“Well, excuse me!” she retorted. “I am an annoying brat who never listens, after all!”
“That isn’t what I said,” he told her placatingly. “I just don’t understand why you always—”
“Give them back!” Tessa tried again.
“Oh, you shut up, too!” Kaname snarled.
“Just give them back to her and listen to me!” Sousuke said.
“Don’t order me around! This is such typical you!”
“Because you’re always so stubborn!”
“So are you!” Kaname replied. “You always act like you’re the one in charge! Who do you think you are? I think—”
“Just give them back to her!”
Kaname was unmovable, Sousuke was annoyed, and Tessa was panicking. Nothing was being achieved at all. That’s when a new voice joined in over the din.
“Enough already!!” It was Mao. She was heading toward them, prodding along the captured Captain Harris with the muzzle of her submachine gun. This scolding from a fourth party brought all three to silence.
“Yeesh... What’s all this damned yelling about?” Mao demanded to know. “Also, Sousuke! Why is Kaname mad at you? You told her what the deal was, right?”
“Er... affirmative,” he hedged.
“This is such a big mess. I managed to feed an excuse to the other students, but it’s probably going to make her look really bad! This was your idea, remember? So it was up to you to get it done right,” Mao lectured. “Take responsibility and see your mission through, Sergeant!”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to write this up in my report,” Mao sighed.
“Acceptable. It was my mistake,” Sousuke admitted freely, without saying one negative word about Kaname. His behavior now was entirely noble, in a total reversal from his earlier bickering.
It inspired a pang of conscience in Kaname. Really, if he were the kind of man who would have blamed this on her, she wouldn’t get so stubborn and bothered about it at all. Ironically, it was his straight-shooting nature that made it harder for her to be forthright.
“Well, it’s fine,” Mao decided. “But I’d better get you an explanation. Follow me, Kaname.”
“Huh? Where to?”
“The vault. Isn’t that right, Captain?” Mao said with a grin to Captain Harris, who was standing in front of them. The man kept his eyes pointed down, his face pale and drawn.
“Um, Captain?” Kaname asked. As the captain of a seajacked ship, she would have thought he’d want to say something to a passenger like herself—reassure her, maybe. But instead, he just glared silently at her, without a single sympathetic word.
Just before the seajacking occurred...
Commander Killy B. Sailor of the nuclear submarine Pasadena—part of the United States Navy’s SUBPAC—was standing in the cruise ship’s telephone area. Most of the passengers had already moved to the dining halls, which meant he was alone.
Sailor, who had come to Japan for Christmas break, was locked in an argument with his wife, who had just gone home to California.
“...Darn it! I call in to check on you, and this is what I get?! Well, I... you idiot, I keep telling you! I had a mission! But I worked hard to get home the night before the trip to Japan, and... shut up! Huh? Then what was I supposed to do?! Are you saying I should go up to the subordinates and engineers working up all night to fix a problem in the machinery room and say, ‘My wife’s mad at me, so I’m leaving’?! You think I can— what was that?! You mean you and that kid Smith... aha! I see! Well, I’m having a nice time, too! With a real hot little number! ...Shut up, Takenaka’s in Hawaii!” Commander Sailor shouted into the receiver.
The man had black hair in a crew cut and blue eyes, prominent features, high eyebrows, and a square forehead; in other words, he was the quintessential bodybuilder-type. He had the physique to match, too, with a body like some macho man Hollywood star. He was feeling distinctly out of shape lately, but for some reason, he’d developed no extra flab around his waist. It was probably a genetic thing, just the way his body was made. Most people meeting him for the first time, when they heard he was in the military, assumed he was Army, and he hated it.
Commander Sailor went on shouting at his wife, who was nattering on hysterically on the other end of the satellite line. “Oh, shut up! Stop shouting about everything! The Navy is my life! If you don’t like that... Fine, sounds great! Go suck that asshole off! It’s not like you’re— hello? Are you listening?!” Sailor tapped the receiver as her voice cut off. “Hey, Eliza! If that’s the way you want it...” He scowled suddenly, questioning. There was no sound from the phone at all, not even static. She’d hung up on him.
“Well, screw her!” He slammed the receiver down and was about to curse again... but instead, he just sighed. There was nothing to be done, then. His marriage was over. This trip had been a last-ditch effort to salvage things, but even that had blown up in his face.
Ah, well. He’d paid a lot of money to come here, so he might as well enjoy it. After composing himself, Sailor decided to return to his table where a delicious banquet awaited him.
That’s when something strange happened: a gunshot rang out from the ballroom. It was followed immediately by screams from passengers, and other sounds of commotion—dishes falling from tables, overturned carts, the barking of commands...
There was no question—that was a gunshot. A submachine gun? An assault rifle, maybe...
Commander Sailor looked around, panicked. Could it be... a seajacking? He could hear swift footsteps approaching from just ahead, on the other side of the double doors. The terrorists were coming his way. He was the only one in the corridor; beside him was the women’s bathroom. He burst through the door, and heard the terrorists’ footsteps fly into the hall a second later, right where he had been. They’d be checking the bathroom soon, too. He had to
