The Captain's Lady (11 page)

The grandmother had owned a small house, which Abby sold after the woman's death. After quitting her job and selling her car, she rented a storage locker for the few items she kept from the house.

In May of 2003, she'd purchased a one-way ticket to London on Pan Am and traveled for a few weeks. The last known report was a hotel in Paris, the Hotel Europe Liege. Hotel records showed her checking in August 10 and leaving an unpaid bill of 226.34 US before disappearing on August 16. They packed up her possessions, storing them with security, waiting for her to settle the outstanding amount.

After three months, when they hadn't heard from her, the hotel gave the items to charity. The hotel filed a police report that she left without paying the bill. No one had filed a missing person's report on her.

Anger had consumed him on learning this. Why would they just assume she left all her belongings behind? Did this sort of thing happen often? Or were they, as so many people were, without the slightest bit of concern for her wellbeing? It was as if they were erasing her entire existence.

Shaking his head to clear the jumbled thoughts, he turned back to Joe. “What about Seyed Hossein?"

"Now this is speculation, but we narrowed down his activities. In the Gulf a week ago, they were going out at night, possibly targeting military ships in the area. Unfortunately, Edwin's information is sketchy. He assured me they will track this guy and find out what's going on."

Troubled by the sudden iciness in the air, Eric turned and walked to his chair, sat, and leaned back into the buttery softness. “Did you make sure Edwin knows this is to be kept low key? I don't want any higher ups in the CIA getting wind of Abby, especially in light of the FBI, and Interpol, getting involved."

Joe inclined his head as he raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me, Eric, but there's no way to guarantee that. Edwin will keep it as quiet as he can. He's using his own contacts, but there're leaks everywhere. You know as well as I do that the higher ups have a way of finding things out, even when we thought they were long dead and buried."

Eric grimaced over the accuracy of his friend's statement. He tried to force the stony cold mask back into place, but lost the struggle to contain his frustration and slammed his fist on the desk. “Dammit ... I know what you're saying is dead-on right.” He took a breath, held it, then let it out slow, between his teeth. “Just do what you can to make sure this guy doesn't go leaking anything himself."

Joe rose from his chair, hesitated a moment in the doorway, then left.

Letting out an agitated sigh, Eric leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes tightly. Not since he was a kid forced into the system had he felt so helpless. In that moment, he made the decision: whatever he needed to do to protect her would be done. For just a second he allowed his thoughts to wander to the reason for this protective instinct; as commanding officer she was under his protection. “Yeah, right,” he spit the words out, shook his head and cursed aloud at such a ridiculous argument.

This woman, even in her present condition, stirred something vital and primitive deep inside. These unexpected feelings were foreign; the fear of that alone generated a powerful uncertainty deep in his gut, which he knew no amount of Tums would cure. He jerked open the top drawer of the desk, reached in and took out his medals. They were things other men wore on their shirts, or framed over a mantle. He looked down at them in hushed reminiscence, trying to rekindle the powerful feelings of satisfaction, glory, and pride he had felt when he earned them on a mission years ago in the South China Sea. Try as he might, the emotions wouldn't come. The shadow of a deep-seated loneliness took hold. He had been alone for so long, all the glory meant nothing without someone special to share it with.

Sighing again, he returned the medals to the drawer, and then closed it with a swish of his hand. He rose and left the cabin, slamming the door after him, making a decision to do the one thing that had always worked before, bury himself in work, his first love, the sea.

Heading up to the bridge, Eric made a mental note to do a surprise inspection at all the stations. His crew was really gonna love him for this.

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Chapter Twelve

Her wrists were raw where the rope bound them together. It was slippery back there. The musty scent of sandalwood incense wafted under the door. Darkness surrounded and permeated her already raw senses; she absorbed every sound and movement. Fear forced her to concentrate on her breathing, slow and steady, deep breaths. Panic knotted her gut, threatening to take hold. The blindfold was scratchy; the knot in back was tied so tight it dug into the back of her head.

