Episode 18 – The Trail of Shadows

MV Maverick Rose

May 21^st 2012 - 6:27 PM

The promenade glowed with the artificial warmth of chandeliers and neon, a floating city in the middle of dark waters. Passengers moved in clusters, pausing at shop windows and laughing too loudly over duty-free perfume counters. Zeke kept to the edges, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes never leaving the man in the navy cap.

He trailed at a deliberate distance, close enough to study the man’s rhythm, far enough to pass as another restless traveler. The stranger didn’t move like a tourist. He walked with purpose, halting at intervals only to check his watch, scanning the crowds as if waiting for a signal that never came.

Zeke slowed near a display of watches, tilting his head toward the glass as if choosing between silver and leather straps. In the reflection, he saw the man’s hand dip into his pocket. Something metallic flashed in his palm, something too small to make out, too deliberate to be harmless. Zeke’s chest tightened, but before he could fix his eyes, a surge of passengers spilled from the atrium, blocking his line of sight. By the time they cleared, the man was gone.

Zeke’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t lost him entirely as he caught the bob of that navy cap disappearing around a corner toward the midship stairwell. Zeke pushed off from the counter and followed, weaving between families and couples arm-in-arm.

The man moved faster now, no longer performing leisure. He slipped into a narrow side passage marked Crew Only, glancing once over his shoulder. Zeke froze at the edge. A passenger couldn’t just walk in there, not without raising alarms. But the door had closed around the stranger as if it belonged to him, as if someone on the inside had already opened it.

Zeke pressed a hand to the cool metal of the bulkhead, fighting the urge to rush in. He would need a plan. A pattern. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t working alone.

Later, his phone buzzed in his pocket as he lingered near the casino entrance, the neon glare of slot machines flashing across his face. He had only a sliver of time before the man in the navy cap vanished again, but he needed an ally. He pulled the phone out and dialed.

“Marisse.”

The voice on the other end was tight but awake, as though he’d been expecting the call. “Zeke? You caught something?”

“I’m on him,” Zeke murmured, eyes tracking the faint silhouette of the navy cap as it disappeared toward the casino bar. “Listen, the captain knows about me now. The coast guard brief went through. I’ve got the green light to keep digging.”

A pause, a hiss of breath. “Then it’s true,” Marisse said. “I thought I was losing it. I saw that man; navy cap, heavy stride following Rose earlier. I told myself it was just nerves. But if you’ve clocked him too---”

“It’s no coincidence,” Zeke cut in. “But I need focus to see if this merits a proper investigation, and I can’t focus if every tourist wants to play drinking buddy or ask me for a cigarette. Be my wingman tonight. Run interference. Anyone approaches, you keep them smiling and away from me. I’ll handle the man in the cap. What I don’t know yet is if he’s crew, passenger, or a ghost stowaway. That’s what I need to confirm.”

Marisse gave a low, nervous chuckle. “Half of me is glad, half terrified. Coast guard backing me up? That’s gratifying. But hearing you confirm my suspicions?” His voice dropped. “That terrifies me, Zeke.”

“Good. Stay chilled. Stay sharp,” Zeke said. Then, seeing his quarry lean casually at the bar, he pocketed the phone and stepped into the casino’s roar.

The casino pulsed with artificial day: the clatter of coins, the shrill celebration of jackpot bells, the hum of restless passengers pretending luck was real. Zeke’s eyes adjusted quickly, sweeping over roulette wheels, poker tables, the blur of cards flashing beneath practiced hands. And there, his man in the navy cap, leaning against the bar, still not gambling. Not even pretending to.

Zeke angled toward a blackjack table, slipping into the empty chair with an ease born of practice. The dealer gave him a standard smile.

“Buy-in, sir?”

“Just watching for now,” Zeke replied, eyes flicking across the felt to track the stranger at the bar.

The man leaned forward, exchanging quiet words with the bartender. Zeke saw it a folded slip of paper slid between napkins, palmed in the brief exchange. The bartender tucked it away, then finally poured a whiskey, acting as though it was nothing but a drink order.

Zeke lifted a hand, signaling a server. “Whiskey neat,” he said, anchoring himself to the table.

But then a movement at the edge of the table caught his attention. A man seated there, though young exuded a gambler’s poise. His chips stacked neatly in front of him, he wore the patient expression of someone who lived for cards, not spectacle. But what caused Zeke’s attention to sharpen was the bloodlust he sensed from the man. Vincent Viaqueza

Zeke barely had time to register him before another voice slid in from behind.

“Well, well. A hawk among pigeons.”

Voltaire Viaqueza. Standing, not sitting, his eyes sharper than his brother’s. Zeke quickly noticed that Voltaire’s drink was untouched on the rail behind him. His smile was pleasant enough, but it didn’t reach his gaze. “Tell me, stranger,” Voltaire went on, “what business brings you hovering around this ship like a hawk stalking prey? Surely it isn’t the cards.”

