Winning Them Over

Downstairs, on the parade ground.

Godo stood in the yard with a cigarette between his fingers. It had burned down to the filter, but he neither threw it away nor took another drag. He watched the office building's door, watched Jack come out, and saw that his expression hadn't changed. It was still that blank face.

Godo dropped the cigarette butt, crushed it underfoot, and walked up to Jack.

"Sir, are we going out to sea today?"

Jack looked at him. Godo's eyes were different from yesterday. Yesterday, he'd had the lazy gaze of a dockside thug who took nothing seriously. Today, he looked straight ahead, neither flinching nor looking away, with the resolve of someone who had finally made up his mind.

"We are."

Kafka came over from the mess hall. He walked slowly, as if something were dragging at his feet with every step. His fingers rubbed against the seams of his trousers until his knuckles turned white. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He was trying to find the words. Since the day he'd been conscripted into the 16th Branch, he had never spoken to an officer of his own accord. He hadn't dared. He was afraid he'd be beaten for saying the wrong thing, beaten even if he said the right thing, afraid that opening his mouth at all was a mistake.

He stopped in front of Jack. He kept his head up and his eyes on Jack's chest, unable to look any higher, but he didn't retreat.

"Sir, when we pulled those children aboard yesterday... I thought of my sister."

His voice was quiet, but everyone could hear him. The parade ground was so still that even the sea breeze sounded loud.

"The mafia took her. It's been three years. No word of her." Kafka stopped rubbing his fingers together and clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I joined the military because I stole something and got caught. The recruiters said I could go to prison or become a soldier. I chose to be a soldier. I thought it meant drifting through one day after another until I died."

His fists trembled. His eyes reddened, but no tears fell.

"But yesterday, when I carried those children onto the boat, I saw them huddled on the deck, shaking. And I wondered... was my sister like that too? Was she locked in a dark room like that, chained up like that, curled in a corner calling for her mother? Is she waiting for someone to come find her?"

His voice broke. He didn't sob. He forced the words out one by one, each sounding as though it had been torn from the depths of his throat.

"I want to find her. Sir, I want to find my sister. But I can't do it alone. I don't even know where she is. I... I want to work with you."

Jack looked at him. Three seconds passed.

"What's your sister's name?"

"Amy. Amy Kafka."

Jack committed the name to memory. He made no promise, offered no comfort, said nothing unnecessary. But he remembered it.

Doni came out of the mess hall carrying a stack of bowls. Dish soap suds clung to them and dripped onto the ground. He stopped beside Kafka, glanced at him, then at Jack. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked down at the bowls in his hands, then at Kafka's eyes, and took his place beside him.

Godo was already standing behind Jack. Kafka stood beside Godo. Doni stood beside Kafka. Three men in a row.

The old man in the guard booth got to his feet with the help of his cane and went to the doorway, where he watched the four men on the parade ground. His uniform buttons were still fastened wrong, but he stood straight. He didn't join them. He just watched.

The scar-faced man poked his head out of the armory, a wrench in his hand. The bald man leaned out of the warehouse with a stack of old uniforms in his arms. The youngest poked his head out of the mess hall holding a kitchen knife. They watched the four men on the parade ground. The lazy, roguish look they wore over a game of cards was gone, replaced by an envy they couldn't quite explain.

Bastian stood behind a second-floor window, peering through a gap in the curtains. His face was hidden except for one eye. He watched the men gathered around Jack, his pupil narrowing to a pinprick.

Godo, a dockside thug. Kafka, a thief. Doni, a good-for-nothing who didn't even know why he was here. Three thugs, three layabouts, the lowest dregs of the 16th Branch. Now they stood together behind that madman, straighter than they ever had in formation.

He reached into the drawer and touched the Den Den Mushi. This time, he didn't pull his hand back. He took it out and set it on the desk. Its shell was black, its eyes red. It turned in a circle on the desktop until it faced Bastian.

Bastian stared into its red, pupil-less eyes. His finger paused over the dial, then began to turn it. Not headquarters. Not the Military Police. It was a number he had copied from the call records, one he had never dialed but had kept in mind all this time.

The call went through. The Den Den Mushi at the other end rang four times before someone picked up. The creature's expression changed. Its eyes narrowed and the corners of its mouth lifted—not in a smile, but in something colder.

"Hello."

Bastian's voice was dry, as though something had him by the throat. "Mr. Moretti. This is Bastian from the 16th Branch."

The other end went silent. It wasn't the silence of someone thinking. It was the stillness of a hunter fixing on its prey.

"I know."

Bastian tapped the desk twice, then twice again. "About your ship... I know who did it. A new recruit in my branch. His name is Jack. A corporal. It wasn't my idea. He acted on his own. I can't control him. He hasn't listened to a word I've said since the day he arrived."

Bastian's hand trembled. "I... I'd like to ask you a favor. Get rid of him. As long as he's out of my branch, as long as he stops causing trouble, that's enough."

A soft chuckle came from the other end. Not a laugh, just a breathy sound through the nose, full of contempt. Then the call ended. The Den Den Mushi in Bastian's hand returned to its usual appearance. Its eyes closed, its shell shut, and it looked like an ordinary stone.

Bastian put it back in the drawer, closed it, and leaned against the back of his chair. He stared at the ceiling. A water stain up there was shaped like a pool of blood. His fingers tapped the armrest twice, stopped, then tapped twice more.

On the parade ground, Jack had already taken Godo and the others aboard. The patrol boat's motor started, and the vessel slid away from the dock. Its bow cut through the water, sending curling waves to either side. Godo stood at the bow, Kafka cleaned the cannon barrel, and Doni sorted ammunition in the cabin.

Jack stood behind the helm, his hands on the wheel. The sea breeze lifted his hair and snapped at his clothes. He gazed across the water, eyes narrowed.

Colin climbed out of the cabin with a chart and spread it across the helm. "Sir, where are we going today?"

Jack touched a spot on the chart.

Salt Harbor.

Colin's pupils contracted, but he didn't tremble as he had last time. He picked up a pen, marked their course on the chart, then stepped back beside the helm and stood ready. His hands were steady.

The patrol boat picked up speed, trailing a white wake. The 16th Branch dwindled behind them, from a building to a speck, then vanished beyond the horizon. But Bastian remained behind his window, watching the direction in which the boat had disappeared. His fingers kept tapping. The desk, the chair, his knee. He couldn't stop.