The Last Passenger

by Manel Loureiro

“Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?” Feldman said.

  “Why tell me this? Why me?”

  “Because we trust each other. Because you’re a smart, sensible woman, and because I gave you my word to keep you up to date on all that happens on board. But primarily, because the four of us are the only ones on the ship that know about Wolf und Klee and the threat they pose. We are going to need the help of everyone to try to find out what the hell is going on . . . and stop it from happening again.”

  They left Feldman’s cabin and walked quickly through the internal maze of first class without running into a soul. It was lunchtime, and most of the crew members were busy taking care of service. When they arrived at a flight of stairs leading down, two of Moore’s men, heavily armed, were awaiting their arrival.

  Without another word they began to descend the staircase. They came to another landing, which had several hallways forking off of it. There was also another flight of stairs that led to the Valkyrie’s mechanical facilities. A pair of heavy steel plates that had been fashioned into a door stood blocking the path to second class, but Kate noticed one of the plates was somewhat damaged. Someone had undone the soldering joints with a blunt object, and the steel plate was bent back far enough to allow a person to crawl through the space.

  “We’re in the first-class service area. This section is unoccupied for our voyage,” Moore explained and pointed toward the steel door. “The door at the end of the hallway leads to the bow-side deck where Tom, er, I mean where the victim was standing guard. I have no idea why he came down here. Perhaps he heard something or found someone trying to sneak in.”

  “We have to go down and see,” Senka said, taking several high-powered flashlights out of her shoulder bag. “Be careful and watch your step. These stairs are quite old and have not been restored.”

  As Kate crawled through the open space between the steel plates, she noticed the steel had left a deep gash in the delicate varnish of the hardwood floors; the mark reminded her of an infected wound.

  On the other side the staircase receded into the darkness. Below, a symphony of drips and creaks could be heard each time the Valkyrie encountered another ocean wave.

  “Surely, there are leaks in the hydraulic system,” explained Feldman as they went down the stairs. Moore and one of his men led the way while Senka and another guard made up the rear. “So that’s what you are hearing.”

  They entered a dark hallway that smelled stagnant and putrid. The carpet was no more than a complicated, frayed patchwork that had been destroyed by humidity. The paint on the walls was peeling in large, uneven chunks as if an especially virulent leprosy had attacked the ship and was consuming it from the inside out. In some places the wood floor bulged from water damage, making strange, grotesque shapes. The flashlight beams crisscrossed the walls as the visibly nervous security guards swiveled around looking for some threat in the darkness. Even Moore looked on edge.

  “This way,” he said, pointing to his right. “It’s not far.”

  They walked a bit farther down the dilapidated hallway and tried not to trip over the rotting wood debris cluttering the hallway. The doors, defeated by their own weight, had fallen off the hinges and were now no more than moldy pieces of lumber, revealing desolate cabins.

  Finally, a blinking light could be seen at the end of the hallway, exposing the shadowy outline of a body on the floor. A wall clock, which had not worked for decades and was on the verge of crumbling, presided over the scene like a voiceless witness. A large rust-colored bloodstain had spread across the floor from beneath Tom McNamara’s body.

  Kate tried to keep herself from heaving. Luckily, she had not eaten lunch yet.

  Tom’s face was twisted into a bizarre expression, a strange mixture of unbounding terror and bewilderment. His throat was slit from ear to ear in the fashion of a second smile, toothless and malicious. In the shadowy lantern light, the effect was absolutely petrifying.

  “He was killed here,” Moore said as if that were not already clear. “Someone came from behind and slit his throat. It had to be someone he knew. There’s no way Tom would have been caught off guard. He wasn’t the smartest guy, but he was good at what he did.”

  “Where’s his gun?” asked Senka. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

  They swept their lights over the floor, but there was no AK-47 to be found.

  “Just what we need,” sighed Feldman. “Now whoever did this has a weapon. It just keeps getting better.”

  “Wait a second, there are some drops of blood this way,” said Kate, pointing to a big round drop of blood the size of a dime. Not far away was another, at the edge of the darkness.

