Chapter 5 #3
"No, probably not. And as far as I've ever known, most ships avoid storms if at all possible, and with GPS and radar they can almost always avoid them. Something isn't adding up, to me."
"No, and as I said, when shit goes this sideways, Bryn is usually involved somehow. Whoever took her is in for a hell of a ride, I'll tell you that much for free."
"So what's our plan?" Story says. "Any ideas?"
"Ask for food and attack? Create some sort of distraction?
We have no weapons, no phones, no ID or money.
Assuming we can get away from this guy, where do we go?
How do we get there? We can't exactly just stroll around Europe aimlessly waiting for our families to find us.
And I mean hell, we don't even know where we are, except for Italy, somewhere. "
Story considers for a moment. "We would do whatever is necessary. Stealing a car would be priority number one. Head to a US Embassy, maybe?"
I frown at this. "Last I heard from Mom and Dad, that guy…what's his name, the evil INTERPOL overlord guy, he's still out there and has eyes in all sorts of governments and agencies, so I don't know if we can safely trust anyone we don't know we can trust."
"Yeah, true. Staying off the grid will be vitally important."
"So I guess the plan so far is to overpower this guy somehow, steal a car from somewhere, somehow, and just get away…somewhere, somehow.”
"Well gee, Killy, when you put it like that, it sounds like a piece of cake.
" She huffs. "But all joking aside, that's pretty much it, yeah.
Dad always says that freedom is the biggest priority in situations like this.
Stay calm, bide your time, pick your moment, and when the moment comes, do anything and everything you have to in order to get free. "
I nod. "My dad always told me that if there's gonna be a fight and you can't avoid it or get out of it, then it's best to strike first and strike hard."
"Yeah, that sounds pretty familiar. 'If you must be violent, Liebchen,'" Story says in a remarkably accurate impression of Anselm's quiet voice and distinct accent, "'then do what you must to win. Make your violence swift and brutal so you may return to peacefulness that much more swiftly.’”
"Swift and brutal, huh?"
She nods, head tipped slightly to one side. "You have to commit to it. If you hold back, you die."
"Yeah, Sasha drilled that into my head, too."
Story shifts on the bed, scooting to the foot and standing up. "I have to pee, actually. Maybe we can use that."
I nod, thinking. "He's pretty careful, but I think we can make it work. Maybe…" I pause, working through scenarios in my head, trying to find one that won't get us both shot. "It's a risk."
"Better than the alternative."
"True." I shrug. "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. You go to the bathroom. I'll hide behind the door, and when he brings you back in, I'll make my move. Hit him with the door or something."
Story frowns, then nods. "It'll have to do. I can't come up with anything better." She moves to the door, then pauses, letting out a breath with a look at me. "Ready?"
I nod once, lounging on the bed as if relaxed. "Go for it."
She lets out another breath, squares her shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this."
She raps on the door and steps back, waiting. After a few seconds, the door unlocks and opens, and the guard stands in the doorway. "What you are wanting?"
"I have to use the bathroom," Story says.
The guard eyes me, then Story, and then nods. "Okay. Come, come." He points at me. "You stay."
I hold up both hands, palms out. "Okay."
Story exits the room, and the guard closes and re-locks the door. No dummy, this guy. The plan seems tenuous at best, but it’s all we’ve got.
But what other choice do we have? Holding me on a container ship for two weeks or however long is a pretty clever move—prevents any accidental sightings or whatever.
I'd have just vanished without a trace. We're on our own until we can get word to someone, somehow. And to do that, we have to get away.
I hear the bathroom door close, a long pause, and then the faint sounds of a faucet. The door opening again.
That's my cue.
I move to put my back to the wall so the door will open toward me. I run through unarmed combat movements in my head, rehearsing my plan: wait for the door to open, wait till I see Story clear the door, then slam the door into the guard. Disarm and take down. Kill, if I have to.
God, I really don't want to have to.
I'm nauseated and shaky as I ready myself behind the door.
The locks disengage and the hinges creak softly as the door swings open.
"What is this?" I hear the guard murmur. "Dove sì trova? Hey, your boyfriend. Where he is?"
"I…um…" I hear Story say, and I see her feet not quite clearing the door.
Shit. C'mon, clear it.
She shuffles forward and pretends to trip over her own feet, sprawling melodramatically forward into the room.
"Hey, watch it! You are okay? What you tripped on?" The guard's bulky form casts a shadow, and that's when I make my move.