Usual standard declarations about age, ownership etc. apply here. All parts and sections of this story are copyright to the author.
So welcome at last to the ninth innings of this story, and by that I don't mean it's the last chapter. I think we are almost half way, but I can't really be sure until I write it. After all, new story arcs are still appearing, with plenty of others left to be closed off. So there is plenty of food for thought.
This chapter and I are not friends. During a bout of flu and another of food poisoning, it and I have gone to the mats on many occasions, resulting in three complete rewrites of what is so far the longest and most complex of the book. So I can't apologise for taking much longer with this one. I'm sorry you may have grown frustrated, but I can't put out something that has less than my best effort within it. I just don't work that way.
But, as the mystery deepens within the story, lie back in your hammock, make it swing a little from side to side and observe the blue skies visible between the branches of the coconut trees overhead. There is some fun sex in this one, so...
Relax, and I'll tell you a story...
CHAPTER NINE
Honey leaned against the rear deck rail, gazing out into the dark, listening to the waves lap against the side of the hull and periodically taking a pull on the cigarette between her fingers. Absently, she peered at it in the light from the cabin, glad that she had found the pack in the back of one of the store cupboards. Getting it lit had been more of a problem, which Sasha had solved after a search of what she regarded as her area, finding a pack of extra-long barbecue matches in the engine room store cupboard.
She made a little sound of surprise and held her left hand up, fingers extended, noting that her nails which, up until she had been pulled from the inflatable, had been cracked and filthy. Now they looked almost elegant, thanks to Wren's ministrations during the long hours while they had watched Lachlan over the last four days since she had operated on him.
The vigil had gone on uninterrupted, each of the three women taking an eight hour shift to take care of him and listen for any alarm from the bridge. When Honey had finally declared that he was going to mend, there were floods of tears from the other two. Even the medic found that she had had to turn away for a moment as a prickle in her nose warned of impending weeping - something she hadn't done even in the worst of times after she had been sold, but at that moment faced the prospect of tears for the second time since coming on this damned boat.
The three had discussed whether one of them should man the bridge at all times in case of collision warning, or some other potential disaster. The boat couldn't be steered or moved out of the way, and although the little electric engine was apparently keeping them in position very precisely, they couldn't operate that either. In the end, they realised that even if another boat did come close all they could do was use the radio to try and establish contact, send up a flare or two and dance and wave to try and attract attention. So they'd agreed to continue sitting around Lachlan and simply doing as he had dictated up until the point he was shot, with a flare gun from the bridge ready nearby. And, as Sasha had pointed out, with the AIS working, anything larger than a pleasure boat would have its own AIS and should see them in plenty of time.
Each had related their stories to the other two, with sympathy and strong support coming from the listeners. It wasn't all sadness and despair, however. Honey had related stories from her school and university times in Britain, and then described the fierce, unwavering loyalty and courage of her fellow fighters in the PKK. Sasha had almost shyly offered stories of things she had done or seen in Russia, and the sometimes hilarious actions of the customers at the garage. Wren had countered with tales of the streets and their invariably damaged and often weird denizens, Sasha pressing her for more and more stories of her meetings with Reid, or even hearsay stories of him. Honey had noted to herself that the girl seemed to becoming obsessed with the man who slept and healed next to them. If it was just a crush, it was a massive one. Hopefully, it would work out for the four of them, she thought. Then she caught herself. Why was she including herself in this ménage?
To avoid that uncomfortable question and pass the time - Honey had checked them all over carefully, noting temperatures, pulse rates and blood pressure, and making sure there were no unattended cuts or grazes that might fester on board the boat, treating these with the admittedly excellent blue antiseptic. Wren had passed the time in cooking ever better meals as she became used to using the compact stove and equipment in the tiny kitchen. They had also discussed all possible futures endlessly - all they could think of, anyway.
Sasha spent several hours of her free time in the engine room. It had a little workshop area, and she was busy on a secret project of her own devising. Sometimes the others could hear the faint sound of hammering coming from below, but withheld their curiosity after the Russian girl had made them promise not to snoop.
