Despite being three piers away, the barge loomed large in front of me. It was an aging wreck, the top half painted black and the bottom painted red. The two colors looked to be in roughly equal portions before disappearing into the muddy waters of the river, both faded and peeling from years of service. The name SEA HORSE I was stenciled down the side in white block script, a series of letters and numbers tattooed smaller beneath it.
I increased my pace to just shy of a jog, thinking the wreck looked more like a sea mule and wondering if there was a SEA HORSE II anywhere nearby.
Like I said before, it's funny what comes to mind in these situations.
I kept as close to the concrete piers as I could and moved past both Fourteen and Thirteen, counting them off in descending order. In front of me the barge grew larger with each passing second, though it was apparent I wasn't dealing with the Titanic. The entirety of the barge stretched maybe eight yards in length. The deck rose only about six feet above the water line, the cabin of the boat just ten or twelve feet above that.
Several rows of containers were lined up on the deck, painted in various shades of grey, brown and green. Most of them sat stacked only one row high, none more than two. It seemed clear that this was not a usual working barge, but a much smaller one used for private purposes. Anybody looking to turn a profit wouldn't bother loading such a small boat less than half full on a Sunday.
I approached the far corner of Pier Thirteen, stopped and pressed my back against the concrete. By my best estimation I had a little more than ten minutes before the boat departed. Above I could see a last few forklifts carrying items onto the barge, though the flow had slowed a great deal from when I first drove by. A couple of errant voices floated on the wind as dock workers shouted things back and forth, though I couldn't make out what they were saying.
Pressing my luck I inched forward and watched as a few men walked back and forth on the dock. Each one of them was dressed in matching brown rain slickers and tan jeans. Nobody seemed to be carrying any weapons, though that didn’t mean they weren't stowed beneath the rain gear.
If this was Rifkin's boat, it bore to reason these were all his workers as well.
The traffic on the dock above seemed to settle into a one-way flow, all of it heading away from the barge. Two forklifts exited and headed down the dock as the overhead crane deposited one final full-sized container and receded back onto the pier as the captain let out a short blast on his horn.
My head told me I should still have ten minutes before the boat departed and the blast was a warning shot for everybody that was coming to get onboard. Everybody else should get back.
I closed my eyes and again thought of Annie. Of the first time I saw her, held her in my arms, made that promise to my sister. Now, this very moment, was the time to prove that I meant it. That everything I'd done the past two days, hell, the last ten years, wasn't for nothing.
A small surge of purpose went through my body. The pain receded into the background, the fatigue I felt fell by the wayside. In their place was complete clarity as I traced my eyes over the docks ahead, seeking anything that might resemble a plan.
There was no way I could board the boat from the dock. I didn't have time to walk the length of the alley and back up, and even if I did there's no way I wouldn't get stopped a hundred times by people wanting to know what the hell I was up to. There were no stairs up on to the docks from where I stood, and even if there were, there was no way to get up and onboard without being seen.
That left a water assault. I wasn't the world's greatest swimmer to begin with, even less so with mangled hands and mud covered boots.
This was not going to go well.
I kept my back pressed against the wall and ran my eyes the length of the boat. The hull was made from steel plates welded onto a body, the seams all water tight. It rose only a half dozen feet or so out of the water, but there still no way I could scramble up the side. I would drown trying to flail my way up the slippery hull.
I shifted my gaze a little further down and rested it on the rusted chain extending down into the water at the head of the deck. Thick lengths of solid steel interlocked and hanging down from the side of the boat, disappearing into the dirty water below.
The anchor.
Cliché as hell, but in this case just maybe crazy enough to work.
I remained where I was for several long seconds, studying the anchor. The lengths were shaped like oversized footballs, all lined up end-to-end and disappearing into the hull of the boat. They wore a color somewhere between the red and black of the barge, no doubt from a heavy coat of rust. They were also soaked from the rain that continued falling in steady torrents. It wasn't ideal, but it was all I had.
Drawing in a deep breath, I looked up to make sure nobody on the docks was visible and ran headlong towards the river. I covered the short expanse between the pier and the bank in a dozen steps and dove headfirst into the river. The icy chill tore at me, setting every nerve in my body on fire as I remained underwater and breast stroked as hard as I could.
The cast on my left hand swelled until it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, the plaster soaking up the water like a sponge. Inside it I could feel the tire iron dig into my flesh, the cast growing tighter by the second. I gave up trying to stroke with my left hand and held it out in front of me, swinging my right arm and kicking my legs hard.
I remained submerged as long as possible before rising for air. I stopped kicking for a moment and allowed my body to slow, raising only my head from the water like some kind of wannabe Navy SEAL. My first push had taken me almost halfway to the anchor, though it still seemed far away across the rain-spattered surface. I listened hard for any sounds of alarm from above, but there were none.
For the time being, I was still unnoticed.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slipped back under the surface and resumed my swim. I didn't have near the momentum as I did the first time and stroking with only one arm made it tough to get moving. My boots felt like lead as I kicked them behind me, willing my body forward. When my lungs could take no more, I again rose from the depths and wiped river water from my eyes.
