Dead Sea

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘OK,’ he temporized. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘We must wait,’ she decided. ‘Pretend we suspect nothing. Behave as normal. We are not the only ones heading for the bottle, remember. If we can somehow control the timing, then we could get there at the same moment as the other people trying to reach it. Perhaps they can help us.’

  Reona thought, But they are eight unarmed women on two little yachts. How can they possibly help us?

  While Aika Rei thought, At the very least there will be eight more women to be shared among the crew and that has to make things easier for me.

  But the matter was decided and the plan agreed.

  As Dagupan Maru ploughed south towards the red dot on Reona’s map, therefore, the young professor and the lovely doctor behaved as though they were determined to maintain their fiction of being honeymooners, suspecting there was nothing in the world amiss. Though it was, perhaps, fortunate that Sittart was no longer taking any interest in the video footage from the bedroom, for it was here that the fiction of being insatiable lovers broke down.

  The crew realized at once that something had changed. They picked up on his fear as accurately as a pack of hounds. But, like any group of people forced to rub along together in a confined space for a long time, they were adept at concealing suspicions. And besides, the first officer made it plain that the professor was coming aboard – and that he might well be interested in more than the bottle and the ticket it contained. Even those who knew the professor only by reputation knew the rules. You could look. But you’d better not touch.

  So Reona and Aika Rei were able to proceed in blissful ignorance of the fact that they were fooling no one. And a kind of routine was maintained in which Engineer Senzo Tago came and consulted the laptop every morning, just as though he had no chance to see it on a slave monitor when he was working on the bridge. It was his job to keep the red dots bright, and Reona remained ignorant of the fact that First Officer Sakai was employed on the bridge at least twice a day in plotting the precise positions of the bottle and the ship on their ever-moving courses, calculating the constantly varying track for Dagupan Maru that would bring them most swiftly together. It was a routine that only three things could change, Sakai Inazo reasoned grimly as he worked. Landfall. Catching up with the bottle. The arrival of Professor Sittart. And the wise officer knew precisely in what order those events would occur.

  Reona saw it first because now that Dagupan Maru was coming up to 3,400 nautical miles out of Tokyo docks, even the ship’s powerful radio equipment was finding it hard to maintain the laptop signal, so he and Electrical Engineer Tago were back up on top of the bridge house where they had first met, in the massive calm of a mid-ocean morning. Tago was trying to find a way of boosting the signal in order to firm up the four red dots on Reona’s laptop. ‘What’s that?’ asked Reona. ‘Up on the sky behind us.’

  ‘Must be a bird,’ answered the electrical engineer, glancing up from the radio antenna. ‘We sometimes see albatrosses. I’ve tried to shoot them. I hear they make good eating. And it’s astern of us not behind us.’

  ‘But it glinted!’ said Reona. ‘It looks like its metal.’

  ‘Metal! You must be seeing things!’ jeered the engineer. But he straightened anyway. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder and looked up at a black dot which appeared to be approaching out of the wide blue sky. And it did indeed catch the sun and glint, suddenly, like a diamond against the royal blue of the heavens.

  ‘Shit!’ said Senzo, the instant it did so. ‘You’re right! It’s a chopper. And that can only mean one thing! Fuck . . .’ And he was gone.

  Reona stood for a moment longer, looking up in simple disbelief. They were more than three thousand miles from land, he thought numbly. How on earth could a helicopter fly such a vast distance? Who on earth would want to make a helicopter fly so far or have any reason at all for doing so?

  The answer hit him like a blow from a heavyweight boxer, and he too was gone down into the bridge house like a startled rabbit.

  The whole atmosphere aboard had changed in the few moments he had been up on the deck. There were crewmen bustling about tasks and duties they had never bothered with up until now. He saw Captain Yamamoto heading purposefully for the bridge, and glanced at his watch in simple shock – the captain had never surfaced before midday during the whole trip so far. He arrived at their cabin to find Aika Rei being bustled out of the accommodation that they had shared. ‘We’re being moved,’ she explained, her eyes wide with terror. ‘They say they need the owner’s suite at once. What is going on?’

