Femme Fatale

by Claude Bouchard

  Staying low, they hurried across the open deck to the port side of the superstructure. Maintaining their crouch to remain below the window-line, they continued towards the ship’s stern where, once again, Jonathan motioned Henri to stay back before peering around the corner.

  The coast clear, they headed towards the starboard side across the stern. With ten feet to go, Jonathan suddenly stopped as a cloud of tobacco smoke wafted around the corner of the superstructure. Slipping the dart gun off his shoulder, he slid his finger onto the trigger while grasping the short barrel with his other hand. Silently moving forward, he closed the gap until he stood with his back to the wall, barely a foot from the corner. Taking a second or two to quickly scan the visible pier below for possible patrols he then spun around the corner and pulled the trigger.

  Facing him from three feet away with a look of shocked surprise, his adversary dropped the cigarette he had been pulling on and grasped the dart imbedded in his chest. He yanked it out and gazed at it for a second or two then looked up at Jonathan with already glazing eyes before starting to pitch forward.

  Catching the man before he hit the deck, Jonathan rolled him onto his back and frisked him, finding a .38 calibre revolver, a switchblade, a set of keys and a mobile phone.

  “He won’t need these for a while though these keys might help us out,” he told Henri who had joined him as the man was falling. “Drop the gun and knife over the side.”

  “What about the phone?” asked Henri.

  “Turn it off and toss it as well,” Jonathan replied. “Let’s hope no one calls to check up on him anytime soon but there’s not much we can do about it.”

  Henri hurried back along the stern to dispose of the weapons and phone away from the pier while Jonathan scanned the area for a suitable place to hide his victim.

  “Check those bins back there,” he said as Henri returned. “We need to stick this guy somewhere.”

  Henri headed to the closest bin, lifted the cover and nodded.

  “There’s room in that one,” he announced as he returned. “He might not be comfortable but he’ll fit.”

  “I’m sure he’ll sleep like a baby,” said Jonathan. “Grab his feet and we’ll tuck him in.”

  “How long will he be out for?” Henri asked as they carried the man the short distance to the bin and lowered him into it.

  “At least six hours,” Jonathan replied, closing and latching the bin cover, “So, if our numbers are right, that’s one down and four to go.”

  * * * *

  Whenever Omar Hamdi transported special merchandise on the Seaworthy I, Tarek Chaib, one of Kaddur’s men, always came along for the ride. Not a member of the crew, in fact, he was not even on record as being on the ship, Tarek’s role was to safeguard Kaddur’s merchandise, particularly when that merchandise was a group of attractive females being transported amidst a dozen eager seamen. A closed section consisting of a short passageway and three cabins had been built just below deck, accessible by a locked door on the port side in the superstructure. Only Tarek had the keys to access the passageway and locked cabins where the women were held and he always accompanied the cook’s assistant when food was delivered to them. While in port, once the women were on board, Tarek prided himself in assuring security, keeping his eyes open for any signs of trouble as he patrolled the ship.

  Though Omar Hamdi had faith in Tarek’s abilities to keep an eye on things, he also had a financial interest in ensuring that the cargo was delivered to Kaddur’s satisfaction. For this reason, Hamdi always remained on board when they docked upon their return to Casablanca in order to be available should trouble arise and Tarek needed assistance. He did sleep his nights as he worked all day during which time Tarek got some shuteye. However, he was only a mobile call away and four decks up if needed and he was certain both Tarek and, more importantly, Kaddur, appreciated his sense of responsibility.

  As he did on all such nights before turning in, he called Tarek for a status report and was surprised to hear the man’s voicemail greeting. Surprised, he tried again and got the same result.

  Not overly concerned, Tarek might have simply forgotten to turn on his phone or the battery might be dead, Omar still felt further verification was called for. Anyhow, until he assured himself that all was in order, he would not be able to sleep. Absently touching the knife sheath forever present on his belt, he left his stateroom and headed down four levels through the dim passageway light to the ship’s main deck.

