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The steady rhythm of the boat nauseated Willow. The aging trawler known as The Ram’s Head headed south away from the coast, and the mainland disappeared as the vessel chugged along the deep blue waters of the Atlantic. Foamy waves crashed against the red-and-black-striped hull.
The Sons of Darkness patrolled the deck, frequently passing by to check that she and Llewyn remained seated near the oil drums. Why the mercenaries bothered was a mystery to her; on an old tin bucket in the open ocean, they had nowhere to run or hide.
At least Cobb had done them the courtesy of removing the flex-cuffs. She didn’t know if it was feigned sympathy on his part or simple arrogance, but she was glad to have free movement of her wrists.
Bile rose in her throat, but she resisted the urge to vomit and turned to her husband. He hadn’t spoken a word since the Sons separated Kasey from them. She read the telltale signs on his face: the anger behind his eyes, the confusion in his sagging brow, and the sense of sorrow lingering on his muted lips. And she worried.
Every time Llewyn went to a dark place, he came out better than he’d entered, but while he was in there, he stranded himself in the blackest night, in the terrors of his own mind. She’d lost him to his self-imprisonment and suffering once before. That wouldn’t happen again.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “You know you messed up, right? This is entirely your fault.”
He raised his head and looked at her with a curious expression. “What?”
That shook him out of it. “You heard me. We’re stuck here because you monkeyed this up. If we die, it’s all on you.” She winked at him.
Llewyn smiled. “Okay, I see what you’re doing. Don’t worry. That’s not where my head’s at.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. I’ve been mulling over what Cobb said about his contract and SysLife. He claimed that the company had no part in this expedition and that Walsh hired the Sons for personal reasons. He stole this boat, killed a federal agent, hoodwinked me, and captured us. Am I expected to believe he did all of this to get his rocks off and get paid?”
Where is he going with this? “I don’t see the issue.”
“It’s too simple-minded. He’s not in this solely for financial gain. Look at his crew. He doesn’t need the cash. He’s after something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he said, peeping over the drums at an approaching guard, “but it’s too much effort for too little reward. Fortune and fame can’t be his only motivations.”
“Maybe he thinks the legend of the Wellspring Tree is factual. Imagine this miraculous marvel of creation that lengthens a man’s lifespan, cures any disease, and keeps even the worst terminal cases from death. Someone with his strange beliefs wouldn’t find those perks so farfetched. Think about it. If any of the stories are real, that fruit is an untapped market. Research laboratories, hospitals, militaries, and governments all over the world would line up to nourish themselves at the source of this discovery. He’d be richer than Silicon Valley.”
“Again, I don’t think he needs the money. We’re overlooking something.”
“Okay,” she said, taken aback by his quick dismissal. “What if Cobb believes the fruit is so powerful it can resurrect the deceased? Maybe he’s got a relative or a loved one he wants to see again.”
“Then he’s delusional and a fool. Magic fruit won’t bring dead things to life. You and I know nothing here on Earth has that kind of power. One thing is for sure: whatever the Sons think we’ll find on that island, it won’t be some Edenic paradise.”
The boat rocked and Willow retched. Part of her wanted to purge the sickness from her system and get it over with, but she wasn’t sure she could stop once the puking started. Better to try acclimatizing to the sensation, as she’d done in the Bradford Estate’s basement.
Okay, recalling the pervasive stench of rotten animal meat isn’t the best idea if I want to keep from blowing chunks portside. Or is it starboard? Aft, maybe?
She never could figure out which nautical terms applied.
The lone guard Llewyn spotted earlier came around the containers and stopped to reassure the commander that nothing had changed regarding his guests.
Yeah, I feel at home with this party. What a great reception from the welcoming committee. I’ll have to remember to tip the host.
She needed a better weapon in her arsenal than sarcasm. The guard’s AUG invited her touch, but she’d never pry it loose in time to find cover from the two dozen other mercenaries stalking the deck. Their subdermal implants ensured that Cobb could relay instructions to his men without her or Llewyn hearing a spoken word over a speaker.
