Page 31

In which Going on a Cruise takes on a horrible new meaning.

Arabella…

“Ye are doing so well, Laura! I’m proud of your progress.”

Laura beams at me, well, a bit to the left of me. She has some vision challenges, too, not that it stops her. She’s a fierce little thing. Her parents are very happy that I could supplement her last few weeks at school with some online tutoring.

“Thank ye, Miss Blair! I promise to write in my workbook at least twice this weekend.”

“I know ye will. We’ll tackle some of those grammar issues next week. Goodbye for now, then.”

“Goodbye!”

My phone’s been buzzing insistently for the last half hour, and I had to put it face down so I wouldn’t be tempted to glance at it during the teaching session. It’s humbling to realize that I struggle just as much as my students do when it comes to our phone addiction.

There are six texts. One from Kenna inviting me to lunch tomorrow. Another from my husband; he ‘thoughtfully’ included a video of him signing every salacious word that British Sign Language has to offer. Learning BSL has just given him yet another way to express his most filthy thoughts about me.

I should be shocked, but the sight of his long, nimble fingers signing, I want to fuck you in the clock tower. Right now... is making the lower half of me sit up and take notice.

The third, fourth, fifth and six texts are from Carol Winchester. She’s sent a flurry of photos, posing in front of a cruise ship in a sundress and an enormous hat that nearly eclipses her face. It’s a fancy boat- not one of the party cruisers meant for Millennials to get blootered on the high seas at a discount. This sleek beauty could only be meant for millionaires and lucky study participants like my friend. The ship is gleaming white, except for the bow, curving in blue and green lines that look like it’s soaring through the waves.

We’re boarding now!

Do I look like a Lady of Leisure?

Wait until I show you my cabin.

We’re having a seafood buffet tonight. It’s been ages since I could afford a good lobster.

Look at the crew member over my shoulder, the dark-haired one. I’m going to lure that man into my cabin at least once on this trip!

I’m laughing until my gaze moves to the left of the braw crew member. The man next to him is tall and skinny, his head slightly turned away but I know him from somewhere.

Why is he so familiar? I guess it dinnae matter, but-

It feels like someone just punched me in the chest.

It’s him. The American doctor who questioned me in my room at Anselm’s compound, who strapped me down, took all my blood. The doctor who fawned over Anselm when he was expressing his Aryan fantasies at that horrible “investor’s meeting.”

“No! Nonononono!” I stab frantically at the call icon. It goes straight to voicemail. “Carol, pick up! Pick up pick up pick up! Do NOT get on that boat! Please call me this is important please!” I call again, and again, each time getting nothing but her voice cheerfully urging me to leave a message.

That’s why Logan couldn’t track the operating location for the organ trafficking ring.

They’re taking their victims on a fecking cruise ship.

“Carol’s gone. She’s on that hell ship and they’re going to kill her and take her heart or her liver or-”

“Shh… Bella, keep the heid. I know you’re scared, we’ll find her. This is good, it is.” Logan stops my frantic pacing by wrapping his arms around me and putting me on his lap.

“How is this good?” I’m sobbing. I remember being trapped in the CT scanner, that fecking doctor strapping me down. How Anselm told me they would tear out my organs without any anesthetic. “Carol is one of the sweetest, kindest people I know. She thought she was helping people with this study!”

“I know, I know, love.” Logan’s rubbing my back, watching Xenia and Georges pull up the texts and pictures from my phone.

“This is good,” Xenia’s eyes never leave her laptop, so I have to lean in to hear her. “No, this is good, Arabella, I promise. Your phone is top of the line; its location app is second to none. We already have the island she texted from. The pier the boat was at. Cross-referencing ship’s logs… Georges, don’t they have to file a log before they leave port?”

“Yeah, but… likely… then the…”

Pulling loose from Logan’s grip, I stand between the two hackers so I can read their lips.

“Oh, sorry Arabella. I was telling Xenia that they most likely filed a false log, but we can triangulate location based on departure time and which sailing routes are statistically more likely to be used.” Georges’ fingers are a blur. “Of course, once I bypass the security features, I can hack into the weather satellite that’s in orbit over that part of the ocean and I can locate the ship. Hell, I can get video of everyone on the ship with the cameras on that beauty.”

Xenia smiles at me sympathetically. “Hang in there, Arabella. Give us a minute to work and then Logan and Kai can make a plan.”

“Wife, come with me, aye?” Logan’s pulling on my hand but I dinnae want to move, as if my sheer terror will make Georges and Xenia find the ship’s location more quickly. He swings me up in his arms and carries me four flights up to the clock tower. “Look out over the city. Tell me four things ye see.”

