Killer Aboard: A John Otter Novel

by Sean Blaise

  John felt a lump in his throat at the word ‘lawsuits’. He knew that his career was probably over. Even though he had not killed anybody himself, they had died on John’s ship, on his watch.

  The law of the sea was as old as time. A Captain was responsible for his ship, and anything that happened on it. John pushed it from his mind. He resented the President for even bringing it up. John knew there would a be a time for all that, but now was not it. He wasn’t home yet.

  “President Reed, I understand this is a legal nightmare, but my current priority is this ship, and I will remain focused on that. What happens afterward is what happens.”

  “Of course, John, of course. You are doing a great job,” President Reed stated, with little enthusiasm.

  “John there is another issue you may not be aware of.”

  John waited for more bad news.

  “There was a missing person, reported on St. Helena Island the day after you left. A 14-year-old boy. The island conducted an extensive search and couldn’t find him. A British SAS K9 unit was flown via seaplane from Ascension Island to help in the search. Just yesterday, they discovered his body. It was buried near the Tomb of Napoléon. He died of blunt trauma to the head.”

  The President paused, either to catch his breath or let John process the information. He finally carried on.

  “A local woman reported seeing some of our students riding bicycles that morning at daybreak in the area. She reported that it was a girl and three boys. They have been named as the primary suspects in the boy’s murder. The English embassy is already pressuring Brazil to arrest the students on sight, which they will do. Do you know who this group of students might be?”

  John knew exactly who they were.

  “Greg, Jennifer, Wayland, and Jack.”

  “I see,” the President said as if he wished it were other students less powerful instead. “John, the evidence is quite damning. You have the authority to restrict their movement until the authorities arrive.”

  “Restrict their movement? You mean tie them up, don’t you?”

  “John for legal reasons I can’t tell you what to do, it's your ship. I can say when it was my ship, that’s what I would have done.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now they are all innocent until proven guilty of course, but you should expect a shit-storm when you arrive. Please say no comment to the press until we can figure it all out.”

  “Is that all sir?”

  “No. Napoleon's tomb was also defaced. The French want heads too, but I have told them to get in line.”

  “Thank you for letting me know, sir.”

  “Captain please stay safe; I will handle the legal defense. Just a few more hours and it will be over. Out.”

  John felt a palpable wave of loneliness hit him in the gut. It was all John could do to hold on. Just a few more hours. He steeled himself; he could do it.

  John thought of Jennifer now. She had tried to tell him what had happened on St. Helena. Did she have a part in that boy’s death? Or had she been forced to help cover it up? John had more questions now, than answers.

  John felt his arm hair rising at the thought of Jennifer. What had she been a part of? Did he actually know her at all?

  The arm hair was rising, even more now. John looked down at his arm in confusion.

  Then, he was suddenly blinded and surrounded by a burning smell that assaulted his senses.

  Chapter 78

  A military-grade Flashbang is used to temporarily disable enemies. Its flash produces roughly 7 million lumens of light, causing “flash blindness”. This is a temporary incapacitation as the light flash overloads the eye's receptors causing significant afterimage.

  The “bang” portion of it, is over 170 decibels, overloading the eardrum. The mixture of both extreme light and sound, is incapacitating and a preferred way to disorient terrorists before police breach a building.

  The lightning bolt that struck Beagle’s mainmast produced 11 million lumens and the sonic boom was off the charts.

  It wasn’t that John couldn’t see. It was almost as though he saw too much, mirages and double images were everywhere. His ears were ringing as if he just left the front row of a rock concert.

  The only sense still working was his nose, and all he smelled was something burning. He felt hands around his waist. Looking down he saw four mirages of Monica, covering herself up behind him. Looking forward he saw Rick, and Hanz huddled below the forward helm area, shielding themselves.

