Dreamboat Ch. 07

Hi again. Glad to welcome you back into my world.

If you haven't read chapters 1-6, then this is going to be like walking into Infinity War just as (Spoiler alert) everyone turns to dust. So go and give them a try. You might like them.

Another long chapter for you as we meet new characters who threaten to make the tale even more convoluted - although it did seem to write remarkably quickly. Not so much sex in this one though. Sad.

So, settle back on your sun loungers, paint yourself with factor 40, grab your drink and let the ice chink together, and then settle in and listen...

*****

CHAPTER SEVEN

Reid cracked one eye open. In front of him were eight fingers, the nails cracked and torn, and the creases in the skin of each knuckle highlighted by grease embedded over years.

He pondered this. The fingers were attached to hands, equally highlighted here and there by grease marks, and these were resting on denim covered legs that were crossed in a lotus position. The pants were neat and fairly clean. He let his eye wander a little. Below the cuffs of the jeans were feet in fairly new sneakers - very small fairly new sneakers.

Ah, he thought. A child. That sent a chill up his spine, and he sat up abruptly. The wearer of the hands, jeans and sneakers gave a little squeak at the suddenness of the movement, observing that the man had gone from sleeping to instant readiness with no stages in between.

He stared at Sasha, who stared back fearfully, despite Wren's words of assurance that Reid would not attack her. What if Wren's faith was misplaced? What if Reid did beat up women? What if he enjoyed it?

"Wren?" he called and then felt her hands on his shoulders. He turned to see her behind him, watching him carefully, her eyes full of concern. "What happened?"

"I think you managed to shock your system enough that it demanded a reset," she smiled. "This is Sasha. The two of you have met."

The man and teenager gazed at each other.

She saw a tall, slender man whom she knew from painful experience had hard, well-trained muscle under an unimposing exterior. His dark brown hair was long and unkempt, and beneath a rogue fringe that kept dropping over his eyes, his tanned face was as unimposing as the rest of him - seemingly ordinary but for the dark blue eyes that seemed to burn into her as his eyes locked on her face.

He saw a short, well-muscled young woman with a long dark-brown pony tail and thick dark eyebrows, a little stocky but with good curves. Her face was square with a strong chin, full lips, and a straight nose. He thought she had the softest, most innocent-looking light-brown eyes he had ever seen on an adult

He didn't believe that look for a moment, however. Wren could and had put that same expression into her eyes, while licking his cock and begging him to fuck her ass as hard as he could.

Sasha lifted a hand and gave him a tentative wave, not sure what the protocol was when a stowaway met the potentially violent man who was apparently now in charge of her future.

At that moment, the alarm went off again, this time warbling on a more urgent note.

"Shit," muttered Reid and rose to his feet. He rushed out and up the stairs and the two women could hear his footsteps overhead as he made his way to the bridge.

Wren rose to her feet. "Come on."

When they joined Reid on the bridge, he was examining the radar, his chin resting on a palm as he thought.

As they drew closer, he pointed. The display showed the little symbol of their boat in the centre of the screen, heading away from the harbour, which was by now quite far behind them. A line extended from the front of the figure, showing their current course in the way he and Wren had become used to. However, a course line from a second boat exiting the harbour intersected theirs.

"What's happening?" asked Wren nervously.

"Apparently we're on a collision course with a boat coming up behind us," he muttered. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would they lay in a course that goes through us?"

Sasha moved a little closer to the console chair to peer at the display. Reid felt her hair tickle his arm and looked around. Her eyes flicked towards him warily, before returning to the screen. Up close, her hair smelled good.

"A.I.S! Good. You have binoculars?" she asked. When Reid and Wren looked blankly at each other, she walked out of the bridge to peer out over the stern. The blond paused, and then rushed past her, heading for the cabin.

Reid joined Sasha. "You know something about this?"

"Nyet," she stated, and then after a pause, bobbed her head. "Maybe."

Both of them were shading their eyes from the late afternoon sun as it prepared to dip behind the hills shoreward of the harbour, and it was impossible to see any detail. Reid checked the radar again. The boat was coming up fast.