  “His face is covered in blood,” Senka said in a shaky voice. “It’s like he was bleeding from his nose or mouth.”

  They followed the droplets deeper into the heart of the ship. A heavy weight settled in Kate’s head, almost like she had a terrible hangover. Her temples were pounding incessantly. She noticed she was not alone. Moore was rubbing his eyes, and his men were shaking like they were each carrying two hundred pounds.

  Straight ahead, something glinted in their beams of light. Moving closer, they saw that it was the dark barrel of the AK-47 resting on the floor like another of the ship’s leftover relics. The trail of blood ended there in front of a bleak, lonely cabin just like all the others.

  “Whatever happened, it happened here,” Kate said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

  The others remained quiet, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Contemplating the gun and wearing his usual poker face, Feldman was the only one who seemed to be unaffected.

  “Nobody can know about this,” he finally said. “Take the body, put it in a bag, and keep it in one of the freezers. Moore, you’re in charge.”

  The head of security still had his head tilted down as he stared blankly into the empty cabin. He looked a million miles away.

  “Moore,” Feldman raised his voice. “Did you hear me?”

  Moore turned his head slowly as if a dozen rusty gears controlled it. His look was darker than normal, and his nose had begun to bleed.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” he finally uttered, in perfect German, much to the terror of the others. “I believe it would be best if we contact Berlin immediately.”

  XXVI

  “What the hell are you talking about, Moore?” Feldman grunted threateningly. “Do what I say. Now.”

  “Moore? Who’s Moore?” sputtered the head of security, shaking as he talked like he was having trouble staying upright.

  It was all too much for Feldman. He walked straight toward Moore and shoved him against the wall with all the might he could muster. It was like moving a mountain of meat, but Feldman was undaunted.

  “Come on, Moore! Wake up,” he shouted. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

  In slow motion the English bodyguard brought his hands up to his eyes as he was racked by a ferocious attack of trembling. He rubbed his face and looked all about with confusion. Moore looked at Feldman as if his sudden proximity were a surprise.

  “Of course, Mr. Feldman.” He turned to his men and furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what was going on. “We’ll take the body to a freezer immediately. Let’s go, boys. Be careful.”

  Kate watched as two of the men gingerly lifted up Tom McNamara’s body. One of the guards absentmindedly used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe away a bit of blood that was running from his nose. The other guard was humming a soft melody, repeating the same line over and over. A heavy odor in the air lay hidden under the stench of dried blood. It was giving Kate a terrible headache.

  “Let’s get out of here,” commanded Feldman.

  He did not have to repeat himself. McNamara’s body was placed into a body bag that someone had brought down, and the group practically raced out of second class. Nobody wanted to be the last to leave. Moore brought up the rear and looked back anxiously every few seconds as if he had heard something behind him.r />
  Something that scared him.

  As they were climbing the stairs, Kate noticed her head clearing up as if the vise that had been compressing her temples had suddenly loosened a little. She saw that the same was true of the others. Even Moore no longer had cloudy eyes, although he still appeared to be dizzy.

  When they got to the service hallway, they parted ways. Moore and his two men went toward the enormous industrial freezers in the kitchen. They would store their macabre package there while Feldman, Senka, and Kate headed toward the upper deck.

  Outside on the deck the temperature had dropped another three or four degrees, and the difference between that and the warmth of the ship’s interior was immense. The yellowish fog enveloped them completely, and as soon as they had taken a few steps forward, Kate had the sensation they were suspended in a cold, wayward vacuum with no points of reference or cardinal directions.

  “What happened down there?” she asked.

  “I suppose an agent from Wolf und Klee caught our man by surprise,” Feldman said.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Kate interrupted with a slight tremble in her voice. “You know what I’m talking about, Isaac. I mean Moore talking nonsense in German. That strange feeling.”

  “I felt it, too,” Senka added. The Serbian, normally so levelheaded, looked extremely pale. “It was like I could suddenly hear dozens of people all at once inside my brain. It hurt.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Feldman looked truly baffled by the discussion taking place. “I didn’t feel anything, and I didn’t hear anything, either. You were probably just spooked.”

