[Start at the beginning of the novel: Prologue.]
[Go to the Table of Contents.]
Welcome back to Ship of Fools and thanks for reading!
Back aboard the Anóitoi, Liz watches Lonnie disappear into the galley as Rock raps about his search for Truth. It’s not long before the proverbial excrement becomes actualized.
If you think Mr. Armstrong ever landed on the moon, After hearing my rhyme you’ll be changing your tune. It’s the New World Order that’s controlling our brains, Speak up for Truth and they call you insane.
At least those were the lyrics Liz thought she heard as Rock rapped his way into his first tune. The thump of the bass was deafening, so she moved farther from the stage, taking a sip from her second drink, a virgin margarita this time. She needed her wits sharp to soak in the details for her color piece. The one upside to the ear-splitting music: the attendees were paying no attention to her now, their eyes fixed on the stage, their hands raising the roof.
She wished she had Lonnie’s way with the crowd. His social awkwardness translated into an endearing manner on stage, and his self-deprecating jokes had gone over well. No wonder he’d been able to get such superhuman feats of endurance out of his employees. He was just a geek who wanted to go into space, and his fellow geeks were ready to follow him beyond the ends of the Earth. That was the mythology, anyway, or at least it used to be. A string of hostile workplace lawsuits and the proliferation of competing space companies had taken some of the burnish off of SpaceOut’s well-polished image, and the company faced several unionization efforts.
She thought about buttonholing him for a follow-up to Jim’s piece on worker relations at Tranquility Base, but Ester had disappeared through the swinging doors to the kitchen right after his remarks. Probably better to just head back to her stateroom, since nothing newsworthy was likely to happen after this point, except maybe a drunken brawl between factions of moon landing denialists, those who still believed in a spherical Earth and those who believed it was flat, with those who didn’t believe in the moon at all egging them on. Ester could wait; she’d have plenty of time during the rest of the cruise to ask all the questions she wanted.
Before she could make a move for the door, Sarge approached her, followed by a guy who must have been some sort of security: Nylon jacket that could easily conceal a pistol, khaki tactical pants, black boots. He wore a Bluetooth earpiece and his eyes scanned the room constantly, after giving her the once-over.
Sarge leaned toward her so he could be heard. He shouted something, but all she could pick up was “Liz” and “get” and “room.” He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought she’d heard. She shook her head, gesturing at her ear.
“Okay!” he yelled. “Come on!” He turned, motioning for her to follow. For some reason, he led her toward the galley passageway, the same doors Lonnie had disappeared through after his speech, not toward the main entrance to the ballroom.
It was much quieter once they were in the passage. “I’m having a little get-together in my stateroom, away from all that noise,” Sarge said, talking over his shoulder without stopping. “Lonnie’s there too.”
“What for?”
“Oh, I just thought we could get to know each other better, maybe have a frank airing of views.”
That was strange. They’d had enough time to get to know each other on the previous Conspira-C Cruise, the subsequent interviews for her book, even that field trip to a canal in the Imperial Valley, where Sarge thought he could repeat the Bedford Level experiment and finally get it right this time. Of course he’d only ended up proving once again that Earth was round. “Refraction must have been distorting our measurements,” he’d claimed.
Sarge didn’t know Lonnie well, though, so maybe he wanted her to serve as some sort of go-between. She kept telling herself that, ignoring the little alarm bells going off in her brain, impulses from her amygdala to her neocortex, along with a little shot of cortisol that made her mouth go dry. She hadn’t felt like this since last summer in DC; why did she keep taking these assignments?
The alarm bells turned to klaxons as they passed through the kitchen. There was none of the usual back and forth, neither the frenzied shouting of orders and “plate up” during a rush, nor the casual banter of the post-rush cleanup, the phase it looked like they were in now. The kitchen staff kept their eyes fixed on the jobs before them, remaining grimly silent, the only sounds the clatter of the pots and pans the busboy was assiduously scouring over at the sink.
They entered the passage beyond, where two more security types guarded a door halfway along it.
She stopped, the security guy coming to a halt uncomfortably close behind her, not quite touching. “On second thought,” she said, trying to keep her voice level, “it’s been a long travel day. I think I’ll just hit the hay.”
Sarge turned back toward her. “Come on, Liz, just one quick drink.”
How many times had she heard that line? “What are these guards for?”
“These guys? They’re Rock’s. You know how these celebrities are with their entourages. It’s his stateroom, actually, way nicer than mine. He’ll be along after the show.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
Sarge looked away from her and gave the security guy a slight nod.
How had she let them get her into this corridor all alone? In personal safety classes, this was the first thing they told you not to do. She should have screamed or called for help back in the galley, but she’d been too worried about looking foolish if her suspicions proved wrong.
It was too late now. The man behind her grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her forward past Sarge. “Ma’am, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s your choice.”
It didn’t quite seem real, as if she had been thrown into an action movie, one that could use better dialogue. She was probably supposed to do something now, bust out the Krav Maga moves no one expected a science reporter from the Times to possess — except she actually didn’t possess them. Instead, she let herself be frog-marched, offering only the slightest resistance, down the passage to the doorway, which one of the guards moved to open. Just before they shoved her into the stateroom, she caught an incongruous flash of yellow and orange from the other end of the passage.
Inside, she found Lonnie standing by a window on the far side and a couple more security types standing around.
“Lonnie? What is this?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Sarge came in behind her. “It’s a kidnapping,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Or you could think of it as a cruise extension. More bang for your buck.”