Zeke didn’t flinch. He turned, meeting Voltaire’s gaze evenly, his own mouth curling into the faintest smile. “That’s a curious question. Almost as curious as why you’ve had a full glass untouched for the last half hour. What’s your business here, Mr. Viaqueza? Because from where I sit, you’re looking for someone too.”

For a beat, the tension sharpened, the air between them taut as wire. Vincent, oblivious or pretending to be, flipped his cards and motioned for a hit.

Marisse appeared just then, slipping to Zeke’s side like the perfect cover. He caught the thread of conversation and let out a warm laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two of you were circling the same quarry.”

Voltaire’s smile deepened, easing a fraction. “And what would you know of quarry, friend?”

Marisse raised his hands, palms out. “Only that a man doesn’t watch a room that carefully unless he’s either hunting or hunted. But I doubt you two came aboard just for the view. You’re here for Don Enrique Villamor, right? Manila’s elusive investor.”

That got their attention. Vincent looked up sharply from his cards. Voltaire’s brow arched. “And how would you know that much of your big boss?”

Marisse leaned one elbow on the table, casual but precise. “Because I can read, and I’ve heard men in ports whisper about him. About the kind of money, he moves. And about men like you, pitching him business proposals.”

Vincent chuckled, shaking his head. “Clever. But proposals are just words. In our business, what matters are routes, margins, efficiency. Logistics.”

Marisse smiled faintly. “Routes I know. Fish ports teach you more about trucks and bottlenecks than any seminar. You want Villamor’s trust? Show him you can move product across Manila without bleeding time and pesos.”

Voltaire’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. “And you claim to know a route?”

Marisse pulled a napkin from the bar counter, flattening it with his palm. With a pen from his pocket, he sketched quickly, lines branching through the city grid. “Here. Early morning runs through Navotas, straight shot across the North Harbor access road. You beat dawn traffic, dodge the choke points. Less time, less fuel, more reliability.”

Vincent leaned forward, studying the napkin. Voltaire’s lips curved at last into something resembling genuine appreciation. He clapped Marisse on the shoulder.

“Congratulations,” Voltaire said. “You’ve just made a pitch to the Viaqueza twins. And unlike some, we value straight thinking over silver tongues. Consider this your first partnership offer.”

Marisse blinked, then grinned despite himself. “Well. That was faster than I expected.”

“And cleaner,” Vincent added, tossing his cards to the dealer and standing. “Villamor may be slippery, but he respects efficiency. If you can draw routes like that, we’ll find use for you.”

Voltaire slid the napkin into his pocket. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen. Ours just got more interesting.”

The twins drifted away together, their mirrored silhouettes vanishing into the blur of neon.

Zeke let out the breath he’d been holding, eyes darting back toward the bar. The man in the navy cap was on the move again, his drink untouched.

Zeke rose a beat later. The dealer called after him politely, “Sure you don’t want in, sir?”

“Maybe later,” Zeke muttered, already threading his way back into the promenade.

*******

The stranger turned into the ship’s grand theater, where a cabaret was beginning. Velvet curtains, golden light, sequins catching every spotlight. The crowd swelled with anticipation, passengers spilling in from every deck. Zeke cursed under his breath. A theater was the perfect place to vanish.

He followed, slipping into the dim.

“Ticket, sir?” an usher intercepted.

Zeke hesitated, then leaned close, lowering his voice. “Friend of mine went ahead, tall guy, navy cap. Can’t spot him in the crowd. Mind if I just peek?”

The usher frowned but eventually sighed. “Quickly.”

Zeke nodded in thanks, sliding into the shadows along the back row. His eyes darted across rows of passengers settling into their seats. For a sick moment, he thought he’d lost him completely. Then…there. A figure in the aisle seat, edge of the row, but his head was bowed not toward the stage, but toward the exit door. Waiting.

The lights dimmed. Music swelled. The man stood abruptly, ignoring the opening number, and slipped out.

Zeke cursed again, earning a sharp glance from an older woman nearby. “Excuse me,” she huffed.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Zeke whispered, darting after his quarry.

*******

Back in her stateroom, the air was thick with silence. Rose sat alone on the bed, Marisse’s journal closed tight on her lap, her fingers pressed hard against the cover as if keeping something inside. She didn’t read further. Not tonight.

Her gaze was distant, troubled, while somewhere above her deck, Zeke leaned against the cold steel wall, shaken by what he had witnessed.

Both sat in silence, both doubting the people they once trusted, both unaware of how near their separate threads had come to tangling into the same storm.

The ship sailed on, glittering, blind to the shadows stirring in its veins.

*******