Mr. and Mrs. Enron

Big has never owned a house before. He says real estate is a bad investment. Even so, I desperately wanted a real house to start our marriage. I wanted a place where, no matter how far we wandered, we could return to it, and it would be something if not eternal, at least a place that we would always have for ourselves. A base of operations. A place to start from and finish in.

And Big gave it to me:

My bitchin’ kitchen:

Since we are starting this brave new life together, I wanted it to be perfect – and that means I wanted all new furniture. He just bought a brand new iron bed, which I love – it is humongous and so perfect I call it Cloud 9. We could keep that. I bought a great farmhouse trestle table a few months ago, and we’d keep that for our informal dining room. There were a few other items we both liked that would make the cut but the move was going to be mostly our personal stuff, then the day after the official move in, I’d have most of the new furniture delivered.

The night before the move-in, Big informed me his presence was required at a meeting in San Diego. It was not exactly how I imagined my first night in our new home. I was disappointed but determined not to complain. After all, I recognize he’s a busy guy and he loves his work; these things happen. Incidentally, the sparkling engagement ring on my finger ameliorates a lot of angst. (Whoever thought up the idea of diamonds to indicate betrothal, I salute you.)

Early the next morning, when it was still dark outside, I drove Big to the airport. On the curb, he said he’d call as soon as he could, then kissed me goodbye.

By seven o’clock that evening our two apartments were unpacked and comingled. The new place has some large, cavernous spaces and the lack of furniture made it feel (and look) quite empty. The empty walls and floors amplified every sound. In fact, at night, when the unfamiliar sounds were coming at me in stereo, and I did not yet have curtains up on the windows in the back of the house, it was frankly a little creep-tastic. As I took a shower, I kept thinking of the Psycho shower scene. Oh what that movie has done to generations of women who really only want to get clean and get on with their lives.

By 7pm, I noticed that Big still hadn’t called from California. It was odd; we usually keep in touch through-out the day, and I thought for sure he’d have called to make sure the move went smoothly. Even in his most busy, he always calls to say goodnight at least. I made myself a fruit salad for dinner and just sat down at the trestle table to eat it when the phone rang. Finally, grumbled and dived for it.

But the caller ID wasn’t Big’s. It was Rebecca Skilling’s. I swallowed my strawberry, took a quick sip of water, and answered.

“They’ve moved Jeff,” she stiffly informed me. “Nobody will tell me where he is. I haven’t heard from him in six days.”

Rebecca is a strong woman and after the turmoil she’s endured, it takes a lot to rattle her, so I was surprised at the emotion in her voice. The douchebags who staff the BOP could be intentionally cruel; it did not surprise me one bit that they would moved Jeff and not tell her where. They seemed to relish inflicting psychological torture on the families of their charges.

“Come over,” I suggested. “Let’s drink margaritas, sit by the pool, and chat.”

She agreed that it was better than helplessly pacing the floor, worrying about Jeff. While waiting for her to show up I thought of my own errant soon-to-be husband. I dialed his cell and it went to voicemail. I left a message and then grabbed the margarita glasses.

Rebecca arrived, we made some drinks and I showed her the new place. When I suggested we sit outside by the pool, I’d forgotten we had no outdoor furniture, so we ended up at the trestle table with the door open, letting in the October breeze. She explained that the last time she talked to Jeff, he’d sounded normal. He hadn’t mentioned moving. He never got into trouble – he was definitely not the type to make waves so it was difficult to believe they might have thrown him into solitary and taken away his phone privileges. I attempted to reassure her that it was just the prison being the prison. “They’re assholes,” I reminded her, “That’s why they work at a prison.”

Rebecca left around ten, and I finally collapsed into bed. I tried Big’s phone again but it rolled to voicemail. I left a message for him to call me ASAP, then shut my eyes. I thought it would take a while to fall asleep in a new place, but I was out immediately.

The next day I took delivery of our new furniture. After they left around two, I went to Restoration Hardware. I found a few things I liked, then went to a small art gallery where I’d been eyeballing a piece I really wanted.

Back in my car, I texted Ken Rice and told him that Big was out of town, but would he and his wife like to come by for drinks? I then texted Scott Yeager and Kevin Hannon with the same message.

An hour later, I realized nobody had answered me.

***

It was entirely possible my popularity had collapsed. But I didn’t think that was the problem. Not with Jeff off the radar and Big not picking up his phone. I was getting that weird crawling feeling on the back of my neck that said something was up. Tense and agitated, I called Big’s office. L answered; L had been his friend for ages and they worked together, starting up a new company – their third. “Hi, L. Where did you send Big? What hotel?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere. In fact, I’m a little ticked that he just up and left me here when we have meetings with Apple and Google all next week.”

I felt thrown, shocked. Ice began to drip into my blood. I stood against the kitchen counter, looking out the window at the backyard and swimming pool, but I saw nothing. Snow had begun to fill my head and through the whiteness, I glimpsed only flashing snatches of blue and green, like the paroxysms of a dying satellite.

“You didn’t send him to San Diego for a meeting?” My rasping voice was barely above a whisper.

“Hell no. I need him here now.”

The sucker punch: Big had lied to me. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, being pulled down on an invisible wave. Nausea welled up inside me, and the whiteness began to blaze and I had no idea if it was angry or hurt – it was a toxic mixture of both, and I felt so so, so dangerous in that instant, like I was capable of anything. I did not pretend to ask myself why Big would lie to me about going to San Diego because the immediate suspicion was it had to be another woman.

And there it was, the materialization of every tiny suppressed fear I ever had about commitment.

Some semblance of faith lashed out at the thought. Big — the most faithful, adoring man in the world – this man who has sworn off all other women for me, who has held me tight when I cried, who has nursed me to health when I’ve been sick, who has slept sitting up all night on a sofa because my head was on his lap and he couldn’t bear to move me… he would cheat on me?

I looked at the ring on my finger. We’d only been engaged six weeks. He would not have asked me to marry him if he were cheating on me. I was over-reacting. It happens. But where the hell was he?

Desperately I tried Big’s phone again, and again it rolled to voicemail. I walked to the sofa and flopped down. Big deep breath.

The snow in my head began to clear, though my fresh perspective was not any more comforting. It wasn’t just Big who was missing. It was Jeff Skilling too. And Kevin Hannon, Ken Rice, Scott Yeager looked to be MIA as well.

I dialed Rebecca, hoping she’d heard from Jeff in the last sixteen hours. No luck. “And if you’ll forgive the Victorian-maiden-swooning-in-the-parlor routine, I am now officially worried sick.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back in a minute.” I hung up and dialed Ken’s wife’s phone. S answered on the first ring, like she’d been waiting for a call.

“Is Ken there?” I asked.

“No,” she said, an odd little catch in her voice. “In fact, I have no idea where he is. He said he was going to California for business, but I’ve been calling his cell and there’s no answer.”

The creepiness factor just increased by a trillion. “Have you asked any of his friends if they’ve heard from him?”

“I can’t reach anyone! I tried Kevin Hannon, Ben Glisan, Michael Kopper. It’s like they’ve all disappeared.”

