by Bob Finley
Janese was relieved to see Marc's body slowly retreat from what she was sure was about to be an attack. She found she was holding her breath and slowly let it escape. She felt weak.
Jambou sent a little nod of recognition in Marc's direction. "Good," he said. "My faith in your good sense is restored. As I said earlier, Captain...as survivors, you and I have a lot in common."
"You and I have nothing in common!" Justin spat. "You're a cold-blooded killer whose only concern is himself! You have no conscience. And you have no future. You're as good as dead!" He paused before adding, in a quieter voice of resignation, "Unfortunately, because of you, so are we."
"Oh, come now, Captain! Don't be so pessimistic! You and I have had this conversation already. I told you what will happen. And it will! Just exactly as I said. You'll see." He tapped his chest and he smiled more broadly. "With my heartbeat being the only thing that keeps Leo from blowing up a dozen cities all over the world, I'll be the most heavily guarded man in the history of the world, no matter where I go. Everybody will have reason to wish me good health!" Janese watched raptly as the moods and emotions marched in close formation across this madman's face. But his conviction was real. He believed every word he said. She was sure of it.
"Now, Mr. Breton, if you will please, escort Captain Justin downstairs while Miss Cramerton and I have a nice little visit."
Shock registered on Marc's face as he realized for the first time that Janese Cramerton was in the room. His head snapped around in her direction and his mouth opened. But before he could say anything she quickly shook her head at him, alarm on her face. She was suddenly very much afraid of what he might try against this man in her behalf, and she'd already heard what Leo could do, had done.
Justin closed his mouth but looked back at Jambou, who was watching him with anticipation. He seemed to be enjoying the moment.
"You low-life piece of trash!" Justin said in a barely-contained voice dripping with menace. "You do anything to her and I promise you you'll never see the sun rise!"
Jambou didn't move. He simply stared insolently for a long moment. "How quaint," he finally said. Then, curtly to Breton, "Get him out of here."
Breton motioned with the stunner. The second time he motioned, he stepped closer and raised it level. "Don't make me use this. You won't like it!" Justin finally turned and walked ahead of Breton toward the door.
"Justin." Jambou spoke the one word. Marc stopped and turned. "Keep your people in line if you want them to stay alive. There are certain elements here who would prefer otherwise."
Marc gave him a cold stare. Then he looked briefly at Janese Cramerton and reluctantly turned to precede Ross Breton down the hallway and out the door.
Jambou stood quietly for several seconds, as if in deep thought. Then Janese heard him draw a long breath as he turned slowly to her. He looked at her from hooded eyes and smiled.
"Like a cobra," she couldn't suppress the thought.
"Now, Miss Cramerton...Janese...where were we?"
A crushing sense of aloneness assaulted her, taking her completely by surprise. This man before her, with his smooth manners and fancy clothes, had just killed thousands of people with no apparent remorse whatsoever. And now he wanted to make small talk with her! Her indignation welled up and boiled over so swiftly it overwhelmed her. It was just the reinforcement she needed.
"You have the nerve to kill who knows how many thousands of people, take us prisoners and hold us as hostages, then, just now, threaten to kill us if we don't behave, and now you want to know, ‘Where were we?’ Only a crazy man, totally off his rocker, would ask a stupid question like that, or pretend that nothing that's happened matters! You have to be absolutely and completely insane!" As she talked, her voice grew geometrically in volume and intensity until her last words were an impenetrable barrage of accusation, born of frustration and flung with furious abandon. In the silence that followed, she realized she was trembling. It embarrassed her. She didn't want this man, this animal, to see the extent to which he had penetrated her defenses. She fought to regain control and, in doing so, whirled and stalked away. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood facing the ‘sea’.
When he spoke, the nearness of his voice made her jump. She hadn't heard him move, but he must be within touching distance of her. She stiffened and half-turned her head, the better to locate him.
