Stowaway (9 page)

“Remind me to ask
this afternoon if anywhere on the ship sells glue. Until then, you’ll just have
to be careful with it.”

Carl nods.

“What the…. What
is that?” someone shrieks behind me. While we have been distracted with
patching the blind man’s cane, Major snuck over to Mike’s chair and tugged at
the newspaper lying on his chest, finally waking him up.

“Easy, Mike,” I
say. “That’s just
Major
. He’s a service animal and
totally harmless.”

I’m not sure
that’s true, but Mike’s eyes are round and bugging out. I have to say
something. However, he doesn’t find my words comforting or seem to believe me.
To her apparent embarrassment, Teresa also sees this. She blushes, politely
bids us all goodbye and drags Major and Carl off behind her.

A shadow falls
across me. I look up into the sun to see the silhouetted form of a man in a
suit with his back to me. It’s the guy from my apartment yesterday. He’s texting
someone on his phone and doesn’t notice me. I freeze anyway, like a deer caught
in the headlights.

Out of the corner
of my eye, I try to signal Mike to do something. But he doesn’t notice. He is
buried in the newspaper’s crossword.

“Hey
Maggie?
Maggie! What’s a seven letter word that means at a national
level?”

I stop him with a
threatening glance. He looks confused. When I flick my eyes back to the suit,
he’s turning around.

“What did you call
her?” he asks Mike.

“Um,
P-Peggy?”
Mike answers. Thank God for small miracles.

“Are you asking?
Or telling?”

Mike looks to me
for help. The stranger stares at me hard, studying my face carefully. I take a
deep breath and tip my chin a notch higher, acting far braver than I feel.

“He’s telling,” I
say. “What’s it to you?”

I am not sure it
works, but man gives us both a tight smile and starts to walk on. Then, he
pauses and says over his shoulder, “Oh, I think the word you’re looking for is
federal.
For your crossword.”

Then he keeps
walking.

“Who was that?” asks
Mike.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you notice he
was sending a text with his phone?”

“Yeah.
So?”

“So,” explains
Mike, “we’re way out in international waters. Normal people don’t have service
this far from shore.”

That’s right. My
own phone is all but useless for communication of any sort out here. I can tell
he knows more.

“So, who does get
a signal out here?”

“Federal
agents, for one.
You
know,
the kind with three
letters in their employer’s names. You sure you don’t know him?”

I shake my head
no. Now, I am certain I don’t want to.
Yeesh
, now I
have federal agents after me? Why couldn’t he just be a bounty hunter? Maybe I
should have hired a better attorney…

“Maybe he is part
of the ship security or something,” I offer hopefully. “Ships could have
undercover agents on them like commercial flights have sky marshals, right?”

“Maybe,” Mike says
in a non-committal tone, back to scribbling on his crossword. “Hey! He was
right. It’s federal.”

I glance at my
phone.
It’s
early evening, almost dark. I need to get
moving.

As soon as I
figure out how, I am going after Luke. I’m tired of hiding and going on the
offensive is my best bet.

To start, I have
to find Luke. Then, I have to trap him.
But, first things
first.
Where would he be?

I head down to the
crew quarters, with Mike trailing. He pops the door open for me and we step in.
Nothing.
No sign Luke has been here since we left this
morning, but the place has obviously been rummaged through by Brewster and
company. I sift through the remaining personal belongings, but find nothing
suspicious. To be truthful, there weren’t many personal affects here to begin
with. Luke lives sparsely, almost anonymously.

He is nowhere to
be found among the crowds in the public spaces, either. Not tucked into a
lounge below deck, not poolside, not anywhere. He would be stupid to show
himself in a restricted crew area, since everyone is expecting him to be sick
or a person of interest to security. So, I’m at a loss.

Mike and I are
sitting at the promenade bar when Rose walks up. I’m drinking water, again to
stay sharp. Mike splurged on something more expensive, made me pay and is now
trying to tie his leftover cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. He is
sulking silently, since I insisted his drink be non-alcoholic and won’t let him
talk with anyone. But, I can’t stop him with Rose.

