Dead Men's Harvest (30 page)

‘I’m going aboard,’ I said.

Hartlaub slung me my backpack. ‘So am I, buddy, I’m just not sure it’ll do much good.’

Mockery is catching.

I couldn’t think that way. I had to approach this mission hopeful of a successful outcome. If I went aboard fearing the worst, my response to finding Cain might be driven by anger and that would likely prove the death of me. No, Jenny was still alive; I was determined I’d continue to think that way.

‘Priority is Jenny, Hartlaub. We get her off first. We deal with Cain and anyone else afterwards, OK?’

‘Unless we find them together,’ Hartlaub said. He opened his own backpack and pulled out a midnight-black jumpsuit. I had a similar suit in my pack, along with greasepaint to smear on my face, and a wool cap to disguise my hair.

Lassiter approached from the cabin, riding the pitch of the boat like a seasoned pro. He slid on to the bench beside me. ‘When you first told me your mission I thought you were crazy.’

That was about as candid as it came.

‘And now?’

‘I still think you’re crazy.’

I laughed softly. Lassiter gripped my wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You don’t have to worry about me or Terry. You’re a good man doing the right thing for his family. We’re not going to take off, we’ll wait right here for you and come as soon as you call.’

Their original instructions were to leave the scene the second Hartlaub and I went overboard, but I trusted both Lassiter and Terry to help. He didn’t need to confirm that; maybe it was his way of offering to come aboard the ship if I’d asked him to. They were brave men; all the more so because they were risking their lives when they had no personal investment in what was about to happen. I’d been dealing with bad men for so long I sometimes forgot that there were plenty of good people left in the world.

‘Thanks, Lassiter.’

He got up, walked back to the cabin and nodded at Terry. It seemed like Lassiter had been voted the spokesperson. I waved to Terry and got a rapid salute of respect from him. Then I set about preparing myself.

It didn’t take long before I was standing by Hartlaub, our weapons in ziplock bags to keep them dry. Greasepaint made our features unidentifiable below our caps, and our clothing blended with the night. Two shadows ready to slip undetected through the darkness. I took one look back at the crewmen, nodded silently then slipped over the side of the boat. The tide had brought us close to the ship, but we still had a swim ahead of us, one that must be conducted in silence. Though all was quiet on the deck overhead, that meant nothing. Cain could be up there, watching us, practising his shark’s smile as we approached. He could open up on us at any second with a gun, but I didn’t believe that would happen. Cain was all about his ego: he liked to talk, to taunt, and he’d want me to come on to the ship. There was a gantry-cum-platform lowered midway down the side, from which dangled ropes, and it wouldn’t have surprised me to find that he’d left them there for me to climb aboard.

The water sucked all warmth from my body in an instant and I was tempted to stroke hard for the dangling ropes, but I disciplined myself to a gentle breaststroke, riding the swell of the waves towards the ship with my ziplock bag bobbing in my wake. Beside me Hartlaub spat out a mouthful of salty ocean.

Over us the freighter creaked ominously, something metallic clanked and machinery groaned from somewhere within the hull. Pausing, treading water, I searched the decks for movement but there was still no sign of life. Hartlaub was right: it was like a ghost ship.

Every second we spent in the water was a second nearer death. The temperature was somewhere between deathly and painfully cold, and it was like my entire frame was sheathed in crushed ice. Conversely my flesh began to sting as though I’d been doused in acid. Hypothermia was a very real threat, so I moved for the nearest trailing rope. It was out of reach.

