“Help me into the chair.”
The senior chief lowered him, and he tested varied reclining angles until he found one that minimized his pain.
“Sit, senior chief.”
In the tight space, Nang angled his knees to avoid bumping Yoon’s as he sat.
“What do you think, sir?”
“I want to believe what he said because it maximizes our chances of survival if Tong never sent our location to our adversaries.”
“But you’re skeptical.”
“Maybe just paranoid.”
“After what just happened to us, I don’t think anything we could think about is paranoid.”
“Good point. So we believe his story for lack of a better one.”
“I don’t see another option, sir, unless there’s something we’ve missed.”
“I don’t think we’ve missed anything, but we need to sleep on it. We need to set up a new watch rotation to monitor sonar, watch over the prisoner, and monitor the battery.”
“Right, sir. You’re not planning on running the electrolysis system, are you?”
“I’m thankful that we can generate electricity while submerged, but we won’t need the extra power for days.”
In search of pain relief, Yoon shifted his weight.
“We have enough men and the right mix of skills. I’ll set up a new watch rotation.”
Yoon entertained thoughts of returning home to his fiancée. He hoped that the fleet would let her know that he was okay and, more importantly, take action to rescue him and the other survivors.
He would wait until nightfall to float a radio antenna to the water’s surface to listen for messages from the fleet. Until then, he would seek ways to turn his disadvantages into opportunities.
He had a prisoner, and he had a mission of getting his submarine home.
CHAPTER 3
Jake Slate stared at his beer.
“I can’t drink this,” he said.
“It’s okay, honey,” his wife said. “I’m driving tonight. Live it up.”
“I mean I don’t think I want it.”
“Get something else. That beer looks kind of light anyway. Get something stronger.”
“No, I mean I don’t want any beer.”
“You want some scotch? I think this place has that single malt you get when we go out. The good stuff, but not the great stuff.”
“Glenfiddich, aged twelve years. I’m sure they have it. That’s not the point. I don’t feel like drinking.”
She frowned.
“Are you sick?”
He glared at her.
“Linda!”
“What?” she asked. “It’s a fair question.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Those pills Pierre told me to take. The naltrexone. The Sinclair Method he made me try. I think it’s working.”
“What’s that again?”
“You know. If I’m going to drink, I take the pill at least an hour before starting. Then it blocks receptors in my brain that create a desire for additional alcohol.”
A waitress arrived and announced the content of the meals as she lowered a salad before Linda and a steak under Jake’s nose. After she departed, he slid the beer aside.
“I told you about the pills, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I thought they were only supposed to slow you down. I didn’t know they would stop you altogether.”
“I knew it might stop me,” Jake said. “But I didn’t believe it until I felt it. It sort of snuck up on me.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I don’t know. I feel like Pierre just force-fed me a solution to a problem I didn’t have.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He pressured me into taking the pills a few months ago. I didn’t want to offend him. So I did it.”
“For him, huh? You could have stopped without him knowing it. He lives halfway across the world for God’s sake.”
“The next time we talk, he’s going to ask about it, and I can’t lie to him.”
“You aren’t doing this of your own free will at all?”
Jake lowered his gaze. She was right.
“Maybe I was a little curious.”
“Curious to see if it would work, or curious to see if you needed it?”
“God damn it, woman!”
Her expression turned dark.
“Watch your language.”
“I told you not to accuse me of having a drinking problem.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything.”
“The hell you didn’t! You just asked if I needed a treatment for alcohol use.”
He carved a piece of red meat and lifted it to his tongue. The filet melted in his mouth. He remembered she was a teammate and not an adversary, like he viewed most people in the world.
“Sorry, honey,” he said.
“I only asked because you’ve said that you wanted to cut back.”
“Yeah, cut back, maybe, but I wanted to still be able to enjoy it when I want. This has made the entire craving go away. I’m not sure I know what to do if I can’t get blitzed once in a while.”
“Maybe that means you have to deal with all the problems in your life you haven’t dealt with yet.”
He watched her chew on a fork full of romaine lettuce.
“One reason I married you is because you’re direct.”
“This is going to be good for you. Not drinking, I mean.”
“Let’s see about that. This may not even be a permanent feeling. Maybe it’s just a temporary reaction.”
As the phone beside his untouched beer vibrated, he glanced at the contact’s name and felt exhilarated and scared. From the corner of his eye, he saw fear cast shadows over Linda’s face.
“Who is it?”
The name issued from his tightening throat as a whisper.
“Pierre.”
“Oh, no. Not again,” she said. “What’s he want?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a text saying to call him as soon as I can speak freely.”
“I don’t like this, Jake. You’ve paid your dues over and over again. Can’t we just live in peace?”
“Honey, this is my job. It’s my purpose to respond when he calls me. I can’t just live a life of leisure all the time.”
“If you need a purpose, you could spend all your money and time volunteering for the Church. You don’t have to run off and risk your life whenever Pierre feels like making a buck.”
“I send tons of money to oppressed Iraqi Christians through the Chaldean Church because the rest of the world has forgotten them.”
“I know, and Bishop Kalabat appreciates it as much as I do, maybe even more so. You do it for me and my family members who’ve been forced into exile because you know it’s the right thing to do, but you don’t get any satisfaction from it.”
“I don’t share your passion for the Church.”
“Not yet, you don’t. But I have faith that you will someday.”
“Maybe. I’m still doing my research. Give me time.”
“I know. You need to deal with your anger, first, anyway. Cutting back on the drinking will help.”
Jake doubted anything would help. A deep anger burned within him, and he identified himself with the emotion. He wondered how other people could appear so calm with the tragedy of human existence when the concept infuriated him.
“I admit that not drinking could help,” he said. “But forgive me if I’m not optimistic.”
“Well, that’s at least something that could help you. But what about me? Pierre’s going to give you some job now where you risk your life for a bunch of strangers, and I won’t even know where you were. I have to see stories of naval battles on the news and guess if it was you or not.”
“If you knew where I’ve been or where I’m going, you’d be a kidnapping target.”