Kharon

by Wayne Marinovich

  'Lord Butler, may I have a quick word.'

  'Make it quick, Major.'

  'The men are concerned that they have been infected by the Kharon virus and have also heard that the white coats in the lab have a cure for it.'

  Lord Butler turned to Pehr. 'See how quickly the rumour mill works, professor. The demand will skyrocket.'

  Turning back to the major, Lord Butler saw that a few other junior officers were standing within earshot. 'Major, all my direct staff and company employees will be the first to get the vaccine, which should be available to you in a few days. As my personal guard, you are my most valuable of employees, so the good professor will inoculate you all this afternoon in the canteen.'

  'Thank you, sir,' the major said and snapped a salute before returning to his men.

  Lord Butler turned to the two professors who were standing shivering in the cold.

  'Pehr, I know that you have twenty cases of vaccine created and stashed in your lab.'

  'No I don't, that is impossible.'

  'I own this town, professor, and so have I eyes and ears everywhere. These are tough times, and you would be surprised what people will be prepared to divulge for a few NAG vouchers. I know you have twenty cases hidden away, along with the formulas and detailed findings.'

  'You cannot condone injecting all these men without knowing the full results of exhaustive testing. We must have more time to make sure.'

  Lord Butler laughed and opened up his long black jacket to reveal the shotgun.

  'That was not a request, dear professor. I’ll kill you both but not before making you watch, via a live streaming video, how my men on the ship have their way with your precious Christina.'

  Chapter 20

  Queen of Sheba, Atlantic Ocean - 2033

  Christina awoke with a jolt then bumped her head on the wooden bunk above her as she tried to get out of the strange narrow bed. Panic filled her for a second as she stood, bewildered, in the middle of the floor on a thin green carpet. She looked up at the sealed porthole that was above a small dark wooden table and chair. To the left of that, was a small door that stood ajar, through which she could see a toilet. Walking across to the cabin door she grabbed the small silver door handle and tried to force it open. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sank to the floor. Leaning up against the locked door, she sobbed.

  A noise from somewhere outside the door made her stop, and she sniffed, wiping her face with her hands. Pushing herself off the floor, she took a step away from the door as a key turned in the lock.

  The handle turned, and Owen popped his head through.' Morning, Christina,' he said as she smiled and nodded.

  'I have brought you breakfast which I made myself. Eggs and toast are all I could wrestle from the man who they call a chef. The coffee is good, though.'

  'Owen, can I ask you a few questions?' she asked, drying her eyes.

  'Okay, quickly, I'll answer what I can.'

  'How is Stuart doing? He must be so confused with everything happening to him.'

  'He was for a little while but Helga and I are taking it in turns to entertain him, so he is doing better.'

  'Doing better?' she asked. ‘What's wrong with him?'

  'Um… I think the sedative had made him a little drowsy or maybe motion sickness, but he is much better today.'

  Christina breathed a sigh of relief. 'And what about Kat? She is a good friend of mine and was with me when we were taken.'

  Owen stared at the tray of breakfast then looked across to the porthole, chewing on the inside of his lip. 'I have seen her occasionally. She is not in a good way,' he said. 'Some of the men have taken a fancy to her, so she is being kept separate from the rest. For their amusement, if you know what I mean.'

  Christina choked down a guttural sound as she felt the anger welling up but could only burst out crying again. Owen looked at her and walked over to place the plate of food and mug of steaming coffee on the small table.

  'Sorry the news couldn’t be any better, Christina. Woolf told me to tell you that you have ten minutes to eat and shower because he wants me to take you to the bridge.'

  'Thank you, Owen,' she said and watched him blush a little, then turn and leave the room.

  Christina walked over to the food and looked down at the tray. A sip of the strong coffee made her feel a little better. Picking up a slice of thick toasted white bread, she bit into it, and then took another large bite. Pulling out the chair, she sat down and tucked into the breakfast.

