Imes

By Terrence Hart

The Coast Guard discover a castaway floating offshore, a man with an indiscernible accent and a penchant for fine Italian suits. Despite his innocuous manner, it becomes apparent that his motives are sinister, and that he bears a dark omen for humanity. An omen we are powerless to avert. Behind his dark eyes lurks the unfathomable power to distort our reality, and the desire to revolutionize life as we know it. And as the pillars of civilization begin to crumble at our feet he reassures us that this is all part of the plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outer Banks Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463364703

Terrence Hart

Terrance Hart is a writer, a musician, a yachtsman, an adventurer, and the author of the new novel, Imes.With over a decade of experience in audio production and composition, and regular contributions to Furst Media’s online and press publications.Hart offers a uniquely aberrant voice in this, his debut work. He studied Science at Melbourne University in Australia and is a keen enthusiast in modern physics and medicine.Hart lives and works out of his home in Melbourne Australia, and in his downtime, enjoys exploring the Earth with his partner Laura, and their pup Dallas.

Book preview

Chapter One

Captain Lauderdale

The Pacific Ocean

Life began in the ocean, and so shall we.

A man in an Armani suit sits alone in a life raft. The smoldering wreckage of his previous vessel floats behind him on the vast expanse of the North Pacific. It would seem such pitiable luck, but one must not wallow in the pessimistic; one should instead appreciate the positive side of every situation. For it is frightfully good luck that a plume of smoke is easily visible at sea.

The surrounding blue was both light and dark at once, betraying the endless fathoms beneath, and flaunting its brilliant clarity by how it carried the sun. It heaved unpretentiously, conjuring a sense of deep contemplation, but in truth, the ocean has no memory. A colossal vessel may carve a scar upon its surface, but invariably the blemish is forgotten in minutes. It bears no ill will, nor does it hold a grudge, all the while harboring the latent power to destroy without warning.

One should always respect the sea.

The day was uncharacteristically warm for early December, far too warm for a woolen suit, but it seemed not to trouble the castaway; not the faintest remnant of sweat sullied his dark brow. He appeared oddly impeccable given the circumstances, but then again, first impressions were important, and judging by the faint thump of a helicopter rotor, a first impression was soon to eventuate.

The castaway observed the trajectory of the aircraft with vague interest, giving a brief one-handed wave as it approached. The orange and white striped body of the vehicle was the easily recognizable décor of the Coast Guard.

As the aircraft reared overhead, the surrounding millpond came to life, unleashing veils of mist as if the ocean beneath had finally reached boiling point. A voice from above boomed from a loudspeaker.

This is the US Coast Guard; do you require assistance?

The man grinned at the sheer absurdity of the question given the circumstances, but politely nodded to avoid ambiguity.

A moment later, a mechanical winch protruding from the craft began lowering an orange harness, which flapped incessantly back and forth in the chaotic air. The man stood cautiously, countering his weight against the gentle listing of the raft. He eyed the harness for a moment, and then confidently snatched it out of the air with a speed that seemed almost inhuman.

Place the harness over your head, insert both arms, and secure the harness beneath your armpits. Be sure to have your arms pointed downwards at all times, instructed the voice.

The castaway heeded the meticulous instructions that the military seemed so fond of, and inserted his torso into the harness, but with a suspicious sense of delicacy. He then gave the aviator a thumbs-up, and after a pause, began a tedious ascent, swaying back and forth in the gusts that the thumping rotors exhaled.

Upon reaching the top, an officer in a blue aviation jumpsuit secured a safety shackle to the harness. ‘Finn’ was printed upon his breast pocket.

Place both legs inside the aircraft and lean forward, he shouted in a somewhat robotic manner over the squeal of the blades. The castaway complied and was awkwardly shuffled aboard, and seated on a steel bench towards the rear of the aircraft.

Is there anyone else Sir? shouted Finn.

No, answered the castaway.

Chapter Two

Let us digress momentarily to consider the function of a uniform. Rank and credentials can be displayed on any manner of a garment whether matching or not. Could it be to suit the color scheme of the uniform’s typical surroundings? Or perhaps punctuality plays a role? Without the daily painstaking decision of what to shroud oneself in, one can attend to their allotted duties more promptly. Could it be the military’s preoccupation with conformity? Or is it to stamp out free expression entirely?

