Free The Tears of Dark Water by Corban Addison Page B

them—a young man with ermine-like eyes and a cut on his cheek—yelled back. Afyareh fixed the pirate with a wintry stare and spoke a few words in a low tone. It must have been a question, because all of the pirates nodded except the man with the cut. The man looked around in disgust and barked what sounded like a curse.
    Silence descended on the saloon. Afyareh picked up a wedge of cheese and broke it into chunks, passing one to each of the pirates. He examined the refrigerator and took out a package of deli meat and a loaf of bread. He handed out slices of bread and meat to his companions, then took the bottle of water and wiped the mouth on his T-shirt before taking a long drink.
    He looked at Daniel. “From now on, my men will behave.” He pointed at the dining booth. “You will sit there. Liban and Sondare will sit with you.” He gestured at the tall man who had guarded them in the cockpit and a gangly kid with eager eyes. “They will not disturb you when you sleep. If you need to use the bathroom, they will accompany you. In the morning, you can cook breakfast. I have questions about the boat, but they can wait until tomorrow.”
    With that, Afyareh turned to address his men again. Daniel slid into the back of the booth, while Quentin took a seat on one of the wings. Daniel examined his son carefully. He was clearly scared, but his eyes were still bright. He hadn’t withdrawn like the afternoon before. Daniel felt the pride again, along with something more elemental—love.
    “It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly. “They’re not here to hurt us.”
    Quentin looked suddenly guilty. “I fell asleep on watch. I’m sorry.”
    Daniel shook his head. “It was better that way. You didn’t resist.” He saw Liban moving toward them and lowered his voice. “I got a message out.”
    Quentin’s eyes widened. “SSAS?”
    Daniel nodded almost imperceptibly.
    “No talk, Captain,” Liban said in heavily accented English, taking a seat on the starboard bench a few feet away, his AK-47 stretched across his lap. “Sleep.”
    Daniel complied without a word, lying down and bending at the waist to conform to the shape of the booth. Quentin followed his lead on the opposite side. There was just enough room for them to rest in relative comfort. Daniel closed his eyes and imagined Vanessa and his parents on the other side of the world, oblivious to the peril that had befallen them, but not for much longer. Afyareh and his band of brigands had no idea of the storm they had unleashed or the power of the people who would move heaven and earth to contain it.
     
     
     

Proof of Life
     
     
    We know what dark persuasions dwell in the soul of man;
    for we are closer to him than his jugular vein.
    —The Quran, Sura 50
     
     

Vanessa
     
    Annapolis, Maryland
    November 9, 2011
     
    Vanessa’s iPhone vibrated on her nightstand just after midnight. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth and paid little attention to it. Chad Forrester was the doctor on call, which meant that she was off limits to after-hours inquiries. It was a boundary she had established early in her practice after getting one too many non-emergent “emergency” calls from parents of young children worried that some run-of-the-mill event—a fever spike, a bout of diarrhea—might turn catastrophic.
    She put her toothbrush back in the stand and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, Skipper trailing dutifully in her wake. She was bone-tired after a long day at the office, but in her heart she felt invigorated. All day she had replayed the Beethoven in her head, feeling the Bissolotti vibrating in her hands, the bow dancing in Kreisler’s run of sixteenths. The music had reawakened something in her—a sense of possibility. She’d printed out her airline ticket and placed it on her desk at the office beside the photo of Daniel and Quentin. There was something about seeing her name and destination in ink that confirmed that what had happened