Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
MIA
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and make my way to the kiosk. The man behind the counter looks up as I approach, his eyes tired but kind. He puts on a friendly smile for me.
“Excuse me,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “Could you tell me about that ship over there? The Serenity ?”
“Ah, the Serenity ,” he says, his smile widening. “She’s a beauty. Part of the Aggressor fleet, one of the best liveaboard dive ships out there.”
He hands me a glossy brochure; I take it, my curiosity piqued. On the front is a picture of the ship, sleek and white against the blue of the ocean.
“Is she headed to Sydney?”
“That route is a real adventure. It takes you through some of the most beautiful waters in the world.”
Australia.
Exactly where I need to go.
The word echoes in my mind, and for a moment, I’m struck by the sheer coincidence of it all. It feels like fate, as if the universe is finally throwing me a lifeline.
But I’ve learned the hard way that things that seem too good to be true usually are. I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the strap of my backpack.
I flip through the brochure, taking in the details. Luxurious cabins, a state-of-the-art dive deck, and modern amenities—it sounds like a dream.
But what catches my eye is the mention of the dive platform, situated right at the water level at the back of the ship.
I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to stand on the stern, just a few feet above water level, and how it might feel to watch the world disappear behind me.
“It sounds incredible,” I say softly, more to myself than to him.
He nods, his expression understanding. “It’s a trip of a lifetime, that’s for sure.”
“Are there any cabins left?” I ask, my heart pounding. “Any last-minute openings?”
The man frowns, turning to his computer. He types for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Actually, we have one cabin left—a last-minute cancellation—but I’m afraid it’s one of our more expensive ones—a suite.”
He names a price that makes my eyes widen. It’s more than I was hoping to spend, more than I should probably risk on a journey with no guaranteed outcome, but the alternative is staying here. Where Lena or someone else from Red Phoenix could find me at any moment.
I take a deep breath, then lean forward, lowering my voice.
“Is there any way you could come down on that price?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
Even with a discount, it’s still a significant amount of money. Money I might need later. I take a deep breath, then lean in closer.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice low. “If I don’t buy this ticket, who else is going to? The ship is about to leave, and you said it yourself: This is the last cabin.”
His brows knit together briefly, a subtle sign he’s wrestling with my statement. A moment passes—his eyes narrow in deep thought as if he’s turning over my words, examining their edges. His hand moves to his chin, stroking it lightly, the gesture betraying his contemplation.
“What if...” I pause, gauging his reaction. “What if you sold it to me at seventy-five percent off? That way, you’re still making a sale, and I can afford the trip.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he shakes his head. “Seventy-five? I can’t do that. I’d be giving it away.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as my heart races. “It’s better than not selling it at all, isn’t it?”
He looks around as if checking to see if anyone is watching. Then, with a sigh, he pulls at his chin, his expression contemplative.
“I could maybe do forty percent,” he says finally. “But that’s my absolute limit.”
A flicker of brightness sparks in my eyes, quickly subdued as I strive to act as if I don’t care. “Seventy percent.” I counter, voice steady, betraying none of the hope surging within.
My fingers curl slightly into my palm, the only sign of the excitement I work to conceal.
He hesitates for a long moment, and I’m afraid he’s going to refuse, but then, with a quick nod, he agrees.
“You know what? Because I like you and don’t want to see this cabin go to waste, I’ll give it to you for seventy-five percent off.”
“You will?” Relief floods through me, so strong it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
“I’m feeling generous.” He takes a long look at me. “May I see your identification and passport, please?”
My hands shake as I hand him my passport—my fake passport. He takes it, quickly scanning the document. He doesn’t even confirm the photo matches my face. He enters my information and then hands the passport back to me.
“How will you be paying?”
I hesitate using the money from the satchel, then remember what else I took from Agent Torres’s body. I feel like a thief, but I rationalize Red Phoenix will be looking for credit card charges from a woman, not a dead man .
I pull out my dead contact’s wallet, my fingers trembling as I hand over a credit card that’s not mine.
This purchase is going to raise all kinds of red flags, but I’m hoping it will leave a trail. Not for those following me but for the people that man worked for. After they discover his body, they’ll notice the lack of a wallet. This purchase will tell them someone used his credit card.
It’s my hope that will lead the good guys to rescue me.
I tap the card at the payment terminal. A second passes, and then a beep confirms that the transaction is approved. I take a deep breath.
“Perfect. You’re all set.” The man hands me my boarding pass and informational materials for my cruise. “Please proceed through embarkation. The last call for boarding is in five minutes. Enjoy your cruise.”
As he hands me the ticket, he gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I could get in trouble.”
I nod, giving him a grateful smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”
With the ticket in hand, I make my way toward the gangway, my heart lighter than it’s been in days. I’m not naive enough to think that my troubles are over, but for the first time, I feel like I have a chance.
As I walk up the gangway, my heart is in my throat. I’m terrified, but there’s a flicker of something else too.
Something that feels suspiciously like hope.
I don’t know if I’ll ever feel truly safe again, but for now, as I step onto the deck of the Serenity , I allow myself to breathe. To believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.
A crew member checks my ticket and passport. Unlike the attendant at the ticket counter, he pays far more attention. His eyes linger on my face, and he checks my passport while a bead of sweat trickles down my spine.