“But neither of us paid to be here,” she objected. She looked to Lonnie to back her up, but he was staring out the porthole — maybe he was dissociating.
“An even better deal!” Sarge cracked.
“This has to do with my Himmelstein piece, doesn’t it?” Even as she said it, she realized how ridiculous that was. Whoever had contacted her last summer, this wasn’t their style at all. And she’d done everything the voice on the phone had asked. Why would they still be interested in her? Maybe Lonnie actually had come across something on the moon. But why would Sarge be involved? Nothing made sense.
Sarge’s brow knitted together. “No…well, sort of. It made me think I could still convince you the Earth is flat.”
“That’s what this is about? And how do you think you’re going to do that?”
“By taking you to Antarctica. I’m going to show you the Ice Wall and its UN guards. Then you’ll have to admit the truth, streaming live on my YouTube channel. Liz, it will be your greatest scoop, if we don’t all get blasted out of the water. And Lonnie, in addition to eating the dish of crow you so richly deserve, you’ll be our insurance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Just then the door opened again and the two guards from outside carried an Asian man dressed like the Dalai Lama into the room. “This joker was lurking around outside,” one said as they set him down.
The fellow straightened his robes and looked around with a calm smile. “Did I hear someone say Antarctica?”
Sarge turned to one of the security guys who’d been guarding Lonnie. “Goddamnit, Mike, I said watch that guy!”
“We did, but he gave us the slip,” said Mike. “What should we do with him?”
Sarge went over to the monk. “Tenzing, was it?”
The monk nodded and bowed his head slightly. “Dawa Tenzing.”
“How did you discover our plans, Mr. Tenzing?”
“Plans? I know nothing of any plans. I watch, I listen, I make conclusions based on sensory impressions. Is that not your way?”
“Should we throw him in the ocean, boss?” said the one named Mike.
Sarge’s head snapped toward the guard as if he’d been slapped. “What?! No! I told you, I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Pardon me, boss, but you’ve just confessed your intentions to commit a major felony in front of two, maybe three people, and Luis here just technically committed assault against Ms. Dare. We’re well into the stage of the operation where people might get hurt. These three are leaving the ship, one way or the other.”
Sarge rubbed his face and paced the room. It looked to Liz like his operation wasn’t going quite as planned. “So what now?” she asked. Might as well move things along rather than dangle in suspense.
“Now Mr. Ester will call the captain,” Mike said. “We have a helo coming in to pick the two of you up. It’ll be easiest if Mr. Ester claims the helo is his and he needs to make an emergency departure from the cruise.”
Lonnie was looking more alert now that his name had been mentioned. “And what if I refuse?”
“Like I said, you’re leaving the ship one way or the other.”
“So what, you’d just throw us overboard?”
“We’re all ex-SEALs. Ops at sea are right in our wheelhouse. Three bodies, no problem. We’re ready to do whatever the operation requires.”
“Lonnie, you’d better listen to him,” said Sarge. “According to Rock, we really don’t want to know what these guys did in Afghanistan and Syria. Please, just cooperate so there won’t be any violence.”
Lonnie looked over at Liz.
“Sarge may be a crazed conspiracy theorist,” she said, “but I think he doesn’t really want to hurt anyone.”
Lonnie swallowed, giving a weak “Okay.”
“And what about this one, boss?” asked Mike, gesturing at Tenzing.
“Bring him along, I guess. Is there room on the chopper?”
“You bet.”
“And where is the chopper taking us?” Liz asked.
“Rock’s yacht has been trailing us. It’s nicer than this floating Motel 6, and faster, too.”
The next hour was filled with the logistics of getting off the ship: Lonnie making the call, getting right through to the captain (the perks of being a billionaire, Liz supposed); the shuffling of paperwork necessary for their unscheduled departure from the bursar’s office to the state room and back; instructions from Mike on how they would proceed calmly to the helo deck, avoiding conversations with anyone along the way; surrendering their cabin keys so their luggage could be transferred.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll pack everything for you,” said Mike. Such considerate kidnappers!
During the wait, Liz accepted another drink to calm her nerves, while Lonnie had two. The monk named Tenzing sat on a chair, closed his eyes, and appeared to meditate, a beatific smile on his face. His presence was somehow calming. She’d always intended to try meditation — the neuroscience research behind it was solid — but she’d never found the time. Maybe after this, she would.
On the way up to the helo deck, Sarge and Mike leading the way, followed by the three kidnappees and two more guards bringing up the rear, Liz tried to tell herself that a helicopter ride over the dark ocean would be fun, and an unscheduled trip to Antarctica would be an adventure, her forced complacency jarred only a bit when they reached the deck and two more guards got out of the idling chopper in full tactical gear, holding assault rifles.
“A little much, don’t you think, Mike?” Sarge yelled over the whir of the blades.
“SOP,” Mike replied.
They all ducked the way people do in movies, so Liz did the same and boarded the chopper. As the lights of the cruise ship receded against the vastness of the ocean, she regretted yet again that she’d ever taken that Himmelstein assignment.
***End of Part I***
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a like, a share, a restack, or a comment. And if you really enjoyed it, I hope you’ll buy me a coffee or upgrade to a paid subscription.
Now that you know what Sarge has in mind, what do you think he and his kidnap victims new friends will find when they reach the Antarctic Circle? Will they make landfall in Antarctica or will they go all the way to 90 degrees south and bump into the Ice Wall? And what about those UN troops Sarge is so worried about?
Next up: Flat Earth Interlude I