There was a yell of triumph from below and a pink-cheeked Wren appeared from the cabin, wielding a small leather case.

"Catch!" she called and threw it to Reid. He caught it, saw the Steiner name and the MM1050 mark on it and grunted in approval. He opened the case and drew out the foreshortened binoculars and adjusted them to his eyes.

"I knew I'd seen them mentioned on that list," Wren panted, as she rejoined them on the roof of the cabin at the door to the bridge. "I just had to open five boxes to find them."

He gave her a quick kiss, and she beamed at him. Sasha watched with one eyebrow raised, but said nothing, returning to scanning the horizon.

Reid put the binoculars to his eyes, adjusted the focal length and saw a small red-and-white speedboat zoom into view.

"I see, please," requested Sasha

He handed the glasses to her and showed how to adjust them for her eyes.

"B'lyad!" She spat in Russian, which he guessed was a curse. He had heard the word Billy-At before in Afghanistan.

"You know the boat?"

"Da!" she hissed. "Mr Smittie's boat. Fast."

"Who's Smittie," asked Wren.

"Vegetable seller in town," Sasha said, her heart beating fast now. "Nice man."

"So..." Reid started.

"The man driving, not so nice," she continued. "Serge Hordiyenko, Ukraine SBU. Interrogator. Step-father."

"Oh my God," Wren gasped. "The man who tortured your mother?"

"To make me beg him to fuck me, da! He must have stolen boat from Smittie."

Reid looked at her sharply and Wren put her hand on his arm. "Ask her about it later. We have more important concerns right now. Because if that's her step-father then he's coming to take her back."

He looked at her for a long moment, lips pursed. Then he spoke, "You trust her?"

"I do," Wren said. Her voice was strong and clear. He could tell that she had no doubts.

"Sasha." The brunette lowered the glasses and turned to him. "Do you want to be part of this crew?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she nodded. He reached out and squeezed her bicep gently. The last time he had touched her he had been ready to strangle her. This time she felt a strange thrill in her belly as his warm palm touched her skin.

"Then we won't let him take you, although we only have one weapon at the moment."

"I'll get it," volunteered Wren and dashed back down to the cabin to rummage for the machete that had wounded Reid the night they had first boarded the boat.

She panted back up to the bridge once again, carrying the machete which had been carefully wrapped in a towel. Reid unwrapped it and propped it in a corner of the bridge.

Sasha's eyes grew bigger as her courage shrank. "That is only weapon here?"

"Reid took it off some men who were trying to kill us," whispered Wren to a startled Sasha. "Ask me later."

"Serge will have gun. Igor too." She said tonelessly. "Fighting will not help. Speed!"

Reid nodded. "I know, but we can't get the engines running."

"Engine is running," Sasha said.

"No, I mean the engines. We can't make them work."

"Engine is running!" she said again. "Electric engine is running since we leave town."

He stared at her with his mouth open. Suddenly it all made sense. Boats couldn't drift on a set course, no matter how much a crew might want them to - they were always at the mercy of the wind, currents and tides. He had known that, but had had to believe that the impossible was possible, because it was actually happening. But if it had a small electric engine, normally used for mooring and turning in small places, then it might just be enough to keep them roughly on course.

"You want main engines?" Sasha asked.

"Yes, but we don't know..."

He broke off as she shot off down the steps, along the side and down into the depths. Looking back over the stern, he could now see the speedboat quite clearly through the glasses, the red hull smashing down onto a wave crest, before lifting out to seemingly dive through the air at the next one. The upper part of the boat was painted white and he could even see the white leather seats quite clearly. The man standing at the helm and deftly controlling the wheel as it tried to flick back and forth from the action of the waves was the man who had stared at them with a very nasty expression from the end of the quay. So this was Serge Hordiyenko. And the man in the back of the boat would be Igor.

He had heard about the SBU from friends and allies from several nations while posted to the Middle East. They weren't as powerful as the Russian FSB, which was the grandson of the KGB, but they were definitely as nasty. Hordiyenko would be no pushover.

Reid lowered the binoculars. They were almost unnecessary now. Soon they would be in shooting range, and men like this would inevitably be armed.

