Page 48 of A Perfect Disaster

“Yes, Helen! I know perfectly well how to do my fucking job!”

Nico’s eyes widen again.

“You didn’t hear a thing.”

“I’ve been deaf since we left the Vatican,” he promises, nodding vigorously.

On the other end of the phone, there is a deathly silence.

“Maika,” she says, so slowly it makes my blood run cold.

“I’m sorry,” I reply before my pride gets in the way. I stand still in the middle of the lobby, the wad of tickets in one hand and the phone pressed to my ear. “I’m sorry, Helen. I’m nervous, okay? And I’ve got a bunch of cruise passengers staring at me as if I had the power to stop a hundred-thousand-ton ship with my bare hands.”

Helen takes a deep breath on the other end of the line.

“I know. Get on that train. We’ll talk once you’re on board.”

“Are you going to give me a lecture?”

“Get on the train.”

“I’m going.”

I turn to the group, waving the tickets in the air.

“Attention! We have the tickets. Everyone to the platform. This train will take us straight to Civitavecchia, where private transportation will be waiting to take us directly to the ship’s gangway. We’ll make it on time!”

I don’t know if I have the medical authority to promise that, but sometimes a white lie is definitely the only thing keeping a group of tourists going.

As soon as we step inside, the passengers collapse into their seats, fanning themselves with Vatican tourist brochures. Nico sits down for two seconds, but gets right back up, unable to contain his adrenaline.

For the first time in three hours, I feel like the day has stopped fighting us.

I lean against the train car door, keeping my eyes fixed on the group. Through the window, the suburbs of Rome begin to fly by at full speed. And a few minutes later, Helen calls again.

“How are you?” she asks, just as the train passes the halfway point.

The question catches me off guard. I look at my reflection in the windowpane: my hair is a mess, my press pass is crooked, and my eyes are utterly exhausted. A wonderful sight.

“I’m holding up,” I reply. “Which is a miracle in itself.”

Helen takes a moment to respond, and I can feel the weight of her relief through the line.

“Good.”

The journey flies by and lasts an eternity at the same time. When the train finally slows down at the coastal station of Civitavecchia, the tension tightens my stomach again.

“We’re on the platform now,” I tell her over the phone.

“Head straight out through the main lobby. The shuttle driver is at the door with a sign from the company and security clearance. He’ll get you into the port area in three minutes. Hurry up.”

“Three minutes is all I have left before I pass out too.”

“Get a move on, Maika, and cut the crap.”

“At your service, officer.”

We pour out of the car like a solid tide. The shuttle bus is parked right in front of us with its emergency lights flashing and the driver waving us over. Helen has delivered. Of course she has. She always has a Plan B. “That’s what happens when you don’t trust anyone,” I tell myself. The phrase comes back to me now with a completely different nuance. It hurt when she said it on deck, but today, that damn mistrust saved our lives.