Uncle Ollie and Declan will never agree to sit quietly and ignore the impending attacks. They would never let innocent people die if they could stop it. I know, deep down, when X.C. asks them to trade my one life for the lives of many that they will agree, but keep working to find the arms, thwart the threat, and save as many people as possible. They’ll fight to save everyone – including me, because they aren’t going to take this man at his word.
I don’t either. Which is why I know that even if I live through the summer, I don’t trust X.C. to release me once the attacks are carried out. No way.
At best, Oliver and Declan acquiescing buys me a few extra weeks as the ship makes its way from Tampa to Africa to find a way to escape. Once these terror attacks and arms exchange are complete, I’ll be collateral damage.
I tell myself this is good. I can surely think of a way to escape in all that time. Declan and Oliver will make it happen.
X.C. arrives back in front of me again. His sidearm is on display. The survival instinct in my mind tells me I need to get my hands on that weapon.
The realist in me recognizes that another scenario could play out. Uncle Ollie and Declan could refuse X.C.’s scheme and vow to stop the Order. At which point, X.C. (or Blaed, wherever he has disappeared to) could pull a gun out and kill me. It is a true no-win situation.Yeah, this sucks.
I do another visual survey. The lights give me a better outline of the shape of the interior holding space. There’s a cargo bay door ahead, maybe thirty feet away. Forty? If I can get up and somehow untie my feet, I can get to freedom. Of all the times I’ve lamented that I couldn’t run, this is the one time I truly, physically, can’t.
The irony would kill me, if X.C. weren’t likely to do so in the near future.
47
DECLAN
The Port of Tampa is not big by any means, but the ships waiting to be launched are. The docks can only accommodate a handful of shipping vessels given their size, though I used to be stationed at massive naval bases that dwarf this port on much smaller ships.
The shipyard, however, is surprisingly empty, but the ship isn’t due to set sail until this evening. Perhaps the crew hasn’t arrived yet.
The morning cool has baked off and the sun is beginning its work in earnest. No longer calm and humid, the heat is here. The ships only provide a sliver of shade when we are next to them. The concrete and rusting shipping containers are sun-bleached. I’m sure the same process is happening to my skin, my eyes.
Oliver leads the way to the imposing vessel discreetly. I keep an eye out as we approach, ready to engage with anyone X.C. might have with him.
Once we’re topside, Oliver and I assess our options. Our primary goal is to find where X.C. is holding Charlie. From the photo, it appears she’s inside the hull. It is clear that to have any hope of finding her we need to split up.
We duck behind a container. The high stacks of metal blocks are daunting. As if they could topple at any moment.
“You ready for this?” Oliver asks as he eyes the narrow walkway between the containers.
I nod. “Now that I know that asshole left me for dead, oh, I’m ready.”
Oliver lets out a sharp exhale. “That’s what I was worried about. Use your head, Davidson. Our goal is to get Charlie. If we can locate any of the explosives and neutralize them, that would be great too, but the first goal is Charlie. Revenge is further down the list.” Oliver’s words are exactly what I need to hear. Because my anger, my rage toward Xander, was blinding me. The image he sent us, of Charlie tied up and wincing, flashes in my mind. I may never forget it as long as I live.
“Understood. Let’s get our girl,” I say.
Oliver stares at me blankly before giving me a stern nod. I don’t have time to wonder if I may have given away my feelings for Charlie in just a few words.
He heads down the path between the containers, searching for some way into the hull. I move to the edge of the ship to check the perimeter for an entrance.
X.C. demanded we meet but gave us no further instruction. It has the hallmarks of a double cross. I guess that’s his specialty now.
As I continue to the stern, I pass the massive structure that leads to the bridge. It towers above the already dizzying heights of the containers.
Where would X.C. have the best strategic advantage?Inside that elevated bridge, he would have an unobstructed view, but it would be difficult to escape – for Charlie, for me, or for himself.
I keep an ear out for any sounds. Aside from my own breath and footsteps, I hear nothing. As if this is a ghost ship, as if Charlie may already be gone. I press on, hoping this mission doesn’t end like it did in Osaka, with me in the water and X.C. getting away.
48
CHARLIE
No one ever tells you that being a hostage is infuriatingly boring. The silence. The lack of information.
Despite all the insipid waiting, I have still not riddled a way out of this. The situation or my ropes.
