Dead Men's Harvest

by Matt Hilton

  People familiar with the reverse cross-body lock know to hook their extended arm with their opposite hand and to power their opponent off the floor. They then dump their opponent on the crown of their heads and put them out of the picture. This man had no understanding of ju-jitsu and made the mistake of attempting to fight the pressure with brute force. I torqued my body so I was facing the floor and now my entire weight was centred on the fragile make-up of his elbow joint. There was no contest. The joint was wrenched apart and the cleaver flew from his hand. My opponent pitched belly down on the floor, writhing in agony. I held the position, levering up on his forearm for good measure. The man screamed and I pulled free with my legs to give him a couple parting shots with my heel as I scrambled away from him and snatched up my gun.

  As I came to my feet, there was movement behind me. Hartlaub had finally caught up. ‘Here. Let me.’

  Before I could do or say anything to stop him, Hartlaub fired a single shot into back of the man’s skull. Life went out of the Russian like a doused candle.

  ‘Looks like saving your ass is becoming a habit.’

  Heaving air into my constricted lungs, I said, ‘I had him.’

  ‘Sure you did.’

  Pushing past him, I rushed out of the room. ‘Stay close, Hartlaub. I might need you again before I’m finished.’

  Back in the corridor I headed for the door where I’d seen the face. There was a rumble of movement from behind and I spun to see Hartlaub dropping to one knee and aiming his gun back the way we’d come. He fired twice, but there was a corresponding volley of bullets from the far end. Hartlaub swore, went over on his side. He was still shooting, and now I could see another man running at us. He was a scrawny little thing, but the gun made him dangerous. He fired as he came and that was a mistake. If he’d held his position, aimed and fired we’d probably both be dead, but his running steps only caused his bullets to hit the walls and ceiling. I drew a bead on him, squeezed the trigger and my SIG barked. The man went down.

  Taking a quick glance over my shoulder I checked for movement beyond the circular window. Couldn’t detect any, so I ran back to Hartlaub and hauled him over.

  ‘Goddamn it! I’ve been hit!’

  Hartlaub had one hand slapped over his left hip. Blood was leaking from under his fingers. There was no sign of an exit wound, which was a very bad sign. It looked like the shooter had been using soft-nosed slugs. The bullet would have flattened on impact, split into shards and then ricocheted round inside his pelvic girdle. There would be untold damage to his internal organs.

  Cursing under my breath, I pulled his hand from the wound for a better look, but without ripping off his jumpsuit I couldn’t make a decent inspection. I grabbed his hand, pushed it hard on the hole. ‘Keep pressure on it or you’ll bleed to death.’

  Hartlaub went through another round of curses, but he could be forgiven the bad language. ‘Shit. I’m not going to die, Hunter.’

  ‘We need to get you help.’

  ‘No. I’m not going to fucking die.’

  ‘No,’ I lied. ‘No, you still have a chance. C’mon.’

  I helped him to stand, which wasn’t the best idea because it would only help him bleed out all the sooner. But I couldn’t leave him there in the corridor like that. Not when other crew might come across him at any second. Injured, he’d no way to defend himself. Propping his arm around my shoulders, I supported him to the door and he grunted with every step. Taking a quick glance through the window, I saw only an empty hall. I shoved through the door, searching for targets with my gun, but luckily no one was in sight. The hall here was very similar to the one we’d just come from, only the doors were heavy metal things with letterbox-sized slots, like you see in some old jails. This must be where the women were confined when the boat was at sea. There were at least half a dozen holding rooms, but the doors were open and none contained any occupants. I wondered if Jenny had been held here, and didn’t like what I saw: a chair from which hung leather straps.

  I was concerned about Hartlaub, but my focus shifted back to Jenny. When he’d come along on this mission Hartlaub knew that injury or death had been a probability, whereas my sister-in-law had been an unwilling participant from the word go. There was a tenet of the armed forces that I’d been raised upon, though: you don’t leave a colleague behind. That made things very difficult for me.

