Read Online Lost Republic by Paul B. Thompson - Free Book Online Page B

product?” he said to the Belgian boy.
    â€œThe Becquerels are bourgeois exploiters. From the cocoa growers in Africa to the factory workers in Ghent, they exploit them without mercy for the sake of profit.”
    France could not imagine anyone exploiting workers in the European Union in this day and age. In Africa, maybe, but Belgium? The EU Parliament sat in Brussels. Anyone truly exploited could take the train and picket the parliament hall before lunch.
    â€œIs that why you’re on board alone?” asked France. “Running away from your bourgeois family?”
    â€œWhy are you here, the son of a Société Brise Mondial executive?”
    He knew a lot for a snotty kid in bad clothes. France managed a chuckle and ate more bourgeois chocolate.
    A shout from the deck below made France bolt upright. From what he could gather, a light had been seen onshore. Sure enough, a dim, yellowish dot of light wavered in the distance. It looked like fire—a torch perhaps? Whatever it was, a torch meant a torchbearer.
    France heard Captain Viega on the deck below, his voice hoarse from shouting.
    â€œIt doesn’t mean a thing! It’s just a reflection!”
    â€œOf what?” a man’s voice challenged. “There’s no moon, and I can’t see any stars!”
    The captain stomped away. The rest, crew and passengers, stood in silence watching the far-off glimmer of light. Was it some fisherman trying his luck in the bay? Or some beachcomber following the line of flotsam left by high tide in hopes of finding some treasure from the sea? The distant flame flickered and shivered. Several times it seemed to go out, only to reappear farther down the black shoreline.
    Linh shuddered. She felt like she was doing something wrong, watching an innocent, vulnerable stranger go about his or her business.
    Julie felt cold. To her the bobbing light was like a ghost—intangible, untouchable, and perhaps a warning. She turned away. A moment later, a murmur went through the
Carleton
’s people. The light had gone out, and this time did not reappear.
    Most everyone slept on deck that night. The air was mild, and it was stifling below deck without any air-conditioning. Engineer Pascal and his crew abandoned the useless engine room and went outside, too, tying themselves to the rail so they wouldn’t roll overboard.
    Jenny was in the lounge. Sleeping in the open air was an invitation to an upper respiratory infection. That could knock her out of the running even before they got to Canada. She had no doubt they would get there. The weird problems with the ship were a pain, but the Coast Guard or the Royal Navy or somebody would soon find them. Where they were and how they got there were questions she didn’t bother with. Her goal was in Canada, and it was gold.
    With her head resting against the paneled wall, she relived her victory in the 800-meter race in Coventry a month ago, the win that won her a place in the Olympic tryouts. Another win and a few good showings in Montreal and her spot in the games was assured.
    She didn’t win with a fast final kick or anything like that. Jenny closed her eyes and saw her feet pounding on the track as she ran away from the rest. She kicked out front from the start and never lost her lead. The Scottish girl made a move on her in the last two-dozen meters, but Jenny had more than enough to outstretch her. She broke the tape a good three strides ahead of her rival and finished out with a triumphant jog into the sunlit end of the stadium. Sunlight on her face felt so good, she just stood there, soaking it in. The cheers of the crowd filled the rest of her with warmth.
    The cheers melted into individual voices, but the sunlight remained. Jenny opened her eyes. Sunshine was streaming into the slanted lounge. Her fellow passengers were clustered at the doors and windows like they’d never seen daylight before.
    Eleanor, the South African girl whose arm got