Dreamboat Ch. 09

The brunette's frown became furious, and the pink deepened to a red. She had already taken advantage of that fact. Having Lachlan so close and being unable to consummate the promise that Wren had made her was driving her nuts.

"Anything else you've noticed?" asked Reid, wanting to stop the teasing before everyone got off the subject completely.

Wren thought about it. "The walkway alongside the cabin. At first it was a squeeze to get along it, now - not so much. I just thought I'd become used to negotiating it. Oh... and I can now get two pots back and front on the stove, although I'd thought I must be using smaller pots without realising it."

"Okay - anything else?" Reid asked.

"I haven't really been here long enough to notice," commented Honey. "So I suppose things could have changed about. It doesn't make any sense though, but I guess you know that."

"Yeah, I sound crazier than a lunatic with road rage. But things are happening. What colour is the hull?"

Honey shrugged while the other two thought about it.

"White," said Wren. "When we got on board the first time, it was dark but it really shone out in the twilight."

"No, nyet," said Sasha. "It was blue, like sky. With dark blue stripe. I see it when I load onto boat."

Reid fetched the torch and limped to the stern rail. Slowly and carefully, he leaned over and shone the light down at the rear of the boat.

"It might still be light blue. But it's got red trim now."

He sighed and sat down with them again. They in turn all leaned over with the torch, exclaiming at the clear evidence that the boat had partially changed colour.

"What does that mean?" asked Honey.

"It means that we are living on a complete mystery. This boat provides for all our needs, but it goes where and when it wants to, and somehow - impossibly - it can change its length, width and height above sea level as well as its livery. This boat is higher and longer than the one we got on ten days ago. It's wider in the beam as well. This aft deck wasn't as wide as it is now. And it's definitely riding higher than it was. Now, I can figure how that can be done with ballast, but how do you make a boat longer or wider without anyone noticing?"

"Is impossible. Boat does not grow. Is not!" Reid noticed again that Sasha's grammar became more broken and her accent thicker and more pronounced whenever she became stressed or nervous.

"Then the answer logically is that somehow we are being transferred from one boat to a very slightly different boat at intervals without realising it."

That idea was immediately pooh-poohed by all three of his crew, claiming that as one of them had been awake at all times, it would have been impossible.

"Then, as Sherlock Holmes put it, 'once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.' And that means that somehow, this boat has been designed and built to extend itself over time. Now we have to decide how we deal with that!"

"Hang on, mate," said Honey. "Wren said you were military. You should be able to work this out. You must know something about a life on the ocean wave."

Reid stared at her for a moment, and then gave a barking laugh which ended as he clutched at the wound on his back.

"Ow! Remind me not to do that again," he groused. "Honey, I was military - but I was infantry. You know that the services are all different. I was a foot soldier."

"I thought all the American services had planes and boats and foot soldiers," she said.

"Well... yes, I guess they do. The army has boats for divers, for crossing rivers and other odds and ends, but the extent of my personal experience goes to small pleasure cruisers that my cousins and I would use on Lake Tahoe. Every summer we'd head over to California, head for the mountains and go diving. That's the only experience I have with boats."

Sasha looked fascinated with this nugget of information from his past. Wren looked puzzled.

"Why would you have to go all the way there to dive when you could use the local swimming pool?"

Reid laughed and hugged her. "Not that type of diving. Scuba diving. Lake Tahoe is probably the clearest water in the US. Perfect for deep diving. Of course, sometimes it's like a lodge meeting underwater, so many people down there."

"Really?"

"No, not really," he smiled. "But the place does get awfully crowded at times. All of which means that as an army man, I am really out of my depth here, if you'll excuse the pun."

"Navy would be better," murmured Sasha.

"No, they wear white too often, and I don't look good in white," he replied. "I've been told it makes me look ill. Apparently, the dark blue suits me much better."

"You are Kapitan. Should wear white," persisted Sasha obstinately, who had once seen elements of the Russian navy on parade in Red Square. "Kapitan!"

"Wrong country, wrong army, wrong service I'm afraid."

