“But—”
“I already okayed it with Frank,” said Jonah. “See you in a few minutes.”
Dr. Nassiri followed Jonah up the main staircase, back towards the bridge. “Are you certain it’s a good idea to leave her down there by herself?” he asked. She hadn’t seemed to catch on to the hijacking, but all the same…
“I don’t think she can fuck with anything I can’t fix,” said the American.
“Are you certain about that?”
“No.”
“What if she doesn’t go along with the plan?”
“Then we’ll be the bad guys. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Jonah slumped into a comfortable chair while Dr. Nassiri leaned against the wall, both men waiting. Within a few moments, Alexis poked her head in the door.
“Seriously, where is everybody?” she asked, still holding the unopened beer in her hand.
“My name is Jonah,” he said. “This is Hassan. We have borrowed the Conqueror.”
“Borrowed…?” she asked.
“Let’s drop the euphemisms. We stole it. Don’t worry, everybody’s fine. We hustled the crew into the launch and they’re back in Malta. We’re currently on a course to Sicily, but that’s mostly to throw off the authorities.”
“Oh,” said Alexis, stunned. She popped the tab of the beer and took a very long drink.
“I wanted to hire a boat instead of hijacking one,” said Dr. Nassiri. “For whatever that’s worth.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” mumbled Alexis, more to herself than anyone else. “This is my first job out of grad school.”
“What a coincidence,” said Jonah. “This is my first job out of prison.”
Alexis’s eyes widened and she looked at Dr. Nassiri.
“We’re very sorry you’re here, Alexis,” he said. “We explicitly told the captain to muster everyone for evacuation. He must have missed you in the count. We’d had no intention of shanghaiing you.”
“It’s not shanghaiing,” corrected Jonah. “That’s when you capture someone on land and force them onto a ship. If anything, she’s more of a hostage.”
“Hostage!?”
“But hostage taking necessitates intent,” argued Dr. Nassiri. “This was quite without.”
“Wait, are you guys pirates?”
“Technically yes, I suppose,” said Dr. Nassiri. “But what we can all agree on is the fact that you are not a prisoner.”
“But you are somewhat stuck with us for the time being,” added Jonah. “So, yeah, you basically are a prisoner.”
“I’m still a little concerned here,” said Alexis.
“Ten days ago, my mother went missing off Somalia during an airborne oceanographic research expedition,” said Dr. Nassiri. “I believe her plane crashed. All of her scientific data, her research — her life’s work, really — is aboard that plane. I recruited Mr. Blackwell—”
Jonah snorted, loud enough to interrupt. The American clearly found the word recruited quite amusing given the context at hand.
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” said Alexis. She shot Jonah a nasty look for his poorly-timed interjection.
“I recruited Mr. Blackwell as a recovery diver,” continued Dr. Nassiri. “We intend to first traverse the Suez Canal, then berth at Anconia Island for supplies.”
“You mean that libertarian oil platform city? The new nation, data haven, all that stuff?”
“I’ve made arrangements,” said Dr. Nassiri. “We will source all necessary diving equipment at that location and Mr. Bettencourt’s private security forces will provide us with protection as we excavate the underwater crash site. For a fee, of course.”
“And where do I figure in?”
“You are welcome to disembark at Anconia. Alternatively, you may see us through on our mission, allow us to make landfall, and disappear. Then you may take command of the Conqueror and do with her as you see fit.” “And how do I know you’re not just selling the Conqueror to the nearest shady shipyard?”
“Because if that were the case, you’d already be shark chum,” interrupted Jonah. “Besides, ninety percent of the Conqueror is custom, made to order. You can’t move custom parts that hot on the black market.”
“Quite,” said Dr. Nassiri. “And upon completion of our mission, the gentleman and I intend to part company.”
“As friends, of course,” added Jonah, with more than a hint of sarcasm.
The two men stopped trading further shots as Buzz hurtled down the main staircase towards them with such speed, he almost tumbled rather than sprinted. Buzz stopped dead in his tracks, dumbfounded as he stared at Alexis. She gave him an awkward little wave.
“Who the fuck is this?” the soldier demanded to his cousin. “Forget it — we have an incoming radar contact. Computer says it’s on an intercept course.”
Jonah leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair. He ran up the stairs three at a time towards the bridge with Dr. Nassiri, Alexis, and Buzz following.
The American slammed himself in the chair, eyes already glued to the radar screen. Without looking away, Jonah placed the radio headphones against one ear and turned the dial towards the upper frequencies.
“What is it?” Dr. Nassiri hissed.
He could see it now, too, a fast-moving green speck growing closer with each radar pass. The predictive route calculated an intercept course. Jonah moved the radio dial upwards, then stopped as he found the frequency.
“Jonah—” began Dr. Nassiri, but Jonah cut him off with the wave of a hand, still listening to a faint transmission.
Jonah slammed down the headphones. “I need a pencil. Or a pen,” he said. “And paper.”
“But—” said Dr. Nassiri.
“Now, goddamn it! Now!”
Alexis threw open one of the nearest drawers and slapped a pad of paper in Jonah’s lap. He began furiously scribbling equations with a fountain pen.
“Time to tell us what the fuck is going on,” yelled Buzz.
“That radar signature,” said Jonah, not looking up from his calculations, “is a Bell AB 212 helicopter, deployed by Malta’s Coast Guard. She carries a three-man fast-rope strike force and a door gunner. We’re about to be boarded.”
Jonah returned to his work, checking his numbers. Dr. Nassiri briefly wondered if the American was having some kind of nervous breakdown. But Jonah didn’t seem the type.
“Looks like it’ll be a proper gunfight,” said Buzz, a strange combination of grimace and smile on his face.
Alexis audibly gasped. “No way,” she blurted.
Buzz pushed himself past the other two and reached for the throttle to increase speed. Jonah slapped his hand away.
“We must increase to top speed!” said Buzz.
“I’m inclined to agree,” said Dr. Nassiri. “Increase the speed.”
“Do not touch that throttle,” ordered Jonah. “We can’t maintain eighty knots. We won’t even make it to Suez if we start sucking down fuel like that.”
“Fuck this,” said Buzz. “I’m going to shoot that fucking chopper down.”
“No you’re not,” said Jonah. “I need you to throw anything that floats overboard — the life rafts, kayaks, life rings, pool toys, all of it.”
“Are you crazy?” demanded Buzz.
“Just do it. Alexis, I need a full security-lockout of all systems. Can you do that while still maintaining engine speed?”
“Yes, but—”
Angry, frightened, and feeling ignored, Buzz shoved Dr. Nassiri aside and drew a .38 revolver. He aimed the handgun at Jonah’s head and cocked back the hammer. Jonah didn’t wait, didn’t even flinch — with one smooth motion, he parried the gun and kicked, knocking Buzz’s legs out from underneath him. The former soldier crumpled to his knees, one hand on the console, and the gun tumbled away from his grip. Jonah slammed his fist against the side of the soldier’s face, knocking him flat on his back. Buzz issued a howling, mournful protest tinged with equal portions embarrassment and pain.