  * * * *

  Having completed their tour of the superstructure’s perimeter with no further encounters, Jonathan and Henri had made their way into the superstructure with ease as the first entry hatch they had come to was not locked. In the dull glow emitted by an occasional passageway light, they had quickly determined nothing of immediate interest at the main deck level and gone up to the second deck. There, they had found the galley and adjoining crew’s mess followed by a first empty cabin with four bunks.

  Exchanging glances, they crept to the next cabin, Jonathan with the dart gun reloaded and ready. Muffled snoring could be heard through the door, confirming the presence of at least one person inside. Unlatching the door, Jonathan pushed it slowly open, soon revealing a double bunk, the top one empty and the lower one occupied. Peering around the door, he noted a second occupant, the snorer, lying on his back on the top bunk on the opposite side of the compartment.

  From where he stood, he held up the dart gun at arm’s length, aiming at the crewman sleeping in the lower bunk and pulled the trigger. The crewman’s body stiffened for a second as the dart plunged into his back then returned to a relaxed state. Jonathan quickly twisted and removed the barrel from the gun, extracted another dart from the case attached to his thigh, reloaded and reassembled the weapon. Stepping into the compartment, he raised the gun once more and fired the dart into the snorer’s thigh.

  Henri followed, yanking back the covers off the first man and binding his wrists and ankles with zip ties. Seconds later the second man was similarly bound and with their blankets back in place, both simply seemed to be sound asleep, which they were.

  Ensuring the passageway remained deserted, they left the compartment and moved to the next and final door. Repeating the process with his dart gun at the ready, Jonathan started slowly opening the door and immediately noticed a dim light coming from within. Wasting no time, he quickly pushed the door open and stepped inside. Two men lay on the lower bunks, the one to the right apparently asleep but the other, awake and reading by the light of a small lamp clamped to the bunk frame.

  Sitting up in his bunk, his eyes wide with surprise and fear, he uttered, “Who are -“

  He stopped in mid-sentence in shock as he looked down at the dart imbedded in his shoulder then slumped over as the powerful sedative coursed through his bloodstream.

  “What are you saying?” mumbled the other crewman as he started to roll over in his bunk.

  With no time to reload the gun, Jonathan lunged forward, stabbing the dart he held into the second man’s bicep.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” he said a few seconds later as the man succumbed to the drug. “This could have turned ugly.”

  “I have a feeling it would have turned ugly for them,” Henri replied as he proceeded to bind the first man.

  “You never know in these situations,” said Jonathan, zip-tying the other man.

  “Well, we’re okay now,” said Henri. “We took care of the five left on board.”

  “Don’t let your guard down, my friend,” Jonathan warned. “We think there were thirteen in all but we have no guarantee. The boat is also docked so nothing says nobody else will come on board. Let’s go make sure the upper decks are clear. For all we know, we might find your daughters up there.”

  The search of the remaining decks was completed in the minutes which followed, yielding nothing of interest. Though Henri expressed disappointment, Jonathan encouraged him, pointing out that there were many places below deck where his daughters
might be held captive which they had yet to check.

  On the way back down, they passed the head on the second deck and Jonathan slowed.

  “Give me a minute, will you?” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Of course,” Henri replied then sauntered through the open mess door while he waited.

  * * * *

  Omar re-entered the superstructure on the main deck, now puzzled and concerned about Tarek’s disappearance. The guard usually spent such nights at the pier doing regular rounds of the superstructure, occasionally climbing to the pilothouse to get a bird’s eye view of the ship and pier. Omar had gone around the structure twice, once in each direction but could not find Tarek anywhere. He had even looked under the tarps covering the lifeboats, wondering if the man might be in one taking a nap but had found the boats empty.

  Had the man had an accident and fallen overboard? Was he laying somewhere on the ship injured or dead? Perhaps he had fallen ill and retired to his cabin. This possibility frustrated Omar as, even though this was his ship, he was the captain, he did not have the keys to access the passageway and compartments below deck where Tarek and the women stayed on such trips.