Cobb’s minions were efficient, coordinated, and equipped with enough firepower to suppress any rebellion, but they weren’t invulnerable.
The guard stepped in front of her. At that moment, a high tidal wave splashed against the ship, spilling over the rail.
Her gut clenched and she threw up. The contents of her stomach splattered the mercenary’s shoes. Flung off balance, she braced against him and clung to the shoulder straps of his tactical vest.
He grasped her by the head.
Willow winced as he pulled at the roots of her hair. She clawed at his arm and tore herself from his grip. Red strands split from her skin. She bristled with white-hot agony and fell, hitting one of the steel barrels, and hissed as the rim cut into the scar along her spine.
Llewyn helped her stand as the boat settled.
The twisted knot in her abdomen unfurled and she relaxed. The pain abated.
“You okay? Are you bleeding?”
Her throat burned. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, resting her hand on his chest. “No matter what happens, don’t lose sight of what’s important.”
His heartbeat slowed. “I won’t.”
The commotion drew the attention of Captain Davis, Cobb’s lieutenant. He led a four-man squad to their location.
“Is she injured?” he asked the guard with sick on his shoes.
“Stupid bitch puked on me.”
Davis stared at him. “I can see that, Gardner. You didn’t answer me. Is she hurt?”
“So what if she is? I reckon she got what she deserved.”
The lieutenant slapped him. “Elias warned us that she was to be left unharmed until we found the location of the Wellspring Tree. You disobeyed his direct order.”
Gardner’s eyes widened as he nursed his cheek. “Shit. But I don’t see why it matters. Who cares if they bleed along the way?”
“She has her role to play. The commander won’t be happy you mistreated her.”
“So don’t tell him.”
“You know I don’t have a choice,” said Davis, pressing against the embedded transmitter. “No indiscretion goes unpunished.”
Willow watched the color drain from Gardner’s face, and wondered whether that’d be permanent once his boss finished with him. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
And what was this talk about her role? This wasn’t a theater production. How was she a part of that man’s vision? Maybe Llewyn was right about Cobb’s secret ambition.
“The boss isn’t happy. He wants you to bring the girl to his cabin.”
Gardner stepped backward. “And if I refuse?” His eyes traveled to the railing and the fierce water raging below.
“You know. No one crosses the boss.”
Davis’s men aimed their rifles.
Their cohort flinched, and sweat lined his temple. He had two express exits to choose from, and it seemed both were lethal.
Averting the hardened scowls of his compatriots, Gardner yanked Willow to her feet and seized her by the arm. “Yes, sir,” he said, bowing his head to Davis. “Understood.”
The other Sons surrounded them as an escort.
Was this standard disciplinary procedure or distrust in the ranks? She couldn’t be certain. Seeing as they had guns and she didn’t, it wasn’t a weakness she’d be able to exploit.
She couldn’t figure out what actions Llewyn had in mind, but the unease in his stare told her he wasn’t happy about their separation. She hoped he recognized her spur-of-the-moment gamble for what it was. It’d be up to him to make good on the wager.
With all the tempered enthusiasm of a dog on a tight leash, Gardner led her to Cobb’s quarters. Davis and his men guarded the door as she entered the captain’s cabin.
She felt as if she’d stepped through a window to a distant time. While the rusted bulk of the metalwork inside The Ram’s Head endured on spit and elbow grease, the polished walls, floor, and windows of this room gleamed. Willow noted with subdued interest the silver portholes, private bathroom, simple cotton bedspread and bunk, two high shelves filled with nautical books and tales of the sea, and an old phone with a radial dial next to a globe on the wooden desk. The prior occupant had gone through painstaking lengths to keep the comforts of his space organized, clean, and with an eye toward fanciful recreation of the past.
Cobb hummed the lyrics of “Beyond the Sea” as he played the recording over the ship’s loudspeaker. He’d busted the papyrus scroll out of its protective casing. Sitting in the leather recliner behind the desk, he pored over the map with a magnifying glass and an ink pen, making notes as he worked in a small red journal the size of his fist.
