Running Dark (14 page)

SUMNER FOUND CAPTAIN WAINWRIGHT ONCE AGAIN ON THE
bridge. The ship continued to move, something Sumner considered to be a good sign. Wainwright waved him over to the ship’s console.

“We got the radar up long enough to see them moving away. It went down again right after, but they were here.” Wainwright pointed to a green blip that stayed frozen on the radar screen. “Do you think they’re done?” he asked.

“Not at all. I think they’re just heading back to get more grenades, crew members, or both. How long to Berbera?”

“Two days at least. More if the engines give out, which is a strong possibility. My real goal is not Berbera, but to go farther out from Somali territorial waters. The distance will give us a little more safety from the pirates and will allow foreign ships to come to our aid.”

“How long does it usually take for aid to reach a boat under these circumstances?”

“Eight hours is average.”

Sumner grimaced. “That’s a long time.”

“That’s an assumption. I have no way of guaranteeing even that. And none of it’s going to happen if we don’t get out of territorial waters. Tell me about the sentry duty.”

Sumner recapped the recent skirmish, leaving out Clutch’s craven retreat but giving Marina her due as the one to fire the deciding shot. He also told him about Schullmann’s cage idea.

“We’ve got a bunch of aluminum rods in one of the electrical rooms and steel supports for them. They’re railing replacements. Feel free to use them. Steel sheets will be harder to come by. I don’t know that we have any. Ask the mechanic if there’s anything he can cannibalize for the metal.”

“I also think we should arm the passengers,” Sumner said.

“With what? We don’t have arms for the crew, much less the passengers.”

“The crew should be given knives from the kitchen. The passengers—screwdrivers, ice picks, anything they can use to fight as the pirates board.”

Wainwright’s face hardened. “Absolutely not. These guys carry AK-47s, and they won’t hesitate to use them if they meet with resistance. Anyone fighting will be mowed down. I’d rather have the passengers taken hostage than risk a bloodbath.”

Sumner rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Listen, I was taken hostage once, and it’s not a situation I would wish on my worst enemy. These guys will drag the hostages to a deserted area and leave them in a pit. They’ll barely feed them. The ones who don’t die from the exertion and stress might die from starvation. It’s my advice that the passengers be allowed to fight back.”

“I appreciate your view on the subject, but I can’t allow the situation to escalate. The moment those pirates climb over the railing is the moment we surrender.”

Sumner could see that the subject was closed. “I understand. Then we’ll just have to do our best to ensure that they don’t board. How long can we continue?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Sumner headed down to the mechanical room. Schullmann stood next to an engineer and directed him in broken English. The engineer responded in broken German. They appeared to be progressing despite the language barrier. Schullmann’s sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He looked interested, less bored than he had in the casino.
Sumner took this as a good sign. He went to the man’s side and told him about the railings.

“Is this steel the same as that which forms the ship’s railings?” Schullmann asked.

“It is.”

“The steel is soft, so I would not depend on it.”

“I understand. All I really need is to deflect the grenade.”

“It will do that, but not much more.”

Another mechanic stepped up carrying a blowtorch and wearing protective goggles.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Sumner said.

He headed to the deck to check on Block, whom he found looking morose.

“What’s the matter?” Sumner asked.

“I hate that they’re out there. I thought about what you said. They’re coming back, that’s for damn sure. And even if they kill two-thirds of us, they’ll still make a ton of money.”

“Don’t think about it. Never worry about something that hasn’t happened yet.”

Block gave Sumner a speculative look. “Tell me why you’re really on this ship. You ain’t no cruise-line employee, that’s for sure. And you’re a damn sight more competent than that loser head of security, Clutch.”

Sumner sat down next to Block and rested his back on the far wall. He gazed into the darkness. “I’m a security agent and work for the government. I’m supposed to be far from the site of my last location, in order to stop any retaliation.”

Block laughed a hearty laugh. His obvious pleasure at the irony of the situation made Sumner smile.

Block wiped his eyes and pointed a finger at Sumner. “You gotta be kidding me, right? What are you, some kinda shroud? You bring only bad luck.”

Sumner couldn’t help but agree with him. “It does appear that way,
doesn’t it? I’m a member of the Southern Hemisphere Drug Defense Agency. We generally focus on Latin America, but I’ll go to whatever hot spot needs me. It’s my job to be in the front lines. I don’t relish the danger, but I do like the feeling that I’m doing something good for the world.”

“No wife? No kids?”

“No.”

Block looked relieved. “That’s good. Once you’ve got a family, you no longer feel so free with your life. Kids anchor you in more ways than one.”

Janklow’s voice pierced the darkness. “Sumner, come with me. We’ve got a problem.”