  He would start with a thorough inspection of every deck of the superstructure. If he did not come across Tarek following this exercise, he would find the appropriate tools to break into this ridiculous ‘off-limits’ sector of his own ship.

  He quickly ascertained that the missing man was not on the first deck of the superstructure and climbed to the second deck. As he stepped through the open hatch into the second deck passageway, he stopped short. A stranger clad in dark clothing stood with his back to him, just inside the crew’s mess. Visible on the man’s belt were a holstered pistol and knife.

  As a lifelong mariner and a criminal, Omar was no stranger to violence and his immediate decision was that this stranger would pay dearly for his intrusion. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he rushed forward, closing the short distance between himself and the intruder.

  Sensing Omar’s approach, Henri started to turn but was not quick enough to avoid the six inch blade which plunged into his lower back, Gasping in pain as the blade tore into him, he stumbled sideways as his knees buckled. As he fell, his attacker went down with him, wrapping his free arm around Henri’s neck as he continued to furiously work the knife still imbedded in his victim’s flesh.

  With Henri now down on the deck, Omar yanked the blade out and turned the knife in his hand for a downward stab. As he raised his arm to deliver another deadly blow, fingers suddenly clenched his thick hair and jerked his head back. An instant later, he felt a searing pain as a serrated blade slashed across his throat, sending a red geyser into the crew’s mess.

  Pulling Omar to his feet by his hair, Jonathan spun the dying man around and propelled him across the passageway, crashing his skull into the bulkhead. The man crumpled to the deck and Jonathan stomped down on his wrist before kicking away the knife still clutched in his hand.

  Satisfied the Moroccan posed no further danger, Jonathan turned his attention to Henri who lay in a growing pool of blood.

  “You’re bleeding a lot,” he said as he quickly removed his windbreaker. “I’m going to sit you up and try to get some pressure on that then we have to get you some help fast.”

  Henri nodded wordlessly, wincing in pain as he struggled to a sitting position. Zipping up the windbreaker, Jonathan rolled it into a tight impromptu compress which he pressed against Henri’s stab wound.

  “Hold that there while I tie it,” he said before pulling the extended sleeves around Henri and knotting them tightly together. “There. Now, we’re going to stand you up and I’ll carry you.”

  “I can walk if you help me up,” Henri replied, his voice raspy.

  “Shut up and don’t argue,” Jonathan commanded, pulling Henri to his feet. “We’re trying to save your life here.”

  Crouching down sideways before Henri, he added, “Lean across my shoulders.”

  Henri complied without further protest and Jonathan lifted him off the deck in a fireman’s carry then headed off.

  “We have to find my daughters,” Henri croaked as they descended to the main deck.

  “I’ll find your daughters,” Jonathan replied, “But first, you need help. Now shut up and save your strength.”

  They exited the superstructure and Jonathan broke into a jog towards the bow and the tug below.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said into his collar mike. “Henri’s been stabbed and is bleeding pretty badly. Mo’s still in the neighbourhood. Get him to the tug as soon as possible.”

  “Si,” Carlos replied.

  By the time they reached the bow, Carlos’ head was visible above the gunwale and the throb of Mo’s speed boat could already be heard approaching in the distance.

  “Will you need help?” Carlos asked as Jonathan transferred Henri onto the Spaniard’s shoulders.

  “I think it’s all clear now,” Jonathan replied. “Let’s keep the mikes live but I’d rather you and Jorge stayed in your positions. I want advance warning if anyone shows up and you’ll have time to join me if anyone does.”

  “Okay,” Carlos agreed. “Here comes Mo. Go find the ladies.”

  Jonathan hurried back towards the superstructure, un-holstering the Walther as he went. With Henri down and his daughters yet to be found, it was no longer time to play nice.

