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46. Killing Me Softly

April, 2010

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open when they reached the floor that housed Martha's suite. Afaitu smiled to himself, remembering how Rick had come to hate the sound of a car arriving to this floor. It had seemed he attracted bad luck, at the time. It was no more than a series of poorly timed coincidences, but amusing still to recall his client's deepening dislike of the sound.

"We can call Jim in the morning. That way we have some time to process this new knowledge," he murmured as Martha fumbled in her purse for the keycard to the door. The hall was well lit, with nothing out of place. Yet, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something was wrong, though he could see nothing out of the ordinary.

He paused, letting Martha move just ahead of him, key now in hand. Turning slowly in a complete circle, his eyes swept over the apparent empty spaces. There was nothing and no one there, but his feeling of unease only increased. Afaitu was not a man easily frightened. Nothing here was out of place, and he might have dismissed the feeling as an overactive imagination. However, with the stakes as high as they were, and at a critical juncture, he would not ignore his body's way of warning him.

"Martha!" It came out sharper and harsher than he'd intended, but had the desired effect as she paused, about to slide the keycard home.

"Yes?"

"Something's off. Doesn't feel right. Come, let's go back to the elevators."

The pleading look in his eyes was enough for her. They turned and went back to the area next to the elevator doors. Martha turned to him, eyebrow quirked up in silent query.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can't see anything wrong, but the sense of foreboding was very strong. I didn't want to take a chance."

"Darling, you don't need to justify yourself. I'm an actress. We rely on gut instincts constantly. But what should we do now?"

"Let's go down to the bar and get a drink. I need one, now, and we can decide what to do."

Martha motioned a hotel employ to her side when they reached the lobby.

"Darling, I was just about to enter my suite on the top floor, and I'm convinced I smelled smoke. I didn't see anything, but it was such a strong smell! Could you check it out for me, please? We'll be waiting in the Choco Latte Lounge."

She sashayed off, leaving a bemused Afaitu in her wake and an alarmed employee who scurried off to deal with the potential disaster. Martha was waiting for him near the entrance to the bar when he finally caught up to her.

"Smoke? What brought that on?"

"Fire is the greatest fear of any hotel. They'll send several people to check it out, including a thorough inspection of my suite. If anything is amiss, we'll find out shortly."

Afaitu shook his head in amazement. This wonderful woman continued to impress him at every turn. It was truly remarkable, the people Rick Rodgers had helping him out.

They found a table in a secluded corner and ordered, before Martha stood and went to seek out the restroom. Afaitu was nursing his cocktail a few minutes later, when he sensed an approaching presence—one that quickly slid into the chair opposite him. Looking up, the greeting he had intended for Martha died on his lips when he saw that the person who'd joined him was very definitely not Rick's mother.

Shit.

"Capitaine?"

Stephane Tissot stood unhearing, unseeing. He was still rehashing the conversation he'd just had with the Vice-Amiral, the man in charge of the French Navy in Polynesia.

"Capitaine? Monsieur?"

Shaking himself free from his reflections, he realized most of the crew on the bridge were staring at him.

"Oui. Sorry. I have new orders from Vice-Amiral Evrard." Consulting his navigation maps, he quickly barked out the orders. His men were far too well trained to complain audibly, but he heard a deep sigh or two as the large ship slowly turned nearly 180 degrees. He felt like joining them.

They had been less than a day out of Papeete, headed back to port after several weeks patrolling the gigantic perimeter demarcated by French Polynesia. It had been an uneventful tour, as expected. Honestly, this stretch of ocean was quite peaceful. No one ever expected, for example, New Zealand to suddenly lose their minds and invade, though the Cook Islands were their nearest neighbors. Hardly anyone lived at Pitcairn, so the British protectorate didn't really count.

No, generally a patrol was all about looking for vessels in distress and watching for illegal activity. It wasn't stressful, per se, but when within hours of being home, one naturally expects to have the comforts found only on land waiting. The anticipation is exquisite torture, now made exponentially worse by the fact that they'd been ordered on this foolish venture.

Inwardly grimacing, Stephane realized there was no helping it. The Vice-Amiral had received his orders directly from the President. While Grollet was not technically in charge of the naval forces, a position Sarkozy retained of course, he had a lot of influence. He was, after all, present on the same island as their port. And they were 16,000 kilometers from Paris. Give or take a few hundred.

He just hoped this wild goose chase didn't take long. He'd been given very little information as to why this particular cargo ship was so important, just that he must find it and figure out its course. It seemed simple enough. Perhaps if God were good they'd be back in port within the next two to three days.

The good Capitaine might have given in to his frustration and sighed out loud like his men if he'd been given a glimpse of what was to come.

"How long do you think he'll stay out there?" Ari'i wondered.

"I don't know. He's got to be cold. He's been there for a few hours now," Tamahere replied.

"I kept thinking he'd stand there for a bit, then come back to the main quarters. Get something to eat, warm up. But he hasn't budged."

Tamahere shrugged. "He's changed. We all have, but Hopo more than the rest. I've read his story, at least the beginning, and while I understand on some level what she means to him, I cannot fathom spending ten years with someone then being ripped away."

"Still, what good does it do him to stand up there in the bow, catching his chill? We're on our way to her; surely it makes no difference where he is?" Ari'i couldn't wrap his head around why his former crewmate would simply stand in the exposed bow for so long. They had days to go until they reached the island he'd identified on Google Maps. There was nothing to see, yet.

"He feels closer to her," rumbled a deep voice behind Tamahere and Ari'i. Startled, they both half turned towards the voice. Salesi stood, looming over them. He just blinked at their attention, nonplussed. He knew he was right. He knew Rick far better than they, at least this Rick.