An emergency summit was called; we’d meet at Cafe Express in the Galleria area since it was more or less central to all of us. As I was starting the car, my phone rang. It was Susan, Scott Yeager’s wife, wanting to know if I could ask Big if he’d heard from Scott. I told her to meet us at the cafe.

We chose to sit inside, away from the broiling rays of the Houston sun, and we immediately began comparing notes. All the men had left in the last six days. Big was the last to go missing; Jeff and Ken had disappeared on the same day and were the first. Scott apparently vanished four days ago. A quick call to the Hannon household confirmed Kevin was away on business in California, had been gone five days and nobody had heard from him. We left messages at the Glisan and Kopper houses.

“We were in Colorado,” S said, mixing Sweet N Low into her black currant tea. “Ken said he had to return to Houston, then leave for California the next morning.”

“San Diego,” Susan and I said in unison.

“Exactly,” S replied. “He said there was some meeting. I wished I’d asked what kind of meeting. But I just assumed it was ….” She shook her head a little, as if to clear away the bad thoughts.

“So they met in San Diego, obviously, but why not tell us?” I asked. I now felt ashamed of my immediate assumption that Big was having an affair. Thank GOD I did not leave him some crazy message crying my guts out and accusing him of something horrible. I had been emotional lately; I was actually surprised I’d restrained myself.

“That doesn’t explain Jeff,” Rebecca said.

That was true. Jeff couldn’t just decide willy-nilly to go to San Diego. We silently considered the puzzle pieces for a moment. Nobody wanted to suggest we call the police. After the prosecutions, all of us are a little nervous about the Finest, be they local or federal.

Suddenly, at the same time, all our phones began to buzz, chirp, ring and vibrate. One look around the table and we knew: it was our missing men.

We temporarily dispersed outside, wanting some privacy to ask our husbands where they were, why hadn’t they called us. Relief flooded through me as soon as I heard Big’s voice. I wanted to crawl through the phone and hug him. However, I wasn’t going to pretend to believe that he was still on some routine business trip. “Why are you in California?” I asked.

He paused, as if trying to decide how much to tell me. “It’s kind of difficult to explain. And I don’t have much time. How is the house? Do you like the new furniture? Did that credenza fit into that place you were a little worried about?”

“Nope, not buying that. I know you’re there with other Enron execs.”

The silence crackled with surprise. I was glad; I felt like I’d knocked him back a pace, which was very hard to do. “Bunny,” he said sweetly, using my favorite pet name, “I promise, I’ll explain it all later.”

Reluctantly, I had to acknowledge it worked; it always did. I softened a bit. “Are you on vacation?”

“It’s not vacation. It’s work.”

“Not some crazy young stripper girlfriend?”

He laughed.

I glanced over at Susan speaking animatedly to Scott. What the hell was going on?

“Is Jeff there?”

“I can’t talk about it now, sweetheart.”

I read his refusal to discuss Jeff as confirmation that he was, in fact, there. How was that possible? If Jeff had executed some magnificent jailbreak, wouldn’t there be a nation-wide manhunt by now? Wouldn’t we be hearing about it all over the news with flashing alerts and hysterical anchors giving us the play-by-play of the search?

I slumped against the brick wall and shut my eyes. “I love you. But you better have some answers for me when you get home.”

“I will.”

A little pause, in which he no doubt knew he was off the hook.

“Is the house okay?”

“It’s great,” I said tonelessly. “It’s perfect. I just want you in it with me.”

“A few days.”

“Promise?”

“On a stack of servers.”

“You’re so nerdy.”

“Love you babe. Gotta go.”

The phone disconnected. I looked over at Susan and saw her call had ended too. She walked over to me. “Did you get any answers?” she asked.

“Nope. Just a big ole pile of crap.”

“Same here.”

We walked back inside and found Rebecca and S at the table. “That was weird,” Rebecca said. “Jeff says he’s on a work program of some kind. Wouldn’t say anything about it though.”

S was playing with her phone. A moment later, she triumphantly held out her screen. It was a Google Map. “Ken and I both have an app on our phones that shows where the other person is calling from.”

Rebecca picked up the phone and frowned. “Hotel del Coronado, San Diego, California.”

I picked up my phone to make a reservation on the next flight to San Diego. “Who’s coming with me?”

***

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time we dragged our travel-weary bodies into the lavish red lobby of the Hotel del Coronado. While checking in, Susan casually asked, “Has Scott Yeager already checked in?”

The check-in clerk tapped her keys and frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t see anyone registered by that name.”

“How about Ken Rice?” S asked.

Negative.

We shared a glance, but said nothing.

After checking in and getting settled into our rooms, we met in Rebecca’s. “What do we do now?” S asked, flopping across the giant bed.

“I thought for sure I’d walk in and see Big in the lobby or something,” I said. I always had that feeling about him. That I could be on a mountaintop on the other side of the world, and would find him at the top. He was always my final destination.

“Me too,” Susan said. We looked at each other, wondering if we were idiots for having come all this way. At the window, I twisted my engagement ring, trying to feel closer to him. It was dark outside; the Pacific Ocean was a vast black ink stain. The lights of boats teased and rippled across the water. Was Big looking at the view too? From the same hotel? From the first moment, his presence made me feel like a light turned on inside me. I loved him utterly and could not wait to marry him. But I was seriously confused. I should have felt him somehow, felt that light turn on inside me. I wanted to see him, to inhale the scent of his neck that signaled I was home, to kiss him and know he was okay and still the same old Big.

“I’m going to order some room service and go to sleep. I’m exhausted,” I said, turning away from my aching thoughts.

“Me too.” Susan stood and stretched. As she turned around, her arm barely glanced the side of my breast.

I yalped in pain, and she looked around, confused. “Did I touch you?”

“They’re … sore lately.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrow. “And you said yesterday you were feeling sick in the morning. You know, like morning sickness.”

“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes.

“Have you missed a period?” S asked.

When I didn’t answer, Rebecca said, “You need a pee stick, stat.”

“Your egg-o is preggo,” Susan added.

She might as well have claimed to have grown wings. Or roots. “No way,” I said.

“I assume you’re sexually active?” S asked.

“Oh my God, you would not believe how much cock I’ve been getting.” Just the thought of it made me sway of my feet.

Susan laughed and behind Rebecca’s back, high fived me. “Preggo!”

“Thanks for oversharing,” S said tartly. “Unprotected?”

“Well… yes but….”

“So why can’t you be pregnant?” S asked.

“Because … Because I’m not even married yet, I guess. And I really want to wear a hot wedding dress.”

S arched her eyebrow. “Rebecca is right, you need a pee stick.”

As I mulled over the possibility of being with child, S asked, “So what’s the plan? How do we find our wayward spouses?”

“Meet back in my room at 9am. We’ll just… look for them, I guess,” Rebecca said.

I said goodnight and returned to my room down the hall, alone. Well, probably alone.