  ‘There’s a helicopter approaching,’ Reona answered, suddenly cold with the echo of her naked fear. ‘It must be Professor Sittart.’

  The helicopter settled on a landing area Reona hadn’t even registered as existing on the poop deck. He and Aika Rei were part of the welcoming committee even though neither of them particularly wanted to be there. But the professor had radioed his orders ahead, First Officer Sakai informed them brusquely, as he picked them up and herded them aft.

  Captain Yamamoto was there, together with several crew members the shy academic did not recognize as general purpose seamen Izumi, Nagase and Ido. Aika Rei knew them as soon as they started speaking, however, and pressed herself even more closely against Reona, simply shaking with fear.

  They all bowed in the face of the downdraught and the threat of the rotors as the helicopter settled thunderously on to the deck, then there was a moment of stasis as the motor died and the rotors slowed.

  After half-a-dozen heartbeats, a door in the side of the chopper slid back and an elegant foot shod in black Oxford shoes appeared, followed by a long leg clothed in black shot-silk trousers. A tall, skeletal man with a skull like a huge ivory ball stepped nimbly down as Captain Yamamoto rushed solicitously forward. Aika Rei, seeing the black boxes clamped so brutally over his ears, gasped with shock and horror.

  But the stranger turned and reached back into the helicopter cabin as though unaware of the captain and his welcoming committee. He handed out a plump, square woman whose body was at least two sizes too big for the severe grey business suit she was wearing. She swept her short, black hair out of her eyes with a square, short-fingered hand as she arrived on the deck and looked coldly around.

  Yamamoto bobbed before them until the tall man deigned to notice him. ‘Ah, Captain,’ he said with a snarl in his voice that carried easily across the deck. ‘Allow me to introduce my associate, Miss Nanaka Oda. You will need to arrange accommodation for her. I trust my suite is prepared?’

  ‘Of course, Professor. Everything is just as you ordered . . .’

  As the three of them crossed the deck, Sakai sent his crew men to get the luggage and Reona was struck by the wide berth the three seamen gave the tall man and the square woman beside him. He looked around, wondering what he was expected to do next, intensely aware that Aika Rei was tugging insistently at his arm, hoping to escape before the professor noticed them. ‘We have been in the air for two solid days,’ the professor was saying to Yamamoto. ‘Hopping from one ship to another, with our helicopter like a dragonfly jumping across lily pads on a pond. It is fortunate that Luzon Logging has so many vessels in the area. But even so . . .’ His voice trailed off, and suddenly Reona was at the centre of his regard. ‘Ah,’ said Sittart, modifying his snarl to a growl. ‘This must be Professor Tanaka. A pleasure, Professor.’ His voice dismissed Reona, then lingered. ‘And this must be his lovely assistant . . .’

  Aika Rei did not appreciate being addressed as though she was some kind of an itinerant magician’s stooge but, like Reona, she bowed.

  Sittart’s focus shifted once again. ‘So, Captain, after we have settled in and freshened up we would appreciate a proper meal. And I note that it is almost time for the midday mess in any case. We would be very pleased if the professor and his assistant could join us. And, of course, yourself and your off-watch officers, if that is convenient.’

  Reona and Aika Rei were
bundled below. The cabin they had been assigned was reassigned to the strange, square woman Sittart had brought with him. Their luggage was simply thrown out into the corridor once more and despite increasingly irate questions, Reona could not discover where the pair of them were supposed to be sleeping tonight. They were forced to use the washrooms they had been assigned when their en suite had apparently failed. And Reona was grateful that Aika Rei at least did not need to shower. But by the time they were hurried back towards the mess the question of their new sleeping arrangements had still not been settled.

  ‘Ask them!’ hissed Aika Rei angrily. ‘This simply isn’t good enough. We need to know where we will be sleeping tonight! And if you won’t make a fuss then I certainly will!’