The approaching voices in the hallway were angry and loud. Abby concentrated, desperate to pick up any familiar word in the foreign tongue, anything that would give a clue as to their plans for her.

The door opened. Light burst in, silhouetting two men. They headed right for her. Abby's heart slammed her chest, wham, wham. She was sure they would hear it. Each reached down and jerked on her elbows, yanking her erect. The abruptness knocked her off her feet. Then they began dragging her across the unyielding cement floor. Stumbling, she struggled to pull her feet under her and keep up with their hurried pace. The echo of their footsteps in the hall pounded in her ears, overshadowing any other noises. Noises that might be used as clues. Where were they? A bigger question: where were they taking her?

A door opened with a sharp squeal. They squeezed through one at a time. When the door closed, they were pitched into almost total darkness. She felt herself being hauled down some very hard steps. A moment's stop, then another door, this one heavy, squeaked loudly on hinges that needed oiling.

She could see peripherally out the side of the blindfold. This room was as dank and dark as the previous. It didn't smell like sandalwood though; the bitter stench of urine and sweat assaulted her senses.

There were at least two other people here. They were talking in the same dialect with the same abrupt, fierce tone. It was a tone with which she'd grown very familiar over the past several days.

Strong hands on her shoulders forced her down on her knees. From behind came the raspy clatter of a leg iron and a sudden pressure on her ankles. She shrieked, then begged for their mercy. But the pleas were ignored, as she'd known they would be.

Someone stepped behind Abby and knelt down. She prepared to die, to feel fingers clench her hair, jerk her head back and a knife slice across her throat. Instinctively she tilted her head back, almost welcoming the sharp bite and gush of warm, sticky blood on her shirt. Fingers groped for her wrists and she felt the ropes binding her arms drop away.

Amidst the clank of chains, she tumbled onto her side, slamming her elbow on the hard floor. Pain shot up into her shoulder. She lay there listening, but heard only the harsh voices and the steady hum of some type of ventilation fan. They hadn't killed her. Yet.

Shuffling footsteps said they were all leaving. Leaving her in this hideous repulsive place. Abby cried out for mercy again, “Please let me go! Please, someone help me."

The slam of a heavy metal door and the click in the lock told her they were indeed going to leave her there. Abby pulled up her knees and lowered her forehead onto them. And let herself cry. For the life she'd left behind. The life she might've had. For—

What was that? A rustle of fabric? No, probably a rat. The country was infested with the filthy creatures.

Then a voice from somewhere close by. Soft. Female. With an accent Abby recognized as French. “Shut up, stop crying. There is nothing you can do. If they hear you crying they will come back and beat you.” The woman sounded young, so very young.

So many questions spun through her mind. She didn't know which to ask first, but prayed this girl would give her the answers she needed so badly. “Who are you? Where are we?"

"You need to be quiet. My name's Marie, we're the last here."

"The last?"

"There were others, but they were taken out yesterday."

"By who? The same men who brought me here?"

"Yes.” Marie's voice was almost a whisper but the fear was clear in her voice.

Following her lead, Abby lowered her voice. “I'm Abby. What do they want with us?"

The girl choked out her own sob as Abby waited. Many minutes passed before she answered. “One of the women said we are to be sold as slaves. Auctioned off."

Abby felt as if someone had just hit her with a sledgehammer. Nothing she had ever experienced could have prepared her for that moment. “This has to be a mistake. No.” She shook her head even though the other woman couldn't see the movement. “It's a sick joke. You must be wrong; we must be hostages or something. Held for ransom.” Moments passed. Marie said nothing, just lowered herself to the floor beside Abby. The reality crept slowly into Abby's bones. “No, no, no,” was all she could say.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

"Shh,” called Marie. “They are returning."

Two familiar voices, and a third. This one—miraculously—had an English accent! Rescue. Was it possible? Had they brought someone to—

Something was wrong. No, the accent wasn't English; it was Australian. Oh, what did it matter, it was the same thing. A fellow citizen was coming to rescue her. Elation and hope rose up. Abby lifted her face as the door opened.

