by Alex Siegel
"Is this illegal?"
"No."
"Are you a private detective or a cop?" he said.
"Be quiet."
Finally, the red speedboat pulled away from the dock. It roared off, gathering speed as it went. Katie tried to judge its heading.
"Drive through the gap between Tiburon and Angel Island," she said. "Full throttle."
Jerry started the engine and headed in the specified direction. "Are we following that red boat?"
She snarled. "Yes, but don't be obvious about it. Keep your distance."
"What's going on? Is your cheating boyfriend on that boat?"
"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?"
The fishing boat followed the speedboat at a comfortable distance across the Bay. They passed Angel Island, turned left, and headed north. Katie tried to remember her local geography. San Quentin State Prison was directly ahead, and the City of Richmond was on her right.
This part of the Bay was about two miles across, far enough that she could only see blue water and haze in all directions. The fishing boat bounced across the waves, and she grabbed the rail to steady herself. The red speedboat was a little faster and was gaining distance.
A medium-size yacht came into view. The speedboat turned towards it and slowed down.
"Stop!" Katie said.
Jerry killed the engine again. The fishing boat quickly lost most of its speed but continued to drift forward.
The speedboat came up beside the yacht, and ropes were tossed across the gap. They were tied securely together. A ladder was lowered, and men began to transfer the cargo.
"Do you know that yacht?" Katie said.
Jerry shook his head. "No. Never seen it before, but it's very cool."
The yacht had a very tall mast, but no sails were currently deployed. Old-fashioned, wooden construction was used everywhere. It was a long, skinny craft which could probably shoot across the water using just the wind for power.
Katie still had her binoculars hanging around her neck, and she used them to take a closer look. The railings and fittings on the yacht were made of polished brass which gleamed brightly in the sunlight. A big, wooden steering wheel was placed towards the front of the boat.
"It looks like it was built a hundred years ago," she said.
"It must be expensive," Jerry said. "Even reproductions of old sailing yachts cost millions of dollars, and that's a nice one."
"I need to get onboard without being seen."
"That's impossible. They're probably looking at us already."
Katie frowned. He was right. There was no practical way to sneak onto that yacht undetected, and the crew probably wouldn't welcome uninvited guests, which meant she would have to use force. It was a solution Marina would approve of. The commander always preferred to solve problems in the most direct way, and the situation justified extreme measures.
"Take me back," Katie said. "I need to get a few things from my car."
* * *
Yang parked the green SUV beside the black Humvee used by the SAS team. He and Marina stepped out.
They were on top of a rocky hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The spectacular view was ruined by tenuous fog, but Marina could still see a long way out. The mixture of sunlight, mist, and blue water was magical.
"Ready?" she said.
Yang nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She smiled. "You're a good soldier."
"Thank you, ma'am."
They started down a hiking trail towards a beach below. The steep trail was made of loose dirt, and they had to watch their step to avoid slipping. Salt spray prevented most vegetation from growing, and only tough blades of grass managed to cling to the slope. A few seabirds were living among the rocks.
Marina came around a bend and saw a tiny beach below. Joshua Harp and the four SAS soldiers were standing on the sand. Two men were holding the FBI agent by the arms while a third was yelling in his face. There were no witnesses around.
"Wait here," Marina whispered.
Yang crouched down.
She drew her gun and ran forward silently. A divine fire in her belly made her eager for battle. The world seemed to slow down, and her footsteps became quick and light.
The soldiers turned as she approached, and she began firing. Two clean shots to the face dropped the men holding Harp by the arms. She shot a third soldier through the neck, and he went down clutching his throat.
Marina wanted to save the last soldier for questioning. She pumped a bullet into his right shoulder to prevent him from using his gun hand. He tried to draw a gun with his left hand, so she shot him in the left elbow.
With an animalistic scream, she drew a knife and attacked. She sliced tendons and nerves with surgical precision. Blood sprayed onto the sand. Very quickly, her enemy was reduced to a twitching, paralyzed mass of pain, and he was helpless before her. None of the wounds were life-threatening.
"Holy shit," Harp said.
Marina whistled and waved to Yang. The legionnaire jogged down to the beach.
"You're amazing, ma'am," he said. "You took them down like they were nothing."
"Thanks." Marina faced Harp. "Your participation is very much appreciated. I'll make sure you're properly rewarded, but right now, I have some nasty business to conduct with this asshole."
She kicked the injured soldier, and he moaned. He was wearing a bulky radio headset over his left ear. She remembered what had happened in the woods, and she yanked it off his head. She tossed it as far as she could into the ocean.
Harp looked at the bodies. "You just murdered three men."
"Yes." She searched them until she found a set of car keys which she tossed to Harp. "Drive yourself home, and take their car. They won't need it."
"I can't walk away and pretend I didn't see any of this."
"We had a deal."
"You never mentioned mass murder," Harp said. "And these guys sounded British. I'm starting to think they were part of the SAS squadron that was slaughtered by the reservoir. Some of them were cut to pieces."
Marina crossed her arms. "I don't have time to argue with you."
"What's going on?"
"I can't tell you. Are you going to try to arrest me?"
