— 3 —
The Dove measured thirty-six feet in length, with fast, slick lines made for racing. She was built in 1904 and made completely of fir and teak. She cut through the Mediterranean Sea with veracity and the grace of a gull gliding along the wind.
Above, the skies were blue with just a hint of clouds on the horizon. The wind buzzed just short of twelve knots. It was, in other words, a perfect day—just meant to be spent out on the water in a sailboat.
At the helm stood Colonel Charles Owen, a tall and slender man with the posture of a career spent in the military, and a disposition that suggested a lifetime spent learning the nuances of leadership. Colonel Owen had been posted in Cairo, Bombay, and Singapore during his distinguished military career. He commanded the respect of men and had proved himself a valiant warrior and leader in the face of battle. On several occasions, he’d led his troops into battle against resistance fighters, always emerging victorious.
More than anything, however, Colonel Owen could be characterized as an adventurer. Born in London and educated in Switzerland, he was a master skier, mountaineer, and sailor. Above all else, he was an expert pilot. Although he was a more than capable seaman, his skill in an airplane was almost unmatched throughout England and Europe. He wasn’t just an aviator; he worked with English engineers to make their planes fly higher and faster than any in the world.
In fact, he’d recently been a test pilot for the Blackburn Mercury. He’d crashed on the landing and, characteristically, came away unscathed. He recommended some engineering designs that he hoped would make the plane more sturdy and resistant to wind changes.
Charles felt content at the helm of his boat, The Dove, because he was enjoying his family’s annual vacation. It was a tradition with the Owen family—his wife Louise, his son David, and his daughter Margaret—to sail to a new and exotic destination each year. Last year, they explored the southern coast of Spain, and the year before that, the French Riviera. While other families might take a steamboat, he preferred to ‘earn’ his vacation, also using the time to teach his wife and children a thing or two about survival. His son and daughter had both taken to seamanship and were now both capable sailors in their own right. The children led privileged lives, attending private schools, yet Charles felt they spent too much time with their mother and not enough with him. It was the reality of their lives, because he was constantly away on assignment, so Charles used these annual trips to try to instill some toughness in his children, if only for a few weeks each year.
He was excited to show them Morocco. As children, David and Margaret spent two years in Egypt, where they learned to speak fluent Arabic. This trip would be an excellent opportunity to continue their education.
“David, pull in the main sheet just a little, take out that bit of luff,” he barked at his son.
Without hesitation, David pulled in the main sheet and tied it off. He was only eleven years old, but had already learned a hard lesson about what could happen when he disobeyed his father on a sailboat. Once, he was supposed to tie off the main boom, but had failed to tie a bowline knot as his father had instructed. The knot he tied could barely be considered a knot at all—it couldn’t have held a pair of shoelaces together. The knot immediately came undone, throwing the boom across the hull of the boat and almost decapitating his father. As punishment, David was forced to sand and varnish the entire deck. After three days’ work, with sore fingers and an elbow that felt like it had a permanent knot, he had learned his lesson and now followed every order his father gave, without question.
“Do you see it?” his father asked, pointing just off the bow to port.
David put his hand over his eyes to block the sun. He scanned the horizon but saw nothing.
“No.”
“Here, use this,” his father said and handed him a monocular. David adjusted it until the horizon came into focus.
“Oh, there it is. How long before we’re there?” David asked, having spotted the coast of Morocco.
“About an hour if this wind keeps up.”
“Good, I think Margaret is going to kill me if she has to spend another day on this boat,” David said, and his father smiled.
As if on cue, just then his daughter and wife emerged from the hold below, with a plate of brie cheese, fresh pears, figs, and English shortbread.
“You’re right. I am going to kill you if I’m in this boat for another two hours.”
“I’m going to kill someone if I don’t get some of that cheese and pear. It smells delicious,” Charles said.