“Not one trick,” I
warn Mike, as he eyes her jewels and the collar around Sir
Chipperley’s
neck during their introduction. Mike whines, but nods his head in defeat, like
a little kid. I’m sure he resents my demand even more when Rose speaks to him.

“Boy, you make a
racehorse look fat,” she tells him, after giving Mike
a
once-over look. “You need to get some meat on those bones before a stiff wind
blows you overboard.”

Mike doesn’t
appear happy about the comment. Rose doesn’t appear to notice, or maybe she
just doesn’t care because she doesn’t like him either.

“Yeah, well…”

Mike never
finishes his retort, because he accidentally swallows and chokes on his stem
just then. I whack him on the back until he can breathe and then he resumes an
uneasy, but more pleasant conversation with our guest. However, it deteriorates
again quickly, and I realize I need to diffuse the situation after he asks Rose
how this voyage compares to her trip on the Ark.

“Rose,” I
interrupt, desperate to change the subject. “If I wanted to hide something
rather large on a ship, where would I put it?”

“How
large?”

“As
big as, say a person.”

“Hmmm.
There’s an old fuel storage bin near the smokestack. It’s the only place I can
think of that isn’t constantly monitored by someone, because it’s not used anymore.”

She laughs at some
memory and goes on to explain.

“Once, a crew
member got mad and didn’t want to be found, so he holed up in that abandoned
bin for three days before they located him. He lived off stolen rum and after-dinner
mints. Why?”

“It is a Luke
thing. I really don’t want to explain right now. So, can we get to this bin?”

“The
musician?
Listen, it’s restricted, but there is a crew stairway that
leads right up to that platform. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get your things
back.”

I look at Mike,
then
smile at Rose.

“Great! Even
though it’s a crew zone, you can get us there, right? Let’s go.”

Mike sighs at the
thought of forced exercise and sadly puts down his freshly refilled drink. Rose
leads on to show us the way.

It is thoroughly
dark by the time we reach the platform. The moon and stars are obscured by
clouds. It is also extra windy tonight, so we’ve got to speak loudly just to
hear each other. It gets worse the higher up we go.

“Rose, where did
you say there was an opening?”

“Right up there.
I’m afraid you’re going to have to go without me. I can’t do ladders anymore.
But, it’s easy. Once you get up there, just feel for the small latch around the
other side of the smokestack. You can’t miss it, if you know it is there.”

I look to see
where she is pointing. It’s a tall climb up a thin metal ladder. It turns out
Mike is scared of heights and threatens to charge overtime if I make him come
with me. So, I park him there as a lookout with Rose. He almost looks unhappy
enough with that option to brave the ladder.
Almost.

The rickety metal
rungs clank as I ascend up them, even though I try to climb softly.
So much for my stealth skills.
At least the wind kills most
of the noise. The flimsy ladder sways enough as I climb that I feel my stomach roll.
I would turn back too, except there is no one else to do this. So I go on.

The smell of
whatever fuel they burn on the ship is strong up near the platform, and I can
feel hot wisps of smoke grazing my cheeks as I get closer. If it was a brighter
night, I could probably see the fingers of haze too, but as it is, I see
nothing.

After I haul
myself up onto the platform with an ungraceful thud, I feel my way around the
smokestack, like Rose had instructed, until I felt the small latch. Right where
she said it would be. The door groans with rust, but surprisingly, opens easy
enough. Using my cell phone as a dim flashlight, I peer into the opening. I
still can’t see anything though, so I stick my head farther inside.

My eyes haven’t
totally adjusted to the darkness yet, but it looks empty in here. Something
brushes my arm, an insect or something. I swipe at it, and feel that it has
more size and weight than a spider. As I register that a cold hand is touching
me, the rest of the body follows. Apparently, it was encased in plastic and stuffed
into the corner, but I shifted it out of its cocoon when I shoved my way in.

I look over just
in time to see that George’s blank eyes are crashing toward me. I run backwards
back out the hole before his face touches mine and watch his corpse collapse
onto the floor just inside the doorway.