I was still over twenty yards from the anchor. I had no idea how much time remained, but it couldn't be more than a few minutes.
Opting to keep my head above water I continued pushing forward, my strokes somewhere between a breast stroke and a dog paddle. My lungs became raw as I drew in uneven gulps of water and air. Every muscle in my body burned.
Beside me the enormous coal-powered engine on the barge kicked into a higher gear. I could feel the vibrations of it rolling through the water, rattling my body. Departure was going to be any second now.
Ahead of me, the heavy links of the chain moaned before slowly starting to rise up out of the water.
Chapter Thirty-Two
There is only one thing I've ever found that can light a fire under me more than adrenaline, and that's panic. It started with a horror-struck face as I watched the links rise from the depths, water dripping down in a heavy stream. The moment my mind put together what was happening my arms went to work, pawing at the surface. I didn't care about the club on my left arm or how much noise I made as I went, I just paddled.
One by one the links rose out of the water. I didn't know how deep the river was, but this close to shore it couldn't be more than fifteen or twenty feet. I was running out of time. Fast.
The inches crept by as I continued swimming for the chain, my form an ugly hybrid of three or four different strokes. My lungs gasped for more air and my body temperature ran hot, despite the frigid water I was submerged in. Every sound of the world died away, replaced by my heart racing in my ears.
Five yards away, the top of the anchor pushed itself up out of the water. My hands pawed furiously as the top of it extended into a shaft, followed by two claw-like hooks. The entire structure slid up out of the water like some kind of ancient sea creature, a torrent of water falling behind it. Wrenched free from
the weight of the river it swung free, banging against the side of the barge.
I covered the last few yards as fast as I could, the anchor continuing to climb. I got there just as it hung several feet above the water and leaped up at it, my hands coming together above my head in an attempt to grab hold. They got halfway up the side of it, but couldn't reach the top of the hooks. Without having something to wrap around, my hands slid down the side of the wet iron.
The anchor shrugged me off and continued its ascent as if I wasn't even there. My arms splashed down to the water beside me, the momentum carrying me under. For a split second I considered just staying there, letting the weight of my clothes and my cast and my sister's expectations drag me to the bottom.
Instead, I kicked myself back to the surface. The vibrations from the engine were growing stronger, but the ship remained idle. I still had a chance.
My head burst through the surface as I drew in a deep gulp of air. I gave a sharp twist of my head and sent my lank hair out of my eyes, the wet tendrils flying to the side in a spray of dirty water. My eyes and throat both burned as I spit a stream of the Ohio River from my mouth and continued moving forward.
I knew there was no place back the other direction to get onboard, told myself there had to be something up ahead. Going forward meant possibly getting run over by the barge once it started moving, but it was a chance I had to take. I'd promised Lex and Annie both I'd die before I let anything happen to them.
After the night I'd had, I knew I was on borrowed time anyway.
The sound of iron meeting steel rang out above me as the anchor found its home against the hull of the ship and settled into place. A stream of water continued to fall down from the base of it as I passed underneath, all four limbs swinging in wide circles away from my body. The moment the anchor was in place a second, longer blast erupted from the air horn and the vibrations in the water rose to a frenzied pitch.
It was shifting into gear. It was about to start moving and there was only one direction it could go.
Straight at me.
The level of panic within me rose again as I kicked hard and made the front corner of the barge. Without slowing down I swung a tight turn and kept pressing forward. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest and my lungs burned for more oxygen.
Finally, mercifully, I saw what I was looking for.
Just a few yards ahead, rising in a straight line from the water, was a row of metal rungs up the ass-end of the barge.
The very sight of the makeshift ladder pushed a renewed vigor through me as I kicked hard. The ancient diesel engine made a loud coughing sound as the boat downshifted and pushed away from the dock, the water churning along the edge of the barge. I changed to a freestyle stroke and pounded out the last few yards as the front of the boat twisted away from the dock, meeting me half way. With my last bit of energy I hefted myself a few feet up out of the water and latched onto the closest rungs.
Despite just starting to move, the force of the boat bounced me against the front of it, causing every vertebrae in my back to pop. I slid my right hand behind the lowest rung and cradled it in the crook of my elbow, the momentum of the boat pinning me against the hull as it pushed out into the river. For several moments, I made no effort to move.
I waited until we were out of sight from the pier and the pressure of the oncoming water began to build before unhooking my arm from the rung and pulling myself up. The metal rungs, constructed from twisted rebar, were wet and slippery beneath my boots, the going slow. I hauled myself up one rung at a time, heart pounding as I ascended.
After more than a dozen rungs, I peeked my head up over the side of the deck and swung my gaze from side to side. I was on the front edge of the barge, a full sized shipping container just a few feet in front of me.