  John’s eyes began to refocus on the mainmast. The port mainmast stay was still glowing red-hot from the lightning strike. Looking down, his compass was swinging wildly from side to side. The strike had caused a massive electromagnetic pulse which caused the compass to experience wild gesticulations as it struggled to find north again.

  John realized he was squeezing the helm with an iron grip. The acrid burning smell kept assaulting his nose. Horrified, he realized he might have a fire on board. First, he looked up to see if the strike had caught the canvas sails on fire, but much to his relief the mainsail was still fully intact. He looked down at Monica still gripping his waist.

  “Are you OK?”

  She had an iron grip around John’s waist and didn’t respond. “Monica are you OK?”

  She looked up terrified. “Are we alive?”

  “Yes, now I need to you let me go so I can check the systems.”

  Monica relinquished her grip reluctantly and sat back. Hanz and Rick stood up. The lightning strikes continued but they were now further behind Beagle. The localized lightning storm had been small and they had moved through it. But the burning smell wasn’t dissipating. John worried about a fire below decks. Just then, Charlie popped his head up the companionway.

  “Captain, did we just get stuck? Alarms are going off everywhere,” Charlie reported.

  “Yes, take the helm I need to check the ship to make sure we didn’t blow anything else out.”

  “Wait, can we go below?” Monica asked.

  “The storms behind us, and we are fine. I’ll be right back.”

  Charlie grabbed the wheel and John ran below. The burning smell was less apparent in the chart room, and he knew it was pointless to check the already melted communication equipment. He was more worried about the ship’s generators. He walked down the steps to the engine room door when he stopped.

  He saw lightning in the Galley which didn’t make any sense.

  Then he heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots.

  Chapter 79

  John ripped open the watertight door that separated the Galley from the Chartroom and stepped into mayhem. Students were screaming and struggling to their feet and running in no particular direction.

  The emergency lights were the only source of illumination and it did little to clear up the wavy images in John’s eyes. He felt someone push past him. Students were fleeing something.

  That’s when he saw it. Greg and Jack were engaged in a struggle. Jack had both hands on Greg’s. Jack was struggling against the more powerful Greg and clearly losing the battle.

  Boom!

  The gunshot was deafening in the small room and John’s ears smarted at being assaulted once more. But John now caught the full picture. Greg had the gun above his head and Jack was fighting for his life. John rushed forward without thinking, completely unsure of what he was actually going to do.

  “Greg stop!” John shouted. But their struggle continued. John felt his foot catch on something. He tripped on the object and pitched forward toward the feet of the struggling boys.

  Looking back, he realized he hadn’t fallen over something, it was someone. Wayland was nearly motionless, his hand, clutching his stomach. Even in the darkness, John could make out the blood that was now darkening the boy's hand.

  “Lubanzi!” John screamed for backup and struggled to get to his feet.

  Suddenly, Greg jerked forward and shoved Jack back against the far wall, putting distance between them. He aimed the r
evolver right at Jack’s chest.

  John jumped between the two boys. He couldn’t, wouldn’t have another dead body on his ship.

  “Greg stop! Stop! I'm begging you to stop this.”

  “Get out of the way, Captain, this doesn’t concern you. This has to happen.”

  Lubanzi rushed into the room, holding a knife in his hand. Greg saw it and shifted the gun from John to Lubanzi and back. All of the students stood motionless, watching while Smith looked on horrified. John looked down at Wayland and knew he was on borrowed time.

  “Greg whatever has happened, it can be fixed. Can you let Lubanzi help Wayland? Please?”

  Greg looked down at Wayland, keeping the gun trained on John. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Of course not, accidents happen but you have to let us help him now,” John said, silently cursing himself for the insincerity he heard in his voice.

  Greg swallowed hard, his eyes tearing up.

  “Captain, I didn’t mean to do that. You have to believe me! It's that prick behind you. And I wasn’t even going to shoot him, just scare him, so he would keep his damn mouth shut when the police get here. I know what he was going to do. He was going to pin all this on me! I couldn’t let him do that.”