The three of them were standing on the bridge of Ari'i's ship. They'd been underway many hours, and Ari'i always liked to be in charge of the initial part of any new journey. He was a very conscientious captain, as he'd been taught to be by Anapa.

Neither Tamahere nor Ari'i knew quite what to make of Salesi. He'd boarded with Rick, and the two seemed to be close, but the large man was so quiet, they'd finally given up on trying to get him to talk and simply ignored him after an hour. With Rick ensconced on the bow, Salesi had, for reasons known only to himself, decided to shadow Tamahere. And since Tamahere had decided to join his old first mate on the bridge, so had Salesi. Though until just now he'd been silent as a statue.

"Closer to her? What does that even mean?" wondered Tamahere after Salesi made no sign of continuing the discussion. Both men continued to look expectantly at the titan behind them. Expectantly enough that he finally gave in and answered the question.

"Bow is closest part of ship to island and Kate. So, bow is where Rick goes."

Tamahere reflected on this reasoning, and decided the man was undoubtedly right. Turning to Ari'i, who still looked unsure, he realized that his old shipmate and new captain didn't really know more than the bare facts of Hopo's story. There hadn't been much time to tell him, and they'd not wanted to compromise security by telling him most of it before they'd cast off.

"Are you at a point where you can turn the bridge over to someone else?" inquired Tamahere. "I think it's time we caught you up on this mission."

They met Ari'i in the lounge of the ship, a room that would have been called the saloon on the Iriata. Ari'i would brook no such name for his ship, the Vaitiare. Too many bad memories of the last minutes he'd spent in the saloon of the Iriata, confronting Grollet over his role in injuring Anapa.

The Vaitiare was larger than the Iriata, though still a cargo ship. Most of his runs were necessary supply runs to his home islands, the Marquesas, from Papeete. Being larger, the Vaitiare had a separate dining room. She also had more dedicated cabins for passengers, though on this trip there were none beyond Hopo, Tamahere and Salesi.

Meeting the others in the lounge thirty minutes after they'd left him on the bridge, Ari'i found Tamahere holding a sheaf of papers. Salesi was already seated in a large recliner, reading his own copy.

Tamahere handed him the packet. "I printed these this morning, before Hopo and Salesi arrived on Mo'orea. I knew we couldn't tell you the details about this trip until we were underway; too many ears pricking towards Hopo. However, you need to know what the rest of us know. Why we do this. Why Hopo is as he is, out there still in the bow without any thought but of Kate. What the stakes are. We knew you would help, without question or comment, but you deserve to know what is happening. These papers will tell you."

Ari'i took the proffered pages silently, then glanced at Salesi. "He doesn't know either?"

Tamahere shook his head. "He knows some, not all, of the story. Hopo does not confide in others easily. He trusts Salesi, but was not sure of the story remaining quiet in the close confines of a prison. Salesi knows the bare facts, but this packet broadens the story by many brush strokes."

"It looks thick," Ari'i complained. He had a ship to run, and time for reading was not a top priority.

"It's worth the look, Ari'i. Besides, Hopo is a master at his craft. Give it a chance and you'll find yourself drawn into the tale despite yourself."

Grunting, Ari'i agreed to sit down. With both men now reading, Tamahere turned his attention to the next person on his list: Hopo.

Rick had completely lost track of time. He was lost in visions of Kate and their life on the island, when he gradually became aware of another's presence behind him. Well, not so much aware, as felt. As in Tamahere was shaking his left shoulder repeatedly while calling his name. Loudly.

"Hopo! Hopo!"

Rick turned slightly, indicating he was finally hearing the other man.

"What, Tamahere. What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. Except you were ignoring me. What are you doing, anyway?"

Rick shrugged. "I just like being in the bow. You remember I spent a lot of time in the bow of the Iriata? Same thing."

"Except on the Iriata you were writing. And you didn't spend the night out there."

"Spend the night? I've only been out here for an hour or so."

"Hopo, the sun is about to set. You've been here for many hours. Please, come back to the lounge or to your cabin. It's not safe to be out here past dark."

Rick was shocked when he saw how low the sun was behind him. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that a lot of time had passed without notice.

"Ok, I'll come back. But I don't really want to talk to anyone tonight."

"That's fine. I wanted Ari'i and Salesi to know what you'd gone through those many years ago, so I've given them the start of your story. It will take them most of the evening to read it."

Rick nodded. They needed to know; he'd have to tell them the rest soon.

"Maybe we can all meet in the morning and talk about some things?"

"E, yes. It is much better to know what is going to happen before it does. Get some rest, my friend." Tamahere saw Hopo back to the stern, then watched as his friend shuffled to his cabin. Worry over Kate was still all-consuming. Tamahere hoped that a few more days at sea and they'd be in a position to eliminate the worry.

The next morning saw the four men retreat to the lounge after breakfast. Ari'i had a wonderful crew, the sea was smooth and there was nothing else happening more important than discussing what they would be facing.

Hopo remained quiet and pensive. He didn't appear to have slept well at all, though that was his usual look since being found floating on a dilapidated boat. Tamahere sighed, and addressed the other two.

"You have finished reading the story?"

They both nodded. They now knew as much as he did of Rick and Kate's life: up to the day the two had married. Given that this had occurred in March of the year 2000, there were still nearly ten years of life lived with just the two of them to cover. Tamahere turned his attention back to Hopo.

"My friend, I know you spent a lot of time writing your story while in prison. I've transcribed all the events up to your beautiful beach wedding with Kate. And I know there was much more written, but I didn't have time to transcribe it. What else happened on that island?"

What else happened? A simple question, loaded with so many answers. The most basic answer was that they'd survived. The most abstract was that they'd loved, lived. And in reality? Reality was hard to face. There'd been triumphs and tragedies. Celebrations and grief. But underneath it all had been there love.