“I’ll be back.” Sumner placed a hand on Block’s shoulder.

They moved through the ship. The halls remained empty. It was two o’clock in the morning, and Sumner hoped that most passengers were able to sleep, although he doubted it. Janklow took him to a door marked
PRIVATE
. He punched a number into a keypad, and the door clicked open. They entered a large cargo bay. Rows and rows of pallets lined the walls. Most were filled with boxes shrink-wrapped in plastic. Words like “tissue” and “detergent” were marked in black stencil. Janklow ignored these pallets and headed to the rear of the long, rectangular room. At the far end was a large wooden box stamped with the manufacturer’s blue logo and covered in bold red with the words
PERISHABLE, MEDICAL PRODUCTS
. Janklow stopped in front of it.

“These were supposed to be vaccines and some sort of heart medication,” he said.

“Supposed?” Sumner said.

“We’ve gotten word that buried somewhere in this box are two vials of ricin.”

Sumner felt his mouth drop open. He prided himself on being the type of man who was rarely surprised, but now he was, and deeply so. He felt completely inadequate to address such an issue. The box in front of him was four feet high and wide. It could contain hundreds
or even thousands of vials. From what he understood, ricin looked like any other clear liquid in any other vial. He wouldn’t be able to analyze any one to determine its contents.

“Who told you this?”

“A man named Banner. He said you should know right away.”

“We have a spare dish?”

“No. He sent an encrypted message on the computer right before they sheared off the satellite. He said to tell you that he’s sending a chemist to analyze the vials, but that under no circumstances must you reveal the ricin to anyone else. Only Wainwright and myself know about what’s in there.”

“Of course not. But how does he intend to get his chemist on board? We’re in the middle of a crisis and no one is coming to our aid, but a chemist will make it here? Doesn’t that sound a little strange to you?”

Janklow heaved a sigh. “Who knows if they’ll be successful? The chemist is coming with some operatives undercover in a small boat. They’re going to try to slip through the net without the pirates or anyone in Somalia being the wiser.”

“How will they find us? Wainwright switched off the tracking beam, and the radar’s gone.”

“Like I said, we had the radar up and running for a short while, and I sent out our coordinates then. We’ve continued to drift, but if they come soon, they may be able to locate us.”

“Who’s the chemist?” Sumner asked.

Janklow shook his head. “Someone from Darkview. They didn’t say.”

“Darkview employs security personnel, not chemists.”

“Guess this is a chemist Darkview knows.”

Sumner felt a feeling of inevitability wash over him. He shook it off and headed back to the deck to patrol. He’d learned long ago not to worry about things he could not change.

EMMA WOKE TO FIND HASSIM LEANING OVER HER.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she said. If Hassim had been the type to smile, she thought he would have then. Instead he gave a shrug, just a tiny movement of his shoulders.

“Stealth is important in the bush. I am quite good at it.”

Emma sat up. The wrap fell off her, bunching at her lap, allowing the cooler air to play around her shoulders. Even that fleeting perception wouldn’t last for long. She felt the heat lingering just outside her presence, like a dog waiting patiently to get in the door. It promised to be a scorcher. Today Hassim was in dark-colored camouflage pants and lace-up combat boots. A dark gray T-shirt, not tucked in, completed the army look. He handed her a camping flashlight.

“Take this. It has an ultraviolet light.”

Emma flicked on the flash. The bulb glowed blue. “Why ultraviolet?”

“To illuminate the scorpions.”

She paused and looked at Hassim, but he was busying himself at the hot plate, his eyes on the task before him.

Emma got up, grabbed the roll of paper near the curtain’s base, and slipped outside. It was still dark, but there was a sense that the sun was there, just under the horizon. She thought it might be four o’clock in the morning. The outhouse consisted of several haphazardly nailed boards twelve inches wide by eight feet high, creating a structure with a vaguely rectangular shape. Like a coffin sitting on
its end. There was no roof, just two more thin boards to act as supports, but the door was hinged and had a rope handle. She swung it open and used the flashlight to check it out.

Inside, two thick, sawed-off boards rimmed the edge of a large hole, acting as a platform for one’s feet. The entire setup was more like a Turkish toilet with walls rather than an outhouse. It smelled musty, but not like a sewer. It must have gone unused for some time. Five scorpions glowed in a dark corner, their bodies flush against the walls. Emma knocked on the wooden door, and they scuttled out through a hole in the boards.

