The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2)

Published by Serf Books Ltd in 2016.

www.serfbooks.com

Paperback ISBN:
978-0-9935439-1-3

All rights reserved.

The characters in this
book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

Design by
www.
g
olden-rivet.com

© Text Chris Thrall 2016.

For Harry

T
en
miles off North Africa’s Cape Verde islands, Hans Larsson prided himself on
Future
’s
progress, the wind skimming the sleek-lined yacht across the wave tops at
twelve knots. As the sea’s invigorating spray landed on his tanned skin, the American
reflected on the voyage so far.

It was eighteen months on from the murder of his wife and young
son. Hans, a former Navy SEAL, had taken time off from running the Larsson Investigation
Agency and his contract work for the secretive Concern organization to fulfill
the family dream, taking his seven-year-old daughter Jessica on the yacht trip
of a lifetime. Leaving Portland, Maine, they’d flown to England and bought the
forty-one-foot
Future
in Plymouth, intending to sail back across the
Atlantic via Europe, North Africa and the Caribbean.

So far the passage had provided the perfect opportunity for
father and daughter to work through their loss and reinforce the deep bond
between them. It had been an education and adventure to say the least, made all
the more enjoyable by the bubbly Penny Masters, an experienced English skipper who’d
agreed to crew for them on the crossing.

Having explored the historic port of Plymouth, Hans, Jessica
and Penny sailed
Future
across the English Channel, stopping in Europe, the
Canaries and now Cape Verde. Immersed in a kaleidoscopic mix of Anglo, Latin,
African and postcolonial culture, they’d sampled exotic food, explored the
sights and enjoyed excellent fishing and scuba diving.

However, the trip was not without its challenges. A rogue
storm slammed
Future
down in the Bay of Biscay, and a full-scale riot erupted
all around them in Lisbon when the crew of a British aircraft carrier battled
with the Portuguese police. Penny and Jessica had a close encounter with a bull
shark while diving in Tenerife, and pirates had attempted to board
Future
off Cape Verde.

Penny had been a pillar of support throughout and an
accomplished crew member. Hans knew he was in love and couldn’t have felt
happier, particularly as Penny and Jessica adored each other.

Now, as the fiery red sun lowered to the horizon, Hans
brought the yacht around, the impending darkness not the only reason he looked forward
to reaching port, for Penny was ashore attending to last-minute preparations for
their Atlantic crossing.

Below deck, Jessica played with her beloved teddy in the
sleeping quarters, clipping her safety line to the rail on their bunk.

“You always gotta clip on, Bear!” she told him.

Although knowing the man-overboard precaution was
unnecessary inside the cabin, the little girl liked to demonstrate her seafaring
skills to her companion – lessons drummed into her by her father.

“Good night, Bear.” She tucked her furry friend under the
covers and gave him a peck on his snout.

W
ashed
off the deck of the
Tokyo Pride
during a storm, cargo container
SIDU307007-9 had drifted around the North Atlantic for months, along with its
consignment of high-tech televisions. Floating just below the surface, it was
every sailor’s worst nightmare, resulting in many a yacht crew having to
evacuate to their life raft. SIDU307007-9 sat at 16° 15’ north, 25° 40’ west,
directly in the path
of
Future
.

At 1831 hours, Hans felt relaxed, content with the direction
his boat and life were heading, all the time looking forward to dinner with
Penny.

At 1832 hours, with a sickening crunch Hans’ boat and life
ripped apart, slamming him facefirst into the navigation console. He knew
instinctively the yacht was about to sink.

“Jessie, get out! Get out now!”

The life raft’s hydrostatic releases hissed and the bright-orange
pod deployed. Hans dived inside the cabin, but a barrage of seawater washed him
back into the cockpit.

Fighting for composure, he sucked in a lungful of air and
thrust his body into the downturned hull, frantically trying to reach his
daughter as the boat descended into the depths. Hans felt as though his chest would
implode but continued into the blackness, rewarded to see his little girl
swimming up to meet him.

That’s it, Jessie! That’s it!

Their hands clasped.

