Those massive windows,” he rasped, his voice icy, “aren’t bulletproof.”
Hannah’s gaze drifted to the transparent sheet separating them from the endless ocean, a canvas splashed with the dying embers of sunset.
“This is a cruise liner,” she scoffed, “not your boss’s fortified villa. Why on earth would it need impenetrable glass?”
Her lighthearted response met with a stony silence. Winston, with a glint of steel in his eyes, continued, “Wealthy businessmen swarm this ship, yes, but there are shadows too, gangsters slithering amongst the guests. Had we not embarked in Newfort, their numbers would be thicker than barnacles on a galleon.”
He turned on her, his voice a razor whisper. “Can you cheat death if a single shot finds its mark in the dead of night, unprepared?”
Hannah, chilled by his grim pronouncement, scrutinized him. “Is this your first voyage on this ship?”
“The people of the Queen Elizabeth have invited the boss before, but he’s never actually allowed any of us aboard,” Winston explained.
“I’m only here because I have permission to escort you.”
Hannah, ever the woman of action, cut through the preamble. “Can you take me to the one I seek now?”
“Of course,” his voice softened, the storm abating. “He’s on the first floor. I’ll take you there,” Winston said, glancing at his phone.
The two of them took the elevator down to the first floor, intent on finishing what they came to do. Meanwhile, a different drama unfolded aboard the ship.
On a different floor, Caleb, a shadow of worry clinging to him, burst into a cabin. “Mr. Mitchell,” he hissed. “You made the right choice not to go out! As predicted, the male guests are strip-searched as they disembark.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Caleb’s brow. “But… it will take another seven days before the ship docks again,” he stammered, fear lacing his voice. “Without removing that bullet from your abdomen, I’m afraid I don’t know how much time we have…”
The pallor clung to Bryson’s face like a shroud, blood blooming through the bandages. The bullet, a stubborn lodger, kept the wound from healing.
“Staying here,” he rasped, voice a dry whisper, “is a slow waltz with death. If they catch us at the docks, it’ll be the end for us both.”
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Bryson’s voice was thin and frail as he asked, “What’s the movement of Wilde’s people on the ship like?”
Caleb’s eyes, usually pools of calm, flickered with worry. “Wilde’s men comb it like hungry sharks. Every exit is guarded.”
Bryson nodded. “I know. You may leave now.”
“Yes, Mr. Mitchell.” Caleb bowed and left the cabin.
Alone, Hannah and Winston navigated the labyrinthine bowels of the ship, guided by the information on Winston’s phone. Room 106, a grim haven nestled in the belly of the beast.
Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs as she raised a fist to rap against the door.
An eternity stretched before the lock clicked and the door creaked open. A face, pale and etched with shadows, emerged.
“Rocco!” Hannah’s cry escaped her lips, and she wrapped him into her arms, a whirlwind of relief and fury. “Are you alright?”
Rocco, as if startled waking from a dream, blinked at her, his cold face suddenly vulnerable. “Hannah… why are you here?”