I slam the door
shut on reflex, and as I back away, I open my mouth to scream. However, no
sound comes out. It is because a hand is suddenly covering my face. This time,
it is not cold and decaying. It is warm and very much alive. The hard grip
makes it difficult to breathe as I am dragged.

I struggle to get
back to Rose and Mike, but now a whole arm encircles me too, pulls me deeper into
the shadows, as if that is needed in this incessant darkness.

“If you’ll stop
fighting, I’ll let you go,” the male voice says in my ear.

I freeze,
then
nod.
Anything to get the
cigarette-smelling hand to release my face.
When it does, I wheel
around, my pepper spray in hand. The man easily knocks it away before I can
squeeze anything out of the can.

“Seriously?
Pepper spray? Come on!”

It’s the suit. He
looks down at a sheet of paper, then back at me.

“I thought it was
you earlier, “he continues. “I figured you’d change your look, but really
thought you’d go the do-it-yourself bathroom sink color and hack job route on
that hair. Classy to see you sprung for the salon. Someday, you’re going to
have to tell me how you managed that with no money.”

“You!
How did you find me?”

He holds out the
paper, which I can see is a squinting, angry picture of myself and a smiling
Mike, who is cuddled up next to me.
Kimberly the
photographer’s photo from the bar.
If possible, my driver’s license
image is better.

“You didn’t
exactly make it hard, honey. You even posed with your delinquent buddy Mike in
this picture. At first, I thought you were taunting me, but now I think you are
just about the worst criminal I’ve ever seen trying to lay low.”

Suddenly, I’m
angry and just want this over. Luke can wait. Looks like this guy just took the
top slot.

“You got me into
this mess!”

“Whoa,
lady!
I did not. I was just asked to track you down to give you these
papers. But, since you’ve been such a joy to find, I think I’m going to haul
you in instead. I’ll call it resisting arrest or something.”

“Or
something?
What are you, the intern? You’re not even a real cop, are
you? Besides, we’re stuck here for the duration of this trip, remember? Where
are you going to take me?”

He smiles knowingly,
and ignores my comments. Darn. I was hoping he’d take the bait and tell me who
he really is. Also, I’m surprised he’s not remarking on the dead body,
then
I realize he must not have noticed it before I slammed
the door closed. I decide to keep quiet about it for now. Since he’s here to
arrest me for something else, and all. No sense muddying the waters further.

“Miss Swift, my
name is Lance Smith. I represent the federal agency that has been investigating
your former roommate’s fraudulent activities.”

“Federal
agency?
Which one?”

“The
FBI.
I announced that through your apartment door, remember?”

I don’t. Then
again, I ran as soon as he banged on my door. I heard his tone, knew he was the
law and took off. Right then, it didn’t matter who he was with. It may still
not. So, I don’t answer. He sighs.

“Look, Miss Swift,
I’m going to get right to the point. We know what your former roommate did and
that you are innocent. I’ve already spoken with your lawyer, who said she tried
several times to contact you.”

Oh, right.
My phone.
I still haven’t checked any of the messages.

“We really need
your help,” he is saying. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’d love to put
that lying little…,” I start, snatching up my pepper spray. “You know what?
Never mind. She’s dead. Not a whole lot I can do about her now.”

“Is that what you
think?
No, Miss Swift.
Rebecca is alive. She faked her
own death when the Mexican authorities came after her. That’s why I’m here. We
need you to testify against her for the prosecution. Help us make this case,
and your record will be cleared. And, I’ll see what we can do about restoring
some of your assets.”

My mind is
spinning. Of course, I want this mess to go away and for Rebecca to get what
she deserves. Could we jump ship right now and swim to court? This is the best
news I’ve had all day.

I tell Smith I
need to review the deal with my attorney once we reach shore, which makes his
face relax a little. He hands me the papers, says my attorney also has a copy
in review. I’m sure that is what some of the dozen voicemails from her are
about. I wish I had just checked them.