Mick nodded. “Good plan. I’m game.”
Missy smirked. “I know a rare opportunity when I see one and I’m going to make the most of it. I’m not opposed to a little whoring. But I say what goes and what doesn’t go. Got it?”
“Sure. When do we start the show?”
“Keep bowser in your trousers for now. You’ll get your piece at the most dramatic moment and I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“Cool.”
“Meanwhile, you’ll have to settle for a little public display of affection, just to get the rest of them talking.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue in this mouth while he tried to keep an eye on the dark and dismal vortex.
Chapter 41
You paid for luxury and that’s what you got aboard the cruise yacht Moorea Explorer. She was 232 feet of sparkling white hull, containing thirty-five richly appointed cabins, all with bay windows and king-size beds. The public areas contained a small fortune in artworks, hot tubs, several small swimming pools, a jungle of lush potted greenery and three restaurants. There were more staff than there were passengers.
One of the key features of the Moorea Explorer was its four circular deck lounges, one at the very apex of the ship, resting above the bridge, and one at sea level. “Don’t get your shoes wet,” the staff joked every night as they welcomed their guests to the Sea Level Viewing Lounge.
Tonight the sommelier was pouring a rare New Zealand Pinot Gris as the perfect accompaniment to the pre-dinner hors d’oeuvres. The chef was displaying an impressive cold platter of antipasti alla noemi—light on the mussels and crab, heavy on the squid. “Today we made a catch of the freshest, plumpest squid and I knew I must make this perfect cold tray for my guests,” the chef was explaining as he wandered among the guests. “Try with a little lemon. It is scrumptious.”
The night was crisp and the island of Hiva Oa hovered a mile off the deck, her evening lights glinting in the vast South Pacific ocean.
All the polite talk was about the disturbance to the north. The papers were calling it the vortex. It seemed unreal that such a grand and big storm could be so close, while their weather was quiet and lovely.
It was agreed among the passengers that they were quite brave for continuing with their cruise so close to the anomaly.
“Why?” asked a matronly, nervous woman in her seventies. “Do you think there is any danger here?”
“Course not,” announced her husband. “You see any sign of them clouds?”
The woman looked anxiously at the sky. The blanket of stars showed her there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for miles.
They were safe.
Splash.
Everyone looked around. For a moment there was no alarm whatsoever. Then a purser walked quickly to the rail next to a table with half-eaten plates of antipasti—but no one sitting there. The porter called out a name, leaning over the brass rail. His legs went up and he went over.
Splash.
“Man overboard,” called the chef. He ran to the rail with the sommelier, snatching at life preservers. They stood at the rail and peered into the waters, trying to figure out where to throw them.
There were flickers of movement, and then the chef and sommelier went in, too, seemingly dragged in by their extended arms.
Guests began to fall to the ground, and only then did they become aware of the slimy, boneless limbs that were coming out of the ocean and snaking under the deck rail, grabbing ankles. The guests were yanked into the rail, but they wouldn’t go through.
The squid hauled themselves aboard, wrapping their tentacles around every limb and torso they could reach. They were monsters. Their tentacles were powerful and weighty, and bore down each person they captured.
The captain watched the attack on the security monitors, amazed and shocked. He unlocked the weapons cabinet and dispatched his first mate to the Sea Level Viewing Lounge with eight armed men. On the monitors, he saw them blast the invading creatures. He saw the things die with great craters in their mantles, but for every squid that collapsed in a pile of mush, another one dragged itself laboriously onto the deck. In minutes, the squid had overcome their attackers.
The captain grabbed the throttle controls and turned on the power. The engines struggled and the ship vibrated. The captain could feel the screws turning sluggishly, then they churned to life with a lurch. The captain knew what the problem was. He could picture the giant, boneless squids tangled in his propellers.
He had to keep the props turning hard, to plow through any further jamming. He increased the power, but then came the thick and sickening feeling of the screws tangling again and coming to a halt. The engines struggled to make them turn but couldn’t budge them.
How was this happening? Where had they come from? He’d never heard of anything like this happening. The squid on the deck below were bigger than any squid he knew of except for the half-mythical giants that showed up in the stomachs of whales every once and a while.
He felt the ship move in the gentle waves, against the incoming tide. What was moving the ship?
He released the anchors and felt the clanking of the chains as they plummeted to the sea floor.
He felt alone on the bridge. The only other person in the room was the communications man, who was trying hard to reach anyone who would listen.
“Help’s not coming—there are fifteen ships under attack in this vicinity,” the communications man said.
“Does anybody know what’s going on?”
“Squid attacks everywhere,” the communications man blurted.
“Ridiculous,” the captain declared.
“Tell the squid,” the communications man replied.
The anchor chains were grinding against the hull in an unfamiliar way. The captain realized his mistake as the ship moved away from the Marquesas island of Hiva Oa. The squid were using the anchor chains to tow the Moorea Explorer.
He tried to retract, the anchors, but they only moved a few feet before they were jammed to a halt.
There were squid in the anchor bays. Squid were flopping in through the glass doors of the Sea Level Viewing Lounge and into the halls. They were gasping and heaving and dying in the public parts of the ship. They were water breathers, on suicide missions to incapacitate those aboard the ship. The struggling, screaming passengers in the lounge were imprisoned in the tentacles that refused to yield even after the squid had asphyxiated. More squid had given up their lives to foul the props and jam the anchors.
“What’s making them do it?” the communications man asked. “Somebody has to be controlling them, right?”
“Somebody, yeah,” the captain agreed. “Somebody I don’t want to meet. What’s the rescue status?”
“There is no rescue.”
“What about the Navy?”
“A couple of Navy ships responded to the first report of attacks and now they’re disabled just like us. They can’t move.”
The captain nodded, picturing mangled squid remains in the props of a powerful U.S. Navy vessel.
“Air rescue?”
“Under way on the other ships. We’re one of ten ships being towed northeast in these waters. We’re the farthest away and the last on the list for air rescue. More Navy ships are en route.”
En route, the captain thought, didn’t sound very definite.
The Moorea Explorer passengers and crew watched in horror as a flotilla of Hiva Oa islanders came to their rescue, only to be overtaken by the swarming mass of cephalopods that turned the ocean to jelly. The luckiest rescuers were marooned on the water with their engines jammed with squid carcasses. The less lucky were attacked and pulled off their small boats by the giant tentacles. A hundred islanders were dragged below the surface of the ocean.