Honey, who was beginning to enjoy the conversation, sitting on a boat in the middle of the sea with a glass of wine, chipped in. "Hey, if you were a captain, how come you were leading a patrol when you..."

She broke off at the horrified look Wren gave her.

Reid seemed taken aback by the fact that the information on him had been shared. But then, secrets in a team were not good for cohesion. He shrugged.

"It was a special mission. We were to meet one of the local chiefs to get information on the location of a large number of Taliban fighters, and hand over the negotiated reward. For that amount of money they needed... wanted a ranking officer. I guess a lieutenant wasn't grand enough, so I got the mission. The big-wigs didn't want to draw attention to the fact that we were carrying a lockbox full of gold coins, and it was decided a seven-man patrol would best disguise that fact."

"And you were betrayed?"

"Yeah, the chief thought he could play both sides of the fence. Get the money off us, and keep the goodwill of the Taliban. Didn't work out so well for any of us. Nobody on the three sides of that deal ended up happy that day. Nobody made it through."

"Except you," protested Sasha, not realising her words weren't helping.

Reid suddenly looked haggard. "Except me ... and two of my men. We survived. Although I don't know if you can really call it surviving. Bates became addicted to the pain meds and died of an overdose later, and Manning stopped talking to anybody about anything. The guy's now a hermit, seeing nobody except his sister, who takes his meals over to him every day. And me..."

Wren took his arm, a look of deep concern on her face. He patted her hand.

"I'm okay."

"I'm so sorry," said Honey, mortified at having brought it up.

"It's okay," he repeated.

There was a moment's silence after the sudden outrush of emotion. Reid reintroduced the subject on hand.

"So, we know now that this boat is ... whatever it is. Not just a boat. There is another thing that puzzles me, though. How come we aren't all freaking out about this?"

The three women looked at him, and then each other.

"Let's face it," he continued. "We're in a position where we don't know what's going on, we don't know who is running things, and we're living in something that seems to be changing, or growing or whatever it's doing - all by itself. So why aren't we all having mental breakdowns?"

"Perhaps this is breakdown," offered Sasha. "Share breakdown."

Reid stared at her, and had the sudden thought that these three women were actually quite special. To look at the three of them, most people would probably see a bubbly airhead, a high school girl with a monumental chest, and a rather severe looking nerd. But they were each so much more than they seemed, even damaged as they all were.

"That's a very good thought," said Reid, and stroked her hair, finding himself more and more amenable to Wren's ambitions to get them all together. "How do we know we aren't having a shared psychosis?"

Honey bit her lip. "This is way out of my area of expertise, and although I know the physical structure and how it works to a fair degree, I don't pretend to know much about the actual thought processes of the brain. But I don't think psychoses work quite like that. I know they do happen, and can even be shared, especially with drugs involved. But they don't work around physical objects unless the people involved are a lot more insane. And I just can't accept that we're at that stage."

The others were watching her as she rose from the seat and began to pace the deck in thought.

"What I'm saying is that I think the mind can go off track and start to see things that aren't there, or conjure up situations that don't exist, and have the rest of the brain fall in with those fantasies. But I don't think the brain can simply fall in with the idea that physical laws don't apply anymore."

"I've known people who were convinced they could fly," the blond put in.

"Yes, that's a common psychosis Wren," Honey came back. "But once they fall flat on their face while attempting it, the rest of the brain insists that they don't try that again, and puts a work-around into their fantasy so that they are somehow prohibited from flying even though they could if they wanted."

Sasha was nodding. "If they fly, earthquake will kill people or something. I see this in film."

"Exactly. So although they know they can, they choose not to. To my mind, the survival instinct is not actually a result of thought, it's more like a switch that needs either drugs, intense training or overwhelming emotion to turn it off. So a psychosis can exist alongside that instinct, but it can't change physics, so unless it's suicidal, the psychosis changes to fit around the instinct."

"And that's probably not happening here," Reid said. "Too many other people are involved. And Sasha wasn't hiding in the engine room all the time until I found her, she came on board when the supplies were delivered. And neither were you, Honey. We've got your inflatable tied up right there off the back of the boat to prove it. So probably not a shared psychosis then, agreed?"

