Spoiler
The boat bobbed off the coast of Indonesia, riding the crests and troughs of the waves. The crew were asleep for the time being, the captain the only one on board largely awake. He adjusted the direction and decided to take a walk on the deck, moving out from his cabin and pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He walked slowly along the deck, looking at the packages loaded on cargo pallets.
Strawberries, from Australia, especially for some guest at a fancy hotel only a few kilometres away, a stupid voyage, but very profitable none the less. He moved over to the side of the ship, leaning out over the edge to ash off his cigarette. The water was calm, barely moving at all, and so serene, nothing in the world could beat this.
From the other side of the ship, a hand came out of the water, followed by four more, all grabbing the side of the small ship and hoisting black, wetsuit clad bodies from the water. The five men came up over the edge, all holding weapons, and removed the breathing apparatus from their faces and backs. They swept across the boat, silenced rifles pushed up against their shoulders and eyes straight down the barrels.
The captain heard something, he was sure of it. The clang of something metal hitting the deck, not unlike when his men dropped the oxygen tanks. He threw his cigarette out into the ocean and walked back across deck, past the crates of strawberries and around the main cabin. There he found five tanks, all with breathing masks hanging off them. He turned to call out-
-and the first of the men grabbed his face, burying a knife in his jugular vein and cutting off blood flow to the brain. As the captain died, he was thrown over board and the five swept into the cabin.
In the crew’s quarters, one young deckhand had seen everything, and he jumped from his bed and ran quietly to the kitchen. He grabbed the biggest knife he could find and slipped back into his bedroom as he heard footsteps in the cabin. He lay down on the bed, facing away from the door.
The five soldiers had split up, one to each of the bedrooms. The youngest of the group took the last room on the left, and found that there was only a young boy, maybe seventeen, lying on the bed. As he drew his blade and stepped closer the boat rocked slightly, unbalancing him only for a moment, and the boy snapped up, thrusting the large kitchen knife into the assailant’s thigh.
He yelled, falling backwards and grabbing at the blade. The boy ran past the man and out into the corridor where another identical man was waiting, weapon raised. The boy stopped looking into the man’s grey, lifeless eyes, and pleaded for his life. The gun responded and the boy dropped backwards, dead before he hit the ground.
“Clear,” called the man in the hallway.
“Clear” responded three others.
“I’m injured,” said the last man, crawling from the door and out into the corridor.
“Let’s stitch you up,” said the leader.
Strawberries, from Australia, especially for some guest at a fancy hotel only a few kilometres away, a stupid voyage, but very profitable none the less. He moved over to the side of the ship, leaning out over the edge to ash off his cigarette. The water was calm, barely moving at all, and so serene, nothing in the world could beat this.
From the other side of the ship, a hand came out of the water, followed by four more, all grabbing the side of the small ship and hoisting black, wetsuit clad bodies from the water. The five men came up over the edge, all holding weapons, and removed the breathing apparatus from their faces and backs. They swept across the boat, silenced rifles pushed up against their shoulders and eyes straight down the barrels.
The captain heard something, he was sure of it. The clang of something metal hitting the deck, not unlike when his men dropped the oxygen tanks. He threw his cigarette out into the ocean and walked back across deck, past the crates of strawberries and around the main cabin. There he found five tanks, all with breathing masks hanging off them. He turned to call out-
-and the first of the men grabbed his face, burying a knife in his jugular vein and cutting off blood flow to the brain. As the captain died, he was thrown over board and the five swept into the cabin.
In the crew’s quarters, one young deckhand had seen everything, and he jumped from his bed and ran quietly to the kitchen. He grabbed the biggest knife he could find and slipped back into his bedroom as he heard footsteps in the cabin. He lay down on the bed, facing away from the door.
The five soldiers had split up, one to each of the bedrooms. The youngest of the group took the last room on the left, and found that there was only a young boy, maybe seventeen, lying on the bed. As he drew his blade and stepped closer the boat rocked slightly, unbalancing him only for a moment, and the boy snapped up, thrusting the large kitchen knife into the assailant’s thigh.
He yelled, falling backwards and grabbing at the blade. The boy ran past the man and out into the corridor where another identical man was waiting, weapon raised. The boy stopped looking into the man’s grey, lifeless eyes, and pleaded for his life. The gun responded and the boy dropped backwards, dead before he hit the ground.
“Clear,” called the man in the hallway.
“Clear” responded three others.
“I’m injured,” said the last man, crawling from the door and out into the corridor.