"I can understand why you'd be upset." His voice was low, his tone sympathetic. "This has been a trying time for you. When one has become comfortable with old habits and routines, change can be very traumatic." He moved closer. She could feel it. "But the world as you and I know it is changing and we have difficult choices to make. We can take our chances as most people do and play the hand life deals us. Or we can be the dealer and control the game." He moved in until his breath was hot on her neck. His nearness was a storm surge against a sea wall, insistent, corrosive. She pivoted away, facing him but putting more distance between them.
"You think this is a game?" she accused.
He blinked, a chill smile spreading languidly over his face. "Everything we do or say is a move in the game of life," he said with quiet authority, the words sliding from his lips as if oiled. "Our birth is a new hand to be played out. We judge our fellow players for the advantage they might hold over us and play our hand as best we can. Sometimes it isn't enough and we lose." His eyes left hers and focused absently somewhere behind her. "I have lost and I have suffered the consequences." He stopped speaking for a moment and there was no sound but the muted flow of air into the twilight room. But then his eyes slowly regained their focus and came back to rest on her. She sensed a subtle change come over him. "I realized that to win, I must control the game. I must become the dealer. And so I have become." His delivery became increasingly sharper. "I not only stacked the deck, I stole the deck."
He abruptly turned and walked to a plush chair on a raised dais, where he reached over and tapped a keypad on its arm. A cylindrical kiosk separated from the lushly carpeted floor and rose up, flooding the room with brilliant, white light. She remembered Marc's words, but the reality of seeing for herself drew her to it. The display of glittering stones was stunning and she walked slowly around it. When she'd made a full circuit, he was there.
"I own the deck. I dictate the rules of the game. I set the stakes so high that no one who is invited to the game can refuse to play. And, in playing, everybody wins. As dealer, I get my cut. It's only fair."
"And the ‘players’? The countries of the world you're holding as nuclear hostages. How do they win?" she challenged.
"Why, that's simple...they stay alive. We all do. Everybody wins." He smiled benevolently as if he'd just bestowed a great honor on someone.
"And what if you're bluffing? What if you don't really have nuclear bombs hidden in all these cities you've named? What if they don't believe you? What then?"
He didn't answer her for a long moment. His eyes roamed over her face, starkly illuminated in the brilliance of the kiosk, as if he were contemplating a purchase. The silence and his naked attention discomfited her. Finally he smiled enigmatically. "Then someone will call my bluff."
"And?"
His eyebrows arched and he shrugged. "And then we'll see who is bold enough to publicly risk the lives of a few hundred thousand of the people who put them in office."
She stared hard into his face, the light from the kiosk of diamonds heightening the fanatical glitter in his eyes. "You really believe you'll win, don't you?"
"Countries are governments. Governments are people. I know people. Who wants to be known in the history books as the president or prime minister or chancellor who willfully killed the hands that fed him? It becomes a matter of personal survival...physically, politically. And, of course, let's don't forget that greatest of all weaknesses, that of morality. Allowing thousands of one's fellow countrymen to die in a horrible holocaust would be an irresponsible and immoral act. Totally unthinkable."
"But morality doesn't
bother you. Does it?"
He smiled, genuine amusement on his face. "Losing bothers me. Only losing."
She looked him straight in the eye and slowly shook her head. "You are," she said, still shaking her head, "surely the most despicable and evil man...no, person...I've ever known. To call you a ‘man’ would violate all that's right and..." She searched for the right word.
"Just?" he prompted, smiling more broadly.
"No," she shook her head again, her loathing showing on her face, "you don't know the meaning of the word. You are a murderer, a mass murderer, and a monster."
He stepped closer to her and held her eyes with his own. "Whatever you might think of my methods, I will nevertheless win. Those countries that have been chosen to play this game cannot afford to call my bluff, no matter how sure they are of themselves. The rules of the game declare the ‘house’ a winner. They will bluster and threaten, but they...will...concede. In the end, they will choose to live and pay their dues rather than face certain annihilation. It's the best political answer they have. Lives are at risk only if they decide not to pay. And, after all, it's only money. And the price is reasonable. So, cooler business heads will prevail. Never forget: the bottom line is the dollar sign."
They stared at each other for a full ten seconds before he spoke. "This little discussion has been...interesting...but it isn't why I asked you here." She waited. He turned and walked over to his dais, sliding easily into the massive chair. He motioned to a chair a few feet away. "Please. I would appreciate it if you would sit down."
