by Chris Ryan
19
FEAR HIM
THE LIFEBOAT WASN’T built for seas like this. It rocked and swayed like a toy. Zak realized as he gripped the side firmly that they could capsize at any moment. If that happened, death wasn’t a probability. It was a certainty. Acosta, however, knew what he was doing. He directed the boat diagonally up the swell of the waves, avoiding the dangerous crests where the water turned white and curled over into the troughs. All the time, he kept his eyes firmly on the larger vessel up ahead. It was slow going through the wind and rain and battling against the ocean. Gradually, though, the distance between the two ships grew smaller. Within ten minutes, the battleship-grey hull of the new vessel was looming above them. Only when they were almost there did Zak remember the diamonds. Acosta was carrying nothing except his knife, which meant that handing the gemstones over was not the purpose of this RV. The thought chilled him even more than the elements.
Acosta manoeuvred the lifeboat alongside the larger ship. The two hulls crashed together, and the shock of the impact jarred against Zak’s body. In a way he didn’t mind the pain. At least it stopped him thinking about the fear. He looked up to see, about a metre from the stern of the lifeboat, a ladder fixed to the hull of the new vessel. The deck was about ten metres up, but the ladder followed the curved shape of the hull. Anyone using it would be leaning backwards over the ocean while they were climbing the bottom rungs.
Zak and Bea exchanged a nervous glance as the lifeboat bobbed and knocked against the bigger ship. It was Eduardo, however, who got the first instruction. ‘Get up there!’ Acosta barked. ‘Quickly!’
Eduardo swallowed hard and he looked nervously upwards. He didn’t move. Acosta, on the other hand, did. He shuffled along the boat and pressed his knife into the soft jelly just below Eduardo’s right ear. ‘You need me to sort out your hearing?’
‘No, Capitán.’ He edged away from his fierce-looking boss, past Zak and Bea towards the stern of the ship. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Acosta was still glaring at him. And so he leaned over the side of the boat, stretched, and with one hand grabbed hold of the second rung up.
Zak found himself holding his breath as he watched Eduardo. It obviously took a great amount of courage for him to throw out his other hand and pull his body from the boat so that he was hanging from the ladder. Zak could almost feel the strain as he hauled himself upwards, feeling with his feet for the bottom rung and moving his arms up so his body was straight – even though it was leaning backwards at an angle of about twenty degrees.
He stopped. Despite everything, Zak was willing him on, but Eduardo appeared frozen with fear. It was difficult to tell with all the movement and rain, but Zak reckoned he could see him shaking. He raised his left leg onto the next rung, but then couldn’t bring himself to continue and lowered it.
And it was just then that the wave hit.
It wasn’t the biggest Zak had seen or felt over the last seventy-two hours, but it was big enough to crash over his head and against the hull of the larger vessel. Zak shouted in alarm as he was knocked down into the keel of the lifeboat. Water flooded up his nose and into the back of his throat. When the wave subsided, he was coughing and retching, so it was at least ten seconds before he looked back towards the ladder.
And saw that it was empty.
Zak rushed to the side again. Bea did the same. They both looked into the stormy water, trying to see some sign of Eduardo. But there was none.
‘We’ve got to help him!’ Zak shouted. He turned to search the interior of the boat – surely there was rescue gear in here somewhere. All he saw, though, was Acosta. He had moved up towards Zak and Bea and was waving his cruel knife towards them.
‘Forget about him,’ he instructed. ‘You next. Go!’
Zak looked at him in horror. ‘He’s drowning!’
‘He’s already dead. Get up the ladder now, otherwise I kill the girl.’
Zak knew he didn’t have a choice. Acosta would kill Bea, and he’d probably enjoy it too.
He looked towards the ladder. The lifeboat had drifted slightly further away. He would have to jump to get at it. He looked at Bea. ‘If I don’t make it …’ he started to say.
‘You’ll make it,’ she replied, just a bit too quickly. Zak didn’t know who she was trying to persuade: him or herself. ‘Just be careful. I’ll see you at the top.’
Right, Zak thought. And then maybe we’ll find out what this is all about.
His hand was still bleeding as he stood up on the lifeboat, which wobbled and rocked. He put one foot up onto the very edge of the boat and got the ladder in his sights.
No point waiting, he told himself. It was waiting that had been Eduardo’s downfall. Either he was going to do this, or he wasn’t.
He jumped.
The rungs of the ladder were wet and difficult to grip. His stinging, bleeding hand didn’t help either. But the worst of it was the angle. He could feel the sway of the ship, lurching him backwards, closer to the water. His muscles burned with the effort of holding on, and it took all his strength and courage just to move up a single rung.