***

The next morning I woke early, thanks to a bit of jet lag and some more of that weird sickness that made me feel like vomiting in the morning. After it passed, I used the opportunity to go for a run – to prove to myself that I was just as vivacious as I ever was. I edged the shore, reveling in the fresh sea air. West coast weather always put me in excellent mood. The sun was blazing, the air was cool and dry, and the world had never looked so sweet. I wished Big could enjoy it with me. Surfers were out in force, and runners like myself, and others walking their dogs. As I ran, I noticed the tall white sails of boats in the marina. I stopped in my tracks, breathing hard. I assumed the universal spent-runner pose of hands on hips, and looked from the marina out to the crystal blue water of the Pacific. And suddenly, in a flash of insight, I knew exactly where they were.

***

“Get up!” I pushed open Rebecca’s door. She blinked with sleepiness, her hair a sexy bedhead beehive. “Chop chop, get dressed. I know where our missing men are.”

“Where?” She was awake now, my words having washed away the cobwebs.

I led her to the window. Once she saw the giant white mega-yacht in the distance, it was obvious. I had felt that light go on inside myself when I saw it on the beach. I saw the transformation in the elegant angles of her face, the softening, as it went on inside Rebecca.

“Get dressed,” she said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

In my room, I called S and Susan and woke them up, then jumped in the shower. I was happy; Big was almost at hand. Of course, we were unexpected, and the men were probably not going to be excited that their secret cruise was interrupted. I wondered about the secrecy. What was the big freaking deal? Why couldn’t Big just tell me he was going to California to hang with his old friends? I wouldn’t have cared if he’d just told me. I was tormenting myself over the question of WHY.

Of course, a man-cation didn’t explain why Jeff Skilling was on that cruise too. As I got out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around myself and turned on the news, just to make sure Skilling wasn’t being pursued by US Marshals.

After a few minutes of FoxNews chatter, it was confirmed: Jeff Skilling was not the subject of a manhunt.

Turning from the television, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. Frowning, I opened up the towel and looked at myself. I judged myself to look exactly the same. Maybe even a few pounds lighter than usual. I was not pregnant. Definitely not. I lifted up my breasts. “Year 2000,” I said. I let them go, and frowned. “And year 2011.”

We met in the lobby then walked the short distance to the marina. We were giddy with excitement and nerves, speculating about what we’d find on the boat. Nobody knew what to expect. At the marina, we discovered that instead of a boat, Rebecca had rented jet skis.

Nobody was going to argue or question her choice. We boarded our jet skis, trolling out of the marina and then opening it up a bit as we got into open water. We pushed it once we were sure there were no more surfers or other sea-nuisances around, lifting the bow and skimming over the bright blue expanse with the wind and spray in our faces as we leaned into every silky wave. It was absolutely exhilarating. For a few brief moments it was possible to believe we were here on vacation.

As we approached the yacht, the name of the vessel came into view: Honest Services. It hailed under the green and white flag of Nigeria. Yep. We were in the right place.

***

The boat was eerily quiet. I guess I expected booming calypso music and girls in bikinis, but it was silent, its giant mass almost imperceptibly rocking on its anchor, and there was no sound at all except the gentle plashing of the water.

The ship was enormous. Three or four stories tall, with a massive body. An infinity ship, I thought. One could live on this cruise-ship sized beast forever. And yet it appeared, at first glance, that nobody was actually here.

We drifted, stunned, to glass doors that opened to a huge and astonishingly beautiful modern living area. Glints of dark glossy mahogany set off the rich French cream sofas and chairs. Lush pale-purple flowers frothed from a crystal bowl on the center of the dark, polished coffee table; pink roses – the money shot of the floral kingdom- tulips and other arrangements sprung from vases through-out the room; I caught the vanishing scent of lilacs.
Big would not have been one to order the flowers. He brought me flowers sometimes, but he was not the type who actually craved the presence of flowers. I couldn’t imagine any of the other guys doing that either. It occurred to me just then that they must have a crew on board.

“Pssst!” Susan signaled me over to a large table and pointed to a glass of tea, pearling with sweat, the ice nearly melted. “No coaster,” she whispered. “Scott is here. The man is incapable of using coasters.”

“So far that’s the only sign of life I’ve seen.”

We joined S and Rebecca in the middle of the room. “Maybe we should head up stairs, then search from top to bottom,” Susan said.

“This ship is ginormous,” S said. “Maybe we should split up.”

“Didn’t you ever watch Scooby Doo?” I asked. “That’s always how the bad guys get you – divide and conquer.”

“What bad guys are you thinking about?” Rebecca asked.

She’d caught my slip of the tongue. I couldn’t help it – I did think there was something bad going on. The mysterious missing Enron execs, the fact that our husbands were lying to us, and the weird silence of the boat all led me to think something was – officially speaking – Up.

“I just think we should hang together,” I said softly. Why were we whispering? The fact that we were whispering proved, to my mind, that they too believed something was Up.

We took the stairs up to the top level. The view was not to be believed. I stood momentarily distracted, dazzled by the sun almost vertical overhead, as I looked out past the sweep of deep blue sea to the green hills of La Jolla. It took me a second to realize we were standing on a helo pad. I frowned. “Who knows how to fly a helicopter?” I asked.

“Scott can fly a plane,” Susan offered. “But not a helicopter.”

“Well if they’re gone, maybe we can snoop and find out what they’re up to. Come on,” S said.

We walked down a level, strolling up and down long, luxurious hallways. It would take a year to search every room, every stairwell, every meandering nook and cranny. We tried for broad strokes, listening for noises and finding none.

On the second floor, we entered the kitchen. The long white counters were piled with food. Mostly seafood. A large blue fish, which I estimated to be sushi-grade yellow tail, lay on its side, looking into oblivion with wide, vacant eyes. It didn’t stink though, I noticed, smelling only the faint, fresh scent of brine. Gently I put my fingertips against its firm slate-blue flesh. It was cool to the touch, and its eyes were clear. I was neither a marine biologist nor sushi chef, but the fish looked very fresh to me, like he’d met his demise within an hour or so.

“The crabs and lobsters are still alive,” Rebecca whispered, pointing to the counter behind me. I glanced at the huge brushed aluminum mixing bowl where the live shellfish were brandishing their big red claws.

I washed my hands in the sink. When I turned off the water, I noticed another sound – other water nearby. I walked around a corner to the giant stoves and saw a giant pot of water boiling like mad on the burner. Beside it was a container of sea salt.

“Holy crap,” S whispered behind me.

“They’re here. Or they were very recently,” I said, trying to tamp down on my welling fear.

“Come on,” Susan said, gently tugging the sleeve of my shirt. “We need to find them.”

We walked down to the first floor, and searched all the rooms, ending up back in the first room we saw. The glass of tea remained untouched on the table.

“Guys! Over here!” Rebecca stage whispered.

We followed the sound of her voice back to the hallway, and there, she was standing against an open door, pointing. We approached, and saw what she was excited to discover: another stairwell. We followed her down, trying to be quiet on the metal steps. The air conditioning was not working down here. I lifted my hair off my neck and twisted it into a loose bun as we walked down the hallway to another door.

Rebecca put her ear to the door and listened. Looking back at us, she nodded. “Someone’s in there.”

We all held our breath, leaning in, trying to hear. After a tense moment, I detected it too. A soft, guttural sound.