“Commander, I’ve brought you the woman.”
Gardner moved her to the bunk as the leader of the Sons stood and set aside his tools.
Great, I’m isolated in the presence of another zealot. The unpleasant déjà vu gave her an awful case of whiplash, but at least she wasn’t handcuffed to a bedpost.
“I must admit, I’m disappointed. I’ve warned that stepping out of turn would be costly. You didn’t listen.”
“It won’t happen again, sir.”
“The punishment for disloyalty is severe, yet you chose to act as you did. What do you have to say in your defense?” Cobb laid a hand on his follower’s shoulder and squeezed.
Gardner hid the pain. “Nothing, sir. There’s no excuse for my actions. I must wear my shame as you see fit.”
“Good answer. You’re dismissed. Captain Davis will handle disciplinary action and reassignment.”
Gardner left.
How anticlimactic. She’d expected the penalty for his transgression to be death, or at least a public flogging. Isn’t that how these types always handle insubordination?
The room darkened as the sun descended below the clouded horizon. The last of the shadows belonged to her and Cobb.
“Nice tunes,” said Willow. “Don’t you think the music is a little cliché?”
Cobb seemed amused. “Are there other songs you’d prefer? I’m afraid I don’t speak the language of parasite men.”
He must have read about Lone Oak. “I don’t know why you brought me here. I’m not a trophy, and you’ll get nothing from me.”
“You think I’m a monster.”
“What else would you call someone who’s paid to kill for a living?”
“I’m more than a soldier of fortune,” said Cobb, returning to the desk. “I’m a crusader.”
“So you’re fighting for a righteous cause? That’s what every murderous psychopath says when the truth catches up with them.”
“I quite value human life. I wouldn’t have companions if I thought them to be expendable chaff.”
“Is that why you let Gardner off the hook? I wasn’t expecting sentiment from you.”
“Unlike the miserable society we inhabit, I don’t cast aside the brokenhearted and weary among us.”
“Twisting the words of the Bible? You’re not shaking off the cultist image with that kind of talk. The Order of Ein Geist would be proud.”
Cobb smirked. “I choose my language carefully, that’s true, but I’m not a member of your town’s obsolete religion. I’m a visionary of the inevitable future.”
“Every charismatic jackass in recorded history thinks he’s a prophet,” said Willow, grabbing the edge of the bunk to keep upright as the ship sped through increasingly turbulent waters. “You’re only fooling yourself.”
“Am I? The cards have shown me what lies ahead. Our reality only confirms what I already know to be truth. We, as a species, as a people, are dying.”
“That tends to happen with time. The wages of sin is death, after all.”
“I’m not speaking of simple natural death, but the ideological cataclysm overtaking this shrinking globe. The extinction of the human race is a long time coming. We hasten our own destruction through our actions—war, politics, brother against brother. We usher in absurd and radical notions in the name of progress and so-called diversity, chafing at the bit to silence ourselves through incoherent rationalizations and sheer stupidity. Our end is merely the wages of our failure to be obedient to a unifying vision.”
“Whose vision would that be? Yours? And you think you’re somehow going to correct all that’s wrong with the modern world using the fruit of the Wellspring Tree? Is that why you’re involved?”
He had more in common with Ein Geist and Rhinehold than he thought, if his ultimate goal was to eliminate disobedience and exert control over the populace.
“I don’t think Mr. Walsh understands the true nature of this island,” Cobb answered, showing her the deck of custom cards he pulled from his vest pocket. “I believe the myths regarding the fruit hold only kernels of truth. My interests lie elsewhere.”
“Why make the journey if you don’t think this fabled fruit is the ultimate prize? What could be better than escaping death?”
“If the myths and this map are to be believed, the Whispering Isle is home to an apparatus of hitherto unheard power. It’s a locus from which I’ll take advantage.”
“By doing what, exactly?”
