Thomas Prescott Superpack (76 page)

“And everyone knows that you live here on the ship with your mom?”

“Yes.”

“But they don’t know that you didn’t go with her.” It was more of a statement, than a question.

“No.”

“How did you escape the bad guys?”

“I hid.”

I nodded, then for the first time, I surveyed my surroundings. The red lights. District 9.

I guessed four minutes had elapsed since the lights had gone off in the show lounge. I had a nagging suspicion J.J. Watkins wasn’t going to buy me more than a half hour. I said, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, stay here.”

Bheka looked at me solemnly and said, “Be careful.”

DECK 6

5:06
p.m.

Subisiso was growing tired of the man on stage. His first bit about guns and women had kept his attention, but now he had other things on his mind. He could feel it crawling up through his chest. Behind his eyes. He needed it. He needed it now. He looked at Mausi sitting in the chair. He was still laughing at the pudgy man’s jokes. Although Subisiso was a couple years older than Mausi, technically Mausi was his commander. But he wouldn’t be missed. And if he was, he would say he wanted to take a look around.

Subisiso turned to Caj and said in stilted English, “I be back soon.” Mausi and Caj both spoke Zulu, but Subisiso was from Namibia and spoke a dialect of Oshiwambo.

Caj shook his head and replied, “Mausi say not leave.”

“You be fine. I not be gone long.”

Subisiso unlocked the door and slipped out before Caj could protest. He walked through the large walkway. He had never been surrounded by such decadence. For 25 years he had known only poverty. Recruited when he was ten years old, a gun in his hands by eleven, smoking marijuana, drinking, having sex by the same age. He’d killed his first man when he was twelve—a traffic stop. The black man in the jeep refused to give them any money. Subisiso had shoved his gun into the man’s neck and pulled the trigger. Then shot the passenger as well. That night his commander had taken his knife and made two long slashes across his cheeks. Reminders of the two men he’d killed. That was also the first night Subisiso had plunged the beautiful nectar into his veins. He’d never felt anything like it. So peaceful. A blanket of tranquility.

He noticed the sign for the bathrooms and pushed through the door. He had the syringe in his hand before his image appeared in the mirror over the sink. He pulled out the small corroded spoon. He’d found the spoon many years ago. It was his crucifix. He pulled the small pouch from his back pocket. He cooked the white powder until it boiled. He bit his lip.

He pulled back the plunger, the syringe drinking up the dark liquid like a wild animal at the edge of a brook. He brought the syringe up. Watched himself in the mirror, as the needle moved passed his glowing red eyes. A drip of nectar clung to the edge of the needle. He stuck out his cragged tongue and soaked up the drop. He swallowed hard. His pants felt tight around his loins. His heart crunched against his chest.

He pushed the tip of the needle against the large throbbing vein in his neck. His stomach muscles tightened. His jaw clenched. He eased down with his thumb. He leaned against the wall,
slowly sliding to the floor. His head fell back and his glowing red eyes hid behind their thin black curtain.

≈

Rikki stood in the bathroom doorway. She had her heel pressed awkwardly against the bottom of the door jam, her arms pushing in the opposite direction. She twisted her body, her spine emitting a series of small cracks. She let out a deep satisfied sigh.

She repeated the movement on the opposite side of the doorway, giving way to another series of pops. Now all she had to do was empty her bladder and she’d be good to go. She lifted up the seat and sat down on the toilet.

≈

Subisiso’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up and off the wall. He pushed through the small doorway. He felt massive, like he could barely squeeze through the wide hall.

He walked past the winding glass stairwell, past a room filled with plush couches, tables, large TVs, and a bar at back. He passed the elevators, then stopped when he came to the passenger suites. He pushed into the first room. He was getting paid well for his services, but a little bonus could never hurt. He rifled through the owner’s drawers, pants, and luggage. He found a watch and a wallet with over three hundred dollars in it.

He exited the room. He thought about going back to the large room with the large stage. He would be missed soon. No, he would check a couple more. Then go back.

≈

Rikki finished peeing, stood, and flushed.

≈

Subisiso pulled his hand out of the large duffel bag and cocked his head. He scampered to the wall next to him and pushed his ear against it. He could hear water moving. Someone was in the room next door.

He exited, ran to the room directly left, and tried the door. It was locked. He rammed the door with his shoulder. It budged a little. He stepped back and gave it a hard kick. The door splintered slightly. He gave it two more hard kicks. The door flew open. He ran into the room. He saw nothing. He walked into the bathroom and stared at the toilet. He lifted the lid. The water was still. He pulled the shower curtain back with his left hand. Nothing. The sink too, was dry.

Was he hearing things? It wouldn’t be the first time the White Lady had played tricks on him.

He walked out of the bathroom. He opened up the closet. Looked under the bed. He looked everywhere. There was no one in the small room. He grabbed a suitcase and heaved it onto the bed. He began rummaging through it. He found a wad of cash, not dollars, Euros, and began counting it. He’d heard somewhere the Euro was worth even more than the dollar and he was holding close to five grand. He thought how much sweet nectar he would buy.

He glanced at the TV. It was wide and thin. Maybe he would buy one of those. He noticed something white dangling over the edge. He took a step forward and looked at it more closely. It was a shoelace. He grabbed the TV and threw it to the floor. He stared at the small girl curled into a ball. He was no longer thinking about money.

WASHINGTON D.C.