The three women nodded.

"So that brings me back to the question, why aren't we running around screaming in panic?"

"See?" Wren said. "This is why he's our captain. He asks the right questions!"

The other two nodded.

Reid pulled a face, and then grinned. "I guess that's always been my role. Asking the 'what if' questions, and getting people to answer them so we can be prepared for almost any eventuality. I'm just not sure that's going to be enough in this case."

"So, what we should be doing?" asked Sasha.

"Well," he sighed. "Wren and I took a decision that we were going to stick with this all the way through, although she is of course free to change her mind at any point."

Wren shook her head, her hair whipping from side to side in agitation. "Not happening!"

Reid nodded his head with a smile. She was not going to give up on him, and he was secretly relieved. He was becoming very fond of the sweet blond woman, more than perhaps was safe.

He continued. "But that's not fair on you Sasha, or you, Honey. You didn't..."

"I stay here!" stated the Russian girl, crossing her arms firmly on her chest to make the point, which lifted her breasts and made them truly spectacular. Wren smirked as she saw Reid's eyes drop to them automatically and the struggle he had to go through to lift them back to the girl's face again.

Honey thought for a while. "Not that I could go anywhere anyway, but I have to admit I'm very intrigued by this whole situation. You people are as weird as I am and despite how things have happened in the last few days, or perhaps because of them, I trust you. So I'm in for the long haul."

She looked at Reid, seated between the Russian girl and the American woman and smiled. Somehow, despite the differences in backgrounds, lifestyles and history, the three of them fit together so well. She felt the urge, almost a need, to be part of them. Without thinking, she knelt in front of Reid, shuffled forward and laid her head on his lap and put her arms around the two women. "Group hug?"

They spent the next few minutes like that, in quiet contemplation of their situation and what might happen, but mostly enjoying the simple physical contact of a growing bond.

Reid had a blond head on one shoulder, a brunette head on the other and a head with midnight black hair on his lap. His arms were full of soft, fragrant women, with another between his bare knees. He screwed up his face in anguish. He knew what was going to happen.

It did.

Honey suddenly raised her head as she felt something beneath his shorts nudge her cheek and realised what was trying to attract her attention. For a moment, she felt panic sweep through her and was astonished when it was followed by a wave of heat. It had happened before when she had sneaked a look at his erection, but she had thought that a momentary aberration.

She looked up into Reid's face, saw the silent apology there, and paused to analyse her own feelings. She knew that what had happened to her had ruined her; destroyed any chance for normal sexual relations - hell, use the right word - fucking. And yet... and yet she could feel moisture between her lower lips and the heat was gathering like distant storm clouds in her belly. She actually desired him.

Confusion, desire, panic and need warred against each other in her soul. She was stronger than that, she scolded herself. She needed to, had to control her emotions. Somehow, she pushed them down, ready to examine them later, but not now. Not here.

She gave him a smile and rose to her feet. "Well, I think my shift is over. So I'm going to hit the sack."

She took her glass and ashtray, washed them and then headed for the forward cabin. "Good night!"

Realising that the pleasurable little conference - the get-together that might simply have been happening within a close family - was over, Sasha groaned and picked up her glass, which was still half-full. She didn't really enjoy the taste of wine, although she did enjoy the little buzz she would get from half a glass. But, she was conscientious and since the three women had decided it would be stupid not to have someone on watch at all times while Lachlan recovered, she wasn't going to drink any more of it. "I am night watch now."

She poured the dregs into the sea, went inside and washed the glass. When she reappeared from the cabin, she leaned down and kissed Wren on the cheek and then turned to Reid. Her lips, soft and moist, pressed to his and the girl let herself go for a moment, enjoying the intimacy as his firm lips opened to her insistent need and let their tongues play together. With another groan, this one of frustrated desire, she finally broke the kiss. When she looked at the blond and saw Wren's eyes dancing with laughter, she leaned back down again and surprised the other girl with a long kiss that was just as intimate.

