Kharon

by Wayne Marinovich

  Gibbs laughed and nodded. 'Guess we'll find out soon enough.'

  Chapter 21

  Queen of Sheba, Atlantic Ocean - 2033

  Christina stared at herself in the small square mirror, her scraggly and greasy blonde hair hung limply due to the lack of shampoo on board. The men's shirt and jeans that Owen had found were two sizes too big, but the biggest shock was the black rings under her eyes. Two days had passed, and there was no sign of either Stuart or even Owen.

  The American soldiers treated all of them badly as they seemed to do whatever they wanted when Woolf wasn't watching. Christina had been allowed to walk around the upper deck for an hour every day and had seen into the hold where more of the containers were stacked. She knew that her cabin was somewhere in one of the myriads of side corridors. On one such walk, she had had to fight another one of the men in green fatigues before the slim figure of Owen had hit him with an extinguisher and rescued her. Luckily, Woolf was there to protect them both.

  A loud knock on the door made her jump. The key turned in the lock. 'It's only me, Christina,' Owen shouted.

  'Oh my God, Owen. What happened to you?'' she said, looking at the young man's bruised and battered face.

  'One of the American boys got hold of me while I was on watch up duty on the deck. He beat me pretty bad, and I had to rest up for a while.'

  'What did Woolf say?'

  Owen looked down and was silent for a while. 'You know how he gets.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He beat up the soldier before throwing him overboard,’ Owen said.'

  ‘Alive?’

  Owen looked up at her and nodded.

  Christina shuddered. ‘You are lucky it wasn’t you.’

  ‘It wasn’t luck. Francis told Woolf to look after me.’

  Christina smiled.

  'The main reason I am here is that I have heard from one of the ship's crew, that we make port in Boston in the morning,’ Owen said.

  'Okay, thanks for telling me,' Christina said and sat down on the bed.

  Owen peered up and down the corridor behind him and then took a step into the room, then spoke in a hushed tone. 'At eleven this evening, I will unlock your door and slip a hand drawn map underneath it. Follow it so that you can get Stuart from his cabin. I will draw a route to one of the disused engineering storerooms. I will hide your old clothes in an old red toolbox. Included in that, I will place a note to a second location for you to hide. I have stashed some water and food in the other place.’

  'How can I ever thank you, Owen?'

  'Just make sure you escape with Stuart. You'll need to wait it out for at least two days before trying to get off this ship because they will go nuts when that can’t find you.'

  Christina smiled at him then jumped up and gave him a hug. 'Why are you risking your life for us?'

  'I had a younger brother a little older than Stuart, who died from some virus that couldn't be cured. And I fear that if they separate you from him, you will never see him again.'

  'Do you think that will happen?'

  'It’s a just hunch I have,’ he said. ‘Be ready at eleven.'

  • • •

  Christina sat on the wooden chair, facing the cabin door. Shifting positions a few times, she stood and walked to the toilet. Walking back to the bed she sat down again, lifting her bare wrist to check the time. She shook her head. Her watch had been taken.

  The sound of footfalls coming down the corridor towards her room made her focus. The key turned in the lock, and she looked downwards for the note. Nothing. She jumped as the door opened, and one of the tall American soldiers came into view.

  'What do you want, Christina?’ he asked. ‘Well? Owen said that you wanted to see me.'

  Christina blinked at the tall man. 'Um…No.'

  'What are you playing at, woman?'

  'Wait. I forgot. I just wanted to apologise for lashing out at you over the past few days.'

  The man frowned, his dark brown eyes narrowing. 'You do know that the man that was killed because of you has a wife and child.'

  'That is terrible news, and I am sorry about that, but maybe he should have kept his hands to himself.'

  The tall man's jaw clenched. 'I cannot wait to hand you over to the big boss. I only hope that I am there to witness his revenge.'

  Christina folded her arms and stared at him.

  'Well, this was a waste of time. Stick your apology,' he said, slamming the heavy door behind him.

