“We need to get deeper in,” Faust said. “Fight a guerrilla war. The crew knows the lay of the land. We can hide in the ship for days and hit them when they’re not expecting it.”
Dylan disagreed. “They’ll have control of the bridge by now. If they take over the entire ship, they’ll steer it toward China. Then we’re as good as dead anyway.”
That much was true. Next to North Korea, China was the worst place in the world for a Prophus. The last Prophus agent in North Korea disappeared in 1948, shortly after Kim Il Sung, host of a Quasing, coincidently named Sung, assumed control of the country. Since then, it had been a black hole, and the Prophus, like the rest of the world, avoided it at all costs. It was rumored that Sung was a family heirloom handed down from father to son as a symbol of their power.
The sounds of men yelling “clear” could suddenly be made out in the distance. Roen put his finger to his mouth and pointed at the door. Everyone in the room got up and followed Dylan toward the front of the ship. Along the way, they ran into Pedro, Manny’s first mate.
“We busted the engine controls,” Pedro said, “but then one of those gringos came to the bridge. The captain gutted him with a machete.” He was in tears. “I told the captain we have to go, but he didn’t want to leave the bridge.”
“It’s alright,” Roen said, patting Pedro on the shoulder. “You did what you could. Let’s go.”
Together, the ragtag group moved across the entire length of the ship and down several floors, finally coming to a stop in one of the shipping containers holding pallets of bananas and oranges alongside several crates of opium and cocaine.
“Get some rest,” Faust said. “This place is as good as any.”
Roen looked around. The team looked no worse for wear but the crew looked like they’d been dragged through the ringer. Getting some rest here was as good as anywhere else. There were enough nooks and crannies on this ship that it would take a stroke of luck for the Genjix to find them. He closed his eyes, and just as he was about to doze off, the PA system squealed and emitted static.
A grainy but familiar voice began to speak over it. “To whoever is still alive, we have control of the ship and captured several of your people. We do not care about the crew, just the passengers on board. Hand them over and the rest of you go free. Else, once we reach a Chinese military port, all your lives are forfeit. The choice is yours.”
It is Jacob.
Roen swore under his breath. That damn punk kid. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
Really. When was that?
“Good luck getting anywhere with the engines disabled, asshole,” Dylan chuckled.
Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of the engine sputtered and began to rumble.
“Aww, crap,” he added.
“And as a bonus,” Jacob continued. “Until you comply, we will interview your friends over the PA system, starting with this Prophus agent. What’s your name?” Then they all heard the sickening smack of a fist to flesh and the grunt of someone trying desperately to not cry out.
“Ray…” Faust whispered. The beating continued for several more seconds in an almost rhythmic pattern.
Jacob continued. “We’ll be at the tower chatting with your man here. He’ll be beaten until he dies. And then we’ll move on to the next prisoner until you give yourselves up. If you like, you can listen in.”
Over the next few minutes, Ray’s groans echoed across the entire ship. The weary people in the container exchanged glances. Roen was pretty sure he knew what everyone was thinking. The team probably worried about their captured friend while the crew probably considered turning them in. Yet no one moved a muscle as they sat in silence, trying to push out the sounds of torture playing in the background.
Do not do it, Roen. He is as good as dead. Do not throw your life away.
The guilt ate at him. He saw Hutch’s face, then Wuehler’s, and then Sonya’s. And then he thought back to his friends who had died fighting the Genjix while he had stood on the sidelines chasing conspiracy theories. It didn’t pain him any less that those theories had turned out to be true. He still wasn’t there when they needed him. And now, he was hiding in a container while that punk Jacob beat his friend to death.
“I can’t just sit here.” He stood up and headed out the door.
“Where are you going, Roen?” Dylan asked.
Roen turned to him slowly. “I’m going to check up on Ray and see what I can do.”
“I’ll come with you.” Dylan replied, picking himself off the ground and joining him.
A few minutes later, Roen watched horrified through a pair of binoculars at the scene on the outside deck of the bridge on the fourth floor of the tower. Two Genjix held Ray up while a third beat him. He was such a bloody mess that Roen couldn’t even recognize him. There were five more crew lying face down on the deck with their hands behind their heads.
Next to them, that little psychopath Jacob lounged in a chair drinking a jug of the crew’s lambanog. It seemed all four of them were taking turns using Ray as a punching bag. Roen wasn’t sure how long Ray was going to last but it couldn’t be that much longer.
“I’m going to get him out.”
That is suicide.
“We’re basically dead anyway. Might as well die trying to rescue my friend.”
Roen, I count nine on the bridge and outer deck. You would not get within… Wait.
“What, Tao?”
There are nine Genjix on the top of the tower. If they are all there…
“Then there is barely anyone guarding the engine room,” Roen murmured aloud.
“What did you say?” Dylan asked.
Roen pointed to the tower. “There’s nine Genjix up in the tower. That means there’s less than five Genjix in the rest of the ship.”
“We should hit the engine room,” Dylan mused. “Blow it up to smithereens.”
You should be able to blow the engine and disappear back into the hull if you strike fast enough.
“And while you’re hitting the engine room, I’ll rescue Ray and the rest of the crew. Once the Genjix find out the engine room is being attacked, they’ll send most of their men down. It’ll give me the chance to sneak up and get Ray out.”
No!
“That’s a dangerous and kind of stupid,” Dylan said.
Roen shrugged.
“What the hell.” Dylan shrugged as well. “Let’s do it. I’ll go get the guys. You hang tight. When you start hearing fireworks and the Genjix clear out, you make your grab.”
Roen nodded, extending a hand. “This might be it. I’ll see you, one way or another. What do you say? Grab a drink later, either on the deck or up at the Elysium Fields?”
“Hey, son,” Dylan said, clasping his forearm. “Just wanted you to know I appreciated you coming for me in Taiwan, even if you did do too good a job. I know it must have taken a lot to bring you back into the fold after what happened with Command.”
“What are brothers for?” Roen said as they clasped hands.
“I want you to do something for me.” Dylan’s usually jolly expression turned solemn. “If there is an instance where you can live to see your family, do it. I’m an old man with no one waiting for me back at home. Hell, I don’t even have a home. This place is as good as any. Go see your wife and kid, got it?”
“Bite me,” Roen held back the tears. Dylan would never let him live it down if he cried. “We’re not dead yet.”
“Hoorah,” Dylan nodded, and left to rouse the others.
Roen crept closer to a container near the base of the tower and waited, slowly counting the seconds and carefully listening for sounds of battle. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since before they infiltrated the port and it was now reminding him of the neglect. He patted his pockets for a snack and found none.