The Guardian's Wildchild (13 page)

“Yes, sir.”

The admiral’s voice became smooth and controlled. “Simon and Nathan were wondering why you hadn’t called. Of course, they’ve gone to bed already. I’ll let them know you called late.”

Sam knew his boys wouldn’t be in bed this early, especially on a Friday night, but he decided to let the admiral have the last dig.

“I appreciate that, sir. I’ve sent some small gifts to them. They should arrive in a couple of days. I’ll talk with them tomorrow.”

“Actually, Captain Waterhouse, they’ll be away tomorrow. My daughter is taking the kids camping for the weekend. They won’t be back until Sunday night. Late Sunday night.”

Sam had been duly punished for his rebellion. “Then I’ll talk with them Monday evening.”

The comlink was disconnected.

Stepping back onto the ship’s main deck, Sam found the weather had brought a warm shower. He took off his hat and let the rain wash away the dust from his face and neck. It was invigorating. Standing in the rain, a feeling of harmony swept over him. He wondered how long the feeling would last. It was disturbing to find that the more he tried to hold on to the tranquility, the more it evaporated into the night sky.

Sam went to the infirmary and found Dr. Duncan sleeping on one of the three hospital beds. The lights had been turned down and the room was quiet. He stepped into Sidney’s room and found her also sleeping. She appeared childlike. The soft light on her skin revealed increased color in her face, which was framed with the waves of her brown hair.

Paulo had said it would be difficult to find her guilty of anything. Sam wondered what that meant exactly. She was guilty, according to the admiral. Still, given the odd circumstances of the prisoner — her rapid healing and survival of the poisoning — perhaps there was a connection with Paulo’s bizarre story. Were her motives the real issue? Sam felt a huge piece of the puzzle was missing. Until Sidney could be interrogated, he saw no purpose in wasting more time pursuing phantom answers.

As he studied her face, he noticed her long eyelashes flutter slightly. She moaned as she tried to shift her position. Her eyes opened.

“Who are you?” she murmured.

“I’m Captain Waterhouse.” He extended his right hand to shake hers.

“I’m Sidney,” she said, weakly shaking his hand. “Where am I?”

“You’re on my ship, the USS
Nonnah
. You were brought here yesterday morning after being arrested on the New Seattle Naval Base. Do you remember?”

Sidney closed her eyes for a moment, and then reopened them. “Vaguely, Captain. You’re Captain Waterhouse, did you say?”

“Yes. Right now you’re under the care of Dr. Duncan.”

“Is it raining outside? Your clothes are wet.”

“Yes. Just a shower.”

“I thought I could smell the freshness in the air. I love to walk in the rain, too. The world changes, becomes softer in a rainstorm. Everything seems to slow down for a while. It’s like before the rain, life raced so fast you could barely see where you were going. When it rains, everything becomes slower and softer. Do you know what I mean?”

Sam felt uncomfortable at the invitation to reveal his personal side. He was glad, though, that she was willing to share her thoughts openly. He pushed further into his plan to present himself as her ally.

“Would you like the porthole opened?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

Once Sam had the porthole fully open, air filled the room with its cool freshness.

“That’s the best medicine, Captain. Thank you so much.” Sidney closed her eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning, miss.”

Sleepily, Sidney responded, “Okay. But please call me Sidney.”

Sam was satisfied. He’d established a good rapport with his prisoner. He hoped that in the morning she’d still remember their pleasant conversation.

9. Blurry Line Between Friend and Foe

Saturday, July 6, 0800 hours, Acapulco

The Saturday morning sun had barely revealed itself when Sam got up for his morning routine of jogging around the ship’s deck. After an hour, he walked down to the infirmary to check on his prisoner. Through the glass windows of Sidney’s room he saw that Dr. Duncan’s medical assistant was straightening up things and getting her ready for her first meal.

Lieutenant Lorna Paddles had been in the military for at least a hundred years, or so the seamen figured. Her short, gray hair was without style except for the wispy curls framing her round face. Large blue eyes told of a time when she’d been a beauty. She was a strong woman with shoulders as wide as those of most of the men on the ship. It was well understood by all that she didn’t take any of the seamen’s guff.

She stood with her back to Sam, and he could just barely see beyond her shoulders that Sidney was seated in a chair. Lorna tossed used linen onto the floor and snapped fresh sheets into place on the bed. She fluffed pillows into submission so they sat only as her big hands demanded. Lorna turned around and saw Sam standing in the main infirmary. She hustled into the main room and snapped to attention in front of him.

“You caught me working again.” She feigned worry. “Damn!”

Lorna had her own military decorum. She respected the rules but usually with a twist. She’d been around long enough to know what she could get away with and with whom. Sam was one of those with whom she, and only she, could push the envelope, just a bit. Not everyone was as successful as she was in getting Sam to “lighten up,” as she often advised him to do.

“As you were,” he said with as much authority he could muster over his desire to laugh.

Lorna relaxed her stance. “Didn’t see you sneaking up behind me, sir.”

Sam smiled. “Any problems?”

“No, sir. She’s pretty quiet most of the time.”

Sam nodded and stepped into Sidney’s room where she was now sitting on her bed.

“Good morning, miss. How are you doing?”

“I’d feel better if I could stand up. Dr. Duncan still has me attached to this hose.” She pointed to the tubing connected from her urinary catheter to the collection bag hanging at the foot of her bed. “Very effective bag and chain.”

