Voyage
The cruise ship was a magnificent achievement of modern craftsmanship.
It had taken the best part of three years of back-breaking work. The time had not gone without incident; several workers crushed beneath scaffolding that had collapsed as one of the massive anchors had shifted on the deck of the ship. When the emergency vehicles had arrived they had to power-wash what was left of the men from the concrete cradle and the side of the vessel.
There had been other problems too; financial and otherwise.
The ship itself was one of the largest and most luxurious ever built or conceived by human minds. It boasted the most advanced engines and engineering of the modern age, the equipment on-board state-of-the-art for any ship ever built.
The cabins in first-class were the largest and most extravagant ever designed. They had the softest sheets, the largest beds. The bathrooms boasted hot-tubs that you could fit a large family in all at once, the tiles imported from around the world, the faucets and fittings 18 carat gold. The water that flowed from them filtered til it was the cleanest and purest it could possibly be.
Every cabin was fifty feet to a side, three rooms deep, every one of them overlooking the sea through panoramic windows. They all boasted twenty-four hour service from the best people from all departments on-board from the loftiest steward to the lowliest maid.
Even if you didn't travel first-class (only a few could afford the cost) you were still very well looked after; although obviously not as well. The rooms were well cleaned by an army of cleaners and maids, never a dirty linen sheet found or a towel out of place.
The vessel stretched almost a half a mile from stem to stern and almost five hundred feet wide. Every foot of space was given over to extravagance and luxury. Casinos were on every floor, shops and malls, restaurants and bars. There were even three discos a nightclub and numerous bars. Every major retailer was represented and even a few that were new to the people. There was even space for storage where goods were kept so nothing would ever run low.
There were five freight elevators and over thirty passenger lifts that could take you to any part of the ship one would wish to visit.
The ship was 'Leviathan.'
A more apt name for the ocean going behemoth had never been suggested.
The staff were on board and awaiting passengers and had been for several weeks. The buzz of expectation was almost palpable. It could comfortably hold ten thousand souls, with a staff of hundreds of professionals to staff their every whim and need. In the history of maritime voyages it would be the biggest, the best, the most memorable there ever had been, or ever would be.
'Damn, that is one big boat!'
Able Harley looked up at the side of the ship towering into the clear blue sky ahead of him. A look of astonishment on his face as he tried to make out the railing on the top deck.
His wife, Crystal, looked at him with barely disguised indifference.
Able knew that she had heard him, but neither cared nor expected an answer. He hadn't married her for her blistering conversational skills.
They had met in Vegas.
She had been a busty young croupier, he had been the lusty owner of the place she worked.
He was rich and married, she was young and looking to make her way in the big city, the city that never slept. He had been only too happy to oblige.
He prided himself on hiring only the best looking members of staff. He liked to be surrounded by beautiful things. A fact that annoyed his wife to no end, a fact that he was happy to exploit.
It had started as a casual fling, the odd intercepted phone call passed off as a business meeting, her playing the part of secretary. That was until the fateful night that his wife had arrived home from one of her many functions to find the two of them in a less than 'just-good-friends' situation.
She had screamed, he had pleaded. All the while the girl had calmly stepped out of the bed and, completely naked, had grabbed a double handful of perfectly coifed hair and had bounced her head off the marble floor until the other woman had stopped moving.
After the initial shock had worn off Able had phoned a couple of his best men and they had cleaned the mess.
He had filed for divorce a week later claiming that she had run off with another man. A week later (with the right palms properly greased) the papers had been signed and he had asked the girl to marry him.
This was the honeymoon.
He placed his hands on his bulging waistline and belched loudly, people around him throwing onerous glances in his direction.
He fired his best eat-shit-and-die smile back at them.
He looked back to the ship he would call home for the next month.
'Yep, that is one hell of a boat!'
Scott Winter turned his walkman down and stared at the sight directly in front of him. He was looking forward to the voyage, especially since the way several of the women staff had smiled at him as he passed through customs.