  • • •

  Owen knocked on the metal door to the bridge and stood back as it creaked open. A tall man with spectacles and a black cap walked out. He wore black pants tucked into black army boots and had a blue shirt on. Across his chest on a small strap hung a small Scorpion sub-machine gun. His arm rested on it as he looked at Owen. Staring at Christina, he licked his lips as he scanned her from head to toe.

  'What do you want?'

  'Woolf asked to see Christina on the bridge, so can you get out of our bloody way,' Owen said.

  He glared back to Owen and then stepped to one side.

  Christina ducked through the small door and blinked at all the light that passed through the ten large windows that surrounded the room. Out in front of her was the heaving and desolate ocean. Miles of white-tipped swell in all directions.

  'Good morning, Christina,' Woolf said from one of the two big chairs that were in the centre of the bridge. In the other chair sat a fat, unshaven, grey-haired man, his foot on a small lever that was the ship's wheel. It clicked and pinged as he adjusted a new course, then he turned in his seat to look at her.

  'When can I see my son, Woolf?' she said and looked around at the large bank of dials and screens.

  'Lord Butler has decided to allow you one chance to see him, from a distance of course.'

  'What kind of game is he playing?'

  'You are now his to do with as he chooses, Christina. Surely you must realise that by now.'

  'So when do I see the psychotic bastard again?'

  Woolf smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 'Do you want to see your son now or are will you wait until we are further into the trip?’

  'I'd like to see him now, please.'

  Woolf slid off the blue plastic seat and walked around the centre console of beeping radar screens, then stopped to look out of the front window.

  'Your son is down there.'

  Christina ran over to the window and stood next to Woolf. Shipping containers were piled three high and stacked along both the port and starboard sides of the ship. The layout created a long space, about fifteen meters wide, which ran the full length of the upper deck. Halfway down, and walking towards them, were Helga and Stuart. They were holding hands and singing something together. Christina choked up and felt herself nearly collapse. She swallowed hard and was about to look away when she saw the large white bandage on Stuart's hand.

  'Why has he got a bandage on his hand? What has happened?'

  Woolf stared at her with his cold blue eyes. 'Maybe I should let dear Owen tell you. You two seem to be such good friends now.'

  'Just bloody tell me, Woolf,' she snapped, fighting back the tears.

  'Another time maybe,' he said and walked back to take his place on the seat again.

  Christina stormed around and walked up to him. Before she could reach him, the tall soldier and the fat captain jumped across and grabbed her by the arms.

  'Tell me now, Woolf!'

  He smiled at her as she struggled in the tight grip of the captors on either side of her. Grabbing a small hand radio from the console near him, he said. 'Get in here, men.'

  The door opened, and two brawny, unshaven men in green army fatigues walked in.

  'Take Christina back to her room and make sure she’s secured,' he said to the men.

  'No!' screamed Christina and started to thrash about. 'What has happened to Stuart?'

  She managed to kick out at one of the men, catching him full on the knee. He moaned as he lim
ped backwards, into the other man. Then he growled and rushed forward, ignoring her attempts to remove his head with her boot. He slid on his knees and managed to grab both of her ankles which he lifted, as she was raised up off the floor.

  Fear driven by adrenaline coursed through her as she writhed, screaming at the top of her voice. The three men dropped her flat on her back which drove the wind from her lungs. She stopped struggling for a few seconds and gasped for air. They were down on her again, pinning her to the floor. She blinked and looked up at the dirty ceiling, her vision a little blurred from bumping her head on the floor. The sound of her heartbeat thumped in her ears as the blood gushed through her head. Woolf came into view as he stooped over her.

  'Lord Butler's personal surgeon was visiting him in Glasgow to treat the amputation he was forced to endure because of the injuries he received from your husband. He plans to entice Gibbs to America so he can exact his revenge on all of you. What better message to send to a father, than the severed finger of his own son?'

  Christina screamed as she was pulled up to her feet, dazed from the fall and crazed with shock. She slumped forward and started to sob. 'Please don't hurt him anymore, Woolf.'

  Woolf nodded to his men, and they started to push her towards the door.

