Dark Moon Walking (13 page)

“They got the white-haired guy there?”

“Nope. Just the loggers. Think they could be the real thing?”

Walker looked at Claire. He knew she had heard. He had seen the quick clench of fear when he mentioned White Hair. He raised his eyebrows in query. She shook her head.

“Don't think they're loggers,” he replied.

“Yeah. That's my guess too,” Dan said. “Those two dinghies still with the black ship?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Call me if anything changes. If we can put White Hair in Shoal Bay, it might be a good time for me to come and get you, but if he's still there, I think you're better off staying put.”

Walker and Claire stared at the black ship. Walker had collected some berries and he still had some dried salmon left, but the planned meal of oysters and mussels had not happened. They had both lost their appetite with Dan's call.

“None of this makes sense,” Claire said, looking at Walker. “They can't be loggers. What would loggers be doing at Shoal Bay? Why would they come and visit the black ship?”

Walker shook his head. He had asked himself the same questions and he hadn't been able to come up with answers.

Dan was frustrated, and being frustrated made him restless and impatient. He didn't like being a bystander. He didn't like knowing the action was just a few miles away and having no role in it. He didn't like having a growing list of questions he couldn't find the answers to. And he hated the thought of the girl being out there on her own—or almost on her own. He didn't know her, had never met her, but the knot in his gut was growing bigger every second, and memories of Susan were impossible to still. He hadn't been there when she needed him. He couldn't let it happen again.

Even knowing Walker was with her didn't help, because he didn't feel right about Walker being there either. The man might be superb at looking after himself in this environment, but that didn't mean he was equipped to take on a group of armed thugs. Apart or together, neither Walker nor the girl had any way of protecting themselves if things went wrong. That was his job—or at least it had been—and here he was, sitting on his ass doing nothing. Waiting for Hargreaves to tell him what was happening in Shoal Bay. Waiting for news on White Hair. Waiting for Walker to report on the black ship. Waiting, waiting, waiting. The need to act vibrated through his brain and ricocheted down his nerve endings. It swam through his blood, heating it to fever pitch as it throbbed below his skin and snaked along his muscles. It was going to drive him crazy.

Half an hour later, he had the answers he needed. White Hair was in Shoal Bay. Hargreaves had called him back with that information after the guys had seen a man matching the description coming down the wharf from the old lodge. And the black ship was still anchored. He had checked that with Walker. Now he was in the Zodiac, throttle open as wide as it would go, heading for the island that matched the description and location Walker had given him. It was the best chance he had of getting Walker and the girl off that island and into relative safety on
Dreamspeaker
, and he was going to use it.

Running flat out, Dan figured he could reach them in maybe thirty minutes. There was some risk involved, because he had no way of staying in contact with either Walker or Hargreaves while he was on the water—he only had one hand-held radio, and he had given that to Walker—but he figured he was okay. White Hair was accounted for and from what Hargreaves had told him, it seemed likely that both he and his “loggers” were going to be at Shoal Bay for a while. Besides, until he reached the island Walker and Claire were on, he was just a guy out fishing. Once he was there he would see for himself how things were, and he would have the radio. Unless, of course, things had changed. Unless Walker and the girl were not there when he arrived.

It took him nearly an hour. A heavy chop in the channel slowed him down and he had to cut the engine when the island came into view. He needed to see if there were any signs of trouble, and he didn't want to create a wash that could alert someone on the black ship. Staying close to the shore as he approached would have given him some protection and allowed him to check for signs of activity, but there was maybe a mile of open water he had to cross. No choice but to crank up the motor again.

He made it with no problem. The island was like all the other islands off this part of the coast: lichen-covered rocks with patches of moss, tufts of grass, the odd clump of dark shrubs, and a few wind-twisted trees. There was a slight breeze, but it was barely enough to stir the leaves. Dan coasted in and let the inflatable bump gently up to the rocky shore. He couldn't see any sign of either Walker or the girl, but there was no point in getting out. If they were still here, they would come to him. If they weren't, or if someone else had got to them first, there was nothing he could do here that would help them. Either way, it wouldn't take long for him to find out.

His ears were just getting used to the quiet after shutting off the motor when Walker spoke.

“Nice boat.”

The disembodied voice came from above and to the right, and even though Dan had been hoping to hear something, it jolted him.

“Jesus! You scared the hell out of me,” he said as he scanned the rocky slope above him. “Where are you?”

