“I’m not goddamn finished either,” said Jonah. “But there’s no sense in limiting our options. If we’re out here for too long, there will come a time when you want the merry-go-round to stop.”
“Fine,” said Klea. She watched angrily as Jonah replaced the weapon and bullets into his wetsuit.
For a few moments, they simply stared at each other until Jonah felt uncomfortable and looked away.
“You got any tattoos from prison?” asked Klea.
“Muslim country,” said Jonah. “Not big on prison ink.”
“Any scars?”
“Sure. Got a good one pretty recently. Still sewn up.”
“Lemme see,” she said.
He shrugged, and then decided to oblige. He reached back behind his back and pulled at the zipper cord, then stripped down to his waist. Jonah looked down at the knife wound in his abdomen from where the Rabat gangster had stabbed him. The ugly wound was still held together with Dr. Nassiri’s perfectly spaced stiches.
They’ll be ready to come out soon, he thought. He always healed fast, ever since he was a kid.
When he looked up, Klea was already halfway across the small raft, steadying herself on all fours as she made her way to him. She wasn’t looking at the wound; she was looking at him, staring intently into his eyes.
Oh, thought Jonah. This was unexpected. Klea crawled on top of him, straddling him, pressing her body into his. She pushed her face towards his, kissing him deeply, biting his lower lip.
“Why?” he whispered as she ran her fingers through his salt-encrusted hair.
“Because I’m not finished yet,” she whispered back.
CHAPTER 15
Dr. Nassiri stood on the fantail of the Horizon and stared off into the distance. It wouldn’t be long now; the experimental yacht had already begun to break apart in the gentle swell. One of the pontoons was nearly separated from the body of the ship and the flooding in the main cabin increased with every wave. She’d soon be on the bottom of the ocean, joining the Fool’s Errand and centuries of ill-fated ships. He released the mooring line, separating the Horizon and the Scorpion. The physical exertion felt good, especially in the fresh sea air and the still-cool early morning.
Fatima stepped up beside him, love and pride welling up into a powerful mixture of emotions she was not well-equipped to demonstrate. Her son had risked everything to save her — no, not her; he thought she was dead — but her legacy. He had willingly set his life aside to finish what she had started. How does one thank a son for that?
She looked up at him. Dark, unruly hair ruffled in the wind as he squinted into the vast emptiness, searching for any sign Jonah and Klea had survived the explosion. He was as handsome as his father had been. No wonder the American girl watched his every move. The girl tried to hide it, of course, but a mother could always sense a woman’s interest in her son. But a Texan? Not what she’d imagined for Hassan, but she wouldn’t interfere. Not after all this. Without thinking, she licked the palm of her hand and went to work trying to pack down an errant clump of hair.
“Mother!”
Alexis stuck her head over the lip of the conning tower, just as Dr. Nassiri batted his mother’s hand away from his head.
Alexis laughed and Dr. Nassiri turned and held his hand to his forehead, blocking the sunlight to get a better look. The morning light did the Texan more than justice, she was radiant. He swallowed hard and ignored his mother’s ministrations.
“Thought you should know — we’re getting incoming radar contacts,” shouted Alexis. “Looked like a flock of birds at first but they’re flying too straight and much too fast. Vitaly says they’re drones bearing in from Anconia Island. They’re fifteen minutes out on a direct intercept course.”
Dr. Nassiri frowned. A cluster of drones wasn’t a good sign. Just one might have been surveillance or on some unrelated mission. A cluster meant they were potentially armed and maybe even accompanied by a surface vessel. He held the mooring line fast as his mother gingerly stepped from the smoldering yacht to the submarine. She ascended the ladder to the conning tower and disappeared inside.
“Are they weaponized?” he shouted.
“Vitaly says yes. Air-to-ground missiles.”
Dr. Nassiri ably hopped from the yacht to the submarine and deftly untied the mooring line. Knots came easily to his surgeon’s muscle memory, even unfamiliar designs. It was his guess that a surveillance drone had picked up on the smoke column from the Horizon. Whether any of the drone operators had seen the Scorpion or not, he couldn’t guess. But he knew he didn’t want to be around when they arrived. Dr. Nassiri climbed the boarding ladder and joined Alexis on the top of the conning tower.
“We have another problem,” said Alexis. Wrench in hand, she pointed towards the snorkel pipe rising behind them as it hummed along, gently exhaling a steady stream of diesel exhaust.
“What is it?”
“Batteries are charged off of the diesel engines,” she said. “And they’re only about twenty percent of capacity. We’re not going to have much juice to play with if we submerge now.”
“That does sound like a problem,” he mused.
Alexis stepped onto the interior boarding ladder. He followed, slamming the hatch shut behind them, twisting the wheel until it sealed tightly.
Dr. Nassiri dropped into the command compartment, right next to where Vitaly manned the pilot’s console. Vitaly shot him a pain-tinged smile — it made Dr. Nassiri just a touch uncomfortable, but he couldn’t place why. Fatima found a seat in the corner, close enough to listen in, but far enough away to keep out of the action. Dr. Nassiri got the sense that she needed a job on board, something to keep her busy and useful.
“Submerge the Scorpion,” ordered Dr. Nassiri. “Head towards the coast. Let’s get a little distance between us and those drones. Appreciate the warning, Vitaly.”
“Is not problem,” said Vitaly. “Vitaly does not want to die. Making depth one-zero-zero feet.” He pressed forward on the controls, and the Scorpion almost imperceptibly leaned forward as she slipped underneath the waves. The side-to-side motion of wave action ceased, replaced by a sense of momentum and calm.
“Set to cruising speed,” continued Dr. Nassiri. “No need to use any more electricity than necessary.”
“What’s the decision about Jonah?” asked Alexis.
“We will stay and find him,” said Dr. Nassiri.
“We will search as long as possible. He deserves that much.”
Fatima nodded at him with a look of approval. “As does Klea.”
“We save?” asked Vitaly, not completely convinced.
“We save,” confirmed Dr. Nassiri. “My working theory is that Jonah escaped on the missing life raft at some point after we rescued my mother. Perhaps Jonah set the explosion off himself as a distraction. It would certainly be his style.”
“I do not understand — why blow up own boat?” asked Vitaly.
“They couldn’t outrun the pirates, not without a greater head start. From my examination, it appeared the explosion came from within the main cabin. That’s interesting to me for two reasons. First, I don’t think the pirates could have hit the cabin interior with a rocket-propelled grenade. It’s just too lucky of a shot. Second, why the cabin? Why not the engines? I think the goal was to make a big explosion without immediately sacrificing speed. To me, it appears deliberate and purposeful. A desperate plan, but a plan nonetheless. There was plenty of debris for them to hold on to… overturned skiffs, parts of the hull, maybe even a life raft. We can’t be out here indefinitely, but I imagine we can search for a least a few days. After that, it wouldn’t matter either way. What do you think?”