  Hartlaub must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘I’m only gonna slow you down, Hunter. Go on. Forget about me. I can look after myself.’

  ‘Thanks, Hartlaub,’ I said. ‘But no can do. I’m getting you somewhere safe first.’

  ‘Joe,’ he said, the first time he’d used my given name, ‘you were right. Saving your sister-in-law is more important than killing Cain . . . or saving my ass. Go save hers. I’ll manage to make my way back up on deck and cover for you from up there. I’ve still got one good leg, two good hands and a head for thinking. I’ll be OK.’

  I was torn, but he was right. Dragging him around the ship would get us both killed. At least if we split up there was a chance I could save Jenny. I had to leave him to his fate. ‘At least let me take you to a staircase so you can get out,’ I said.

  Hartlaub nodded, and even that action was enough to make him almost pass out. He was leaking more blood than he had the capacity to hold in, leaving a wide smear of it behind as we hobbled along the corridor.

  There was another door at the end, and I propped Hartlaub against a wall while I checked that all was clear. There was a stairwell like the one we’d fought the crewmen on, but this one was empty. I helped Hartlaub up the first flight. He’d only another set of stairs to manage by himself and he’d be back on the main deck.

  ‘You sure you can make it from here?’

  He grimaced and waved me back down the stairs. ‘Don’t worry about me, for Christ’s sake! Go get Jenny out of there.’

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. Looked him steadily in the eye. ‘Hartlaub. Despite the real reason Walter sent you, you’re a good man.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re still an ungrateful bastard.’ He grunted out a laugh. ‘Listen, to me. There is no hidden agenda. I’m here to cover your ass, and I’ll continue to do that. I don’t intend dying in this crap hole. But if I do, I’ll make sure I take some of these bastards with me.’

  ‘You’re not going to die under my watch.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I’ll be out here waiting for the two of you.’

  ‘Thanks, Hartlaub.’ I doubted I’d see him alive again. I turned away before he could see the shame burning in my cheeks.

  Chapter 42

  Cain was assailed by mixed feelings.

  He was happy that Joe Hunter had arrived: he could repay the bastard for everything he’d suffered at Jubal’s Hollow, and for the many months he’d spent cooped up in a cell at Fort Conchar. In fact, he was ecstatic to find the Englishman was as remorseless as he’d warned Baron, because it meant all his preparations had been worth the time and effort. An eye for an eye, a frickin’ throat for a throat.

  On the other hand, he was angered that Hunter’s younger brother was a no show. All of his plotting, his escape from prison, his wild goose chase to Montana, the trip he’d taken to the UK and then on this ship had all been to find and finish things with John Telfer. Now it looked like the search wasn’t over.

  First things first, though. He’d warned Walter Hayes Conrad what would happen if anyone tried anything stupid. Well, Hunter and his mysterious friend coming aboard the Queen Sofia could be classified as such.

  On hearing the brief gun battle, he’d left his hostage in the capable hands of Baron, made his way along the hall past the cells and peered through the porthole in the adjoining bulkhead door. Hunter, he was certain, had seen him before he ducked back into the shadows, but then one of Grodek’s crew had attacked Hunter. Cain had recognised the burly man, a Siberian who’d greeted the death of his captain with a shrug. It seemed he didn’t care who his commanding officer was, so long as he w
as rewarded handsomely for his service. Cain approved of the Siberian’s weapon of choice – the meat cleaver. They were both men of the blade. He didn’t think it would avail him against Joe Hunter, though, and wasn’t surprised to hear another short gun battle a while later. By then, Cain was already on his way back to slaughter Jennifer Telfer.

