The players at the blackjack table startled at the thump, and the sudden appearance of the grenade. Some were frozen in place, and some reflexively stood up. There was a split second lack of recognition. A fragmentation grenade isn't something you expect to see in your day to day life. Even less so in the middle of a card game in the middle of the ocean. There was also a second guessing. Who had really seen one, outside of the movies, anyway? It couldn't possibly be real, could it?

After a beat, better judgment prevailed for most of them. A man and a woman dove under the table and cradled their heads in a fetal position, hoping the thick wood would redirect the explosion away from them. Some remembered reflex from earthquake drills in school. Two men ran for cover behind the adjacent slot machines. One tripped over a chair leg and sprawled headlong into a slot machine. He was knocked unconscious. The other man pressed himself against the bulk of the chiming, whirring cabinets. Cherries, bells, and shamrocks scrolled noisily by inches from his faces as he breathed heavily. He was shaky from the rush of adrenaline and exertion.

The dealer, wearing a green visor and a starched white shirt, sat there in shock the longest. He really couldn't work out what to do. He felt some kind of obligation to fix the situation. It was his card table, after all. He thought about picking it up and throwing it, but there was nowhere to throw it. He stood halfway out of his chair and scanned the huge playing floor for something to put over the grenade to contain it. He was picturing one of those giant cooking pots from the kitchen. The ones for soup. What were they called? A stock pot? Ultimately, that thought was his last.

The explosion was deafening. The card dealer was knocked backward and torn apart by the circle of rapidly expanding shrapnel. His limp body sprawled on the floor. His starched white shirt was a constellation of small tears and holes big and small. Blood started to flood the shirt and soak into the dense carpeting. Scraps of green card table felt and splinters of wood started to rain down in a perverse confetti.

The woman under the table opened her eyes and started to uncurl her body. Her ear drums were ruptured, and blood ran down her cheeks. She was dizzy and her head was reverberating with an unbelievably loud ringing. She shook her head, as if it would clear the smoke around her. She felt herself floating somewhere just outside her body and looking in. What a horrible predicament that woman is in, she thought. How cruel the world is.

Then she caught sight of the dealer's lifeless body. He had dealt her a card just a few seconds ago. His motions had been quick and confident. He was young and handsome. She had stared at her three-card 16 and stayed. Now, he was dead. She started to scream, but couldn't hear herself.

—------

Dmitry had paused only long enough to let go of the grenade. He was already walking to the Wayfairer's Lounge when he heard the explosion behind him. He didn't look back.

A moment later, he reached the Lounge. He stopped for a moment to plan his best approach. The space was large and open, with clusters of chairs around old steamer trunks. At one corner was a coffee and juice bar with a long chrome cage full of fresh whole oranges. At another corner, a glass spiral staircase wound around a gigantic blown-glass sculpture. It was lit from above, and looked a bit like a jellyfish. The light pulsed, and made it look like it was glowing. The sculpture had to be at least twenty feet tall.

The sound of the explosion had sent people scattering in every direction. A mass of passengers forced past him, walking toward the sound. Maybe they were driven by morbid curiosity, like the drivers that clog the roads around an accident, he thought. Some people were screaming, but most seemed to have a destination in mind. He walked straight for the staircase.

He climbed it slowly and deliberately. The light pulsed and threw chaotic shadows and reflections across his face. He scanned the sculpture. He could see a heavy chain attaching it to the floor above. He climbed further. At the top there was a small recess in the glass body of the jellyfish. It was perfect. He pulled the spoon from the second grenade and nestled it into the statue. He placed it with the nonchalance of someone tossing an empty coffee cup in a garbage can.

People flowed around him on the staircase. No one seemed to notice.

He reached the top and walked briskly. Three seconds later, the top of the sculpture was vaporized. Glass shards were thrown across the entire lounge. The bottom of the sculpture landed in a pile of shards on the floor. A split second later, the stairs collapsed. Everyone on them fell inward, landing on top of the broken glass and each other. The metal railing was the only part of the stairs left standing, like a discarded wire cage from a bottle of champagne.

A minute later, Dmitry made his way off the elevator and into a hallway of guest rooms. Some doors were decorated with magnets and white boards. One magnet read "Alaska 2024: Team Optical Aleutian." A white board on the next door read "Lyle and Janie are: sleeping!" It was the middle of the night, and the doors were all closed and quiet.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of the siren and bells. The siren sounded in seven short blasts and one long. The noise was startling in the quiet hallway. It even made Dmitry jump. A cool, crisp voice sounded on the intercom. "This is your ship's crew speaking. Code Bravo. Please listen to all emergency instructions from your crew members." He smiled. Perfect.

