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  Cover and Interior Design by Smoking Gun Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2018 Chap Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN: 9781940586526

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018948253

  Visit us on the web at www.smokinggunpublishing.com

  Published by Smoking Gun Publishing, LLC

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the agencies who work behind the scenes to keep our nation safe and to our military who tirelessly man posts all over the world so that we can go about our lives without fear. This novel fictitiously describes heroic feats from those agencies and our military, but the real stories are even more profound. You know who you are. Thank you for your service.

  Chapter One

  Kingston, Jamaica—A Few Years Ago

  The Jamaican instructor, Glenmore Higgins, greeted one of the sixteen Middle Eastern men who had paid in cash for a year’s instruction at Kingston’s Caribbean Marine Academy.

  “Mon, see if I gots ya name right. It be Zukaullah Kazim. Dat right, mon?” Glenmore asked as the small young man stood facing the taller black man.

  The Islamic man nodded his head and said, “Hadha Sahih—uh—correct.”

  “You may call me Glen,” the instructor said, motioning him to be seated.

  Zukaullah sat down at his desk and watched as the Jamaican teacher struggled through fifteen more names. The native islander was patient, quick to smile, and soon found the group from the Middle East to be excellent students in spite of minor language barriers. All the students had acceptable English skills.

  They claimed their home countries were desperate for diesel mechanics and marine engineers. Undoubtedly, local wars, refugee movements, and constant turmoil had led to the decimation and displacement of qualified skilled seamen. It didn’t matter to the school that the homelands of eight of the new students were in the landlocked nations of Afghanistan and Kyrgyzstan. The appeal of signing on for work on an ocean-going vessel could easily be understood by those who suffered the monotony of living on a sand dune.

  With the exception of Iran, which was engaged in replacing some domestic ships and adding to their small naval force, the other countries represented at the school, Syria and Yemen, were both small players in the ship business. The Russians, however, had invested heavily in the construction of the large Tartus Naval Base in Syria, reportedly capable of servicing nuclear powered vessels. However, the Russians were not sharing their vessels with Syria.

  The Jamaican school wasn’t concerned about their students’ final dispositions, or their home countries’ capacity to float boats in local harbors. There was a great need for paying customers of any endeavor. Jamaica’s economy was in shambles caused by the country investing too much in tourism and not enough in agriculture. So, when tourism faltered, expensive imported food contributed to the imbalance. The people of Jamaica needed money now from any source possible. In Kingston, sixteen men had paid $4,000 each for one year of room, board, and tuition, and likely would pay ahead every year for four years. The strange arrival of these Muslim men at Glenmore’s class was overlooked by the cash being placed in his hands. All had preregistered by mail, so the school had adequate time to decide if they would accept them.

  Most would test for advanced certifications after four years with a few studying for only two years to earn associate degrees. In a few years, these graduates would find themselves competing for engineering officer jobs on cargo ships, cruise lines, and other civilian vessels. It is safe to say that this group would make their mark on the shipping industry for many years to come.

  *****

  Walnut Creek, California—Present Day

  Lester McFarlin was quietly excited about the ocean voyage that lay before him. It had been three years since he had assisted large forces of law enforcement personnel in taking down a massive crime syndicate in Arkansas and Louisiana. He was wounded in a gun battle, and his then-girlfriend Debi briefly found herself kidnapped by Spider Gambini, the pretty crime boss of the entire operation.

  For a long while, Lester had suffered with dyslexia so severe that he couldn’t read or write. After a brain operation to remove scar tissue on his brain, Lester had recovered and now possessed an uncanny ability to memorize most everything he read. Now, his life-long dream of going to law school was fulfilled, and he was taking advantage of the semester break to take a cruise given to the couple as a wedding present from Debi’s parents. He didn’t expect anything too exciting would occur on the journey, but it had to be better than mock trials and case studies. A cruise seemed so self-indulgent, but just maybe he would learn to relax and enjoy the ride.

  “Are you guys sure you can get by without the jeep for a few weeks?” Debi McFarlin asked.

  “Debi, we have three cars. One is the old jeep, which we rarely drive. You lucky kids will get to ride animal style—no air conditioning, stick shift, mud tires, no cd player, and a canvas top with plastic windows,” Debi’s brother, Ray Green, said. “It will be a big step down from Lester’s GMC Yukon.”

  “We’re damn proud to have it. Thanks so much,” Lester said as he patted the spare tire mounted on the rear of the Jeep Wrangler.

  The Yukon was in a body shop getting major repairs after Lester got rear-ended on the Bay Bridge. Debi had an older two-seater BMW, but it was having some well-deserved and lengthy engine work completed. They couldn’t believe that both of their cars could be disabled at the same time. Their apartment only had one garage parking space, so the last person in had to find a parking spot on the street. Horror stories abounded about cars left on the street in the city and accumulating two- and three-thousand-dollar fines. It was not unusual to have them towed and sold at auction to pay the penalties. Both would need cars when they got back from the cruise. Hopefully, one of the disabled vehicles would be ready and the other could use the Jeep. Neither would have time to fight the traffic to pick up the Jeep twenty-five miles away in Walnut Creek.