“Let’s stitch you up,” said the leader.
Spoiler
He didn’t mind flying; it was relaxing, sitting in a plane for a few hours, usually just dozing off or reading. A good time to think, under normal circumstances, but the little girl in 23-E was beginning to get on his nerves, asking every question that popped into her head. Daddy, how does a plane go up? Daddy, will we crash? Daddy, where does the water from the toilet go when you flush?
Jai Colt Jnr. leant back in his chair and closed his eyes as ‘Daddy’ began to respond to a question he didn’t know the answer to. He couldn’t think why he had chosen this assignment, out of all the others. He could have been at a stakeout in Russia now but no, he was flying economy to a tiny Philippine island.
But he was not your everyday frequent flyer. US Navy SEAL Captain Jai Colt Jnr., callsign Joker, had selected to run a security detail for none other than the President himself. Colt had always planned on being a SEAL, like his father, who had moved further up the ranks now. His mother had died when he was eight and Colt had been sent off to military school, joining the Navy and becoming a SEAL at the age of 23.
After commanding his own SEAL unit, SEAL Team Sigma, in a very messy and well known incident in Somalia one year ago, Colt had been given his choice of assignment, and he had picked this one. A ‘vacation’ of sorts from all the battlefield action he had gotten recently, but now he realised he liked that more.
So now he headed off to Ex-Isle Resort, a five star, state of the art hotel on a tiny island off the coast of the Philippines. He, and his team, were posing as European tourists staying at Ex-Isle, but were actually the security detail for the President, and the M9 Beretta in the small of his back reminded him of that.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please put on your seatbelts as we are preparing to descend. We will have a short delay on the runway due to Air Force One landing just a short while ago. Thankyou,” said the pilot over the PA system. Great, thought Colt, now he had wait for the person he was meant to be guarding. The plane began to descend and hit the tarmac with a small bump. As the plane taxied along the runway Colt spotted Air Force One and the President leaving the aircraft with his Secret Service entourage in tow.
Colt got up from his seat and shuffled out from the plane with his carry-on luggage. The group from the plane walked along together and Colt realised how much hotter it was on this island than back at his home. They came to the arrivals building, walking in single file through the air-conditioned structure. They came to the security clearance and Colt threw his backpack onto the conveyer belt that ran through the x-ray machine.
He strolled through the metal detector, thanking the padded Gore-Tec holster hiding his pistol from the machine. As he walked through the hyper-modern building he looked around, noticed one of his team members, Lieutenant Commander Perry ‘Stretch’ Horner, come through the metal detector and take a seat in the arrivals lounge. Colt walked over to Stretch, who was wearing a shirt and board shorts, and sat down.
“Well aren’t you looking snazzy, Joker,” said Stretch, mocking Colt with a hearty laugh. He had to admit, the worst about having to look like a European tourist, was having to look like a European tourist. Colt wore a bucket hat; cheap chromed sunglasses; a floral shirt; board shorts two sizes too small and sandals.
“Yeah, shut up,” he said, “Where’s Brooklyn and Dutch?”
“They’re already gone, came in about half an hour ago then left, they’ve been a day already,” said Stretch. Perry Horner was the team’s long rifleman, graduated from Rifle School with near perfect marks. He was tall and lanky, about five-foot-ten and one-forty-five pounds, with short spiky hair that exaggerated his thin facial features.
“Well let’s go then,” said Colt, and both men hoisted their bags onto their shoulders and walked outside. The main form of travel on the island was golf buggy, considering the small size of the area; cars would have just been inefficient. Colt and Stretch hired a buggy from the airport and drove quickly through the roads flanked by rainforest on either side.
After driving for ten minutes, they came to the Ex-Isle Hotel, the main attraction of the island. It was huge, reaching up into the sky for forty floors, external elevators ran up and down the side of the building, ferrying visitors to and fro. In between each floor was a lattice like wall, crisscrossing concrete that had an assortment of native flora growing on it. Colt looked in awe as he entered the foyer.
Inside, there was a giant, man made waterfall to his right, flanked either side by men’s and women’s toilets. He noticed that the doors to the rooms actually wrapped around the bottom floor so that the building was actually a forty storey ‘O’ with the foyer in the middle. He walked up to the arrivals desk as Stretch looked at some souvenirs.
“Hello,” he said in a foul French accent, “I have a booking for the following five days.”
“Hello sir,” said the young receptionist, “Your name?”
“Louis Delacroix,” he said as Stretch gave his false name in an English accent to the receptionist one desk over.