If so, Captain Lauderdale managed to undermine the function of a uniform. The sheer fastidiousness with which he wore his was an expression in itself. A collar starched to a point so fine he could shave with it, his whites gleaming like the ocean that stretched out before him.

Captain Lauderdale was a man who took so much pride in his generic appearance that it set him apart. With perfectly kept white hair, and despite being fit, a neatly packaged potbelly, he managed to exude a grandfatherly quality. He was a man who was adored by his crew, and he would do anything for his men.

He watched the approach of the rescue chopper from the bridge of the CGC Hamilton, a 378ft Cutter out of San Diego which he referred to as ‘his dinghy.’ The pilot of the helicopter had radioed in his discovery of the wreckage, and the rescue of the lone well-attired survivor.

Smoking near an open fuel tank, mused the Captain, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. I hope he knows how lucky he is that we had some eyes on the watch. But I suppose he would have at least gone out in style dressed as he is.

Life on land is rigid, nothing changes, unlike the ocean where everything is in a constant state of flux, but it could often be monotonous. The days were long and regularly uneventful, and even someone who enjoyed the simplest of pleasures wouldn’t hesitate to call it boring at times. So the chores Captain Lauderdale had set for the crew scarcely hid their anticipation for a break in routine. All eyes were turned to the stern of the boat as rubber hit tarmac, and even the Captain had left the bridge to acquire a better view from the starboard balcony.

From the chopper stepped an immaculate castaway in a buttoned-up, meticulously pressed gray suit, the gleam of his designer shoes was plainly visible from the hundred odd feet between Lauderdale and the helipad. Even the man’s jet black hair was defying the cyclonic winds from the whirling blades to remain neat. He walked confidently, and with purpose, a couple of feet behind Finn as they made their way to the bridge. Lauderdale admired the sense of calm that surrounded the stranger after the potentially fatal situation.

As the men passed from view to mount the stairwell leading to the bridge, the Captain shook himself free of the trance that had possessed his crew and prepared himself for an introduction. Never underestimate the power of a nuance in an otherwise mundane landscape.

Momentarily he considered holding the formalities on the bridge, but then decided the balcony would better afford the privacy that may or may not be a necessity. Lauderdale turned his back to the stairwell and looked out to sea; assuming a posture that he felt embodied authority and indifference to the newcomer.

Captain Lauderdale I assume, announced a cheerful voice in a foreign accent. I am in your debt, I fear I would have met a rather grim end had it not been for this stroke of luck.

And lucky you were. It’s a big ocean, and leaving life to chance out here rarely ends well, replied the Captain without turning around, a dominating mannerism he’d picked up from various high-ranking officers. That’s an interesting accent, where are you from?

Here and there, I travel a lot.

A man after my own heart it seems, said the Captain turning to face him. There was an exotic look about the gentlemen, perhaps of middle-eastern descent; he had dark features, skin of burnt caramel, and eyes that appeared almost black under the blazing sun.

He had expected Finn to be standing alongside, but the officer was nowhere to be seen. He must be at the debriefing, thought the Captain.

The names Ash, he said, extending an open hand, Ash Imes.

The Captain nodded, and shook the hand, Pleasure to meet you Ash. Don’t you think it’s a bit warm out here for the getup you’ve got on there? Italian?

"The suit’s Armani, yes."

I see. Well, I’d like to know how it is that a young man ends up floating in the middle of the Pacific dressed like that, but this sun is brutal. Let’s adjourn to my office. May I take your coat?

Thank you, said Ash reaching to unbutton.

Any number of questions crossed Captain Lauderdale’s mind over the preceding few seconds. Why didn’t he radio for help? Why would a man who doesn’t bear the faintest aroma of tobacco, nor the telltale staining of the fingers be using a cigarette lighter? Why was the fuel tank open at sea? How did he ignite diesel when it generally doesn’t burn under atmospheric conditions? Why does inflammable mean something is more prone to burn? What does he use to buff his shoes?

