Demon (10 page)

“You were saying,” Greengrass said.

Mike blinked and cleared his throat but kept his eyes on the table. “Greg McDaniel was his name. If you go to the CIA headquarters in Langley, in the lobby is the Wall of Honor. On it are these black stars carved into white marble. Each star represents a CIA agent who died in the field.”

Mike knocked back the rest of his drink and stopped caring about how much he said. “One of those stars is Greg's. He was investigating the embassy bombing in Kenya when he was captured by al Qaeda. Two weeks later they dumped his head outside the US embassy in Addis Ababa. Never found the body.”

“Where were you when they grabbed him?” Lowe said.

“We'd split up. He went to Nairobi and I went to Tanzania. The embassy bombings were high priorities, and all assets in the region were being assigned to them. It was Greg's idea to split up. And I got lucky as a result.”

He filled his cup again and knocked the whole thing back. “So I found the guy who did the beheading. It took me almost a year to track him down. When I did, I put two in his head, one through each eye.”

Mike shifted his gaze from the table and saw Greengrass and Lowe staring at him. “Sorry. I said more than I meant to.”

“So that's why you do it,” Greengrass said.

“Do what?” Mike said.

“Your job. You want to kill the bad guy.”

Mike thought back to Anwar earlier that morning, his head down on the rug, bleeding out. Then all the others he'd killed. Not one at a time, but all at once, a surreal picture of ghosts blurring together in his head.

“Yeah. I want to kill the bad guy.” But how many had been bad? He prayed all of them had been. “It's what I'm good at.”

Greengrass raised his cup in a toast. “Amen, brother.”

Lowe knocked back his own drink. “Ooh-rah.”

Mike smirked. “Too bad there's always another bad guy to get.”

“Then I guess you'll always have a job.” Greengrass laughed. “We all will.”

Mike didn't laugh with him.
Always will,
he thought and felt a little queasy.

“How do you do it, though?” Greengrass said.

“What do you mean?”

“Put two through the eyes. Or strangle someone. I mean, I've engaged in firefights. Probably killed a few. But never that close. Never that personal. How do you do it?”

I don't know.
“You tell yourself there's a reason someone decided to punch his ticket. Ninety-nine percent of them have it coming. They've earned the bullet. So you make yourself into a tool that executes that judgment. But it isn't easy.”

“They stay with you.”

Mike nodded once. Silence prevailed around them for a moment or two.

Greengrass cleared his throat and grabbed the bottle, pouring out what was left into his cup. “How about we finish our drinks and then go check out that tomb? See what's down there.”

Mike smirked, not wanting to think about Greg or the people he'd killed anymore. “Sounds good to me.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
fter Yusuf had expressed to the crew his desire to put to sea, all but two accepted the offer to sail with him. He let them leave, paid them what he could from the stash, and asked them not to say anything for twenty-four hours. They thanked him and agreed.

Now he stood in the wheelhouse, looking at the water around him. He had waited for sunset, knowing it would be easier to make a sprint out of port under the cover of darkness. He had experience as a smuggler when he was younger, running oil out of Iraq during the days of Saddam and the United Nations sanctions and Oil-for-Food.

“The chief engineer reports all engines are online,” Alwad said.

“Very well,” Yusuf said. “Any more personnel report?”

Four of nine missing crewmen had made it to the ship. All of them had decided to get underway. After seeing what they had out in town, none of them wanted to follow the mobs south to the refugee camps. Yusuf had been relieved to see them. Their stories of the horror in Basra had changed the minds of several who had considered leaving.

“No more personnel,” Alwad said.

Yusuf checked his watch.

“We cannot wait much longer,” Alwad said. “Those last five are not coming.”

“Possibly. It will not kill us to give them a few more minutes, though. Besides, there are other ships in this port probably making the same preparations we are. I want to allow one or two of them to make their run first. Let them distract port security.”

Alwad smiled. The scars on his face formed a fleshy arc. “Sometimes I forget you used to be a smuggler.”