“Hello ladies,” a low, masculine voice said behind us.

* * *

We jumped, then froze when we saw the AK-47 strapped his chest. The man was large and dressed entirely in black. A scruff of blonde hair, a harsh face with a scar from his right temple across his eyebrow and over his nose. His cold blue eyes stared at us, neither threatened nor amused by our presence. He wore a dull, sour expression tinged with sadism that chilled me to the bone.
In the silent moment of shock, we froze, unable to process this man who had come out of nowhere. I looked at S and Susan and Rebecca, then the door. In an instant, our policy of mandatory silence was thrown out the window. I screamed, shattering the languid silence of the yacht, desperate for someone, anyone to hear me. I pushed Rebecca aside and pounded on the thick metal door. “Help! Let us in! Help me! Please!”

Nobody else moved. The man looked amused, his cruel mouth hitched up on one side. I kept pounding on the door with my fists. “Help! Open the door!”

Finally I heard metal scrape against metal as a lock slid. The door opened and a face peered out that stunned me to absolute silence. It wasn’t any of the Enron executives. In fact, it was someone I never expected to see in my life. It was the scrawny rat-face of John Kroger.

***

The door opened all the way and I peered desperately inside. Through blinking, disbelieving eyes, I saw people – men – behind a large conference table. Blindfolded with gags in their mouths. Big! My eyes flit from Big to Jeff Skilling, my careening thoughts crashing. How could it be Jeff? I gazed at them, dumbstruck. The entire upper management of Enron Corporation was bound and gagged at the table.

“I see our generosity in allowing them to call their wives has been misplaced,” Kroger said, opening the door.

I stumbled forward. Big sat in a chair next to Kevin Hannon. And there was Ben Glisan and Michael Kopper and Ken Rice and Scott Yeager and Jeff. I saw them, but didn’t see them – I couldn’t understand what was happening. They had tape over their mouths. And black straps over their eyes. Their hands looked locked behind their backs. I took a desperate step toward Big, but Kroger grabbed my arm, holding me to the spot.

I heard Rebecca gasp as she entered behind me. Seeing Jeff, her eyes welled with tears. Her shaking hands moved to her mouth, as if to hold in a scream.

“Kendall,” Rat Face said to the man with the gun. “Please, find the others.”

My throat was shaking, but I said, “Big, I’m here.”

“Shut up,” Rat Face said.

“Fuck you.”

The casual backhanded blow was sudden and blinding. I toppled into S, and she steadied me, her fingers firm on my upper arm.

“What do you want?” S asked. “Why do you have them tied up?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m killing them.”

S was tall and calm beside me. I tried to draw strength from her composure, to think clearly. I was never good in a crisis. Too emotional. Every bad moment of my life, I’ve run to Big and he’s calmed me down, set me on the right path. I didn’t think S was like that. S was perfectly capable of taking care of herself in any situation. I decided I would mimic her as best I could. Even if I was going crazy inside, screaming and clawing and freaking out, I would at least pretend to be calm, and maybe it would help things. Because freaking out right now was obviously not the answer. My cheek really hurt. Ouch.

The man with the gun shut the door and grabbed something from a pocket on the outside of his black cargo pants. He handed it to Kroger. It took a moment to realize it was a handful of plastic cuffs. Dread curdled my stomach. I’m intensely claustrophobic – the thought of being bound made my heart thud and the bile rise in my throat.

In his other hand, I noticed just then, was a gun.

Kendall left to find the others.

Kroger handed the cuffs to me. “Put these on your friends.”

I wondered if there was some way I could use them to attack him, but with that gun in his hand, I didn’t see how. I took the cuffs, and looked to the girls. Only S remained outwardly calm. Susan’s and Rebecca’s eyes were glinting with fear. S held her wrists out. Only as I snapped the plastic cuffs around her slender wrists did I realize what she’d done – she’d been proactive, not giving Kroger time to tell me how it should be done. I’d bound in front – not behind her back, like the men. Kroger noticed at the same time I did.

“Behind their backs,” he snapped.

I moved behind Rebecca and gently clasped the plastic cuffs on, leaving them as loose as I dared; I wanted them to pass inspection if he checked my work; I didn’t want him to overcompensate and make them even tighter. I did the same to Susan.

He yanked me close and shoved the gun in the waistband of his pants, then clasped my hands behind my back so tightly I cried out. I thought my shoulder was going to pop from the joint.

I bit my bottom lip and tried to stay calm. Focus on Big, on getting out of here – not on how badly my shoulder hurt, not about how I was going to be helpless once I was bound. As soon as he pulled away, I tried to move my wrists, but they were solidly fused together.

Kroger grabbed his gun again, casually swinging it across the men. I felt S shift, just a little, beside me. I didn’t dare look at her. I kept my eyes on Big, trying to mentally telegraph how much I loved him. How even if I died on this boat for reasons I couldn’t even guess at, I wouldn’t be sorry because I’d done it trying to save him.

There was a quick movement in the corner of my eye, and suddenly the gun clattered to the floor. It took a moment to realize S had the plastic cuff around Kroger’s throat, and was yanking him back toward her. His face had gone purple and his hands grasped urgently at his gurgling throat. He thrashed, but S was strong and tall and had the advantage. When he stopped jerking, she slowly released him, and he slid to the floor.

“In my waistband,” Susan said. “A sushi knife.”

I looked at her, stunned and so in love with her in that moment I could have kissed her. “How…. When?”

“You were talking about Scooby Doo and bad guys,” she said. “When I saw it beside the fish in the kitchen, I took it.”

I nearly dropped to my knees from sheer gratitude.

Wielding the sharp sushi knife, S cut Susan out of her restraints. Susan grabbed the knife and ran to Scott who was at the end of the table, freeing his hands. He lifted the blindfold off his eyes and blinked in a way that made me think they’d been down here for a very long time. She cut them all free.

“What are you doing here, bun?” Big said, wrapping me in a hug. I pressed my face into his warm chest, not wanting to weep so openly in front of all the others. I’d never been so happy in all my life. As soon as Susan cut my hands free, I wrapped my arms around him, clutching him tightly to me, shaking, heart pounding.

“We have to get out of here,” Jeff Skilling said.

Wiping my eyes, I stared at him. Tanned and beautiful, in khaki shorts and a navy blue shirt. I was dazzled at how free he looked. How alive. I wanted to hug him, to prove to myself he wasn’t a mirage. Beside him, Rebecca was weeping with astonishment and love and probably confusion. My heart began to flutter. The emotional swells and dips I’d had lately seemed painfully intense, and I felt I was going to cry for her, as well as for myself.

“They’re coming back,” Jeff said. “When they see Kroger…”

“Who?” I asked Big.

Big didn’t answer as he grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the door.

“We need to get to the closet,” Kevin Hannon said from somewhere behind me.

I looked to Big. “What’s in the closet? What closet?”

Skilling hurried down the hallway and stopped at the steps, peering around the corner and up the stairs. “All clear,” he said back at us. He advanced slowly up the stairs. As I entered the hallway with Big, I noticed the same weird silence. It frightened me, even with Big’s comforting strength and protection, and indeed the male muscles of ten large men who comprised our strange group. I knew the silence held something bad; it concealed something evil.