Janese balked at his display of civility, knowing it to be a thin veneer, easily broached. But to keep as much distance between them as possible, she went over and sat down. The face she presented was stony. He sat for a moment, observing her. She wondered what was coming. She soon found out.
"This...negotiation..." he began off-handedly, "...will probably last a week or two. But once it's over, once they've all conceded to my conditions, life will get back to normal. There will be...opportunities for those who make the right choices over the next few days. Obviously," he flipped a hand casually in the direction of the blazing diamonds, "wealth is self-evident. My financial base is greater than that of some small nations. And my future finances are assured once agreement is reached by those who are involved in the game at hand. Once this initial stage is over, I will, of course, get rid of these goons I have now and upgrade to a more acceptable class of security staff. You've not seen my personal quarters, so you can't really judge the luxury that already exists in this..." his gesture took in the whole of their surroundings, "...facility. A platform will shortly be constructed on the surface that will include entertainment and lounge facilities as well as a floating dock for berthing a rather luxurious yacht that I've had my eye on in Greece. In short, the ‘good life’ is close at hand. And, of course, opportunities to enjoy it will be limitless for those who are...shall we say...strategically placed." He stopped. She was looking at him strangely.
"Why are you telling me all this?" she finally asked.
He surprised her by laughing. "Why, it never occurred to me that you wouldn't understand. I'm asking you to share it with me!"
Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. Twice she tried to reply, but nothing came out. The audacity of his offer left her speechless. Almost.
"Well?" He spread his hands in an inquiring gesture. "Surely you had anticipated my offer? You are, after all, a worldly woman, not unfamiliar with such arrangements, are you not?"
"You're serious! You want me...you expect me to..." she spluttered before finding her verbal footing. Drawing a deep breath, she began over. "You are actually making me an offer, to live with you, to become your...what, your mistress?...to associate myself with you? To desert my friends, to turn my back on everything that I hold to be right and good, and to desecrate myself by associating with you? By becoming your kept woman, your whore?! You're a sicker man than I thought! Whatever made you think I'd agree to something like this? You are sick!! And you make me sick!!" She found that she was on her feet. "I want out of here! Now!!" She looked around agitatedly for the way she'd come in, starting first one way, then changing direction.
Jambou rose and quickly crossed the room to where she was.
"Get away from me! Don't touch me!!" she spat at him, backing away. He stood still and waited until she stopped moving, breathing unsteadily.
"I can see you need a little more time to think it over," he said soothingly.
"I don't need to think anything over! You stay away from me! Just stay away from me!"
"When you change your mind, come see me. We'll talk again."
"I told you I won't change my mind. The answer is no! Period! There's nothing else to discuss. Now, let me out of here!"
His smile was so clearly sad it was out of character. "You will change your mind, Janese. And when you do, I'll be ready."
Something in the way he said it alarmed her. Her combative frame of mind demanded an answer.
"Why do you think I'll change my mind? What could possibly cause me to do that?" She wished a moment later she hadn't asked.
"You forget...I'm the dealer and this is my game. What I want, I get. You should be flattered that you are what I want. Your friends have no further value to me once the confrontation that's sure to follow is over and everything has settled down to normal. Captain Justin's credibility was the ante that put him in the game. And now his bankroll has been spent. I have his endorsement on the news coverage that establishes my credibility. And, more importantly, I have his ship. It will be my magic carpet to anywhere I choose to go in the world, anytime I choose. And no one can stop me. The rest of them...they're nothing to me. I don't care whether they live or die. When the game is over and everyone goes home, I can either send your friends on their way, to resume their miserable little lives, or I can kill them. I really don't care which. But you do. And the choice is yours. You have one hand left to play. How you play it is up to you. Each one of them represents a card you hold in your hand. Will you fold them? Or hold them? Think about it. I can wait another day or two for your answer. I'll be busy for at least that long. And then I'll expect your answer. Would you like me to escort you to the door, or can you find your own way?"
