to those who desperately needed it. As far as Heather was concerned, spiritual needs were just as important as medical ones. Maybe more.
As the ship began tacking north, she turned away from the rail. The ship wasn’t fancy, but she would be comfortable enough in her small cabin, though the heat would probably be stifling. The first mate, a man named Simmons, was making his way across the deck and paused, tipping his seaman’s hat politely. He was tall and lanky, with several days’ growth of beard on his face and scraggly black hair that looked to be in need of a good washing. He’d also been friendly and polite.
“You doing all right?” he asked, settling the hat back on top of his head. “Not the kind to get seasick, are you? If so, you’d best stay by the rail and watch the horizon. That’ll help.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “And I don’t get seasick. How long until we make Port Blair?”
“If the weather holds in the Strait, we should be there within a few days. This old tub isn’t fast, but she’s steady.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw contemplatively.
“And if it doesn’t?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Then we’ll get there when God says we should.”
She laughed lightly. “That will be true in any case, my friend.”
He laughed and headed toward the bow, while she moved on toward her room. Once in her cabin, Daniels settled onto her bunk, opened her briefcase and pulled out the small laptop. The computer was a necessity for keeping track of the numerous organizational details, but it was also her one indulgence allowing her to journal and communicate with family and friends. A small guilty pleasure filled her as the computer whirred to life and pictures from home popped up on her screen. She kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it against the picture of her family clumped together on the porch.
Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to send it until they reached Port Blair, Daniels began the draft of a letter to her father. They had a strange relationship that was complicated by the fact that just over eight years ago he’d been the President of the United States. Now he traveled all over the world giving lectures and playing the role of diplomat as much as a man who was known behind his back as President Iron Ass could do so. Jefferson Daniels didn’t particularly approve of her chosen vocation. Mentally, she corrected herself. He approved of the vocation—missionary work was a wonderfully valuable thing in the world. He didn’t approve of her being a missionary. The risks, he’d often told her, were far too great. She was his only child and he was overprotective, but she loved him dearly.
Daniels snuggled back into her bunk as the boat rocked its lullaby with the waves. Favor’s Pride wasn’t a particularly fancy ship, nor was she speedy. Most supply ships she’d been on weren’t. With a cruising speed of about twelve knots, no journey was going to be fast, but the steady thrum of the engines was reassuring, and the crew seemed capable. She scrolled through her supply lists and noted what she would need from the next group of missionaries that would be out the following month.
This time on the ship, she knew, was only a brief lull before the hard work really began, and it was important to get her rest. She shut her laptop down for the night and decided to doze until it was time for the evening meal.
FORTY HOURS INTO THE journey, more than halfway there, the sound of booted feet running on the metal deck caught Daniels’s attention. In her experience, sailors didn’t run unless something fairly dire was happening, and unless the weather had suddenly changed, the skies had been clear that morning. She closed her laptop and set it aside before moving to the small porthole that served as a window in her tiny cabin. Three more people ran past, and she turned and moved to the door. Her instinct was to throw it open and rush out to see what was going on, but she had spent enough time in dangerous places to know that caution would serve her better in this situation.
She peered through the porthole in the door and felt her entire body tense as two men with guns ran through the short hallway toward the bow of the boat. Both of them were wearing all-weather coats with a large patch on the back, depicting a great white shark with an eye patch curled tightly around a half skull sitting atop a pile of gold. A shudder of panic ran through her body as she realized that these could only be pirates of some kind. The Bay of Bengal had been a haven for pirate activity for years, and the countries affected appeared unable to do anything serious to curtail it.
Shots rang out and Daniels involuntarily flattened herself against the bulkhead. She needed to hide, and fast, before she was found. Running to her bunk, she grabbed her medical bag and the precious laptop, stuffing it in on top. She quickly slung it over her head, then grabbed a rubber band off the tiny table next to her bunk and pulled her long, brown hair into a ponytail, so it would be out of the way. Her mind raced as she considered ways that she might get off the boat and came up with only one idea. The pounding of footsteps on the metal plating of the deck outside, the shouting of orders and demands, made her heart race.
Daniels ducked low as she moved to the door. She heard more shouting as the pirates began rounding up the few passengers aboard, along with the still-struggling crew. Forcing herself to breathe, she waited for the sounds to move toward the bow, and when they did, she risked one peek through the porthole, then swung open the door. Her only chance was the stern, where an emergency launch boat was stored. She ran for it, trying to keep her steps as light as possible, but her feet contacting the metal rang out like a gong to her ears.
A shot tore through the air in reply to a sudden yell of anger, and Daniels felt her heart stutter in her chest. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw two men lifting a body over the railing. The first mate. She didn’t stop moving, because there was no place to hide, anyway, but the emergency launch was in sight.
She could hear their boots connecting with the deck and ignored the yelling once they spotted her. Daniels could see the boat, but knew she could never get it launched. She ran to the railing and looked down at the water being churned up from the propellers, just as the high-pitched whine of a bullet passed over her shoulders.
“That would not be a wise choice.”
She froze, slowly raising her hands. The low, accented baritone sent a chill up her spine. She turned to see a tall man with a scar across his cheek staring at her. He took a long drag on the cigarette he held. If he wasn’t trying to kill her, she might have thought he was handsome, but the gun pointed at her squashed that flickering thought.
Daniels took a deep breath and tried to remember her father’s advice about panic. “Being scared to death is fine,” he’d once said. “Just don’t let your enemies see it.”
She pushed her shoulders back and stared into the man’s dark brown eyes. “I don’t know, chopped up by a propeller seems a little more merciful than raped and tortured by thugs.”
For almost a full minute he simply looked at her, then a smile touched his lips. “It appears that our catch today is more lucky than we could’ve known. Some days the sea favors the fisherman more than the fish.” He offered an odd little half bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Daniels.”
“You know who I am,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “Then you know that harming me would be a disastrous choice on your part. The U.S. doesn’t take kindly to its citizens being kidnapped, especially ones that belonged to the first family.”
“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” he said. “It’s not profitable.”
“Tell that to the guy that was filled with holes and dumped over the rail.”
“An