  Tears of relief slipped down her cheeks when she heard his footfalls getting quieter. Standing up, she caught her gaunt reflection in the mirror again. She walked across and took it down from the wall, and then took it into the bathroom. Flipping it over, she felt her heart sink. The mirror was fixed with six tiny screws, and she didn’t have anything that small which could remove them. Then she smiled. Grabbing the smelly brown bath towel she was forced to use, she wrapped up the wooden-framed mirror and then turned to the small enamel basin. Tapping the towel on the corner of the basin, the dull crack of the mirror lifted her spirits. Opening the towel parcel, she removed a long pointed shard of the mirror. It fit neatly in her palm, the sharp edges pressing into her skin.

  • • •

  Woolf placed the satphone back in his pocket and leant on the railing overlooking the stacked cages in the ship's hold. It had taken a team of a hundred men to fashion these special cages that could be loaded in and out of the ships like normal shipping containers. The sides could then be taken off to reveal the human cargo. There were five decks that could be filled with the human containers.

  'Please, sir, can we get some more water?' a voice said behind him.

  He turned to look at a young man standing amongst fifty other grimy people in the container behind him. He smiled and then looked down to the ground as Woolf glared at him.

  'No. We reach our destination tomorrow. You will get more then.'

  ‘Please, sir. We are all thirsty.’

  ‘Do I look like I care?’

  He walked off past the ten other cages that were set in against the sides of the hull, then turned left towards the main metal stairwell which would take him from the third deck he was on, up into the fresh, untainted air above deck. Out the corner of his eye, movement diverted his gaze to the tall figure of Mike, one of the NAG mercenaries that Lord Butler had staffed the ship with, leaving the corridor to Christina’s room.

  Woolf whistled, the piercing noise echoing around the cargo hold. He gestured to the man to come over to him.

  'What the hell are you doing in Christina's room, Mike? I gave the order that only Owen was to look after her.'

  'Wasn't my doing, boss. Owen told me that Christina wanted to see me.'

  'And you went to see her without asking me first? Lord Butler gave me strict instructions to make sure nothing happens to that bloody woman.'

  The big man shrugged.

  'Well, what did she want?'

  'She wanted to apologise,' he said. 'For kicking out at me.'

  Woolf frowned at the man. 'Why would she want to do that? She has been kicking and scratching at anyone who came near her.'

  'That’s what I thought when Owen told me.'

  'Fetch the little shit and bring him to my cabin. And Mike, I don’t want a hair on his head touched. You know how Lord Butler feels about his pretty boys.'

  • • •

  Christina stepped out the bathroom and looked at the small space under the door. Nothing yet. Leaning back on the mattress, she closed her eyes a little and thought of her son who she would see in a short while. 'Stuart!' She screamed and sat up on the bunk. The dream had been horrible, and she felt like crying. How could she have fallen asleep? A small folded piece of paper caught her attention.

  'Owen, you little beauty,' she said, walking over to the cabin door.

  She picked up the note and stashed it in the front of her jeans. As she turned the door handle, the door popped open a few centimetres on the rubber seal. She eased it
open and listened. The corridor was silent. Two meters to the right, mounted on the opposite wall of the corridor, was a green first aid box. Slipping out of the doorway, she tiptoed across and opened it. As she stood there feeling around inside, the pungent stench of human sweat and faeces stung her nose and she choked back the gag reflex. Grabbing the object she wanted, she closed the box and retreated into the cabin.

  The roll of adhesive bandage was the width of her hand, and she grabbed the shard of the mirror from her pocket and wrapped the tape around the thick end, fashioning a handle. Bouncing it in her hand a few times once she had finished, her spirits lifted.

  Owen had been true to his word with the small diagram and some additional detailed notes on the piece of paper. She sat on the end of the bed and studied the piece of folded paper. The route to get to Stuart was simple as he was on the deck below her. Getting between the two sites they had talked about would be trickier. Committing the route to memory, she flushed the note then walked to the door and listened. Silence.

