Jeremy Robinson - Kronos

“You said it.” Reilly said as he noticed her open jaw. “I doubt we could board that thing if we wanted.”

While his presence wasn’t required, Reilly had joined her on deck. He said it was for more moral support, but he was eager to know how she would handle the situation. What he didn’t understand was that the deck of a ship usually wasn’t her place. She spent more time in the air pulling people from the water than anything else. When she’d pursued this matter, turning the training into a mission and boarding the cutter in pursuit of Manfred, she had assumed she would be a bystander in the process.

She’d been wrong.

Her “training exercise” had led them there, and she had chosen to summon the cutter for assistance. The captain, a kind and fair man, requested that since Andrea was so eager to pursue Manfred, she be the one to experience his charms firsthand. Apparently the man had dealt with the rich tycoon before, and neither he nor his crew felt like matching wits with the “little white devil” again. Andrea had reluctantly agreed. She would see it through.

As she stood on the bow of the boat with only Reilly for support, she raised a megaphone to her lips and prepared to begin the conversation. The Titan had been informed of their approach by radio, and she could see a few crewmen and a white-haired man, who she could only assume was Manfred himself, dressed in black, standing on the main deck three decks above where she stood. She could even see the smug smile on his face. But, before a single word left her mouth; a voice as loud as the sound barrier being broken boomed through the air.

“Beautiful sunrise this morning, don’t you think?” The voice rang like that of a British sixteen-year-old, not quite a child, but not yet a man. It held a taunting undercurrent that instantly irritated Andrea.

“Could you turn down your speaker?” Andrea said, her voice, magnified by her megaphone, a mere buzzing of a mosquito in comparison to whatever sound system Trevor utilized.

“What was that, my dear?” Trevor’s voice pounded into her skull. “I couldn’t quite make it out.”

Andrea set her teeth grinding and turned the megaphone volume all the way up. “Could you turn down your speaker?” Andrea paused for a moment and when no reply was forthcoming added, “Now.”

“Why of course, my dear.” There was a pause. “Is that better?” The voice was still unnecessarily loud, but it was bearable and as good as she was likely to get. She knew two things about Manfred already. First, he liked toying with people. The volume wouldn’t have been so loud without his instruction. Second, he wasn’t fond of women in positions of authority. His use of, “my dear,” twice, wasn’t meant to be kind; it was a jab at her gender.

Neither bothered her beyond annoyance. It was just the kind of spoiled behavior she had expected. She often felt that money made people not only reclusive, but also monumentally immature. Money bought freedom, and in most people, no longer being bound by the restrictions of law or society meant a return to the baser qualities of mankind, or in Trevor Manfred’s case, back to puberty.

“Why are you in the Gulf of Maine?” she asked.

“Right to business then? Are you sure you wouldn’t want to pop over for a spot of tea?” She could see Trevor’s face gleaming down at her, his smile ridiculous. She just stared back at him.

“Some other time then? Well, my dear, we are here for sport.”

“Please clarify.”

“Fishing, my dear. What else?”

Andrea knew his response was a load of bull, but there was no way to argue the point. And she had no grounds to assert otherwise. He’d pushed her into a corner. But she had one hand left to play, and not even Reilly knew it was coming.

“May I speak to Dr. Atticus Young, then?” Andrea paused after speaking, watching the smile on Trevor’s face fade slightly. Atticus was on board. “We know he’s on board and would like to consult with him.”

In an instant, Trevor’s smile returned. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are talking about. No man by that name is on my crew.”

Andrea persisted. “He is not on your crew. He is a guest.”

“My dear, please do not insult me by telling me who is on my ship and who is not.” Trevor’s irritation sounded loud and clear.

Good, Andrea thought. Trevor might keep her from speaking to Atticus, but she was winning the psychological battle. She knew the man was rattled, and without giving him a chance to recover, she motioned to the bridge. It was time to move off.

“Your actions will be monitored as long as you stay off the coast of the United States,” Andrea said, filling her voice with authority, willing it to sound deeper, and more assertive, than Trevor’s. “Please let Dr. Young know the Coast Guard is watching.”

The engines of the cutter roared to life, drowning out the beginning of Trevor’s response. They’d cut the man off. It was her turn to smile.

Reilly turned to her. “That was great, but who is Atticus Young?

Andrea smiled, an image of Atticus entering her mind. “A friend.”

“He’s the real reason we’re here.” It wasn’t a question.

Baffled by the young man’s intuitiveness, Andrea stammered over a few words, searching for an appropriate answer, but then gave up. “Yes.”

“Not to fear, my dear. ” Reilly smiled wide. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She knew he wouldn’t tell a soul, but she’d have to live with every bit of guff Reilly decided to give her. Her only consolation was that Reilly didn’t know the half of it.

The Titan-Gulf of Maine

In an instant, Atticus woke and hopped to his feet. Whatever Trevor had given him the night before delivered as promised. He hadn’t felt so rested in years and experienced no residual grogginess. He took in the VIP guest suite around him and sighed. Maria would have loved the place. He had two rooms to himself and an Incan-themed bathroom the likes of which he’d never seen. The bedroom held a forty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed, a fully stocked minibar, and a superb view of the ocean. The living room held a second TV, also mounted on the wall, a forty-gallon tank filled with exotic fish, and furniture that was not only exquisitely comfortable, but also hand-crafted from what appeared to be single pieces of redwood trees.

If not for the twisting knot of despair and loneliness coiling in his gut, Atticus might have enjoyed himself. He entered the bathroom and shook his head at the decor. The mirror was framed by small skulls-monkeys, Atticus believed. Below the mirror, a sink carved into the top of a large boulder looked like a natural water basin formed from millennia of erosion. But the showpiece of the bathroom was the shower itself. The walls of the shower enclosure were formed from stones, set together neatly. But on the stonework grew moss and vines-real moss and vines. The shower itself was a waterfall that dropped from the mouth of a large statue of the serpentine Incan god, Quetzalcoatl. Atticus ran his hand along the curves and details of the statue. Cold and heavy, he had no doubt that the showerhead, like everything else on the Titan, was the genuine article.

Atticus turned on the shower, shed his clothes, and let the warm water cascade over his body. He was instantly transported to another world. The moss and vines filled the shower with an earthy odor. The sound of the falling water was accompanied by the chirping of birds and distant monkey calls from a sound system that had been triggered the moment the shower door closed. Atticus felt his mind wander and relax. He appreciated the Titan ’s otherworldly feel. And he enjoyed the oddity known as Trevor Manfred. Perhaps, when his quest was complete, he would find some way to remain on board…perhaps.