“Of course you may. Amanda, please believe that I have no desire to make this situation any more unpleasant for you than absolutely necessary. In fact, I’d like to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“One of parole, an ancient and respected military tradition,” Harconan replied. “Give me your word that you will not attempt to escape or to interfere with my operations and I can promise you an even greater degree of comfort and freedom than you might otherwise enjoy. You will be betraying nothing because there is no chance of escape where we are going. Likewise, any action against us or attempt to communicate with your navy will fail.”
He reached out and rested his hand on her wrist. “Also, under parole, I may be able to show more of what I am attempting to do, and why. I’m not just a pirate, Amanda. I’d like the chance to explain that to you.”
Steady, Mandy, don’t jump at it too fast. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.
“I’d have to think about it, Makara,” she replied stiffly. “That and a lot of other things.”
He nodded his acceptance. “That’s understandable. Take all the time you need.”
Amanda stood up from the table. “May I go on deck now, please?”
“Of course.” He tried a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d want some company.”
“No. Not just now. I’d rather be alone for a while.”
“As you wish.”
A glance at the Southern Cross revealed that the pinisi was still eastering steadily, the almost waveless sea boiling beneath the upraked bow. The only deck illumination issued from the red and green running lights amidships and the glow of the binnacle in the wheelhouse — that and the glitter of a million tropic stars overhead. There was more than enough for Amanda to find her way to the portside rail and for her soft-footed guard to keep her under observation.
As was his way, he held back, staying in the shadows at the base of the deckhouse as Amanda idled her way forward toward the bow, pretending to be a person deep in thought.
In reality, the thinking had already been done and the decisions made. With her back to the guard, she slipped the nail she’d stolen from the cabin deck out of her sarung. Fitting it carefully into her hand with her thumb folded over the head, she found about half an inch protruded from the bottom of her fist. Perfect.
She was on the narrow strip of deck between the rail and the deck cargo, the lashed drums of diesel. She was also portside, just where she wanted to be. There was nothing to be gained by waiting.
She sank down to the deck, sitting with her back to the oil drums. As she drew her knees up under her chin, her right hand whipped back, behind the cover of her body, driving the nail into the lower face of the oil drum beside her.
This was the most critical moment. Would her guard have noted that single odd tinny thump, and would he investigate? Amanda paused in her breathing.
There was no movement from the base of the deckhouse. Forty feet aft, her guard was sitting cross-legged on the deck as well, content with keeping her in visual range and content that the noise must have been a harmless transitory.
Amanda had felt the slick splash of oil on her hand when she had struck her blow. Glancing down now, she saw a pencil-thin jet of diesel spew across the deck, forming into a dark stream that trickled into the scuppers. As she looked on, the stream’s end disappeared over the side, drizzling into the sea.
Her homemade inclinometer had read true! There was a portside list! She was in business. Unobtrusively she flicked the nail away over the side. Silently she began to count, One… two… three… four…
Minutes crept by.
… two ninety-eight… two ninety-nine… three hundred.
Dropping her hand to her side, she pressed her finger into the hole in the oil drum, cutting off the flow.
Let’s see, the space between the components of one character is one unit. Between characters should be three units. Here we go again…. One… two… three…
The numbers crawled by. Her arm ached. The stars wheeled in their arc across the sky. It was all a matter of time. There would be a chance if Harconan would give her enough of it. Two hours would do it. Two hours.
She held herself immobile, her body and the shadows the only shields she had between her actions and her guard. Occasionally she dared a look toward the deckhouse. Was his gaze still fixed on her? Or was his chin resting on his chest, the warm night wind and the steady slow pitching of the ship having taken its toll?
Then, beyond the cramping of her muscles and the numbing trudge of the numbers in her mind, Amanda heard the slamming of a hatch and the sound of Harconan’s voice calling in Bahasa Indonesia up to the deckhouse.
She had almost finished the last unit. It would have to do. She stood up and moved forward hastily, stepping over the stain on the deck, moving away from it to the forepeak of the schooner’s bow. As she walked she tried to wipe the diesel from her right hand onto the tarpaulins tied down over the oil drums.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden deck behind her.
“Amanda?”
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I haven’t thrown myself over the side yet.”
She kept her eyes fixed forward into the velvet darkness, but she felt Harconan come up behind her. “I’m glad to hear it. And not just for the sake of your hostage value.”
“I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“Hmm, I agree, it is rather a bizarre situation, isn’t it? And in honesty, I will confess that your presence here will prove useful in certain negotiations I intend to conduct with your government.”
“So much for being a POW, then. I am a hostage in a terrorist scenario.”
“Yes and no.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the stacked oil drums. “In appearance you will be, with a variety of dire threats hanging over your head. The reality is that while I intend to hold you for a time, it is my truest wish, on the body and soul of my grandfather, not to harm you.”
“Why not, Makara?” She turned to face him. All right, Mandy. Offer him his first name. “Why not the real thing? Sending an amputated finger back with your demands is usually the first step, isn’t it?”
“Amanda, come now, I’m being honest here with you. Be just and return the favor.” He stood and rested his hands on her bare shoulders. “You know why I don’t wish to harm you. I can understand your anger, your bitterness at being trapped like this. I can understand it very well because we are so alike in so many ways. Even at war with one another, the soul recognizes its mate and the instinct reaches out. Call me a liar. Tell me that what happened between us at Palau Piri wasn’t real?”
She couldn’t. He was right. It had been true, the true and honest passion of two eager and hungry animals drawn to each other for their hour of mating. The politics and posturing were a matter beyond that moment.
“No, for that you aren’t lying.”
It wasn’t too difficult to let herself sink forward against Harconan’s chest. On one level there was much in what he had to say. She could acknowledge that, at least to herself. She could even accept the pleasure of having those powerful, muscular arms close around her.
“There,” he whispered into her hair. “This is a truth. Give me a chance, Amanda. Give me a chance to show you about other things, other plans. There is so much more to what is happening here. Maybe we can find some other truths between us presently.”
“Maybe,” Amanda whispered.
“Have you thought about my offer of parole?” he inquired.
Amanda hesitated a few moments more, as if fighting the internal battle he might expect. The simple reality was that she would readily give her parole. She would also cold-bloodedly break it at whatever opportune moment might present itself She had no problem with that at all within her personal code of morality. An oath and an allegiance could only he given once. Long ago she had given hers to her nation and her service. That was a truth as well.