The Last Family

55

Kurt Steiner came in from checking the cockpit, shed his wet coat, and joined Martin, who was almost finished stitching his jaw where it had been opened. Kurt looked at the instrumentation on the galley wall, which included a compass with their present bearing displayed. Martin was seated at the counter before a small mirror as he used a curved needle from the boat’s first-aid kit to pull a length of suture through and through, sealing the open wound in his cheek. He finished three, clipped off the extra nylon string, and wiped the oozing blood from his cheek carefully with a damp cloth. “That’ll have to do,” he announced. The white sutures reminded Kurt of the stitching on a baseball. The way Martin ignored pain never failed to amaze Kurt. It was as though he refused to acknowledge its existence and in doing so robbed it of any power it might have over him.

“What about them?” Kurt asked, pitching his head in the direction of the cabin door.

“Why, you want a little sport?”

“No,” Kurt said. “There’s no honor in-”

Martin’s hand moved like lightning, and he seized Kurt’s wet face between his fingers, the palm covering his mouth. “What the fuck do you know about honor? A bunch of claptrap you heard from a drooling old man who ran to South America with his tail tucked?”

“No, I mean…”

Martin’s eyes flashed, and the teeth, between his tightened lips, were like white tiles set in a grout of blood. Blood flowed anew. Martin wiped at it, angrily or impatiently. “That little mother in there knows more about loyalty than either of us could ever understand.” His face twitched and his eyes cleared. He released his grip and patted Kurt playfully on the shoulder. “Real loyalty, true devotion, springs from perfect love. Loyalty for men like us is a function of self-interest.” The rose circles where Martin’s fingertips had gripped Kurt’s cheeks stood out as though painted on with rouge. Martin turned back to the counter, opened three of the white capsules, poured the powder into his mouth, and took a swallow of wine. He waved his hand in the air over the counter to dismiss the past few seconds as nothing significant.

Kurt hadn’t moved a muscle. His expression did not betray the pain he felt at the rebuff or the fire of anger that was burning inside him. “I am loyal to you. I will die for you.”

“So I am a cause worth dying for? I am an object for your perfect loyalty? Interesting.” He searched Kurt’s eyes with his own for an answer. “Hereditary anomaly, no doubt.”

“My grandfather was loyal. To his leader.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was. Even though his leader was a loser on a global level. I didn’t mean to knock the old buzzard off his ragged pedestal. Sieg heil and all that shit.”

“He was a great commander. He served in Russia. Lost two fingers and the toes on his left foot to frostbite,” Kurt murmured.

“No fun tonight,” Martin said absently. “We’ll need all of our energy for Paul. Maybe I’ll draw it out for a long time so he’ll have something special to remember. Think he’d deflower his own daughter to save the family? That is an interesting thought. That would be something for him to remember.” Martin laughed out loud. “Oh, that’s good! What a test of love and loyalty versus ingrained Christian morality.”

Kurt frowned. “Let’s just get it over with and get the hell out of here.”

Martin looked at the man for a second, and then he backhanded him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “I’m in charge here. I make the plans, I set the rules of engagement. The important thing isn’t getting away. We’ll get away if we deserve to. The important thing is teaching these fucking assholes about the limits of pain. If you want to go, get the fuck out now-take the tanks, I don’t need them. If you’re afraid to die… get the fuck out. Tell you what, you can have all the Lallo money. Live like a king in your country, marry some blond-haired, German-mix spick and bounce your own grandsons on your arthritic knees singing the praises of the Fatherland.”

Kurt stood and pulled himself up into full attention. His face was twisted, red where he had been struck, and his lips pursed tightly together. “I’m not afraid, Martin. I will die if I need to-or if you order me to. My oath is my loyalty, my life. My life is yours to command.”

Martin put his arms around the younger man, looked him in the eyes, and hugged him. “Then we’ll live or die together. If we fail alive or dead, it’s all the same. Without honor, what is there?” He took the detonator from his pocket and placed it on the counter. “I give you the honor of detonating the package when the time comes. Is the scuba equipment ready? There’s a ten-minute delay. Enough time to get away,” he lied. The delay after the button was released was thirty seconds. Martin had reset it.

Martin patted Kurt’s cheeks softly, almost lovingly. “Let’s go back and rig everything nice for our soon-to-arrive guests. And put a smile on that face.”