  Senka and Kate looked at each other with surprise. Had Feldman really not noticed that wave of numbness that had rushed over them? Had he not been affected? Or was he right, and the two of them had simply behaved like two impressionable young women?

  “But Moore told us to contact Berlin,” Kate ventured.

  “Mr. Moore hasn’t been getting much sleep in the last forty-eight hours,” Feldman countered. “He has fifteen, make that fourteen, men to keep watch over an enormous ship that is five hundred feet long and twelve levels high, eight of which are sealed up. Or they were. Fatigue makes people say strange things.”

  What Feldman was saying made sense, or at least it made more sense than the vague notions Kate was cooking up in her head. Occam, Occam, Kate repeated to herself. The simplest explanation is probably the correct one.

  They continued slowly inside. Lunch had already passed, and the three of them were famished. When they arrived at the dining hall, nobody was there except a group of crew members seated around a table in the corner. They had their heads down and were murmuring to each other in low voices. Kate noticed that many of them looked extremely pale. They hardly resembled people accustomed to life at sea.

  Feldman excused himself by saying he was exhausted and needed to rest in his cabin. Kate imagined Mrs. Miller would personally take charge over all the magnate’s needs.

  Sharing the intense experience earlier had eased some of the antagonism between Kate and Senka. Kate was not a woman who kept many friends, but the last thing she wanted at that moment was to eat alone. She wondered where Carter and the others might be.

  The two women tried striking up a conversation, but they were too shocked to discuss trivialities. Kate felt a deep pang of nostalgia tinged with sorrow. If Robert were there, everything would be different. He’d always known what to say and how to act to make her comfortable. But Kate’s only company was another frightened woman stuck on this ship, hundreds of miles away from safe haven.

  She suddenly had a great urge to speak with someone who wasn’t on the ship. She wondered if Captain Harper would let her use the communications center to call the newspaper and talk to Rhonda. She wanted to explain how her story was going and ask for advice. But more than anything she simply wanted to hear the voice of a friend.

  Something told her that the guard’s death had much bigger implications. Since boarding the Valkyrie, everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. But she figured there might be a hidden pattern behind it all that she had not yet discovered. She suspected that if Tom McNamara’s throat really had been slit, then it must have been for something he saw. But what?

  Maybe Anne Medine could give her more facts about the ship and the hallway in second class? A different perspective.

  She got up from the table hurriedly, knocking over a glass of water. It fell to the floor and shattered, but no one turned their heads at the noise. Everyone was too lost in thought to care.

  She bid farewell to Senka and beat a hasty path toward the Gneisenau Room. When she entered she did not see a single person. There was no hint of Cherenkov’s research team; the chairs were vacant, and the computer screens idly flashed Feldman’s company logo. The room was totally empty.

  She sat down at one of the terminals to begin the connection process. She entered her user ID and waited. A series of numbers flashed across the screen before going blank again. Kate waited five long minutes with no success. Suddenly, a blinking cursor appeared on the monitor.

  STANDBY COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM

  CBX7800000AAA879000// SONORA// VALKYRIE

  SIGNAL INCOMING . . .

  ANNEMEDINE// SONORA: GOOD AFTERNOON, MISS KILROY. WE’RE HAVING SOME DIFFICULTIES WITH THE SIGNAL RECEPTION. THE SATELLITE HAS BEEN DOWN FOR TWO HOURS NOW. WHILE THE TECHNICIANS ARE WORKING ON IT, WE’LL ONLY BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE VIA CHAT. I HOPE THAT WON’T BE A PROBLEM :-)

  Slightly taken aback by the message, Kate began typing.

  KKILROYVALKYRIE: THAT SHOULD BE FINE. WILL IT BE POSSIBLE TO RECEIVE INFORMATION THROUGH THE COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM LIKE THIS?

  ANNEMEDINE// SONORA: OF COURSE. THE DATA FLOW GOES THROUGH A DIFFERENT CHANNEL THAT’S STILL UP AND RUNNING. WHAT DO YOU NEED?

