Napoleon, Illya and the Strike Team out of Miami were on the deck of the converted cruise ship. He signaled for Illya to take half the team to search the starboard side while he led the search on the port side. Both groups went door to door, checking and clearing each cabin and passageway they encountered as they moved forward, eventually meeting at the bow.
The Russian shrugged his squad's failure to find anyone and received an answering shrug from Napoleon. Silently, the CEA pointed upwards towards the bridge and the group split in two again to approach the room where the captain and his officers must surely be in order to steer the ship.
Napoleon frowned as he dared to glance inside. There was no one there. He straightened up and entered the room to look around. "Clear!" he called and both his and his partner's squads joined him.
"How is this possible?" Illya asked.
"I don't know," he replied.
"Sirs?" One of the newest agents, Ted Smith, had spoken. "At Survival School, one of the instructors said there is technology out there now that allows a ship to be steered from below deck."
"Let's check it out," Napoleon said as he turned to lead the way.
A thorough search of the cabins, engine rooms and storage areas revealed nothing. There was only one place left to check: The main dining room. Napoleon led the way inside. "Look at this," he gasped. The tables all looked like people had left in the middle of their meal; knocked over chairs, half – eaten food, glasses of beer, milk and other beverages half – drunk as if something had interrupted them and caused a stampede. "What do you think happened, Tovarisch?" He turned back to look at his partner when no answer was forthcoming and dropped his gun in shock.
He was alone. Including him and Illya, sixteen men had walked into the dining room. The first stirrings of panic began to grow in his stomach. As he reached for his communicator, his hands began to tremble and he felt as if the room was getting colder. "Open Channel D! Emergency!" Static was his only answer.
Horrified, he realized he could see his breath. It is getting colder! The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end as he started to sense a presence. Somehow, some thing has managed to snatch fifteen men from behind him in the blink of an eye and he felt it coming for him, now.
As he turned to run, he felt a hand (he hoped it was a hand) on his shoulder. He whipped around prepared to fight and screamed in terror at the sight before him.
"Napoleon!"
His eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright in bed. He was disoriented for a few seconds when he didn't recognize his surroundings immediately. His gaze settled on the source of the voice and he relaxed. "Nurse Patty, you don't know how glad I am to see you." He looked at the empty chair in the corner. "Where's my partner?"
"He just left to get coffee from the Commissary. I'm glad he wasn't here to hear you scream. That drug cocktail you got fed at that Jersey satrap is sure taking its sweet time working its way out of your system. It's been three days!"
Just then, Illya entered the room sipping from a cup. "Oh good, you are awake. I can stop reading to you. My throat was drying out."
Napoleon laid back against his pillow. "What were you reading?"
"A book about the Mary Celeste."
The CEA shivered. "Do me a favor. Next time you want to read to me, make it Dr. Seuss."
A/N: Mary Celeste was an American merchant brigantine, discovered adrift and deserted in the Atlantic Ocean, off the Azores Islands, on 5 December 1872.