  The stench filled her nostrils again as she walked down the short corridor. Stopping at the corner, she looked out over the hull. The gangway ran around in a full rectangle with all the container-like cages that seemed to be empty. Small dirty yellow lights on the side of the cages added to the gloomy mood of the hold. Walking over to the handrail, she looked over the edge to the deck below and realised that there were five levels in total.

  Shrinking back into the shadow, she decided to walk with her shoulder against the cages that would give her some cover from the guards above and below. Looking down into a cage directly behind her, she saw big sacks strewn across the floor. A hand came through the cage and grabbed her pants. She squealed, stifling a scream. Jumping back from the bars, she was followed by a small child's hand, extended through the bars, fingers open, begging. Walking forward again, she saw one of the sacks roll over, and she was looking at the face of a woman with long greasy hair. Someone her own age.

  Her hand shot up to her mouth to stifle any sound when she saw the child was no more than Stuart's age. Its eyes stared directly at her before the child turned and walked back to the woman.

  On one of the other floors, a baby cried out, before she heard the comforting whispers of its mother. These cages were for humans. Hundreds, no, tens of thousands squashed into them on the five levels, like Dante's depiction of the layers of Hell.

  A foot scrape on the gangway just above her head snapped her back from their misery. Guards were still out on patrol, and she was out in the open. Peering down over the edge again, she scanned the floor below again. No guards were walking about on Stuart’s level.

  Tiptoeing along a wall, she reached the small door on her left which led to the stairwell Owen had told her about. Pushing down on the small handle caused a screech of metal. The sound tore through her and echoed out into the dark. Stopping to listen again, she still heard nothing but the slow footfalls of the passing guard above. A little more pressure made the door pop open inwards, and she pushed the heavy metal door, stepping through in a single movement.

  Fresh air funnelled downwards from the upper deck and bridge. The stairwell was narrow with yellow panelled walls from the stairs to the ceiling. She followed them down two flights and came to another metal door. This handle gave way without a sound, and she eased it open a sliver, peeking through into a dimmed corridor. The floor was identical to the one she had just left and with the coast clear, she stepped through. Walking briskly, she rounded the corner to her left before coming to the small corridor which led off to the right. Four cabin doors lined the left-hand side of the corridor and Stuart should be in the last one. Her heart rate lifted. A smile appeared on her face. She held her breath as she reached for the door handle and turned. The door opened outwards, and she looked into the dark void of the room. Taking a step inside, her eyes adjusted to the dim light for the porthole. Both bunks were empty. She walked to the right and looked into the small bathroom. It was also empty.

  As she stepped out of the door, someone on the other side shoved it closed and slammed her into the doorframe. She fell forward to the ground and reached into her pocket. A quick glance to her right and she saw black army boots.

  Strong arms and hands yanked her up from the floor. One of the men grabbed her long blonde ponytail and spun her around to face her back down the corridor. The man holding her had his arm around her throat now. Three men in green fatigues stood aside as Woolf walked between them towards her, a large smile on his face.

  'Nice try, Christina, but I am afraid we have foiled your little attempt to escape.'

  'You bastard.'

  'It nearly worked too. Owen was clever to try and set Mike up as the scapegoat. He would have been blamed for leaving your door open. Luckily I caught Mike leaving your room and after digging a little deeper into Owen, I mean… into Owen's motives, I found out about your plan.’

  'It wasn't Owen's doing, Woolf. So just let him go.'

  Woolf let out a raucous laugh. The men joined in, and Christina’s stomach balled with fear.

  'I did let him go, dear Christina,' Woolf said, his eyes gleaming. 'Over the side of the ship.'

  'No!' she screamed against the force of the arm around her throat.

  'I contacted Lord Butler, and he was deeply disappointed with Owen's behaviour. To think he dragged Owen out of the gutter to be a part of his little harem and gave him everything he needed,' Woolf said and took a step closer. 'Lord Butler has authorised me to teach you a little lesson before you arrive in Boston tomorrow.'

  Christina screamed and brought out the shard of mirror. She sliced down on the man's forearm with all her might. The clothing, skin and muscle burst open like a popcorn kernel. He screamed out and released her, falling against the wall, clutching his arm. She attacked Woolf, the shard of mirror held low and in front of her.

