101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Page 25

  Whirling with my body’s momentum, I smash an elbow into his face and then finish him off with a trachea-crunching blow to the throat.

  He drops without another sound. I crouch, scanning the area around us. It’s almost impossible to see anyone who might be close. We’re one of many containers jammed onto the deck with enough room between each for someone to hide. The moonlit night is cool, the fragrant ocean breeze significantly colder than the stagnant environment inside the container.

  My senses strain for the sounds of anyone who might be near. The distant bellows of ship horns, the cry of seagulls and harbor seals, and the shuffling of Natalie to the door of the container are all I hear.

  Straightening, I tuck the weapon into the back of my pants and search the man at my feet quickly to grab a knife and his handgun.

  “Natalie,” I call softly. “Come on out.”

  She steps from the container, eyes falling to the dead man. Whatever she’s thinking, she says nothing but looks up quickly at me. She’s pale, sickly in the moonlight, her eyes swollen from crying and nose red.

  “Got the torch?” I ask.

  She holds it up. “Flashlight?”

  “Yeah,” I smile tightly. “British-ism. Take this.” I hand her a sidearm.

  She takes it with reticence. “I’ve never held a gun before,” she whispers.

  “They’re easy to use. Point and shoot. Aim isn’t going to matter; you just want to scare them and let me do the killing. Okay?”

  She nods.

  I bend to tie my shoes. The radio on the dead man squawks, and I snag it as I stand. “More will be coming soon,” I say and look around to orient us. I can’t see bow or stern from our position surrounded by containers. Shouts come from one direction. By default, I decide to go the opposite. “This way.” I take her hand and start away at a trot.

  She’s trembling from exertion and fear. We won’t make it far, so we have to make it count. I don’t bother stopping at the corner of each container. There’s not enough time for someone to get a shot off if they spot us, and we need to cover as much distance as possible.

  Natalie stumbles a hundred meters out. I slow and steady her.

  “Stay with me, Natalie,” I whisper.

  We reach the walkway running along the deck, adjacent to the red marks on the deck that outline the cargo area. I pause, though, knowing we’re much better off in the maze of containers than giving someone a clear shot at us in the open.

  “What is that?” Natalie murmurs.

  I’m trying to make it out as well. The tanker we’re on is a good kilometer from the port, towards the middle of the bay. There are a slew of other ships between us and land, to include a cruise ship that’s slowly docking.

  But even its massive size can’t hide the red, white and blue lights lining the port and shore, as if every police vehicle in the Kingdom is part of a massive blockade. There’s a part of me that hopes EJ has managed to do something like take over while we’ve been stuck on the ship and another part that doubts he had the time, or the support, to depose his father.

  The more probable explanation is that the cavalry isn’t waiting for us. They’re probably searching for EJ.

  I’m not about to tell Natalie that, though. “We need to keep moving.” Leading her back into the containers, I now have a sense of where we need to go and head towards the bow, where I’m counting on there being less security and potentially, a way off the ship in the form of lifeboats or even life vests. Nijalan waters are warm; we could make a swim for it.

  Natalie’s ragged breathing reminds me that swimming is probably not the way to go, and even I’m finding it harder than usual to keep up a pace that’s more than a quick walk.

  We pause at the corner of one container for both of us to catch our breaths. The shouts of pursuers are distant, the ocean breeze picking up.

  In fact, it’s not just my energy that’s being sapped unusually fast. Either I’m getting old, or I’m not as tough as I used to be.

  Or I’m injured. I didn’t think there was an opportunity for one of the two men to tag me.

  Natalie shifts away and lifts her hand closer to her face, frowning as she peers at it. “George … you do know you’re bleeding, right?”

  Fuck. I skim my palms down my torso and stop when my right hand sinks into a pool of wet t-shirt. Lifting the cloth, I spot the reason why I feel weaker than I should. Blood runs down my leg and has already soaked the top of my pants. It hits me that the second man got off two bullets, and I only heard one strike metal.

  “Please tell me you’re okay,” she says, stricken.

  “I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Wouldn’t be the first time I got shot.”

  “Really?”

  “Unfortunately. If it hit here,” I point an inch closer to my belly button, “then I’d be dead. This is a good place to be shot.”

  “I don’t think there’s such a thing as a good place to be shot,” she replies. “Maybe you’re delirious.”

  We’re definitely not swimming. I chuckle. “No, but I’ll be in shock soon.” Peeling off my shirt, I rip it with the knife. One part I ball up and press to the bullet wound. “Can you hold that there?”

  She does.

  I wrap the rest of the t-shirt around my abdomen the best I can to apply some pressure to the wound. “Good as new.”

  “Should I learn to aim now?” she whispers, gazing up at me with troubled blue eyes.

  “We’ve been gone two days, and they know where we are. At any minute, Alisha and EJ will magically appear.” I’m purposely ridiculous, wanting to keep her spirits up and mind off the fact I’m probably going to bleed out by morning.

  “You think they know we’re here?”

  “I know it.” I lift my left foot. “Alisha put a GPS tag in my shoe. I found it yesterday.”