But upon the removal of Ash’s coat, before even registering what was happening, he heard himself pose a completely unrelated question.

Is that a bomb?

Chapter Three

Captain Lauderdale’s immediate reaction was to back away slowly with his hands held in a non-threatening manner, a response that may have proven effective when presented with a venomous reptile. But in hindsight, the extra couple of feet buffering from the mounds of C4 would have done little to keep him, or indeed the ship, structurally intact.

Ash’s torso was covered in small brown satchels with ‘High Explosives’ crudely printed on the sides. The Captain had little doubt they were authentic, he recollected the ordinance from his military training years ago. Each briquette was carefully placed so that the jacket would cover any trace of their existence, and daisy-chained together by an ominous red wire. It was a familiar scene, a scene that movie plots had defused, literally and proverbially, any number of times. Lauderdale felt he knew the script back to front, and yet he was powerless to act.

He didn’t bother trying to raise alarm, nobody could see them. He had chosen the spot they now stood because it provided seclusion. It was no surprise that he hadn’t considered the present circumstance as a plausible variable in his decision. Perhaps I could detain him if I acted quickly; at least if the bomb goes off up here I should be the only casualty. The Captain then thought better of his ploy upon realizing how close they were situated to the ammunition cache.

It seemed that he was on his own, dumbfounded and paralyzed.

Ash reached into his pant pocket, and produced a handheld wireless transmitter. And as his thumb gently depressed the red button that crowned the device, Lauderdale’s bladder let go.

However, there was no detonation.

Lauderdale regained his composure and did his best to stem the warm deluge of urine flooding his crouch.

Still, nothing happened.

My sincere apologies for commandeering your ship in such a crude fashion Captain, but I doubt you’d have parted with her under any other circumstances, said Ash with the flawless diction of a trained thespian. Tell me, have you ever heard of a dead man’s switch?

Captain Lauderdale hastily shook his head.

A dead man’s switch activates when whoever is holding it lets go. It’s commonly used as a safety device on heavy machinery in case the operator becomes incapacitated, but in this case, it is a detonator. Needless to say that it is in your best interest to ensure that nothing impedes my ability to hold down this button.

Cold fingers of realization clawed up the Captains spine. He puckered the courage to speak.

What do you want?

A broad question Captain, replied Ash with the traces of a grin. Let’s just begin with what I want from you. Firstly, let’s bypass your office and adjourn to the bridge instead. I need you to set a course southeast towards a ship thirty nautical miles from this position.

The Kaiko Maru? What do you want with her? inquired the Captain.

You know the ship then?

The Captain nodded. She’s a Japanese whaling vessel. She’s been sneaking in and out of US waters lately, so we’ve been keeping a close eye on her.

I see, said Ash approaching the Captain. All will be revealed in due course. Now, if you would be so kind as to lead us to the bridge.

Ash reached across to retrieve his suit jacket, but it refused to budge from the Captains clenched fist.

Perhaps it would be best if we didn’t needlessly alarm the crew Captain? he said.

The Captain stared for some time into the darkness behind Ash’s eyes before finally comprehending the statement.

Yes, yes, he muttered. Quite right.

It took intense concentration for Lauderdale to release his grip, but eventually his body begun to comply with his intent, and his fist loosened. Ash reclaimed the garment, and slipped it on in one fluent motion; taking his time with the buttons as they proved difficult with a single hand. Once satisfied that the explosives were once again concealed, he extended an arm towards the bridge.

If you’d please Captain.

For a craft that appeared straightforward in its operation, there seemed an excess of screens, lights, knobs, levers, wheels, keyboards, and buttons covering nearly every surface of the relatively small bridge. The only two items that didn’t look as if they were raided from the set of a sci-fi show, was a wooden helm, and an immaculately polished brass compass. Both looked out of place; both a testimony to humanity’s preoccupation with nostalgia.

Captain, announced a young seaman rising to his feet.

Mr. Clarke, replied Lauderdale, nodding slightly to avoid eye contact. It took all the gall he could muster to act natural, and disregard the dampness between his legs. He did everything he could to forget about the detonator, but his best efforts it would seem were ineffective.

