Ghost Ship

by Roger Weston

  Jake shivered. It reminded him of the horror he experienced in Tierra del Fuego. He saw hundreds of bats in the tray. Each of them was attached to the metal drawer by a little wire. He watched the doctor prod a few of the bats and study their sluggish reaction. It appeared that the bats were starting to slowly come out of hibernation. Jake watched as the scientist stuck a needle into one of the bats. It was an odd-looking needle with a temperature gauge attached to it. The doctor made a note on his clipboard and then repeated the process with several other bats. He then began to jerk all the wires loose.

  He talked to the creatures as he worked.

  “How do you like that, baby?” He whispered. “Very nice huh, a needle for an alarm clock, eh? Looks like you’re warming up. Very good, baby.” He stroked the black body gently. “How does early release sound to you? You have an important mission to carry out. You are a sweet little thing, aren’t you? You have a package to deliver, don’t you, you little devil?”

  The scientist worked from bat to bat, taking temperatures, jotting down notes on his pad, and pulling the wires free. Several times he checked the time on his wrist watch and noted that as well. Then he reached into the pocket of his lab coat and got out a pack of cigarettes. He shook the pack, but only a cigarette butt fell out, and he cursed. He put his lighter under a bat’s head and flicked it on. As the flame enveloped the bat’s face, the little creature squeaked and squirmed around and then exploded into flight. As it lifted off, the wire attachment came loose. The bat shot out over the ocean. The scientist laughed. He then prodded another bat.

  He said, “You really are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Don’t go anywhere, my little sweet. I’m out of smokes.”

  The scientist rose and started for the accommodation. As he strode past, Jake grabbed him around the neck and pulled him back into the dark space between two of the containers.

  “Who are you? What is going on here?”

  The man struggled against Jake’s rock-solid hold.

  “Answer me, or you won’t see the light of another day.”

  “I’m just a scientist, doing what he says.”

  “And what is that?”

  The man struggled to free himself. “Who are you?”

  “I’m your worst nightmare.” Jake tightened his grip on the man’s neck. “What’s Richter’s plan for those bats?”

  “You want to know?” The man tried to kick his legs back, but Jake easily avoided his attempt.

  “Yes, I do.” Jake increased his hold on the evil doctor. “Tell me now.”

  The man groaned. “They’ll soon be released. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.”

  “Why? Why does Richter want bats released?”

  “It’s his plan, his plan for revenge.” The man began to relax in Jake’s grip. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve already been implanted with incendiary devices and I’ve pulled the wires free, their timer has started. The others will release when their temperature rises.”

  It was all true. Richter was recreating the bat bomb. Jake struggled to control his rage.

  The man’s hand slipped into his lab coat and reappeared with a scalpel. He tried to slash into Jake’s stomach, but Jake caught the man’s wrist and wrestled the scalpel away.

  Now holding the instrument to the sick doctor’s neck he continued his interrogation.

  “How do they work? Tell me now.”

  “What?”

  “The drawers, how do they work?”

  The man squirmed under the sharp pressure of the blade. “When the temperature inside the refrigerated boxes reaches fifty-five degrees the plates swing open, the drawers slide out, and the bats are released. The containers are nearly at the right temperature now and once they are, the little creatures will fly to freedom. It’s too late to stop them. In just thirty minutes, half a million bats will fly to Southern California and roost under the eaves of every building along the coast and even miles inland. Then, when their time to experience freedom is up, the napalm will flare and ignite half a million fires.”

  “Why would you help him do this?”

  “Because his father was a great man. I learned much from him in my studies. His genius created the bat bomb. However, the gas was my innovation.”

  “Gas?”

  “Yes. The incendiaries will release saxi-toxin. We’ve also planted caches of the toxin throughout Long Beach. When the buildings burn huge clouds of the lethal gas will crawl across Long Beach. Then all of Southern California will erupt in a toxic inferno bringing your hedonistic society to her knees.”

