Cruise
Cruise
by Jurgen von Stuka
ISBN:
978-1-939916-46-4
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2013, All rights reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
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Preface
If you think piracy, kidnapping and deadly violence on the high seas should be punished by a slap on the wrist and with the perps sent home, don’t bother to read this book.
Who ever thought that in the twenty-first century, the world’s oceans would once again hold the threat of piracy and human slavery?
Who ever imagined that the great powers of the globe: Russia, Germany, China, Japan, the United States and others, would dither and procrastinate about how to deal with piracy at sea? Heaven forbid that anyone attempting to highjack any vessel on the high seas might be shot or simply thrown over the side.
Due process? Who is kidding whom? You attempt to take control away from the duly authorized operators of any vessel and you do so at your own extreme peril.
But, alas, we live in a time of political wimps and so, it is incumbent upon any captain to protect himself, his crew and his vessel.
Who would have imagined that daring dolts from third world countries with little more than small arms and tiny boats would succeed in holding major nations hostage while demanding huge ransoms for the vessels they attacked and abducted?
While the world seemingly ignores these foolish brigands of the sea, lives are lost and millions of Euros and dollars are handed over to arrogant and dangerous little men who have learned that few nations’ leaders have the moral integrity or courage to take steps to stop them.
“Oh, it’s a very complicated matter of international law,” the fools in national capitals say.
How sad that we no longer have Teddy Roosevelt, Churchill or even Stalin around to give these pirates their deserved reward: a resting place at the bottom of the ocean with a few ounces of lead in the head to make sure they stay there.
Mega-Yachts such as Altuna are common on every sea and ocean. These days, many of them are well armed and, aside from the occasional warship on patrol, still pose the only real threat to pirates. For that reason, it is only the foolish and unwise who challenge these multi-billion dollar private vessels at sea. In this story, one might find a model script for how pirates and slavers could effectively be dealt with and wiped out in a short time, if only the great nations had leaders who would courageously demonstrate that no vessel under their flag can be taken by force and no crew held for ransom without fearing immediate and deadly retribution, political correctness be damned.
Prologue
Who the Hell is Bibi Lynx?
Bibi, whose real name was Bibita Wolf Lynx, 26, easily could have walked away with the Miss Germany title any year she entered. She was exactly what most foreigners thought every German Frauline should look like. She was nearly six feet tall, medium boned, with a well-muscled body devoid of fat. Men immediately focused on her rather large and assertive 38DD breasts that more often than not were unbridled by anything as pedestrian as a bra. These assets were complemented by a narrow waist, no visible belly, reasonably wide, but well proportioned hips and long legs that tapered up to meet her shoulders…or at least seemed that way.
Bibi usually scared off prospective suitors just by looking too good. Most men assumed that anyone who looked like her could not possibly be interested in an ordinary man unless he matched her looks and poise. So, inevitably, she often dated men at both extremes of the spectrum. On occasion, she ended up with the glamour guys who were married to their mirrors, deeply dedicated to their own looks and wanted a prize package of a woman on their arm. Now and then, really for fun, she accepted the invitations of rich men or even the occasional royal who assumed that they could buy anything or anyone they wanted. She was seen, on rare occasions, at The Regent or the old Adlon in Berlin, The Mandarin Oriental or Marks in Munich and the Frankfurter Hof in Frankfurt. Her closest friends knew that the way to charm Bibi was to take her to a sumptuous five or six-hour dinner at Fischers Fritz, Tantris or Sonnora, the hidden and most exclusive, Michelin Star restaurant in the far west of Germany. Bibi knew her food and wine, but was equally comfortable in some dingy cellar bar in any city.
Most often, for company, she sought out the smart, quiet guys who were computer wizards, math or physics majors in university and who thought dining out meant having a meal at the hofbrau house every six months or so. None of these choices suited Bibi and she spent a great deal of her personal time traveling when and where she could afford it, riding her pride and joy 1500 cc Yamaha road bike and staying fit.
For hobbies, during the warm months, she would visit nudist camps and beaches where she was usually left alone, again intimidating those who figured that she was out of their class. To balance this, she studied languages and several different types of martial arts, from classical judo to Karate and Tae Kwon Do, intent on protecting herself and others around her if the need arose. She had enough belts of various colors to impress anyone except herself and always figured that self-defense was really only last-ditch defense. Her instructors and competition audiences loved her, especially when, in a tense contest, Bibi might inadvertently suffer what the media called a “wardrobe malfunction.” Unknowing and unwise observers, on occasion, teased her, calling her a “studio manikin” because they felt that although she was good at drills and competition, they doubted she had the mental conditioning to use the killing arts on anyone for real. But her instructors knew that in real life situations, she was fast and adroit at using deadly force. She continued to practice and amazed most instructors and her peers with her strength and ability to smash both live and inanimate things with a single blow.
“It’s not strength,” she would say. “It’s the ability to focus.”
Few people were ever inclined to test this theory with Bibi.