  Ray was a successful mortgage banker with an office in San Francisco. He had explained his job to Debi several times, but he could see her eyes glaze over during every explanation.

  A couple weeks back, Debi had married Lester McFarlin. He was a former officer with the Hot Springs Sheriff’s Office and now was in his final year at Hastings Law School in San Francisco. He was a local cult hero back in Arkansas, where he had solved some major crimes. Debi was a speech therapist and had set up shop in San Francisco while Lester finished law school. Tomorrow was to be the start of their delayed honeymoon. Their plan was to park the jeep at their apartment and catch an Uber to the cruise terminal. Ray had agreed to take them but had to back out because of an important customer in town who needed some hand holding and entertaining. Ray’s wife, Shasha, couldn’t do it since their two kids had ball games, music practice, and teacher conferences. Ray and Shasha had helped Debi and Lester so much in the last two years. They even let them stay in their home for a few weeks until they got settled. Now they were lending them a car. Lester and Debi had repaid them by babysitting their two kids on many occasions. However, tomorrow the day would be saved by an Uber driver. For some reason, Lester felt the need to give Debi the blow-by-blow description of the history of Uber.

  “You may not know the Uber company started here in San Francisco, and they do it
right. It’s fun to order a car and watch them move toward your location using an app on your phone. The company has tried Ubercopters and Uberboats, but they have had limited success so far. They’re open to just about any new idea,” Lester said as they drove across the new Bay Bridge towards their exit which would take them to their apartment a few blocks off Van Ness Street.

  “I’d love this city if there was more room. You fight for every inch of space here. Too damn crowded, too hilly, and too damn cold in the summertime,” Debi said, as she tried to secure a plastic window on the Jeep that was letting in cold air from the Bay. “Why didn’t my brother get normal roll-up windows?”

  “It’s an old jeep and the plastic windows match the plastic sun roof—all after-market stuff, I would guess. It’s still pretty cool,” Lester said with a broad smile, and then changed the subject.

  “Where do you want to live when I get out of law school?”

  “Somewhere within driving distance of my parents. I want kids—soon. I will need my mother’s help. The kids will have two grandfathers in Hot Springs and one grandmother—unless your dad marries one of the girls he picks up at Boot Scooters Night Club.”

  “Oh—he has promised me he will marry one from the Electric Cowboy in Little Rock. Much classier there,” Lester said, laughing.

  When they arrived at their apartment, someone was in the process of parking in front of their garage driveway. Lester honked and motioned the guy to move.

  “Another reason I don’t want to live here,” Debi said and punched Lester’s arm for emphasis.

  He looked at her and smiled. “I can’t see our child playing in traffic all day either.”

  “Oh, yeah. That too,” she said. “By the way, where is that kid?”

  “I’ll work on it, if you will,” Lester said.

  “I’m going to wear you out on this cruise. You up for it?”

  “Have mercy on me, my dear.” They both laughed as the car moved away, letting them enter their garage.

  *****

  Lester laughed as the blue dot on his phone app appeared just as a black Uber car approached in front of him. It stopped near where he and Debi were standing by the curb.

  “It doesn’t take much to entertain you, does it, Lester?”

  “Nope.”

  The driver helped Lester load their bags and inquired about their cruise and what it was like on the ship as he pulled out into heavy traffic. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. The closest boat to a cruise liner I’ve experienced was the Hamilton Princess on a lake back in Arkansas. But Debi has been on a cruise before,” Lester said, recalling that her boyfriend, Brad, had taken her to the Caribbean on a Princess Cruise. Debi, who was well-aware that Lester wasn’t pleased with her live-in arrangement with her former lover, frowned.

  “As I recall, they’re always trying to sell you something. The rooms are tiny, but there’s always something to do and plenty to eat,” Debi said, sticking her tongue out at Lester, who had made a circle with his fingers and was thrusting his finger from his other hand through it in a symbolic screwing motion. He stopped when the driver took his eyes off the traffic and looked in Lester’s direction.

  They tipped the driver and found their way to the long line that snaked around the inside of the huge terminal. Surprisingly, they moved quickly since the experienced cruise line wasted no time. They had given the couple color-coded tags to attach to their bags, so all they had to do was drop them off. Someone snapped a quick departing picture to sell back to them later, issued an onboard credit card, and ushered them onto the ship. They would find their luggage outside their room later in the day.

  Once aboard, they located a bar near the center of the ship and settled down to finalize their excursions and spa visits. For the first time in their almost three-year relationship, they had signed up for a couple’s massage. Lester had promised to not talk and to enjoy the event. The cost was over $300, and he was not about to mess up the experience for Debi. Even so, he thought it was a little kinky.