  Woolf swivelled to his right, blocking the bloody shard with his forearm and punched her in the kidneys as she went past him. Two of the men grabbed her, holding her flailing wrists and lifted them high in the air. She kicked out at them, but they were expecting it. Christina continued to scream as they pinned her to the corridor wall, slamming the shard-hand against the wall three times until her right hand released the mirror. It dropped to the ground and shattered even more.

  Woolf walked up to her. She kicked out at him again, but with no real malice as she felt the energy leaving her. He dodged her feet easily and then slapped her across the face with an open right hand. The crack of sound echoed out into the silent cargo hold. Shouts of encouragement came from some of the prisoners.

  Christina's head dropped a little. 'Bastard! Is that all you have, you pig.'

  Woolf smiled and slapped her again. Christina's head snapped to the left, and her eyes rolled back a little.

  'Is that all you are good for? Beating up women and small children. Such a man.'

  The third flat-handed blow snapped her head to the right. She blacked out, her knees slumping forward.

  Chapter 22

  Edith Mærsk, New York - 2033

  With his heart racing, Gibbs took the stairs two at a time as he ran up from the crew area, up towards the bridge. The bowels of a ship always made him feel claustrophobic, even if they had had daily exercise sessions on the deck. Every little bit of exercise would help in the long run.

  'Hello, Captain. You sent for me?' Gibbs said to the man who stood on the right-hand side console of the long narrow bridge. He peered through heavy binoculars and was dressed smartly in pressed white shirt tucked into his black pants.

  'We have arrived at the coordinates you wanted. What you see out there is Gravesend Bay, with old Brooklyn off our starboard bow. There is no one here to meet us, though. Do you want me to drop anchor?'

  'Yes please, Captain. Our contact will only join us once we have moored up. When we are ready, the signal to him will be when we drop the metal gangway on the starboard side.'

  The captain nodded and relayed the orders to his first
mate.

  'What bridge is that ahead of us?' Gibbs asked as he looked at the two sets of tall towers that stood on concrete foundations.

  'That was the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. They recently detonated explosives on the main deck of the bridge to demolish it so larger vessels like us can make it through on the raised flood surges. Please be aware that we can only moor here for three hours before I have to move up to Newark to start unloading the NAG cargo. They only have one crane working there, so time is of the essence.’

  'Fair enough, Captain. I’ll head down and get my men ready to receive and debrief our contact,' Gibbs said and left the bridge. He rushed down the stairs to the deck level and out through a metal storm door onto the main deck. The briny smell of the tidal surge filled his nostrils.

  'Shredder!' Gibbs said with a smile. 'What a nice surprise. I am glad you could finally join us.'

  Shredder turned around and gave him his traditional middle finger salute. 'It was so sweet of you to lock me up in that shithole for eight days.'

  'We do aim to offer a five-star service, and because you kept puking all over the bloody place, we thought it best you got the presidential suite.'

  'You're so kind, boss, but fuck you. The bucket was a considerate touch, but please spare me the additional expense next time.'

  'Are you sober now?'

  'As a judge. That was not an experience I want to go through again, I might add. I am ready to get cracking against Butler and his cronies.'

  'You will still feel fatigue for a while, so I will initially give you a lighter load.'

  'No need for the kid gloves.'

  'Shredder, I know what you are going through, and it doesn't go away in a week. I don't want you in a position that you cannot handle. It is all part of the recovery. So don't bitch at the type of jobs I decide to give you, okay.'

  'Aye, boss.'

  The sound of a large motorboat drifted across on the wind, and they all walked over to the starboard railing. Approaching them was a long, sleek motorboat, the thumping sound of her large V12 engine roaring above the crashing bow-wave that it created. The boat pilot steered the white vessel to the left in an extended arc as it circled to come alongside. The roar subsided as they pulled up to the gangway and a tall man in jeans and a brown leather jacket with a blue cap jumped across and started climbing the metal steps.