“Welcome to Ex-Isle Mr. Delacroix, if you are staying in room number 3812, room 12, floor 38,” she said, handing him the key, “And it would seem you are right above the President of the United States of America!” she added excitedly.
“Merci.” Colt turned and walked to the elevators, hitting the up button and holding the doors as Stretch came in. They rode to floor 36, and Stretch got off, he would be staying in the room directly underneath the President. Colt got off at floor 37 and walked to room 3711, the room one down from the President.
“Housekeeping,” he said as he knocked on the door. It was pulled open by a young man, shaving cream on his face and a towel around his hips.
“Oh, Joker, I thought it woulda’ been someone important,” said Lieutenant Alexander ‘Brooklyn’ Lawson.
“Yeah well you’d be hoping it wasn’t some crazy bastard with a gun or you’d have died a very embarrassing death,” said Colt, walking into the room while Brooklyn finished shaving. Brooklyn Lawson was part of Colt’s SEAL team, put in after serving alongside him in Somalia. He was short, about five-five, with European features and big, brown eyes. He was called Brooklyn due to the fact he always countered with, “But you’s know I was born in Jersey!”
“How’s the security room?” Colt asked, referring to the massive control room housed on the top floor of the hotel. Brooklyn had been up there the night before.
“Good Cap, she’s locked down tight, hard bitch to get into. They run all the electronic locks from up there, same with the camera’s and lifts.”
Colt nodded, thanked Brooklyn and left, moving to the next room, 3712. He knocked three times, fast, then once after a pause. The door came open and he was hustled inside by a Secret Service agent. He walked though the room, which was slightly more luxurious than the one next door, with a plasma television and Jacuzzi. He came into the bedroom and saw a man, wearing a charcoal suit, facing away, looking out over the ocean.
“Mister President,” Colt said coolly.
“Ah, Joker,” he said, turning on his heels and offering his hand, “I trust you had a pleasant flight?’
“Pleasant enough,” responded Colt, shaking the man’s hand, “We’re set up next door on both sides, I’m above you and Horner is in the room below you sir.”
“Very well, good job. Why don’t you go get some rest? You look a little tired.” suggested the President. Colt agreed, leaving the suite and heading back to the elevators. He looked out over the ocean as it rose, it was simply breathtaking.
Colt found his room, 3812, and went inside, falling asleep almost as soon as he hit the bed.
Jai Colt Jnr. leant back in his chair and closed his eyes as ‘Daddy’ began to respond to a question he didn’t know the answer to. He couldn’t think why he had chosen this assignment, out of all the others. He could have been at a stakeout in Russia now but no, he was flying economy to a tiny Philippine island.
But he was not your everyday frequent flyer. US Navy SEAL Captain Jai Colt Jnr., callsign Joker, had selected to run a security detail for none other than the President himself. Colt had always planned on being a SEAL, like his father, who had moved further up the ranks now. His mother had died when he was eight and Colt had been sent off to military school, joining the Navy and becoming a SEAL at the age of 23.
After commanding his own SEAL unit, SEAL Team Sigma, in a very messy and well known incident in Somalia one year ago, Colt had been given his choice of assignment, and he had picked this one. A ‘vacation’ of sorts from all the battlefield action he had gotten recently, but now he realised he liked that more.
So now he headed off to Ex-Isle Resort, a five star, state of the art hotel on a tiny island off the coast of the Philippines. He, and his team, were posing as European tourists staying at Ex-Isle, but were actually the security detail for the President, and the M9 Beretta in the small of his back reminded him of that.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please put on your seatbelts as we are preparing to descend. We will have a short delay on the runway due to Air Force One landing just a short while ago. Thankyou,” said the pilot over the PA system. Great, thought Colt, now he had wait for the person he was meant to be guarding. The plane began to descend and hit the tarmac with a small bump. As the plane taxied along the runway Colt spotted Air Force One and the President leaving the aircraft with his Secret Service entourage in tow.
Colt got up from his seat and shuffled out from the plane with his carry-on luggage. The group from the plane walked along together and Colt realised how much hotter it was on this island than back at his home. They came to the arrivals building, walking in single file through the air-conditioned structure. They came to the security clearance and Colt threw his backpack onto the conveyer belt that ran through the x-ray machine.
He strolled through the metal detector, thanking the padded Gore-Tec holster hiding his pistol from the machine. As he walked through the hyper-modern building he looked around, noticed one of his team members, Lieutenant Commander Perry ‘Stretch’ Horner, come through the metal detector and take a seat in the arrivals lounge. Colt walked over to Stretch, who was wearing a shirt and board shorts, and sat down.