Rebecca and I veered off to the stairs at the same time, but were quickly grabbed. “This way,” Big said to me quietly. I stumbled blindly along, wondering who and where “the others” were, and where we were going. At an elevator, Jeff said, “Half of you, get in.”

I thought of Scooby Doo and the divide and conquer policy. But I wouldn’t argue with Jeff Skilling. Big grabbed me and shoved me inside the elevator. I squeezed way in the back behind him and Ben Glisan and Michael Kopper. It was a tiny space; they were big men. Tall and well-built. They tended to dominate the space. I looked down at my hands and saw they were shaking. I licked my lips; my mouth was suddenly parched.

“Is it all in the closet?” Ben asked.

“Think so,” Michael replied.

“It’s divided up,” Big said. “In the original closet, and another one across the way.”

“What’s in the closet?” I asked again.

Ben glanced at me then at Big with an understanding and a sorrow that I didn’t like. Before I could demand they tell me what was in the damn closets, the doors slid open and we emerged onto the third level. At the far end of the hallway, which appeared to be about the length of a football field, the others were running toward us.

Running. Not just hurrying. I felt their fear even from the distance. Ben, Michael and Big felt it too. Big’s hand grabbed my wrist and ran. The hallway was a blur until Big flung open a door, and we all ran inside. It looked like a hotel room. I guess they’re called staterooms on a boat. It had a bed and a desk and a small dining area. “Stay here,” Big said calmly.

Before I could argue, he ran out. I ran to the door to follow but Ben grabbed my elbow. “Stay.”

Like a fucking dog. Sit. Stay. I swallowed my annoyance. Michael was grabbing things – objects I didn’t understand – from a closet and throwing them on the bed.

Under the frantic patter of running feet, gunshots popped in the hallway. The sound was unmistakable.

“Get down over here, this side of the bed,” Ben said. The gunshots had wiped out my reflexive dislike of being told what to do.

From the floor, I watched as Ben picked up a massive black gun. I had no idea what kind of gun it was; it looked positively alien to me, huge and mean-spirited. The door burst open and instantly Ben had his gun up at his shoulder. “Just us,” Big said.

I jumped up.

“Down!” Everyone shouted.

S dropped beside me.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“They’re shooting. There are a lot of them. Thirty or so.”

“Who?”

“Prosecutors, it looks like.”

To my shock, a volley of gunfire sounded overhead. Ragged circles of bullet holes flew into the wall inches from where S and I were cowering. I turned around, facing the bed, and lifted my hand up. Blinding reaching on the bedspread, I felt the cold metal of a gun and grabbed it. I handed it to S, then reached up again and grabbed whatever I could reach. It wasn’t a gun. It was a small steel ball. I had no idea what it was; I’d never seen it before. I just held it while S handled the pistol like she’d done it forever, slamming magazines into it and the pulling back a slide to check for bullets.

“You go girl,” I said.

She looked at me strangely.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I squeezed the metal ball then put it in my pocket. Peeking up just a little, I grabbed two more guns off the bed.

“Take this one,” Ben said, trying to indicate something on the bed. I peeked up again, trying to see what he was talking about. “It has bullets.”

There were a dozen guns on the bed. I had no idea which one he was indicating. I just grabbed one.

“For God’s sake,” he said, and reached over to one that was near his leg and shoved it toward me.

It was square, black, and ugly. I grabbed it.

“Cool, an MP5,” S said. “Let me have that.”

I handed it to her and she gave me the smaller pistol. A quick peep up at Ben and Michael proved they were using something like the MP5, but not quite. Not knowing anything about guns or weaponry in general, I didn’t think too much about it. I was, after all, busy trying not to get my ass shot.

The volley of gunfire faded, and Ben moved from beside the bed. I glanced over at Michael Kopper, who was still viewing life through the crosshairs.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked S. I didn’t really expect an answer. S knew as much as I did, unless Ken had somehow told her everything in the forty seconds we were apart.

S shook her head. “I don’t know. Do you know how to use a pistol?”

I’d seen it on tv enough. Scooby Doo had so far led me to this point. I figured my obsession with Alias was about to come in handy.

“Clear,” Ben said. I heard noises from down the hallway, but there was no more gunfire. I crawled across the bed and ran out of the room, desperate to find Big. I didn’t have to go far. He and the others were coming into this room, loaded down with weapons.

I stared blankly at him, trying to reconcile the sweet, brilliant, silly man I knew and loved with the dude wearing one of those MP5s across his chest, a pistol in each hand, and one tucked into his khaki shorts. What. The. Fuck.

“Okay, just tell me,” I said. “Are you smuggling guns? If so, I’ll totally be cool, I promise I won’t freak out. But you have to tell me or I’m going to freak.”

“We’re not smuggling guns,” Scott Yeager said, tossing two grenades onto the bed. I jumped up, looking around wildly to see if anyone else noticed the FREAKING GRENADES ON THE BED. (I recognized them from the Die Hard movies.)

“Heads up,” Kevin Hannon said from the doorway. Ken caught whatever sharp silver thing that he threw, and pocketed it. I didn’t want to know what that was.

“Then what?” I looked to Big.

“I’d be interested in this answer too,” S said.

“Was that your tea on the table down there?” Susan asked Scott. “You weren’t using a coaster.”

The room fell silent. I looked at the faces of the men as they looked at each other, wondering if they should tell us. Finally Kevin slammed another magazine into some godforsaken gun and said, “We’re superheroes.”

***

It began as a weird little titter. It just amused me that the former Enron execs would call themselves superheroes. But nobody else was laughing so I tried to shut my mouth. And the harder I tried to repress it, the harder I wanted to laugh. I bent over, hands on my knees, unable to hold in the laughter. Then S started laughing. And once that happened, Susan and Rebecca were laughing too. Laughing so hard tears streamed from our eyes. Every time we looked at each other, we’d fall into a new paroxysm of laughter. My Big. Sweet, cranky Big. He’s my superhero, but the guy is just too busy working to be a superhero. I tried to say something about a cape in his luggage but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to be coherent. Rebecca and I fell on the bed, laughing our guts out. S and Susan promptly joined us.

When we finally calmed down enough to realize none of the men were laughing with us, we felt a little chastened, which helped to sober us up a little bit.

“Finished?” Jeff Skilling said.

I nodded, trying to bite back the laughing instinct. I could not look at Rebecca or S or Susan. Couldn’t do it or I’d break apart again. So I kept my eyes on Big and Jeff.

“Notice that since Enron collapsed the economy has been getting worse?” Jeff asked. “It’s being destroyed by the DOJ who are intent on destroying more and more productive people. When TARP happened, we all understood that the fate of capitalism itself was at stake, and we hatched the idea of getting all of us together to defeat the DOJ once and for all.”

I was trying to take that in when Ken said, “The crew is still locked up, aren’t they? We need to get them out.”

“Yeah, they’re gonna suffocate down there,” Jeff replied.

