Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian Shaw
I awoke with a thundering headache, and I couldn’t tell the difference between the roar in my brain and the roar of the wind outside. Cracking open my dry lips and grabbing a hand to my head, I pushed to a seated position. My head was swimming, and I groaned with pain and nausea.
“You think you have it bad,” I recognized Mark’s voice from somewhere beside me.
I managed to blink through the pain blanketing my attention to see Mark sitting in one of the god-awful old brown leather seats.
“Did you radio in help?” I croaked out.
Mark shook his head. “He took the guns, took our radios, even took my watch.”
“How’s Anderson?” I asked, managing to pull myself to my feet, though I had to latch a hand to the side of the kitchen bench to keep steady.
“Fine, though he still has the same headache we do.” Mark massaged his brow.
“Fuck.” I shook my head several times.
“I can’t believe he did this,” Mark said, voice low.
I could; Maratova had always been a loose cannon. When I’d come to my senses after almost getting Amanda killed on our way to the lighthouse, I’d called the army and let them know where we were on the express condition Mark was to lead the team. I wasn’t going to let Maratova call this one, but then again, Maratova obviously had different plans.
I couldn’t believe this. I blinked hard at the pain still snaking its way through my brain. I’d thought I was doing the right thing by Amanda. I’d come to my senses, realized how much of a bastard I was being, and I’d called the army here because there was no other way I could see of getting her out of this safely. Look where it had gotten me? Amanda was probably….
“Fuck,” I spat.
“He even cut the phone lines, smashed up all the radio equipment,” Mark stretched his neck, “Thorough.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“We’ll get out of here soon,” Mark said, “The storm can’t last too much longer.”
I turned my head, no matter how aching it was and how horrible the stabbing pain that shot down my back felt, and I stared out the kitchen window. The storm was still in full swing: the clouds outside were as dark and dangerous as before, and I could still feel the barely perceptible shakes of the lighthouse as wave after wave battered its side. While Mark was right on some level, and the storm would subside, it wouldn’t be quick enough for me. The only thing I wanted to do was find Maratova, find Amanda, and fix it all.
Amanda had a finite amount of time left. She’d lied for me. Goddammit, after everything I’d done to her, she’d lied for me and had put her life on the line. But when Maratova found out they were just that – lies – I didn’t want to think about what he would do next. That was why I had to get to her. I knew where she was; back where this thing had begun 24 hours ago.
I allowed myself to be drawn in by the view of the storm outside, and I pursed my lips in thought as I stared at the driving rain, listened to the howling wind, and felt the pounding of the waves. I knew what I had to do; there was only one thing for it.
“What are you thinking?” Mark asked.
Was it that obvious? “That maybe the storm—” I began.
“You go out there, you drown,” Mark said quick and firm.
He didn’t know that for sure. Amanda and I had managed to get in here in the first place, though it had almost killed us both. I owed it to her to try again.
“No,” Mark said again.
He’d always been a good judge of character. We’d always been friends; I couldn’t count the number of crazy missions I’d been on with him. Back in the good old days, before Maratova had joined the team. Mark wasn’t even technically on the unit that dealt with my particular specialty of finding and retrieving ‘treasure’ anymore. He’d moved on, moved up the ladder, and the worst possible replacement – Maratova – had taken his command.
He’d always been dodgy, god dammit, I had always been able to see that. Seriously, if there was anyone I would be suspicious of going off the reservation, it would be Maratova.
“You aren’t going, and that’s in order,” Mark said, voice firm.
“I think you’ll find I am a lawyer, not a soldier, and you can’t order me around.” I offered a wan smile.
“Sebastian,” his voice was drawn out and low with warning.
I put my hands up. “Look, technically she’s my client, and I have a duty.”
“A duty to drown in a storm?” Mark replied automatically, face stony.
“A duty to try not to drown in a storm while trying even harder to get her the fuck back from Maratova.” I straightened up.
“Don’t do it,” Mark tried one more time.
“I think you’ll find that us lawyer types are accomplished at saving our butts.” I headed to the stairs.
Mark rose from his seat.
“You aren’t coming,” I said automatically, “And you sure as hell aren’t going to order Anderson to come along, because this is suicide.”
“Then why the hell are you going?” Mark tried.
I didn’t have a good answer for that. I didn’t want Mark to risk himself over something that was possibly the stupidest plan in the entire world. “Look, I need you here, I need you to wait it out and go and call the cavalry.”
“We don’t even know where they’re going,” Mark said.
I hesitated. I knew exactly where they were going. Mark may have been whacked unconscious before Amanda had schemed up her ingenious plan, but I hadn’t been. They were going back to Arthur Stanton’s manor.
That wasn’t why I was hesitating. The reason I was hesitating was because I was a bastard. If, somehow, I managed to get there, save Amanda, and deal with Maratova, then I would be able to continue my treasure hunt in peace.
….
No. I had to do the right thing this time.
“They’re going back to Arthur Stanton’s place; Amanda managed to convince him that the globes are back there.”
“Convince him?” Mark asked.
“They aren’t there,” I said, voice tense.
“Shit, Maratova will—” Mark began.
A raised a hand to silence him. I didn’t need anyone to paint the picture I was already painting in complete and horrible details for myself. That was why I was going to stop this. That was why I was going to brave the storm outside, drive like a maniac, and fix everything I had fucked up in the first place.
“I will call the army when I get out of here; my phone’s back in my car,” I said with a nod, “But if I don’t—”
“I’ll say something nice at your funeral, and I will call them myself,” Mark said with a low nod.
Right, well this was it then. I, the bastard, was growing up.