He knocked on the door of the closest suite. A moment later, an old English couple answered their door. They were dressed in sleeping clothes. Thee woman was in a floral nightie, the man in a silk pajama set. His gray hair was plastered against his head on one side and jutting sideways on the other.

Dmitry smoothed his tie calmly. "My apologies for waking you, sir and madam. I'm sorry to say this, but I've been instructed to tell you to make your way to our life boats."

The man blinked in confusion. "Cocking Norah." His wife swatted him on the arm. "A lifeboat, why?"

Dmitry leaned closer. "There have been explosions on board. Two of them now. The same criminals that kidnapped those children"

The wife covered her mouth. "Good heavens. But why not tell us on the intercom? Wouldn't we go to our muster station for this?"

"Usually, yes. But the crew was concerned that the large gatherings at muster stations would be a target for... well, I'm so sorry to say this." He sighed for effect. "More bombings."

"Quite right." The husband stiffened. "We'll be on our way. Not a moment to waste, after we gather our coats." He slammed the door.

Dmitry started walking again. A few feet down the corridor, he heard the old couple's door open again. They were walking hastily toward the elevator. He smiled and fished his phone from his coat pocket. He tapped a short green bubble to Pavel, "They've started."

—---------

On the bridge, they were playing the security camera footage of the explosions on two of the main monitors. Many of the officers had been scrambled to manage the medical response and calm the large mass of uninjured passengers. Many of the onlookers had poured out of their rooms to find out what was happening.

They had sounded the seven bell alarm to keep the crew on ready, and to notify the passengers that the emergency response was underway. The mood was grim. There was a feeling that, outside of making full steam to the port and waiting FBI, there wasn't much to do outside of collecting the dead and bandaging the living.

Laura stood in a huddle with Jacqueline and a few security officers. She rested her forehead against her hand and took a deep breath. The security footage was playing on a loop in front of them. "Why was his Amulet still working?"

Jacqueline nodded. "We set an alert, so we would be notified if he tried to go anywhere. We thought the likelihood would be low, after the stunt on deck."

"You mean, when he tried to shoot us?"

"Yeah. That one. We got the notice, but we didn't get to him in time. We thought we'd be able to catch either of them in a surprise arrest if they left." She paused. "But, we really didn't think it was likely."

"Surprised us all, I guess. Do we know what the explosives were?"

"Yeah. The medical officer said one of the survivors saw a hand grenade. He said it looked like a pineapple. Like the ones you see in the movies."

"Huh. A fragmentation grenade."

"If you say so."

They were interrupted by a radio squelch. Jacqueline listened intently. Her face went pale. "Jesus. They're rounding up guests and telling them to launch lifeboats."

Laura thought for a second. "Oh, no."

"Yeah, exactly." She picked up her jacket from a nearby chair. "We need to stop them. If we don't, they'll have kids on a life boat to god knows where. The FBI is all clustered up on the docks, and won't be able to do shit about it."

"Add in the confusion when ten boats launch. We'd have to hunt down which one."

"Yep. Are you coming with me?"

"Wait. Someone is still with the kids. So, we need to stop them both. How about you take two officers to find the guy launching lifeboats, and I take one to shake the guy in the cargo hold loose?"

"No way. You can't go down there. It's too dangerous."

"Sure, but I have an idea. Danilo told us they had night vision goggles."

"Right, I said it's a bad fucking idea."

Laura shook her head. "Only if you make it easy for them."

They walked quickly to the elevator, and made their way to the security office. The gray rectangle of a room and drab carpet were familiar by now. Jacqueline opened the gun safe. The heavy doors slid open on greased hinges.

Laura scanned the small upper shelf. She grabbed two naval signal flares, and tucked them into her jacket. She grabbed a fat can of bear mace and handed it to the security officer to her right.

Jacqueline laughed. "Christ, you're crazy."

"Got to keep them guessing."

Laura hefted a bolt action rifle out of the cabinet. She slammed a magazine home, pulled it to her shoulder. She checked down the sights and worked the bolt quickly and smoothly.

"Damn. You're good with one of those."

"A lot of elk dinners to show for it."

Jacqueline picked up a shotgun and racked the slide. She slid the sling over her shoulder. "Let's do it."