“Indeed. Rushing out right after dark would be foolish. Never be the first out of the gate and never be the last.”

“Well, whenever we depart, the crew is ready.”

Yusuf looked down below on the weather decks. Crewmen stood by to sever the mooring lines. He did not have a choice since line handlers on the pier were not an option. So he would put lateral thrust on the ship toward the pier, slack the mooring lines enough so that when severed they would not snap back and cut his personnel in half. Yusuf had seen what a parted line could do to a person.

“Why not just leave the lines?”

Yusuf turned to Feisal, his young second officer, standing by the gyrocompass in the center of the wheelhouse. “Mooring lines are expensive. If we cut them, we can re-splice them and use them again.”

“Not to mention we have only two spares on board,” Alwad said.

Yusuf approached the compass. “What would you recommend, Feisal?”

“Me?”

“If you intend to be a shipmaster in the future, you need to be able to answer these types of questions. What would you do?”

Feisal rubbed his smooth face. “Slack the lines; cut them and then pull away from the pier.”

“Without putting lateral thrust on the ship?”

“If we slack the lines, we will not need lateral thrust.”

“What is the speed of the current right now, Alwad?”

“Four knots pushing us away from the pier.”

“You will not have time to slack them enough and sever them without lateral thrust. Do you understand, Feisal?”

Feisal nodded. “The current will push us away from the pier, and we will have taut lines no matter how fast we slack them.”

Yusuf smiled. “Very good.”

He did not mention putting lateral thrust on the ship would be just as dangerous. The fear was keeping the movement toward the pier for too long and hitting it. Everything had to happen quickly and timing was of the essence. Once the lines slacked, the crewmen would chop them with axes. Hopefully, the lines would sever without issue. But cutting through ten centimeters of double-braided nylon was not the easiest task, no matter how sharp the ax.

Yusuf glanced again at his watch. Just a few more minutes. He lit a Turkish cigarette and took a deep drag.

Almost time,
he thought.

S
emyaza made it on board the
al-Phirosh
without difficulty. Every person he approached seemed to recognize him. The sentries at the foot of the brow welcomed him aboard without challenge. One of them even slapped him on the shoulder as he passed by. He politely nodded and avoided contact and said nothing.

The skin on both hands was all but gone, and patches on his neck had also flaked off. His collar flicked up and hands tucked in his pockets, Semyaza climbed the brow and walked onto the ship and headed inside.

He reached into the memories of the host once more, learning his way around the
al-Phirosh
. From what he found, the person had a minimal familiarization with the ship other than a basic tour. He had remembered the names of the decks and the location of a few rooms. Semyaza poured through the information, searching for the best place to hide.

Then he found it.

Semyaza walked up a ladder from the main deck to the poop deck and moved through a door. He walked down a passageway, past the galley, turned left, and headed down another passageway. He stepped through another door and found what he sought on the right.

A box with a metal door. The memory told him it was called a walk-in refrigerator.

Semyaza reached out and grabbed the latching and opened the door. Cold air poured out and enveloped him.

This is what I need,
Semyaza thought and walked in. He closed the door and surveyed his new surroundings. Various fruits and vegetables were stacked on shelves.

The cold, he believed, would help slow the degeneration of the flesh. He did not expect it to stop it completely and needed it to work only long enough for the ship to get underway. Semyaza wanted to ensure the
al-Phirosh
was well at sea before he assumed another host.

Well at sea and in an area of minimal people. Semyaza believed he could defeat the soul even quicker the next time. If he could minimize the number of people around, Semyaza would have a ship of bodies to pick and choose from until they reached their next port.

That was, if everything went according to plan. First, though, Semyaza would sit patiently in the cold of the refrigerator and wait.

“Is it worth it?” Uriel said in the Ancient Tongue. The white mist materialized in the refrigerator and swirled around Semyaza.

Even in the cold of the refrigerator, the heat of the Firmament radiating from Uriel burned beyond belief. Semyaza cringed from the pain but also from how much he missed its warmth. It had been so long.