I looked at Big. “Don’t even bother with telling us to stay here. In the first place, Scooby Doo is never wrong: they divide and conquer.” He looked confusedly to Hannon, but I continued. “And in the zombie movies, it’s always the hoard of zombies who last, not the single zombs.”

“Are we zombies or the… other guys.. in that scenario?” Ben asked.

“We are the zombies. Obviously. We have to stick together.”

“I have no idea what bullshit you’re babbling about,” Ken said, “but we have to move. Time is wasting for those guys.”

Big shoved a big gun in my hands. “You might need it.”

It was heavy. Solid. I looked up at him, still not sure what to think. “I want a better explanation than ‘superheroes’, okay?”

“You’ll get one. Trust me.”

* * *

We walked like a zombie hoard down to the cargo hold. It must have been a hundred and twenty degrees down there, so hot it was difficult to breathe. Jeff kicked open a door and there, in the dim glow of a 75-watt bulb, were four people tied up and cuffed, like the execs had been when we found them.

My heart sank. Why would the prosecutors tie up these innocent people and leave them down here to suffocate? I knew the answer, though I didn’t want to think about it too much.

Susan bent down and used her knife to free them. As they lifted their blindfolds off, they blinked in the semi-dark, seeing a roomful of heavily armed people. “It’s okay,” S said. “We’re the good guys.”

They didn’t say anything, probably not wanting to risk finding out how true that was. The stood up, dizzy and sweating, on wobbly legs.

“I’m fine,” one of the men said, shaking off Jeff’s attempt to steady him.

They looked severely dehydrated and hot. They slowly made their way to the door. Big slid his arm around my waist and I pushed my face into his chest. “I’m still not sure what is going on, but I’m worried about those people.”

“They’ll be okay,” he said. A moment passed. “Cara?”

“Yes baby?”

“Why are you ticking?”

I looked up at him. “What?”

“You’re ticking. Why?”

While the hostages were heading out of the room, everyone else looked at me. In the silence, I heard it.

Tick tick tick tick tick.

“The ball,” S said. “You put it in your pocket.”

“What ball?” Ken asked without moving his lips.

“Small metal ball,” S replied.

“Size of a golf ball,” they finished in unison.

“Shit. Everybody out! Get out!” Ken said.

“It’s a temperature-sensitive grenade,” Big said. “Get it out of your pocket.”

“How much time do I have?” I asked as I shoved my hand into my pocket, my fingers closing around the small metal sphere. Yep. That was the source of ticking.

“Throw it!” Jeff said, herding everyone else back upstairs. I threw it.

* * *

When I came to, I was on the floor on the rear deck of the yacht and the sun was blazing into my eyes. Big’s face came into view. His whisky-brown eyes were worried, but so beautiful.

“You okay?”

I nodded.

“You got hit in the head with a flying piece of shrapnel.”

“Oh.”

“And you blew a seven-foot hole in the hull of the boat with the grenade that nobody asked you to touch.”

“Oh.”

“And the crew has taken the Jet Skis.”

“Oh.”

“So we’re trapped on a sinking boat with prosecutors who want to kill us.”

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Can you get up?”

“You need to see a doctor,” Susan offered. I prayed she wouldn’t mention the discussion from yesterday morning.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I come from hardy peasant stock.”

I stood up on legs as wobbly as a new foal’s, dazed, and looked at Big. He pushed my hair out of my face. “ You really okay?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry about the boat. Whose is it?”

“Some Merrill Lynch bankers.”

“Are they lending it to you or did you buy it?”

Big kissed me, probably to shut up my babbling nonsense. For one spinning moment, I forgot where I was. His kisses still leave me weak-kneed, barely knowing my own name. Even after three years. Too soon, he pulled back and I took a look around. Everyone was spread out, probably talking about what a jackass I was.

“How long do we have before it sinks?”

“It’s a big boat,” he said evasively.

I walked over to the railing and looked down. It was not dramatic but I thought I could sense that the boat was a little lower in the water. Maybe I was imagining it. Just like I was imagining the large black shadows that slipped beneath the ship like ghosts. Sharks? It was October. That was when the Great Whites were migrating to Mexico for the winter, hanging out in the warm waters of San Diego to mate before their final destination. We’d managed to find the biggest Great White hookup locale in the world. It was Studio 64 for sharks. Dread settled around me like a shawl.

“Who was the scary blonde guy?” I asked Big suddenly. “He looked like the villain in Lethal Weapon 2.”

“Some HRT guy. Part of the FBI. Hostage Rescue Team. But they weren’t rescuing anyone. They were making us hostages.”

“Oh. Because I think he’s looking at us from above.”

Big raised his gaze to one of the upper decks. That exact second, a gunshot whizzed by him.

The next second, a series of shots rang out and the man dropped. I looked around, seeing S with the MP5 still at her shoulder.

“Inside,” Jeff ordered.

I followed Big inside the cabin and up the stairs. I intuited that we were going on the offensive and trying to kill them now. I felt better about that than just lying around waiting for them to shoot us.

I didn’t have a gun though. Someone had taken away the one I had before we went to the cargo hold. I eyeballed all the weaponry on the men, thinking surely someone would offer. I looked pointedly a Big.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Skilling opened a door on the second floor and we filtered out, walking stealthily, trying to keep noise to a minimum while we hunted the rogue prosecutors.

“I have an idea,” Jeff said. We paused. “This is an awful lot of people, which gives them a lot of targets. I think the ladies should retire to their suite for the duration.”

I shot a look to S, who didn’t seem to care. Rebecca looked a little miffed but not enough to say anything. Susan looked happy he’d made the suggestion. I’d just go with the flow on this one. After the whole I-Sunk-Your-Battleship move, it was probably best to lie low.

Turning to Big, I put my hands on either side of his face. “Do not be stupid. You might be a superhero but you’re still mortal.”

“You worry too much.”

“Um…” I thought back to the men tied, bound, gagged, and about to get shot before we came in to rescue them. Again, I decided this was not a hill I wanted to die on. Certain occasions, it is best to let men believe whatever they want to believe. Leaning up on my tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to his lips. “You are so kick-ass,” I said.

Big smiled and pushed me toward the suite.

* * *

Once again, we ladies were left alone – but this time we had an entire arsenal. The guns were still lying on the bed, along with some of those wicked silver balls. I picked one up and then saw the girl’s faces. I put it back down. “What is in these things?”

“Ken says you roll them in between your hands to activate the chemicals inside, it heats up and explodes,” S said.

I didn’t like them.

I looked out the window. We were definitely sinking; I could feel the ship listing, and slightly lower in the water. And they wanted us to just cool our jets in here and wait for them to come back? This was not ideal.

We heard men’s voices at the same time, all of us becoming still and quiet. Listening closely, they didn’t sound like Big. Didn’t sound like any of them. I silently picked up a pistol.

We all instinctively took a shooting stance. Their footsteps came closer. Two or three of them, judging from the voices. Someone laughed right outside our doorway. Then I saw a blur of black as they paused and looked in. I took in their faces in a single sweep. My judgment was instantaneous. Nobody I knew. So I pulled the trigger. But I was not the first. Rebecca, S and Susan each got off a clean shot. I merely shot the second dude a second time; someone got him in the belly the first time. I got him in the forehead. But as soon as I started to angle my weapon away, we heard more of them running.

