sentiment, monkey, but Edwin’s too old-fashioned for me.”
“Um, okay.” I stared at her, my mind a blank.
“How about Samuel Junior?” she said.
“I don’t want him named for me. Let him be his own person, entirely.”
Lucy tucked her feet under her. “I’d like to honor a loved one.”
“Well.” I loved my parents, very much, but relations with them were frosty at the moment. “How about we’ll name him for you, Lucy. Call him Lucian. He’ll have to be the toughest kid on the playground.”
“No. My mind’s made up. Daniel, for your brother.”
“You don’t have to do that. You never even knew Danny.”
“I know what he meant to you. It’s an awesome name. Let’s honor him.”
(If I could put a sticky note into my memory, it would read: This was the woman the world wanted me to believe was a traitor.)
“Then let’s put Daniel on the list.” I picked up my book again.
“Daniel. Okay. What if I’m wrong and it’s a girl?”
“Capri, for the island. Capri Capra. She’ll love us forever.”
She laughed. “Sam?”
“Yes?”
She didn’t answer me, and I glanced up at her, still watching the slow slide of rain along the glass. And then she said words she never said in real life:
Do you think I could let you die?
I awoke with a start. The dark was nearly complete, and for a moment I forgot I lay nestled in the container’s cocoon.
I lay listening, wondering how long I’d slept. Today had been the first time in a long while I’d slept like a free man—no listeners, no cell, no one watching me or my dreams for evidence of betrayal. I slept again, woke again, slept again. For how long I didn’t know.
But my brain jerked me awake at a sound. An approaching buzz, sounding hard, above the soft steady thrum of the engines. An interrupting roar.
I knew the sound. A helicopter.
Lowering toward the deck.
20
I RISKED CRACKING OPEN THE DOOR . Daylight hit my eyes, the dawn, rosy fresh. I could smell air unsullied by city, saltwater, the tinge of rust. The light stung my eyes; I blinked the pain away. My container stood near the top of a stack—another stack stood next to it. I could barely open the door and squeeze through, and I had to hold on to the side of the adjoining container. I looked down. I was roughly four stories up—if I slipped I would fall into a narrow canyon created by the containers. I pushed the door open as far as I could and pulled myself up to the top of the container wall.
Thin clouds streaked the sky. The helicopter’s
whoosh
faded as the rotors slowed. I inched along the top of the containers and looked down. At the ship’s stern, a jet helicopter squatted. I saw four men, armed, exiting the helicopter as the rotors slowed. One figure—a woman in a suit—stood at a distance, conferring with a group of men who appeared to be the captain and members of the crew.
The arrivals must be Howell’s people.
Jesus, how?
How?
Finding people who didn’t want to be found was hard; I’d hit my head against that wall anumber of times. Yet no matter how carefully
I
hid, here came the Company. My heart trip-hammered against my chest and then I thought: six thousand containers, they can’t open and search them all. It would take weeks.
Well, if the Company was seizing the ship, they would
have
weeks. They could commandeer the vessel, sail it back to New York or to Boston, pay off the disgruntled shippers. They could take as long as they wanted to find me. If they’d found the intruder’s body in the apartment, they’d never give up. Howell would know I’d killed the guy and run, presumably with highly useful information.
The helicopter rose again. It hovered over the stern of the ship, then began to work its way slowly over the deck. I could see two men sitting in the copter’s open door, peering at a laptop. Hanging from each side of the helicopter was an array of lenses, shaped like a rectangle.
The helicopter passed low over the first stack of
“Um, okay.” I stared at her, my mind a blank.
“How about Samuel Junior?” she said.
“I don’t want him named for me. Let him be his own person, entirely.”
Lucy tucked her feet under her. “I’d like to honor a loved one.”
“Well.” I loved my parents, very much, but relations with them were frosty at the moment. “How about we’ll name him for you, Lucy. Call him Lucian. He’ll have to be the toughest kid on the playground.”
“No. My mind’s made up. Daniel, for your brother.”
“You don’t have to do that. You never even knew Danny.”
“I know what he meant to you. It’s an awesome name. Let’s honor him.”
(If I could put a sticky note into my memory, it would read: This was the woman the world wanted me to believe was a traitor.)
“Then let’s put Daniel on the list.” I picked up my book again.
“Daniel. Okay. What if I’m wrong and it’s a girl?”
“Capri, for the island. Capri Capra. She’ll love us forever.”
She laughed. “Sam?”
“Yes?”
She didn’t answer me, and I glanced up at her, still watching the slow slide of rain along the glass. And then she said words she never said in real life:
Do you think I could let you die?
I awoke with a start. The dark was nearly complete, and for a moment I forgot I lay nestled in the container’s cocoon.
I lay listening, wondering how long I’d slept. Today had been the first time in a long while I’d slept like a free man—no listeners, no cell, no one watching me or my dreams for evidence of betrayal. I slept again, woke again, slept again. For how long I didn’t know.
But my brain jerked me awake at a sound. An approaching buzz, sounding hard, above the soft steady thrum of the engines. An interrupting roar.
I knew the sound. A helicopter.
Lowering toward the deck.
20
I RISKED CRACKING OPEN THE DOOR . Daylight hit my eyes, the dawn, rosy fresh. I could smell air unsullied by city, saltwater, the tinge of rust. The light stung my eyes; I blinked the pain away. My container stood near the top of a stack—another stack stood next to it. I could barely open the door and squeeze through, and I had to hold on to the side of the adjoining container. I looked down. I was roughly four stories up—if I slipped I would fall into a narrow canyon created by the containers. I pushed the door open as far as I could and pulled myself up to the top of the container wall.
Thin clouds streaked the sky. The helicopter’s
whoosh
faded as the rotors slowed. I inched along the top of the containers and looked down. At the ship’s stern, a jet helicopter squatted. I saw four men, armed, exiting the helicopter as the rotors slowed. One figure—a woman in a suit—stood at a distance, conferring with a group of men who appeared to be the captain and members of the crew.
The arrivals must be Howell’s people.
Jesus, how?
How?
Finding people who didn’t want to be found was hard; I’d hit my head against that wall anumber of times. Yet no matter how carefully
I
hid, here came the Company. My heart trip-hammered against my chest and then I thought: six thousand containers, they can’t open and search them all. It would take weeks.
Well, if the Company was seizing the ship, they would
have
weeks. They could commandeer the vessel, sail it back to New York or to Boston, pay off the disgruntled shippers. They could take as long as they wanted to find me. If they’d found the intruder’s body in the apartment, they’d never give up. Howell would know I’d killed the guy and run, presumably with highly useful information.
The helicopter rose again. It hovered over the stern of the ship, then began to work its way slowly over the deck. I could see two men sitting in the copter’s open door, peering at a laptop. Hanging from each side of the helicopter was an array of lenses, shaped like a rectangle.
The helicopter passed low over the first stack of
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