  Lubanzi grabbed Wayland by the shoulders and dragged him back toward the watertight door to the Chart Room, where Bill was waiting with the trauma med bag and began to work on Wayland.

  “Wayland, just didn’t know better. He thought I was going to kill Jack and he startled me and the gun went off!”

  “OK Greg, I believe you. But please put the gun down. You’re still pointing it at me, and we don’t need any more accidents.”

  Greg stiffened up.

  “No, I can’t, Captain. I have nothing, nobody. I need you to believe me, I didn’t do these things. I have to have you believe me because nobody is going to be in my corner when we get to shore.”

  “Is this about Jennifer?”

  “I did not kill her. Jack did.”

  “I did not! Look who has the gun, Captain. Look who just shot poor Wayland! He was going to kill me, and Wayland stepped in the way,” Jack said.

  “Shut up Jack, Greg give me the gun,” John said moving closer.

  “Stop right there, Captain. This is what I am talking about. Jack and his family are going to pin it all on me! I didn’t kill Jennifer. I loved her.”

  Jack scoffed, “You loved her money. You’re nothing without her, I told you that last summer. You killed your ‘golden ticket’.”

  John turned around, “Jack, I said shut the fuck up! Greg, holding me at gunpoint isn’t making your case any better. Put it down and we can talk about it.”

  Greg’s eyes were welling up; he looked unstable and John had a dreadful feeling that Greg might turn the gun on himself.

  “You know that they are going to say I killed Jennifer, and now I’ve killed Wayland. There’s nothing left for me.”

  “Wayland is still alive. We can save him, but I can’t help him if you have the gun.”

  Greg lowered the gun a foot but didn’t drop it. John thought about rushing him but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to get shot himself.

  “I didn’t kill Jennifer,” Greg said again.

  “I know, you said that.”

  “I assumed, Jack did. He threatened to do it.”

  “I did not!” Jack yelled.

  “Is this about St. Helena?” John asked carefully.

  He watched as the flicker of recognition formed in Greg’s eyes. John turned and looked back at Jack. He looked scared. Before John had a chance to stop him, Jack blurted out, “What about it?”

  “Please stop the lying, Jack. They found a boy buried on the island. There was a murder at Napoleon’s tomb.”

  “It wasn’t murder,” Greg began “it was an accident. We did cover it up.”

  “He’s lying again. It was a murder. Greg killed the boy and made us cover it up for him. Hit him with a shovel when he startled him. Then he couldn’t keep Jennifer’s mouth shut about it, so he killed her. Tonight, he came after me. Just cleaning up his loose ends. It’s been Greg all along. If Wayland survives this attempted murder, he will confirm it all.”

  Jack paused and looked at his hands. John had to say he was a convincing actor.

  “We didn’t want to go along with it, you know. none of us did. Jennifer least of all, but Greg insisted. He said if we didn’t help him cover it up, he would kill us. Looks like he was going to kill us all anyway. I feel so bad about the boy. We should have said something.”

  John turned back toward Greg; whose face registered utter defeat. He knew the story was compelling and most of all believable. Jack was a marvelous actor; a jury would believe every word he said.

  And Wayland would parrot whatever Jack said. He also knew that with Jacks’ powerful politician father he would be hung. Just like he had told Jennifer he would be. Greg lowered the gun.

  “Captain, it's not true. I didn’t kill that boy; I was in the hole. He startled Jack, who swung the shovel and hit him. The boy hit the tomb stones and never moved again. It was Jack’s idea to hide the body.”

  “That’s why Jennifer was acting so different after the island, isn’t it?” John asked.

  Greg’s face affirmed that it was true.

  “Greg, I don’t know what to make of it all. I just think we need to give the justice system a chance to figure it all out. The Navy will be here in less than two hours. Let's just keep calm until they arrive. The gun Greg, give it to me now.”

  “Captain, don’t you see? I’m finished. Look at me and look at Jack. Who is a jury going to believe?”