"Wren, you need to go below. Go down to the engine room with Sasha and keep her down there with you. You should be reasonably safe from gunfire there."

She made no move.

"Wren!"

"I'm not leaving you here alone," she said sharply. "That's not happening."

"Well it has to happen," he replied sharply. "I need you somewhere safe."

"Nope!"

He took her arm and turned her to face him. There were tears in her eyes.

"I can't leave you."

He was about to pull her into his arms, then his face set into a stern expression. "Wren, am I the Captain of this boat?"

She nodded miserably.

"And are you my crew?"

Again the nod.

"Then do as you are ordered. Get below!"

With a sob, she flung herself out of the bridge and a few seconds later he saw her head disappear from view of the bridge window as she descended to the lower deck.

There was a mechanical cough and then a strange sound became audible - a surprisingly gentle cross between an idling truck and the whine of an electric forklift.

He took a chance, sat in the helm seat and pushed the throttles forward. Before, there had been no response to this no matter how often he moved them about. Now however he felt himself pushed back in the seat slightly as the forward motion of the boat suddenly ramped up. He jumped up and ran to the bridge window.

The prow of the boat had lifted and a bow wave was now apparent. He checked through the back door and realised that Sasha had somehow come through for them just in time. The pursuing boat was now just twenty metres behind and closing, although now the rate at which they were catching up was much slower.

He turned to go back to the helm. There was a faint popping noise behind him, and then several more and he felt his tee shirt twitch at his side. His eyes grew big as he realised they were being shot at and that last one had been close!

He dived back into the chair, and as it swung around into the forward position, he cursed at himself. All the information he needed was right in front of him, but he had felt the need to go and look for himself and thereby expose himself to whatever weapons the Ukrainians were carrying. Stupid!

He pushed the joysticks forward even more and heard the engine note growl into a new key - although not a note he was familiar with from any boat he'd been on before. Again he was pushed back and now he could see the faintest of gaps appearing between the two boat symbols on the radar. Even more and the shuddering of the boat became more pronounced as they hit waves head on.

There was a crack and a small hole appeared in the front window. The bastard had managed to fire from one shuddering, rocking and rolling boat into another, and get that close! Reid knew that the man chasing them was a better shot than he had ever been - despite his extensive military experience.

This time he pushed the joysticks all the way forward. The angle of the bow increased once more and the shuddering became almost unbearable for a moment, and then the boat seemed to lower itself back to the horizontal. The engine note became a soft hum, and the shuddering disappeared. In fact it felt as if the boat was suddenly skating across ice, it was so smooth.

The gap between the symbols on the radar was visibly growing now, and Reid relaxed a little. He realised he had thrown his back out getting back into the chair and cursed. He had done that once before - jumping off the back of a moving truck as part of a training exercise, and the subsequent two weeks had been an eye opener in pain management. Perhaps Wren would give him a massage. She seemed to know so much about his body already.

She appeared in front of him, with Sasha alongside her, shouting at him for some reason that he couldn't quite work out. The adrenalin rush he had experienced when the Ukrainians had started shooting at the boat had worn off, and he now just felt tired and sore. Mainly tired. Really tired.

The two of them were grabbing his arms for some reason and slinging him between them, his arms across their shoulders. Feeling somewhat drunk and delighted at the proximity of two lovely soft bodies, he pulled each one close in turn and planted huge kisses on their lips. Wren's blue eyes glared at him, while Sasha's brown eyes grew even larger and looked startled at his action. But she still hugged him close to her as the three of them danced to the steps, and then fell down them onto the aft deck.

Lying on the deck as the girls frantically scrambled to get back to him, he saw red splashed all down the steps and realised that one of them must have dropped and smashed a bottle of red wine - a good claret going by the colour. Perhaps they had planned a little party to celebrate getting away clean from their pursuers. He chuckled at how cross Wren was going to be, wasting wine like that, and then went in for another kiss. This time Wren twisted her face away and shouted his name at him again over and over. It didn't make much sense, so he turned to Sasha as she managed to somehow get him back up onto his feet. Shit, the little girl was strong!

