The Wrecking Crew

EPILOGUE

The Scorpion slipped through the luminescent fog of a cool Puget Sound morning, the sky and the surface of the ocean blending together in a seamless gradient. Silently navigating a hidden cove, the sub slowed as it approached the massive concrete dock of a long-abandoned shipyard. Jonah opened the top hatch to the conning tower, squinting against the glare. The submarine bumped up against the dock and he scrambled down the exterior boarding ladder onto the deck, pulling long mooring lines out of hidden compartments and roping the bulky length of the vessel against the concrete wall.

Hassan brought a heavy leather briefcase out of the conning tower as Jonah inspected the ropes at the docking cleats. Satisfied with his work, Jonah took the briefcase from the doctor and hopped onto the dock, walking up the length towards shore.

Frizzy brown hair blowing in the sea breeze, Marissa Jenkins purposefully strode out to meet Jonah, anger building with every step. Her eyes stared daggers and were matched by the pursed scowl of a scorned ex. Jonah suddenly found himself remembering that he’d never technically broken things off.

“Hey Issa,” said Jonah, trying to break the ice with a broad smile.

Marissa stopped dead and slapped him squarely across the face, hard enough to leave a bright red handprint.

“Ow!” protested Jonah. “What was that—?”

“You said you were bringing a ship in for repairs,” said Marissa with an accusatory tone. “That is a submarine. Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in?”

“So we’ll throw a tarp over it,” said Jonah, rubbing his stinging face as he set the briefcase down. “And it’s nice to see you, too.”

Hassan and Alexis walked down deck of the submarine. The engineer slipped her hand into the doctor’s as the two jumped onto the dock to join Jonah.

“Hey,” said Jonah to the pair. “Where’s Dalmar and Vitaly?”

Hassan gave a pained look. “They’re… uh… still…” he began.

“I think the technical term is banging,” added Alexis, squeezing Hassan’s hand.

“Banging?” asked Jonah.

“Like a screen door in a tornado, Cap’n,” said Alexis.

Marissa shook her head in irritation at the whole situation even as she gestured to a collection of shipping containers and bulky equipment crates on the shore next to the concrete dock. “So everything you wanted is here — air lifters, winches, arc welders, plasma cutter, gantry cranes, newly rolled high-strength steel plating, and all manner of electronics. It’s everything you’ll need to repair your… ship. We’ll bring in a diesel barge in a couple of days to top off your tanks.”

“Much obliged,” said Jonah. “I’m very impressed.”

“Well, you’d better not fuck me on payment,” said Marissa. “Because I’m out serious money on this, especially the rental deposits. Keep in mind you already disappeared on me once.”

“It’s covered,” said Jonah, snapping open the briefcase and swiveling it around to show the contents to Marissa.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Those are… gold bars. Lots of gold bars.”

“Ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent pure,” said Jonah. “Had them assayed myself.”

“What in holy hell am I supposed to do with gold bars?”

“It was either this or Indonesian rupiahs,” said Hassan. “Or Burmese kyats—”

“This will be fine, thank you,” interrupted Marissa, taking the suitcase from Jonah and closing it. “So how did you get this much gold?”

“You’d be very surprised what collectors pay for black market human skin these days,” said Jonah.

“Ugh! I shouldn’t have even asked,” said Marissa, putting her index finger and thumb on the bridge of her nose and squeezing. Jonah recognized it as a symptom of an early-onset tension headache.

Sweaty and still buttoning their shirts, Dalmar and Vitaly emerged from the conning tower, waving at the rest of the party.

“That reminds me,” added Marissa, pulling half a dozen folded-up loose leaf pages of printer paper from her back jeans pocket. “Jonah told me to run your names, see what the authorities have on you.”

“I’ve been kinda dreading this moment,” said Alexis.

“It will be fine,” said Hassan, giving Alexis’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“Jonah — we’ll start with you,” said Marissa. “Looks like INTERPOL wants you for questioning over what happened at Anconia Island. I’d also keep away from any US cities for… well, forever. And most major western countries as well.”

“No surprises there,” said Jonah.

“Dr. Hassan Nassiri,” continued Marissa, reading off the page. “You’ve been formally charged with desertion and facilitating the escape of a prisoner. You’re also wanted in Malta in connection with a stolen yacht — wait, you guys were the ones that stole the Conqueror?”

“Yeah, and kidnapped me while they were at it,” said Alexis.

“Good,” said Marissa. “Well, the kidnapping part isn’t good. But the owner of the Conqueror was a real asshole.”

“And then they sank it,” added Alexis. “Can you believe that?”

“Seriously?” Marissa shook her head. “Jonah, this is why you can’t have nice things.”

Dalmar and Vitaly stepped up to the group at the dock, a ruddy flush on both their faces.

“I assume you’re Dalmar Abdi?” asked Marissa, pointing at the massive pirate.

“I am Dread Pirate Dalmar Abdi,” he answered in his booming voice. “And you are very beautiful woman.”

“My computer almost crashed when I Googled your name because you, my friend, are an internationally wanted terrorist. I could probably go to Gitmo just for talking to you.”

“I am finally famous!” shouted Dalmar, waving his fists at the heavens.

“Congratulations. And you are… Vitaly Kuznetsov?” asked Marissa, nodding towards the Russian pilot.

“That is me,” said Vitaly.

