“Oh sweet Jesus!” she screeched in horror as the shark dragged Amelie under. Her screams were instantly doused as the water swallowed her up. Purdue and Peter swung around to see Amelie’s arm snap back from the sheer force of the taking. Peter’s eyes froze in horror, his mouth wide open to scream at the macabre sight, but not a sound escaped him. Purdue’s heart stopped. He had to do something, but with the other object showing up, he had problems coming at them from both directions.
Hannah was sobbing, pulling her legs in against her chest. In the falling dark she pinched her eyes shut. She did not want to see what was coming her way. If it was going to take her down she wouldn’t give it the honor of screaming, yet she waited in paralyzed terror for the moment of impact. Only the whisper of the waves gave her some peace before she was to die, while her thoughts turned to the annoying brother she would give anything to see again.
Through the rush of the restless ocean and the crackle of the oil fire Hannah imagined that she could hear the approaching killing machine, teeth bared and tail whipping from side to side. The heat of the flames nearby was no solace for the cold depths she was preparing herself for. Hannah hoped that the thing would kill her with one bite instead of slowly drowning her in the lonely waters below while it used her as a chew toy.
The impact came. She felt a quick bother against her upper arms before she cared to open her eyes. Hannah’s rake thin body was seized with such vigor that she had no time to scream. The rope tightened like a lasso around her and two pairs of strong male arms ripped her upwards off the water. From the leeward side of the fishing boat the whole crew stood at the ready to peck up the survivors of the collision. Hannah fainted, but they briskly moved her below deck to their makeshift infirmary where they kept their supplies and medical kits. Peter and Purdue followed, although they were cogent and able to board with minimal assistance.
The captain of the boat was a kind man with pale blue eyes, much like Purdue’s. He wore a knitted hat and sported a substantial bushy beard that covered his fat cheeks like a forest of black and gray.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked Purdue.
“I have a dislocated shoulder, mostly. The rest are just scratches and bruises,” Purdue reported. “Where is Hannah?”
“The lady?” the man asked.
Purdue nodded. “Yes, did you get her in time?”
“Sí, we did,” the man smiled. “It was a close call or she would be fish fodder now.” He was a bit too cheerful in recounting Hannah’s brush with death, Purdue thought, but perhaps the man did not mean to be insensitive. “Oh, my name is Vincent, by the way. Vincent Nazquez. And you are?”
“David,” Purdue introduced himself. “Thank you so much for picking us up. Without you we would have been done for.”
“Of course. You’re welcome, David.” Vincent bowed his head courteously. “But now, let us get your arm sorted out.”
The flag that adorned the boat was the same Purdue had seen through the binoculars earlier that day when he refused to admit what it was. They were on the same boat that had refused to acknowledge them before on a radio identification call. Suddenly Purdue felt as if he had only escaped the sharks to be eaten by wolves.
12
Children of the Sun
We have been waiting five hundred years.
The Inca prophecies say that now, in this age, when the eagle of the North and the condor of the South fly together, the Earth will awaken. The eagles of the North cannot be free without the condors of the South. Now it’s happening. Now is the time.
The Aquarian Age is an era of light, an age of awakening, an age of returning to natural ways. Our generation is here to help begin this age, to prepare through different schools to understand the message of the heart, intuition, and nature.
Native people speak with the Earth. When consciousness awakens, we can fly high like the eagle, or like the condor.
Purdue and what was left of his crew were guests on the boat called Cóndor, a Spanish vessel owned by a multinational company that ran several sea-based businesses across the Mediterranean and West-African waters. When Purdue checked his plastic hard case, he was relieved to find that his tablet was unharmed by the water and still in working condition. It was, however, not a discovery he felt like sharing with his hosts, especially after he realized that they had already sailed well away from the wreckage, foiling any attempt for Purdue and his people to be rescued by the authorities.
Hannah had recovered somewhat from the physical toil of her ordeal. She was still, however, rattled by what she’d witnessed in the water a few hours before. Peter was cordial, but it was clear that he was done with maritime careers for good. Purdue overheard him telling one of the crewmembers of the Cóndor how shaken he was at the whole incident, how he just wanted to go home.
“I understand completely, old boy,” Purdue told Peter. “I’ve been regrettably numbed to even the most heinous events by having already been in countless deadly situations during my excursions. Still I must tell you, what happened to us today will not be easily swept back into memory.”
“You know, I love working for you, Mr. Purdue. It’s not your fault, what happened. I get that. But you see, this is personal. Personally, I can’t deal with these types of things too well,” Peter confessed. “And I don’t want to ever put myself in a likely situation again. I suppose you don’t need a formal resignation, hey?” He smiled at his employer for the first time since the disaster. He had known Purdue for a year, having accompanied the billionaire on two previous cruises before, but he had never seen him like this.
“No, a verbal rebuke will be sufficient,” Purdue replied lightly. Behind his smile, Peter saw that Purdue held a dreadful sorrow aching to come to the fore, but he could not let it consume him.
“None of this is your fault, Mr. Purdue,” Peter remarked awkwardly. “You must know that, no matter what you think you did wrong. We all know you feel responsible, but you should let that ship sail. Please.”
Purdue tried to distract himself from Peter’s words by eavesdropping on the crew around them, but he could not lift the yolk of guilt he felt. None of what he was thinking could be said, because if he told Peter and Hannah that he did not feel half as bad for them as he did for Sam, they would rightly see him as a bastard. He needed to grieve the loss of his friend, but he couldn’t, not here, not in front of these people.
“Thank you, Peter,” Purdue sighed.
“So, the lady tells me that your friend was on that helicopter,” Vincent said bluntly as he walked over to Purdue and Peter. Naturally, the clumsy skipper would choose the worst subject at the most unkind moment. Purdue felt his chest burn, holding a torch of lamentation for his friend, but he maintained his pose for the sake of his companions.
“That’s right,” Purdue snapped a little. He was in no mood to discuss the horrid event, least of all the parts where it was his idea for Sam to come. It had been his charter that had hired that pilot and that machine. “He was one of my closest friends, Vincent, and I do not have more than a handful of those in all the world.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Vincent replied with a softer tone. “It must be a real sore spot for you, and here I bring it up just because I was curious why you would bring a man here on a helicopter instead of just mooring at the harbor and getting him to meet you there.”
Purdue looked up, his eyes ablaze, but Vincent pretended that his blow was unintentional. He sat down with a bottle of wine and motioned for one of his men to bring glasses.
“I don’t want to drink, Vincent, thank you,” Purdue informed the skipper of the Cóndor without much reservation on being polite.