  Reona was not in the best of moods, therefore, when Aika Rei and he were pushed into the dining area after a lengthy and fruitless squabble with Sakai about their accommodation. The Professor and Nanaka Oda were already there, attended by Yamamoto and a range of officers that Reona had hardly met. Sakai was notable by his absence, but Senzo Tago was there in his place. The rest of the men – and one woman – were locked in animated conversation as the food was brought in from the galley. Reona only recognized the Indonesian cuisine because he had lectured more than once at the University of Manila. Nasi goreng fried rice was accompanied by skewers of pork and chicken satay, a side dish of sayur lodeh coconut sauce and by a fragrant semur daging beef stew which must have been ordered via the radio – for it took hours to prepare.

  The professor did not seem to register their arrival as they were bundled into seats at the long captain’s table. The food was in dishes down the centre and the two latecomers were hesitant about reaching forward to serve themselves. ‘Don’t be shy,’ ordered Sittart suddenly, looking at Aika Rei. ‘There’s plenty for all. And the chef has outdone himself, I think. There is gado gado coming if you would prefer noodles.’

  ‘No,’ choked Aika Rei. ‘I’m not hungry. This is fine . . .’

  ‘Professor?’ enquired Sittart civilly. ‘Rice or noodles for you?’

  ‘Actually, sir, I’m not hungry either . . .’

  ‘As you wish,’ answered Sittart accommodatingly, and a lively conversation sprang up, dominated by the professor himself. What did the officers think of the unfortunate rumours about the dangers of rubbish accumulating in the North Pacific? he enquired. They all decided that it was mere scaremongering.

  What did they think about the possibility of plastic debris actually collecting there as though a Sargasso Sea might be created from mankind’s detritus? he probed. Ridiculous, they all agreed.

  At last the professor’s long, cold eyes rested on Reona as though on an opponent in a duel. ‘And you, Professor Tanaka, what do you believe?’ whispered Sittart, with all the sick pleasure of a bully preparing his victim for a beating.

  Reona pulled himself erect. ‘I believe the danger is real and imminent, Professor,’ he answered. ‘That is why Captain Mariner, Mr Greenbaum and I embarked on the experiment with the bottle we are all currently pursuing. And, I have to say, sir, that the fact we are still pursuing it makes my proposition all the more likely!’

  ‘Good,’ growled Sittart gently. ‘Very good. A man of conviction.’ He looked around the suddenly silent table with his long, cold eyes. ‘What we have here, gentlemen – ladies – is a man of conviction.’

  ‘It is more than mere conviction,’ snapped Reona, goaded. ‘The experiment has proved it to be true. The currents are swirling the rubbish out here in solid pieces before it can break up. The bottle, Cheerio, is still just ahead of us. It is still broadcasting its locator signal. We know exactly where it is. Engineer Tago, is this not so? Its precise location is on the laptop for anyone to see! It is still out there in the water, still afloat, still broadcasting! My theory is correct. Our ship will come up with it within a day or so and then we will recover it. Then you will see!’

  ‘Engineer Tago, is this true?’ whispered Sittart. ‘Is the location of the bottle on the laptop? Is it accurate? Reliable? Will we come up with it within a day or so? Do we need the professor here to guide us?’

  ‘It is true, sir,’ answered Tago. ‘The signal is strong and true. It shows clearly and reliably on the laptop and has done so for a week. The professor has shown me how to access the information so we do not need him at all.’

  ‘Good,’ whispered Sittart, his voice like sand sliding over shot silk.

  He produced a gun from beneath the table like a conjurer making a rabbit appear. And before anyone could react, he shot Reona through the middle of his forehead with it. Aika Rei screamed at the top of her lungs with shock but the noise was lost beneath the deafening clap of the gunshot in the enclosed space of the room. There was a surprising amount of smoke – enough to obscure the assassin for a moment, but not his victim. The unfortunate meteorologist jerked backwards as though someone had punched him very hard in the face. The metal wall on the far side of the dining room boomed like an untuned gong as the bullet hit it. A mark that looked unsettlingly like a large blackberry appeared in the middle of Reona’s high forehead. A wisp of smoke seemed to issue from the middle of it. Taking his chair with him, he slid back for perhaps a metre as he sprayed brain matter out of the rear of his shattered skull. Then he slumped on to one side, fell off the chair on to the deck and lay still.

