Page 13 of All The Way Under
I nod, unable to let his words sink in. “Thank you, sir.”
Commander tells me when I’ll set sail, and hands me another file with all the details about the sailboat I’ll be on and the coordinates where I’ll sail to—not far from where our target was captured, honestly.
They’ll implant a chip under the skin near my wrist tomorrow morning before I take off. It’s undetectable by the naked eye, and I can trigger communication by a combination of hard presses to let my Team know it’s time to come if need be. He talks me through the process, and I nod along, a little freaked out because I’ve never had one before. When he’s sure I don’t have any other questions, he tells me a phrase to use if necessary, and then he leaves, the door shutting behind him like a can of tinned meat.
I jolt at the noise and take all the information back to my berthing, where I immediately pull up my secret laptop and go down a rabbit hole to find out as much as I can about this family. I want to know things the file doesn’t have. Take a peek to see if she has social media or other professional accolades I should know about.
Ah, so the black-and-white photo doesn’t do her justice. She’s attractive in the conventional way. Symmetrical face, perfectly balanced features, and big blue eyes. I shudder at what’s possibly happening to her at this very second. Hopefully,by this point, the captors know how valuable she is, dictating them to keep their bodies and weapons to themselves.
Clicking an article with the Wyndham last name in it brings me to an exposé about her. Saylor Wyndham. Not only isn’t she a fucking moron, but she’s also incredibly intelligent. I’ve used some of the technology her team helped create. Her most recent project focuses on neural transmissions. Essentially, your brain is syncing with technology, so you can control computers and technology with your thoughts, thus bypassing the keyboard or touchscreen. A tiny chip implanted on the back of the neck reads the neural waves from our brains and talks to the computer. It’s similar technology I’ll have implanted tomorrow, but not as nuanced and brilliant, if I’m being honest with myself.
The commonalities I share with the captor’s family are unexpected. Her dad went to the Naval Academy, just like me. He majored in mechanical engineering, just like me, and their main US residence is near where I live, but that’s where the similarities end.
The Wyndhams have real estate all over the world, and the mother, Bianca, supports so many charities and foundations that I don’t even read them all. The list is too long to scroll to the bottom. The sister, Bronwyn, is a philanthropist who runs an art museum with her husband. The laundry list of Ivy League degrees and accomplishments goes on and on. I want to hate them on principle, but I can’t. Not fully, anyway. I email my brother before I go to sleep.
Nolan,
I’m setting off for a side quest tomorrow and won’t be able to email or call for a while. Please tell Mom and Dad I’m okay. You would be happy if I could tell you what I have to do and how uncomfortable it’s going to make me. Happy in a good for you way, not a torture my twin way. I hopethe new location isn’t tanking too hard. Kiss Grimace for me and tell him I’ll save him from your merriment as soon as I can. I’m sure he’s seizing from the joy he’s surrounded by. I hope no one has touched his feet.
Your brother,
McBrode.
When I fall asleep, my mind plays a dreamscape of the Wyndham family across my eyelids. They’re like fictional characters come to life. Saylor Wyndham isn’t just all of her accomplishments and her last name. Now she’smy problem.
The wind is whipping my face as I fuck with the sails to make them do what I want. While I’m sure brute strength isn’t the right way to accomplish this, it’s my way to do it.
Another ship dropped off my sailboat for the mission, and I set off for my intended destination in the afternoon because I need to arrive at the Mozambique Channel by nightfall, when the pirates hunt. They typically kidnap on a schedule, a week on and a week off, so we know they’ll be out here trying to catch another bounty after the Wyndham woman.
I drop the anchor and curse when it doesn’t do what I want the first time. I don’t have the finesse to enjoy sailing as an actual sport, and I can’t let the pirates see that. This is supposed to be my hobby. I need to look like a lost, dumb sailor looking for help.
“Damn it all to hell. Who the fuck does this for a good time?”
I’m all for suffering for fun, but this is another level. The rain hitting my face sideways feels like pinpricks and the damn sailshave a mind of their own. While I have my captain’s license, it isn’t something I sought out. It was a check in the box. A requirement for my profession in this area. Most SEALs loathe the fucking water—detest being on a ship and would rather skin themselves alive than spend long periods of time at sea. My stomach tips and heaves as the boat rocks.
When the anchor release finally works, I’m a second away from breaking something. If this were a normal mission, I’d have a wetsuit, and I’d be under the water, using a rebreather system called a Draeger. I’d swim through the ocean undetected at night, and sneak onto the beach to overtake the enemy. That’s what I’ve practiced hundreds of times. What I’m good at. Some may even use the word perfect as a descriptor.
The wind blows a gust of sharp raindrops into my left eye.Fuck this kind of water. Fuck this. I rub my eye using a fist, and I wait to becaptured. The thought makes me sick. I plug in my coordinates and send them back to the naval ship, where Commander and my teammates are tracking my every move.
I wish they could see me. I throw both middle fingers up to the sky and growl like a damn grizzly bear.You signed up for this, I remind myself. I sit down in the small seat that barely fits my ass and cross my arms for warmth. It’s a bit chilly. One more thing added to my growing list of discontentment. I’m coldandwet. My boat isn’t nearly as nice as Saylor Wyndham’s technical dream—there were images of it in the folder—but it’s fine enough to entice a pirate to look twice. That’s all I need.
It would be fantastic if they could hurry up and steal my boat and kidnap me already. Let’s get to the gritty part.
I use my radio to send out a distress signal using a channel that isn’t secure, but also not the main emergency channel. The pirates will be listening and plotting, if they aren’t already. The lights of both shores of Mozambique and Madagascar are visible through my telescope. One side looks lively, a bustling city filledwith life, and the other side looks like a ghost town with dim, sparsely lit areas.
Rubbing my wrist where the new implant itches my skin, reminding me that I won’t be alone, I relish and curse this assignment. I decide to go below cabin to get away from the rain when I see the fucking telltale flashlights in the distance. A boat is approaching from the side.
Game time.
I toss my hand up in the air and wave it left and right in the direction of the boat.
“Come and get me, motherfuckers,” I say, grinning to myself as the boat gets closer.
I can tell from here that they’re from the sector that took the Wyndham woman. There are differences between the factions: how nice their boats are, what they’re wearing, and what direction they’re coming from. They’re closer now, and I can see what they’re wearing: black hoods. That’s a tell.
Take me to the promised land,I muse.Take me to her.
When they raise their guns, it takes everything inside my damn soul not to decimate them. It takes a few seconds to swallow the lump in my throat. Not because I’m scared, but because I have to let them do what they will with me.