She backed away from him, shaking her head. Her passage across the lush, black carpet was soundless except for her rapid breathing. When she bumped into the wall, she kept her eyes on him while she slid along until she found the passageway. Only then did she turn and hurry away, glancing back several times before she pushed the heavy door closed and entered the open elevator. Her hand was trembling so that she had trouble pressing the ‘down’ button. As it jerked and began its descent, she leaned against the cold metal mesh and prayed her legs would continue to support her. She suspected he was watching her on video and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her collapse. The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the cavern floor. She carefully closed the gate behind her and unsteadily made her way across the vastness. There was no one to meet her. She was glad. She felt soiled somehow, and all she wanted was to find a place to be alone.
Chapter 59
Jake Cochran had been out of his rack just long enough to shower when there was a knock at his door. An hour's nap after lunch had become almost a tradition, especially after he'd come to realize that his rank often demanded late-night black tie affairs that ate into his beauty sleep. He slipped on a robe.
"Come," he called, wondering how the steward always seemed to anticipate when to bring him a cup of coffee. The door opened. It wasn't the steward.
"Sir, we have an ‘eyes only’ for you. We just finished deciphering. I don't think you'll want to wait." The chief handed him a bright red, zippered pouch. "I'll wait outside for a reply, sir." He turned to leave.
"No, that's alright. Just a moment. But I would appreciate your ringing up the galley and telling 'em I'm in need of a jump-start."
The veteran chief grinned and crossed to the telepho
ne while the admiral opened the security pouch.
Admiral Cochran quickly scanned the flimsy inside, then went back and read it again more slowly. Finally, he reread it a third time to be sure he hadn't misunderstood it.
"Your coffee 'll be here mo' rickytick, sir,” Chief Hanson said. When the admiral didn't answer him, he waited. The six hash marks on his sleeve were all the experience he needed to tell him something was wrong. Finally, the admiral looked up, even though it was a moment before his eyes focused on him.
"Chief, please show this to Captain Carruthers and ask him to sound general quarters. And pass the word that this is not a drill. I'll be topside in a moment." He stabbed his initials on the signoff line to verify he'd received and understood the communiqué, zipped it shut and handed it back to the surprised noncom. "Send acknowledgment of receipt, encrypted of course. Ask the Captain to have the OD flash the alert to all ships in the convoy. And reroute my coffee topside. Questions?"
"No, sir! The Captain is on the bridge, sir." The admiral had already tossed his uniform on the bed and was stuffing his bare feet into black socks.
"Thank you."
"Aye, aye, sir." The chief was out the door before the admiral had both legs in his trousers.
"Attention on deck!" was sounded as Admiral Cochran strode briskly into the CIC.
"As you were," his response was as brisk as his stride. All around the room, which was more crowded than usual due to the general quarters order, there was a tenseness that was easy to read. He went straight to the communications console and unclipped a microphone. He unconsciously glanced at the digital clock on the bulkhead. 14:55. Turning back to face the sailors and officers, he announced to the entire ship as one the contents of the directive he'd just received.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Admiral Cochran. Approximately 15 minutes ago I received word of a hostile action in South Africa that will, before it's over, affect the international community, including the United States. Shortly after fourteen hundred hours, our time, a medium-to-high-yield nuclear device was detonated in Johannesburg. Reports indicate that most of the city has been destroyed." A shock of disbelief spread instantly around the room but quickly subsided as the Admiral continued. Nobody wanted to miss even one word. "Based on a CNN broadcast and on follow-up investigations by U. S. forces, it appears that a terrorist group is responsible. It is believed that the terrorists are holding U. S. citizens hostage in some kind of underwater hideout that lies dead ahead of us and about three hours out, on our current course. It is believed that a member of the United States Navy who had been assigned TAD to the civilian research team that was abducted was also one of those taken hostage. Therefore, the actions instigated by these terrorists has been construed as a hostile action in international waters against the military forces of the United States. Our proximity to the terrorists has afforded us the opportunity for first response." He paused and looked around. "I'm sure," he continued laconically, "that the fact that one of our own is among the hostages had nothing to do with the decision to entrust this mission to the Navy." His smile brought laughter and hoots.
