A World Without Secrets (33 page)

I went to the doorway, never taking my eyes off my attacker. If he was wearing a vest, he would be plenty sore but might not be seriously injured, if a few broken ribs weren't counted as serious. My weapon remained pointed at him every second as I got closer, but he never moved, and a pool of bright crimson was slowly expanding on the carpet around his form.

Upon reaching the door, I paused for a second, then stuck my head out quickly and just as quickly pulled it back in. All I'd seen to the right was an elderly couple peering from their doorway. I did the same to the left and saw some faces peering out of doorways but no signs of imminent danger.

I held my arm out into the corridor and flashed my open ID wallet in both directions, saying loudly, "Politie. Police. Remain in your cabins, please, and close the doors." I didn't have a clue what to do next. I was afraid to step into the corridor, fearing that an accomplice of the man I'd shot was standing inside one of the other cabins just waiting for me to expose myself.

As I stood there, I heard the sounds of running feet getting closer in the corridor. I put my finger on the trigger guard so I didn't accidentally shoot an innocent and swung my arm out the door and to the left as I peered out. Two men in white uniforms almost fell trying to stop. They were ship employees, so I lowered my weapon. They paused for second, raising their arms as they slowly walked closer.

"Politie. Police," I said as I exposed myself a bit more and flashed my ID.

They seemed to breathe a bit easier and lowered their hands as they moved forward.

The older of the two said, "Did you shoot this man?"

While thinking that had to be the
dumbest
question put to me in a long time, I nodded.

"May I see your ID again?"

I held open the wallet so he could read the information.

"American?"

"Yes. I'm working on a case with the Dutch National Police and Interpol. This man broke into my cabin and attempted to kill me."

As we talked, several more ship employees arrived, including one who appeared to be an officer, and people began to open their doors again and peer out.

"What's happened here?" the officer asked in English. I was still holding my service weapon on my right hand, and the attacker's weapon was near his right hand, so it should have been obvious, but I guess he needed to ask.

"A man broke into my cabin and attempted to kill me," I said. "He lost." To punctuate my statement, I held up my ID.

"You're FBI?"

I nodded. "I'm working on an art theft case with Interpol and the Netherlands DNR."

"Do you know this man?" he asked, pointing to the body on the floor. It was pretty clear from the holes in his chest and the blood that he was dead.

"I believe he's the same one who tried to kill me yesterday in Amsterdam. He got away then. May I suggest you have a photographer come down here and take pictures of the scene? I also suggest you have your chief medical person check the body just to certify he's dead for the death certificate."

The officer looked at me for a second, then nodded to one of the other men, who turned and hurried down the corridor.

The officer bent to retrieve the weapon off the deck, and I shouted, "Don't!"

He stopped, stood up, and looked at me.

"We must preserve the crime scene until the photographer has taken some pictures," I said.

"Ah, of course. Sorry. It's my first murder, Special Agent James."

"It's not a murder. It was self-defense."

"Of course. I should have said my first violent death aboard ship. Are you taking charge of this investigation, sir?"

"Since I was involved, that wouldn't be appropriate. If you'll contact your company in the UK and ask them to alert the authorities, we'll let them handle the investigation when we dock. We'll have the crime scene photos to show what happened. Make sure your photographer takes pictures of that electronic device in the key card lock on my door and the damage to the unused bed where the attacker thought I was sleeping. Then I suggest you question the people who have cabins in this corridor and take statements about what they saw and heard. Once the doctor has examined the body, you can remove it and clean the mess as best you can."

"Yes, of course. Ah, here's our photographer and doctor now."

I glanced down the corridor and saw them coming towards us on the run. I stepped back out the way and watched as first the photographer did his job and then the doctor examined the body. The adrenaline was wearing off and I was feeling extremely tired, so I holstered my weapon and went to splash some cold water on my face.

As I stepped out of the bathroom after drying my face, the photographer asked from the corridor, "The first officer says there's some damage to your bed, sir?"

"Come in. It's the bed on the left."

The young man took a couple of pictures of the bed as it was, then I peeled back the covers so the damage underneath was visible. He whistled when he saw the holes and looked at me for a second, then at my weapon, then back at the bed. Since he was using a digital camera, there was no waste of film, so he shot with abandon. After the bed, he took a dozen pictures of the rest of the room. When he was done, he nodded to me and left.

The doctor had completed his examination, and two men had lifted the body onto a sheet of heavy plastic before placing it onto a stretcher so it could be carried to— wherever— without dripping blood along the way. The first officer had the assassin's pistol, several spent cartridges, and the electronic card lock override device. My own brass was still on the floor of my cabin.

"Special Agent James, the local police will no doubt wish to speak with you as soon as we dock. Please remain in or near your cabin after you hear the morning wakeup call."

"Of course, First Officer."

"Would you like me to arrange for another cabin for you?"

"That's not necessary. The second bed will be fine."

"I'm sorry this happened aboard our ship."

"It's certainly not the fault of the line or any of the crew. In law enforcement, we never know when or where killers will strike."

"I'm glad I don't have your job. My job is exciting enough on those occasions when we have to fight the weather. Mother Nature can be vicious, but at least I know she's not specifically after me."

"There's danger in most professions. Thank you for your understanding tonight."

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, First Officer."

I was beat. The day's activities had taken about everything I had. But after closing and locking the door, I took out my small kit, cleaned my Glock at the desk, and refilled the magazine. With that done, I stripped down and slid into the second bed. I was asleep in minutes.

I didn't want to get up when the wakeup call came, but like everyone else aboard, I had to. I hoped a hot shower would finish the job of waking me.

