Radomir Lascek was pacing, watching the deck from the bridge. Shawn and Federi were passing out plates with hangover breakfast to the hung-over Coastal Guard of Cuba.
It had been fun last night, with the Donegals keeping the Ceilidh going so loudly that the Cubans had been fully occupied. It had given him and Jon Marsden time to dig deeper into that load of information on the two capsules. Right under the Unicate’s nose; the way he loved best!
Sometimes he wondered if the Solar Wind had a guardian angel that led the diverse crew members in the right direction, to play things like the two halves of the Unicate plans into his hands. If he started believing in that, he’d also have to accept that it came with a responsibility attached – the duty to change the course of events and prevent the Unicate from carrying out what they were intending.
But today now – that posed a problem. How were they going to keep decrypting? He had to find a way either to throw Rodriguez back off the ship, or to keep him occupied. Throwing him out might just cancel what they had achieved yesterday. But how to keep him off the bridge?
A soft knock on the door interrupted his calculations. Paean Donegal appeared on the bridge, wearing a scarf of a different colour. Remotely better than the previous one. She teamed the loud turquoise tastefully with a cheap white T-shirt and her daily jeans. It would be alright, though Lascek, recovering from his fright. The girl did have colour sense of sorts. The sailors wouldn’t be incapacitated by migraines.
“Captain, I only want to ask for clearance – is it okay if I ask Captain Rodriguez to teach Wolf flamenco?”
Radomir Lascek smiled broadly. Yes, he’d have to accept the responsibility. There were definitely paranormal forces involved in the events on his ship!
A short while later, the captain from the Cuban Coastal Guard, Salvatore Rodriguez, stood in the infirmary’s doorway with his guitar. Wolf raised a hand in greeting.
“Er…” What did one say to a visiting captain with a Spanish guitar, anyway?
“What happened to your knee, hombre?” asked Rodriguez, settling himself on the second infirmary bunk and tuning up. He still stank of drinking party; alcohol and cigars. Wolf saw how Paean melted towards the door. He grinned at her. ‘Thanks!’ he mouthed at her before she disappeared from the doorway. She winked and gave him a thumbs-up.
“Pistol shot,” Wolf replied to Rodriguez’s question.
“Carramba! Pistol shot!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you got that wound -?”
“Pub brawl, sir.”
The Cuban was temporarily speechless. Wolf glanced at his guitar.
“Oh. Well, your girlfriend tells me you would like to learn some Spanish Guitar?”
“Please, sir. I’d love to.” Girlfriend, thought Wolf with an ironic little smile.
“Muy bien!” The hung-over Coastal Guard Captain sat down and started demonstrating flamenco for the wounded pirate.