I’m not one to panic. Not normally. But for the briefest of moments I felt that I’d made a ridiculous error of judgement and that Cain wouldn’t need to kill me when he could allow the sea to do that for him. I blinked water from my eyes, looked for Hartlaub. He’d slipped a few yards to my right and was reaching for another rope. When he couldn’t reach it, he dived beneath the surface, then erupted back upwards like a cork from a bottle. He snatched at the rope, snared it around his wrist and hung on, looking for me. I had a better idea. I struck out for Hartlaub, grabbed hold of his jumpsuit and then clambered up him so that I got a two-handed grip on the rope. Once my feet cleared the water, I placed my soles against the hull and walked up the nigh-on sheer wall to the platform. Gratefully I swung on to the gantry and lay there for a moment, staring at the wall of steel overhead as I pulled in a deep breath. I could only afford to give myself a moment’s rest, before I rolled over and helped haul Hartlaub upwards as he used the rope to steady himself in his climb. As soon as he was kneeling alongside me I pulled my gun out of the waterproof bag and checked that it hadn’t been compromised. It was bone dry, but my fingers were so cold the metal felt slick. I shook blood into my fingers, watching as Hartlaub aped my movements. We stood up together, and I went to the steps that led upwards. Glancing out over the water, I could see no sign of the inflatable boat, although I knew that Lassiter and Terry were still out there somewhere. That confidence made me think about Rink and Harvey. I missed them at my side, but I couldn’t dwell on that, so I pushed up the stairs thankful now for Hartlaub’s presence. A twinge of guilt speared me. I’d given Hartlaub short shrift at first, and he deserved nothing but respect. Coming along like this, Hartlaub had put his career, his liberty and quite possibly his life at risk for me. I placed my hand on his chest, stopped him in his tracks.

‘What’s up?’

‘Just wanted to say thanks.’

‘You already did.’

‘I mean for this.’

‘All part of the service, Hunter.’

We shared a grin of comradeship, then continued up the stairs. The jumpsuits sluiced water on to the steps, and by the time we’d reached the top, apart from our hats, boots and exposed flesh, we were almost dry. Nevertheless we were still wet enough that leaving a trail was unavoidable. We could only hope that no one came across the watery tracks and raised the alarm. A gate was open in the rail and we stepped through it, easing down on the deck. Like the rest of the old freighter, the deck was metal and corroded. On our left the cargo containers were stacked high, huge towers of multiple hues all bound for far destinations. I’d no idea what was inside them, but decided that none of them would be an appropriate prison for Jenny. The
Queen Sofia
was suspected of being a carrier of illegal immigrants – or sex slaves depending on your outlook – but the metal containers were too obvious a hiding place for human trafficking and would be the first things checked by the authorities. I believed that there’d be another place in the bowels of the ship where Jenny would be held. The problem was I didn’t know where to begin looking.

‘Feels like a trap.’ Hartlaub had leaned very close to my ear to whisper, but even so his voice was too loud. I raised a finger to my lips, indicating silence. I pointed to the nearby stacks of containers and to a deep ribbon of darkness between two towers. Hartlaub followed me into the narrow space.

In a low whisper, I said, ‘You’re right. This could be a trap, but there’s nothing we can do about that now.’

‘We should split up. That way if one of us gets captured at least the other still has a chance to save Jennifer.’

Splitting up would normally be a very bad idea: alone we were more vulnerable to ambush. Even so, Hartlaub was correct, because there was nothing normal about this mission. ‘I’m going to go below deck. You check out things up here, then go towards the bridge and check that out. Engage the enemy only if you have to.’

I didn’t need to explain that I required Hartlaub to cover my retreat if it became necessary, he’d already got that. He’d also realised that I was trying to divert him from his prime objective.

‘You know they’re not up here, Hunter,’ he said. ‘I’ll follow you down. Don’t worry, though. I’m here for Cain, but not at the expense of your sister-in-law. We get her, and then we do Cain.’

I acquiesced silently and we slipped out from between the containers and looked for a way below decks. We moved between hulking machinery, cranes and hoists primarily, and found a large piston-controlled hatch. We ignored that way inside because it would be too noisy and very likely led into another open storage area anyway. In front of us were a few shed-like structures, but because none of them boasted windows I assumed that they contained further machinery that required protecting from the elements. We found a metal stairwell adjoining the upper deck containing the bridge. We didn’t want to go up, so I led Hartlaub under the stairs and there we found a door that would give us ingress. It was a heavy steel affair, with a handle that required pressure to open it. If the rest of the ship was anything to go by, the door hinges would be ill maintained and the resulting squeal of protesting metal would be an instant giveaway. Shaking my head at Hartlaub I moved away. There was a soft clunk, and I turned quickly. Hartlaub was peering in through the open doorway. I tried to show my anger with a flash of my eyes, but the gesture was wasted on him. Anyway, when I paused to listen, the noise of him opening the door was lost in all the other clunks and bangs emitted by the ship as it rode the restless sea. Hartlaub stepped inside and I had no option but to follow.