Upon leaving the outhouse, she spotted another scorpion moving across the beaten earth path. It disappeared under some dried leaves. She made her way back to the rain barrel and peered through the mesh. Dead insects and a small drowned gecko floated in the water. The mesh wrapped over a couple of nails pounded into the rim of the barrel. She removed it and used it to scoop out the corpses, then replaced the screen and shoved the tin tub under the spigot that stuck out from the bottom. She used the soap on a rope to wash her hands but didn’t bother to dry them. The water started evaporating in the heat almost immediately.

When she stepped back into the cabin, she saw that Hassim had lit the hot plate. He filled the percolator with water from the jug, dumped some coffee into the basket without measuring it, and placed the pot on the hot plate. He picked up an orange, holding it in the air with a questioning look. Emma nodded. He tossed it to her. She caught it, settling back down among the pillows to peel it. At the first break of the skin, the tangy, sweet smell of citrus floated up to her, and her mouth watered. She broke apart the sections and ate them, enjoying the sharp, clean taste.

“The flashlight worked. Lots of scorpions in the outhouse,” Emma said. She ate another orange wedge.

“I hate scorpions.” Hassim’s voice was filled with loathing.

The percolator heated surprisingly fast. Within minutes dark liquid
perked into the small glass top, sending a rich smell of strong coffee into the air. Hassim poured two mugs, handed one to her. Emma took a sip. It was exquisite. Better than that made from any electric pot, and even better than her press at home. She closed her eyes in bliss. When she opened them, Hassim was watching her over the rim of his mug with a look of amusement in his dark eyes.

“It’s the best I’ve ever tasted,” she said.

“The beans are African. Percolating them allows the flavor to become strong. Much better than the method of pouring water through a filter used by most modern coffeepots.”

“A coffee connoisseur,” Emma said.

“It is my favorite drink.” Hassim finished his and poured some more. He topped off the mug Emma held out to him.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

Hassim glanced at a large diving watch attached to his wrist. “I stopped by to ensure that you were awake. I have one more matter to complete and will return in half an hour, at which time we will leave.”

“It will be daylight soon. Is that a problem? I expected to leave in the evening, when we can use the darkness to our advantage.”

Hassim shook his head. “Darkness is only of minimal assistance, because the warlords patrol at night. Plus, the pirates have night-vision goggles and radar. The best time is at eleven o’clock, maybe noon, when the khat arrives. Nothing gets done after it’s consumed. Unfortunately, we cannot waste valuable hours waiting for that moment.”

“I know all about khat,” she said.

Hassim reached into the cooler and pulled out the bread. He split one before adding slabs of salmon to each half. He handed one to Emma.

“Not too many Westerners are familiar with khat. Did Lock tell you about it?”

Emma bit into the bread. Salmon was not her favorite, but she wasn’t sure when she’d get her next meal, so she was determined to eat it all.

“Lock told me how it’s transported, but I already knew about its effects. I’m a chemist. Among other things, my laboratory makes cosmetics for high-end companies throughout the world. I search for plants that may have an antiaging benefit. I looked into khat as a possible ingredient in skin-tightening lotions. To be used as a stimulant. Some clients were adding caffeine to their lotions to achieve the same effect, and since khat has a slight amphetamine action, I wondered if it could be useful.”

“And was it?” Hassim said.

“It didn’t do anything beneficial that we could determine, and adding it to a product would have triggered a need for FDA approval, which is way too expensive and time-consuming.” She stood up to stretch. “What direction are we taking?”

“We’re leaving from the beach. The first part of our journey is the most dangerous. We enter pirate-infested water. I was able to procure a boat, but nothing of the quality most pirates have access to, and I doubt that it would be able to outrun an attack. Piracy is big business here. Some say the only business.”

“What do they normally look for in a target?”

“Generally freighters and fishing trawlers. Many countries fish illegally. They take in tons of tuna. When the pirates catch them fishing within the economic zone, the companies pay ransom very quickly and quietly in order not to be caught.” Hassim finished his coffee. “Of course, they learned that the companies pay equally quickly for the lives of their crew members, and they are now hunting the boats outside the economic zone.”

Hassim stepped past Emma holding the percolator’s basket. Through the side window, she watched him stroll down the dock. He tossed the grounds onto the dirt. When he returned, Emma
asked him the question that had been on her mind for the past hours.

“Any more news on the Price matter?” She tensed, waiting for his answer.

Hassim turned to look at her. “The jet was gutted. It will take a while to determine if anyone died in there. My understanding is that even a human body would have been incinerated, so they will need to sift through the ash to make the analysis.”

“Anyone take responsibility for it?”

Hassim shook his head. “Not yet, but most think the insurgency is involved. The reasons are murky.”

She stared out a slit in the curtained doorway and thought about Stark. She’d heard he had a preteen daughter from his first marriage. She wondered how that daughter was feeling. How hard it must be for a twelve-year-old to learn that her father was dead.

