Thank you to the women that helped guide my progression from fledgling author to; he's got potential: Dawn, Nulli, Mistress of the shadows, Jaz Cullen, and MizT, thank you for the lessons. Who would have thought a few years ago I'd end up like this. To the fans that have followed my stories, thank you, your support is overwhelming, and I'm truly humbled by it. With all my hopes, enjoy the conclusion of 'The Pandora Effect'.
Victorian Seaways, an hour and thirty minutes out from Ramsgate, United Kingdom.
The first class lounge was spacious, with various pieces of nautical artwork adorning the mahogany covered walls. The ambience of the soft lights was overpowered as the bright sunshine streamed in from the pair of large glass windows on either side of the bar. Two dapper servers tended to the small group of passengers that surrounded the waist-high bar. When the commuters had their drinks, the taller of the two bartenders grabbed a silver serving tray, and headed out to wait on the seated guests.
His first stop was a corner table, placed next to one of the large glass panes where an older couple rested, holding hands, and staring out the thick glass window towards the calm English Channel. The server took the couples' order as the once ebony haired woman laid her head against her husband's thin shoulder. Her silver highlights made her look even more majestic as the two shared a special moment between them. The server smiled to himself at the romantic intimacy the husband and wife shared, oblivious to presence of the other passengers around them.
As the well-groomed server weaved through the tables with practiced ease, he stopped to pick up a discarded napkin off the royal blue carpet. Something caught his eye and he glanced over at the passengers' shoes that occupied one of the tables located along the port wall. They all wore some type of military style boots, and he chuckled to himself at the lack of fashion exhibited by the gruff trio.
"Would you gentlemen care for anything from the bar? We have a fine selection of..." the courteous server tried to ask.
A muscular looking man with his back to the wall indicated for him to leave with a quick gesture of his hand. The other two brawny men remained silent, as they stared out at the other passengers with cold forbidding eyes. When no indication was given that his presence was needed, the server shrugged his shoulders and walked off with unhurried steps.
"It figures -- no fashion sense, OR manners,"
he thought as he carried out his duties.
His last stop was at the very end of the lounge, near one of the thick oak doors. A young looking man dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt sat back against the plush red cushions while he read a fishing magazine.
From his vantage point above the small table, the server could see the inside of the ceramic mug placed on the table. A small trace of coffee was all that remained, which made him wonder why someone so young would be drinking coffee. The college students that frequented the ferry preferred to drink water, or on occasion, one of the upper shelf liquors.
The server cleared his throat to get the young man's attention. "Excuse me Sir, would you like anything from the bar? We have a fine selection of wine, or perhaps something stronger?"
Randy Cross looked up from his magazine, as he smiled at the thought of having a mixed drink. He placed the magazine down next to him and grabbed the almost empty mug. As he held it up, his smile became bigger. His small dimples made the Navy SEAL Chief seem even more youthful.
"Just some coffee, black with two sugars if you would Sir," Randy requested with an air of politeness.
The SEAL watched the server place the mug on the tray, and with an acknowledging gesture of his head, return towards the bar to fill his orders. Randy stole a few moments to look over at one of the tables against the wall. It was the same table he had been monitoring since entering the upper most lounge area where three sturdy looking men, dressed in all black, rested during the crossing.
Shifting in his seat, he pretended to get comfortable as he glanced towards the other side of the lounge where another husband and wife sat waiting for the crossing to end. The small SEAL did not have to worry about monitoring that particular couple; someone else in the room was shadowing them.
Randy stretched his legs out and sighed with genuine boredom as he retrieved the dreary magazine. After flipping the page, he checked his watch then went back to reading.
"Thank God, only about an hour left of reading about fucking lures, and bass,"
he thought as he looked over the top of his Field and Stream towards his charges.
**********
Frederick Konr scanned the room, his attention snared by the nervous glances toward the exit from one of his colleagues. He wasn't sure if the other man was sensing danger, or if the pressure of their current assignment was just getting to him. After four years of doing various missions with the anxious mercenary, he'd learned to recognize when he was becoming nervous; he'd also learned to place faith in the other man's sixth sense. "Karl, is there something bothering you? It can't be the security; so far, it's been nonexistent."
"I can't quite place my finger on it Fredrick, but that kid in the corner over there keeps monitoring us." Karl shifted in his seat with a nervous edge as his blue eyes tightened at the young man's intrusive behavior. He had been studying human body language long enough to know when he was being watched. He found it peculiar that he would take note of their table and disregard the rest of the passengers.
"See for yourself Fredrick, every so often, he'll peek over the top of that magazine. I think he's shadowing us and it's putting me on edge. He's been doing it since he arrived, which leads me to believe he might be someone we might have to dispose of before leaving," Karl said to the team leader with a hint of unease in his voice.
Fredrick shifted his vision with a practiced calm and took a slow glance towards the end of the lounge. There in the corner, he saw a bored young man who was small in stature wearing a floppy hooded sweatshirt and jeans turn the page of a magazine and glance over at them for a few seconds before continuing to read.
Fredrick chuckled in amusement at the so-called operative. "What, you think that college kid is some kind of military spy or something? He doesn't look old enough to buy a beer, let alone have a strong enough build to be part of any Special Forces unit. If I was going to peg anyone as military here, it would be the older guy over on the other side of the lounge. Look at his short hair, muscular frame, tanned face; that guy knows how to handle himself. Why don't you take over for Hans down at the cars, I'm sure he could use a break."
Karl stood up and ran his fingers through his shoulder length blond hair, then moved towards the same exit door the young man sat near. As he progressed, he scanned the other passengers and then stood next to the person who was making him nervous. He rotated his head until his eyes stopped on his intended target.
Randy knew he had the ability to kill the hired gun with ease if it came to it. His instinct however was tempered by his team leader's orders: let them all have safe passage. He needed to think of a ruse to throw the dangerous man off his tail, and he needed to do it before the situation became unstable.
