My body tensed at the thought, the strain exacerbating my injuries.There was no way I could withstand the whip for hours.I had to hope that whatever had drawn Ian from his gleeful role of judge and jury was also about to board the vessel and take control.Otherwise, I could have been in serious trouble.
Briefly, I considered the fate of poor Kaspar, whose whereabouts hadn’t been revealed to me since Ian had ordered she be taken to his room.I prayed that neither Ian, nor anyone else, had stumbled across her since Ian had left me.With a little luck, we might both return from the Traditional Values with only mild post-traumatic stress.
“No idea,” another one of them huffed.“He’s still going to pay us, though.Right?”
“I hope so,” murmured another.“I haven’t had a gig like this for years, and I could use the—”
His complaint was punctured by noises in the distance, my heart pounding as my head rose to acknowledge the sounds.
“What’s that?”It was the one with the whip speaking that time, the evil implement falling from his hands as he strode past me.“Is that fucking gunfire?”
“It sounded like it,” the first one agreed, leaving his post to join my tormentor.“But I’m sure it’s nothing for us to worry about.”
The two men exchanged worried glances.
“Gunshots are usually something to worry about,” I murmured, coughing to clear my gravelly tone.“Even in the president’s world.”
“He’s right.”The one behind me sounded really panicked.“Something’s wrong.We should get out of here and see what’s going on.”
“We can’t leave!”the guy who’d wielded the whip insisted.“The president was clear about what he wants, and we shouldn’t be listening to him.”He signaled to me.“We’ll all be in trouble if we get up and flee.The president will haveusbound and whipped next!”
“Shit!”Another voice that time, but his timbre suggested he was equally worried.“What should we do?”
As though seeking to answer him, another volley of shots resounded from somewhere on board, and that time, the gunfire was louder, conveying perhaps that those employing the weapons were closer than before.
Chin lowering, I sent out a silent prayer that whoever was brandishing them turned out to be on my side.If, somehow, Ian had lost his temper at whoever had delivered the bad news about the French and decided to instigate an impromptu public execution, then things were looking increasingly bad for me.Despite my resolution to seek redemption for the atrocities I’d been a part of, I wouldn’t have looked forward to whatever the ramifications of that tirade would have been.
“Fuck this.”The camera guy to my right was the first to lose his nerve.“I’m not sticking around here.I need to know who’s firing those weapons.”
“What do you meanwhois firing?”the first one barked.“It’s the president’s men.It has to be!Who else has guns on board a ship like this?”
“Right,” the one who’d had the whip agreed.“It’shisship.It has to be his men.”
“We’re in the middle of the ocean.”It seemed that only the guy to my right could imagine a world where someone other than Ian had power and influence.“Not on the mainland.Maybewe’reunder attack.You saw the way the president was called for from the control deck.Something serious had to be wrong for them to have dared to interfere with his schedule, and he hasn’t come back yet...”
“And now there are gunshots,” I added, pouring just enough fuel onto the spark to start a fire.
“That’s right!”The one at my side seized upon my comments, his words speeding up as his panic intensified.“And now there are gunshots.We can’t just—”
Multiple rounds of fresh bullets were sprayed somewhere along the corridor outside, drowning out whatever he was going to say next.
“Oh, God.”The one who’d been content to whip me until I bled was hyperventilating.“It’s getting closer.What are we going to do?”
The noise of pounding boots on the polished gray tile reverberated in reply, my pulse galloping with every fresh stride.
Thud, thud, thud; the bang of every new step ratcheted the tension inside the room.
I was the only one who thought he knew what was going on beyond the four walls of the improvised television studio, yet even my anxiety rocketed at the escalating sounds.
“Someone’s coming!”the original camera operator whispered.“Oh my God, someone’s coming!”
Time shifted into slow motion, lengthened seconds where the oxygen seemed to be sucked from the space, and only dread rushed in to replace it.When someone finally came into view in the doorway, his navy uniform gave little away about which military he belonged to, save for the fact that he wasn’t wearing the green associated with the BTP’s regime.
“Arrêt!”he shouted, pointing his weapon at the whip wielder as he ordered us all to stop.Three other troops joined him, each moving past him to wave their guns at those who were gathered.“Vous êtes prisonniers de la marine française.Levez les mains en l’air.”
His instructions were for us all to put our hands in the air, but the men assembled around me just stared at one another with petrified expressions.
“Excusez-moi, Monsieur,” I replied, suspecting I was the only one present who could understand the Frenchman.“Ils ne vous comprennent pas.”
