Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (29 page)

Only those condemned before us

by Neptune
'
s judge and jury
From
North Atlantic
Storm
by CM Jones
When I first got to
Sydney
and moved in with Jen it was some time before I felt like looking for a job and this gave me an opportunity to write. Jen worked in the Central Business District and I used to meet for her lunch at the Rocks at one or another of the ethnic restaurants that draw visitors in shiploads to the oldest part of town. What more perfect setting could there be for a romance novel than aboard one of the great passenger liners docked at nearby Circular Quay?

"
I think that
'
s a great idea,
"
she said.
"
Look at them, they
'
re huge. Those things are floating cities. Imagine 3,500 people from all racial and social backgrounds, their destinies locked together for a week or more. Anything can happen on the high seas and probably does.
"

So I invented Britannia Line and its flagship RMS Britannia, the biggest, most luxurious passenger ship afloat. Britannia
'
s mission statement –
'
Your way. All the way
'
– hints as to what separates it from conventional cruise operators. Most lines forbid ships
'
officers to fraternize with passengers. But on Britannia Line off duty officers are encouraged to do so to enhance the cruise experience of single guests. My heroine, Rachel Branson, lucky girl, is booked on a transatlantic voyage from Southampton to
New York
.
As the drama unfolds over seven days she will find romance, love, betrayal and ultimately redemption. This is a voyage with a countdown. RMS Britannia is a ticking time bomb set to explode in
New York
harbor.

As the
port
of
Southampton
slipped away, Rachel Branson looked out over the calm waters of the
Solent
and reflected contentedly on her future. Far out to sea on the starboard side, the late afternoon sun cast a pool of light on the wine dark sea and a rainbow arced into gathering clouds. It was an omen, she thought. Ahead lay a new job in New York as vice-president of data security for a multi-national genetics engineering company and at the other end of the rainbow was…. was what?

"
So what do you think?
"
a man
'
s voice at her side asked her, as if he had been reading her thoughts.
"
You think there is a pot of gold at the end? I doubt it.
"

Rachel turned to confront him.

He was leaning casually on the rail at her side. Slim and handsome, with brown skin and curly black hair, he showed her his perfect smile, teeth as white as his crisply-starched uniform. Her eyes went to his epaulettes. One and a half stripes, an officer, she noted. Pakistani, most likely, but a Brit through and through, she could tell from his accent.

"
How can you be so sure?
"
she said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.
"
Perhaps there is a pot of gold.
"

He laughed.

"
Well if you find it, don
'
t tell Britannia Line. They
'
ll want 15-per-cent off the top.
"

He held out his hand.

"
Harry. Harry Karim, third engineer RMS Britannia, at your service.
"

"
Rachel Branson.
"
She gave him a mock salute.
"
Just the person I need. Do you think you could fix my hair dryer?
"

"
Sorry, not my area of expertise. If it requires enough power to light up
Las Vegas
, I
'
m your man. But I
'
m sure your state room steward….
"

"
Just kidding.
"

Harry laughed, moving closer to her, both hands on the ship
'
s railing next to hers.

"
This your first crossing?
"

"
Yes it is. First time on a passenger ship. Normally I would fly, but I have a ton of luggage. I
'
m moving to
New York
. I have a new job, a promotion, the whole bit, it
'
s all happening for me, Harry, ta da….
"

"
Lucky you. Are you lucky in love too?
"

"
Desperately unlucky, thank you for asking. Maybe
New York
will change that, although I doubt it. What about you? I
'
ve heard about sailors – a girl in every port.
"

"
I have two in
Southampton
.
"
He laughed.
"
Not really. I wish. One would be good. A seafarer
'
s life is quite lonely despite what they say. The senior officers are allowed to have their wives on board, but not at my level, not that I have one anyway, a wife that is.
"

He allowed his left hand to drift towards hers where she was holding on. A hundred feet below them, the
North Atlantic
swells were building and the great ship moved to the sea
'
s relentless rhythm. She felt his hand graze hers, the faintest of touches, allowing it, not moving away.

For a while they were silent together, high enough up to see the curve of the earth, the horizon fourteen nautical miles in the distance.

Harry put his hand on hers for a split second.

"
Well, it was nice meeting you, but duty calls,
"
he said, hesitating.
"
Rachel, I
'
m off watch at eight. I would be delighted to buy you a drink?
"

"
That
'
s kind of you. I
'
m at second sitting for dinner but I could meet you around nine if that
'
s not too late.
"

"
Nine it is. I
'
ll see you in the Captain
'
s Bar, deck eight, front of the ship. It
'
s quiet there at that time because most passengers go to the shows. We can talk some more.
"

Rachel nodded. The voyage was four hours old and she had a date. Things were looking up. Maybe what they said about cruising was true. Was Harry an officer and a gentleman? Ah ha. She would find out. Men in uniform were a turn on. She could imagine herself thrust over his knee being spanked for some breach of ship
'
s etiquette.