He knew he was a good-looking dude; he had the flawless features of a young James Dean and the sculpted body of a athlete. Two facets that he used to his advantage as much as he possible. He was only nineteen but he had boasted to all his friends of the countless conquests that he had had.
He looked around through the mirrored aviator sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, eyeing up the myriad possibilities that stood and passed all around. If there was anything he was sure of, it was the fact he wouldn't go wanting on this trip.
He made his way forwards and passed a large, heavy set man who was totally oblivious to all but the large steel vessel in front of his eyes.
He turned his head a few degrees and threw his best smile at the leggy blonde that sat a few feet away. She returned the smile lowering her glasses an inch or so and looked back with the palest blue eyes that he had ever seen, eyes that implied so many things, and promised so much more.
Oh yes, he thought, this could be a trip to remember.
Margo James lifted the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder and clutched it protectively to her chest.
She hated the water, especially the ocean. She was only here because she had won the trip in a competition and more than her hatred of the the water she hated to give anything that she thought she deserved away.
She was just hoping to get away from her life for a while, her mother hoping that it would bring her out of the protective shell she had worn for the last five years.
She had always been the plain girl, the shy girl. The type of girl that boys thought of as a sister, a friend. Never more than that, never an object of lust.
Twenty-two and still a virgin.
To that end alone she had made a promise to herself; to lose her virginity or die in the process.
Before she had checked in, in a moment of unheard of bravado she had dived into the gift shop and had purchased the skimpiest, sheerest bikini that she could find. She would wear it the first chance that she got. She knew she had an alright figure even though the neutral colours and bulky sweaters hid it from view most of the time.
She was determined that the trip would be a turning point in her life.
She looked up towards the top of the ship and imagined herself in the swimsuit, reclining on a deckchair in front of one of the pools surrounded by the rich, the famous. The handsome.
She had always had deep thoughts of becoming an actress or a singer, one could never tell. All she needed was the confidence.
Maybe on this trip.
Maybe.
Maybe.
The possibility became a mantra in her mind.
Martin Phillips looked around at all the people flowing like water around him.
All the pomp. All the hype.
All the money.
E tried to imagine how much jewellery was in a crowd this big. How much money in wallets and purses. How many personal possessions being carried through the area.
He tried to calculate and his brain rebelled at the…largeness of it all.
He and his tem had been hired to provide security for the ships maiden voyage and he knew before he accepted that the logistics were going to be a complete pain in the ass. But it wasn't until he found himself standing here that he realised howbig a task it would be.
He looked around spotting the rest of his team; there were five of them in all including himself. He had hand-picked them personally, each being the very best in their field.
At the head of the line he was in there stood a small man completely at ease with his surroundings, eyes hidden behind small round black glasses. His features relaxed under his close cropped blonde hair.
He wore a long black light-weight jacket and tan trousers.
His face was apt to break into a smile and he was always willing to share a joke with a stranger. Marco was the easiest member of the crew but beneath the calm exterior was a side that others, normal folk, very rarely saw.
He was the best shot that Martin had ever seen in his life. He boasted that he could take the wings off a fly from a hundred yards in a high wind. He had never been asked to back the boast up, the others were sure he could do it. He could handle the smallest calibre pistol with the same ease as he handled the largest bore rifle.
He turned his head and found the second operative about twenty feet from where he stood.
The woman stood at five-five, the raven black hair hanging down to the small of her back in a tight braid.
Her name was Sandra.
She had the sculpted looks of a movie star combined with the supple grace of a gymnast. Martin knew that her loose clothing hid a number of blades both small and large. She was equally skilled with blades as she was the martial arts. He had seen her take down men with steel quieter and with more accuracy than the best Bravo sniper. She smiled often and with genuine warmth.
It was when she had blade in hand and no smile that people tended to realise they had made the last mistake they would ever make.
