have nothing but love in my heart for you. That is why I do not want you to throw your life away for no reason.”
“I didn’t say no reason. I just said I didn’t know what the reason was.” He slapped his shoulder. “You need to get more fun out of life, Hector. Doing things randomly is the best way to do that.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
“No, you’re not. The city could not spare to lose both of us at once.”
Hector snorted. “You think too much of me.”
“I trust you, Hector. I do not trust many people.”
He nodded.
Ignacio looked over the ship one more time. “I need to pack. Tell the men not to leave until I get here.”
“Sí, Jefe. Que tenga suerte.”
* * *
58
Mitch ran into Jane’s cabin early in the morning and shut the door behind him. She looked up from bed, thinking it was Patrick, and saw him standing before her.
She wrapped the sheets around her and sat up. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s the key?”
“To what?”
“The room, Jane. This is an emergency; we don’t have a lot of time. Please, where’s the key?”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not the one you need to be scared of. Now where is it?”
She was silent a moment, looking at him. He was out of breath, like he had run here, and he looked like he hadn’t slept last night. “On the table by the television.”
He grabbed the key and went to the small kitchen and checked the fridge. There were several packages of frozen dinners, fruit, some Chilean soup and wrapped fish and shrimp; enough for her to eat for three or four days.
“You’re confined to your cabin, Jane. Don’t come out for anything. I’ll be back in a couple of days with more food.”
“What? What are you talking about? Where’s Patrick?”
“Don’t come out for anything,” he said, going to the door.
“Mitch what the hell is going on?”
He opened the door and looked back to her. “Patrick isn’t here anymore. You’re the only woman on a ship full of men who think they can do whatever they want because they will never see you again. You just do as I say and don’t question me. I have the key, so don’t open the door for anyone else. No matter what they say.”
He shut the door behind him and locked it as Jane hopped out of bed and ran over. She began pounding on the door and screaming but it was muffled and Mitch looked both directions down the corridor.
He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled in relief. He was valuable to Hamilton; but the man was unpredictable and—something he only recently learned—probably a sociopath. No matter how valuable, he wasn’t sure he would survive if he displeased him.
The key went into his pocket and he walked away, the pounding on the door fading and disappearing as he climbed the ladder to the main deck.
* * *
59
Patrick had been sleeping on and off throughout the day but he was more tired than ever. He felt like sweat had drained his body of its moisture and he could see the early signs of dehydration, though he hadn’t even been out a day.
His first concern was water but he knew he was helpless to do anything about it. Sea water was so dense from salt that a few glasses would dehydrate you and a few more could cause kidney failure.
This wasn’t the first time he had been alone on the ocean. When he was a boy, they had taken a vacation to California near Santa Monica. Andrew had gone out wake boarding and flew off his board, smashing hard into the ocean and knocking himself unconscious.
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