Matt Hilton - Dead Men's Harvest

‘Have you noticed any movement on deck?’

‘None,’ Hartlaub said. ‘We haven’t heard any voices either. Sitting there in the dark like that, it looks like a goddamn ghost ship. Maybe we’re already too late.’

I hoped that his words weren’t a bad omen. My stepfather, Bob Telfer, used to warn that mockery was catching: whenever anyone made a dire prediction of things to come he’d offer his own brand of psychobabble, as if by the simple act of voicing something it would come true. I prayed that Bob had been full of crap and that Hartlaub’s comment hadn’t invited bad luck. If Cain had already left the ship there’d be no way to find him in time, and that meant that I’d never save Jenny.

‘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.