  Fury crashed through Jake’s brain like exploding cannons. The cruelty, the utter ruthlessness shocked him. Jake slammed the scientist’s head back with a fast palm blow under his chin. The man went limp, and Jake left him between two containers. Jake didn’t feel bad about hurting him. Any veterinarian who used bats to burn thousands of people and poison others didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.

  Jake hurried to the nearest shipping container where he found a fan and thermostat on the end of the unit.

  He checked his watch. The ship was thirty minutes from shore, and the drawers would open in twenty-seven minutes.

  Jake worked the beam of his flashlight across the machinery to the temperature control. He lowered the dial to zero degrees, a temperature which would infuriate animal activists, but at the moment, would save thousands of human lives from ending in a fiery inferno. He ran to each of the twelve containers and did the same thing. He was coming around the corner of the last of the refrigerated containers when a brawny man stepped out of a nook and stared at him. In the gloom of night the man was a dark outline with an assault rifle—clearly a member of Richter’s goon squad.

  “Who’s that?” the man said.

  “Richter wants you down on the Promenade Deck,” Jake said with an authoritative tone. “Get a move on.”

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Don’t talk to me like regular crewmen.”

  “I’ll put a bullet in you and check your I.D. later.”

  “I’m the first mate. Don’t point that damn gun at me. Richter said to get your ass down there pronto and keep an eye out for approaching vessels.”

  The man lowered his gun, and Jake saw his finger slip out of the trigger loop. “I was told not to leave my post,” the thug said.

  “What the hell? I’m telling you something different. You got a problem with that?” As Jake came closer, the man’s form became clearer, and unfortunately it went both ways. Jake saw a look of surprise on the thug’s face. “Hey, you’re not the first mate.”

  As he raised his gun, Jake kicked his wrists, and the gun flew free.

  Jake received a brutal uppercut under the chin that knocked him backwards. Dazed, he fell back against a bulkhead and hit the ground. For a moment, he was gazing up at the stars. Something pulled him out of his stupor.

  A hand clasped on a 2 ½–foot steel load binder. Thick steel hooks clanged on their heavy-duty rings. The sound of metal dragged over the deck.

  The assailant lifted the load binder above his shoulder and swung it down at Jake’s face.

  A violent head dodge to the right. A loud clang as the thick metal hooks slammed against the deck, leaving dents the size of the Mariana Trench.

  The man rapidly and easily lifted the load binder over his head again and slammed it down. This time Jake did a head dodge to the left. He got a hand free and delivered a karate chop to the inside of the goon’s wrist, shocking the median nerve. The man’s fingers involuntarily dropped the load binder, and Jake hurled it out of reach. He was rewarded with a flurry of blows to the face. His head bounced back and forth like a buoy on a rough bay.

  For a moment, Jake could taste salt on the deck, and it stung his bleeding lip.

  The sound of a chain dragging over the steel deck brought him back to his senses.

  Jake sat up and tried to stand, but a steel-toed boot in the chest left him splayed out on his back. The attacker now pounc
ed on him and began to strangle Jake with a length of chain. Jake struggled for breath, but the attacker pushed down harder, evidently trying to crush his thyroid cartilage. Jake knew he had to act fast or death was certain.

  He jerked his hand free and jabbed his fingers into the attacker’s eyes, causing the man to shriek and drop the chain. Jake dragged his clawed fingers downward, getting them in between the man’s lower lip and gums. He pulled until the man’s head smacked the cold metal deck. Jake snatched up the man’s assault rifle and raised the butt of the gun above the man’s head. One good crack would break his head open.

  Jake’s muscles flinched in his shoulders, but on impulse he stopped himself. The man was neutralized.

  A second shooter came around the corner, this one firing. Jake dove and slid on the deck, stealing second base. He came up on his elbows, squeezing off a burst at the man’s legs. The shooter collapsed, his rifle flipping up into the air. The gun and the man crashed down at the same time.

  The noise. More would be coming.

