“The man you shot. His name was Cooley. The guy wouldn’t squash a bug.”
Michael looked at Rand. “I’ll be fine. Just get that diesel moving.”
The drive to the channel took three hours. Lore barely uttered a word, and Michael made no effort to draw her out. It had been a hard morning for her—the end of a career, the death of a friend, a public humiliation—all at the hands of a man she had every reason to despise. She needed time to adjust, especially considering the things Michael was about to tell her.
They passed through the wires and made their way down the causeway. He brought the truck to a halt behind the machine shed at the edge of the quay. From here, the Bergensfjord wasn’t visible. He wanted a grand unveiling.
“So why am I here?”
Michael opened Lore’s door and unlocked her wrists. As she climbed out of the Humvee, he withdrew his sidearm and held it out to her.
“What’s this?”
“A gun, obviously.”
“And you’re giving it to me?”
“You get to pick. Shoot me, take the truck, you’ll be back in Kerrville by nightfall. Stay, and you’ll know what this is all about. But there are rules.”
Lore said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.
“Rule one is you can’t leave unless I allow it. You’re not a prisoner, you’re one of us. Once I tell you what’s happening, you’ll see the necessity. Rule two is I’m in charge. Speak your mind, but never question me in front of my men.”
She was looking at him as if he’d lost all sense. Still, the offer had to be made; the woman had to choose.
“Why in hell would I want to join you?”
“Because I’m going to show you something that will change everything you thought you knew about your life. And because, deep down, you trust me.”
She stared at him, then laughed. “The comedy never stops, does it?”
“I wasn’t fair to you, Lore. I’m not proud of what I did—you deserved better than that. But there was a reason. I said you haven’t changed, which is true. That’s why I brought you here. I need your help. I can see why you’d say no, but I hope you won’t.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Where exactly is Dunk?”
“This was never about the trade. I needed money and manpower. More than that, I needed secrecy. Five weeks ago, Dunk and all his lieutenants went into the channel. There is no trade anymore. Only me, and those loyal to me.” He nudged the gun toward her. “The mag is full, and there’s one in the pipe. What you do with it is up to you.”
Lore accepted the pistol. For a long moment she looked at it, until, with a heavy sigh, she slid it into the waistband of her jeans at the base of her spine.
“If it’s all right with you, I’m keeping this.”
“That’s fine. It’s yours now.”
“I must be out of my mind.”
“You made the right choice.”
“I regret it already. I’m only going to say this one time, but you really broke my heart, you know that?”
“I do. And I apologize.”
A brief silence. Then she nodded, just once: case closed. “So?”
“Brace yourself.”
He wanted Lore to see the Bergensfjord from below. That was the best way. Not just to see her but to experience her; only then could her meaning be grasped. They took the stairs to the floor of the dry dock. Michael waited as Lore approached the hull. The ship’s flanks were smooth and gracefully curved, every rivet tight. Beneath the Bergensfjord’s massive propellers, Lore came to a halt, gazing upward. Michael would let her speak first. Above them, the clang of footfalls, men calling to one another, the whine of a pneumatic drill, the ship’s vast square footage of metal amplifying every sound like a giant tuning fork.
“I knew there was a boat …”
Michael was standing beside her. She turned to face him. In her eyes a struggle was being waged.
“She’s called the Bergensfjord,” Michael said.
Lore spread her hands and looked around. “All this?”
“Yes. For her.”
Lore moved forward, extended her right hand over her head, and pressed it against the hull—just as Michael had done on the morning they’d drained the water from the dock, revealing the Bergensfjord in all her rusted, invincible glory. Lore held it there, then, as if startled, broke away.
“You’re scaring me,” she said.
“I know.”
“Please tell you were just keeping your hands busy. That I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”
“What do you think you’re seeing?”
“A lifeboat.”
Some color had drained from her face; she seemed uncertain where to direct her eyes.
“I’m afraid it is,” Michael said.
“You’re lying. You’re making this up.”
“It’s not good news—I’m sorry.”
“How could you possibly know?”
“There’s a lot to explain. But it’s going to happen. The virals are coming back, Lore. They were never really gone.”
“This is crazy.” Her confusion turned to anger. “You’re crazy. Do you know what you’re saying?”