Is everything alright Captain?

Lauderdale turned towards Ash and considered him for a moment, hoping to inspire some obvious reconciliation to the situation, but the cold stare that was returned implied there was none.

Chart a course to the Kaiko Maru if you will Mr. Clarke, ordered the Captain.

Clarke paused regarding the newcomer, sensing the aura of control that surrounded him, sensing that something was amiss, but he reached for the intercom regardless, heeding his Captain’s orders.

Fire her up.

Full ahead, said the Captain with a noticeable quiver in his voice.

Clarke relayed the order to the intercom as Lauderdale made his way to the center of the room, and a deep rumble burst from the bowels of the ship. The Captain watched helplessly as Clarke eyed the newcomer, and decided it best to pre-empt the ensuing introduction. He casually stepped between his shipmate and the castaway to avoid the awkward questions that would inevitably follow.

You have the helm, Mr. Clarke.

Clarke hesitated, but didn’t argue, and seized the wheel. The three turned towards the bow as the vessel gradually gathered momentum.

Coming round to one six zero Captain, said Clarke as he spun the helm.

The Captain nodded in reply. He knows something’s not right, and he’s young, and the young are convinced they’re invincible. Things could get ugly if he attempts any heroics. It’s going to take at least an hour to reach the Kaiko Maru, and there’s no way that his curiosity won’t get the better of him. I should ask him to leave; send him on an errand; send him to the other end of the ship. Perhaps the blast won’t…

So what brought you this far out if you don’t mind me asking, said Clarke, jarring Captain Lauderdale from his internal monologue. Too late.

Marlin fishing, replied Ash with a handsome smile. The Captain was gob-smacked by the lightheartedness of the answer considering the dire circumstances.

Did you catch anything? asked Clarke.

Got onto something yesterday but it threw the hook before I could get it up. It was big too, whatever it was, replied Ash.

What do you use for bait?

Whole tuna.

Clarke raised his eyebrows skeptically. Seriously?

I’m deadly serious, confirmed Ash, winking at the Captain, If you want to attract the big boys you’ve got to use something substantial.

The Captain couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the dark calculating bravado was gone. Ash seemed to drop into character instantly as if shooting the breeze with an old friend. The performance was terrifying.

The mindless banter continued as the CGC Hamilton steamed onwards, gently carving through the rolling swell. As the sun quietly crept towards its zenith, the Kaiko Maru began to peek over the horizon, tiny and indiscernible at first, but before long, the lines of the whaling vessel began to take shape. As Ash realized this, he paused mid-sentence and immediately fell silent. Clarke did his best to re-engage the conversation, but after a failed attempt, he thought better of it.

The three men stared in silence as the vessel approached, each lost in different lines of thought. One man dreamt of battling creatures of the deep, one man schemed, and the last man anxiously contemplated the demise of himself and his crew.

The Kaiko Maru sat motionless, aside from the barely visible keeling back and forth in the afternoon’s gentle swell. She was covered in rusty sores that had crumbled the paint, giving her an acne encrusted appearance from the dark green hull up to the blackened scaffolding that served to hoist leviathan from the deep. Next to the pristine CGC Hamilton, she seemed little more than a breeding ground for tetanus.

Ash finally broke the uneasy silence that plagued the bridge by reaching above his head for the VHF radio transceiver.

May I? he inquired of the Captain with raised eyebrows and the undertones of a demand rather than a question.

The Captain nodded almost imperceptibly without taking his eyes off the Kaiko Maru. Do I have a choice?

Ash unhooked the transceiver and pressed the transmit button. Kaiko Maru, Kaiko Maru, this is the CGC Hamilton, come in, over.

From the VHF sprung an abrupt response in a thick Asian drawl. Evidently the fishermen had been observing their approach. This is the Kaiko Maru, what do you want?

Ash seemed to pause for dramatic effect before replying. I want you to drop your harpoons into the sea and return to Japan.

Who is this? These are international waters, we’re allowed here.

According to international law, you do have every right to be here. The U.S. government has no jurisdiction over these waters, agreed Ash.