We were in a narrow vestibule. A door on our right led into an antechamber, and two to our left into the forward deck. Directly ahead there was a railing and I moved to it, saw that it marked the beginning of a stairwell leading down into pitch blackness. Last time I fought Tubal Cain I had to descend steps into a similar pit of blackness, and I hoped that this time it didn’t lead to such a hellish place as Cain’s ossuary at Jubal’s Hollow. Cain had decorated the entrance to his bone chamber with archaic symbols, and I was glad to note that a sign on a nearby bulkhead was only written in Cyrillic. It was nowhere near as weird here, but I still experienced a wave of trepidation at what I could find below. When I’d found John, pinned to the walls of Cain’s chamber with iron spikes and the skin of his back split open to expose his ribcage, I’d almost lost my ability to fight; God help me if he’d done the same to Jenny.

No, strike that. God help Tubal Cain.

I pushed ahead.

Chapter 40

He’d just got off the satellite phone and Cain wasn’t very happy. He knew that the CIA man was stalling and even though he’d threatened to start dicing up Jennifer, Walter Hayes Conrad hadn’t been moved to hurry the process along. Conrad swore that John Telfer was on his way, but it was beyond his power to organise his transfer in anything below five hours. Cain doubted that; he could have had Telfer bundled on to a military jet and transferred from anywhere in the US within half that time.

‘You have one more hour,’ Cain had said. ‘If Telfer isn’t there by then I start cutting.’ The fact that Cain himself wouldn’t be at the rendezvous by then was academic; he wouldn’t allow Conrad the three extra hours he’d pleaded. Those three hours weren’t in order to arrange John Telfer’s arrival but something else.

Cain knew that the CIA were resourceful enough to have pinpointed his location by now and would be organising some sort of assault on the ship. He had warned the CIA man of what such action would bring. First sign of any kind of military presence, he promised, and he would slaughter his captive. Cain was pragmatic enough to guess that he was a more valuable prize to the CIA man than the life of a nobody from England. The assault would be coming and it was time to move. The location where he’d requested John Telfer to meet him was equally dangerous, but so long as he got his blade into Telfer’s body before the attack began he’d be happy enough. He didn’t fear death, but he did fear dying without taking his nemesis to Hell alongside him. His legend depended upon it. To the world Tubal Cain, the Harvestman, was a hapless fool by the name of Robert Swan who’d died in the Mojave Desert. It was time that the ridiculous lie was rectified and
everyone
knew the truth. Slaughtering Telfer under the watchful eye of the world would ensure that he would finally earn the credit he was due.

Before leaving the bridge, he smashed the satellite phone repeatedly against the control panel of the ship’s guidance system, breaking both. Light crackled and pulsed from the starred radar screen. The damage assuaged some of the anger he felt towards Walter Conrad. A stairwell led down through the tower to the lower decks, and he went in search of Baron and the crew members who’d given him their service since their old captain had perished. Down there he hoped that they’d readied the equipment. Captain Grodek had been a filthy-minded wretch, and he’d delighted in filming his own skin flicks that were uploaded directly to the World Wide Web. Well, it wasn’t only human-trafficking pornographers who could use digital technology to spread their message via the click of a mouse. Cain had discovered the room where the girls had been abused, found the cameras and wi-fi compatible laptop computers, and realised that he too could televise his own prime time show.

He found Baron waiting for his return.

‘Everything’s in order?’

‘Everything’s in chaos.’

Baron’s lips pinched, having no idea what he was alluding to. No, there was only one Prince of Chaos here, maybe even in the entire world. It didn’t matter; Baron was still a valuable ally.