I threw the pistol onto a chair and picked up one of the big guns. Rebecca peeked outside. “Half a dozen,” she said. “Big guys.”

She lifted her gun and started firing. On and on and on, the rounds were deafening. When it finally stopped, Rebecca looked back. “I feel like we’re in a major crossway here. We should move.”

I stepped over the pile of dead bodies and followed the rest of the Amazon women into the hallway. We hurried back toward the staircase and up to the third floor. The sound of gunfire boomed through the air. I heard Ben and Michael yelling something. As soon as I was on the third floor, I felt the boat tilt way over to the right, enough that I actually felt dizzy. That could be from the concussion and the slaughtering downstairs, but it certainly felt the yacht shifting beneath my feet was the reason I had to grab on to the nearest solid object. Which happened to be Kevin Hannon.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” He did not bother to disguise his annoyance.

“We got ambushed,” I answered. “Pardon us for wanting to breathe.”

He looked at us and for the first time I realized how we must appear. Rebecca was beautiful and strong, but her hair was falling out of the ponytail she’d gathered it in this morning, and blood was spattered all over her blouse. We all were all sporting modulates of the Blade Runner look.

Kevin appeared to be alone. “Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Sshh.”

I looked at Rebecca and shrugged my shoulders.

“You notice the boat’s sinking?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should forget these clowns and figure out a way to get off this death trap.”

“Maybe.”

“Sharks are circling us.”

That seemed to get his attention. He looked at me, checking to see if I was serious. “Really?”

“Great Whites. They’re splashing on the Old Spice and playing Al Green, getting ready for the ladies right now. Right under our boat. And if you think Great Whites are bitches on ordinary days, just wait until we interrupt their love trysts.”

He looked from me to the others. They looked surprised too.

“So,” I continued, “I think we need to pick our battles here. Kill the rogue prosecutors or get off this boat. Any idea where the helicopter is?”

“It didn’t come with a helicopter.”
“Seriously, what are you doing here by yourself?” S asked.

“I was taking a piss,” he said and zipped up.

Oh.

We followed him back to an arcade where everyone was speaking in hushed tones. When they saw us they did not jump up and down with happiness. Big made a bee line for me. “It wasn’t my fault,” I said before he had a chance to say anything. “We shot a bunch of people. And now there are Great Whites making sweet, sweet love to their partners right under the ship. So if we go down, we’re gonna get chomped.”

Big blinked at this news, much like Kevin had. I decided to distract him from his stupor. “What is happening? Where are the baddies?”

“All over,” he said. “We’re trying to get to the top so we can at least be in a position where nobody eyes has eyes on us.”

“Let’s go then. Time is not on our side. We need to get rid of them, then get off this boat while we still can.”

I followed Big back over to the crowd and he told Jeff what I told him, leaving out the shark’s sweet, sweet lovemaking part. Before Jeff could process it, another loud explosion rocked the boat again. I felt the shockwave go through me, felt it in my chest.

“Grenade,” Michael said. “They’re trying to flush us out.”

“They’re tearing the ship apart,” Ken said.

“I guess that’s the plan,” Jeff replied.

“I say we go out there with guns blazing and let the chips fall,” Ben said.

That was my thinking too. I don’t like hiding from the DOJ. I’d rather just try to get them out of our way and then get off this boat. No more of this strategy or tactical stuff for me.

But I would just do whatever Big suggested because frankly I was tired and scared and wanted to take a nap.

Jeff suggested we go in pairs. That way we wouldn’t give the bad guys one giant mob to fire on. I didn’t think it was wise to again share my zombie hoard theory with him. I simply agreed and followed Big to the door.

“Guns up,” he whispered.

I lifted my MP5 and kept it trained on the door, ready to fire, while he opened it. All clear. He stepped out, sweeping his gun, fanning the area. I did the same. We made it all the way upstairs before Big got shot.

* * *

It happened quickly. I saw the blur of a bad guy, then realized Big wasn’t firing. I began to spray bullets. There were six of them, and I simply kept the trigger pulled back until nobody was left standing. Then I walked over to them and shot them in the head.

I ran back to Big. “Baby,” I said, dropping down to his side and gently touching his cheek, which was pale. “Where did they….where are you hurt?”

I looked over his body but didn’t see any blood. I lifted up his shirt and saw what looked like a black undershirt. Very thin – not at all like a bulky bullet proof vest like the cops wore. It was silky. I lifted it and looked at his chest, and saw no wounds at all. “What is this? Were you shot?”

“My chest,” he said.

Scott Yeager turned the corner with Susan. Susan dropped down beside us.

“He was shot, but…”

“He’ll be fine,” Yeager said. “We tried to tell you guys. We’re motherfucking superheroes.”

I put my fingers to his carotid artery. Rapid and strong. His eyes were open. “I’m okay, bun.”

“How did you…?”

“Something we’re working on,” he said, flinching as he struggled to sit up.

“No, Big, please just stay still.”

“I’m fine. Just got the breath knocked out of me.”

I looked around. We were on the top floor with the helipad. And the water was washing over the teak flooring. As long as we could keep the bad guys on the lower level with suppressive fire, we’d be okay until we drowned. I didn’t want to drown though. I really wanted to get off the boat, and I wanted Big to go to a hospital. Whatever that thing was that he was wearing, it was too thin to really protect him. I was terrified he might have a broken rib or some gruesome internal damage.

Michael and Kevin arrived and looked down at Big. “Were you wearing the shirt?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips.

“He’ll be fine,” Michael said. Then he noticed the water creeping across the floor. His mouth firmed into a straight line. Apparently the superheroes had discovered how to survive machine gun fire, but had not yet developed the skill to breathe under water.

The rest of them arrived, Jeff and Rebecca last. I was touched at that. Jeff Skilling is still an amazing leader, making sure his team was okay before securing himself.

“Oh my God.” S’s voice was a dead-flat rasp. I followed her gaze to the grey dorsal fins that were popping up around us.

“I saw on Shark Week that you can stun them momentarily by punching them in the nose,” I said. “But you can’t hit them underwater, so you have to let them breech the water, then punch as hard as you can. It confuses them. It’ll buy a few seconds to get away.”

“That’s terrific, if there was some place to get away to.”

The truth of her words hung in the air. And also… the sound of a helicopter. The thwp thwp thwp was distant, but when I looked around, I saw two navy blue helicopters coming. Relief flooded through me, until Big said, “Shoot them as soon as you get a clean shot.”

“Who are they?”

“Rogue FBI.”

“Can anyone fly a helicopter?” Rebecca asked.

“I can try,” Scott said. “I fly planes. Not the same but maybe I can manage.”

“Jeff!”

We all looked around. The voice was coming from the stairwell. We all lifted our weapons.

“Jeff, it’s me, Sean Berkowitz. I’d like to talk to you.”

He looked at us. Twelve of us against one of him. “Who’s with you?” he demanded.