Exactly. No jurisdiction, iterated the fisherman, his pronunciation rudimentary at best.

The U.S. has no jurisdiction, said Ash. But I am in no way affiliated with, nor do I represent the U.S.A.

Silence. The slight hiss of the VHF carried with it the painstaking vacillations of the Japanese whaler. Lauderdale imagined he could hear the sound of grinding cogs.

Clarke guffawed from the corner of the room, clearly believing this to be an elaborate joke.

Ash continued with such detachment that you’d think he was discussing the weather. I have commandeered this vessel and am ordering you to drop your harpoons into the sea and return to port. If you choose to ignore this request, your ship will be sunk.

Clarke’s smirk vanished. He shifted uneasily, trying to get the Captain’s attention, but Lauderdale was frozen, his stomach churning, a deep frown contorting his features. He turned to Clarke and shook his head slowly with a stern expression, holding out a pacifying hand.

The already aggravated fisherman’s temperament eventually unhinged. We have every right to hunt for scientific purposes, we’re in international waters. You can’t threaten us.

Hunting an endangered species to test its sustainability is paradoxical, illogical and idiotic. We are not in negotiations here, this is an ultimatum. Drop your weapons over the side, or be sunk.

Ash turned to the Captain. Would you be so kind as to ready the guns?

Sweat finally broke from Lauderdale’s brow as he shook his head in deliberation. We can’t, he stated. It would be an act of war.

Captain, said Ash taking a step towards Lauderdale, with a crushing force emanating from his haunting eyes. Ready the guns.

Listen, I see what you’re trying to do here, and it’s noble, it truly is, but we can’t fire on that ship. The repercussions would be devastating. I don’t like what they do any more than you, but they don’t deserve to die for it. You must understand, there are sons and fathers and husbands on that ship, pleaded the Captain.

It’s them or us, replied Ash impatiently. I’m not asking you to slaughter anyone, you’re more than welcome to rescue the survivors. But do not undermine me Captain; I will not stand for it. Ash unbuttoned his coat and shoved the detonator under Lauderdale’s nose. If this goes off, there will be no need of a rescue. If you want to do the right thing, and save lives, then this is the only logical choice.

Clarke backed away at the sight of the bomb, finally grasping the nature of the situation. The Captain’s chest heaved, sweat soaking his once unruffled hair to his skin. He was suddenly aware of the dank aroma emanating from his crotch. He looked over at Clarke, and spotted the fear that painted the boys features, he looked out on deck, and watched as his crew innocently went about their day. As much as it pained him, as much as every bone in his body protested, the Captain reluctantly turned, and pushed a red button above the helm.

Instantly red lights begun flashing, sirens whirred, and automated announcements blared. Sailors on the deck dropped what they were doing and bolted to their various duties, including arming the 62 caliber cannon on the bow.

Ash lifted the transceiver to his mouth again. Kaiko Maru, you have one minute to comply.

You have no right! The International Convention for the Regulation of Whaling clearly states that we’re allowed to hunt. screamed the hysterical fisherman, who had noted the sirens and lights blaring from the deck of the Hamilton.

If you do not obey, I will sink your ship. Do you comply? demanded Ash calmly.

Go to hell!

Ash turned to the Captain and nodded, then faced the Kaiko Maru again, waiting for gunfire. The Captain grimaced as he pushed the intercom button.

Sink her.

Captain! What? Are you sure? replied the gunman.

I said sink her God damn it! Aim for the lower decks and don’t stop firing till you’ve breached the hull. shouted the Captain in a wavering bark.

He removed his finger from the intercom and faced away from the bow, his hand clasping his agape mouth, horrified at what he had done.

Sudden shots thundered through the air as great ringlets of flame leapt from the barrel of the cannon on the bow. The kickback of the weapon was tremendous, and could be felt shuddering through the hull of the Hamilton. Gaping voids tore their way through the starboard side of the Kaiko Maru, and as she pitched towards the parade of rounds streaking across the sea, the terrified crew dove for any cover they could find upon the sparse deck. To the Captain’s disgust, Ash removed a mobile phone from his pocket and began filming the incident.