When sleeping, they used the forward cabin, and although each was sometimes paired up with one of the others in the bed there, there was no repeat of the intimacy between Wren and Sasha, and neither had offered anything more than a hug when sharing the bed with Honey, respecting her need to heal from the trauma she had been through.
Honey put the cigarette out in the little handheld ashtray Sasha had knocked up for her, and placed it down on the deck, picking up a glass of a very decent chardonnay in its place.
She enjoyed her time on the night shift, watching the waves in the light of the moon, and now and again seeing a repeat of the bioluminescence that had alerted Sasha during her rescue mission. Secretly she hoped to see a hump-backed or sperm whale surfacing, having discovered from the laptop in the forward cabin that they were often seen in these parts from late autumn.
She had pondered long and hard whether to start searching for information about the boat. All she had was the boat's identification number on the AIS - XB92777, and had been tempted to just put it into a search to see what came up. However, she discovered when it came down to it there was a strange reluctance in her to do so, or at least until she had discussed it with Lachlan and received the go-ahead.
The boat was on some sort of mission, she knew that. But without knowing anything more, any internet search for information might raise alarm bells somewhere. She knew her way around computers as an informed user rather than any type of hacker or professional IT expert. She knew enough to find the boat's static position on the map according to their GPS coordinates - which apparently remained constant thanks to the electric motors, despite the driving currents of the Gulf Stream. When she had placed them on the map, she had felt a rill of cold sweat run down her back. When she'd made her escape on the stolen inflatable, she had imagined she'd been going north from Havana, heading into the Gulf of Mexico and certain to hit an American beach if the fuel held out, or if it didn't, at least she would have had a reasonable chance of being picked up by the coast guard.
However, it seemed that she had become confused and slowly turned east instead of remaining on a northerly course. She had actually passed the southern tip of Florida, either before the propeller had jammed up, or had drifted there after it had stopped. She had been heading out into Bahaman waters and although there were a lot of islands in that archipelago, there was a whole lot of water in between them, with only the vast Atlantic beyond that. The chances of survival had been very low.
So the arrival of the boat and its crew had been a godsend.
It would be a very poor reward for their saving her if, by doing something stupid, she then alerted some agency, corporation or lethal drug dealer of not only their existence but also their coordinates. She knew that with the right software, any searches on a certain subject could be tracked back to their source - and who knew what response that might invoke.
So, as if she hadn't a care in the world, she didn't try to carry out any research connected with the boat, and spent her time instead looking up whales and dolphins - one of her pet projects. It was odd really, she thought as she sipped at the wine and pondered lighting another cigarette. By all appearances they were in a fairly desperate situation, stuck out at sea without any means of propulsion that they could access. However, they were not really lost and had plenty of supplies to keep them fed and watered for weeks. In addition, they did have what looked like a state-of-the-art radio system with which they could call for help if things became really desperate.
And so she had spent time which could and perhaps should have been spent in panic, happily browsing on the internet, delighted at the strong Wi-Fi signal that the boat put out.
With a sigh of pleasure, she drained the glass and turned to take it back to the dishwasher. Then she screamed as a man suddenly loomed in front of her dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt, and she felt her body go into fight or flight mode.
"Nice evening," Reid said quietly, seemingly undisturbed by her loud response to his presence.
"God, you scared the shit out of me!" she stated, breathing hard to try and flush the adrenalin from her system.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I just got tired of lying in bed and thought I'd come out for some air. I didn't realise you were here for a moment."
"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have reacted like that. Who else would it be but you? You're the only man within a hundred miles, I think."
He grinned at her. "I understand the reaction. I've had a few moments like that myself."
"So I heard," she said, concern for him overtaking her momentary panic. "But you really shouldn't be up and about. You're not in any real danger as far as I can tell, but you still need to rest and take it easy. Here..."
She reached over and pressed on part of the outer wall of the cabin. A section of the deck sprang up suddenly, flipping and unfolding into a curved, cushioned seat along the rear rail.
"Where...?" he asked, his eyes big with astonishment.
"Sasha discovered it yesterday," she explained. "This weird boat keeps springing surprises from what I've been told."
Reid shook his head, marvelling once again at the ingenuity of the designers.