  “She … tagged you?” An odd look crosses Natalie’s features before she starts laughing quietly.

  “Neither of them has any patience,” I point out. “My plan now is to get us somewhere on this ship where we can hunker down and wait. If I can figure out how to contact her with the radio, I will.” I don’t tell her, either, that the moment my adrenaline wears off, I’m in trouble.

  “Okay.” Natalie’s laughter subsides. She lifts her chin, sets her shoulders back and draws a breath. “Let’s get somewhere safe.”

  There’s more hope in her eyes than I’ve seen, and I’m relieved by it. One of us has to leave here alive.

  We make our way towards the front of the shipping vessel, stair stepping among the shipping containers and passing by two cranes. The cargo ends at a point, and there’s another open space of about ten meters between us and a door in the bow leading below deck.

  After a quick assessment of our surroundings, I tug her with me and jog across the open area. The door is unlocked, and I yank it open then close it security behind me. A narrow hallway low enough that I have to duck my head stretches before us. It ends in stairs leading beneath the deck. Two doors are on each side of us, and I point for Natalie to take one side while I check the others to see if they’re locked.

  My hands are shaking, and weakness is working its way into my body. Ignoring the sensations, I try both doors, only to find them locked.

  “This one’s open,” she says. “Looks like a maintenance closet.”

  “That’ll work.” I join her, and we shuffle into the wide space packed with deck cleaning supplies and barnacle scrapers. She flips on the torch, and I lock the door. With a grimace, I sit on an overturned bucket and automatically press the heel of one hand to my wound. “Take this.” I hand her the radio. “It’s an older, non-digital version, which might be a good thing. Flip the channel at the top and click the button on the side. Three times fast, three slow, three fast and then wait sixty seconds before flipping to the next channel.”

  Natalie sets the torch on the floor, lamp towards the ceiling, and obeys. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Good.” Blood is oozing through my fing
ers. I stand and freeze briefly before forcing myself onward before she notices, dizziness sweeping through me. “Gonna look for a rag or something to plug the hole.” I make my way in the dim light towards a shelf of supplies and rifle through them until I find a bucket of clean cloths. Grabbing two, I fold them up tightly and press them onto the wound, grab several more and then return to my bucket.

  “Nothing yet,” she reports.

  “Keep going. If Alisha’s not monitoring every communications signal this side of the world, I’d be surprised.”

  A solid ten minutes goes by. Shock is starting to set in, distinguished by the fact I’m cold while my skin is fevered and clammy, and the world is losing its sharpness.

  A familiar thump sounds from the deck. “You hear that?” I ask and risk standing again. This time, I barely avoid dropping.

  Natalie catches me with one arm around my abdomen. “Sit down, George,” she orders me.

  I do so out of necessity. “Helicopters. Could be either a very good thing or a very bad thing.”

  “I’m praying for a good thing,” she says and releases me. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “Radio,” I reply shortly.

  She returns to her task, though I can see the tears on her face. Suddenly, she gasps.

  Someone is tapping back.

  “Can you understand it?” she demands and holds the radio out to me.

  I listen to the Morse code being repeated. It’s a little hard for me to focus, and I struggle to decipher the message until I’ve heard it a full three times. “She’s asking for verification,” I say with a smile. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Long, long, short …” I have her tap out the code for gladiator. Alisha’s response is quick. “She’s asking where we are.”

  The beating of helicopter blades against air grows louder. I start to sag, dizziness and blood loss dragging me down.

  “George,” Natalie whispers.

  Her voice sounds like it’s moving through water. For a moment, I’m stuck between passing out and remaining awake. I shake my head.

  “Alisha, George is hurt,” I hear her saying into the radio. “We’re in the front of the boat hiding in a maintenance closet.”

  Shit. I can’t get out the warning I want to about revealing our location without knowing who’s listening. Then again, I can barely sit let alone defend us if we’re found. She’s about to be defenseless in another thirty minutes.

  “Natty!” comes the squeal over the radio. “It’s called the bow not the front. EJ says … what? No, you can’t –”

  “Give me the fucking radio!” snaps EJ.

  “Stop it –”

  They both cut out. Righting myself, I exchange a look with Natalie. There are tears of happiness in her eyes and seconds later, she begins laughing.

  “We pegged that one,” I murmur. I stretch for the radio. Fumbling with it initially, I manage to depress the button that activates the microphone. “EJ, mate, these your choppers buzzing us?”

  There’s a pause, then, “Yes. Long story short, things worked out on this end for the most part,” EJ replies.

  “We need a medevac.”

  “It’s on its way. How is Natalie and … our baby?”

  Natalie stops laughing so fast, she chokes.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t tell him,” I say, amused despite my struggle to remain conscious. Depressing the button, I respond to him. “Good. Half-starved but alive.”

  “EJ is definitely acting like the king he isn’t until tomorrow at two!” Alisha snarls across the radio, her message clearly meant for him. “I locked down your location, George. I’ll make sure EJ only blows up the other half of the ship like he’s been itchin’ to do.”

  “Never a doubt in my mind,” I respond. “Come get us.” I rest my head against the wall, smiling. She says something else, but it slips through my thoughts without sticking. My eyes close involuntarily, and the hand pressing the balled up rags to my bullet wound drops.