  KKILROYVALKYRIE: INFORMATION ON SECOND CLASS. THE LIST OF PASSENGERS ON THE ORIGINAL VOYAGE. THINGS OF THAT NATURE.

  Kate stopped. She was not sure if she should ask for information on Wolf und Klee. She had no idea how involved Anne was in the grand scheme of things.

  ANNEMEDINE// SONORA: OF COURSE. I’M SENDING THAT NOW. IT’S A LARGE FILE, AND WITH THE LIMITATIONS OF THIS CONNECTION, IT WILL TAKE A WHILE TO DOWNLOAD. I THINK YOU SHOULD HAVE IT IN ABOUT AN HOUR.

  Kate nodded, appeased. She was taking steps in the right direction. She was about to say good-bye when the screen lit up once more.

  ANNEMEDINE// SONORA: ALSO, I’VE FOUND YOUR MR. SCHWEIZER. IT TOOK ME A WHILE, BUT THE NAME SOUNDED SO FAMILIAR THAT I DECIDED TO DO SOME DIGGING. I FOUND HIM. HE WAS ONE OF THE PASSENGERS.

  Kate didn’t understand.

  KKILROYVALKYRIE: ONE OF THE PASSENGERS? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? I THOUGHT NONE OF THE SCIENTISTS OR CREW HAD THAT LAST NAME? JUST YESTERDAY YOU SHOWED ME THE PASSENGER LIST.

  The cursor blinked a few moments that stretched on forever.

  ANNEMEDINE// SONORA: I’M SORRY. I SHOULD HAVE CLARIFIED. MARTIN SCHWEIZER, SINGLE, AGE FORTY-SIX, CABIN 172. HE WAS ONE OF THE ORIGINAL PASSENGERS ABOARD THE VALKYRIE. IN 1939.

  XXVII

  Kate blinked and stared at the screen. She felt like she had just been punched. It was simply impossible. The year 1939 was decades ago. They were not in the fucking 1930s.

  Her hands trembled. She was about to type again to ask how the hell a passenger who vanished more than seventy years ago could be strolling about the ship when the screen started to flash several times, and the chat box disappeared. A message popped up.

  Signal lost

  Please wait . . .

  Kate slapped the table in anger.

  Not now, goddammit. Not now.

  She waited around awhile, but it was in vain. The signal was gone. She looked around to see if there was a technician to help users, but the room was still completely empty.

  Kate sat back in her seat as her mind began to race.

  Her first thought was that the straw hat must have been aboard the ship the whole time. It was the mo
st logical explanation. But that did not explain why nobody had seen it in the middle of the ship’s walkway while the restoration work was being carried out. Plus, it was in far too good of shape to have been sitting around the ship for seventy-plus years.

  Another explanation was that someone had placed it there on purpose for her to find. But that didn’t make sense, either. When she had stumbled upon the dumb thing, it was stuck on a stanchion, about to blow into the sea. Nobody could have planned something that precisely.

  The final explanation, as ridiculous as it sounded, was that the owner of the hat had traveled from 1939 only to bump into Kate on the walkway of the Valkyrie.

  Occam, Kate. Occam.

  Sitting there, stunned, she couldn’t believe that the last explanation was the most likely one even though it sounded like complete madness. A week prior she would have burst out laughing at such a notion. But after everything she had experienced since boarding the Valkyrie, suddenly, nothing seemed impossible.

  She realized she needed to tell Feldman and Cherenkov about it immediately. Maybe it had something to do with the anomalies surrounding the Singularity. She wanted to discuss it with Carter as well to see what he thought about the matter. He would be able to give her an injection of his logical, scientific skepticism, but she had not seen him at all since they had run into each other that morning.

  Feeling resolute, she decided to head toward the bridge. As she crossed through the doorway, one final hypothesis occurred to her with such force that she stopped immediately. Kate told herself that it had to be impossible and stored away the thought in a little, dark mental compartment. Still, as she did so, a more primitive part of her began to fill with profound fear.

  Perhaps Schweizer and his hat had been aboard the Valkyrie. All along. Together with the rest of the missing passengers. Waiting.