  “You will have a fair trial. I promise you that.”

  Greg shook his head.

  “No, I won’t. I’m a black man, and a white girl was killed. A white girl, I was sleeping with. Then I shot another white kid. No one will believe it was an accident. Nobody is going to even listen before they convict me. Stop lying to yourself, Captain. It won’t be a trial at all, it will be an execution. “

  John didn’t know what to say. He knew Greg was right. Whatever the story was, Greg was far more likely to get railroaded by the system than Jack. And the only evidence was going to be Jack and Wayland’s accounts of the events. Two white kids story vs one black kid. Greg didn’t have a chance and John couldn’t think of any platitude that wouldn’t betray that he knew Greg was right.

  “Let’s just put the gun down and figure everything out. Tell me everything that happened on St. Helena.”

  Greg just shook his head.

  “I won’t go down as a killer. I didn’t kill anybody. The boy hit his head on the corner of the that tomb, and never moved again. We covered it up. I know that it was wrong, but I didn’t kill him. But nobody will believe me. I won’t be bulldozed by Jack and Jennifer’s parents. I can’t.”

  John’s years of poker playing caused him to see the tell in Greg’s eyes, a second before it happened. John pushed off his right foot with everything he had as the gun swung up. John knew instinctively that it wasn’t aiming at him.

  John flung himself at Greg's arm as the revolver swung its arc toward Greg’s head. He crashed into Greg and his left eardrum nearly exploded as the revolver fired off a harmless shot. John held the gun arm not knowing whether or not he had succeeded until he felt Lubanzi pinning Greg down.

  John wrenched the gun out of Greg’s hand, as the boy sobbed on the floor, putting up no resistance.

  Chapter 80

  A few days later, John watched as Greg, and Jack were led away in the police van. The Brazilians were going to extradite the boys to England to face trial for the boy’s death on St. Helena.

  Greg would also stand trial for Wayland’s attempted murder. Jack and Wayland’s story aligned, and it looked like the bulk of the St. Helena murder charge would fall on Greg’s shoulders while Jack and Wayland would face the consequences for helping him cover it up. And Greg would get charged with Jennifer’s murder
all on his own if what little remained of the evidence proved it out.

  John was surprised most of all. He wanted to believe Greg’s innocence. But the note he had found on Jennifer’s bunk made it almost impossible. He had threatened Jennifer in the note, and it only made sense that he had followed through with his threat.

  Greg had seemed to have a real affection for Jennifer, but in the end, maybe he had just used her. And when she had threatened to talk about the murder on St. Helena, he had snapped, in order to protect himself.

  John still couldn’t figure out who was smart enough to fry the communications equipment or why they had done it though.

  To give themselves more time to come up with a plan? It didn’t make much sense. But it had to be Wayland. The school had informed him that Wayland was some kind of savant which didn’t much surprise John. The kid was brilliant and now his life was over.

  John had also been told by the school that the semester at sea would be cut short. He couldn’t blame them. Murder on the high seas didn’t exactly bode confidence. And John didn’t want to continue either. The whole experience had been a nightmare.

  One of the school's directors was coming down to the ship to take command. John was reassured by the school that he, as Captain, had done everything incredibly well.

  They said that he was a hero, and they had repaid him for his heroism by firing him. For now. That was what they had said, but he understood it wasn’t short-term. No way a parent would let their kid aboard a school ship with the same crew. Not until the memory of this killer sail was buried in the past.

  John walked down the companionway to the chart room and looked at the floor. The empty space where Jennifer used to lay when she was sick. He felt tears start welling up as he thought of her. How little she deserved the fate she had gotten. And he also knew that she wasn’t blameless in that boys death.

  He knew he shouldn't, but he felt like he was responsible. Like he should have kept her safe somehow. He knew it was impossible. Fate had predetermined that her life was going to end on his ship, and so it had happened. And over what?