"Well..."
"We've worked together long enough for you to understand you don't want to fight me," she said. "For your safety, I strongly recommend you go away."
He frowned.
"I have extremely important work to do, and I need to get started. I'm asking nicely for the last time."
Harp looked at the bloody knife in her hand, and then he looked at Yang.
Finally, Harp walked away. "You owe me for this," he muttered.
"Yes, and I won't forget."
When he was safely gone, Marina breathed a sigh of relief.
"Would you have killed him?" Yang said.
"My duty was clear, even if it was painful."
"But killing a federal agent is wrong."
"We are neither good nor evil. We just are." Marina knelt down beside the injured soldier. "Who do you work for?"
He was a good-looking man with a clean face and short, brown hair. She guessed he was about thirty years-old. His muscles bulged underneath his green fatigues.
He spat at her. "I'll never talk." He had a proper British accent.
She wiped her face. "You believe the girl is infected with a terrible disease. That's not true. You were lied to. You may also believe your government is giving you your orders. Also, not true. Your squadron is being used as a pawn in a secret war you've never heard of. I expect all of you will be dead before the day is out. I'm giving you a chance for redemption before you meet your Maker. Help me find my enemy."
"The disease is real!"
"How do you know?'
"Because..." The soldier appeared confused.
"A man told you? Brown hair, a handsome face, and a voice that destroys all doubt?"
His eyes widened. "Yes!"
Marina gritted her
teeth. She really needed Wesley's help, but the kid was off limits. She couldn't justify getting him involved in the mission again.
"I need a name," she said.
"Never." The soldier raised his chin. "The world is depending on us to stop a terrible plague. Billions could die. I would suffer a thousand deaths to prevent that from happening."
She flipped her knife back and forth over her fingers. The SAS had a reputation for toughness which was probably well deserved. Breaking this man with physical torture would be difficult and time consuming. Given that his mind was contaminated with a dark gift, it might even be impossible. He obviously had the conviction of a zealot.
God, Marina thought, what do I do?
You can do nothing, the Lord replied. This soul is lost.
She lowered her head in defeat. She jabbed her sharp, black fingernails into the soldier's neck and injected a lethal dose of venom. It was a quick, painless death.
"Is he dead?" Yang said. "How?"
She showed him her fingernails. "I told you I'm venomous."
His eyes widened.
She stood up and started walking to the car. "Let's go back to the furniture building."
Chapter Nine
Katie was driving her own boat this time, and it was a nice one. It had enough speed to pull skis and wakeboards across the Bay as fast as any sane person could ever want to go. The snazzy brown and yellow paint job was also sweet.
She had rented it from a private owner, and somehow, she had convinced him she knew how to handle a fast boat. Fortunately, the controls weren't complicated. The throttle and the steering wheel were all she really needed to use. Most of the control panel was dedicated to the sound system, navigation, radio, and other relatively unnecessary features.
As she raced across the water, cool wind whipped her hair and chilled her bare skin. She had dressed the part of a bimbo looking for a thrill. Her cherry red bikini top was a little too tight and revealing. Her sunglasses had sparkly butterflies attached to the rims. Nobody would expect her to be a threat.
Katie's equipment was in plastic bags at her feet. A few weapons and her phone were hidden under a pink towel wrapped around her waist.
She spotted the sailing yacht in the distance, and she steered towards it. The red speedboat was still tied to the yacht. Being seen was part of the plan, so she let the engine roar.
As she got close, she saw that the oval portholes had wooden frames. The mast was also a single, enormous piece of wood. The tailpipe for an engine was cleverly disguised by a pattern of carvings on the stern.
Some of the crew members were standing on the open, uncluttered deck. They looked like traditional sailors in their white shirts and blue pants. Katie waved to the men cheerfully, and they gave her a look of disapproval. She didn't see any obvious weapons.
She pulled back on the throttle and approached the yacht carefully. She made sure she was upwind of it. The crew motioned with their hands that she should turn back, but she ignored them. She pulled up beside the yacht.
"Hi!" Katie said in her cutest voice. "That's a cool boat!"
A tall man with three gold stripes on his epaulets came to the brass railing. "It's a yacht, and it's not a tourist attraction. Go away."
"Come on. Let me come up there. I promise I won't touch anything."
She still didn't see any weapons, and she wondered if she had made a mistake. According to Marina, those who served God's enemies were usually well armed. She decided to go through with the plan regardless.
"No!" the tall man said. "Get out of here before we become unpleasant."
"Asshole."
Katie started the engine on her boat. She casually reached down and grabbed a smoke grenade she had placed on a shelf below the steering wheel. She pulled the pin on the grenade and let it fall to her feet. Black smoke billowed out.
"Help!" she yelled. "Help! My boat is on fire!" She coughed, and it wasn't an act. The smoke was nasty.
The men on the yacht began to yell orders back and forth. Somebody threw the end of a rope at her, and she tied it to the nearest railing. Her eyes were watering so much, and the smoke was so thick, it was hard to see. She felt her boat being pulled towards the yacht.
It's working, she thought.
