The Last Phoenix

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Tel heard it first. “Captain,” he called in Malay, “something’s out there.” He stood at the bow of the small fishing boat and looked into the night.

Victor Kamigami strained to hear, but his fifty-eight-year-old ears weren’t up to it. Luckily, the boy had excellent hearing. “He’s not a boy,” Kamigami said to himself in English.

“I’ll be twenty in two months,” Tel said in Malay.

“And with good hearing,” Kamigami replied, still speaking English. He had a voice that was unusually soft and high-pitched for such a big man. “Look away from the sound so your night vision can work better.” Automatically, he checked the small handheld GPS that dangled from the throttle lever. On course and four nautical miles to go. At five and a half knots, they’d make landfall in forty-five minutes. He glanced at his Rolex watch — the only clue that he was not a poor fisherman struggling to feed his family on the eastern shore of Malaysia. They would be on the beach and home in time for breakfast.

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