Chapter 4
Some Kind of Intelligence
Ben
IT’S BEEN THREE days since I left Lillian at her door. We’ve made good progress through calm seas, but with the size of the ship being small compared to the grand ocean liners that make the pass between New York and Southampton, we still have over half the journey to go.
We opted for a more expensive ticket on a ship that would bypass the normal stops in the Caribbean, so why do I feel as though that was for naught?
We figured we would stop the opportunity of new faces coming aboard at different ports, but I still find myself looking over my shoulder more and more as we grow closer to our destination.
No one has played their hand, and yet I feel an uneasiness pulling at me.
“You always seem to be so lost in thought, Mr. Reed.” Oh, how I wish the voice were coming from Lillian and not the mischievous blonde that has again snuck up on me.
She steps closer, and together we peer over the rail into the dimming blue of the ocean a few decks below us.
“I understand, of course. I’ve worked alongside leaders who have cracked under the pressure.
I don’t take you for the crackable type. ”
“What do you take me for?” I ask, holding the rail by my fingertips and tilting back.
She rolls her eyes with a coy smile before leaning the opposite direction. She rests her elbows against the iron banister and lays her chest down upon it.
“See, I’ve been trying to figure that out.” She sighs. “I’ve seen you come to the railing four times this trip, and each time, it seems that you are merely thinking.”
“You deem me an inquisitor, I suppose.” Standing upright again, I invite her theories.
“Inquisitor, yes. I also take you for a bit of a coward when it comes to the things that mean the most.” The comment sends me ramrod-straight. “Oh, did I offend you?” she asks, straightening to meet me.
I don’t answer; it’s better for her to think what she wants than for me to confirm or deny.
“I only wish to know why you and Lillian have not married.” She reaches for my arm. “That’s all.”
Clearing my throat, I try to reel in the conversation. “I fail to see how that is any of your business.”
She seems to remember herself because she lets out a small gasp before trying to recover. “I only ask because Lillian seems to be so lonely, and she only speaks wonderful things about you. I’ve read so many logs of your missions, your story, I just… Well, I don’t understand.”
Releasing the tension in my shoulders, I take a steadying breath. “It is not for you to understand.”
I hardly understand it myself. I only know my hesitation is rooted in losing her.
If we were to cross that line by making those promises at an altar and then something were to happen…
A heart can recover from a lost love but not from a connection of that magnitude.
My own heart lurches thinking of when I had lost my wife.
I don’t think I would survive that again.
A selfish coward I may be, but I have never once wavered from the promise I made her on our return voyage. I have stayed by her side and never once lied to her.
I hadn’t realized that Margaret was still talking until she pounded the rail in thought.
Vibrations reverberate through the metal beneath my hands, alerting me to her further questions.
“I mean, I would understand your fears with your line of work and all—Lillian’s made that fear clear.
But don’t you think that you might lose her in an entirely different way if you don’t attempt to take back old wrongs?
I mean, what was written about your 1934 mission to Munich–”
A fit of emotions overtakes me, and I leap to interrupt her before any emotions from the night in question can bubble to the surface. “Just how many files have you read?” How many did she have access to?
“All of them.” Margaret’s face changes from a proud brightness to concern. “I also know of Lillian’s… sensitivities to other worldly things.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, but I still find it to be too loud. There’s no way she read those moments. They were either redacted or completely omitted.
“What do you mean?” I ask, running a telling hand through my hair.
Her determination doesn’t falter. “Well, I suppose you don’t share a bed, but surely, you’ve heard things on past missions.” I hate how openly she’s spewing secrets. “Surely you’ve noticed… She… Well, she talks in her sleep. It’s in Portuguese.”
If all she’s heard is Lillian’s haunting poems, then there is still a way to steer Margaret clear. “And what does she say?” I ask, testing her. “You should know Portuguese is her first language.”
“Of course I know that, but this is a different variation of Portuguese. One that mixes and plays with some of the Native’s known ancient languages.
From what I’ve been able to translate, it’s the very story of the place we are seeking.