“Vitaly, I can’t find anything about you anywhere. Frankly, I’m not convinced you even exist.”

“Even so,” said Vitaly, “Russia not so safe for me right now. Some people not so happy with Vitaly. I stay with submarine.”

“Alexis Andrews,” said Marissa with an apologetic tone. “I hate to say this, but you may want to lay low for a while. There are no warrants out, but there are a lot of angry people who want to ask you some really serious questions.”

Alexis nodded and looked at the ground. “I have letters,” she finally said. “Can you get them to my family?”

“Of course,” said Marissa. “Which brings me to Charles Bettencourt. You guys catch the news?”

“We put up a satellite dish, but it keeps getting washed off,” complained Jonah.

“Well, then you’ll like this. Bettencorps CEO Charles Bettencourt is officially missing and presumed dead. His helicopter was found abandoned near a small fishing village on the coast of Somali. His helicopter pilot was found nearby.”

“Alive?” asked Vitaly quizzically.

“Not so much,” said Marissa. “Body was mutilated. And he’d been forced to drink so much toxic waste that authorities had to take his body to a chemical weapons disposal furnace in Belarus for cremation.”

“Ouch,” said Jonah.

“Yeah,” said Marissa with a wry smile. “Ouch is right. The Anconia data dump wasn’t complete, but Jesus, what a mess. Environmental groups and NGOs from around the world jumped on it. The red tide off Somalia is still bad, but there are early indications that it’s starting to fade. An American carrier group is in the area, their deep-dive program already pulling up barrels. Nobody knows what to call the stuff, much less what to do with it. Inside sources say it’s going to be a full-scale cleanup effort, especially for anything that washed up onshore.”

“Fatima would be pleased,” whispered Hassan. Beside him, Alexis nodded.

“So… you’ve got yourself a goddamn submarine. What the hell are you going to do with it?” Marissa surveyed them.

“Seek adventure!” Dalmar spread his arms wide.

“Probably more crime,” admitted Vitaly.

“Babysit these guys.” Alexis rolled her eyes.

“I’m of the hope that they will need my services as little as possible,” said Hassan.

“It’s a big ocean,” mused Jonah. “We’ll just have to see what comes our way.”

“I’ve got a job for you and your crew in Japan if you’re looking for work. Yours if you want it,” said Marissa, hoisting up the suitcase and preparing to leave. “I’ll give you the details in a couple of days. Jonah, I hope you’re a better captain than you were a boyfriend.”

“Same here,” admitted Jonah. “And thanks for everything. I know you’re risking a lot to help us.”

“Not done yet,” said Marissa. “You know that certain someone you asked me to keep an eye out for?”

“Yeah?” said Jonah, just barely daring to hope.

“Klea,” shouted Marissa as she waved back to her car. “You can make your dramatic entrance now. We’re all good — everybody is cool and no helicopters swooping in. Yet.”

A slight, pale, dark-haired young woman exited the car, cautiously at first. But when she caught sight of Jonah, she broke out into a full run. Jonah caught her in his arms as she embraced him and buried her face in his chest. For the briefest of moments, Jonah’s mind flashed back to their long journey in the inflatable life raft.

“I–I thought—” began Klea.

“It’s okay.” Jonah held her close, running his hands up and down her back. “We made it. What happened?”

“Burhaan’s family hid me,” said Klea. “Took me south, just like they said they would. I showed up at an American embassy and told them to take me home. I thought you were dead until Marissa called me.”

“I’m so happy to see you,” admitted Jonah. “I can’t even find the words—”

“I can come with you,” said Klea. “I can help, I know things — engines, electronics, navigation—”

“We’ll manage,” said Jonah, holding her tightly. “Klea, I’m just happy at least one of us is allowed back in the world. It should be you.”

Klea threw her arms around Jonah’s neck. And for one perfect moment, he felt her smile as she kissed him.

“Everybody, this is Klea,” said Jonah, introducing her to his wrecking crew. She smiled and waved.

“Nicely done, Captain,” said Vitaly. “She very pretty.”

“You want a tour?” Jonah offered Marissa and Klea.

“Pass,” Marissa said.

“Maybe starting with the captain’s cabin?” Klea cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

Jonah grinned and took her under his arm.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Jonah said, digging into his pocket. “I got a present for you, Marissa.”

“More gold I can’t unload? Or did you save some black market human skin just for me?”

“Better.” He tossed her a small silver voice recorder. Marissa caught it one-handed, frowned, and held it to her ear as she pressed the play button.

“I was over-extended financially, risking not just Anconia Island, but the whole of the Bettencorps empire,” began the recording of Charles Bettencourt, arrogance dripping from his voice. “And then the Conglomerate came to me with a proposal that could save everything, a problem for which they required the utmost discretion.”

The tape dropped out for a moment, returning when Hassan’s cool aristocratic voice broke in. “And you took these weapons,” said the doctor over the recording. “And you buried them in the deep waters of the Indian Ocean.”

“Of course I did!” the CEO shouted, his voice tinny over the recording. “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.”

Marissa clicked the recorder off and smiled.

“Dead or alive, the world is going to know the truth about Charles Bettencourt,” said Jonah, turning back toward the Scorpion, his fingers entwined with Klea’s.

“Is the world going to find out the truth about Jonah Blackwell, too?” shouted Marissa after him.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” said Jonah.