Further to his left, more ahead than any of the others Martin could make out the form of the next team member and one of his oldest friends.
To be fair he would be easy to spot in any crowd he stepped into the middle of.
Ricardo Bauhas was a huge man, no two ways around the fact; at over six-foot-two and 350 pounds he was probably the biggest man in the general area. As large across as two normal men and strong with it. His sleeveless vest showed every taut muscle, every tendon standing out in dark contrast to his ebony skin. He looked like an out of work American wrestler, and that was exactly what he used to want to be. He chose another career though. Although he joined the forces he still wrestled occasionally when the chance came along, when someone in another unit thought they could take him on.
The size of him, the shaved head and the light blue almost pale eyes, people usually gave him a wide a berth as possible. He was the teams demolitions expert when and if the situation called for it and also doubled as the groups pilot. If it flew he could fly it. It was a standing joke with all of them that if the wings had fallen off Ric would bundle them all in and throw them back home.
Martin remembered a time when they had been on leave in a bar in Italy. After the last patrol of their tour they had decided to wear their BDU's and head for a quiet drink. The bar that they walked into was clean and out of the way, it also happened to be full of regular army grunts.
The evening started innocently enough as one of them had challenged the two to a drinking contest. It had gone rapidly downhill from there.
To this day he still didn't remember who had made the remark that had set his friend off.
When the M.P's had shown up twenty minutes later they found thirty-two bloody and unconscious soldiers on the floor and two more with torn, slightly different uniforms, laughing and drinking at what was left of the bar. Rumour had it that they had been still picking up teeth half an hour after they had left.
An arm brushed lightly against his side snapping him out of his revere. A body fell against him and he reached out to stop the person from falling. Hands grabbed him back.
'I'm sorry, please excuse me.'
'That's quite alright.'
Martin lifted the young man to his feet and let go with one of his hands. He kept the other clamped to the others upper arm.
The man looked at the hand on his arm and then looked at the surpressed thunder in the others grey eyes. Martin pulled him close and leaned in towards his ear.
'That's a nasty habit you have there friend.'
The man tried to pull away but the hand was like a band of steel on his bicep.
'I…I'm sorry, what?'
Martin leaned closer still his mouth a hair from the man ear, he lowered his voice even more.
'If you don't give me my wallet back in the next three seconds I'll have to break both your arms, comprende?'
The mans eyes went wide as saucers as his hand visibly leapt to an inside pocket. He pulled the leather wallet from there and handed it over visibly shaking. Martin took it back and, with one last squeeze pushed the man back into the crowd of people. He walked quickly away rubbing his arm casting furtive glances over his shoulder.
Martin put the wallet back in his jacket confident that it waas safe.
'Problem boss?'
He turned his head slightly and smiled at the man standing there.
'Nothing to worry about Mitch.'
Mitchell Warren nodded lightly and walked back into the crowd of people.
He vanished into the sea of faces.
He knew that the man had been around but it still surprised him at just how quiet the guy could be. He tried to spot him and wasn't surprised that he couldn't see him. He wasn't called 'ghost' for a reason. If he didn't want to be found then he wouldn't be.
He had the knack of being in the perfect position when he was needed and the right position when he wasn't.
Average height, average looks, mid thirties. He could blend into any crowd and lose himself within seconds. He could turn himself to any situation and was a crack shot just like the rest of them.
Martin made the final member of the team and was the boss.
He was an extremely fit forty-eight and had been a major commanding his own special forces team. He had seen action in many conflicts and had seen the worst in men from around the globe. He had smokey-grey eyes in a deeply tanned face, features lined by a lifetime outside with the elements. Like the rest of the men his salt and pepper hair was closely cropped in a classic army buzz cut.
He checked on his team once more (all except who had disappeared from sight) and walked towards the boarding ramps. His gut told him that this trip was going to be one to remember.
He hoped he was wrong, just this once. Feelings like the ones he had usually meant trouble.