“I’m alone. Everyone else is shot or drowned.”

“Come on up.”

We kept our guns trained on the door. As he came in, he kept his hands up. He stepped carefully by me, his eyes snagging on Big, who was sitting up now.

He looked up at the incoming helicopters. “Once we get back, we’ll discuss this. But I think you can agree that none of this was personal. In fact, I …”

Sean must have thought there was a railing behind him. But we were on the very top – there was nothing but us and the sea. He misjudged his step and fell backward, splashing into the deep blue water. The dorsal fins began to approach.

“Help me,” he screamed as soon as he broke the surface. He desperately grasped for the boat but it was nearly completely on its side, most of it underwater, and there was no place to get traction on the boat’s side. I looked to Jeff in disbelief as he stepped a few inches forward so the water splashed over his feet, and he bent down and reached out his hand.

Sean desperately grabbed for it, nearly yanking Jeff into the water. Ken grabbed Jeff’s wrist, keeping him firmly grounded. Jeff grabbed Seth’s hand, and pulled him up.

He was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. “Thank you,” Sean said. “You know, it was never personal. Never about me or even really about you. It was about the law.”

Rebecca looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. We’d had the discussion a million times. It was the most personal thing in the world. It punished not only the defendants, but their families and friends and loved ones. It prevented them from earning money. It was the most personal thing in the world.

Rebecca looked back at Sean, and the sharks, and then she shoved him in.

* * *

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Susan said as the powerful jaws of a Great White bit him in two.

I took a step over to Rebecca and hugged her. “You did the right thing.”

“Maybe,” she whispered back.

The helicopters were almost here, and in another sector of the sky, another black helicopter was swooping in at an aggressive attack angle. “What fresh hell is this?” Rebecca asked.

The black helicopter was moving fast, and looked different than the others. I looked at us on our tiny white island, surrounded by bloody, chum-filled water, and I prayed for a miracle.

“It’s Andy,” someone said. He hovered over us and threw out a rope ladder.

The choice for me was easy. Go with Andy Fastow or stay and try to talk it out with the FBI. I chose Andy Fastow. “Come on, Big,” I said and helped him up.

Jeff was staring at the pilot, expressionless. That seemed to be the de facto position. “Guys, please don’t die here out of stubbornness,” I said.

“She’s right,” S said. “I’m going.”

“Me too,” Ken said.

I grabbed the ladder. I climbed up.

* * *

None of us died on the boat or the result of a shark attack. The helicopter full, Andy hugged the shoreline and headed toward Mexico. The FBI stopped at the border and turned back.

I fell asleep and woke up when we landed. I stood on a helo-pad at a private home, a little dazed and chilly in the breeze. I caught snatches of a large yellow structure through giant swaying palm trees, but was too tired and confused to make any sense of anything. Big hugged me, keeping me warm. When we were all off the helo, we were led up a flagstone path into a large yellow home. Andy Fastow showed us our room, we thanked him, and I undressed and fell into bed.

I woke up to a dream. The room was vast, pure Caribbean Colonial. Mosquito netting around the bed was pulled back and I could feast my eyes upon the blue ocean, calm and flat outside the massive windows. And why was I so warm? I felt his leg against mine. Oh yes. Big. I turned over in his arms. “How is your chest?” I asked, kissing his neck.

“Mmmm… Nice. How are you?”

“Dazed.” And nauseous. I kissed his clavicle, then the smooth, feverish skin of his chest. I nuzzled my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Tell me what happened.”

He sighed, his hands running gently through my hair. “We have been engaged in projects that help keep capitalism alive. During our meeting, the DOJ burst in. You know the rest.”

I wanted to laugh. He hadn’t told me anything. But I didn’t push. I just lay there, grateful we were all still alive. I found his hand and laced my fingers through his. Alive together.

* * *

That night we all went to dinner. I ordered a margarita and S gave me a look. “No, Cara.”

“Yeah, no way you’re having that,” Rebecca added.

“Why?” Big asked.

Silence fell over the table. “Because,” I said, “we’re doing the Zone diet together and you can’t have alcohol on the Zone diet.”

“I’m having some because I’m foregoing bread,” Rebecca said as she ordered a margarita.

“Same here,” Susan replied. Then S. I scowled at them. S smiled sweetly.

I hadn’t given much thought to the possibility I was pregnant. It still seemed very unlikely.

Andy laughed. “No, she’s pregnant.”

I froze.

Big froze beside me. I looked desperately to Rebecca, whose margarita was arrested halfway to her mouth.

Big put down his scotch and looked at me. His face had gone pale. Worse than when he was shot. “Are you?” he asked.

“I’m…I doubt it.”

“You doubt it.”

“I… I have some symptoms.”

I was suddenly very thirsty. I picked up my water and drank deeply. Didn’t really help.

“I need some air,” he said. He stood up and walked out.

I looked at the place in front of me, fighting tears. This was not at all how I thought it would happen, if it ever did. And I was so disappointed. I’d never seen Big lose his temper. He’s never raised his voice to me or been anything but happy and upbeat, even during his trial. Even when I’ve been sad, he’s been very positive. This new behavior scared me.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Ken said. Right. He had children.

I tried to feign normalcy, watching how happy Rebecca and Jeff seemed. The waiter came and I ordered appetizers for Big and myself. I also ordered another scotch for him.

Ken returned. “He’s fine,” he said and sat down.

Puzzled, I stood up and walked outside. Big was standing on the beach, looking off to the horizon. He glanced at me as I stepped beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He took my hand. Relief flooded through me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded.

“What did Ken say?”

Big turned to look at me. “Ken said that babies do nothing but crap, eat, and cry. They’re expensive, and they get exponentially more expensive with every year.”

Thanks Ken. Gritting my teeth, I asked, “Did he say anything else?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Just that.”

I stood silently beside him for a long time, trying to understand what was happening.

“It wasn’t really about what he said. It was how he said it. He was saying these things and he had a big stupid smile on his face. Like it was the best thing he’d ever experienced.”

He looked at me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

I shrugged. “It took you a year before you’d sleep over my house. It took you three years to propose. You are a slow mover. I just didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed with the wedding coming up. And we never really discussed it.”

“So you told Rebecca and Susan and S.”

“I needed their advice.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I just didn’t know what to think. How you’d react.”

Big grabbed me by the shoulders. “How would they know how I would react? How would anyone? You know me better than anyone in the world. That’s why I want to marry you.”

I nodded, my throat burning with unshed tears as the truth of that statement dawned on me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll trust you a little better.”

He wrapped me in his arms. I relaxed against him.

“So a baby…”

“A baby,” I replied, saying it aloud for the first time. “How do you feel?”

“I feel amazing,” he said against my ear.

“Good.”

“It’s going to be a girl.”

I laughed. “I don’t think it even has a gender yet.”

“It’s a girl. She’s going to be just like you. And our life together is going to be awesome.”

[DISCLAIMER: Nobody gave me permission to use their names in writing this. Nobody endorses it except me. It is meant to be a funny, silly Halloween post - nothing more. Also, I have no reason to believe that Scott Yeager refuses to use coasters. -- Cara]