“Up here.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Black ship still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Any activity on it?”

“Nope.”

Dan shook his head. Getting information out of Walker was like shucking wild oysters for pearls: a lot of work with little chance of reward. He wasn't even sure he needed more information. What he did need was to get Walker and the girl back to
Dreamspeaker
.

But what he wanted was to see the black ship for himself.

“Is there an easy way up?” he asked.

Walker pointed out the trail he had taken and Dan headed up. He slowed as he reached the summit. He didn't know how close the black ship was or how exposed he might be. Plus, the girl might not be expecting him.

She was sitting in the shadows, watching his approach.

“Hi,” he said. “I'm Dan.” He stopped and waited for her to respond. Considering all she had been through, she was undoubtedly exhausted and scared and maybe near breaking point. There was no need to add to her stress.

There was a faint rustle as she stood up and stepped out into the light.

“Thanks so much for coming.” She walked toward him. “I'm Claire.”

The greeting seemed formal and was at odds with her tousled hair and rumpled clothes. Shadows rimmed her eyes and there were lines of tension drawn around her mouth, but in spite of that, she looked surprisingly healthy. She also looked . . . what? Open? Warm? Maybe both, although neither was exactly right. It was something more than that. Perhaps “real” was the closest he could get, but whatever it was, he found himself drawn to her in a way that he would have had difficulty explaining—or even admitting—to himself. And that smile. It was amazing, especially considering the circumstances. He felt himself respond to it instantly. It was like Susan's . . . He shut off the thought before it had time to complete.

“The black ship . . . ?” he asked.

Her smile dimmed, and she turned to point back at the trees.

Walker was right, of course. The black ship was still anchored and there was no sign of activity. At least, not that Dan could see. He checked the angle of the sun for possible reflection, then raised the binoculars he had brought with him. They were surveillance binoculars, 20x50 power. He didn't have a tripod, but there were plenty of rocks scattered along the ridge that he could use to keep them steady. At this distance they wouldn't let him see much detail, but they would help some.

He let his eyes drift slowly from bow to stern, then top deck to waterline. There was a forest of antennae. He counted two radar, a couple of satellite phones, a satellite dish,
GPS
,
SSB
,
VHF
. The works. Nothing unusual and nothing useful. A rigid-hull inflatable maybe twenty-five-feet long swung on davits above the upper deck, and two dinghies floated off the stern, just as Walker had described. Nothing special about them either. He couldn't make out the name or port of registration. Just a faint tracery of lines on the stern. Same thing for the registration number. No flag either. Nothing.

He was about to turn away when movement caught his eye, and he quickly swung the glasses forward. Someone was coming out of the wheelhouse. Dan was too far away to make out his features, but as he watched the man walk aft along the deck he felt a faint shiver of recognition. There was something familiar there. Nothing specific. Not at that distance. More a combination of shape and movement: top-heavy with an odd mincing twist to his walk. That and a heavy thatch of thick, dark hair. Probably curly from the way it caught the light. He had seen him before. But where?

The man disappeared into the cabin a few seconds later, and when he failed to reappear Dan slid back down to join Walker and Claire. They had both caught his reaction when he noted the movement and now they were staring at him, waiting to hear if he had seen anything. He shook his head. “Nothing happening. Time to get out of here.” He turned to Walker. “Got the radio handy?”

Walker passed it over to him. Dan had left the
SSB
radio open back on
Dreamspeaker
, as well as the
vHF
, in the hope that he could hear and speak directly to Hargreaves from the hand-held. He didn't want to think about what it would cost him when the bill came in, but whatever it was, it would be worth it if it worked. It did—sort of. Hargreaves's voice faded in and out and sounded weird, but there was enough to make out the gist of what he was saying.

Hargreaves still had White Hair at Shoal Bay. The guys could see him clearly. He was standing on the wharf, supervising the retrieval operation. The “loggers” had been sorted into teams: three men in each of the two aluminum dinghies that belonged to the crew boat, and one standing up on the wharf. There was another man there too. A heavy-set, swarthy-looking guy with his hair pulled back into a ponytail. The men in one of the boats had pulled up a black metal canister. It was obviously heavy and they had had trouble getting it into their boat, but they had manhandled it in and were in the process of bringing it back to the wharf. The other boat was still pulling chain. They were taking it slow and being very careful.