She opened up one of the plastic bags at her feet and pulled out a gas mask. She kept her head down as she strapped it tightly over her face. She took a couple of deep breaths to clear her lungs.
Men were coming down a ladder and boarding her boat. She grabbed a can of anesthetic foam from a bag and sprayed the men in the faces. The white foam emitted a neurotoxin which would knock out a person in seconds, but it didn't kill. They would wake up in a few hours with a pounding headache. A cloud of smoke concealed her activities from the rest of the crew.
She reached into a bag again, grabbed a canister of tear gas, yanked off the tab, and tossed the canister onto the deck of the yacht. Two more canisters quickly followed. She couldn't see the white tear gas through the black smoke, but she assumed it was working. People who had never experienced tear gas didn't appreciate its effects, but she knew how devastating they could be. A strong dose was completely debilitating.
A rope ladder had been lowered down to her powerboat. She grabbed one of the plastic bags of equipment and climbed onto the yacht.
Katie saw five other crew members on the deck, and all of them were groping and coughing helplessly. She sprayed knockout foam onto the faces of three of them, and the last two she handcuffed to the shiny, brass railing. She gave the latter a quick pat down to make sure they were unarmed.
She swept the main deck one more time to make sure she hadn't missed anybody. She checked inside a small cabin which contained a radio among other things. She yanked out the microphone and tossed it into the water to make sure nobody could call for help.
It was time to go down below, and that part worried her. Dark, narrow, unfamiliar spaces were a perfect place for an ambush. It can't be helped, she thought. She gathered her courage, drew a knife from her bag, and crept down a staircase.
The interior was gorgeous. Everything was made of knot-free wood, lacquered and polished to a beautiful shine. Cherry, teak, and oak were used to create some variety in the coloration. Brass lighting fixtures looked like nineteenth century street lamps, and even the electric bulbs were old-fashioned. The furniture was covered with red velvet.
Somebody spent some money, Katie thought.
The yacht creaked as it rolled back and forth in the waves, but her own footsteps were silent. She explored the tightly packed maze of little corridors and rooms. It was a big yacht, but space was still at a premium.
She heard a noise. She instantly slipped into an awkwardly shaped bedroom which barely had enough space for a single bed.
A crewman with a gun peeked into the bedroom, but he didn't see her at first. She was carrying knockout foam in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. Marina would've used the knife, but Katie wasn't as bloodthirsty.
She kicked the gun out of the crewman's hand. She sprayed foam in his face while he was still gasping in surprise. It would take a few seconds for the foam to work, so she kicked him in the testicles to keep him busy. A moment later, he collapsed to the deck.
Katie smiled. She was very proud of herself for capturing the yacht without killing anybody.
The sound of a woman screaming caused Katie to look into the corridor. A woman in a red dress was standing by a door. Her long sleeves and floor-length skirt covered everything but her face and hands. Padded shoulders gave her a square profile, and the distorted shape of her waist suggested she was wearing a corset. Her hair was short, blonde, and wavy. She had used plenty of makeup on her pretty, young face, and her lush lips matched her dress.
"Calm down," Katie said, but her gas mask muffled her voice.
"Don't hurt me!" the woman said with wide eyes.
Katie pulled off her gas mask. "I won't hurt you. Who are you? Why are you dressed that way?"
She appro
ached the woman, who backed up fearfully. Katie guessed the blonde was in her early twenties. She looked like a Hollywood movie star from a long-ago era.
"What do you mean?" she said in a British accent. "Dressed what way?"
"Like a woman from history."
Katie kept her eyes open for more armed crewmen. Legionnaires were trained to never let down their guard.
"I'm dressed normally," the blonde said. "You're the one who is traipsing about in her unmentionables."
Katie looked into the next room. Black and white photographs and oil paintings decorated the walls. The furniture had a clean, rounded style which she identified as classic Art Deco. A floor lamp was made of colored glass and brass rings. The big stateroom had a queen-size bed.
"If you say so," Katie said. "Just tell me who you are."
The blonde raised her chin. "That's my private business."
"I'm not in a mood for guessing games." Katie brandished her knife. "That pretty little face is going to get a lot uglier if you don't start talking."
She pressed the tip of the knife against the blonde's neck.
"I'm the consort of King Edward the Eighth," she squeaked. "My name is Sheila."
Katie furrowed her brow. "King of what?"
"King of England, of course."
Katie looked at the historic furnishings in the room. "What year is it?"
"1936."
Katie had a glimmer of understanding. Sheila was living a lie like the news witnesses.
"Let me guess," Katie said. "The 'King' drops by once in a while to have sex with you. In the meantime, you're stuck on this yacht, awaiting the pleasure of your master."
Sheila blushed. "Well..."
"Do you even know where you are?"
"The English Channel." There was no irony in Sheila's voice.
Katie rolled her eyes. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. The year is 2014, you're floating in the San Francisco Bay, and your king is as much a monarch as I am."
"No, you're wrong."
Katie took her phone out from under her towel and unlocked it. She showed Sheila the bright, little display.
"See? They have nothing like this in 1936. You're in the twenty-first century."
Sheila shook her head. "That's not true."