The wind was screaming around him. But suddenly there was another kind of screaming. Human. It was Bea. ‘WAVE!’ she shrieked, and Zak knew he only had a split second before the ocean threw everything it had at him.
He gripped harder and clamped both his eyes and his mouth shut. Then he braced himself and tried not to think of Eduardo, struggling and drowning.
When the wave hit, it was like a sheet of rock, slamming Zak against the ladder. His feet slipped from the bottom rung and his left hand lost its hold. He was hanging on just by the fingertips of his right, desperately scrabbling to get a firmer grip as the water rushed around him, swinging and buffeting his body.
He felt like a feather in the wind.
He couldn’t control his own limbs.
He was going to fall …
He was going to die …
The wave subsided just in time. Zak couldn’t have held on with his right hand for a second longer, but now he could move his left and he gripped firmly with that. He looked over his shoulder to see both Bea and Acosta staring at him anxiously. It was no good concentrating on them. Zak knew he wouldn’t survive another wave like that. He had to get to the top. Fast.
He was thankful for his training. Thankful for the punishing fitness regimes Raf had forced him through. Without them, he’d have been just another body at the bottom of the sea. He moved almost robotically. When the next wave hit, he was halfway up the hull, which was now vertical. Another eight rungs and his head emerged above the floor of the deck.
There were four people waiting for him here. They all wore wet-weather gear which included tight hoods, so he couldn’t make out their faces. Two men grabbed his arms and hauled him onto the ship. That was as far as their consideration went, however. They hurled him to the hard, soaking deck. Three of them stood over him, while the fourth started frisking his body, looking for weapons or anything else of interest. They didn’t seem very concerned about helping either Bea or Acosta onto the boat. Zak was the one they were interested in, but he didn’t know why …
The man hadn’t even finished frisking him when Zak leaped to his feet and threw himself back towards the railings. He looked over the side. Bea was already on the ladder. She was moving quickly. Like a spider up a wall. Zak was impressed by her strength. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. He could tell that both her body and her mind had received training for this kind of situation.
Hands, pulling him back. Zak shook them off and spun round to see himself hemmed in by the four men. He looked at them with contempt. ‘If you think I’m not going to help her up,’ he shouted, ‘think again. What kind of men are you, anyway?’
They were the kind of men, it turned out, not to care if Bea lived or died. One of them stepped forward to grab Zak. It was a big mistake. As soon as he was close enough, Zak yanked his knee up into the man’s groin. He doubled over in agony, which mean
t that when Zak raised his knee for a second time, he caught his assailant in the lower jaw. He fell backwards into a heap on the floor.
Zak looked at the others. They’d all taken a step back. ‘I’ll come quietly, but not till she’s on board,’ he shouted at them. ‘Try and stop me and you’ll get the same treatment as him.’
The remaining three men looked at each other and nodded. They still stayed close, but Zak was free to lean over the railings again. He thought that maybe he caught sight of an arm or a leg appearing above the surface of the water. Even if he was right, it disappeared as quickly as it had come. If it was Eduardo, he was a lost cause.
He turned his attention back down to Bea. She was still moving quickly up the ladder. Just a few more rungs now and he’d be able to help …
‘NO!’ he yelled suddenly.
Bea was almost at the top when she lost her footing. ‘Hold on!’ Zak shouted as he saw her slip down several rungs. ‘Bea! Hold on!’
There was no reply from the strange girl – or if there was, it was drowned out by the wind. She stopped her unintentional descent about halfway back down and looked up with an expression of fierce concentration. She only took a couple of seconds to catch her breath. Then she started climbing again.
Bea reached the top rung quickly this time, and Zak was there to help her over the railings and onto the deck.
She was out of breath. ‘Acosta’s following,’ she told Zak.
He looked over the side. Sure enough, he saw the Mercantile’s skipper climbing up the ladder. He prepared to help Acosta up too, but Bea pulled him away. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I reckon he can manage without our help, don’t you?’
Zak’s decision was made for him. The remaining three crew members were closing in. He didn’t fancy taking them all on. He held up his hands. ‘All right,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t get excited. I take it someone’s waiting for us.’
He felt Bea pulling at his arm. ‘Over there,’ she said. She pointed towards the stern of the ship. Zak looked.
All he saw was a single, solitary figure. He – or she, it was impossible to tell – wore black wet-weather gear which included a waterproof hood. It was large and the figure was wearing it pulled all the way over the front of his face. This obscured his features, as did the swirling cloud of grey rain and icy spray between them.