Mrs. Owen made him a cracker sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth. Although he could be gone for as many as six months at a time, they maintained a very close and supportive relationship. Louise Owen treasured every second with her husband when he was with the family. The children felt a sense of comfort and security when he was home; when he was away, it always seemed like something was missing. Although they obviously loved their mother, having their father around instilled a certain confidence in them. He appeared never to worry and had an answer for everything. Above all, he was happy and cheerful, not withdrawn and distant like most fathers they knew. Perhaps it was because he was allowed to pursue his passions. Whatever the reason, Colonel Charles Owen always seemed to be content, almost as if a guardian angel was looking over his shoulder.
If the Owen family had been paying attention while eating their lunch, they would have noticed that a rather large sailing vessel had been following them off their stern for about twenty minutes. In the distance, it was only a white sail, but it was getting closer and closer by the minute. If they had spied it, the Owens probably would have assumed it to be one of the many merchant vessels sailing to and from the European mainland.
Unfortunately for them, they did not spot it, and it was the Angelina Rouge, a pirate ship that had been stalking and analyzing their movements.
“Looks like a family on a pleasure cruise,” said First Mate Aquina.
“Any weapons onboard?” asked the captain.
“No. Just a family, it looks like. It’s a small boat.”
“What do you think the take will be?”
“Who knows? I’m guessing not much. The boat itself is probably the most valuable item.”
“Well, it’s been a slow month. Let’s capture her and sail east toward the Ottoman Empire. I want you to captain the boat and take Millar and Cicero along with you.”
“Yes Captain,” Aquina said. He was a large Filipino man, maybe six-foot-two, and a former slave to a Belgian diamond merchant. His head was completely bald and a gold earring looped from his right ear. He had too many scars to count, most from knife fights, and a half-dozen tattoos across his back and chest. He had been a seafaring pirate for the past seven years, and held a scandalous reputation up and down the Mediterranean Coast. Aquina could have been the most feared pirate alive, but that distinction belonged to the other man on the Angelina Rouge, his captain—a man by the name of Basil.
Louise Owen was eating a pear and pouring some white wine for her husband when she spied the ship to the stern of The Dove. It was much closer than it had been just ten minutes prior. So close now, it was even possible to barely make out the outline of the crew on the deck. The pirate ship was running a second jib sail and making very quick time.
“Charles, did you see that ship?” she asked.
“What ship?”
“The ship directly behind us.”
Charles looked around and spotted the ship for the first time. He was instantly suspicious. Most normal men might not have given it a second thought. But he was a man accustomed to worst-case scenarios and anything out of the ordinary caused him to feel a natural apprehension in his gut.
It was also strange for a ship to follow so closely.
“David, let me see that monocular.”
His son passed him the monocular and then stood next to his father and mother, trying to make out the details of the neighboring vessel.
Charles spied approximately seven men, who were looking directly at him. Normally, the sight of seven men on a merchant vessel wouldn’t arouse suspicion. But something about these men wasn’t right. They weren’t dressed right. Their postures suggested they were criminals, not seamen. All seven of them were looking at their boat; they were way too interested in him and his family than they would be if they were just planning to sail past them. He looked at their boat and knew he couldn’t outrun them if they were interested in hostilities.
“David, pull in the main sheet,” he instructed his son.
David dutifully pulled in the main sheet as tight as it could hold.
Charles decided to jibe at that moment, simply turning with the wind. If the other boat followed suit, he would immediately know their intentions—that they meant the Owen family harm. If they kept their course, he’d know they were in the clear.
“Everyone, prepare to jibe on the count of three,” he yelled.
“Charles, what’s wrong?” Louise asked, suddenly wary of her husband’s tone.
“One, two, and three!” he barked, twisting the wheel, unleashing the main sheet as the boom swung overhead. Instantaneously, the boat was heading downwind, almost opposite their original course.
Charles looked behind him and, true to his suspicion, the other boat jibed as well.
“Charles, is it that boat? Is something the matter?” Louise asked, this time with more pronounced panic in her voice.