Sam was taken aback by her quick wit and humor. Her mind was sharp. He took the opportunity to exercise his plan to gain her trust. He made a deliberate attempt to appear relaxed.

“Yes, we have unique ways of keeping wayward people under control. It would appear you’re well enough to have breakfast this morning.”

“I’m looking forward to getting some real food. Feel weak as a kitten. Have you had your breakfast?”

The casual conversation with his prisoner made Sam uncomfortable. He was anxious to get down to business.

“Not yet. Do you feel up to a few minutes of questioning?”

Sidney frowned and shifted her eyes toward the porthole. “Someone closed it last night. Would you mind opening it again for me?”

Sam hesitated. Her apparent disregard for his military status as captain almost bordered on insolence. But he nonchalantly moved to the porthole and opened it, becoming absorbed in the scene beyond the ship. The porthole faced the ocean, away from the Acapulco harbor. The sky glowed from the sunrise, illuminating brilliant orange and rose-colored clouds and edging them with gold. Streaks of the sun’s rays dipped into the ocean.

“What do you see, Captain?”

He made an effort to sound casual in his response. “Mostly just the ocean and the early morning sun. There are a few sailing ships.”

“Sailing ships? Oh, I love to watch them. I’ve never been on one. Have you?”

Remembering his sailing years, Sam relaxed his military posture. He turned to face her.

“Actually owned one up to a year ago. Used to sail whenever I was on shore leave.”

“What’s it like?”

“What do you mean exactly?”

Sidney’s face glowed as she imagined vivid and wild adventures. “Well, what’s it like to move with the ocean and the wind? You, your ship, the wind, and the ocean as one, harmonious. It must be wonderful!”

“It’s not always, as you call it, harmony. I’ve battled a reef while trying to sail into the harbor. The reef won.”

“Can you describe what that was like? It must have been exciting.”

Sam was wary of her curiosity, but it was his mission to appear benevolent so he began describing his attempt to find access to his mysterious island’s shoreline.

Sidney interrupted. “Wait. First tell me about your ship. What did it look like?

Sam described
Tears of Joy
. He felt pride in the ship’s beautiful, bright tangerine sails and the royal blue hull with its brass trim. Sidney urged him to paint a more detailed picture. She wanted to know each and every detail of every moment of the day Sam had tried to anchor
Tears of Joy
at that island. What color was the sky? Were there any clouds? Was it warm or cold? How deep were the waves? Were other ships in view? What did the shoreline look like? Were the waves charging at the reef and spraying mist high into the air?

Sam remembered each detail like it had happened just yesterday. He found that the more he thought about his sailing ship and that day, the more he felt himself back there, and the more easily his words flowed. He told her how he had to continually adjust the sails and work the rudder. He described the ship leaning heavily and how he had to work to keep her upright. He recalled glancing at the GPS and realized he had misjudged his ship’s speed. Sam felt the wall he was leaning on suddenly lurch and the floor dip. The spray of the waves crashing against the reef fell on him as the
Tears of Joy
slid by.
That was too close
, he thought. He swiftly grabbed the rudder and yanked it to the right.
Tears of Joy
’s bow lurched to the left, and the ship leaned heavily to starboard. Sam could see the jagged rocks just a few feet from his ship’s hull. His heart raced, and his muscles began to ache. The salt water stung his eyes. If they were to get out of there in one piece, Sidney would have to quickly adjust the jib sail. He saw her standing near the bow, leaning forward against the railing with her arms raised high. She enjoyed sailing immensely and had no fear.

“Sidney! Take the jib and pull it toward you. That’s right. Good.” The ship was again upright and moving away from the reef. Sam grabbed a towel and wiped the water from his face. With his ship under control again, he made his way to the bow and stood with Sidney in his arms. “That was close. Want to do it again?”

“Why not? Look, Sam, there’s another bay. Let’s try it.”

Sam peered in the direction she was pointing. He could only see a cliff that rose sharply several hundred feet straight up. Above the tree line, he saw a hawk circling.

“You see a hawk?” asked Sidney.

Sam was puzzled as to why she couldn’t see it. He saw her beautiful pale green eyes and … her sitting in her pajamas. He felt dazed. Where had the vision gone? It had been so real. He could still feel the salt water on his face, the ache in his muscles, and her in his arms.

Sidney continued to stare at him. “I could barely hear you. You seemed so far away for a while. Did you say there’s a hawk out there?”

“Huh? Oh no. Don’t have time to talk. I’ll see you after lunch.”

As he turned to leave, she spoke. Her voice was different. It wasn’t that of a frail person. It was now clear and strong.

“Captain, I’ll reveal all that I remember. I’ll only draw the line at risking the safety of my people.”

Gone was the impression he had that his prisoner was merely a young, foolish rebel. Sidney was no fool. She was mature and quite ready to face his interrogation sessions.

“I expect nothing less than the truth,” he stated.

“You shall have the truth, Captain. In return, I expect the same from you.”

Sam returned to her bedside and extended his right hand. “Agreed.”

Sidney shook his hand firmly and smiled. Sam was satisfied he’d get the information he wanted. He knew how to set the trap, and before Sidney was aware of the setup, she’d reveal all. It would take a day or two, perhaps, at the most. The execution would be carried out by Monday. Sam abruptly withdrew his hand from Sidney’s and left the room.

Sam returned to his office and placed a call to Lieutenant Weir to follow up on his last report. The ring tones stopped, and a recording began: “Lieutenant Weir is no longer available at this number.”