“Do ye think they just… cut into the victims the minute the ship leaves port? One by one, to avoid panicking the rest, then? It was a mid-size ship so not like a thousand passengers or anything I’m thinking around four hundred. Those rich bastards getting the organs, they must know. They do, it’s-”

Logan’s mouth fiercely descends on mine, his hand stroking through my hair, tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. He finally pulls back when I sag against him. “Look, sweetheart. Tell me four things ye can see.”

My heart still feels like it’s trying to pound out of my chest, and I have to grip the railing to keep upright. He stands behind me, a solid, reassuring presence.

“Ah… The flowers in the Square are blooming. Bluebells and daffodils. Three of the guards are playing cards in their cottage on the corner. There’s- there’s an older lady walking her dog on the next street over. He’s wearing a wee bow tie…” Tears are streaming down my face, I dinnae notice until Logan uses his t-shirt to wipe them away.

“Tell me the fourth thing.”

“The guy who’s always lifting weights with his curtains open out onto the street is at it again.”

His voice sharpens. “Where?”

Giving a wet little chuckle, I point at the house. “He’s maybe sixteen, love. Ye have nothing to worry about.” The skinny fella is straining with his nine kilo barbells, but he looks so pleased with himself.

I can feel the rumble in his chest as he laughs, vibrating through my skin, soothing my racing heart. “I know this is terrifying, I canna change that. I can tell ye that this is good news. Ye gave us the break we’ve been looking for. I should have seen it sooner. Fecking Anselm made his original fortune with his cruise ship lines. I’m sure the pieces of shite on his company’s board are all in on this.

“Once we have the ship’s location, we can start a facial recognition scan. When we know who’s on board, that gives us infiltration options, aye? This will move quickly. I promise.”

“Aye, thank ye for talking me down, then.” I tuck my head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. “These people… they must know that their unwilling donors are on the ship with them. What level of depraved do ye have to sink to, to buy in on this?”

Logan shrugs. “People get desperate, as they see their lives coming to an end, they’ll do anything to prolong them, no matter what - or who - it takes to do it.”

Within a few hours, our great room is crowded with MacTavishes.

This is when I witness the true genius of Xenia.

“I managed to pull the manifest for the cruise. We’ve achieved 96% facial recognition for everyone aboard The Zephyr. There’s one hundred and twenty crew members, ninety organ recipients, sixty medical personnel, and sixty-five donors.” She hesitates, glancing at me. “The reason there are less of the donor-victims is because they will be harvesting multiple organs.”

My stomach tries to surge up my throat and I swallow hard.

“Here’s the good news,” Georges continues. “We have successfully isolated ten people between crew members, patients and staff that we can successfully swap out for members of our team.” He clicks through the pictures and talks about wigs, prosthetics, and the like until he stops on a picture of a young couple, much younger than most of the patients.

“Giulia and Mattia Bianchi, Italian multi-millionaires. They’ll be boarding the ship on the next stop in Greece, along with most of the other passengers.”

“You might notice,” Xenia adds, “that she bears a striking resemblance to Arabella.”

She’s right. With a blonde wig and some clever makeup, I could definitely-

“Absolutely not.” Logan snarls. “My wife is not getting anywhere near that fecking ship.”

“Logan, do ye want this mission to succeed?”

I haven’t met the man who’s speaking, he came in late, though he’s clearly a MacTavish. Blond hair and the signature green eyes, square, firm jaw and while everyone else is casually dressed, he’s in a navy-blue suit and red tie.

With a little work, he could look remarkably like Mattia Bianchi.

“Obviously, Mason. But ye weren’t there in Copenhagen. Arabella was tested like a fecking farm animal and Anselm told her he was going to carve her to pieces. All because she tried to save my life. She’s done her fecking part!” Logan is rigid with fury.

“I’d be there with her every second. The couple is known for being inseparable.” If Mason is upset by his cousin’s rage, he dinnae show it.

The group shifts subtly, discussing other people that can be pulled from the ship and replaced.

“Love, I understand.” Taking his hand, clenched in a fist, I unfold each finger, sliding mine between them. “But ye canna keep me from this. Carol’s gonna die. A lot of people, likely. I know you’ll keep me safe. I dinnae know Mason, but if he is a MacTavish, I’m sure he’s up for the job.”

He’s so beautiful, my husband. Logan’s face is cold and hard, sculpted perfection that could have been created by Michelangelo.

“You’ve done your part, Bella. Ye canna…”

We’re huddled in the corner of the room and I hug him tightly. “I have to do this. Ye came bursting into that room and saved me. These people deserve that, too.”

Reluctantly, his arms wrap around me and we stand there, swaying slightly with the low buzz of the room behind us.

Keep the heid - Scottish slang for calm down.