  Re-entering the superstructure, he headed directly to a locked door they had noticed during their initial visit. He pulled out the key ring he had acquired from his first dart recipient and started trying the lock. Though each key fit, the first three wouldn’t turn but he was successful with the fourth and last on the ring. Beyond the door, half a dozen steps led down to a narrow, dimly lit passageway heading towards the stern with three doors to the port side.

  He stopped at the first door which he found locked. The first key he inserted worked and upon opening the door, he found a small, empty compartment furnished with a single iron bunk, a chair and small table and not much else.

  Returning to the passageway, he moved to the second door, quickly unlocking and opening it to peer in the darkness within.

  “Who are you?” demanded one of the four women lying on bunks within, causing the other three to stir and sit up.

  “I’m here to get you back home,” he replied, keeping an eye on the passageway and the open door above. “We have to hurry.”

  “Are you serious?” a woman on one of the top bunks asked.

  “Very serious,” Jonathan replied. “Let’s go, ladies.”

  “How do we know you’re not with these bastards?” the woman insisted.

  In the faint light filtering in from the passageway, Jonathan focussed on the two women on the lower bunks and said, “Dominique and Corinne. Hard to recognize you in the dark. I’m Jonathan. I work with Leslie.”

  “We can trust him,” said Dominique, rising to her feet and rushing over to give Jonathan a hug. “There are two other women in the next cabin.”

  “Okay, I’ll get them,” Jonathan replied. “Get ready to move.”

  He went to the next compartment and roused the two remaining captives, rapidly explaining what had happened to them and what was taking place now. Neither argued and both followed him out of the compartment without hesitation where the four other women stood anxiously waiting in the passageway.

  “Stay close, keep quiet and follow me,” said Jonathan. “We should be off this boat in a couple of minutes.”

  “Where’s the crew?” asked Dominique as they reached the main deck.

  “Most left once the boat was docked,” Jonathan replied. “I’m pretty sure I took care of the others but keep your eyes open. I want us all to get off safely.”

  Scanning the open deck and finding nothing amiss, he said, “Stay low and move as fast as you can. Let’s go.”

  They hurried out of the superstructure and along the main deck by the containers on the port side towards the bow.

&nb
sp; “All is good?” came Carlos’ voice in Jon’s earpiece.

  “We’ll be with you in thirty seconds,” Jonathan replied.

  They reached the rope ladder where Jonathan helped the women over the gunwale while Carlos steadied the ladder as they climbed down. Within moments, all six were on the tug’s main deck and Jonathan was climbing down while Carlos headed to the wheelhouse. Jon untied the rope from the cleat and quickly retrieved the ladder as the tugboat backed silently away.

  The only signs of their visit left behind were the grapple hook, five unconscious and bound men, one dead one and six missing women.

  Chapter 11 – Thursday, May 31, 2012

  Sandy let Leslie into their suite at the Champs Elysées Plaza just as Chris was finishing on the phone.

  “Good morning,” said Leslie. “Anything from Jon yet?”

  “That was him I was talking to,” Chris replied, his look grim. “The women are safe, six of them including Dominique and Corinne.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Leslie said in relief. “Where are they? What’s going on?”

  “For now, they’re on a yacht off Cadiz, Spain.” Chris explained. “Jonathan’s contacts are arranging air transport for them with the Spanish Navy. They should be back in Paris sometime today.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Leslie exclaimed, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so happy I called you guys.”

  “There’s a problem,” Chris added motioning for the three of them to sit.

  “What is it, honey?” asked Sandy, who had only caught brief snatches of her husband’s side of the telephone conversation.

  “Henri was injured,” said Chris. “He was stabbed while they were on the boat and it’s serious.”

  “Oh, no,” Leslie gasped, her tears spilling over. “Where is he?”

  “Now he’s at the naval base in San Fernando near Cadiz,” Chris replied. “He was taken by speedboat to a doctor in Rabat last night while our Spanish friends organized transport for him. He’s lost a lot of blood and internal damage is significant.”