  “George!” Natalie’s frantic cry comes from far away. I’m vaguely aware of her arms around me as I slump. “Alisha, please …”

  Her voice fades, and I fall into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Eight: Alisha

  I lose contact shortly after Natalie utters the horrifying words, George is bleeding.

  The next few hours are nothing but confusion, chaos and absolute terror. EJ and I were forbidden by Malika and her fucking henchmen from actually participating in the raid on the tanker.

  Instead, we stand by helplessly on the shore, while everything that matters to both of us rests in the hands of men we don’t know if we can trust or not, given EJ isn’t a real king yet.

  Helicopters are everywhere in the airspace above the city, and a general curfew has gone out for the entire city, warning citizens to stay inside. There are roadblocks on major roads and every member of the police and security forces have been called in. EJ and I are surrounded by soldiers in black or tan fatigues who are running what turned from a six-man security team’s rescue mission into a full-fledged military operation, led by Malika and those loyal to her.

  Soldiers and officers may be nodding in deference to EJ, but he has absolutely no say in what’s going on. He’s tense and quiet, gaze on the bay visible from the command center created in the wharf area.

  Witnessing it, I’m reminded of one of my conspiracies about the hidden power of any government to randomly suppress its people.

  Of course, if that suppression gets George and Natalie to safety, I don’t care.

  “Your Grace.” An officer with three stars on his lapel approaches. He’s not Nijalan; he’s wearing a NATO patch and speaks with a French accent. “The route to the hospital is cleared, and a car is waiting for you.”

  “Where?” EJ demands.

  The officer steps aside and points beyond a throng of military personnel that make this look like an invasion onto the shores of Nijala.

  EJ strides forward without hesitation. People move out of his way, and I trail, clutching my laptop to my chest. I can’t really tell what’s going on, if Nijala is about to plunge into civil war, or if all this is to rescue Natalie and George. It seems like a lot, though if she’s the near-legitimate queen, I guess I understand.

  Something tells me this is part of Malika’s planning though. It’s the visible sign of the coup she’s been plotting for quite a while.

  We get into the back of a car whose windows are bulletproof glass. The comparative quiet and stillness of the car are a relief. We pull away from the port, and I’m surprised to see the streets are completely empty of people and vehicles.

  “Is this what you expected?” I ask EJ, glancing at him.

  “No. I was never supposed to rule Nijala,” he replies. “I told Malika this had to be a peaceful reformation.”

  It’s nice to know he’s unsettled, too, though he hides it better. I guess that’s the businessman side of him capable of lying to competitors.

  “It looks like it will be peaceful outside the palace,” I respond. “You think your father will agree to step aside?”

  “I know he won’t. It won’t matter tomorrow, though, when his government turns against him.”

  My god. This is insane. The sense of awe returns, along with the thought that someday, I might get a footnote in someone’s history book.

  Fidgeting, I try hard not to think about whether or not George and Natalie are really okay. Natalie sounded weak and tired; George was unconscious last I heard.

  We arrive to the hospital a short time later, where a full retinue of security personnel is waiting. Even EJ looks more than once when he sees the line of no less than twenty guards waiting for us. A doctor hurries forward, offers a quick bow with a murmured Your Grace that makes me almost laugh, and then falls into step beside EJ. We walk to an elevator, and the doctor punches the button for the fourth floor.

  I crowd EJ to hear what he has to say.

  “The princess consort is r
esting. She’s dehydrated and suffering malnutrition and fatigue. But she and your heir are otherwise stable and healthy,” he reports. “George Stuart is listed in critical condition with a gunshot wound to the lower right abdomen and broken left hand. He’s in surgery now. His brother and the British Ambassador have been notified.”

  I gasp. My insides shake. It feels like my world is about to crumble.

  “Thank you,” EJ replies.

  The doctor holds open the door to the elevator and motions to the nurse awaiting us.

  EJ takes my hand without turning and walks down the hallway, trailing the nurse. She leads us to an open doorway and steps aside.

  I walk in first, astonished by the comfortable suite of the hospital that’s set up like a mini-apartment, down to the soothing teal wallpaper with faded butterflies. Natalie is lying in bed. There are dark rings around her eyes, and one of them appears bruised. She’s lost a lot of weight the past several weeks, but her pretty features have never looked more beautiful.

  “Natty!” I cry and race across the room to her. I all but sling my arms around her, tears bubbling up. She smells clean, like lavender. My heart feels ready to burst, the fear from the ordeal of the past few weeks replaced by joy.

  “Alisha,” she whispers and hugs me with the arm not attached to an IV. “You found me.”

  “Duh,” I respond and hug her harder.

  She starts shaking. I suspect she’s crying, too, until I look up and see her smile.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “You didn’t kill each other.” And she laughs harder.

  “If it had been an option …” EJ says softly.

  “Worst two days of my life,” I proclaim, thrilled to see the glow in her face.

  “God, I love you, Alisha!” Natalie wraps an arm around my neck with strength I don’t expect and hauls me back into a bear hug.