She tells the secrets of the Lost Colony over and over and over. Each night it gets stronger.”
Margaret speaks true, but I can still fix this. Absentmindedly scanning our surroundings, I try to find the right words to end this conversation. “She’s close to this mission. If it were any other assignment, a superior would pull her far away, but she’s too valuable to us—”
“She’s the key,” Margaret states. Her giddyness is interrupted by my strong hand on her arm.
“Trying to get me alone?” she asks brashly, fanning her face as I pull her back behind the bulkhead of the top deck.
Peering around it, I see the three men still standing. They’re no longer looking in our direction, but they aren’t speaking. “There are three men who are listening to us,” I whisper, hoping the thick wall is enough of a barrier.
“No one is interested in our tryst, Ben.” She pinches the bridge of her nose before continuing, “Listen, her fits are getting worse and worse as we get closer to the mainland. What if she finds herself in a bind and needs to be taken care of? I mean what if she starts to hurt herself?”
I take another glance around the wall and find the deck to be empty. The quiet does nothing to ease me.
“Mr. Reed!” Margaret demands, taking a fist full of my shirt and pulling me back around. “You do not need to tell me the truth of her condition, but you do need to trust me enough to tell me if I should be worried.”
“I trust you enough to come get me if she needs aid,” I mumble under my breath, still fighting to spy the group of gentlemen who looked just a little too manicured for the state of this ship.
Margaret scoffs. “You are a real clod.” She turns to go but not before offering up the final word in our argument: “If I see her in turmoil, I am going to help her.”
As much as I want to stop her, I couldn’t do that. If I can’t be there for Lillian, I’m glad someone will be. There are only a few more days aboard this godforsaken vessel before we finally reach land and I can have her beside me again.
Groaning in annoyance, I slide to the deck. Two out of four first one-on-one meetings with new members of the team have been uncomfortable, the kind that hardly builds trust.
When I finally find the strength to open my eyes, there’s already a hand reaching to pull me up. A gawking Oliver looks down at me like a peculiar little bird. I haven’t seen the man out and about on the ship, and yet here he is, watching me.
“Christ,” I mumble under my breath. Reminded of the other eyes that were on us earlier, I push myself to my feet and peer around the wall back out on deck. The gentlemen from earlier have not reappeared, but Margaret has planted herself next to a man I do not recognize to share a smoke.
“Something wrong?” The nervous voice draws me back to Oliver and his glasses.
“Not now, Oliver.”
I turn to leave the man standing there in all my emotions.
Lillian talking in her sleep isn’t the end of the world, but we still don’t know what the others were debriefed with about her abilities.
We need to control that information if we can.
Feeding them the proper amount of truth as we build trust will be key.
I don’t want to divulge anything until we can wholeheartedly know their intentions are good.
Needing to know where Lillian stands, I reluctantly make for her suite.
Lillian
My mind is drawn from the book I’ve painstakingly flipped through for the last hour. Alone, mind you.
I might as well be a ghost for how invisible I’ve felt the past day.
Margaret is much too active to stick around me when there’s such a wonderful ship to explore.
Diederick visited me earlier in the voyage—I would hope that he’s too busy finding answers to even think of me now.
I’ve hardly had any interaction with Mr. Ward and Mr. Bennett.
I thought we might share a bit of a laugh about how we both boarded in disguise, but the man still wants nothing to do with me.
Snapping my book shut with a sigh, I lean back against the headboard and uncross my ankles.
I keep pretending that things will get better when we reach land.
That reuniting with Ademir and Bruno will stack the odds in my favor again, but the warnings I’ve been hearing in the whispers in my sleep tell me otherwise.
The fact of the matter is that we will be returning to the caves, the place where demons lurk and the bodies of those taken from the earth still lie decaying.
The vision of M?e taking her last breath right outside one of those caverns is enough to make me sick.
That memory will never leave me. Even now, the memories of that night make me sick to my stomach.
My fingers stretch of their own volition; phantom pain of a boot weighing on them still plagues me.