Free Stowaway by Emma Bennett Page A

I turn my head to the other side, and come face-to-face with a furry beast.
Major. He moves toward me and huffs hot breath on my
arm. I see Teresa running toward me, dragging Carl behind.
    “Major! I am so
sorry, Miss!” she says, snagging the monkey. “Oh, it’s you, again. I don‘t know
what his problem is. Carl, I knew we shouldn’t have let him out. You know he’s
not usually so friendly with strangers. Next time you insist , I’m putting my foot down!”
    Aren’t service
animals trained to be friendly in public? And behave? Maybe Carl got a discount
on Major.
    “That’s alright,”
I say to the distressed woman.
    Behind her, I hear
a brittle cracking noise, and we both turn to find Carl trying to fix his cane.
The fancy gold handle has slipped from the shaft.
    “Careful, Carl,”
says Teresa. “That handle can be awfully sharp. Remember, you cut yourself with
it yesterday. Here, let me.”
    She takes the cane
from Carl, and jiggles the handle back into place.
    “Remind me to ask
this afternoon if anywhere on the ship sells glue. Until then, you’ll just have
to be careful with it.”
    Carl nods.
    “What the…. What
is that?” someone shrieks behind me. While we have been distracted with
patching the blind man’s cane, Major snuck over to Mike’s chair and tugged at
the newspaper lying on his chest, finally waking him up.
    “Easy, Mike,” I
say. “That’s just Major . He’s a service animal and
totally harmless.”
    I’m not sure
that’s true, but Mike’s eyes are round and bugging out. I have to say
something. However, he doesn’t find my words comforting or seem to believe me.
To her apparent embarrassment, Teresa also sees this. She blushes, politely
bids us all goodbye and drags Major and Carl off behind her.
    A shadow falls
across me. I look up into the sun to see the silhouetted form of a man in a
suit with his back to me. It’s the guy from my apartment yesterday. He’s texting
someone on his phone and doesn’t notice me. I freeze anyway, like a deer caught
in the headlights.
    Out of the corner
of my eye, I try to signal Mike to do something. But he doesn’t notice. He is
buried in the newspaper’s crossword.
    “Hey
Maggie? Maggie! What’s a seven letter word that means at a national
level?”
    I stop him with a
threatening glance. He looks confused. When I flick my eyes back to the suit,
he’s turning around.
    “What did you call
her?” he asks Mike.
    “Um,
P-Peggy?” Mike answers. Thank God for small miracles.
    “Are you asking?
Or telling?”
    Mike looks to me
for help. The stranger stares at me hard, studying my face carefully. I take a
deep breath and tip my chin a notch higher, acting far braver than I feel.
    “He’s telling,” I
say. “What’s it to you?”
    I am not sure it
works, but man gives us both a tight smile and starts to walk on. Then, he
pauses and says over his shoulder, “Oh, I think the word you’re looking for is
federal. For your crossword.”
    Then he keeps
walking.
    “Who was that?” asks
Mike.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Did you notice he
was sending a text with his phone?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “So,” explains
Mike, “we’re way out in international waters. Normal people don’t have service
this far from shore.”
    That’s right. My
own phone is all but useless for communication of any sort out here. I can tell
he knows more.
    “So, who does get
a signal out here?”
    “Federal
agents, for one. You know, the kind with three
letters in their employer’s names. You sure you don’t know him?”
    I shake my head
no. Now, I am certain I don’t want to. Yeesh , now I
have federal agents after me? Why couldn’t he just be a bounty hunter? Maybe I
should have hired a better attorney…
    “Maybe he is part
of the ship security or something,” I offer hopefully. “Ships could have
undercover agents on them like commercial flights have sky marshals, right?”
    “Maybe,” Mike says
in a non-committal tone, back to scribbling on his