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“It is a possibility.” Rebecca conceded as she glanced over the inked caricatures of the map. The brief splotch of an island decorated a vast spread of ocean. To the left, the United States. To the right—
I grabbed the atlas from the table; shuffling past another few pages until yet another similar, though slightly enlarged, map appeared. At once, one was able to see the open waters separating both land and wars. There were gaps—only small ones, mind—but large enough to easily recognise. Squeezing into the Baltic Sea between Denmark and Sweden. Passing along German and Poland. Northwards for a while longer.
It wasn’t a possibility.
Or even a probability.
It was our only option.
“There has to be a way we can intercept it.” I mused as my finger traced along my mind’s path. “They would have to stop to refuel, and when they do—”
“We what? Fight the entire crew to get aboard?”
“It’s a thought.” Rebecca tore the heavy book from my hands; however, rather than searching through the pages for the best representation of our situation, she slammed the cover shut. Dust puffed into the air as smoke before settling along the edges. Only when every speck fell silent did she lay her carefully manicured fingers atop the atlas and raise her head once more.
“The shipment leaves in less than forty-eight hours. We need a plan, and I may have one. Now, are you going to join me or sit in the corner?”