Chapter 68: The Strait of Ghosts

 

The Strait of Gibraltar. 14 Kilometers of Darkness. 3:00 AM.

The boat was a coffin with an engine. It was designed for twenty people. There were fifty crammed inside. Syrians, Sub-Saharan Africans, families with nothing but the clothes on their backs. And three fugitives: A doctor, a maid, and a fallen king.

The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, diesel fumes, and fear. Waves smashed against the wooden hull, each impact sounding like a gunshot. Crack. Boom.

Sebastian sat squeezed between Dr. Braun and a young mother clutching a crying baby. His legs were screaming in agony from the cramped position. The damp cold was seeping into his bones. But he didn't complain. He couldn't. Not when he looked at the woman next to him. Her feet were wrapped in plastic bags. She had walked across a continent to get here.

"Water..." the woman whispered, her lips cracked.

Harper, sitting across from them, immediately handed over her canteen. "Here," she said gently. "Drink slowly."

The woman drank, her eyes filled with gratitude. She looked at Sebastian. "Husband?" she asked in broken English, pointing to Harper.

Sebastian looked at Harper. She was dirty, exhausted, holding the woman’s baby so she could drink. She looked like an angel in hell. "Yes," Sebastian whispered. "She is my wife."

"You are lucky," the woman smiled weakly. "She has kind eyes."

Sebastian looked down at his trembling hands. "Yes," he said. "I am lucky."

---

[The Failure]

Suddenly, the rhythmic chugging of the engine sputtered. Cough. Cough. Silence.

The boat drifted sideways, hit broadside by a massive wave. Screams erupted in the dark. The smuggler captain, a ruthless man with a scar, kicked the engine casing. "No! No!" he shouted in Arabic. "It's dead!"

The boat began to list. Without power, they would capsize in minutes. "Fix it!" Dr. Braun shouted, holding onto a railing.

"I can't!" The captain yelled back. "The fuel line is clogged! It's finished! We swim!"

"Swim?" Harper looked at the dark, freezing water. "There are babies on this boat! They will drown!"

The captain grabbed a life vest for himself. "Not my problem. Allah keep you."

He moved to jump. A cane blocked his path. Sebastian.

He had pulled himself up. He wasn't standing tall—the ceiling was too low—but his presence filled the small space. "Sit down," Sebastian growled. He didn't wait. He swung the cane, hitting the captain behind the knees. The man crumbled.

"Give me the toolkit," Sebastian ordered.

"You?" The captain spat. "Look at you, cripple. You can't even stand."

"I don't need to stand to fix a combustion engine," Sebastian threw his expensive jacket onto the oily floor. He rolled up his sleeves. "Braun, hold the flashlight. Harper, find me a piece of rubber tubing. Anything."

---

[The Engineer]

Sebastian crawled into the engine compartment. It was hot, loud, and reeked of gasoline. He saw the problem instantly. The fuel injector was shattered. It was a complex mechanical failure. Most people would give up. But Sebastian Sterling had built nuclear reactors. He had designed aero-engines. This was child's play.

"Tube!" he shouted. Harper ripped a piece of rubber seal from the window frame and handed it to him.

"Hold the light steady!" Sebastian yelled at Braun. His hands were shaking from his neurological condition. He couldn't thread the screw. Damn it. Not now.

He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He thought of Julian. He thought of the woman with the baby. Focus.

He opened his eyes. His hands steadied. He bypassed the injector, jury-rigging a direct line with the rubber seal and a piece of wire from his pocket. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But it was brilliant.

"Start it!" Sebastian shouted.

The captain hesitated, then pulled the cord. Sputter... Sputter... ROAR.

The engine came back to life. The boat lurched forward, cutting through the wave just before it could capsize them.

Cheers erupted in the hold. People were crying, hugging each other. Sebastian crawled out of the engine pit, covered in black grease and oil. He collapsed against the wall, wiping sweat from his eyes.

The woman with the baby reached out. She took a dirty rag and gently wiped a smudge of oil from Sebastian’s cheek. "Engineer," she whispered with reverence. "You save us."

Sebastian looked at the grease on his hands. He had closed billion-dollar deals. He had shaken hands with presidents. But he had never felt more proud than he did right now.

"Just doing my job," Sebastian muttered, his face turning red.

---

[The Shore of Lights]

Tarifa, Spain. 4:30 AM.

The lights of Europe appeared on the horizon. They didn't land at the port. The smuggler dropped them on a rocky beach a few miles east, disappearing back into the dark.

Fifty people scrambled onto the European soil. They kissed the ground. Dr. Braun helped Sebastian up the rocky slope. Harper carried their single bag.

They reached the top of a cliff. Below them lay the highway. Cars drove by, unaware of the ghosts watching them from the dark.

"We made it," Braun lit a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly. "Europe."

Sebastian looked back at the strait. He thought of the people on the boat. They would disappear into refugee camps, living in shadows. He realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn't special. He was just one of them.

"Where to now, Herr Sterling?" Braun exhaled smoke.

Sebastian looked North. "Berlin," he said. "We have a geneticist to find."

He looked at Harper. She was staring at the lights of a distant town, shivering in the wind. Sebastian took off his grease-stained shirt (he had a t-shirt underneath) and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled of diesel and sweat. To Harper, it smelled like safety.

"Let's go," Sebastian took her hand. "The night is still young."