The Guardian's Wildchild (11 page)

“A gift for you, sir, I think,” the doctor said.

He shoved the envelope across the table, and it easily skidded across the polished, dark walnut and came to rest in front of Sam. The captain smiled, suspecting the officers were playing a joke.

“So, is this going to blow up or just make a mess of my breakfast?” He grinned.

The men and women laughed. His staff had been known to play the odd prank on each other, and he’d come to appreciate their sense of humor.

“You won’t believe your eyes, sir. It’s no joke, I promise,” said the doctor.

Gingerly, Sam picked up the envelope. It had no weight to indicate anything inside. He opened the flap, taking care that it was pointed away from him. Before continuing, he stopped briefly and checked the expression on the faces of everyone at the table. They appeared to be only eagerly interested in seeing the surprise gift.

Sam cautiously peeked into the envelope. At first glance, it appeared empty. Then he saw it. Handling the envelope as though it contained a fragile piece of porcelain, he allowed the contents to slowly slip out onto the table in front of him. It was a large tail feather, brick red, measuring about fourteen inches long. It was beautiful, with dark brown bands around the red shaft. Murmurs of wonder rumbled around the table. For a moment, everyone gazed at the feather in disbelief.

“What’s the connection, Doctor?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that. You see, my staff found it near the prisoner’s bed this morning. It was just lying there on the floor. It wasn’t there when we left her with you last night. I’m certain of that.”

Moon looked at the feather more closely. “Looks like a hawk’s feather. My grandparents used to keep one on the mantle. It was considered sacred. Had a lot of power, or so they said.” Commander Moon smiled at Sam. “You got a hawk hiding in your private quarters, Sam?”

Everyone chuckled.

Sam picked up the feather and inspected it closely. Turning it over, he noticed it was in nearly perfect condition.

“So, no one here knows anything about this?” He twirled it in the air.

“No, sir,” was the reply from everyone.

Sam was more than just a little concerned. He stood up. The tone of his voice was commanding.

“Does anyone have any theories about how it could’ve gotten into the infirmary?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Not a clue, sir” said Carla Smart.

“Are we sure it’s real? Nowadays, it’s hard to tell the real stuff from the synthetic products,” another officer commented.

“Let’s put it under our scanner here and see what the computer has to say about it,” said Casey Cropley. He positioned the feather carefully on the scanner and activated the unit. The computer issued a light beam onto the feather.

“Feather identified. Red-tailed hawk. Known to have once inhabited a vast range of territory. Breeding territory in Canada’s Prairie Provinces ranging from the north to approximately fifty-six degrees latitude in the east, but in the west extended north to western Mackenzie and Yukon. Known to winter in southern states and Central America. Females larger than males. Bird of prey, raptor. Now on endangered species list; sightings are rare and must be reported to local authorities.”

The computer played a short video on the wall monitor showing the bird in flight, gliding between mountain peaks and swiftly skimming over a meadow, grabbing a small rodent with its talons. They heard the bird’s warning call. They saw close ups of the bird’s body, glistening brown feathers, red tail, and the stare of its large yellow eyes.

Sam requested the computer to identify this particular feather’s host. The computer sent another scanning beam over the feather.

“Recently removed from living female bird. Age of feather one thousand, five hundred and eleven years.”

Everyone in the room gasped. Sam wondered if the computer could be wrong. He walked over to the scanner and, picking up the feather, inspected it again. It didn’t appear frayed or damaged. He placed it back on the scanner.

“Computer, verify feather’s age. How long ago was the feather shed? Identify bird’s age.”

Again the computer scanned the feather. “Age of the feather is one thousand, five hundred and eleven years. Feather shed within the last twenty-four hours. Unable to determine age of female bird. Program not compatible with samples older than two thousand years.”

The officers looked at each other in shock. All but Sam were speechless.

Sam ordered, “Computer, verify. Is the feather from a bird older than two thousand years?”

“Affirmative.”

“Computer, save data to Captain Waterhouse’s computer under file ‘Prisoner Sidney.’”

“Save complete.”

The ship’s computer programs were without fault. They had been tested regularly. The officers looked to Sam for his reaction. He paced, silent and deep in thought.

Sam seldom saw birds other than the usual gulls and such that eked out a marginal survival on scraps near fishing communities. Birds of all kinds were rare or had become extinct. Sightings of raptors in particular were almost non-existent since their food sources had disappeared or became contaminated. Still, he had the feeling he’d seen a hawk, a long time ago. The memory returned to him in a flash — the beautiful bird that soared above the cliffs at his mystery island.
That was probably a year ago,
he thought. He felt a chill over his entire body. The hair on his arms stood on end.

Sam had to know without any shadow of a doubt that the computer program wasn’t providing foul data. He had to laugh at the unintended pun. It had been a long time since he felt humor rise out of his misery. He turned to his officers.

“There will be no discussion of this outside this room. Cropley, run a check on this computer and all its programs. Find out if there are any glitches.”

The meeting was adjourned, but the officers were reluctant to leave the matter up in the air, as one had put it. Even Sam had to chuckle along with his officers. It was rapidly becoming a rather different day. His officers on the
Nonnah
were known to be more relaxed than those he’d worked with on the
Intrepid
. Life on this merchant ship was far removed from that on a heavily armed aircraft carrier.

Sam picked up the feather and carefully placed it back into the envelope. He caught the eyes of Lieutenant Bridges, Commander Moon, and Dr. Duncan and motioned them to follow him into his office. Bridges was the officer who took on a variety of duties on the
Nonnah
. For the most part, he oversaw personnel needs, food, security, loading and unloading of the cargo, scheduled shifts, and generally made sure the personnel followed protocol and orders. He was also the unfortunate officer to have the duty of carrying out Sam’s execution orders. The three men stood with Sam and became obviously tense, standing stiffly.

