Chapter 8-2
933 Words
When Sophia woke, the glowing tritium hands on her watch pointed to five after six and the miniature hand indicated morning. Breakfast was an hour away, but she wasn’t hungry. She rolled over, dislodging the papers covering her chest. The cassette player poked her in the ribs. She picked up the papers and reassembled them. She noticed some of the pages near the end were blank. She’d photocopied the original diary in a rush so it didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was a page near the end with more handwriting. It looked rushed. How had she missed this?
She skimmed the words, then sat up and bumped her head on the cot above. Cursing, she pulled the page closer.
Project Seraphim.
She turned the page. There was more. Five, ten, more than fifteen pages. She dug around her bed for a pen but couldn’t find one. She opened her curtains to let in more artificial light, then leaned out of her cot and hit Nasira on the shoulder.
‘Pen. Give me a pen,’ she said.
Nasira grumbled and handed a pen up to her. Sophia craned forward as best she could in the confined space and started translating, scribbling the English below each line. She’d only made it a third of the way through the first page when Benito called her for breakfast. She placed the dictionary and diary entries into the bunk locker, but tore her transcribed pages free, folded them and slipped them into her hip pocket, reluctant to leave them.
She made her way to the mess, and wasn’t surprised to see Jay among the first crew members feasting on breakfast. His plate spilled over with crispy bacon, sausages and eggs. He talked enthusiastically, food spraying from his mouth. Damien, next to him, was quiet.
Nasira found herself a space next to Jay and slapped him on the back of the head with a metal spoon. Jay almost choked on his food. Sophia sat opposite them, unable to keep a straight face as Jay coughed to clear his throat.
Once he was shoveling food again, Nasira grinned and started eating. ‘Aren’t you having anything?’ she asked Sophia.
‘I’m not hungry.’
Her mind was on Adamicz’s diary now and it wouldn’t let go. She reached for the jug of water and poured herself a cup.
DC was sitting next to Damien. She watched him pop two tablets and chase them with water. His breakfast appeared half-eaten. He looked up, noticed Sophia, then returned to his meal.
The skipper appeared beside her. ‘I hope everyone slept well.’
Sophia smiled. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She touched the papers in her pocket to check they were still there.
The skipper noticed her plate was empty and immediately ordered someone to fill it for her. Before she could protest, breakfast was piled in front of her.
‘Are you alright with eggs, ma’am?’ the skipper asked.
Sophia nodded. ‘Yes, fine. No problem.’
As he left, Benito pushed his way in beside Sophia. He raised an eyebrow at her towering plate. ‘Eating small this morning?’
‘I don’t even know if it’s morning any more,’ she said.
‘I second that,’ Jay said. ‘One minute I was minding my own business in New Zealand; now I’m in a submarine at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know where we’re going.’
Sophia put her fork down. The noise in the mess had picked up as more people populated the tables behind them. ‘Once we’re out of here, it’s up to you what you want to do.’
Jay raised both hands in surrender. ‘All I’m saying is, last time we did this Nasira tied me to a urinal and then we crashed a helicopter into the UN headquarters.’
Damien held up a finger. ‘And I was exposed to a nuclear meltdown.’
‘Yeah, that too,’ Jay said.
‘What about you?’ Sophia said, shifting the conversation to DC. ‘Radiation exposure, crashed helicopters?’
DC shrugged. ‘I told you. Ex-military. No helicopter crashes.’
She pulled a pair of dog tags from her pocket and slid them across the table to him. He seemed unsurprised. His hand closed around them, briefly touching hers.
‘I was looking for those,’ he said.
‘You slipped up. You don’t normally carry things in your pockets,’ Sophia said.
‘Actually I did, until I started bodyguarding a professional pickpocket. Or a genetically enhanced black operative.’
‘Former,’ she said, ‘on both accounts. Speaking of former, what’s your story?’
‘You just asked me that.’
‘And I shouldn’t need to ask again,’ she said.
DC rolled his dog tags over in one hand. ‘SEAL Team Six. Pulled in by the CIA’s Special Activities Division.’
Nasira raised an eyebrow. ‘Which group?’
DC exhaled and poked at his food. ‘Political Action Group.’
Nasira didn’t look impressed. ‘Political manipulation, psychological warfare, economic warfare,’ she said. ‘That’s only half a step from the Fifth Column proper.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You sound a little overqualified for just any Blue Beret attachment though,’ Sophia said.
He met her gaze, but only briefly. ‘We all have our secrets.’
He excused himself, forcing Damien, Jay and Nasira to stand so he could slip through with his half-finished breakfast.
‘So do they teach you how to use tachi swords in the Navy SEALs?’ Sophia said. ‘Or was that the Special Activities Division?’
DC discarded his plate and left the mess.
Sophia followed him out into the narrow corridor where no one could hear them.
‘Project Seraphim,’ she said, stepping in front of him. ‘What is it?’
DC halted, and checked no one was around to overhear. Another crew member came out of the mess and squeezed past them. DC waited until he’d disappeared down the corridor, then said, ‘I told you, we all have our secrets.’
Sophia took the papers from her back pocket and shoved it in his face. ‘Not any more.’
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