I did feel better after a shower, but I still wanted more sleep. Working at home as an author had its advantages. As a self-employed person, I had to be able to work without supervision, but I got to establish my own hours. I could work all night and then sleep all day if I chose. But when I had to function or interact with people or businesses with tightly scheduled hours each day, I had to adapt to them. I couldn't wait to wrap this case up and go home, if I lived long enough to get home.

The Stena Line provided coffee and complementary fruit in the cabin, so after dressing I partook of both. I was finishing my second cup of coffee when I heard a knock at the door.

There was no peephole in the door, so I opened it cautiously, using my foot in an effort to make sure it couldn't open further than I intended until I knew who was knocking.

"Special Agent James?" one of the two men asked.

At first glance, I knew they were cops, so I said, "I'm James." I opened the door fully.

"May I see your ID?"

"May I see yours?" I asked.

"Sorry. I'm Williams of NCA. This is Medcroft." Williams held up his ID. "We're here about the shooting on the North Sea."

I held up my own ID and Williams studied it for a couple of seconds, then looked me in the face again.

"Thank you. May we come in?"

"Of course," I said, pulling the door fully open and stepping back out of the way.

The two men walked in and straight to the bed that had been shot up.

"Good thing you weren't in that bed."

"I was over there," I said, pointing to the area at the bottom of the other bed.

"You knew he was coming?"

"No. I heard a slight noise at the door, and then again a minute or so later. There had already been two attempts on my life in the past twenty-four hours, so I was on high alert. I threw the pillows under the covers to make it look like I was sleeping in that bed, turned off the lights, then moved over behind the bathroom with my weapon at the ready." I moved over to the place I had waited to demonstrate. "The killer finally got the door open, stepped into the room and fired three times into the dummy form. I swung my arm around the wall here and put three slugs into his body. It knocked him back into the corridor. He never moved again. End of story."

"Had you ever seen him before?"

"I think he might have been the one who tried to run me down in Amsterdam. He has a stitched up wound on his forehead. Witnesses said that after the car missed me and hit a tree, the driver got out, holding his head. The windshield was cracked, and there was blood on the ground by the open car door. The car's air bags never deployed. I imagine the Dutch police took a sample of the blood on the ground following the crash so a DNA analysis of that and the dead man's blood should tell the story."

"The doctor transmitted the dead man's prints, and they were run through Interpol. He was wanted for questioning in connection with three violent deaths— one in France, one in Germany, and one in Italy. We don't doubt that everything occurred just as you said. Where are you staying in the UK?"

"Somewhere in London. I haven't selected a hotel yet. I just had to get out of Amsterdam for a few days and think things out. It had suddenly gotten very dangerous there."

"I hope there aren't any others following you."

"You and me both. I was very careful and still never spotted this guy on my tail. I'm beginning to wonder if someone bugged my clothes or suitcase. Do you know of a good electronics specialist in London?"

"It so happens I do." Williams wrote a name and address on a piece of notepaper on the desk and handed it to me. "He's one of the best. Used to be with our lot until he retired. He'll be able to sweep your clothes to see if you've been bugged."

"Thanks."

"Ambrose gave me your cell number. Is it still good?"

"Yes. I keep it in a special case so it can't be tracked. Just leave a message and I'll call you back when I check my messages."

"Then we're done here. We'll be in touch. Watch your back, James. It seems someone's painted a target on it."

Harwich seemed like a nice community, and I briefly considered finding lodging there instead of continuing on to London, but if I really wanted to get lost, London would be the place. The first time I used my cell, someone could pinpoint my basic location, and then it would be all too easy to find me if I stayed in Harwich. In London, it could be impossible to find me even if they knew the neighborhood where I was staying.

The train to London arrived at the Liverpool Street station in less than two hours. There was a Burger King concession on the way out of the terminal, so I grabbed something to eat before taking a taxi to a B&B in Kensington. I had found the listing on the internet and I hadn't made a reservation, but since it was off season, they had rooms available. I got a very nice double with an en suite bathroom at a very reasonable price. It was quiet and there was free wifi, so I had everything I needed.

After settling in, I left to find the electronics specialist recommended by Williams. I'd expected a business location, but the address he'd provided was a two-story residence in Southfields. I rang the bell, then announced my name and law enforcement association when a voice on an intercom grilled me about my business there. When the door buzzed, I pushed it open and was greeted by a wiry-looking man whom I suspected was in his early seventies. He sized me up immediately.

"Yank cop?"

"FBI. Williams of NCA sent me…" I stopped talking when he put a finger to his lips.

"Follow me," he said as he turned and walked towards the back of the house.

The room he led me to had probably been a kitchen at one time, but now it looked like an electronics lab. The windows had been covered over, and without the overhead lights and the lights from the instruments and equipment, it would probably have been pitch black in there.

He stepped back out of the way after entering the room and waited until I was in before pushing the door tightly closed. After moving to the center of the room, he turned to face me. "I'm Peter Watson," he said. "It's safe to talk in here. No signal can get out. Why did my friend Williams send you to me?"

"I'm Colton James. There have been three attempts on my life during the past two days. After the second, I decided to get out of Amsterdam for a while. The third attempt took place on the ferry to Harwich. He won't be coming at me again, but I had been very careful and hadn't seen anyone tailing me, so I don't know how he found me. I think I might be bugged. When I arrived at Amsterdam, Customs officials put five bugs in my clothes. I found them and removed them, but now I think there might be more."

"Customs officials?"

"No doubt about that. They were the only ones with the time and access to my things after I deplaned."

Watson chuckled. "I've heard rumors that crime organizations had made some inroads into the Customs ranks over there, but no one has been able to prove anything yet."

"I thought the bugs might have been planted on orders from the Dienst Nationale Recherche, but now…" I shrugged.

Watson smiled and walked to a bench where he picked up a piece of equipment that looked like a TV remote control. Returning to me, he started at my feet and worked his way upward on my right side. When he reached my belt, the device chirped.