“You again?” Semyaza's words came out slow, the pain causing him to stutter slightly. “Why not appear in the form of a man once more, since you love them so much?”

“Is being outside the prison worth all this destruction? Is it worth hopping from body to body like a virus?”

“Yes,” Semyaza said. “I feel the Firmament now. Even the slightest touch is worth it, no matter how much it hurts.”

“Yet you know it will not last.” The mist contorted and shrank before it transformed into a man, dressed in the same clothes as earlier, sitting with his legs crossed.

The burning ceased. Relief and loss flooded Semyaza simultaneously. He looked at his forearms and saw the first indication of bone showing.

“I will make it last.”

“You know how to end all of this, Semyaza. The truth is there and it always has been. The touch of grace is not that far removed and can be yours again.”

Semyaza shook his head. “I did nothing wrong.”

“Your pride is still your undoing.”

“I was not the leader. I followed. Why should I be punished in such a way and Lucifer not? Why is he given dominion over Earth, free to move about, and I am bound?”

“Lucifer has his own punishment, as do you and all the rest of your ilk. You could receive judgment if you only repented.”

“But no forgiveness.”

“There is no forgiveness after the fall, just as there is no forgiveness for a man after death.”

“Do not compare me to a man.”

“You look very much like a man to me, Semyaza. Although you are falling to pieces.”

Semyaza hissed.

“Repent and accept judgment. At least all of this will be over.”

“To repent is to serve.”

“Yes.”

“I will not serve.”

“Then bound shall you stay.”

Uriel transformed back into the mist and disappeared. Semyaza reached out, trying to feel the heat of the Firmament one last time, hoping it would burn him to cinders; but it had gone and again he dwelled in the cold.

Y
usuf looked at his watch and nodded. Time to set sail.

“Right full rudder,” Yusuf said. “Port engine ahead one-third, starboard engine back one-third. Come up to five percent on the starboard bow thruster.”

The helmsman repeated what Yusuf had said, word for word, while simultaneously executing the orders.

Yusuf stood on the port bridgewing, watching the mooring lines. They were not taut but had enough strain on them that snapback still posed a danger. It took only a second or two for the ship to start moving. The stern shifted toward the pier. Normally, the bow would kick away; but ordering five percent on the forward thruster compensated for twist, putting lateral movement on the hull.

Yusuf lifted a handheld radio and keyed it. “Slack all lines.”

“Slack all lines, aye,” said the personnel at the mooring stations.

The gap between the ship and the pier closed to only a few feet. Yusuf watched the lines slack. He wanted to see a good dip in them before giving the orders to sever.

The pier grew closer. Fenders between the hull and cement pylons started to compress. Almost there.

Satisfied all the mooring lines had enough slack, Yusuf gave the order. “Sever all lines.”

Crewmen on the weather decks repeated the order. Those holding axes commenced hacking.

As soon as the first ax made contact, Yusuf turned to the helmsman and said, “Shift your rudder. Starboard engine ahead one-third, port engine back one-third. Indicate zero percent on the starboard bow thruster. Indicate five percent on the port bow thruster.”

The helmsman repeated back the order and did as ordered. Yusuf turned back to the weather decks. The stern line was separated. As were several of the athwartship lines.

The lateral movement toward the pier halted. For a moment, the
al-Phirosh
was completely motionless. Then the recent engine and rudder orders took effect and the ship slid sideways from the pier.

The midship line parted. Yusuf counted. All mooring lines were free with the exception of the bow. The crewman wielding the ax up forward chopped at it like a madman but to no avail. He kept hitting the line in different areas, his aim off as the ship moved.

“Indicate zero percent on the port bow thruster.” The bow's movement away from the pier slowed. The stern began to twist. “Rudder amidships.”

Several men with axes from amidships sprinted to the bow and started hacking. The slack in the line started to disappear. If they did not sever it in another second or two, Yusuf would have to either put forward movement on the ship back toward the pier or evacuate the bow and let the line part under heavy strain.