Alexis glanced down at Fatima and then let her eyes rest a moment on Hassan. “I’ll follow you on down the road apiece,” she said with an exaggerated drawl. Then she crossed her arms and stared at Jonah. She didn’t need to say another word for everyone to know she fully intended to stay.
Jonah nodded and turned to the doctor. “Hassan, take your mother home, give her a proper burial. You can still go back to your medical practice.”
Hassan frowned. “There is nothing for me in Morocco,” he whispered. “Besides, Bettencourt will not let me live in peace. You know that.”
“Vitaly?” said Jonah, turning his attention to the Russian helmsman.
“You shoot Vitaly if he leave?” Vitaly said with a grim smile. “Again?”
“Hell, I might shoot you for staying,” said Jonah.
“You are terrible captain.” Vitaly shook his head as if Jonah was a great disappointment. “But I take my chances with Scorpion. She good ship. I stay.”
“Good,” cracked Jonah. “Because I know fuck-all about sailing this thing.”
Jonah started to speak again, but Dalmar interrupted, his solemn baritone filling the engine room. “I am with you in this. We will rain destruction upon him. Blood for blood, for the doctor’s beautiful mother, for my people. My men and I will provide whatever support we can whenever you need it.”
Hassan spoke up, his voice barely a whisper. “Charles Bettencourt has no right to do what he’s doing. He thinks everybody is too stupid, too poor, or too weak to oppose him. I’ve lost my cousin and my mother… and for”—his voice broke—“for what?”
“We can’t bring back what was lost,” said Jonah. “But we can show the world who Charles Bettencourt really is.”
CHAPTER 19
Vitaly increased the tempo of the Scorpion’s engines, slowly throttling up to one-quarter reverse. The submarine reverberated and shook, a spear vibrating deep within the belly of the sunken World War II transport ship. The Scorpion shifted but didn’t retreat, structural members of the broken shipwreck moaning as they chafed against the steel skin of the submarine. Hassan shivered, it sounded like the pipes of a discordant church organ.
“Mother-fucker!” yelled Jonah, slapping the back of Vitaly’s chair in frustration. “Rudder! Rudder! Vector that engine thrust!”
“Nyet!” protested Vitaly. “We come out with least resistance with direct reverse! Your plan will wedge us, kill us all!”
“Listen, you Ruskie fuck,” said Jonah. “This isn’t my first time stuck in the Richard Thompson. We need to wriggle our way out. A straight reverse thrust will create too much friction.”
“I disagree,” said Vitaly. “You make worst captain.”
“I’m not asking you, I’m fucking telling you,” retorted Jonah. “Start shaking the Scorpion’s ass until we pull our nose out of this goddamn wreck. If we run the batteries to zero with your bullshit, I am going to use my last moments in this glorified sewer pipe beating the ever-loving shit out of you with a fucking wrench. I’ll just keep beating and beating and beating until I fucking asphyxiate.”
“Yob tvoyiu mat,” grumbled Vitaly. He complied with the order, harshly jamming the rudders back and forth as the engines roared to full power. The Scorpion shifted back and forth by the stern, unable to pull herself free.
Jonah and Vitaly’s exchange barely registered as Hassan sat behind them on the deck of the command compartment. He leaned against the bulkhead, knees pulled nearly to his chin, alone in his thoughts.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter if they freed themselves. Maybe it’d be better to take his chances in the lockout chamber, make one last push for the surface as nitrogen narcosis numbed his mind and quelled the grief. The doctor fixated on the image of his mother splayed out in ankledeep wastewater, eyes open, heart slammed to a sudden stop by electrocution. He had lost her, then found her, only to lose her again, and the grief the second time around was infinitely worse.
Everyone had left him alone as he prepared her body, removing her wet, filthy clothing, washing her face and hands as best as he could. He wrapped her from head to toe in the last of the clean white sheets. The first layer he arranged like a wedding dress from a long-forgotten picture. The second he bound up like a funeral shroud. Sewing her into the sheets with one careful stitch after another, the doctor kissed her forehead for the last time. Finishing his work, he’d realized he couldn’t bear to place her in the freezer with the other bodies. He instead placed her in her bunk, closing the curtains behind as he left.
Hassan’s attention snapped back to the present. With a scraping, metallic groan, the Scorpion pulled loose, shuddering as she reversed out of the shifting wreckage. Beams and deck plates rained down from the SS Richard Thompson James, slamming against the steel hull one after another, until, with one last wobble, the Scorpion slipped free and retreated into unobstructed waters.
“Straight back,” commanded Jonah. “Maintain full power to rear thrust. Leave the rudders alone.”
“So we live,” said Vitaly, frowning. “Hooray for us.”
“Aren’t you glad I’m not beating the shit out of you right now?” asked Jonah.
“Yes, yes. Very glad.”
“Nicely done,” congratulated Hassan. Despite his admiration, the doctor’s budding trust in the American was not without its reservations. Jonah still had a disconcerting habit of presenting a plan with unassailable confidence, then behaving with just as much surprise as everybody else when it actually worked.
“Vitaly, seriously, good work,” said Jonah. “I couldn’t be more pleased. I’m going forward to check the rest of our motley crew.”
“Who is number one helmsman? Who is best of best?”
“You are,” answered Jonah, pretending to kowtow as he backed his way out of the compartment. “I bow before the skills of the master. Now there is a certain pirate I’m trying to keep an eye on — I’ll be back in a moment. Set a westerly course towards the coast, silent running.”
“You still worst captain,” said Vitaly, smiling as he punched in helm instructions. “Now go check on our pet pirate while I steer submarine.”
Yes, go check on the pirate, thought Hassan, pulling himself to his feet. While Hassan had no idea how to approach Alexis or what to say to her after his mother’s accident, he didn’t relish the idea of Jonah giving her too much attention. He would have to talk to her sometime, but hoped to put it off for as long as possible. It was all just too confusing… too painful. In the meantime, he was confident Jonah would keep an eye on Dalmar.
Hassan wasn’t quite sure what to make of the massive Somali yet. The ready-to-kill, ready-to-die attitude was perhaps heroic on some level, but Hassan sensed there was something deeper, more complicated at play. He waited until Jonah was well out of hearing range before taking a seat next to Vitaly at the pilot’s console.
“Don’t worry about Jonah,” said Hassan. “He’s… he’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, asshole. But our asshole. So maybe I don’t mind so much. And he right this one time.”
“But that doesn’t mean your idea wouldn’t have worked.”
“Maybe,” said Vitaly. “Maybe not. I more happy to be alive than correct, no?”
Alexis walked into the command compartment, wiping sweat off her forehead. Hassan glanced in her direction, then riveted his gaze firmly at the deck, unwilling to make eye contact. Maybe she needs to see Vitaly. Maybe she will go back to the engine room. Uncomfortable, Vitaly rose from his seat and busied himself on the far side of the compartment with his back to the pair.