If Remo thought that such opinions were the ravings of a lunatic, he kept this to himself. The only comment he’d ever made to anyone was, “You don’t have to be sane to be solvent.”
Today, as they rode towards Arica, there was no hint of the boss’s delusions. He was full of clear reassurances to his inner circle. But Remo wondered if Rudy’s protection extended to his half-brother. Rudy was, after all, the Sun God, delivered to the Earth in the talons of a condor. Even though Auggie was a passive sort, given more to surfing and chasing underage girls than to empire-building, he was still the obvious heir to Rudy’s throne. Did Rudy ever worry that his half-brother might get impatient, overambitious? Was Auggie really under Rudy’s wing of protection?
For that matter, were any of them?
Remo knew that, in the end, there could be only one heir to the Power of the Sun.
Five
Henry had talked the admiral into fencing off part of Aft Deck C so Shep wouldn’t go chasing a ball into the sea. Of course, the other reason the fence was there was so Henry wouldn’t spend most of his time out there thinking he was going to fall into the sea. Now a neon-orange latticework of polystyrene caged in a section of the deck, maybe a hundred feet long and twenty feet wide, where Henry could exercise Shep safely away from the bustling flight deck.
On their fifth morning at sea Henry was on Aft Deck C, as was his routine every dawn and dusk. At those times the ship was generally free of “airport traffic”, as Henry called it. He’d managed to appropriate a pair of deckchairs, which he’d set beside the hatchway, out of the wind. He sat in one of these and watched as Shep tore up and down the fenced area. The dog seemed intent on making the most of his exercise time. Back and forth he tracked the fence that looked out on the sea. He seemed to be watching it as he ran, pretending he was crossing the big ice, getting cues from the lay of the land. Henry knew there was nothing the dog wanted more than to rise at dawn, have a good scrap with one of the other dogs, and then tuck into a good old sled pul. Here he had to fake it.
Finally Shep stopped running and returned to Henry’s side, panting hotly and dripping saliva onto his master’s shoes. Henry put his arms around the dog and gave him a bear hug. Shep grunted softly. Although the dog continued to stare dispassionately off at the sea, Henry knew this was Shep’s body language for love and acceptance.
Shep sniffed at the breeze. A shift in the wind hinted a change in the weather.
Henry sensed it too. He squinted at the horizon. “I see it, guy. Storm in the north. Half a day in front of us, I’d say.”
He stood up. As he did so, something odd caught his eye. Perhaps twenty yards away a man was standing on his hands, feet straight in the air, at the very edge of the flight deck. At first Henry’s mind couldn’t accept the evidence of his eyes. The figure stood so still he thought it must be an apparition or a bizarre prank.
But Shep saw the man too, and barked twice. Henry trotted to the end of the safety fence. From here he could see that the man was Kai Grimes.
Grimes was poised there, feet aloft, rod-straight, with the flats of his hands pressing into the rough grooves of the flight deck. He had increased the level of difficulty by doing his handstand facing the ocean; if he relaxed normally he would fall forward over the edge and into the sea.
Henry could see the man was staring out to sea and, stranger still, was smiling.
Then Grimes saw him out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, hero,” he yelled above the rush of the breeze.
“Careful you don’t fall out of your pen there. It’s a long way down to those waves.”
“Shit, Grimes! I hope you’re not doing this for my benefit. I’ll tell ya right now, if you go over the edge doin’ that, I’ll tell ’em nothing. Say I never saw you.”
Grimes laughed and looked back out seawards again. His face was beet-red. A strong gust of wind made him nearly lose his balance. “You flatter yourself,” he shouted.
“So what ya trying to prove, Kai?” Henry was beginning to get agitated. “Why pul a risk? Or are you just an asshole?”
Grimes’s arms were beginning to show strain. They quivered slightly as he held his balance.
“Kai…” said Henry.
The SEAL suddenly flipped himself backward to a standing position, his back to the ocean. “Sorry to upset the ladies,” he said, scuffing deck grit off his hands. “I real y didn’t notice you there at first, Henry.”
Thinking about what he’d seen, Henry found his knees weakening as he looked out at the rough sea. Whitecaps were smashing against the side of the ship with enough power to cause a jolt that could be felt forty feet above on the carrier deck. No longer was the Enterprise so steady that it was hard to remember he was on board a ship.
Putting a cigarette in his mouth, Grimes walked towards Henry. He leaned over the fence and patted Shep. “How’s the shitmeister today, hero?”
“What if you’d fallen in?”
Grimes glanced over his shoulder. “Swim, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “At least I wouldn’t be so fucking bored.”
Shep seemed to have taken to Grimes, despite the constant stream of insults. He licked the man’s hand and wagged his tail while Grimes obligingly scratched his neck.
“I bet you can’t wait to get your paws into some snow, right?” The SEAL patted the dog hard and Shep barked with apparent delight.
“What do you think we’re going to do when we reach Chile?” asked Henry, thinking over what Hayes had said at the second briefing.
“One step at a time, I guess. Maybe some señoritas? A little ski ng?” Then a wave of seriousness seemed to overcome Grimes. “I’ll tell you, hero, I feel it in my gut we’re on the right trail.”
“I don’t know. The general said the Navy has carriers positioned off New Zealand, South Africa, all around the South Pole. Half the fleet. He said the perps could be anywhere in the southern hemisphere. So why are we looking in Chile, so far away from the Ice Shelf? The odds…”
“Haven’t you learned anything from living with these dogs, Henry? You gotta trust yer nose.” Grimes tapped his own nose with a finger. “And you gotta use yer ass!” he added, tapping his head.
Henry smiled and looked down at Shep. The dog’s blue-grey eyes looked back at him as if to say that he agreed with Grimes. “Well, whose nose, would you say, is this ship following?”
“Mine,” said the SEAL, turning to leave. “And the President’s.”
Henry watched him walk away. He looked down at Shep again. “You know, Shep, I used to think his kind was cool when I was twelve. If he ever lands on Earth, he might be worth a shit. Now he just gets on my nerves.”
Grimes paused to watch a Harrier bomber slow to a midair stop as it passed a hundred feet above the flight deck. Then, encouraged by an orange-suited flagman who waved it down frantically, the jet slowly descended. The thunder of the engines grew louder as it touched down. Henry was astonished to feel the deck shake under his feet.
The SEAL glanced back at Henry and saw he was watching the Harrier too. He waited for the whine of the engines to quiet a bit before he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Ain’t these some apples, hero? There’s some real shit goin’ down!”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and entered a hatch.
Shep had left Henry’s side and was waiting for him at the hatch as far from the aircraft as he could get. Obviously the Harrier had impressed him, too. Henry decided they’d both had enough of the excitement on deck. He leashed the malamute and led him back to their cabin.
Although it was still early in the day, he felt tired, and he soon found himself lying on his bunk staring at the institutional grey ceiling.