  As he’d been ordered to, Baron had led the woman up another set of steep stairs, taking her to the upper deck and the motor launch that the crew had prepped. Cain found the stairs and went up them, as nimble as a cat. Coming out on the deck, he found he was faced by the towering stacks of freight containers, and the loading mechanisms looming like misshapen giants against the night sky. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t see Baron or his charge. The launch was to the front of the ship, and on the opposite side of the towers. He’d been below decks for some time now, and the cold wind tugging at his hair and clothing brought an unwelcome chill to his body. Overhead, the sky was shrouded by heavy clouds and he felt the first patter of rain on his upturned face. He shivered, thought back to the warm desert he loved and wondered why the hell he was here in this freezing, horrible place. Chaos: that was the answer. It had its way of upsetting the natural order of things. But he was a Prince of Chaos and it was also his ally. It would hinder his enemies more than it would thwart him. As if in agreement with his thoughts the clouds gave up their burden and rain lashed the decks.

  He dodged between the freight containers, following narrow paths as though he’d wandered into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. There he was spared the fury of the rain, but there was no avoiding a soaking because mini-waterfalls teemed from the containers above.

  Without power, the ship was at the sea’s whim, and it drifted on the currents, lifting and falling as the rainstorm kicked up whitecaps. All around him the containers moaned like living things, and he wondered if his short cut had been such a good idea. If any of those containers should shift, he’d be ground between them and all thought of revenge would be finished. He quickly slipped out on the port side of the ship, searching the deck for any sign of Baron and the woman. The storm was coming from the north-east, having skirted Virginia before sinking south-west again towards the North Carolina coastline. There, by the port rail, he was blasted by the wind shrieking across the deck, and had to bend his back to avoid being thrown off his feet. He shuffled along, eyes searching for movement ahead. Through the billowing spray he caught sight of an indistinct shape and, as he approached, it metamorphosed into the small group he’d been seeking. One of Grodek’s crewmen had joined them.

  Jennifer read the menace in his features. She twisted past Baron to place him between Cain and herself. Baron grasped her by the neck of her blouse, pulling her back towards the lifeboat where the other crewman took hold of her, ready to throw her aboard.

  ‘Leave her,’ Cain said. ‘She’s not coming with us.’

  The crewman was a tall, thin man with receding hair and pale blue eyes. Another Russian, Cain guessed. He wouldn’t understand his command, so Cain decided to show him instead. He stalked forward, lifting his Tanto, and went to grab at Jennifer, but came up short as Baron gripped him round the wrist. Cain stopped, and peered into the man’s bland face. ‘Release me or lose your hand,’ he warned.

  ‘Don’t do this, Cain.’ Baron’s voice too held a note of warning. His gun was only a second away from Cain’s gut. ‘You’re angry that Telfer hasn’t come. I understand that, but the woman’s worth far more to us alive than dead.’

  ‘Let. Me. Go.’

  Baron slowly unfurled his fingers, but he didn’t step aside. ‘We can still use her, Cain.’ This time he tried to reason with Cain’s better sense. ‘Hunter and who knows who else is on board. We might need her as a shield.’

  ‘You still expect to use her as a bargaining chip? That’s finished with. If Walter Conrad sends anyone now, it won’t be John Telfer . . . it’ll be a full strike team.’

  ‘Hunter might be working under his own power. Who’s to say the CIA even knows he’s here? You can still use Jennifer to get what you want, Cain . . . but not if she’s dead.’

  Cain fumed. ‘You know something, Baron? You’re right.’ He flicked a command to the Russian crewman. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get her on the boat.’

  Jennifer had taken the opportunity to move a few steps away while the men had been caught in the tense moment. Now, as the Russian turned for her again, she shook her head adamantly, refusing to get on the lifeboat.

  ‘Do not try me, woman!’ Cain roared. ‘Baron has just won you a reprieve. Now get on the goddamn boat before I change my mind again!’

  ‘Fuck you, Cain,’ Jennifer said with equal ferocity. ‘And fuck you, Baron. You aren’t using me to murder my husband!’

  Then she threw herself over the rail and into the storm-ridden sea.

