The Espionage Effect(86)
Lights from the ship dimly illuminated the activity below. As the lead hydrofoil came within twenty yards of and alongside the ship, one of the two soldiers aboard moved to its bow, aimed a crossbow upward at a forty-degree angle, then fired a thick metal bolt. The bolt flew through the air with an unfurling length of cable attached to its tail before it pierced the white hull of the rearmost lifeboat that hung three decks above water level.
The line twanged taut as the hydrofoil eased back by slight degrees. The soldier clipped a rod-like apparatus to the line. Then he motioned one of the male captives forward at gunpoint until the prisoner grabbed the rod and leapt from the watercraft. For a brief moment he dangled from the cable. Then suddenly his body jerked before he zipped upward toward the ship, defying gravity. Seconds later, two figures in white uniforms appeared behind the deck railing. They pulled the prisoner over the polished wooden edge ten feet below the anchor point of the line. Then one of the crewmembers cast the apparatus back down along the cable.
In the hydrofoil below, shoved forward by the guards at gunpoint, the captives began leaping from the bow of the watercraft, one after another, grasping the same rod before they were propelled upward toward the deck of the ship, dragged to their fate.
As cumbersome as the method first appeared, all five prisoners and one guard in the first craft were offloaded and boarded the ship inside of a few minutes. Once empty of passengers, the lead boat held its position while the next one eased into the narrow space between it and the ship. A small crane-like device shot up from the bow of the second craft and hooked on to the existing cable. Then the lead hydrofoil peeled away once no longer connected. The process of zip-line loading five prisoners and a soldier repeated with the second batch, then the three remaining watercraft.
My gaze scanned up the decks of the towering ship as we hovered in midair portside, staggered back in a near-blind-spot angle. Oddly, no stray insomnia-stricken passengers wandered any of the half dozen open decks.
The surreal scene played out before my eyes in degrees of obscuring shadow and partial light, black water churning away from the whitish foam of the ship’s wake. On the ship itself, the deep nooks and alcoves of every ascending deck spanned endlessly from stern to bow, dappled with occasional lights shining from portal windows. The white hull of the ship stretched up toward a velvety black sky whose stars winked, the only witnesses to our helicopter hovering in darkness.
The ship’s stern boasted the vessel’s christened name: Phoenician Sun. How ironic. With no small amount of derision, I turned toward Escobar, suspecting a symbolic meaning lay beneath his choice, as if he’d poetically risen from ash to shine brighter than any other in the darkness of night.
He angled toward me, amusement kindling in his eyes. “You’re impressed,” he shouted.
“Hardly,” I muttered. Another smooth lie. No reason to break pattern now.
His face lit up with bellowing laughter that I barely heard.
Good. Keeping him entertained would work to my advantage sooner or later.
At the nod of one of the soldiers manning the open starboard side, the helicopter banked hard with such unexpectedness, I had grab the cargo netting that dangled behind my head—better to hang on than tumble into Escobar’s arms. The situation was vile enough that our thighs touched.
Infuriated that I’d been forced into this position, I shot another scathing glare at Alec.
But his hard gaze had already been directed straight at me. It held mine a beat longer, before shifting to Escobar, then forward as the helicopter rose and my stomach dropped.
In silence, I shifted my attention outward, watching as we rose above the top deck of the cruise ship, rotated around behind the captain’s bridge, then touched the skids down on a helipad.
With efficiency, everyone disembarked. Once we cleared the radius of the whirling rotor, Escobar tugged me close to his side once again, separating me from most of his soldiers, distancing me from Alec who gave me one last look before turning away.
Refusing to give in to panic, I delved deep inside, disconnecting from the events around me that I had no control over. All my life, I thought I’d had it all figured out. My own deceptive ego had veiled the truth for too long. Gut instinct now had me hunker down, preparing for my world-turned-upside-down to shift yet again.
I no longer wanted to be the last to know, the biggest fool.
We entered a utilitarian bulkhead door. Then, with ever-quickening strides, descended several levels into the ship by a stark back companionway before entering a barren, narrow passageway. I imagined the ship had more elegant trappings, lavishing guests with amenities designed to draw forth awe and wonder: shining glass and polished elevators, wide curving staircases, hand-knotted plush carpets to cushion their footfalls as they gazed upon rare works of art. Wealth and opulence shrouded what really happened behind the scenes, much like the oblivious passengers aboard the Titanic. They’d dined and danced, enjoyed succulent dishes on gold-leafed bone china and beveled crystal right before they sailed into their fatal iceberg.
After a turn down an adjoining passageway, my mental sidetrack was cut short when the soldier leading our breakaway party came to a halt. All I could see beyond the wall of men surrounding me was Escobar pulling a key card from the pocket of his fatigues and inserting it into a slot above the door latch. A light flashed green accompanied by a soft click.
In a swift shuffle, I found myself ushered inside. I watched as the lead guard swept the room, checked the bathroom, then exited back through the door and shut it with a resounding thud. Only Escobar and I remained. And a stateroom that I knew must’ve been spacious by any ship’s standards instantly felt claustrophobic as the giant male predator circled around me.