“Louise, go down and look in the blue chest next to our bed. At the very bottom, hidden in a pillowcase, is a shotgun and box of shells. Please bring them to me,” he firmly requested.
“Charles…” she began to answer.
“Now!” he screamed.
Slowly, she went down the stairs. Both children were now looking at their father wide-eyed, with fear plastered on their faces. They had never seen this look in their father’s eyes. A look of fear mixed with anger and, most of all, murder.
“Don’t worry; everything is going to be all right,” he said to them.
His wife ascended the stairs with the shotgun, and as she was about to reach the deck, he yelled to her.
“Keep it low and out of sight—place it right here next to me, along with the shells.”
She did as she was told and then took up the monocular to have a look.
“Could they just be merchants?” she asked.
“No, not in these waters. There’s a certain amount of protocol between sailors. Keep safe distances, signal your intentions. What are they doing now and how far are they behind us?”
“About five hundred feet and…Oh, my God! They’ve got guns, Charles. Four crewmembers have rifles.”
“Okay, okay, let me think.”
He looked around the boat and quickly looked back at their followers. They were making good time, but in ten or fifteen minutes, the ship would catch up with them. Charles couldn’t fight them and expect to win. Not with seven of them, or possibly more, and he with only one shotgun and his family onboard. He couldn’t outmaneuver them, either. Their boat was too fast, and they were most likely expert sailors with skills superior to his. There was only one other option, and he decided quickly, giving orders to his family.
“Louise, I want you to take David and Margaret below deck and put on dark colored clothing and life preservers. Also, take our travel documents and money and a change of clothes. Put them in the knapsack.”
“Why?” she asked.
“You three are going overboard and swimming to shore,” he answered.
“Are you crazy?”
“When you’re ready, come back on deck, but only on your hands and knees so they can’t see you. Then, come directly behind me and hide,” he continued.
“Please, just do it,” he ordered.
She gathered the children and the three of them went below deck. Charles would have just one opportunity to execute his plan. If it worked, his family should be safe. It took some time for Margaret and Louise to change out of their burdensome boat attire into reasonable clothes for swimming. Louise followed her husband’s instructions, putting all of their documents and a change of clothes into a cloth knapsack that she could strap onto her back. She also grabbed three cork life preservers.
Finally Louise, David, and Margaret crawled up from below and hid behind Charles. He looked ahead, but starting talking to them. If he was being watched, he wanted it to appear that his family was below deck.
“Okay, I’m going to tack and head back to sea. When they follow, at that instance all three of you will jump overboard. They should be so busy they won’t see it. Once you’re in the water, don’t begin swimming right away. Wait a few moments until they’ve passed you. Then, swim for shore. Once on land, make your way to the Hotel Continental in Tangier. I will meet you there.”
“Charles, we can’t do this,” Louise cried.
“Father, this is ridiculous. It’s at least three or four miles to the beach. We’ll never make it that far. And we can’t leave you!” Margaret yelled.
“You’ll make it. You have life preservers and the current will help. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Charles, look at me…please,” Louise begged.
Hesitating, Charles finally looked around and tried to make it seem like he was looking at a sail. Finally, he met her eyes.
“I love you. Make it back to us,” she said.
He nodded, and winked and smiled at her. There was no doubt of his love for her. He didn’t need grand gestures to show it.
He turned back toward the bow.
“I’m going to tack now. Don’t go until I say the word. We have to wait until they follow suit,” he said, twisting the wheel, unleashing the main sheet, and bringing the sail to the port side.
He looked back at the other boat, but they did nothing.
“Why aren’t they following?” Charles asked aloud.
“Perhaps they’re not pirates after all,” David said.
Just then, the suspicious boat did exactly as expected and followed with a tack. Charles knew that as the boat was turning, and the sails were coming about, the crew would be busy and distracted.
“Now!” Charles yelled.
The three went overboard as quickly as possible. The water was cold and the salt stung their eyes. They kept their heads down and didn’t thrash their arms or legs. There was a bit of a chop in the waves, so they would be easily camouflaged.
