Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO OWNED THE OCEAN
David raised the gun.
I didn't move.
“You won't shoot me.”
He looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because if you wanted me dead, you wouldn't have brought me this far.”
His finger loosened slightly.
I continued.
“You need something from me.”
He lowered the gun.
“You were always too observant.”
“Who is your father?”
David looked at the photographs.
“My father is called Victor Davis.”
The name meant nothing.
Then he added:
“Officially.”
I froze.
“What's his real name?”
“Commander Elias Voss.”
My stomach dropped.
Elias Voss.
A former intelligence contractor who had disappeared after an international maritime investigation.
He had supposedly died in a helicopter crash.
But I remembered his file.
Twenty-seven unexplained disappearances.
Eleven missing vessels.
Millions in fraudulent insurance claims.
And one unresolved question.
Who had financed him?
David looked at me.
“My father didn't build a criminal empire.”
“He built a fleet.”
“For what?”
“People.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
“He moves people across borders.”
“Refugees?”
“Sometimes.”
“Smugglers?”
“Sometimes.”
“Witnesses?”
David looked away.
“Sometimes.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“And sometimes people who need to disappear.”
I understood.
“The women.”
“Yes.”
“They're alive?”
“Some.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Where are they?”
David hesitated.
“On the island.”
I looked at the photographs.
“Why me?”
David's voice became quiet.
“Because my father knows who you used to be.”
My heart stopped.
He continued.
“You weren't selected because you're wealthy.”
“Then why?”
“Because you're the only person who survived him before.”
I stared.
“What are you talking about?”
David whispered:
“Your last Marine operation.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“You know about that?”
“My father was there.”
I remembered the classified mission.
The convoy.
The missing intelligence officer.
The helicopter crash.
The only survivor.
Me.
I had spent years believing the operation was a failure.
David shook his head.
“It wasn't.”
“Then what was it?”
“You found something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I looked at the book in my hand.
“The same kind?”
“Yes.”
I opened it again.
Suddenly, I noticed a symbol beneath my name.
A small black anchor.
I recognized it.
It had appeared on a classified photograph from my Marine days.
I looked at David.
“This isn't an insurance syndicate.”
“No.”
“It's an intelligence network.”
David nodded.
“And you're part of it.”
He looked ashamed.
“I was.”
“Was?”
“I've been trying to escape.”
Then the ship suddenly lurched.
An alarm screamed.
David looked toward the window.
The cruise ship had stopped.
Miles from any known port.
A second vessel had appeared beside us.
No markings.
No lights.
Just a black hull.
May you like
David whispered:
“My father has arrived.”
