“You’re wrong! It’s not bullshit. I was trying to help them, goddammit. But they’re slaves. Slaves to their tradition, to their nonsensical fundamentalism, to poverty and ignorance. I wanted to set them free.”
“By poisoning them,” Hassan added.
“Well, I do admit that is truly unfortunate,” murmured Bettencourt. “But new nations are expensive. As are new ideas. I came to realize these people are beyond help, they’re the one nation on earth too fucking backward to even form some semblance of self-government. I was overextended financially, risking not just Anconia Island, but the whole of the Bettencorps empire. And then the Conglomerate came to me with a proposal that could save everything, a problem for which they required the utmost discretion. They had in their possession dangerous relics of a forgotten war — weapons so dangerous they were more valuable destroyed than sold.”
“And you took these weapons,” snarled Hassan, “and you buried them in the deep waters of the Indian Ocean.”
“Of course I did! I was forced, forced to agree that the best place to hide weapons that shouldn’t exist was among people who didn’t matter. It was such an easy choice to make. What they wanted was so simple — their interests protected, a blind eye turned, and for that I got my bottom line secured.”
“Round of applause for the despondent plutocrat,” said Hassan, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “For he can never fail the world, the world can only fail him.”
“Chuck, here’s what I find truly amazing,” said Jonah. “It’s amazing that you’re still failing to ask yourself a series of very simple questions. I’m disappointed, I really thought you knew us better than that.”
“I’m listening.”
“What do you think our objective was? To expose you to the world, only to watch you bribe and manipulate your way out of infamy? See you pay an army of lawyers and spin doctors and put a fucking smiley face on an empire of poison? Do you really think our war against you will come down to dueling interviews on Larry King Live?”
“Larry King went off the air in 2010, you ignorant dipshit.”
“What you’ve failed to consider is that we do not play by your fucking rules,” continued Jonah. “You cannot hide behind a rigged system. Not from us.”
“Charles, what you’ve failed to consider,” said Hassan with a smile, “is that we are just the distraction.”
Bettencourt frowned, considering this new information.
“They’re bluffing—” Westmoreland snapped derisively.
The CEO cut him off with a wave of a hand. “We can’t take that chance.” He turned to the lawyer. “Check on the status of every ship within a hundred miles. Look for anything out of the ordinary; I don’t care how small it seems.”
The lawyer wheeled himself over to the desk and activated the built-in screen. The mahogany surface disappeared, replaced by a computer display.
“Maybe the colonel is right, maybe you’re full of shit,” said Bettencourt, turning back to Jonah and Hassan. “But I’m not. Believe me when I say we’re going to hunt and sink your submarine and kill your friends.”
“How you use your little remaining time is your own business,” said Hassan.
“’Cause it is on like motherfucking Donkey Kong,” added Jonah, waggling his head.
“Found something,” interrupted the lawyer. “There’s a note in the file of the SS Erno Rubik. Cargo container supercarrier, on route from India to South Africa. They reported a fire in the generator room less than an hour ago and are currently communicating by telex only.”
“Have they asked for assistance?” asked Colonel Westmoreland.
“No — we’ve offered several times and they’ve refused. Could be nothing. What should we do?”
“Contact our security team on that ship,” said Colonel Westmoreland.
“Hold on,” said the lawyer, squinting his eyes at the map. “The radar feed is updating. They’re turning and increasing speed. I… I think they’re turning towards Anconia Island.”
“Tonnage?” demanded the CEO.
“One-hundred-and-eighty-six thousand tons,” said the lawyer, the blood draining from his face. “Four times the size of the Titanic. She’s more than a thousand feet in length, one of the largest cargo ships ever put to sea. And she’s on a collision course.”
CHAPTER 21
Bettencourt paced behind his desk as his lawyer unsuccessfully hailed the cargo container supercarrier SS Erno Rubik for the fourth time. Still too far away to see from the penthouse, the massive container ship had broken away from course and increased speed to eighteen knots, bearing down on Anconia Island on a high-speed collision course.
“Come in, Erno Rubik,” said the lawyer into the marine radio, his voice betraying fear and urgency. “SS Erno Rubik, please state your intentions.”
From the other end, the radio crackled to life.
“Anconia Island, Anconia Island,” boomed a silky baritone voice. “This is Dalmar Abdi, dread pirate captain of the SS Erno Rubik.”
“Colonel,” said Bettencourt, holding his clenched fist in front of his mouth. “I thought you told me that the pirates couldn’t fucking hijack the supercarriers.”
“We have a security team on that ship,” protested the colonel. “We’ve never had a problem before—”
“I think you’re having a problem now,” Jonah said.
“As my first act as pirate captain,” continued Dalmar. “I am renaming this fine ship the SS Fuck Your Mother.”
There was a brief silence in the glass-roofed office penthouse, wasting precious seconds as the gargantuan ship slowly closed the gap between itself and the immobile island. Bettencourt fished a pair of binoculars out of the desk drawer and handed them to Colonel Westmoreland. The mercenary took station by the window, scanning the distance.
“I’d answer them if I were you,” said Jonah, smirking. “Sounds like it might be important.”
Charles bent over the desk and pressed the transmit button. “SS Erno Rubik,” he began. “This is Anconia Island, Charles Bettencourt speaking.”
Silence greeted him.
“Why won’t he answer?” demanded the CEO.
“I believe he was quite clear about the name of his ship,” said Hassan.
“Goddamn it,” said Bettencourt, stabbing the transmit button again. “SS… Fuck Your Mother… this is Anconia Island, Charles Bettencourt speaking.”
“Hello Charles,” said Dalmar through the radio. “I’ve long admired your shining city upon the sea.”
“I’ve got Jonah Blackwell and Hassan Nassiri with me. At gunpoint. Change course or we’ll kill your friends.”
“Hello Jonah and Hassan!” exclaimed Dalmar. “Is it true you have been captured?”
“Unfortunately yes,” said Jonah, loud enough for the microphone to pick up his voice.
“Glorious!” said Dalmar. “I am so pleased you will die a good death at the hands of our sworn adversary!”
“Whoops,” Jonah said, shaking his head. “We’d be a better bargaining chip if he cared about keeping us alive.”
The colonel slapped Bettencourt’s hand away from the transmit button.
“How well did our last chat with Dalmar go? Pirates don’t bargain for their own,” he hissed as he shoved the binoculars into the CEO’s hands. “Look — the container ship is within visual range.”
Bettencourt hit the transmit button again. “Can we talk to our security team?” he asked.