Page 23 of Player
Clarissa
The ship clears the Panama Canal through a series of locks. It’s a slow, methodical process and a sight I would have never seen if not for this investigation. A job perk, if you will.
Except I’m not here for the scenery.
It didn’t take long to locate the steel stack holding the crates of uranium once I figured out that every shipment has a unique number assigned to it. I realized the mysterious number on the slip of paper, A67H4C222-422, was just that. So, I now have proof of the uranium’s existence. I’ve been using the steel towers as a visual backdrop for my videos.
Is it risky filming like this? Not so much—especially when compared to the horrific events that preceded my being onboard. No, the voyage itself has been relatively uneventful, and, for the most part, I’ve been left alone.
The same can’t be said for one of the crewmembers. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the captain lose his temper and assault the man, punching him hard enough to send him staggering backward. The crewmember’s back was to me, so I couldn’t see his reaction. But judging by the twisted smile on the captain’s face, it had to have hurt.
Do I really want to have dinner with a man who assaulted his own crewman? I’m outside his cabin, my hand is paused, midair and ready to knock. The jerk charged me double for this voyage. I could have flown first-class by airline and around the world twice for the price he demanded. Now he’s invited me to dinner?
This is a prime opportunity to find out what he knows.I swallow hard, and knock. This trip will be money well spent once I expose him for his part in illegally distributing uranium.
The door swings open like he’d been waiting on me. He steps outside and slams the door shut behind him like he doesn’t want me to see inside.
“We’ll dine on deck.”
I flinch as he grabs hold of my elbow and guides me away.
“On deck?” It’s hot. August is rainy season. This doesn’t make sense.
What’s inside his cabin he doesn’t want me to see?
“Do you have a problem with that?” he snaps. He squeezes my arm more harshly than appropriate. I force myself to relax, not wanting to show fear.
“Of course not,” I answer in the gentlest of tones. Playing the easygoing tourist who’s thankful he took on a passenger at the last minute. “This is the voyage of a lifetime.” His grip softens, good. “You must be busy being the head of this ship. I appreciate your time and this dinner invitation.”
He grunts.
I give myself a mental high-five.
A small, round table covered in a blue plaid tablecloth, accompanied by two chairs, has been set up mid deck. Surprisingly thoughtful, I think, until he pulls out a chair and takes a seat.
I move to sit across from him.
“Wine?” he asks, then fills an empty glass from the bottle on the table and passes it to me.
“Thank you.” I wait for him to drink, my dislike and distrust of this unscrupulous man foremost in my mind. “You shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble.”
“Aside from gallivanting across continents,” he pins me with a look, “what do you do for work?”
Damn, he’s not wasting time.
“I’m a graduate student at Santa Clara University.”
“Never heard of it.”
I shrug.
“What field?”
“Chemical engineering.” I pause, letting my lie sink in and hoping he knows less than I do about the field. “But I’m taking the fall semester off. I wanted to see the world a bit before finishing up and then beginning a career.”
“You work with minerals?”
We’re interrupted by one of the crew, who places a house salad in front of me. I take a few bites before answering, deciding on how best to approach the subject. I play dumb. “Like diamonds and topaz?”
