"Mr. Kismet. Irina has told me of your latest endeavor. You should have been more forthcoming. You see, I have information that will be of great value to you."
Severin's speech was as smooth as the vodka. Kismet had to will up the last vestiges of his cognitive abilities even to comprehend what the Russian had said. "My latest endeavor?" he echoed stupidly.
"Yes Nikolai. I know all about it."
Kismet sat in a daze, trying to fathom the implications of Severin's statement. Surely Irene had not revealed anything. The captain was still probing, trying to trick him into giving up something. "I'm not sure I do," he replied. Leaning forward, he craned his head around to look over at Irene. "What's he talking about, dear?"
Irene's blank expression confirmed his suspicion that Severin's statement was indeed a ploy designed to trick Kismet into a self-incriminating admission. Rather than continue to profess his innocence, he tried a new tack.
With finesse apropos of a drunken fool, Kismet wrapped an arm around Severin's shoulder, hugging him in a buddy embrace. "Greg you sly dog," he slurred. "I'm not a kid anymore. There's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know."
It was Severin's turn to be confused. With an expression that hovered between disgust and befuddlement, the captain shrugged free of Kismet's grasp. "I am not sure we're talking about the same thing—"
"I don't know what either one of you is talking about," Irene proclaimed, now thoroughly in the dark.
Kismet continued to play the idiot. Raising a finger to his lips, he began whispering in a conspiratorial tone. "Bedroom secrets, darling. Captain Greg doesn‘t think I know how to please a Russian girl." He flashed a lascivious wink in her direction, purely for Severin's benefit.
The Russian captain looked stunned, but quickly recovered his composure. "How foolish of me. Of course, you are a man of the world, Mr. Kismet."
Irene seemed to take up the thread of Kismet's improvisation. "You men are disgusting," she sneered. "I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in you, Nick Kismet."
Her contempt was so palpable that Kismet found himself wondering if she was in fact sincere. Before he or Severin could answer, she stood up. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very social tonight. I'd like to return to my room, if you please."
Severin nodded. "I apologize for any offense, Irina Petrovna." He gestured for the second officer to escort her, and the two of them left the officers' mess.
Kismet decided to stay in character. He playfully slugged Severin's shoulder. "Now look what you've done."
Severin whirled to face him. "You are drunk," he spat. "If you were one of my men, I would have you publicly disciplined for your foolish behavior."
Kismet folded his hands meekly in his lap. "Oops. Maybe I should go to my room, too."
"I think that would be the best thing for you to do."
Kismet rose, affecting unsteadiness, and staggered toward the exit, bumping repeatedly into the bulkhead. When he crossed the threshold however, leaving Severin's lion's den behind, he paused to breathe a sigh of relief. “That could have gone better,” he muttered under his breath. “Then again, i suppose it could have gone a hell of a lot worse.”
Kismet awoke the next day with a fuzzy mouth and a mild headache; a pleasant surprise inasmuch he had been expecting a hangover of epic proportions. He had slept soundly. According to his watch it was nearly noon, though it was possible that their journey had taken them across enough degrees of longitude to the next time zone, making it an hour later. Either way, he had overslept by a considerable margin. He swung his legs off the bed and struggled to rise. The deck was chilly beneath his bare feet and he hastily got dressed.
A taciturn sailor was posted at his door. Kismet pantomimed his desire to eat, and the seaman nodded, indicating that he should follow. He was led to the galley where a portion of leftover breakfast had been set aside for him, along with an urn of unpalatable coffee. With a grimace he swallowed some of the vile brew. The sailor, apparently his personal watchdog, remained at attention just inside the galley doorway.
As Kismet struggled through a mug of the coffee, he heard Severin's voice behind him. The captain dismissed the sailor, and then stalked over to where Kismet was sitting. "You have slept through the journey, Mr. Kismet."
"Guess I forgot to ask for a wake-up call."
"Indeed. No matter though. We turned north after crossing the fortieth meridian early this morning. We should be in sight of Poti within the hour."
Kismet grunted but said nothing. Severin helped himself to a mug of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. "You know that I had your luggage searched when you came aboard."
"I noticed. You refolded my underwear all wrong."
Severin was not amused. "Among your belongings, we found a firearm. The Russian Navy does not take the matter of weapons smuggling lightly, even when it is simply a personal weapon for self-protection. We are charged with protecting the borders of Russia and her neighbors on the Black Sea. You have committed a grave offense, I'm afraid."
Kismet set his mug down. Severin had avoided mention of the issue on the previous night, but now the matter of the pistol represented the captain's final hole card. Kismet was ready to call his bluff. "Listen Greg. I've put up with enough of your crap. I wasn't sneaking into your country, and I wasn't trying to smuggle my gun in. I was in a boat showing the Turkish flag, in Turkish waters, with legal authorization to carry a pistol. It was you that violated the law by firing on that boat and by coercing Irene and I aboard your ship."
"You were not coerced," the captain replied defensively, startled at Kismet's vehemence.
"Like hell we weren't. Boarding of our boat was an act of piracy on the open sea. You pointed your guns at us and made it all too clear that we were your hostages. You seized our luggage, kept us under constant supervision, and probably tried to poison us with that godawful vodka. So don't give me any shit about my illegal gun."
Severin's face was growing red under the heat of Kismet's accusations. "I was only trying to educate you in the laws of the region. You are correct that I did not afford you the opportunity to declare your possession of the gun. That was an unfortunate oversight on my part. I merely seek now to explain to you why your weapon has been confiscated."
Kismet did not relent. "I think you're the one about to commit a grave offense. The United Nations has authorized me to carry that gun on my person at all times. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Russia is still part of the UN, right? Permanent membership on the security counsel, if I recall correctly. I'll have to report this of course, up my chain of command and down yours. That snowball is going to have a lot of momentum by the time it lands on your head."
Severin's eyelid twitched uncontrollably. "My apologies. You are correct of course. I will instruct the quartermaster to return your weapon as soon as we make landfall."
Kismet took another sip of the vile coffee but said nothing more, dismissing the captain with his body language. Severin bristled but before he could speak, a tinny voice scratched from the intercom, summoning him to the bridge.
"It seems we have arrived. I suggest you make ready to depart." He stood up and walked toward the exit. "One more thing, Mr. Kismet. Despite your impressive performance last evening, I am unconvinced that you have no ulterior motives. Your official status-" He filled the words with contempt- "notwithstanding, if you attempt to perpetrate any crime or activity that poses a threat to Russia, her people or her interests, I will be there to stop you. Consider yourself warned."