The Dove sped ahead in the distance, getting smaller and smaller on the horizon. Charles became just a speck onboard. The pirate ship passed them after about ten minutes, but they were now much farther away, almost one hundred feet to the north.
The Owen family began swimming. The current was with them, but the chop made it a chore. The life jackets held their bodies up and made the swim much less arduous.
“Keep together; don’t let each other out of your sight. The current should take us right in,” Louise instructed them.
“Are there sharks out here?” David asked.
“David, shut up!” Margaret replied.
“Don’t worry David, we’ll be fine. Just swim as your father instructed, and tomorrow we’ll all be together again,” Louise said to her son. She was being stoic and strong, as a mother must be for her children. Inside, however, Louise was terribly frightened. Her husband was being chased by pirates, she was out at sea with her two children, and in two hours’ time it would be dark. Not to mention the fact that there certainly were sharks in these waters and they usually started feeding around dusk.
The family swam for four hours, into the night. They were cold, exhausted, and scared when finally, their feet touched sand. They dragged their exhausted bodies ashore and all three collapsed on the beach.
“I’ve never been so happy to be on land in my life,” Margaret said.
“Neither have I,” David agreed.
“It’s nice to hear you two agree on something,” their mother said and all three laughed.
“What should we do now?” Margaret asked.
“Let’s make a small shelter on the beach and then start out on the way to Tangier in the morning,” Louise said.
“How far do you think it is?” David asked.
“Not far, perhaps ten or fifteen miles,” Louise replied.
“I don’t care how far it is, I’m just glad to be out of that ocean,” Margaret said.
“C’mon,” Louise instructed them.
They made their way up the beach to a tree line and walked about twenty feet inland. Bunches of palm trees crowded the beach, making for a perfect cover. Louise found an especially large one, sheltered from the wind.
“Let’s camp here for the night. David, please dig a hole big enough for the three of us to sleep in. Margaret, please collect some large leaves that we can use as cover. I will collect firewood and put out the clothes to dry.”
“What about dinner? I’m starving,” David asked.
“I’ll figure something out,” Louise replied.
Within fifteen minutes, a camp had been prepared. Louise had found some citrus trees and gathered half a dozen oranges. She prepared a fire pit and placed dry twigs and leaves at the bottom. Then, she took two rocks together and began rubbing them back and forth. It took almost two full minutes, but at last a tiny spark flew from the rocks, igniting the pile of leaves and twigs, and immediately starting a small fire. Louise quickly applied more small pieces, then larger sticks, and finally some very large tree branches. Soon, a large, crackling fire was keeping the Owen family quite warm.
“Okay, strip down to your skivvies and place your wet clothes on these rocks.”
“Dress down to my skivvies in front of you two?” David exclaimed.
“David, I’m your mother. I’ve seen you in your skivvies and much less. You’ll be much happier out of those wet clothes,” Louise instructed.
Everyone stripped down to their undergarments and laid the rest of their clothing on some rocks Louise had placed next to the fire. The fire was roaring now, and in half an hour, the clothes would be dry. Louise peeled the oranges and shared the pieces with her children. They happily sucked on and ate the oranges, letting the sweet juices swirl in their mouths.
“An orange has never tasted so good,” Margaret said.
“These are delicious,” Louise agreed.
The three had, in a matter of hours, come together to form a tightly-knit group. Danger will do that to people, even a family prone to bickering. There was no infighting and no whining—both Margaret and her younger brother David fully understood the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in. Six hours ago, they had been constantly arguing over the smallest things, but now they looked out for one another.
Above their heads, the Moroccan night was full of stars. It was quite dark now and extremely quiet. A faint wind could just barely be heard between the trees.
“Do you think Father is all right?” David finally asked.
It was a subject they had all been thinking about since they jumped off the boat, but no one had spoken of it.