“Captain, is this about the prisoner?” asked Moon.

“Yes, Rhett. All of us here know when a prisoner arrives on this ship what the end result will be. I want to make sure you know this prisoner is no different. Also, my orders are to ensure that the reason the prisoner is on this ship is kept strictly confidential. As a result, yesterday’s order of no official communication with the prisoner stands. No one is to speak to her other than the medical staff and yourselves. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied simultaneously.

“You’re not to interrogate her. Treat her well and with respect. I want her to feel comfortable, even at ease. If she asks you questions concerning her status as a prisoner, simply tell her that I’ll answer those questions. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Bridges, drop by her room a few times a day at random. Make it look like the presence of security. Tell her we’re just making sure no one bothers her. I’ll interrogate her up to three times a day.

“When you feel the prisoner is ready to leave the infirmary, Doctor, she’ll be confined to the usual locked quarters. When she becomes more mobile, Bridges, you’ll need to assign security personnel to stand guard at her door. Doctor, let me know when that becomes necessary.”

Dr. Duncan frowned. “You plan to wrestle the information out of her, Captain? Drugs don’t work on her.”

“No. My tactics will be the opposite of Butchart’s. In other words, I plan to be nice and conduct myself as a gentleman. I’ll sweet talk her if that’ll get what I want. After a few details are filled in, we’re done with her.”

Sam entered a security code on his desk computer panel, and a drawer moved forward. He placed the envelope containing the feather inside and closed the drawer.

“Any questions?”

They had none. The officers left Sam’s office much more somber than they’d felt immediately after the breakfast meeting.

Bridges spoke as the door closed behind them. “Hope to hell we get this over with soon!”

8. An Old Mexican’s Crystal

Afternoon, July 5, Acapulco

As Acapulco’s harbor came into view, Sam went into the navigation room to watch the navigation officer and her crew maneuver the ship beside the others anchored near the docks. It was a busy day. Many of the other ships were under repair as a result of the previous night’s storm.

Sam still didn’t understand how the
Nonnah
had escaped the violent winds. Again, the hair on his arms stood up. He’d had enough of mystery. He was anxious to disembark and relax in the open-air markets of Acapulco where he planned to buy something for his boys. It would be a welcomed treat to clear his mind of business.

Cargo was offloaded, and Admiral Garland’s sealed package was stowed in the vault. Parts arrived for the
Nonnah
’s engine, received by the anxious Robert John. Sam disembarked by 1400 hours and headed toward the streets lined with shops. He went in search of small gifts and a change of pace. Walking leisurely in the hot afternoon sun, Sam found the town almost deserted with the business people taking their traditional siesta during the hottest part of the day.

Shops were closed except for a few tourist markets and cafés near the docks. Colorful Mexican blankets draped over supports, and huge sombreros lazily waved with the passing of a breeze. He heard only an occasional murmur from the few people sitting along the sidewalks. Men and children here and there leaned against a wall or dozed in the shade of their small tourist stands. They were oblivious to the flies buzzing around and unconcerned with strangers passing by.

Sam found an open tourist shop packed full of inconsequential items — every sort of memorabilia was either piled on shelves or hung from rafters. Although the items appeared trivial and cheap, they were what he was looking for. In a reed basket, he found a collection of key rings. Two were just what he knew Simon and Nathan would enjoy. One key ring medallion was embossed with a three mast sailing ship, much like the type of ship Nathan loved to watch in the sailing races. The other medallion was embossed with a replica of the car their mother had driven — the Indigo. Simon loved that car and dearly wanted ownership once he was of age.

Sam had the gifts wrapped, wrote the admiral’s address on the package, and paid for the postage. He was satisfied, but reluctant to return to the ship. The Mexican sidewalks invited him to stroll further away from the docks. He didn’t resist. After several blocks, he found a small outdoor café where he ordered a cold, refreshing drink of spicy tea and sat down at a table in the shade of a tree.

It was almost 1600 hours, and people were beginning to emerge from the back of the shops. Children started scurrying about. Still, an almost dreamy calmness persisted. There was no rush, no expectation, and no worry of what the next moment would bring.

The shopkeepers, parents, and children simply accepted each moment and were in no hurry to anticipate or prepare for the next. The atmosphere was a continual state of grace. Sam listened and drank his tea. In the quiet afternoon heat, for just a moment, he thought he heard the sound of bells in the distance. Serenity drew him into a place he’d seldom been. It was soothing, tempting him to stay too long. Yet his watch told him it was time to return to duty.

He was about to leave when he noticed an elderly Mexican man slowly making his way down the sidewalk. The man appeared frail, gingerly taking small steps, aided by his weathered, wooden cane. His long gray hair was tied in braids that hung loosely in front of his shoulders. He made his way to the café and asked the waiter for an herbal tea.

The man surveyed the empty tables. He spotted Sam and shuffled his way over.

“May I sit with you, sir?” asked the elderly gent.

Sam was perplexed by the man’s request, but stood up and offered a chair. “Your company is welcome, sir.”

The waiter had followed him, bringing the herbal tea. “Is there anything else you’d like, Señor Sanchez?”

“No, Señor. Gracias.”

“How is Señora Sanchez?” the waiter asked.

“She’s well. I’ll tell her you were asking of her.” The man’s face was that of an ancient sage, tanned and creased with lines. The eyes, however, conveyed both wisdom and youth, twinkling with mischief. He smiled at Sam.