  “No,” Jake said. Now his position was known. His thought was prophetic. Five gunmen rushed him. He’d never have a chance.

  The first boot hit his gut. The second boot took him in the face. He felt his nose break, and another boot slammed into his eye like a lightning bolt. After that they kicked him furiously from all sides. He tried to get up, but that only exposed him to a kick under the chin that left him flat on his back. The next headshot almost knocked him out, and a concussion wasn’t out of the question.

  “Das ist genug,” commanded a familiar voice.

  Jake was sure that these men had intended to kill him, but now they stopped. Through swollen eyes, Jake could just make out the face of Charles Richter.

  “That’s enough,” Richter said in English. He stepped up to Jake and smiled. “You are positively a nuisance. I have made very few misjudgments in my life, but you were one of them.”

  “You’ve made more than you think.”

  “Is that right? I’d say you made a worse one by showing up here.” Richter nodded to one of his thugs. “Get him up. Take him to the Grand Salon. I have a surprise for him.”

  Jake felt a sharp pain in his stomach as he was dragged to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and then collapsed. Jake cursed as they dragged him across the deck.

  ***

  The Grand Salon looked even bigger with the lights on. Jake remembered seeing pictures of the place in the press release packet Richter had given him. At one time it had been the archetype of elegance and luxury. Now, however, the carpets had been torn out and hauled off, leaving only the plywood beneath, which looked to be in better condition than Jake’s face and body.

  “Don’t let appearances fool you,” Richter said. “This place may not look like the best of the best, but no other cruise ship still afloat has a legacy anywhere close to the Queen Mary.”

  Jake noticed that the cruel doctor he’d just met on the Sports Deck was now standing next to Richter.

  “I trust you didn’t bring me here for another tour,” Jake said, wondering if he was going to collapse or throw up.

  “I don’t have time for that, do I?” Richter put his hand on the shoulder of the vet who stood next to him. “The good doctor here has just raised the temperature on the home of our little creatures. That was so cruel of you to lower it. No worries though. They will be ready to leave soon. Until then…” Richter gestured toward a twenty-foot long game lane on the floor. It looked like a shuffleboard court, but lines crossed the lane at one foot intervals, dividing the lane into numbered sections. Two carved horses stood in section one. They were a foot tall and made out of lacquered wood and had festive coloring like on a children’s carousal. “I’d like to challenge you to a race. Would you care to make a wager?”

  “I’m not in the mood to make any bets.”

  “You always were a lousy gambler, Sands. You surprised me tonight because you took a big risk by coming here. I didn’t expect that from a man who bet five dollars at Santa Anita. You honor me by taking such a huge risk on the very night when the culmination of my dream is coming true. Don’t forget what I told you at the racetrack; that to be remembered is to be immortal. After tonight my name will forever be linked with a momentous historic event.”

  “You know,” Jake said, “for a guy who’s been successful in business, you’re a real loser. You just can’t help yourself.”

  “We’ll see who wins and who loses right now.”

  “I’m not playing any games.”

  “Either you play, or Taine breaks your neck and throws you overboard.”

  Jake looked over at the six-foot Samoan. The man had an eager look in his eyes.

  “Fine. I’ve got nothing better to do.” Jake glanced at his watch and saw that there were only twenty minutes until half a million bats were unleashed upon Long Beach with their napalm incendiaries. The Long Beach inferno would make the great San Francisco fire seem like a campfire—and Richter wanted to throw dice.

  “You first,” Jake said, wiping the blood off his lips.

  Richter dropped his dice on the floor. He got a six and a four. “Not bad,” he said. He nodded at a brute-faced thug. The brute moved Richter’s wooden horse to space ten, already half way down the lane.

  “Your turn,” Richter said. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you what your bet is.”

  “You’re betting for me?”

  “I have to. You’re too small-time to interest me otherwise.”

  Jake started to wince, but his broken nose hurt too much. “Go ahead then.”