“Your father is a veteran and a colonel in His Majesty’s Service. I’m sure he can handle a few pirates,” Louise told her son.
“I hope so,” David said.
“Now let’s fuel the fire and try to get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow,” Louise told her children. Louise placed several large branches and a rather big log on the fire. Margaret prepared their bed. The three of them snuggled into the sand and covered themselves with large palm branches. It wasn’t especially cold, so the branches provided sufficient shelter.
“Mother, where did you learn to do all this? Start fires and all that?” Margaret asked.
“Your grandfather probably wished he had a boy instead of three girls, so he would take my sisters and me on camping expeditions in the Scottish Highlands every summer. That’s probably why your father fell in love with me. On one of our first dates, I showed him some celestial navigation tricks my grandfather had taught me. I think your father quite liked the idea of a woman who was capable.”
“Will you teach me?” Margaret asked.
“Of course.”
“Good, I want to be capable.”
“You are, Margaret. Now, try to get some sleep,” Louise said.
Overall, a restless night was the best that could be expected. All three of them had fitful sleep, as the fire extinguished itself and the wind kicked up a bit. Margaret was awakened several times by the piercing wind and found it difficult to get warm and comfortable. At about three o’clock, her body finally surrendered and she gratefully slept for a few hours without interruption.
The next morning, Margaret awoke stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard ground. Sitting up, she thought she was dreaming. Had the previous day really happened? Was her father now out at sea? Had she and her mother and brother spent hours in the ocean and then camped out on a beach?
Wiping her eyes, Margaret realized she was not dreaming and, in fact, was very much awake. Looking out to sea, she was comforted by waves rolling up on the beach and the sun peeking out just over the horizon. There was something soothing—almost healing—about watching the ocean and the waves. She heard squawking behind her. Looking back and up into a tree, she saw that a group of monkeys had taken an interest in her family. There were six monkeys in all. They didn’t make a tremendous racket; mostly, they stood on a tree branch picking at their fur, seeming to wonder who these new creatures were on their beach.
Margaret smiled at the monkeys and enjoyed watching them. Looking around, she noticed for the first time they were surrounded completely by water and jungle. There wasn’t a boat or a person or a house in sight. The beach stretched for miles.
Staring at the ocean, she hoped to see The Dove somewhere on the horizon. Alas, all she spied were whitecaps and some hungry seagulls.
After a few moments, her mother came toward her, walking up the beach with some more oranges.
“Ready to leave now?” Louise asked.
“What time is it?” David asked, just waking up himself.
“I don’t know, but let’s get going. We can make the Hotel Continental by nightfall if we hurry.”
The three gathered themselves. David could feel hunger pangs in his stomach but said nothing. He nibbled on an orange and handed a few pieces to Margaret.
“At least we won’t get scurvy,” he joked.
She smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Okay, I’ve found a path. Let’s go,” Louise told them.
They made their way off the beach to a path between an ever-increasing dense jungle of palm trees, almond groves, and several other species of trees and plants unfamiliar to Louise. After walking for half a mile, they came to a dirt road. It stretched out parallel to the ocean.
“Hopefully, if we walk west, we should run into a more major road that will lead to Tangier,” she said.
They walked along the dirt road for a couple of hours and didn’t see any sign of life except for wild sparrows and the occasional group of monkeys. They did manage to find a fig tree and ate a hearty breakfast of oranges and figs.
Finally, they came to a larger dirt road.
“I think this is probably used for travel. Hopefully someone will come soon,” Louise promised.
After ten minutes, sure enough, a cart being pulled by two mules ambled down the path and stopped near the Owen family. A Moroccan family sat in front—a mother, father, and two young boys. Undoubtedly, this was the first time they had ever seen white people in their lives.
“We need to go to Tangier,” Louise said, trying to slow down her words.
“Tangier?” the man asked.
“Yes, Tangier!” Louise repeated.
Although both the Owen children spoke fluent Arabic, they were rather bashful and allowed their mother to do the talking.
