Plague Ship

Adjusting to the gung ho paramilitary nature of Cabrillo’s band of pirates had been remarkably easy, and, for the first time, Nixon had come to understand the lure of the military. It wasn’t the action and adventure, because most days were filled with tedium. It was the camaraderie, the sense of loyalty that the men and women shared for each other. They gave each other the ultimate responsibility, of keeping the other person from harm, which formed bonds far deeper than Kevin thought were possible.

But his time with the Oregon hadn’t really changed him much. He still gave money to liberal causes, voted the Democratic ticket whenever he remembered to get an absentee ballot, and the hybrid car was garaged in a storage unit in L.A. He just valued the freedom to do those things all the more.

“Wow, I am so sorry,” Gwen said into the lengthening silence. “I don’t really pay attention to that stuff much.”

“I didn’t use to either, but now . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. He could sense that he made her uncomfortable. Maybe he had changed more than he’d thought.

The trailer door was suddenly thrown open. On the interview circuit of morning talk shows or on the red carpet of a movie premiere, Donna Sky was a luminous presence that could fill any room. She was the epitome of style, poise, and elegance. Storming into the makeup trailer with her hair hidden by a baseball cap and no cosmetics to hide the fact she had acne, she looked like any harried twenty-something with a chip on her shoulder and a sense of entitlement. Her eyes were bloodshot and ringed by dark circles, and, from across the room, Kevin could smell last night’s alcohol binge.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded harshly of Nixon. Her trademark voice was frayed because of an apparent hangover. Then she paused, studied him, and finally recognized him. “You’re Kevin Nixon, aren’t you? You did my makeup on Family Jewels.”

“That was your big break, as I recall,” Kevin said, standing.

“It would have come eventually,” Donna said, filled with self-importance. She took the chair Kevin had vacated and looked over her shoulder at Gwen, “Get rid of these bags under my eyes, will you? I don’t shoot for a couple of hours, but I can’t stand looking this way.” Kevin felt like saying that she shouldn’t have gone club hopping the night before but held his tongue.

Gwen shot Kevin a knowing look and said, “Sure thing, honey. Anything for you.”

“Are you working on this movie now?” Donna asked Nixon as Gwen got to work with her brushes and eyeliner.

“Actually, no. I’m here to speak with you, if you don’t mind.” She let out a bored sigh, and then said, “What the hell. What do you want to talk to me about?” Kevin glanced at Gwen. She got the hint. “Donna, honey, why don’t you let Kevin do your makeup so you can chat in private?”

“Fine.”

Nixon mouthed the words Thank you to Gwen as she stepped away, handing him a brush. He waited until she’d left the trailer before getting to work. “I’d like to talk about Thom Severance and the Responsivist movement.”

Donna Sky instantly tensed. “Sorry, but that subject is closed.”

“It’s important. Lives may be at stake.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, all right? You want to talk about my career or my social life, fine. But I don’t discuss Responsivism with anyone anymore.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t!”

Kevin tried to recall everything Linda had taught him about interrogation over the past twenty-four hours.

“About a week ago, a ship chartered by the Responsivists sank in the Indian Ocean.”

“I know. I saw it on the news. They say it was hit by a wave. They had a special name for it.”

“Rogue wave,” Kevin offered. “They’re called rogue waves.”

“That’s right. The ship was hit by a rogue wave.”

Kevin pulled a sleek laptop out of the backpack he’d brought with him and set it on the counter, pushing aside Gwen’s clutter of junk. It took him a few seconds to find the file he wanted.

The quality of the video was poor because there was so little light for the camera Mark Murphy had used aboard the Golden Dawn, but it was still clear enough to see the horrified expressions of the dead bridge crew and the gallons of blood that was splashed across the deck. He let it play for about five minutes.

“What was that? A movie you’re working on?”

“That was taken aboard the Golden Dawn. Every passenger and crewman on board had been murdered, poisoned with something so toxic that no one even had time to use the radio.” He found another piece of stored video. This was taken from the Oregon’s mast-mounted camera and showed the ship sinking. Her name was clearly visible when the searchlight swept the bows.

Donna Sky was clearly confused. “Who took those pictures and why wasn’t this reported to the media?”

“I can’t tell you who shot the footage, but it’s not being reported yet because this was a terrorist attack and the authorities don’t want the terrorists to know what we know.” He gave her credit. She caught his use of the possessive. “Are you, like . . . I mean, do you work for . ..?”

“I can’t answer that question directly, but my having possession of this video should tell you enough.”

“Why are you showing this to me? I don’t know anything about terrorism.”

“Your name came up prominently during the investigation, and evidence points to this attack being carried out by elements within the Responsivist movement.” He said it as gently as he could, and either she would believe him or she would call security and have him thrown off the lot.

Her reflection in the mirror stared at him fixedly. Kevin had built his career covering faces, not reading them. He had no idea what she was thinking. He wondered how he would react if someone told him his minister was a terrorist.

“I don’t believe you,” she said at length. “I think you created that footage to discredit Thom and Heidi.” At least she hasn’t tossed me out on my ear, Kevin thought. He asked, “Why would I do that? What possible motive would I have to fabricate those videos and travel halfway around the world to show them to you?”

“How should I know what you think?” Donna snapped.

“Please, think this through very logically. If my goal was to discredit Responsivism, wouldn’t I take this to CNN or Fox?” When she didn’t say anything, Kevin asked for her honest answer.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Since I haven’t, then my goal must be something else, right?”

“Maybe,” she conceded.

“Then why can’t I be telling the truth?”

“Responsivists don’t believe in violence. There is no way members of our group did this. It was probably a bunch of radical antiabortionists or something.”

“Miss Sky, believe me when I tell you that we have checked every known group in the world looking for those responsible. It keeps coming back to Responsivists. And I’m not talking about the rank and file.” Kevin was on a roll now and the lies kept coming. “We believe there is a splinter group that perpetrated this atrocity, and may have other such attacks in the works.

“You and I both know that some people take their faith to the extreme. That’s what we think we’re dealing with here: extremists within your organization. If you truly want to help your friends, you have to tell me everything you know.”

“Okay,” she said meekly.

They spoke for almost an hour before Gwen returned. She had several of the movie’s extras with her that needed makeup for upcoming scenes. In the end, Kevin was convinced that Donna Sky knew absolutely nothing about what the Corporation had stumbled upon. He also felt that she was a sad, lonely young woman who had become imprisoned by her own success, and that the leadership of the Responsivist movement had singled her out for recruitment for that very fact. He could only hope that someday she would find an inner source of strength that would allow her to stand on her own. He doubted it would happen, but he could hope.

“Thank you very much for talking to me,” Kevin said as he packed up his laptop.

“I don’t think I was that helpful.”