David Leadbeater: Weapons of the Gods

“I’ll hang around,” the pilot guffawed, all jovial now. “Judging by the fuel level you will have about…” He made several clucking noises. “Forty minutes.”

“That’ll give us time to steal the key, tidy up after ourselves and probably even re-paint the boat,” Drake said.

“Maybe even a spot of shark fishing.” Dahl poked his head through and stared at the Yorkshire pilot as if inspecting a new species. “Is this the inbred layabout?”

“Y’see any other pilots on board, ya blonde wazzock?”

Drake choked back laughter. The pilot held up a hand in apology. “Seriously, people, we’re ten minutes out.”

By the time the pilot called out again the team were lining up by the doors, rappel lines in hand. Drake and Hayden were staring out of the windows, trying not to let the rolling blue waves hypnotize them. They tested comms and checked weapons. Soon, Drake saw the shipping magnate’s boat on the seas.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” he admitted. “Better work fast, team, and sweep in pairs. Plenty of places aboard for guards to hide themselves.”

The Enlargo was a mixture of silver and black panels, the front end as sleek as a speedboat and the stern a sweeping fusion of elegant lines. Three decks above water were visible, but there would be at least two more below.

“Nobody in sight,” Hayden said. “Good start.”

“Time to go,” the pilot shouted.

Luther opened a door and then Drake, on the other side, did the same. Lines were dropped, spooling down to the clear, clean deck. The first two descended, guns ready, covered by those still up top. Soon, the next batch went and then the last, Drake and Hayden among them. Luther touched deck first, with Molokai and Smyth a second behind. The soldiers dropped low and checked their surroundings. Drake landed softly and heard no noise other than the lap of waves against the hull and the chopper overhead.

Weird.

Somebody should have heard the chopper’s hover pattern, if not the approach. Quickly, the team divided and moved aft and forward. Drake saw highly polished brass rails, gleaming windows and one cold, but half-drunk ceramic mug of coffee. He saw an open door, a misplaced throw heaped in a corner, a yellow bottle of sun cream with the top still open.

A small pile of coins as if someone was in the middle of counting their change.

But no signs of people.

Alicia voiced his feelings before he could. “Well, this is fucking creepy.”

The boat rocked gently, soundless except for the newcomers. Drake wondered if they were all hiding below, or all passed out, or…

Don’t think. Search.

“The key may still be here,” Hayden said in his earpiece. “Move your asses.”

He climbed a set of stairs quickly to the top deck, but it was nothing more than a pool surrounded by sun loungers. The second deck was an outside viewing area and recreational room, bordered by smoked glass windows and a pair of sliding doors. He went through drawers and a cupboard with minimal hope of finding anything and wasn’t surprised.

“Heading down to main deck,” he spoke over the comms. Alicia, his partner, tapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He wasn’t in the mood for a witty comeback. All his senses were on red alert. “Probably, love.”

“Good. Because I’m a few minutes away from abandoning ship.”

The comms blared into life. “Thought you should all know — that thing is drifting,” the pilot said. “Not much, but it’s a very calm day. See if you can drop the anchor, folks.”

Drake continued walking, trying to ignore the tiny shiver that traveled the length of his spine. Drifting? He’d been around boats enough to know where the electric anchor winch control would be situated and found it easily. The sound of the anchor deploying was raucously loud in the quiet day, causing both Alicia and him to check their perimeter uneasily.

Another transmission: “Scrubbing to the side of the boat. Looks like something came alongside.”

Drake moved within and helped Dahl and Mai search furniture and nooks and crannies for any sign of the Key of Hades. Cambridge had provided them with a photograph of the original artifact found near Odin’s tomb. Again, he found it surreal that they were weaving through another tale connected to their first mission and the old gods. The Key of Hades was a mediocre item as far as artifacts went, but its title and more likely its size was what made it appealing to thieves and collectors. Big money, small risk. They checked under sofas and behind the television, opened every paperback and a thick photo album, but came up with nothing.

“Below decks,” Mai said. “What do you see down there?”

Kinimaka responded. “Rumpled beds. A toothbrush with toothpaste still attached. Full coffee cups. The staff quarters are clean and empty, the kitchen too. I believe we have a ghost ship on our hands here.”

Alicia breathed out sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“Yeah,” Luther spoke up, surprisingly for Drake given the man’s level-headed and candid attitude. “I remember being lost back in a desert somewhere in some Taliban-infested shithole, and this young soldier with a busted helmet came walking down the road and told me where all the buried IEDs were. I lived, thanks to him, but it turned out he didn’t… I looked him up later, and the kid died three months previous.”

Drake felt Alicia shiver at his side. “Is that true?”

“Of course it’s fucking true. You don’t mess with shit you don’t know nothin’ about, boy. And that includes you, Hawaii Five-0.”

Kinimaka grumbled. Smyth, Yorgi and Molokai were searching the lowest deck and announced similar findings. No key, no signs of life. Hayden told them they had five minutes to double-check everything and then meet up on deck. Drake wandered over to a window to scan all the rolling horizons.

“Ghost ship,” he whispered aloud. “Where’d you all go?”

“If it were a Kraken there’d be more damage,” Alicia said with conviction. “So don’t worry.”

“Thanks, love.”

Of course, these days, there were several clear reasons why a ship might end up deserted, and none of them good. Pirates. Terrorists. A criminal undertaking. Ransom. But he was concerned at the lack of evidence, the sense that a full crew had been interrupted, surprised. The waters were empty to all the compass points; just blue, undulating ocean.

And it left them with one enormous problem.

They reassembled quickly, taking themselves out onto the main deck and up toward the prow where there was room for everyone. The chopper hovered above, its rappel lines snaking softly in the gentle breeze.

“It’s a new one on me,” Drake said first.

“Do we abandon the key?” Kinimaka asked, then added: “And the boat?”

“The Dagger of Nemesis comes next on the list,” Yorgi informed them.

“Bollocks, I hate losing,” Dahl said. “Somebody mentioned this thing was drifting, right? Pilot — can you track a path along which it may have drifted?”

“Aye, mate, that I can. But you gotta tell me first — why did the GPR device point us to the boat if it’s not there?”

Dahl waved it around, checked the batteries and then tried again. “A residual signal?” he ventured. “Or maybe it was here when Bennett ordered the check. Maybe… it’s only recently moved.”

The pilot offered a grudging, “Maybe.”

While the team waited for him to finish charting the drift of the Enlargo , they stood, trapped in the unnerving ambience that lay over the empty boat like a heavy shroud. Minutes later, the Yorkshireman came back on the comms.

“Must have drifted between five and seven miles assuming you’re right and whatever happened, happened this morning. They wouldn’t be drinking coffee at night, right?”