When she drew back, they were both panting slightly. Sasha gave them a saucy wink and then sashayed to the steps and slowly climbed up to the bridge, making sure her hips swayed invitingly as she took each step. With a final wiggle and a wave of her fingers, she entered the bridge and closed the door behind her, only the echo of a cheeky, delighted little giggle remaining.

Reid and Wren stared at each other for a moment, and then broke into quiet laughter.

"I think she might be coming out of her shell," he murmured, gathering himself for the walk back to the cabin. Wren slipped her arm around his chest and helped him up, grabbing their glasses as they went.

"Well, I think she definitely has coming on her mind, although where shells fit into that..."

"Wren!"

"We both know it's true," protested the blond. "God knows what she's going to be like now you two are kissing regularly. I may have to follow her round all day with a mop."

"Jesus, Wren!"

"And when you do fuck her, she may manage to raise ocean levels, she's going to cream so hard. I think we should put out a warning to low lying islands that they may be disappearing earlier than they feared."

"Wren! Enough already! Oh my God!" Reid was moving faster, trying to reach the bed before he was overtaken with laughter. "Ow, ow! Ow!"

He collapsed onto the bed, dragging Wren down with him.

*****

The caller ID told him nothing. ABC Corporation was so absurdly false a name that it was a message in itself - and that the caller knew he would know that. Idly he wondered how they had his number, but knew that he was just putting things off. He would have to answer.

"Yes," he said in a carefully neutral tone.

"Mr Hordiyenko," said a bright, female voice. "Please hold for Mr Black."

There was a click and then an older man's voice sounded.

"Ah, Mr Hordiyenko, I'm so pleased we've made contact. I fear we may have got off on the wrong foot, yes?"

The Ukrainian said nothing. Silence was as much a tool as any words. He was trying to work out how they had his number. And why.

"I'm afraid I have to apologise to you," the urbane voice continued smoothly. "We had a message to deliver to you, and I fear that you may have received the wrong package ... ah yes indeed. Our heartfelt apologies for that mistake, yes? "

Ah, so this was the man behind the assassination attempt on him. This was an interesting development, thought Hordiyenko. Unexpected.

While Mr Black offered his corporation's deepest regrets on the unfortunate circumstances of how the delivery was handled, the Ukrainian was moving quickly through the house picking up items he would need and stuffing them into a canvas holdall. He ignored the woman who sat silently in her chair: she was just a distraction now. Instead he spent a second to wonder where the hell Igor had got to.

Despite the ease with which he had dispatched the would-be assassin in the alley in town, he had been worried enough to setup a buy of some heavy automatic weapons. Any agency pissed off enough to send an assassin wouldn't stop at just one failure. Igor had been dispatched to pick up the weapons and ammunition, and hand over the cash. It should have taken no more than two hours, but he was already more than an hour late in returning. Dispassionately he weighed up the odds of his brother still being alive.

If this Mr Black knew his cell phone number, then this cosy little setup was blown.

In the kitchen, he doffed his jacket, slipped on an elasticated harness, and inserted several throwing knives into the leather scabbards that would allow him almost instant access, while remaining hidden beneath his coat. The knives had been hidden in plain sight amongst dinner and steak knives in the cutlery drawer. His gun went into a hip holster.

"Sorry," he mumbled into the phone, searching for a little extra time. "English not good. Please to repeat."

A thick, rich laugh rolled out of the phone.

"Most amusing, Mr Hordiyenko. I would be astonished if a graduate of Moscow State University, with a major in English, managed to forget all he learned there in so short a time - just sixteen years I believe, yes?"

The Ukrainian felt a momentary paralysis come over him. If this so-called Mr Black knew his name, his phone number and details of his education, then he most certainly knew where he was right now.

"Why, I was chatting with Igor just this morning, and his English was excellent despite him finishing with lower grades than you when he received his baccalaureate degree at the same university."

So, Igor had been taken. Hordiyenko felt some degree of regret at the loss of his brother. They had never been particularly close, but they were blood, and he had been a constant, faithful companion since they had slipped out of Ukraine three years before with fake passports and a fair amount of dollars that in reality belonged to the people of Rodyna-Mat, Mother Ukraine.