Why on Earth would you want to record this atrocity? asked Lauderdale.

History deserves to be documented, does it not Captain? said Ash.

He didn’t answer.

Ash didn’t seem to mind. He finished recording, hit send, then walked across the room and opened one of the hatches. With a great heave of his body, he hurled the phone over the side into the depths beneath. He then returned to the Captain’s side, apparently indifferent to the procession of events, as if it had all been in a day’s work.

Clarke shot a questioning glance at the Captain.

What the hell did we just do? he hissed beneath his breath.

Lauderdale offered no response, aside from shaking his head in shock.

Ash strolled back into the cabin towards the coffee percolator. With little regard for how the calamity was unfolding, he poured himself a cup, and then returned to the Captain’s side.

As abruptly as it had begun, the cannon ceased firing, and then there was silence.

Smoke billowed from the side of the Kaiko Maru as she slowly flooded with water. Men ran in panic to and fro, desperately untying lifeboats and launching them into the sea. Their screams carried well across the water.

Ash placed his cup on the counter.

Here hold this, he said sliding something into the Captain’s hand. Lauderdale looked down and spotted the detonator, lying harmlessly within his grasp, possessing such intimidation not ten seconds before, now utterly innocuous it seemed.

Lauderdale’s already pale complexion faded until his snow-white hair begun to look positively murky in comparison. He looked towards Ash for an explanation, but received nothing but a wink, and a boyish smirk. Ash then tore a satchel of C4 from his body, broke it over his knee, and from it poured a morsel of what appeared to be sugar into his coffee.

Chapter Four

I can assure you, Captain, there’s no need for the armed escorts, I’m more than happy to go quietly, said Ash between sips of coffee, and the barrels of two semi-automatic rifles. Despite what the circumstances would suggest, I’m somewhat of a pacifist.

I’m not sure the crew of the Kaiko Maru would agree with you, said the Captain, flustered and furious, but unsure if he held more contempt for the terrorist or himself. Hindsight had a nasty habit of making idiots of us all. Lauderdale crossed the room to Clarke.

Could you coordinate a rescue mission for the Kaiko Maru so that we can begin to clean up this mess? he asked.

Yes sir, replied the sailor.

Lauderdale returned his attention to Ash.

I have every intention of cooperating with you, said Ash with that same intense gaze. Lock me in the brig, call the authorities, do whatever you feel you need to. I take full responsibility for my actions.

I bet you think it’s as simple as that, said Captain Lauderdale, taking a step towards Ash in a futile attempt at intimidation. Did you really think there’d be no repercussions for this besides your martyrdom? Or that our already shaky relationship with the Japanese wouldn’t be permanently tarnished by this little ploy? Did you think I wouldn’t be held accountable? There’s little chance I’ll have a job at the end of all this.

I think you performed appropriately, said Ash.

I sunk a ship because I was threatened with this, bellowed Lauderdale, shoving a briquette of sugar under his nose.

You had no way of knowing it was falsely labeled Captain. You weighed your options, and made the sensible decision.

I negotiated with a terrorist, said the Captain through gritted teeth, his temper seething. The American government doesn’t look upon that lightly.

Negotiation implies there was a transaction taking place. For that to be true, you’d have to consider human life a commodity. I would have thought you more empathetic than that. The fact is that you have no-one to answer to but yourself. A governing body thousands of miles away can’t judge your actions here, they have no right. Captaincy of this vessel was entrusted to you alone, and you alone are qualified to make decisions on her behalf.

The Captain laughed out of desperation rather than humor. You’re living in the fantasy world, they make the rules, they gave me the job, and they can take it away.

Who? probed Ash.

What do you mean who? snapped the Captain.

Who makes the rules? Who gave you your job and can take it away? Whose judgment could possibly rival your own in this matter?

The government’s, shouted the Captain.

Ash stared into the Captain's eyes, a look of frustration flooding his features, but it didn’t seem directed at the Captain; it seemed universal. Everyone in the room felt the odd urge to look away.