So there it is, girl meets boy, item one on my outline and, wouldn't you know it, romance is already in the air. I've read enough novels to know that a good story has a beginning, a middle and an end. All I have to do is fill in the blanks. What could be simpler than that? Item two on my list is character development. Who are these people, anyway?

Rachel: Twenty-six, slim, nice body, pretty but not classically beautiful. Confident and self-assured. Sexually aggressive. Perceptive. Grew up in
Peshawar
,
Pakistan
, on the northwest frontier with
Afghanistan
where her father was in the British diplomatic service. Speaks fluent Pushtu. Computer genius. Colleagues and competitors alike say there isn't a computer or database in the world she can't hack into.

Harry: Thirty-one, marine engineer, born and raised in the
East Midlands
, only son of Pakistani immigrants who own of a chain of Tandoori restaurants. Attended public school where he excelled academically and athletically. Won a scholarship to
Leeds
University
. A loner with a secretive nature. A convert to Islam.

For Rachel it will be love at first sight, one of those crazy spontaneous shipboard romances that begins with a chance encounter, the faintest of touches and blossoms into a passionate affair. By day three in mid-Atlantic, 900 miles off
Cape
Finistere
, with
New York
still 1,200 nautical miles to the west, they will make love for the first time, the curtains and balcony door of her stateroom open to the roaring sea.

And I'm thinking: This bit will be tricky. The lovemaking will have to be implied, not described, according to the guidelines for Pandora romances. I can have some fun with that. What else might be implied?' I think to myself. Could erotic discipline be implied, for example? Rachel's fantasy of being spanked by Harry excites me. And why not? It's my book. I can make it happen? Harry is a public school chap. He'll get it, the thrill of putting her over his knee before the joy of making love.

Okay, I'm not sure I can convince the publishers, but I can try. Most readers of romance literature are women and whether they admit to it or not, erotic discipline is sexually arousing. I will write it in a way that will stay within Pandora's guidelines.

After noon, before he began his 4 pm watch, was their time to be together. Behind the locked door of Rachel
'
s stateroom on deck ten it was if they alone inhabited the world with not even the company of gannets and shearwaters that sometimes could be seen in the vast and lonely sky. She undressed and slipped on her bathrobe while he waited for her on the outside balcony staring out to sea, his collar turned up against the wind that was tearing at his hair. He re-entered the room and slid the door shut behind him.

"
Yesterday I told you to meet me at noon. I am not pleased you chose to keep me waiting.
"
He turned away, taking something from his pocket, something she should see, before turning to face her. She glanced at what he was holding, her face suddenly flushed, Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him,
"
I
'
m the one who has been waiting.
"

Harry said nothing as he tidied his hair and casually placed the brush on the bedside table beside him. Then he sat on the bed, and beckoned for her to approach.
"
I believe you know what is expected of you.
"
There was something compelling in his tone, a quiet authority that made her heart race. Rachel slipped out of her bathrobe and went at once to his side.

Was that too obvious, or too subtle? It is important for my story to accentuate the tension building between Rachel and Harry. She is infatuated, deeply in love, but already she has begun to doubt him. She senses there was something about him that is inconsistent with a seafarer, the many phone calls and text messages he makes, always to the same number in
Leeds
. She would find out more about Harry Karim.

It was a joke at her office that Rachel could hack into the Pentagon if she wanted to. It was a simple matter for her to search his computer, find its hidden places – and what she found there chilled her.

She discovered that an Islamic plot to destroy a British icon was in the planning stage before the smoke had cleared from the debris of the World Trade towers. Al-Qaeda in
England
was given a deadline of five years to achieve another monumental strike and RMS Britannia had been targeted even before the keel was laid. The plan was to plant a bomb in the engine room and other bombs in the bakery and laundry below the waterline with enough explosive power to tear holes in the side of the ship. The bombs would be detonated in
New York
harbor as the ship passed the Statue of Liberty en route to its berth at the Brooklyn Marine Terminal. Ripped apart and with hundreds dead or injured in the explosions and subsequent fire, the ship would sink with all aboard.

She learned that home-grown terrorists from the same cell that had carried out the June 2007 bombings in
London
were tasked with infiltrating the ship. It was a long and difficult assignment. On a passenger vessel the size of Britannia there are more than 1,200 crew members in 120 job classifications. It took three years to get four men, all radical Muslims, all skilled bomb makers, and all would-be martyrs with a deep hatred for the invaders of
Iraq
and
Afghanistan
, to find employment on RMS Britannia and smuggle aboard enough explosives in minute quantities and stockpile it. The last to be hired was Harry Karim, a detonations expert.

My working title is
The
Commodore's
Cufflinks
,
which is the name aboard Britannia for the twin replacement propellers the ship carries in case of loss or damage. Each prop is taller than a man and weighs almost two tons, their blades as sharp as knives. They are bolted to a forward area of deck seven, out of bounds to passengers, and are checked daily by one of the junior officers from the engine room.