Cape Storm Page 0,7

the opposite side of the room. It was like a map of the wealth of America, from coast to coast - all arguing at the same time.

Another steward, looking not-so-crisp, was trying his best to calm people. They were ignoring him and all yammering away at each other, waving tickets, papers, cell phones, and BlackBerries. The din was all focused on one thing: I'm going to sue. I'm not leaving without my (fill in the blank).

I beckoned the steward over. He came, looking grateful that someone - even a potential troublemaker - was paying attention to him instead of shouting at full volume. I could understand why; this room full of people, at least fifty strong, had enough clout to bury the cruise line in legal red tape for years, if not generations. "We need to move these idiots out," I said. "It's time to go."

I saw him swallow whatever he was tempted to shoot back at me, and try again. "Yes, miss, I'm trying," he said, in that smoothly patient tone that only the very stressed develop after years of therapy. "I explained that if they didn't disembark, we couldn't wait for them to do so, but - "

"They called your bluff."

"Exactly." He swallowed and tugged a little at the white collar of his formal jacket. "I've tried to get the captain, but he's busy with preparations to cast off." A woman of indeterminate age - indeterminate because plastic surgery, heavy makeup, and a forty-hour-a-week workout schedule had effectively rendered her a wax figure of herself - grabbed the steward by the arm with expertly manicured, clawlike fingers. "What are you going to do about this?" she demanded. "I demand to speak to the captain! Immediately!"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but the captain is occupied," the steward said, and patiently removed her grip from his uniform sleeve. "You must depart the ship immediately, for your own safety."

"Don't be ridiculous.This ship was advertised as being able to sail through a hurricane without a wineglass tipping. It's the safest place to be! I refuse to be turned out like some penniless hobo into a storm. My people say there are no hotels, and no flights out. There's nowhere to go. I'm staying."

"That's not an option," I said. "If you get your people and head toward the exit, you might still make it off the ship. Go. Right now."

She fixed me with an icy stare. "And who are you?" Her glance traveled over me, dismissing every item of clothing on me with ruthless clarity, and then summing me up and dismissing me as a whole, all over again. "Are you with the cruise line? Because if you are, I will have a word with the captain about the dress code for - "

"Shut up," I said. She did, mainly because I don't think anybody had told her that in her whole life. "Pretend there's a bomb on board. Now. What should you do?" She blinked. "Is there?"

I stared at her, unblinking.

She lifted one heavily ringed hand to cover her pouty lips. "Is it terrorists?" Terrorists, the new monster under the bed. Well, whatever worked.

"I can't confirm that," I said, in my best poker-faced government-agent style. Hey, I learned it from television. "You should go immediately. But don't tell the others. We don't want to cause a panic."

That was an added kicker, because by being told to keep it secret, she felt privileged, and of course that convinced her. She gulped, grabbed her personal assistant in red talons, and whispered something urgent. Then they hustled off, presumably heading for the docks.

"One down," Cherise said. "Terrorists, huh?"

"The FBI can Guantanamo me later," I said. "It does the job. You take that side of the room, I'll take the other."

And so it went. About three repetitions later of the terrorists-but-keep-it-quiet story, I ran into someone who demanded to know if I had any idea who he was. I tried to control my instinctive awe and assured him I did - how could I not? He seemed to like that, and especially the whole I'm only saving your ass because you're so special undertone. When he strode off, trailing employees like a comet, I turned to see the steward watching me with a look that was half appalled, half amused. "What? Who is he?" I asked.

"I believe he's in the film industry," he said. "You're scary."

"You should see her when she's really bothered," Cherise said as she passed us, heading for her next victim. "But I hope you