  She didn't fight them anymore.

  • • •

  Three black-headed gulls tumbled over one another as they flew past the four men who were standing on the abandoned Ocean Road in the Southampton Harbour. They locked up the white van they had arrived in and walked through the NEG manned security gate. All carried green canvas duffle bags over their shoulders and walked across the open expanse of weed-infected concrete. One of the men dropped back slightly as they walked, swaying a little, and then finally coming to a stop.

  'Come on, you bloody drunk,' Smithy shouted, turning to look at his friend.

  'I am not drunk,' Shredder said, panting from the exertion.

  'Boss!' Smithy shouted. 'Hold up.'

  Gibbs was striding towards the giant container ship, the Edith Mærsk, that was moored against one of the tall concrete quays, and he turned to look at the men following him.

  'For fuck sakes, Shredder. What is it now? Hurry the hell up, will you.'

  Shredder, who was standing with his legs splayed, waved a hand in acknowledgement, then leaned forward and threw up. Gibbs dropped his duffle bag on the ground and walked back to his second in command.

  'You drunken shit, you just had to carry on drinking didn't you. The pilot said that you were a real handful on the flight down from Aberdeen.’

  Shredder wiped his mouth. 'He was a stuck up old prick. Had no bloody sense of humour.'

  'There is no alcohol on the ship. You do know that?'

  'Why do you think I wasn't going to stop drinking until I got here? A condemned man's last drink and all that. Besides it was those frikkin street burgers you fed me that are making me ill.'

  Smithy stepped forward. 'Mate, there isn’t anything from a burger in that bloody puke of yours.’

  'Don't go insulting my sick, will you. That could be grounds to end the friendship. Don't worry, I am fine. No need to fret.'

  'Well, hurry the fuck up, so we can get cracking,' Gibbs said and picked up his duffle bag.

  'Jeez, you are going to be a pleasure to travel with, boss,' Shredder said, stumbling after the three other men.

  The incessant honking of a vehicle hooter made the group turn. A white van had just cleared the security gate and was racing towards them, white dust flying up from the concrete quayside. It slowed down as it neared them, screeching to a stop. The side door opened, and a soldier in full NEG uniform jumped out, an S80 slung across his chest.

  'Kyle Gibbs?'

  ‘Yes?’ Gibbs slowly stepped forwards, dropping his bag. 'What now?'

  A brown wooden cane appeared out of the sliding door, and someone tapped against the bodywork of the van. The soldier leaned in and grabbed the arm of the person. The stranger groaned with the effort of exiting the van and stood leaning on the ornately carved cane.

  'Mr Gibbs or Captain Gibbs, I should say. My name is Marc Rolin, and I am the High Chancellor of the New European Government.’

  'I know who you are,' Gibbs said.

  'Good.'

  'Why are you here?'

  'I will be in London for the foreseeable future to ensure that the warlord is replaced with a suitable candidate.

  ‘Tom’s brother will do a good job. He knows the ropes,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘No, it won’t be anyone like him.’

  'And I guess you don’t like the idea of another ex-gang member like Tom Scott.'

  'Exactly. We need a politician in place now to ensure we get through this threat that Butler presents.'

  'What are you doing in Southampton then, Marc?'

  'Most people address me as Chancellor, by the way.'

  Gibbs stared at the thin man in his tailored brown suit. Both sinewy hands were placed on the top of his cane, carrying most of his weight. Thin-rimmed spectacles rested on the end of his nose, as a gentle breeze flicked at his thin blond comb-over. 'I don't do political titles, Marc. Not after serving Butler in the Phoenix Guard.'

  The chancellor managed a grin. 'Andrei said you were difficult to reason with so I came in person to talk to you about the NEG sanctioned mission you are embarking on.'

  'You mean the mission to rescue our families and friends from the hands of traffickers.'

  Chancellor Rolin shifted his balance a little, a flicker of pain etched onto his face. 'Your mission, which is funded by both the NEG and NAG, is to find Butler and put an end to what he is doing. You are to capture him alive and bring him back for trial. If you can rescue your families in the process, well, that is even better. But your primary orders are to capture Butler.'