  Sittart put the smoking gun on to the table as the echo of the outrageous noise began to fade away. No one at the table moved a muscle or said a word. ‘That’s settled, then,’ observed the professor, as though discussing an argument of no real importance. ‘And so is the matter of accommodation that was apparently worrying the professor so much. Heave his body over the side when we have finished here and put his woman’s clothing back into the owner’s suite with mine. She will be sleeping with me from now on.’

  As so many things aboard Dagupan Maru seemed to, it fell to First Officer Sakai to clear up the professor’s mess. After the meal was finished and everyone had left the dining room, he dragooned seaman Ido into mopping the floor and washing the walls while Nagase and Izumi wrapped the corpse in plastic sheeting and carried it up to the weather deck.

  Here Sakai paused, looking out across the wide afternoon with something of a frown. There was a strange taint on the air. It smelt like diesel fuel, mixed with rust and rottenness. If there was an odour of dead water, he thought, this would be it. Then he shrugged, not being a particularly imaginative man, and gestured to his seamen to dump the late Professor Tanaka overboard.

  Inevitably, as they did so, Sakai looked down to see the corpse fall. And he was surprised to observe that his ship seemed to be pushing through a floating island made of rubbish. And Tanaka fell on to this. There was a hollow thud rather than a final splash. He did not sink immediately. Instead, his body lay across two sizeable oil drums that had been lashed together with yards of indestructible plastic rope. The wind took the sheeting and blew it wide. Just for a moment, Sakai found himself staring into the eyes of the man he had brought aboard little more than a week ago. The barrels beneath Tanaka stirred, thumped together with a doleful Boom!

  The dead man nodded as though he knew some secret deep beyond the living man’s comprehension, and began to slide silently into the oily water.

  Sakai went back to his cabin to wash – only to find it occupied by Sittart and his unnerving protégé. As he stooped to pick up the kit that was now piled in the corridor, in preparation for moving the second officer down the pecking order of accommodation, he overheard a snatch of conversation.

  ‘This is a lovely cabin, Professor. It is larger than my rooms at home.’

  ‘Don’t give it a thought, my dear. Nothing is too good for the woman who has settled some old scores for me and rid me of two of my bitterest enemies.’

  American Gambit

  Richard woke up.

  He knew he was alive because of the pain. This came as a relief as well as a surprise. The last things he remembered with any clarity were being hit by the
side of a skidding car and deciding, as he flew backwards through the rain-filled Tokyo air, that his luck had finally run out. But now, providentially, his head hurt. He opened his eyes and the brightness hurt. He moved his head and his neck hurt. He tensed to sit up and discovered that his whole body hurt. He relaxed back on starched, unfamiliar pillows and thought. Where am I and what’s going on? At least thinking didn’t hurt.

  ‘Hey,’ said Nic’s familiar drawl, ‘I think he’s coming to, Jim.’ And even that quiet observation hurt because Richard’s ears hurt. And also because it necessitated a physical reaction and a reply.

  Richard opened his eyes again. The painful brightness resolved itself into a white-painted room with two anxious faces standing at a bed foot looking down at him. ‘Hey, Nic,’ Richard croaked. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah. And it’s all thanks to you that I am. I owe you one. You pushed me out of the way and took most of the force. You’re one big bruise. Head to foot.’

  ‘Bruise?’ asked Richard, flooding with relief. ‘Nothing broken?’

  ‘Doctors say not,’ answered Jim Bourne. ‘You’ll be stiff and sore for a while and you’ve had pretty severe concussion, but no major breakages internal or skeletal. Apparently the kerb was enough to break the car’s momentum and knock it offline. It’s been found down by the docks. Burned-out. No clues. Could have been an accident as likely as anything else, given the amount of drifting that goes on down there.’

  ‘Police?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Officer Izawa,’ answered Nic. ‘At some length. But as far as he’s concerned, it was just a case of two reckless tourists bumbling about in a dangerous place and getting involved in the kind of accident that happens down there all the time. No deaths. No clues. No case.’

  ‘Of course.’ Richard nodded. Regretted it. ‘How long have I been out?’ he asked, easing his shoulders in preparation for more decisive movement. Bruises, he thought. How bad can that be, after all?