When he kissed the Russian woman this time, he felt her lips part and her tongue meet his just for a moment, before she pulled back her head back with a guilty look at Wren, and then wrestled him single-handedly to the big soft bed that the blond had pulled up from the floor and flipped over.

Damn, but that bed looked comfortable. Despite the really close proximity of two girls who seemed determined to get his clothes off - both of whom he would have been proud to have on his arm at any society function before his life had turned to shit - he just wanted to sleep. He must have really been working hard because he didn't remember ever feeling this tired, except that time in Afgha...

Reid closed his eyes just as a frantic Wren jerked his tee shirt up, dragged his jeans down over his butt and finally found the wound, a small, blue tinged hole in his lower right back just above the pelvis, from which blood seemed to be pouring in a never-ending flow. Serge had been an even better shot than Reid had imagined.

*****

Through the darkening gloom and on into the night, the boat ploughed on south-eastwards. The three hydroplanes that had unfolded to support it when the engine revs had reached the optimum speed scythed through the heaving seas, keeping the boat level and steady. The silhouette was atypical however, as part of the hull seemed to dip down into the water at all times, as if acting as a storm anchor. However, if it was a storm anchor it didn't seem to slow the boat down at all, which hummed along maintaining a very quick 50 knots.

Sasha had seen the speed indicator on one of her frequent checks on the radar, but although she had repaired and rebuilt marine engines on many occasions and even installed them in boats, she had never sailed out on one before, so the speed meant nothing to her. As far as she was concerned, all boats probably went that fast.

Every time she sat in the helm chair she tried the joysticks and the wheel, but it seemed that it must be linked to Reid in some way and nothing responded to her. Perhaps fingerprint recognition. She had on many occasions seen people place a finger over a little hole in the back of their mobile phones and worked out that that was the action which unlocked it. However she couldn't find any little hole that might contain the necessary camera, so finally cast aside any thoughts of forging Reid's fingerprints in the way she had seen in American movies.

Wren refused point blank to leave Reid's side except to get fresh cloths to use as pressure pads to go on his wound, and to go the toilet on two occasions, and even then she kept the door open so that she could still see him. After talking it through with the distraught blond, Sasha had tried to shut down the engines, but no amount of button pressing or switch throwing on the master board made any difference to the engines at all.

So now they were on this surprising boat, flying across the waves on a course that they couldn't change at a speed they couldn't reduce.

She finished checking the radar, and as it was completely clear out to 50 miles, returned to the main cabin.

"How is he?" she asked.

Wren was sitting at the head of the bed, now and again gently wiping the man's brow with a damp cloth. Partially covered in a sheet, he was lying on his front with his face to the side, towards Wren, naked to the waist. A makeshift bandage was wrapped several times around him, keeping thick pads in place over the entry wound. There was a dark red blotch in the centre.

"The bleeding has slowed," Wren sighed, flipping her hair back and looping it up into a loose knot. "And I keep getting the urge to sew the wound closed. But the bullet is still in there somewhere, and I just daren't do it. It might already be infected. How would we know until it was too late?"

"Antibots?" asked Sasha, Wren understanding what she meant.

"I managed to get two penicillin tabs into him, and I should give him some more in an hour. But I hate to wake him up. Last time he was wounded, he slept through me treating him, and healed amazingly quickly. Look!"

She lowered the sheet. Sasha saw the two neat little lines of stitches on the back of his thigh.

"Good patch!" the Russian girl said with approval.

"You know, I'd almost forgotten about these. I should take them out now while he's out."

She got the little sewing kit out of the drawer and took out the scissors and tweezers, then knelt alongside his knee and leaned over, her face close to his leg.

"This healed up really well," she said. "He has amazing powers of healing, and I can only pray that they work just as well now."

"What happened?" asked Sasha, trying really hard not to stare at the Captain's muscled butt and the rear of his mildly hirsute scrotum - and failing badly.

As she carefully cut the stitches and drew them out of his skin, Wren told her about her boyfriend, the drug theft, the murder and chase, and finally how Reid had beaten off their attackers. In her enthusiasm, she re-enacted the latter at the foot of the bed. Sasha's eyes grew even larger.