10:30
a.m.

“T
here is a man on the phone, he said you would be expecting his call.”

Roger Garret pressed a red button on the phone, which would record the following conversation, and pressed the speaker. He said, “Hello.”

“General Garret?”

Roger recognized the ominous accented English from the video. “Yes.”

“Do you know who this is?”

“I do.”

“Then I trust you received my e-mail.”

“I did.”

“What did you think?”

“What did I think about you taking over a cruise ship? Or what did I think about you threatening the lives of over four hundred hostages? Or what did I think about your demands?”

“My demands.”

“Oh, no problem.”

He was silent. “Are you being condescending General?”

“No, not at all. You ask and you shall receive.”

“I advise that you be careful, General.”

“With all due respect Mr. Quaroni, what did you expect? You know the United States doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. If we comply with your demands, we will open the door to any number of terrorist threats.”

“I understand your position, General. But you must understand mine. Every one of my brothers and sisters, my mother, my father, every relative I ever had, is dead. Every one of them died from AIDS. If I had not left my village when I was a young man, I too would be dead.”

“I am well aware of the crisis in your country. I sympathize for the loss of your family and friends, but there are other ways to go about things. What you have done, what you are doing, is not the way.”

“You are naive, General Garret,” he scoffed. “You have been living on American soil far too long. This is the only way. For the past twenty years, this epidemic has raged through my country. Twenty long years. I have tried to reason with the South African government. Do you know that our last minister of health denounced the treatment of AIDS by western medicine? She promoted beetroot, garlic, lemons, and African potatoes as a way to fight AIDS. Our current president still expresses doubts about the connection between HIV and AIDS and the effectiveness of antiretroviral drugs in treating the disease.

“South Africa is the only country in Africa whose government is still obtuse and negligent about rolling out treatment. It is the only country in Africa whose government continues to promote theories more worthy of a lunatic fringe than of a concerned and compassionate state. My government refused to provide AIDS drugs until forced to do so by a 2002 court ruling. And yet, little progress has been made. More than 5.5 million of my countrymen are infected with HIV. Most will die before I do. If there is another way, please tell me.”

Roger found himself saying, “Let me make some phone calls.”

“It is a bit late for phone calls, General Garret. If I am not witness to an overwhelming surge of doctors, medical supplies, and antiviral medication to the village of Ptutsi noon two days from now, every single person aboard this ship will die. There is no room for negotiation. You either help us or you pull four hundred bodies from the Indian Ocean.”

There was a pause, then Quaroni said, “About the three children.”

“Yes. I was going to ask.”

“They are my grandchildren.”

Roger couldn’t help but ask, “Do they have AIDS?”

“Yes, they do.”

“How do I know you will release the prisoners if the United States complies with your
requests?”

“You have my word. No one aboard this ship needs to die. If by noon, two days from now, I am sent footage that the United States has begun testing and distributing medicine in the village of Ptutsi as well as a photograph of the three children, I will give myself and my men up to the authorities.”

“Where do I send this footage?” The question surprised Garret. He hadn’t intended on asking it.

“The address from which I sent the e-mail.”

“Is this your private e-mail?”

“No, it is not. But, it should suffice.”

Roger mulled things over for a moment, thinking, then he said, “We may need more time.”

“You’ve had twenty years General. You’re time has run out.”

The phone went dead.

DISTRICT 9

5:07
p.m.

As Lacy had attested earlier, District 9 had been decorated for the lesbian wedding. Rainbow streamers. Cardboard cutouts of Ellen and Portia. A pink foam arch. They must have gotten it all from some lesbian superstore. I half expected Rosie O’Donnell to jump out and tackle me. The tables were set with wine glasses, candles, place cards, gift bags, and rose petals. It looked like it would been one hell of a—well—of a civil union ceremony.

Halfway across the dance floor, I stopped. Directly overhead were Lacy, and my new friend Frank, and the quickly declining Susie. They were all counting on me. I had maybe twenty minutes to locate Susie’s medicine, retrieve Lacy’s fanny pack from the lifeboat, and find some sort of weapon. I’d also pondered finding the computer center and trying to get a message out. That being said, I’m sure one of the first things the pirates had done was to shut down all communications. But,
they
needed to communicate somehow; the Professor had sent that video to someone. If I could get an e-mail out, I could pass along pertinent details that would help someone to rescue us. And they needed to know about Rikki. Something fishy was going on there.

At any rate, I had a lot to accomplish in a small amount of time.

I hurried across the dance floor and pushed through the doors and into the wide lobby. I swept my head backwards and forwards as I walked. I had a strong feeling I was the only person on Deck 5, but you never know.

There was a sign with arrows and listed destinations, one of which was the Computer Center on Deck 4. If I returned soon enough, I would duck in and try to send a quick e-mail. But, I’d sent maybe two dozen e-mails in my life, most of them coming during my tenure teaching a criminal justice class in Maine and a handful to Lacy when she fled overseas, and I had no idea who I’d send it to.

[email protected]
?

[email protected]
?

[email protected]
?

I suppose I’d cross that bridge if I came to it.

I came abreast of the brass stairwell. I looked up and down. The coast was clear. I crept up the stairs. When I was near the top, I peeked over the edge. I could see the walkway that led to the show lounge, but there was nobody out there. I scampered up the remaining stairs and made it to the safety of the opposite hall. This led to a wide room with large couches, TVs, and a bar.