  'Andrei mentioned that you hated Butler almost as much as I do, but that isn’t my problem is it, Marc?'

  'I have given you your orders.'

  'We are not yours to command, Marc. We captured Butler before, and we'll do it again. It was you bureaucrats who allowed him to escape after the Phoenix Council was brought down.'

  'I did not let him escape, Mr Gibbs. I was lying in a field hospital recovering from injuries caused from extensive torture, by Butler himself,' Chancellor Rolin said, and pulled up the suit pants of one of his legs, to reveal a metal prosthetic leg. ‘Do you know what it is like having one of your feet sawn off while you watch?’

  ‘Every one of us has suffered under the thumb of the Phoenix Council, so you won't find sympathy here. You’ll have to join the long queue for revenge.'

  'You have your orders, Gibbs. Agree to follow them or I will put a stop to the mission right here and now.'

  'No you won't, Marc,' Gibbs said, a grin appearing. 'No one else will get near him, so you have no choice but let us go after him.'

  'I could send any group of soldiers.'

  'Butler wants us to follow him to the US. It is part of his plan. We will get closer to him than any group you send could. But you know that already, Marc, or else you wouldn’t be here in person. Don’t waste this chance to get the bastard.'

  The man's brown eyes narrowed as he stared at Gibbs, his face reddening. 'Someone will stand trial at the end of this mission, Captain. You will return Butler to stand trial. If you don’t, you and your men will be in the dock for his murder or escape. It won't matter whether you recover your families or not because you and your men will be sent to prison. I believe that you already know what it’s like on one of our prisonships.'

  'Are we done here, Marc?'

  The man nodded.

  Gibbs turned and walked through his group of men. Picking up his bag, he said, 'Let's go and get Butler.'

  They walked up to the side of the giant light blue hull, which towered over them, only being dwarfed by the two huge cranes that stood alongside. One of the cranes was busy loading a rusty red container onto the ship, and the four men stopped halfway up the steep metal gangway to watc
h it being lowered down inside the hull.

  • • •

  Two days out of Southampton, they hit big swells as they sailed into an Atlantic storm. Gibbs stood on the large bridge that was in the shape of a big T and positioned in the middle of the ship. With windowed walkways extending over both the port and starboard sides, it allowed the captain to pilot the ship from either side.

  Smithy came up the narrow stairwell and through a door onto the bridge. Gibbs heard the door close and looked across at him.

  'How is Warren doing?'

  'Varying shades of green. Poor lad is suffering from these swells. Has taken to sleeping on the floor now,' Smithy laughed.

  'You okay?' Gibbs asked.

  'Much better this afternoon. Should be over it now that my sea legs have come back.'

  'Have you checked on Shredder?'

  'He is not happy with us. Locking him in the cabin was one thing, but taking everything out except a mattress and a few bottles of water was a bit harsh, don't you think.'

  'It will get worse before it gets better too. I remember my father tried on three occasions to get sober. It wasn't pleasant to watch.'

  'He is shaking something terrible,' Smithy said.

  'The tremors and headaches will be the worst for a while. Keep checking on him every two to three hours to make sure that he is progressing over the next nine days.'

  'Will he be okay by the time we get to New York?'

  'If it goes well during this journey, most of the symptoms will have disappeared. He will suffer from fatigue and tiredness, though. We will have to watch him carefully when we start to get into the thick of it.'

  'Did Andrei say what sort of reception will we receive when we get there?' Smithy asked.

  'Butler will have surrounded himself with good men. That is the way he does things, so we will see what our US contact has to say.'

  'Can any of them be trusted?'

  'Andrei called an hour ago and told me that his name is Bob Dweck. Both Tyson Scott and Andrei have had dealings with him in the past and told me that he is solid, so we have to trust them I guess.'

  'Boss, pardon me for being bloody sceptical, but I don't trust any of these bloodsucking politicians.'