Tentatively, Ash continued, I can hardly accept that as your answer. It is clear to me that you’re entrusting moral decisions to a faction whose opinions you don’t share. This vessel belongs to you and your fellow countrymen, not to your government. As I understand it, you are in the profession of saving lives. So whether you keep your job or not is irrelevant, the fact is that you did your job, and did it well. You performed aptly.

Captain Lauderdale stood contemplating refutes but his silence spoke volumes.

Overhead the rescue chopper squealed, plucking survivors from the sea. The deck of his dinghy stretched out before him, teeming with life. Naval officers ran to and fro with a definite purpose in every stride, while saturated Japanese fishermen wandered aimlessly with flailing arms and fleeting hostility.

The Captain turned to the guards. Take him away.

Chapter Five

One had to marvel at the efficiency of the well-oiled machine that was Lauderdale’s crew. Restoring order under the circumstances would at first glance seem a fool’s errand, but each of the components that made the whole performed its duty feverishly. Winches hoisted, medics mended, pistons pumped, sailors toiled, rotors coiled, commanders bellowed, and the little engine that thought it could – did. By sundown, any that needed rescuing had been rescued, and the Kaiko Maru found its final resting place two miles below.

However, the Captain’s attention remained focused elsewhere. He sat stroking his chin as if it were the family pet, utterly absorbed by the grayish glow emanating from the television screen in the security office. The monitor showed a bland room in the belly of the ship where Ash was seated on a cot, his coat neatly folded over his knee while he serenely stared into space.

Lauderdale had locked Ash in the brig, and contacted the authorities. He had been transferred from local, to state, to federal, and eventually, due to the international nature of the crime, to the CIA. They had informed him that a transport was en route, and that he should exercise caution with the hostage.

All the while, he harbored the disconcerting inkling that in some way he was doing a favor for the figure on the screen. He was one step ahead of us the whole time, thought the Captain, preempting every move, every reaction. So why did he just give in? He could have attempted an escape while I thought he was armed, but he just handed himself over as if everything was running to plan. Perhaps he meant to get caught?

Ash smoothed out a crease in his suit pants, then continued his patient recess.

A sudden deluge of white noise flooded the room which eventually culminated into a voice.

Captain?

What is it? answered Lauderdale irritably.

Sir we have an inbound aircraft that’s identified itself as the prisoner’s transport.

Give her landing clearance, said Lauderdale.

Aye sir, said the seaman. Then as abruptly as the racket had begun, it ceased.

Lauderdale returned his attention to the security display in a vain effort to comprehend the pixilated figure. How did he manage this? He dropped his head into his hands, and was a little surprised to discover moisture still coating his brow.

In resignation, he sprung to his feet. Why fabricate answers when they’re there for the taking, he thought. He turned, and exited the room.

The eyes of the crew remained downcast as the Captain approached them in the corridors, but he could feel their stares burning into the back of his head after they passed. The gossip has already begun, he thought, acutely aware that his age was no longer an asset. He tried to ignore them, trying instead to decide what to ask Ash, but his efforts were wasted; he was still dumbfounded upon reaching the hatchway to the brig. He nodded to the two armed guards as they stepped aside, and then he entered the cell.

Lauderdale wasn’t a body language expert, but he assumed that someone who was ashamed of their actions would tend to avoid eye contact. However Ash’s gaze fixated on every detail of the Captain’s entrance with an eerie robotic precision. Lauderdale collected a chair from beside the door and seated himself in front of the prisoner.

How may I be of service Captain? asked Ash diligently.

You’ve done quite enough already, answered the Captain in scarcely a whisper.

Ash leaned forward sporting a smirk.

Actually I’ve barely gotten started, he said. But this isn’t a social visit is it Captain? You have questions. What is it you would like to know?

Lauderdale emptied his lungs and leaned back into his chair to contemplate the ceiling, attempting to conceal the intimidation he felt under his prisoner’s gaze.

You’re young, began Lauderdale, and the young are passionate and unrealistic. They are, for lack of a better word, stupid, and time and time again this stupidity gets them in trouble. It’s an old story. The Captain lowered his gaze. "Do you understand the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into? I’m not preaching. I’m not here as a father