Hans experienced an immense sense of relief . . .

Well done, kid!

. . . then spotted Jessica’s safety line clipped to the bunk,
the sinking yacht ripping the little girl from his grasp, her desperate eyes
fixed on his as the ocean devoured her.

J
essica
felt the yank of the safety line and saw the horror on her father’s face. She
turned and began swimming back down, pulling herself along the line and kicking
with all her might. Rather than waste time trying to unclip from the bunk’s
rail, she reminded herself to stay calm, as her father had taught her on
countless scuba dives, and instead opened the locker under the bunk to retrieve
her diving equipment. Hans always made sure they rinsed the kit in freshwater following
a dive, refilling the tanks from the yacht’s compressor and stowing the reassembled
gear under their berths ready for deployment. To a girl who had completed her first
open-water dive shortly after her fifth birthday and could hold her breath for
almost two minutes, locating the air supply was a logical course of action.

In the gloom of the sinking cabin, Jessica grabbed her
custom-made buoyancy vest as it attempted to float up past her into the open ocean,
along with her teddy bear and other items of unsecured gear. Clutching the vest
to her tiny chest, Jessica cranked open the air cylinder and flailed around
looking for the mouthpiece, or regulator, which in the chaos had pulled free of
the pocket she took care to store it in.

As she was not wearing a weight belt, the deflated jacket had
sufficient air inside to begin lifting her to the surface. Once again she
willed herself to stay calm and began tracing the route of the regulator’s hose
from where it connected to the air cylinder, a process she could do blindfolded,
since her father always made her set up her own equipment.

A touch of panic set in, but as Jessica contemplated
ditching the kit and breaking for the surface, her hand contacted the round
plastic regulator. She wasted no time clenching the mouthpiece’s rubber teats
between her teeth.

After blowing out to expel the water flooding the regulator,
the little girl took several welcome breaths, unclipped herself from the bunk’s
rail and kicked for the companionway, squeezing a burst of air into the jacket
as she did.

In her haste to exit the doomed craft, Jessica shot upwards,
smashing her head into the companionway’s surround. For a split second the
painful shock saw her mind blank and her limbs go numb. It was all she could do
to hold on to the equipment and remember to breathe.

By now
Future
was forty meters down and sinking fast
– twice the depth Jessica had ever dove to, but she wasn’t to know this. She
thrust an arm out of the opening and eased herself into the open sea, praying
none of the buckles or hoses would snag.

Once free of the cabin, Jessica knew it was imperative to ascend
quickly. Too much time breathing air at depth would require a safety stop to
rid her bloodstream of built-up nitrogen – impossible without a weight belt to
achieve neutral buoyancy. She clamped down on the jacket’s air-in button,
fattening it like a car inner tube until she felt the overfill valves vibrate and
heard the belch of escaping bubbles.

Rocketing to the surface, Jessica wondered if her ascent
would ever end but knew her father would be there in the life raft to pick her
up.

When her head burst through the increasing swell, she frantically
scanned all around . . . to see blackness and nothing. The breeze had blown the
life raft out of sight.

“Papa!” she screamed to no avail.

Ten miles out to sea, the little girl was alone, drifting in
the dark on a vast ocean.

Clutching the buoyancy vest and air cylinder, she floated around
in silence, trying to think what her father would encourage her to do. Hans had
experienced a turbulent upbringing. As a result, he always made sure to treat his
daughter as an equal, empowering Jessica to make her own decisions and instilling
a maturity way beyond her short years. He often praised her for being the kid
who never cried, but tears rolled down her cheeks now.

“Get a grip, sweet pea!” she said, echoing her father’s
words. “Feel sorry for yourself, and sure as hell the world won’t feel sorry for
you!”

Her thinking helped – not enough to stem the fear but sufficient
to see her struggle into the buoyancy vest, a safety drill she’d carried out numerous
times in the icy water off Maine.

Wondering what had become of her dear teddy, “Get a grip,
Bear!,” she screamed across the void, then crossed her arms and settled back in
the harness, exhausted but knowing her father would return.