As quiet as my protesting body would allow, I crawled up on the deck and fell to my side. I pressed my back against the container and lay there on my side for several long minutes, drawing in deep breaths and letting the cool steel of the deck calm my protesting body.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I rose to a seated position with my shoulder blades pressed against the container, but didn’t try to go any further. Instead I sat with legs sprawled in either direction, the heels of my boots just inches away from the edge of the deck. Rain continued to fall from the sky, though I was so wet it didn’t even register with me.
To my right the city of Cincinnati slid by, the high rises disappearing behind us and giving way to a sprawling expanse of factories and suburbs. Somewhere over there was the state line separating Ohio from Indiana. To my left was Kentucky, the entire area a suburb of Cincinnati. The whole scene seemed to still be asleep, nothing more than a rainy Sunday morning in the Midwest.
As the cityscape began to thin beside me, my heart rate and breathing receded to normal. I lifted the club attached to my left arm and examined it, the area from my forearm down looking like the Michelin Man's. I used my right hand to wring out as much excess water as I could from around the edges of it, though it did little to relieve the pressure. Inside it I could feel the tire iron digging into the underside of my forearm, but for some reason decided to leave it where it was.
I don't know why, but I had a feeling I might need it later.
I pushed myself to my feet and went through a quick progression to make sure everything still worked. Despite serious protest from every muscle in my body and my internal clock telling me it had been days since I had a proper meal or rest, all important functions still seemed to be working. I only hoped I could say the same in an hour.
Pushing away from the container, I slid the Luger from the waistband of my jeans and checked the slide. It spit the live round out at me cleanly and racked the next one into place, a sure sign that everything was still in working order. Later on I would have to clean it thoroughly to make sure it didn't rust, but that was the least of my concerns at the moment.
The world around me shifted to the familiar farmlands that dominated much of the Midwestern states. We were now out of the city. Any guards onboard would be easing up on how alert they were, especially with the rain still falling in a steady pattern. It wasn't pouring, but it was above a drizzle, more than enough to make someone that wasn't as wet as I was uncomfortable.
One more deep breath and I edged towards the center of the barge. I kept my back pressed tight against the container and dropped to a knee, then peered out around it towards the control tower. Staring back at me was nothing but the next row of containers, their uneven pattern blocking the main deck from view. I was going to have to swing up the side.
I knew I was going to have to get closer if I wanted to have a reasonable shot at anyone, but I was hoping to at least have an idea of how many there were first. It was hard enough trying to concoct a one man plan, not knowing how many I faced didn't help.
I gave a quick glance around and went back in the direction I first came on board. The wet steel of the deck was slick beneath my feet and I moved slow, the ping of raindrops hitting the deck around me. I made it to the far corner and dropped to a knee again, the Luger poised against my waist.
"Hey!" a voice shouted from behind me, a thick baritone cutting through the morning wind. My breath stopped cold and my heart went into hyper-drive, but I did not move.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the voice demanded, followed by the unmistakable sound of a round being locked into the barrel of a rifle.
I didn't pause. I didn't try to respond. I didn't even think. Instead I rotated on my knee, brought the Luger up and squeezed off three quick shots in succession. The first one skidded off the side of a green container, a small spark igniting in the air before being extinguished by the rain. The second two found the chest of Rifkin's guard.
Dressed like one of the Spandex Twins, a look of shock filled his face as the impact of the shots hit him. His lips moved in silence as if he was trying to respond before he ran out of deck space and tumbled backwards over the edge of the bar
ge. The last things I saw were the heels of his boots and the barrel of his assault rifle as he fell into the river.
That was one down. I had no idea how many there were in total, but I couldn't imagine there being more than a half dozen or so. There would be more at the destination, but it wouldn't take that many to guard a ship in transit.
At least that's what I told myself.
I remained still for a full two minutes, the Luger poised in front of me and my eyes scanning in both directions. When nobody came running, I retook my feet and started back down the outside of the deck. They may not have seen the guard go over, but they would damn sure notice when he didn't come back.
One half step at a time I walked down the outside of the barge, placing my boots heel to toe against the metal. Around me all I could hear was the rain continuing to fall.
At the edge of each container I stopped and scanned down the thin aisle ways between the rows. Only a few feet separated each of them, darkness filling the gaps in between. I had no way of knowing if anybody was patrolling those few empty spots, but I pushed ahead anyway. After six successive rows of full-sized containers, I came to the final row of cargo. It was filled with several smaller containers, less than half the size of a regular one. They resembled small dumpsters lined up on the open expanse of the deck, each of them painted steel grey.
Again I dropped to a knee and surveyed the deck in front of me. Onboard, it looked just like it had from the shore. The entire deck was flat, stretching eighty yards long and measuring about twenty yards wide. A large cabin and holding area took up the rear twenty yards, the structure painted the same faded black as the top half of the hull. It rose two stories above the deck, the lower one encased in glass where the ship's controls were. The top one was open, with only a metal awning protecting it from the elements.
There was no sign of human activity on the top level. The glass windows on the bottom level had wipers moving in perpetual motion, clearing arc shaped swaths across the tinted glass. There was no way of knowing how many people were inside it, though I had to figure on at least the captain and one other.
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