  Despite himself, Cain lunged after her, but it was a fruitless task. She was gone and that was that.

  ‘No!’

  The shout burst unbidden through the night.

  But it wasn’t Cain’s yell of frustration, or that of Baron or the Russian.

  Cain turned slowly, and watched the man materialise out of the pouring rain, a gun in his hand.

  Chapter 43

  Going door to door, I checked every conceivable place that Cain could have hidden Jenny, but I had no luck. Part of me was relieved, because if she was in any of those rooms, then she would be dead already. No, Cain must have taken her with him. I was positive that it was his face I’d seen through the porthole just before the crazy man with the meat-cleaver attacked me. Seeing his opportunity, Cain must have ushered her away to another part of the ship. I doubted he’d go deeper into the bowels, now that he realised a rescue party was on board. A stronger likelihood would be that he had taken her up; to use Jenny as a hostage. That was the theory, but I’d still to continue my search.

  A set of double doors opened into a galley. The place stank of spoiled food and unwashed bodies, and nicotine-laden stains coloured everything a deep tan. Though not somewhere I’d like to sit down and eat, it was still one of the cleanest rooms I’d come across on the Queen Sofia. My vision flashed to a stain on a distant table. Moving quickly, I went to check and saw something that brought bile into my throat. There was a fan of blood on the table, punctuated at the narrow end by a shallow nick in the tabletop. I could guess what had happened there, but didn’t want to think who had lost a digit to Cain’s blade. I had the sudden urge to kick the table over, to demolish it beyond recognition, but what purpose would that serve? Better that I go find the bastard who had made Jenny suffer.

  My boot scuffed something: a severed finger. I scanned the floor and there was another. Over by the wall was yet another, and something tiny that could have only been a toe. In my time I’ve seen many horrific sights, but there was something so disturbing about the presence of those scattered digits that I almost vomited. I headed for the nearest door and was surprised to find a narrow vestibule, and a set of stairs leading upwards. On the third stair up there was a droplet of blood, more blood on the next step. It appeared that Cain had taken Jenny that way, and that she was still bleeding. The son of a bitch had hacked off one of her fingers, and my only grateful thought was that the other digits on the floor had been too thick and long to have belonged to her.

  I went up the stairs warily, my SIG held poised to shoot. Last time we’d fought Tubal Cain he’d been in hiding and had ambushed Rink. Only Rink’s supercharged reactions had saved him from having his throat opened wide by Cain’s knife. The scar on Rink’s chin was a sore reminder of how close he’d come to death, though.

  The droplets of blood led me upwards, like the breadcrumbs in some insane version of the Hansel and Gretel tale. In that story there’d been a cannibalistic witch plotting to devour children, but even the old hag was nowhere near as much of a monster as Cain. Throwing caution aside, I went up the stairs three at a time and banged out of a door and on to a rain-swept deck.

  In front of me were the towers of s
tacked containers, behind me the aft of the ship. I swung round, seeking movement, but the downpour made it difficult to see far. I headed forward, following the wall of the steel containers along the starboard rail. Any second, I thought, and I’d find Cain. My nerves were strung taut, and adrenalin began to flood my senses. I had my game face on.

  ‘Where the fuck are you, Cain?’ I whispered, confident that I wouldn’t be heard over the drumming of rain and the groaning of the shifting containers.

  Then, a second thought struck me. What had become of Ray Hartlaub?

  Chapter 44

  The man approaching with his gun extended in both hands didn’t look like he’d the strength to support the gun much longer. His face was smeared with grease, but looked very pale between the streaks, and blood pooled on the deck beneath his boots. He was dying but he could still drill the three of them full of bullets before his strength gave out.

  Cain had no clue who the man was, but he’d a good idea why he was here. He was a friend of Joe Hunter who’d come to help save Jennifer from the nasty Harvestman. Cain shook his head. Hell, a few moments earlier he might have even stood a chance. The old chaos factor had definitely kicked in.