For more about Bibi’s adventures, see the von Stuka novel, AFTER SCHOOL, also from Pink Flamingo Publications
Chapter One
The Device
Bibi’s client of the moment, Mark Colbert, the ridiculously wealthy Austrian business executive, suddenly decided that he needed to be somewhere other than on this gigantic cruise vessel. Without telling anyone but the vessel’s captain, he jumped ship in the Azores, helicoptered to meet his private G50 in Tenerife and flew off to Madrid, leaving most of his personal staff and bodyguards on board to await his promised return when the ship reached its next port.
Bibi was bored and hoped that someone or something would come along to relive that boredom. It was after 2300 hours, ship’s time, and most of the tourists on board were either throwing Euros down the black hole that the cruise line laughingly called a casino or had already gone to bed. Thus, the suggestion of some after hour’s fun by Nate, the barman in the Stratosphere Lounge, got more attention than it might have otherwise.
“Exactly what do you have in mind,” Bibi asked the good-looking, dark-haired young barman whom she had been flirting with on and off for the last three days.
“I get off at two,” he said, slowly wiping the brass and mahogany bar surface that separated them. “We could take a walk around the deck. It’s quiet at this time of night.”
“And do what?” Bibi asked, smiling and leaning over the bar just enough to display large portions of her superb chest. “By two, I’m usually pretty much ready for bed.”
“Well,” said Nate, who was about Bibi’s age and in similar fine physical shape. “We could skip the walking and just camp in Pomperoy’s cabin. He’s got some pretty interesting stuff.”
“Interesting stuff? Like what?” she asked, frowning.
“Ah, he has a hobby that’s sort of like, well, whips and chains, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. But I thought that since you mentioned last night that you had an interest in bondage, it might be worth checking out. You gotta see it.”
“Well first, Nate, I think you may have misunderstood what I said. Working on crime cases where bondage was involved is not the same as having an interest. But I must admit that I find the practice and some of the fetishes that often go with it to be fascinating…within some boundaries.”
“Oh, sure, right. I didn’t mean…” Nate quickly added, sounding embarrassed.
“And where will Mister Pomeroy be while we occupy his concierge level penthouse and check out his bondage gear?” Bibi laughed, thinking about some of her past BDSM experiences and wondering how the rest of the night might go if she agreed to this invitation.
“He’s, well, I guess it’s fair to say that he’s otherwise occupied with Jean Groff. In his other cabin.”
“…which is, if I remember correctly, just down the corridor…” Bibi added quickly.
“Right. But no worries. They are both cool and no one would bother us until after noon.”
“Oh yes. Jean is pretty cool. I know. She’s working with me on this cruise.”
“Right. I think she’s hot,” said Nate. Then, realizing that the remark was possibly counterproductive to his goals, he said: “Not that you aren’t, I mean…”
“Forget it,” said Bibi. “I know what you meant. We are traveling together because we like each other, in and out of bed. Does that clarify it enough for you?”
“Yes, Bibi. Sure.”
“And by the way, you may have the wrong information because the way I heard it, Pomeroy is breaking in some shipboard bimbo tonight. Jean had another date on the Isosceles Deck.”
“Really? I thought they were pretty tight. Jean and Pommy.”
“Whatever. It’s not important, unless you had visions of Groff adding to the pile in bed.”
“Ah, no,” said Nate, looking nervous all of a sudden.
“But you did ask her, didn’t you?” pressed Bibi, enjoying watching the barman squirm a bit for his sexual forwardness.
“Yeah. Sure. Three is often fun and you both are tens, so I tried and struck out.”
“Well, don’t give up, Nate. But let’s go back to what makes you think I’m ‘interested’ in bondage?”
“Uh, you mentioned it last night.”
“I did? After how many of your deadly Arctic Thunders, may I ask? My
interest
?”
Bibi, not especially inclined to drink anything with a mixture of alcohol in it, had fallen in lust with Nate’s proprietary drink, Artic Thunder, which she knew was heavily loaded with Aquavit and several exotic grappas. Two of these potent specialties had been known to topple large men. Bibi found the beverage stimulating…at least until the next morning.
“Yeah,” said Nate. “You told me about the case where you got chained to the wall of the old windmill in Amsterdam.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“And now you want to get it on with me in the penthouse?”
“Yes.”
Bibi said: “Okay. Let’s do it. Can I meet you there at, shall we say, two fifteen? I need to pick up a few things in my cabin and make sure I have no messages. After all, this is a paid job and I am supposed to be looking after my clients, even in the middle of the night.”
“Right. Two fifteen at the penthouse suite, 3A. I’ll bring the bubbles. Your choice, pink or white?”
“Tough choice. You decide, but no more Arctic Thunders, okay?” Bibi said, getting up from the bar chair and stretching. It was nearly one thirty in the morning on the third night out of Miami and the ship was making top speed across the calm Caribbean Sea. She was off duty until 4 p.m. the next day, so she thought that Nate’s plans might actually work out. Besides, she was looking forward to some kinky sex and Nate seemed like the best choice among the five thousand people on this monster cruise ship presently headed, somewhat circuitously, for St. Thomas.