He wagged his finger. “That’s not for you to know. Fate has granted me wisdom beyond your eager ears, but the hallowed forces at work can’t tell me everything. I must discern some knowledge for myself.”
Thunder bellowed as the ship steered southeast toward their destination. She wondered how much damage a maelstrom could do to a ship this size. She’d never been at sea, but she knew heading into the heart of a storm couldn’t be good.
“Come here,” said Cobb, drawing her attention away from the danger fermenting above the water. He laid his cards on the table.
She approached and gave them a fleeting glance. The memory of Lamb’s lacerated corpse resurged, but Willow couldn’t do anything about her anger while cooped up in this room with a madman twice her size.
She snickered. “You do realize these are just playing cards, right? Inanimate objects. They don’t speak.”
“They do, but only to one who listens. Every hand I deal reveals these same four cards. That’s no coincidence.”
“Congratulations. Those are great odds. You should go to Vegas.”
“Clever. You and your husband seem to have developed an ironic sense of humor since Lone Oak. I imagine it’s a coping mechanism.”
“You don’t know anything. You weren’t there.”
“I was. I told you our meeting was a long time coming. You know better than anyone that Patrick Rhinehold wasn’t the only party interested in the capabilities of the parasite.”
“You did work with the Smiling Man.”
A moot point. His confession wouldn’t help their case or get them off this floating steel albatross.
“Lamarck hired us for a job,” Cobb said, shuffling the deck of cards and dealing them with the same result. “Marcus Maverlies needed test subjects for his Founder’s Formula experiments. We delivered.”
It was all connected. “So the Sons kidnapped Michael and Evelyn two years ago. Why?”
“They weren’t our original targets. The Code Omega expedited our exit. An impending napalm barrage necessitates quick thinking. I improvised.”
“You wanted to take me and Llewyn. Who arranged for that?”
They’d been spared the misfortune of being locked up as guinea pigs. She felt guilty that the kids had suffered in her place, but there was no altering the past. Michael and Evelyn were alive and safe somewhere in a distant and undisclosed location. That’s what mattered.
“The late Sinclair wanted to cover his tracks. Lamarck suggested a means of disposal. We were the solution, a hammer for the nail.”
“You missed us in Lone Oak. Now you’ve taken us hostage. Is this your revenge?”
“No. It was a job and nothing more. This isn’t personal. I have other reasons for receiving the two of you into my care.”
“Which are?” Willow thought Elias Cobb’s actions and methodology proved continually bewildering.
“Look at these cards. What do you observe?”
She didn’t know what to tell him about his artwork. Each doodle was simplistic but instantly recognizable as a person or an object. Why’d he care about her appraisal?
“I see crude drawings of a magician, some kind of monk, a dying flower, and treasure. I’m no occultist. It’s all Greek to me.”
“There’s a narrative,” Cobb explained, as if it were the most blatant truth ever revealed. “The magician who seeks his fortune is the prophet. He has foreseen his destiny made manifest. Glory awaits him.”
“Then what’s with the plant?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. This plant is an anomaly. It has no place in the story. All is as it should be but for the wilting flower.”
“Maybe you’re reading it wrong and the due reward for your crimes is pushing up daisies.”
“Your sarcasm wears thin, Willow. No, I have a theory that this plant somehow relates to you.”
Quite the leap, if you ask me. “Why’s that?”
Cobb turned his back to her. It took him ages to reply. When he spoke, his cadence changed.
“Your husband and I are the dreamers. We may enact or carry out the will of the spiritual realm. But you aren’t one of us. You’re the spoil in this broth. You’re the snag in the chain, which threatens its undoing.”
His words astonished her. He sounded less like a demagogue and more like a coddled boy scared of sharing his toys with the neighboring children.
“You’re afraid of me?”
“I’m mystified by you,” said Cobb, easing into his recliner. “But when I find what I’m looking for, nothing will remain unknown to me. Somewhere beyond the sea, the truth beckons my arrival. When we reach the Whispering Isle, I will know my place in this evil world.”