  After about an hour, they went to their rooms. Their luggage was placed as promised. As they unpacked, the muster point for the lifeboat drill was announced through their in-room speakers for a 3:00 p.m. drill. Both showed up on time, carrying their life vests.

  “Debi, I was on the Hamilton Princess when they held a lifeboat drill. The lady in charge held up a life preserver and said, ‘I’m sorry all the life preservers are wet, but we had to use them on the last cruise.’”

  Debi laughed and said, “Knowing that old tub, they might very well have used them.”

  “It was an old joke, but new to me. Do we have reservations for early or late dinner seatings?” Lester asked as they walked back to their room after the short life boat education.

  “Early—Sea Dog specialty restaurant—we paid twenty bucks extra.”

  “Each?”

  “Lester, we’ve saved up for this cruise and along with the money my parents gave us for a wedding present, everything is paid for. Just relax and enjoy it.”

  “I may write some articles for the law review while we’re here. Should I not ask about internet rates on board?”

  “You should not, but don’t go over the two-hundred-fifty-minute package I bought,” Debi said.

  “How much if I go over?” Lester asked.

  “Seventy-five cents a minute,” she said bluntly.

  “Holy batshit—no way will I pay that!”

  “Lester, you’re on vacation—write your article, just hold off on a lot of research.”

  “I’ll spend more time here in bed with you, then, my dear.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “So, Debi, when does that multi-million-dollar massage take place?”

  “Tomorrow at eleven a.m. on Deck Fourteen,” Debi answered.

  “What if I get a boner?”

  “Try not to.”

  “What if I have one now?”

  “Ask for assistance from your friendly roommate.”

  “Help, I’m in agony! I have moderate-to-severe horniness,” Lester said, clearly starting to enjoy his vacation.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “I like being on a cruise,” Lester said as he began to undress.

  “Tomorrow night is a formal night, by the way.”

  “You’re trying to destroy my erection, aren’t you?”

  “Nope, I want you in fine form. Just trying to prepare you for putting on a tux. Now come here and punish me for being such a bad, bad girl who makes you dress up,” Debi said, laughing.

  “Sweetheart, you are toast!” Lester moved toward the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes.

  *****

  The Royal Spa aboard the Tropic Queen, currently docked in San Francisco, was beautiful and offered the latest treatments for even grizzled veterans of health resorts. This huge vessel was part of ten ships in the Queen of the Seas fleet. Simone Visser had taken the position of manager, signed a contract for nine months, and said goodbye to Cape Town, South Africa. She had managed and owned one of the largest salons in the city but now needed to get away. During her interview with the cruise line, the HR person had said, “Most people take jobs on cruise lines to run away from something. Some are in it for the adventure with the hope of meeting a new love, but most, sure as hell, don’t do it for the cash rewards.”

  Maybe the servers and room maids needed the money since they were mainly from poor countries like the Philippines or India, where good jobs were nonexistent. Simone would be making about one-third of her income in South Africa, but that wasn’t important right now.

  She was recently divorced after catching her husband performing in doggie style with one of her massage therapists. After she investigated, she found that he had helped himself to at least three of them.

  Simone couldn’t face her employees, so she sold the operation, stuck the money in the bank, and listed her house. It sold quickly, not for what she wanted, but she felt the need to get rid of anything that tied her t
here. She knew about health salons on cruise ships since some of her massage therapists had worked on them. With a little research, she learned that the Queen of the Seas had one of the best spas. It should have been a clue to her, though, when she found out that the last manager had left six months before her contract was over. But it didn’t matter. She had to get away.

  Dating, flirting, making out, and hooking up with someone other than her now ex-husband seemed like another world to Simone. She knew she was attractive, and the opportunity to have numerous affairs had presented themselves while she was married to Peter. Her co-workers had gone a step further and told her she was “hot.” She remained faithful, however, throughout the four-year marriage.

  Simone’s body was shapely and well-proportioned. She was extremely tall at 5’10’’ with legs that went on forever. Tanning was a weakness for her. She knew she shouldn’t do it but didn’t want to be white and pasty if the right guy did come along. Her face was classically beautiful and set off by large and inviting lips. She had long, cascading, natural-blonde hair, which she had recently shortened to shoulder length. Green eyes only appear in two percent of the people on earth, and hers were a shade that matched the tropical waters in the path of the ship. Many men had hit on her since the divorce, but she was determined to be patient and selective.

  Simone looked over her personnel roster, which had been given to her earlier in the day. Currently, she was the only person in the spa since it was closed, and she knew for the next two weeks there would be no moments of solitude like the one she was enjoying now. Tomorrow, the ship would begin to fill again with passengers seeking entertainment and fun. There wasn’t much time to get ready for all the bookings for massages, pedicures, and other spa treatments. It was her first day on the ship, but she felt the need to meet her crew and lay down the law. Simone had called a meeting for 6:00 p.m. with all her employees. Glancing down again at her roster, she found the word “trouble” written next to one employee.

  Oh shit. I see the problem. Been there before, she said to herself.