  “You’re betting your life. If you win, I’ll give you a one-minute head start. If you lose, you die immediately.”

  Jake was quiet for a moment. “Sounds good to me. Let’s play.” Jake threw the dice and got a nine. The goon moved his horse.

  Then Richter chucked the dice and came up with a five and a three. The leg-breaker moved his horse to section nineteen. Clearly his next throw would be his last.

  “If I win, I get a minute, right?” Jake said.

  “That’s the bet.”

  Jake tossed the dice and got two sixes, which took his horse over the finish line. He looked at Richter and watched as the color sucked out of his face.

  “You look like you saw a ghost,” Jake said. “Maybe you should stay away from haunted ships.” Jake started for the exit. “See you later.”

  “Stop there, Sands.”

  Jake turned and found two guns pointed at him—those of Taine and the leg-breaker, who’d each drawn pistols.

  “I won,” Jake said. “That means I get a minute head start.”

  “I changed my mind,” Richter said. “I always win, and I don’t have time to play any more games with you right now.”

  “Will the death of thousands make you happy, Richter?”

  “Revenge is necessary. The Germans…” Richter cleared his throat. “The Germans never got revenge for World War Two. How many people even know that between 1942 and 1946 this very ship, the Queen Mary, brought thousands of German POWs to New York and Halifax? Have they been avenged? No. And those crimes were small compared to the worst shipwreck in history. Nine thousand dead—and nobody even talks about it. That’s six times the death count of the Titanic—but not a word. Americans don’t talk about the Wilhelm Gustloff because they have blood on their hands. They are responsible for sinking her.” His face transformed into a mask of fury and hatred.

  Jake shook his head with contempt. “You’re insane. The Russians sank the Wilhelm Gustloff.”

  “Silence!” Richter said. “The Americans stood back and allowed the Russians to rape and pillage the great homeland with its superior bloodline. The Americans could have stopped the carnage.”

  “Germany was the victim of World War Two? Is that your claim?”

  Charles stepped forward and backhanded Jake across the face. His nose snarled, and he spoke with clear hatred. “The Allies sank the Gustloff. America led the Allies.”

  “You’r
e one vile man.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” The captain interrupted.

  Charles laughed and waved off the captain. “I’m vile? You simply don’t understand history, professor. The Russians were merely a tool of the Americans. America brought Germany to her knees and let the Russians strike her death blow.”

  Jake felt his face getting hot and he felt sweat forming on his back. It took all his self-discipline to remain cool. The bats would be released in thirteen minutes.

  Charles went on: “Many say the Germans got what they deserved. Fine. Now America will get what she deserves.”

  “You will pay, Richter.”

  Charles paced back and forth as he lectured: “Four hundred thousand bats with incendiaries symbolize a hundred fires for every one of the 4,000 children who died on the Wilhelm Gustloff.” Charles paused to let all this sink in.

  “Sir?” the captain interrupted again.

  Charles ignored him.

  “Don’t you care about the children who will die today?”

  “They are Americans,” Charles said. “They need to suffer the way others have.” He turned his back to Jake and gestured expansively. “The burning of Southern California will be the ultimate statement.”

  “You need to pay for your crimes, for killing those people in Tierra del Fuego.”

  Richter shook his head as if the comment was irrelevant. “Oh, many more will die today. I have been called a promotional genius,” he said. “Today no one will doubt that. Thousands of people have traveled from out of town to visit Long Beach to watch a parade, a parade that I sponsored. They will soon begin to filter out onto the streets. The news crews will soon be arriving in Long Beach to film the parade. Then the fires will begin. The cameras will not film a parade. They will film chaos. They will film thousands of people fleeing for their lives through smoke-filled streets and burning buildings. Then the catches of toxin will be released and everyone will experience paralysis until they can’t breathe. Then they’ll know what it feels like to die like my father did. The people will not be able to move, but the cameras will keep rolling. They’ll catch the horror for the world to see. It will be a beautiful sight, indeed.”