“Welcome aboard.” He waves me through, and I step onto the gangway, feeling a tremendous weight lift off my shoulders. The metal grating clangs beneath my feet, and the boat gently sways beneath me .
So far, so good.
Serenity is a vision of gleaming white metal and polished brass. She’s a much smaller vessel than a regular cruise ship, very close to the water line, reminding me of the steamers of old. She has a certain vintage charm about her that sets her apart from her behemoth cousins that dwarf her at port.
Tonight, once it’s dark, I’m going to the stern, to the dive platform, and watch the world disappear.
The deck is narrow, and the railings are worn smooth by countless hands. My imagination runs wild as I envision all the conversations that have taken place here, the laughter and excitement, the families with little children heading out on an adventure of a lifetime.
What I wouldn’t give for that to be me.
Instead, my gut churns with fear, and I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for the authorities to drag me back to Shanghai, where I will pay for my crimes.
On that down note, I make my way to my cabin, navigating the narrow corridors with ease. The halls may be small, but they’re richly appointed with wood paneling and soft carpets to absorb sound. The air inside is cool, if not a bit salty, and beneath my feet, the gentle thrum of engines vibrates the steel floor beneath me.
I keep my head down, trying to blend in like I’m just another tourist eager for an adventure.
But as I make my way toward my cabin, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I fight the urge to look over my shoulder.
It’s just paranoia, I tell myself. A side effect of the constant fear and stress of the last few days.
Still, I quicken my pace, my hand tightening on my backpack. I won’t truly feel safe until we’re out at sea and the coast of Manila has disappeared over the horizon.
When I find it, my cabin is small, but more than adequate. If this is a suite, I can’t imagine what a regular cabin looks like. Inside I find a comfortable bed, a small writing desk, a tiny lavatory, and a porthole that looks out over the endless blue of the ocean. Right now, it looks back at the port and at the gangway where passengers continue to board.
I scan them with more than a little interest. Most of the passengers are American, with their boisterous conversations and harsh laughter. Very few locals board as guests.
So far.
So good.
The moment they pull back the gangway, I drop my backpack on the bed and fall back on the mattress, bouncing lightly. I take a moment to catch my breath and close my eyes. I try to still the racing of my heart but abandon that as my mind pokes all kinds of holes into my grand plan.
I have a private cabin.
I have a destination.
In three weeks, I’ll be in Sydney, which is exactly where I need to be.
My eyes close for barely a second, my lids bouncing with fatigue. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I wake to gentle rocking.
We’re underway.
I jump to my feet and look out the small porthole to confirm what my body already knows. We’re no longer attached to land.
A knock at the door startles me, and I jump.
My hand instinctively flies to my chest, landing right over the beating of my heart. I look through the tiny hole in the door, but it’s just a kind-faced man in a crisp, white uniform.
“Yes?” I call out from behind the door, nervous about opening it in case he’s not what he appears.
“I’m Paulo, and I am your steward for this trip. Is there anything I can get you?”
Feeling foolish and not wanting to act weird, I open the door and pretend like today is any other day and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Thank you, Paulo, but I’m good.”
“I did not see luggage loaded for you. If you tell me what it looks like, we will do our best to locate it. ”
“That’s no problem. I travel very light.” The last thing I want is for the crew to hunt for luggage that doesn’t exist.
“Very well, miss. Dinner will be served in the main dining room at six o’clock. We have only one seating tonight. It’s casual. Come as you are.” He gives me a basic rundown of the ship, its schedule, and where I might find pleasant places to hang out and enjoy the trip.
His voice has something magical about it. It’s warm and welcoming, and I almost feel as if I am a legitimate passenger on this cruise ship instead of a fugitive from Chinese officials and Red Phoenix Pharmaceuticals.
“That sounds wonderful.” My voice sounds small and distant to my ears, but the tremor that was there before is magically gone. I’m actually beginning to relax. “Um, excuse me, but how many passengers are on board?”
“It’s a full cruise. We have thirty-four passengers on board with seventeen crew.”
“Thirty-four,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’s—cozy.”
I knew it was a smaller vessel but didn’t realize how much smaller. It’s going to be impossible to get lost in a crowd of thirty, but what am I supposed to do? Hide out in my cabin for the duration?
Paulo chuckles, but a hint of understanding rests in his eyes. “It is, indeed, but that’s part of the charm. By the end of the trip, everyone feels like family.”
Family.
The word sends a pang through my heart. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything close to that. And now, with the weight of the secrets I carry, the idea of getting close to anyone feels dangerous.
“I guess I’d better get ready then,” I say, forcing a smile. “Wouldn’t want to miss dinner.”
“If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.” My voice barely rises above a whisper.
Thirty-four passengers. Seventeen crew. That’s fifty-one people who could potentially ask questions I can’t answer.
No. Wait .
Fifty people.
I’m trapped. On a ship in the middle of the ocean, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I thought this would be a refuge. Now, it feels like the worst decision ever.
I take a deep breath to push down my fear.
Stay calm, Mia. Just breathe.
My nerves aren’t entirely gone, and it doesn’t take long before the cabin’s silence presses in on me. Or maybe that’s the gentle rocking of the ship?
I force myself out of the cabin. I need fresh air and a solid sight on the horizon. Maybe some toast and something calming for my stomach.