“Well aren’t you looking snazzy, Joker,” said Stretch, mocking Colt with a hearty laugh. He had to admit, the worst about having to look like a European tourist, was having to look like a European tourist. Colt wore a bucket hat; cheap chromed sunglasses; a floral shirt; board shorts two sizes too small and sandals.
“Yeah, shut up,” he said, “Where’s Brooklyn and Dutch?”
“They’re already gone, came in about half an hour ago then left, they’ve been a day already,” said Stretch. Perry Horner was the team’s long rifleman, graduated from Rifle School with near perfect marks. He was tall and lanky, about five-foot-ten and one-forty-five pounds, with short spiky hair that exaggerated his thin facial features.
“Well let’s go then,” said Colt, and both men hoisted their bags onto their shoulders and walked outside. The main form of travel on the island was golf buggy, considering the small size of the area; cars would have just been inefficient. Colt and Stretch hired a buggy from the airport and drove quickly through the roads flanked by rainforest on either side.
After driving for ten minutes, they came to the Ex-Isle Hotel, the main attraction of the island. It was huge, reaching up into the sky for forty floors, external elevators ran up and down the side of the building, ferrying visitors to and fro. In between each floor was a lattice like wall, crisscrossing concrete that had an assortment of native flora growing on it. Colt looked in awe as he entered the foyer.
Inside, there was a giant, man made waterfall to his right, flanked either side by men’s and women’s toilets. He noticed that the doors to the rooms actually wrapped around the bottom floor so that the building was actually a forty storey ‘O’ with the foyer in the middle. He walked up to the arrivals desk as Stretch looked at some souvenirs.
“Hello,” he said in a foul French accent, “I have a booking for the following five days.”
“Hello sir,” said the young receptionist, “Your name?”
“Louis Delacroix,” he said as Stretch gave his false name in an English accent to the receptionist one desk over.
“Welcome to Ex-Isle Mr. Delacroix, if you are staying in room number 3812, room 12, floor 38,” she said, handing him the key, “And it would seem you are right above the President of the United States of America!” she added excitedly.
“Merci.” Colt turned and walked to the elevators, hitting the up button and holding the doors as Stretch came in. They rode to floor 36, and Stretch got off, he would be staying in the room directly underneath the President. Colt got off at floor 37 and walked to room 3711, the room one down from the President.
“Housekeeping,” he said as he knocked on the door. It was pulled open by a young man, shaving cream on his face and a towel around his hips.
“Oh, Joker, I thought it woulda’ been someone important,” said Lieutenant Alexander ‘Brooklyn’ Lawson.
“Yeah well you’d be hoping it wasn’t some crazy bastard with a gun or you’d have died a very embarrassing death,” said Colt, walking into the room while Brooklyn finished shaving. Brooklyn Lawson was part of Colt’s SEAL team, put in after serving alongside him in Somalia. He was short, about five-five, with European features and big, brown eyes. He was called Brooklyn due to the fact he always countered with, “But you’s know I was born in Jersey!”
“How’s the security room?” Colt asked, referring to the massive control room housed on the top floor of the hotel. Brooklyn had been up there the night before.
“Good Cap, she’s locked down tight, hard bitch to get into. They run all the electronic locks from up there, same with the camera’s and lifts.”
Colt nodded, thanked Brooklyn and left, moving to the next room, 3712. He knocked three times, fast, then once after a pause. The door came open and he was hustled inside by a Secret Service agent. He walked though the room, which was slightly more luxurious than the one next door, with a plasma television and Jacuzzi. He came into the bedroom and saw a man, wearing a charcoal suit, facing away, looking out over the ocean.
“Mister President,” Colt said coolly.
“Ah, Joker,” he said, turning on his heels and offering his hand, “I trust you had a pleasant flight?’
“Pleasant enough,” responded Colt, shaking the man’s hand, “We’re set up next door on both sides, I’m above you and Horner is in the room below you sir.”
“Very well, good job. Why don’t you go get some rest? You look a little tired.” suggested the President. Colt agreed, leaving the suite and heading back to the elevators. He looked out over the ocean as it rose, it was simply breathtaking.
Colt found his room, 3812, and went inside, falling asleep almost as soon as he hit the bed.
It flows nicely and I could picture everything you said.
you have a great way of creating suspence with your shorts sentences like the "scene" where Colt discovered the fate of his arm, and now here with the president. Keep it up!