The Moroccan father didn’t speak a word of English but motioned for them to climb in the back of the cart.
“Shukran, shukran!” all of them said, which means “thank you” in Arabic. They all climbed in. The cart was full of rugs and junk.
“I guess we caught them on market day,” Margaret laughed.
“I guess so,” Louise agreed.
The man looked behind him to ensure they were seated and safe. Then, he motioned for the mules to begin walking, and off they went on the dirt path.
After four hours, they entered the outskirts of Tangier. It was a small city compared to London. The buildings were much smaller and were made mostly of red mud and brick. The cart stopped, and the man motioned with his hands for them to hop out, that he had arrived at his destination.
“Thank you so much. Can I give you some money?” Louise motioned and started to pull out some bills from her money pouch. The man waved her off with the universal word for rejection.
“No, no,” he said. He put his hands together and bowed slightly and smiled. Louise bowed in gratitude, and smiled back at him. Off the Moroccan family went, down a side alley in their cart full of junk.
The Owen family now found themselves standing in the middle of a suburban Tangier street with no idea where they were or how to find the Hotel Continental.
“Well, let’s walk this way,” Louise motioned.
They walked for several blocks, on streets lined with homes. Moroccans smiled at them, pointing at the ragtag-looking English family. Finally, they came to a more commercial district with shops and merchants. Pomegranates, lemons, and roasted almonds filled the air.
“My God, what is that smell? It smells so good,” David said.
“David, don’t blaspheme, and yes, it does smell good,” Louise agreed.
At that moment a man appeared pulling a rickshaw—a two-wheeled cart designed for carrying passengers.
“Aye, aye. You go?” he asked, in broken English. He had a kind face with crow’s feet stretching from the corners of his eyes. He was missing a front tooth and wore a traditional Moroccan djellabah. Only his was dirty and looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week.
“Hotel Continental?” Louise asked.
“Yes, yes. We go.” He smiled and helped each of them into the rickshaw. In a matter of seconds, he was off running through the cobbled and dirt streets on his bare feet. All around them, people pointed at the white people and laughed. They passed through streets filled with vendors, restaurants, and hookah cafes. An exotic array of spices, coffee, tea, lamb, beef, vegetables, and tobacco wafted through the air. All manner of colors and sights filled the streets, overwhelming the Owen family. They sat in silence, taking in the new world around them.
After twenty minutes the driver pulled up to the lobby of the Hotel Continental. Brand new, the hotel had been built in the Colonial style, and its magnificent white architecture stretched out along the ocean. Ten-foot stained glass windows of red, blue, and green shone beside the oversized oak doors to the entrance of the hotel. Two bellmen stood statuesque beside the doors, dressed in immaculate white suits with cream-colored turbans. The bellmen immediately came to the rickshaw and helped the Owen family to the sidewalk.
“Are you a visitor of the Hotel Continental?” one of them asked, in perfect English.
“Yes, we wish to check in,” Louise answered.
“Excellent. Do you have any bags?” he asked.
“No. Our bags were lost.”
“Yes, madame. Please follow me to the concierge.”
“I need to make some change to pay our driver,” she explained.
The man motioned to the other bellman and he quickly paid the rickshaw driver, who smiled, waved, and ran away.
“It is taken care of, madame. Please, come this way.”
Louise and her children followed the bellman through the hotel’s doors into the lobby. It was spectacular. The floors were covered with exquisitely detailed Moroccan tile. The ceilings were at least forty feet high. Tile also decorated each of the walls, and lovely Moroccan chairs and sofas were positioned elegantly around the lobby. Guests, mostly European, sat at the chairs and sofas smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Hotel workers darted about, waiting on guests, moving luggage, and performing a variety of errands. Ceiling fans buzzed overhead. Smells of tobacco, melon, lemon, and the finest European perfume scented the air.
The family walked directly to the concierge, who was a smallish man, maybe five-foot-four, with a thin black moustache dressed immaculately in a black suit and tie.
