Toxic Tides - Part 2

 Previously: Toxic Tides - Part 1

Forty-eight hours later, they were already far beyond the shelter of the coast, the catamaran riding the long, patient swells of open water. Izzy had pressed for immediate departure the moment the shipping documents were in hand. On paper, they carried seeds—harmless, forgettable. In truth, the metal walls concealed hidden compartments, cleverly engineered and lined to evade anything less than the most exhaustive inspection. Customs might glance, might even prod, but without specialized equipment, they would find nothing. Only a search bordering on obsession would reveal what lay beneath.

Ed still found it difficult to reconcile appearances with reality. The crates, which at first glance contained nothing more than ordinary tech, were false—double-bottomed, their true contents buried beneath: biochemical agents, the makings of something far more dangerous than contraband. He hadn’t learned the truth until they had flushed out a intruder and taken him alive: Leon S. Kennedy.

By now, Ed knew the name well. But the revelation of the cargo had not been the only surprise. Leon himself had unsettled him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Anyone capable of slipping past their systems, of outthinking their safeguards, was bound to draw Ed’s interest.

At first, Ed had approached him as he did most people—sharp, charming, irreverent, always a step ahead. Yet Leon did not respond as expected. His resistance, his refusal to be easily disarmed, only sharpened Ed’s curiosity. What began as a game became something more deliberate. Even Ed, who prided himself on reading a room, had not foreseen how far it would go.

Trust, improbable and immediate, had taken root between them. Not merely because Ed needed an ally to uncover who had been siphoning profits and striking deals behind his back—though that alone would have been reason enough. His suspicions circled, again and again, toward Izzy. It was a thought Ed did not entertain lightly, yet one he could no longer dismiss. Leon, with his skill and his detachment, offered a way forward.

But it was not only strategy that bound them. There was a likeness in them—something in the way they moved through the world, guarded yet driven. And beneath that, an attraction that defied easy naming. Their encounter in the shower had taken them both off guard, a moment neither had planned nor fully understood. They had not spoken of it since.

Leon slept in Ed’s bed, though by morning the scene was carefully rearranged: the illusion of captivity maintained with handcuffs, the story intact for any watching eyes. A second night had passed without further incident, though the mornings carried their own quiet tension. Leon had a habit of drifting closer in his sleep, as if drawn unconsciously. Ed noticed. Ed always noticed. His remarks were light, teasing, but never careless. And Leon—unexpectedly—began to answer in kind, meeting wit with wit. Their exchanges became a kind of sparring, verbal and precise, something Ed found himself anticipating.

Most of their waking hours, however, were spent in careful planning. The biochemicals could not reach their destination. That much was certain. How to stop them—that remained the question. Izzy could not suspect. For now, Leon’s intelligence on lucrative cargo shipments had provided a distraction, enough to occupy Izzy’s attention. Ed could easily imagine him chasing leads, verifying details, pulling threads through every contact he had.

Izzy remained the greatest risk. Suspicious by nature, relentless in pursuit, he would not hesitate if he sensed deception. For that reason, Ed had insisted Leon remain in his cabin rather than be returned to a cell. Out here, beyond the harbor, Leon was granted a semblance of freedom aboard the vessel—something Izzy clearly disliked but could not openly contest. After all, Leon had been disarmed. No weapons, no tools, no apparent access to their systems.

That, at least, was what Izzy believed. In truth, Ed had already granted Leon access through a concealed secondary account within the ship’s security network. Without it, cooperation would have been impossible.

They had been underway less than an hour when Leon began to feel unwell. The motion of the sea unsettled him; the steady rise and fall of the catamaran turned his balance against him. His stomach churned, his senses lagged behind the rhythm of the waves. Breakfast had not stayed down long.

Ed had anticipated as much. He pushed open the door to his cabin and stepped inside, a packet of motion-sickness pills in hand.

“Hey, mate,” he said, voice easy but attentive. “Got something for you. They swear these work fast. Roach is brewing tea as well—my secret family remedy. Ginger, herbs… supposed to settle the stomach.”