Sea of Fire

Chapter Fifty-Three

Peter Kannaday's injuries did not prevent him from leaving his cabin. He stayed there hour after hour out of shame.

The captain alternately stood by the porthole or lay on the bed. He replayed the attack endlessly, considering things he should have done. He thought back to the days leading to that point. He wished that he had willingly formed an alliance with Hawke instead of being minimized. To do so now would be cowardly. To have done so before the attack would have been wise. Unfortunately, wisdom was not always there when you needed it. He began to wonder, after several hours, if maybe that was the way it needed to be. Lying on his back in the dark, he thought of the biblical prophets who went into the wilderness. They made the journey in order to be pounded down by the sun and starvation. The prophets bought wisdom by taking on pain, loneliness, and doubt. But the knowledge and self-awareness they acquired came with something else. Something indispensable. It nested atop the fortified backbone they needed to apply it.

Perhaps it was not too late to find courage. Realizing that, Kannaday even saw what form it should take. He had to leave the cabin and take a turn on deck. He had to show the crew and Hawke that he was beaten but not broken. He also needed to be more than just a captain. He needed to regain command.

Kannaday rose from the bed. The now-familiar aches made him wince, but they did not cause him to pause. He could not show hesitation once he left here. He had to be strong.

As Kannaday headed toward the door, he heard a key being turned in the lock. The door was already unlocked. He bolted for the knob and twisted. It did not turn. He patted his back pocket. His key case had been removed. He went to his desk for the spare. It, too, was gone. Kannaday went back to the door and banged once with the side of his fist.

"Who's out there?" he yelled.

There was no answer. The captain did not waste time or energy shouting. He looked around for something to pry the door open. Possibly the letter opener he had never used. Or one of the hooks from the closet. He would try the letter opener first. He went to the desk, but the opener was gone.

In quick succession Kannaday heard the 220 horsepower Caterpillar engine quiet, idle, then stop. The yacht slowed. This was not a scheduled stop. Then he heard the winches above him begin to turn. The dinghies were being lowered. The floor no longer hummed with the low vibration caused by the powerful motor. What the hell was going on?

Kannaday leaned on the desk. He punched on the intercom to the radio room.

"Marcus, are you there?"

Again, no answer. Which, in a way, was an answer in itself.

Just then he heard a commotion in the hallway. He went to the door and pressed his ear to it. Crew members were coming and going. He heard crashing but no shouts. The men were breaking things, but they were not fighting. It sounded as if they were in the lab.

"Sweet Christ almighty," he muttered.

They were in the lab. Destroying the equipment. Destroying evidence? But they were not throwing it over the side. They were smashing equipment on the floor. That could only mean one thing. It would be staying on board. And that could only mean one thing.

They intended that the Hosannah never be found.