“Hello, madame, how may I be of assistance?” he asked.
“Has a Mr. Charles Owen checked in?” Louise asked.
The concierge checked his register.
“No, nobody by that name. Might he be under another name?” he inquired.
“No, no other names. Do you have a room for us?”
“Certainly, madame. It is our off-season right now. We have a beautiful suite with an ocean view for only 150 dirhams.”
“That’s fine. I only have English pounds. Will that be acceptable?”
“Quite acceptable,” he replied.
“I would like to leave a message for Mr. Owen, if he should contact the hotel. Please tell him that his family is safe and we are awaiting his arrival.”
“Of course, madame. How many nights would you like to stay?”
“Three for now, but that may be extended.”
“No problem at all, madame. Here is your key. You are in room 211, just up the stairs.”
“Thank you.”
If she hadn’t been exhausted and scared, Louise might have noticed the subtle eye movements the concierge made to an unidentified gentleman in the back corner of the lobby—a tall, thin, and elegantly-dressed Frenchman who sat drinking tea, smoking a cigarette, and pretending to read a newspaper. He was watching the concierge out of the corner of his eye and saw the nod in his direction.
The man was unmistakable.
The family opened the door to their room and found a large suite with two bedrooms, a living room, a terrace overlooking the ocean, and an oversized bathroom, complete with a large bathtub. The view from the suite was remarkable, with wide ocean views as far as the eye could see.
“I’m going to take a bath!” Margaret said.
“I’m ordering room service. I want an omelet, chocolate cake, lamb kabob, baklava, fried mushrooms, and roast mutton. Mother, is that okay?” David asked.
“It’s fine David. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and place the order?” asked their mother.
“Actually, I’ll do it. David, why don’t you take the first bath? You’ll be quicker than Mother or me,” Margaret insisted.
“Do I have to?” David asked.
“That’s a good idea, Margaret. Yes, David, you do. You smell just like you’ve been in the ocean and then spent the night lying in the dirt. It’s quite high time for a bath for all of us,” his mother told him.
“Oh, all right, then.”
Margaret took the menu from her brother and scanned it. “I’ll get us a feast, don’t worry. I think everyone could use a good bath and a meal,” she told them before closing the door.
David went in the bathroom and closed the door. Soon, hot water was pouring from the faucet into the bathtub.
Louise Owen sat on the terrace overlooking the ocean. She was happy to be in a hotel room. Happy to be out of harm’s way. Happy that her children were safe. But Charles hadn’t yet checked in, and she knew that couldn’t be good. Theoretically, he should have been at the hotel last night if he had managed to elude the pirates. If he hadn’t, the pirates may have captured him, thrown him overboard, or killed him. But, in her heart, she didn’t feel her husband was dead. During all those years he spent away at war, she always knew he would come back safe. She couldn’t explain it; maybe it was a woman’s intuition. She had learned to live with the worry and the dread and to accept fate. If her husband was meant to die, there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. Still, she watched the water in hopes that the sails of The Dove would parade in front of her, with Charles at the helm—her husband coming back to his family.
Margaret made her way down to the lobby and approached the concierge.
“Excuse me, how do I order some room service?” she asked.
“Do you see that hallway? Go down that hallway, turn left, and go to the last door on your left. You may order room service at that door,” the concierge instructed.
“Okay. Thank you,” she said and walked away.
Walking down the hallway, she barely noticed how long it was and how out of the way it seemed. In fact, it was completely separated from the rest of the hotel. She followed the hallway, turned left as directed, and walked down another equally long hallway. It was very quiet, and seemed odd to her that room service would be in such a remote place.
She came to the last door on her left and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, to no answer. Slowly she opened the door.
“Hello?” she called.
Before she could hear a reply, she felt her mouth covered with a cloth and an arm wrap tightly around her neck. She tried to scream, but nothing came from her mouth. Quickly, her vision faded into darkness as she blacked out.
She would remember nothing.