She felt the rush of cooler and fresher air, with the unmistakable salty tang from the ocean.

All at once, rough hands grabbed her elbows. She was lugged to her feet. Warm garlic-scented breath whispered across her face as a man spoke in Australian-accented English. Though she couldn't see him, his voice was like heaven. Abby opened her mouth to thank him for coming to help, but slapped it shut when she was seized by the chin and her face jerked around. Thick fingers pinched either side of her cheeks. Her face was dragged closer to the source of the breath.

What hope remained quickly drained away when he gave a sick laugh. “Ah yes, this one will fetch us a pretty penny, mate. They like the towheads.” The fingers released their inexorable grip and she was shoved back onto the floor. Sharp pains rang up her spine and into her neck. Hot tears soaked the blindfold. She sucked in her breath, gasping for air. Then the sudden viselike grip around her stomach tightening, tighter, tighter until finally, she screamed out.

A man's strong voice called her name over and over. She refused to answer. What was the point?

Again, firm hands gripped her shoulders, and shook. “Stop!” she cried out and thrashed at the claw-like fingers.

"Abby!” Now her wrists were clenched like vises. She screamed and kicked out. “Abby,” came a soft voice, in English, with no accent. “Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

The confusion between two worlds; the ensuing chaos; the eyes now before her.
Boom boom
throbbed her panicked heart. The harsh grip in her belly receded during the fearful moments it took to remember. She grasped his wrist, hearing the vague shouted orders in the hazy background. Terror swelled then, and spilled over as tears of relief poured down.

A dream. Only a dark memory. A very real memory she'd hoped to forget. The pain wasn't part of the dream though. It came again, doubling her in half.

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Chapter Thirteen

"Deep breath in ... blow it out ... that's it. Now relax.” With the covers pulled down and Abby's stomach bared to the cool air, the doctor donned latex gloves as he spoke, keeping the words calm, and steady.

There was a rustled movement beside Abby and Lieutenant Todd Lynn wrapped a cuff around her arm. He methodically checked her vitals, writing the information down in a chart as he took each reading, steadily relaying the information to the doctor.

"Deep breath in Abby, that's it, don't hold your breath. Now, let it out slowly."

She felt her heartbeat begin to slow, and kept her eyes on the doctor's confident face as he issued instructions to the lieutenant.

Looking down at her, he spoke with firm reassurance. “Abby, I need you to relax and take a deep breath. Tell me as soon as you feel another contraction coming on, okay?"

The awkwardness of the situation seemed so trivial in that moment, as she obeyed the instructions to spread her legs so he could reach in and feel the dilating cervix. When he finished, he ripped off the gloves and tossed them in the receptacle mounted to the wall behind him. Pulling the covers back up, he assisted Abby over onto her side and continued to convey the results to the lieutenant. “The cervix has thinned, but she's only dilated about 1 centimeter. Let's just wait and see how it goes for the next little bit."

"Am I in labor? I was dreaming."

He leaned over and gave a steady reassuring squeeze on her arm. “You were having a nightmare, thrashing about pretty good. The guard heard you screaming and thought someone was in here trying to kill you."

The painful reminder of the nightmare released a chill in her core which flooded throughout her body.

The sound of hurried footsteps and voices in the passageway was enough to distract her. The door jerked open and the captain strode in, distress pulsing from his eyes. “What's going on?” he demanded. A flush of guilt pushed into her for being responsible for his being called. It was obvious from the disheveled hair he'd been asleep.

"What's going on? Petey said she's in labor."

Standing at attention just behind him was a very young man, who seemed barely old enough to shave. She looked back at the captain. His fiery eyes changed to something solid and in direct control. He turned on a heel to face the doctor. She couldn't hear the words because the hazy tightening in her belly began again with such force it stole her breath. A groan escaped as she rolled on her side, clutching instinctively at the contracting womb, holding her breath against the agony that engulfed her.

Forceful words were spoken in her ear. The strength of his grip reached down and firmly took her hand. “Look at me. Don't hold your breath. Let it go ... breath in. Come on, that's it. Now, let it out slowly."