“You look very sad. Is it about the bombed airplane?” Hassim asked.

Emma felt her throat thicken. She swallowed before answering. “Just thinking about the pain for the families left behind.”

“Why did you agree to this mission?”

Good question, Emma thought. Why
had
she? Because of Sumner, of course, but there seemed more. Hassim remained silent while he waited for her answer.

“I want to help a friend. His name is Cameron Sumner, and he’s on that ship….” Emma’s voice tapered off. There was more to the answer, but she couldn’t articulate what.

“Were you together?”

Emma didn’t really know how to interpret “together.” She decided Hassim meant dating.

“No, our relationship is not like that,” she said.

“It’s quite a risk to take for a mere friend.”

Emma tried to explain. “He saved my life under very dangerous circumstances. I would return the favor.” Even as she said the words,
they rang false. She thought about the moment of longing on the airplane but once again veered away from analyzing it.

“And you found that you like the excitement.” Hassim’s comment was a statement, not a question. As Emma thought about it, though, she decided that he was onto something.

“Why do you say that?”

“The mercenary business attracts a certain type of person. Usually a wanderer, risk taker, and adrenaline junkie. Most of us have a huge thirst for the excitement that accompanies danger.”

Emma thought about Hassim’s insight. During her last ordeal, she’d wanted nothing more than for it to be over. But this one was different. This time she’d chosen the danger, it hadn’t chosen her—at least not completely. She didn’t want to think about the bombing and the man with the EpiPen. Those problems would be addressed when she got back, after she knew that Sumner was safe.

“How will we find the
Kaiser Franz
?” she asked.

If Hassim was surprised at her sudden change of topic, he didn’t show it.

“Radar. We have last-known coordinates. We’ll head there, then use radar to sweep the area.” He put the coffee cup down on the cooler. “I should go. Please be prepared to leave soon.”

Emma followed Hassim off the boat. The battered green jeep sat under the shade of a nearby tree. Two large black nylon carry bags filled the small trailer in the back. Next to them was an aluminum tool kit.

“The kit is for your use. It contains some of the equipment you will need to analyze the vials on the cruise ship.”

Emma flipped it open. Most of the equipment looked used but still in good shape. A pair of heavy lead-lined gloves lay on top of the various aluminum bottles, along with three kits labeled
HAZARDOUS MATERIALS DETECTION
and
INVESTIGATIONAL ONLY, NOT FOR SALE
.

“Should I check this out? Is there any possibility of getting something different if I should need it?”

“Definitely not in Berbera. Probably not in Hargeisa, and Mogadishu is off-limits completely.”

Emma closed the toolbox with a clang and locked the latch.

“Then it will have to do. Let’s go,” she said.

They climbed into the jeep. The SPUs waved good-bye and headed to the town to hitch a ride on one of the converted land cruisers that regularly drove the Hargeisa-Berbera road.

The sun started its rise, and the darkness took on a slightly gray tone. Emma estimated that it was already eighty-five degrees, and she fully expected it to reach ninety-five before the day ended. She felt like she was in an oven.

“Is it always this hot?” she asked Hassim.

He nodded. “It will be worse soon, during dry season. Right now, the rains keep it wet, humid, hot, flooded, and cholera runs rampant.”

Emma shook her head. “Sounds like hell on earth.”

“That’s a good description of Somalia.”

They drove through Berbera. Only a few people were out. Most strolled listlessly in the shimmering heat, their dark bodies creating moving shadows in the early dawn.

“Not a lot of people.”

Hassim dodged a mongrel dog that jogged in a crooked pattern across the street, its back legs bent in a curve away from its front legs.

“Many have already fled inland, away from the heat.”

They drove down a pockmarked road, bouncing in holes and spewing rocks and gravel behind them. They turned a corner, and Emma gasped. Suddenly she was looking at one of the most beautiful beaches she had ever seen. White sand stretched in a graceful sweep for more than a mile. Blue waves tipped with cream washed over them, before retreating back. The sun rose, staining the sky overhead with pink. No garbage, people, or other signs of civilization marred it.

“It’s gorgeous,” Emma said. “I was wrong about Somalia being hell on earth. This is heaven.”

Hassim navigated the jeep a little farther onto the sand.

“Some of the best diving in the world is here. The UN workers used to come here to snorkel and fish. There are other beautiful areas of Somalia that could be developed if the country could only shake its perpetual violence.”

He switched off the engine, and they sat in silence. The only sound was the pounding of the surf and the occasional cry of a seabird. Emma stared at the ocean, mesmerized by the endless blue, and a thought came to her. Somewhere, out there, Sumner was on a death ship.