Joshua Graham - Terminus

As she drove off, she turned on Jonathan Hartwell again.

“…and I say to you now…Your best days are just ahead, and closer than you think”

IT MADE LITTLE SENSE NOW, but the first thing Yuri did after seeing Jonas’s corpse was to try and pull it back on board—until the sickening vibration of the dead skipper’s neck bones deterred him. He rushed back down to the hold, sloshed around in the water, and found a flashlight in a toolbox that floated by and banged into his shin.

He swept the entire compartment from edge to edge. The water, he found, was deeper on one end and shifted each time the boat shifted. The flashlight beam disclosed several dead fish floating by his ankles, their eyes and mouths open wide in an expression that made him think of Jonas, still hanging on the side of the boat. With a shudder, he shook the image from his mind and continued to search the hold.

The crate which held his precious cargo must have broken open during last night’s storm. The only thing in it was packing materials and splinters, one of which caught under his thumbnail. Yuri cussed in Russian.

I’m sorry, Mommochka.

She hated it when he used “vulgar” language because she believed, deep down, that he was good. Not so his stepfather—Sascha had beaten him almost every day of his childhood. You’re worthless, useless, you’ll never amount to anything. Deep down, he’d always believed Sascha.

He’d made ten-year-old Yuri steal liquor from the corner store, then forced him to watch dirty videos with him, taught him to drink, smoke, deal drugs, and worse. By the time he was fourteen, he’d experienced more debauchery than most men would in a lifetime.

And Mommochka knew.

But she couldn’t do anything about it. Sascha blackmailed her with an ongoing threat to Yuri’s life should she ever tell anybody, try to stop him, or leave. And with all the beatings she took from him, Yuri had no doubt he would kill her, too.

Naturally, the first person Yuri ever killed without being paid was Sascha. But it was too little, too late. His mother was dying in the hospital from lung cancer, Yuri holding her hand till her last breath, when he whispered with tears in his voice, “You’re free at last, Mommochka.”

Damn, he was crying.

He hadn’t thought of his mother for so long, and now was no time to start looking to the past. He had to find the package, find a way to get this ridiculous boat back to dry land. God, if you help me get to Mexico safe I promise this will be the last —

Something gently bumped the back of his ankle.

He whirled around with the flashlight.

Floating like a rectangular life preserver was the suitcase containing the components for the package he was delivering.

“Thank you!” he cried, then grabbed the suitcase.

There was hope after all. Someone might rescue him if he could get onto Jonas’s radio. He hurried up the steps to search for it.

Having gotten past the border authorities of at least four countries and survived the deathly grip of the Pacific Ocean, Yuri now felt invincible. Not even Jonas had survived—the madman of the seas now hung like some gruesome ornament from his own boat. Yes, Yuri would get to his destination, complete his job, and become obscenely rich in just a few days.

Nothing could stand in his way now.

Except for the large white ship with a large red diagonal stripe and a thin blue one that now stood at the fishing boat’s bow with the words U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned on its hull.

HOW COULD SUCH A NICE BLOKE as Jonathan Hartwell be so dangerous an influence? Nick found it hard to see this loving father as a future threat to millions of people.

He’d read Matthew a bedtime story and put him to bed a couple of hours ago. Now he sat in his plush leather executive chair staring at the screensaver. Photos of the wedding. Elaine, the world’s most beautiful bride. Matthew, sitting in a stroller at two.

Hartwell was thinking now, and some angels could discern human thoughts. “Listening in” wasn’t one of Nick’s outstanding abilities, like that ridiculous power of healing he was forbidden to use. But he could do it. In fact, he was finding himself able to hear more clearly than ever. Which was convenient if he was to prevent Hartwell from his daily studies and routines over the next two weeks.

Hartwell sighed. He thought. Remaining invisible, Nick heard.

// SHE’S RIGHT. IF I’M EVER GOING TO GET TO THAT NEXT LEVEL I’VE GOT TO TAKE THINGS MORE SERIOUSLY. //

He reached for his notebook and Bible.

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

// CAN’T BELIEVE I’VE LET THINGS SLIDE FOR SO LONG //

He was about to commence his daily studies. Nothing so terrible about that—especially since his materials included the Good Book. But Nick’s assignment was clear.

A smile lit up Jon’s face as he zipped open the leather cover of his Bible and began leafing through the pages.

Nick flicked a finger.

Hartwell’s computer sounded an email alert chime. Not that the computer actually chimed, it was just a small auditory construct.

About to read the first lines of the sixth chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, Jon looked up for a second at the screen. He deliberated for all of two seconds.

// NO… EMAILS CAN WAIT //

“Oh, come on.” He didn’t feel right about getting in Hartwell’s way at the moment, but—

Nick’s phone rang.

And at the same moment, so did Hartwell’s. The young preacher let it ring a few times before Nick answered Lena’s call.

“Nikolai, are we having any difficulty with the assignment?” He could just see the smirk on her face.

“Of course not. As a matter of fact, I just—”

“Hold on…”

Before he knew it, she was standing before him.

“I don’t need any hand-holding, Lena.”

Shushing him, she looked over at Hartwell, who was still on his cell phone. Tension furrowed his brow.

Nick turned to Lena. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you and your cute little angel butt from blowing it.”

“I just got started!”

“If he even begins to read his Bible tonight, it’s going to make both our jobs much more difficult down the line. I’m not about to let my director chew me out for your mistakes.”

“I’m not making any. In fact, I already—hold on…Listen.””

Hartwell walked over to his shoes and slipped them on while he talked.

“You sure?…I suppose so…. Well, it can’t wait if she’s that desperate.”

Nick and Lena looked at each other.

“Again, what are you doing here?” Nick said.

“I’ve already done it. Just watch.”

Elaine came to the door, her arms folded.

“Who’re you talking to? And why in the world are you whispering?”

“It’s all right,” Hartwell said into his phone, “I’ll be there right away.”

“Jon?”

“Ten minutes, see you there.”

“Jon, who are you talking to?”

He hung up, put on his jacket, and walked to the door.

“That was Carla. There’s an emergency at church.”

Elaine blocked the doorway.

“You’re going out now ?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Jon, if you don’t start valuing your own time, your family time, your followers will never respect it. Trust your wife on this. Set some boundaries.”

“Excuse me.”

He took her wrist and gently began to pull it away from the door frame. Elaine jerked it out of his grip and slapped it back down, again blocking the way.

“No. I’m insisting you stay. You’re going to thank me one day for this tough love, baby.”

“What do you want from me!” Now, for the first time, Nick saw healthy indignation in Jon’s eyes. Elaine’s, on the other hand, were shimmering. Crocodile tears, no doubt.