And yet, even though he could not see this figure’s face, Zak felt a prickle of recognition.
Fear him …
Zak didn’t know why, but for some reason he truly did.
Acosta appeared over the railings. He too had his eyes on the figure, and he looked reluctant to approach. He turned to the others. ‘Stay where you are,’ he told them. He jutted out his chin. It made him look like a man mustering his courage. Then he walked towards the figure. Zak couldn’t help thinking that the man who had seemed so brutal on board the Mercantile now looked rather pathetic. Like someone walking to his doom.
Zak, Bea and the crew members watched him silently. The man Zak had floored was on his feet again, but he didn’t try to retaliate. He was too busy watching Acosta approach his boss. The Mercantile’s skipper stopped about a metre from the figure. He had his back to them, so Zak was unable to lip-read their conversation. Whatever they said, it was short. Thirty seconds, no longer, before Acosta started walking back along the deck towards them, the hooded figure following a metre behind.
The ship lurched again, forcing Zak, Bea and the others to grab the railings. By the time they could stand freely again, Acosta and his mysterious companion had joined them. Even close up, Zak couldn’t make out the stranger’s face through his hood. And when he spoke, Zak had to strain his ears to hear over the elements, because his voice was very soft.
‘Acosta,’ he said. He had an accent. There was something very familiar about it. ‘Give me your knife.’
Acosta’s eyes grew bright. He no longer looked scared, but eager. As if he was looking forward to something. He handed his vicious blade over to the stranger, who examined its sharpness and the jagged hooks on the underside from behind his hood. Zak noticed that his hand was very thin. He wore a signet ring on the fourth finger, and he was holding the knife forwards now. Like he was ready to strike.
Zak felt his muscles tensing. The crew members had surrounded him. He wondered if he could jump over the side of the ship and land in the lifeboat, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that the little boat had drifted out to sea.
Movement. Bea had stepped up next to him. He sensed that she was ready to fight …
Zak raised his voice over the wind. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he shouted. ‘But you haven’t brought me and Bea all this way just to kill us.’
The men surrounding them looked surprised that he’d dared to speak to the stranger in this way. Acosta just sneered.
It was the last thing he ever did.
The stranger wasn’t even looking at the Mercantile’s skipper when he stabbed him. He just flicked out his right arm and slid the blade into the side of his abdomen. Acosta’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He stared at the hooded figure as he yanked the blade out again. Zak turned his head away in disgust. The hooks of the knife had pulled out several long, stringy gobbets of flesh – Acosta’s insides, which the stranger flicked off the knife with irritation. Acosta hit the deck. He was holding both hands over the wound, but he couldn’t stem the blood that was flowing out like a river.
‘It should have been a simple thing,’ the hooded figure announced over the noise of the storm as Acosta’s life ebbed away, ‘to find out the identity of our guest. A very simple thing. And if somebody who works for me cannot do a simple thing, they don’t deserve to work for me any longer.’
Zak blinked. He’d placed the stranger’s voice. He knew who it was.
‘It’s very important to have the right people around you,’ the stranger continued. ‘That’s what my father always said, wasn’t it, Jason Cole? Or should I say Harry Gold? Or Zak Darke? Or even Agent 21? Not that it’s really very important, because the only name that’s going to matter to you is the one they put on your tombstone once I’ve killed you. Your real tombstone, that is …’
Acosta was at the stranger’s feet, surrounded by a pool of blood that mingled with the sea water on deck to produce a slippery, runny mess. Zak paid it no attention. He was too busy staring as the stranger removed his hood to reveal a face he recognized. A couple of years older than Zak himself. Black hair. Dark eyes. Tanned skin.
Cruz Martinez.
The boy who blamed Zak for the death of his father.
The boy Zak had befriended and betrayed.
The last person Zak had expected to see here in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
‘Hello, Harry,’ Cruz said in a voice that was almost devoid of emotion. ‘It’s so good of you to join us.’ He looked over at the remaining crew members. ‘Take them down below,’ he instructed. ‘We have a good deal to talk about before I finally sling his dead body overboard.’
20
POSITIVE ID
‘WHO IS HE?’ Bea shouted.
‘An old friend.’
‘You want to choose your friends a bit more carefully in future.’
Yeah, Zak thought. Only the first time he’d met Cruz Martinez he had been an awkward, gangly teenager – a bit surly, sometimes, but not the kind of kid to stand up for himself. Certainly not the kind of kid to instil fear in anybody. He’d changed. Big time.
Zak realized that Bea was still shouting at him. ‘He didn’t look very friendly. You know, the way he stuck that knife into Acosta’s guts and everything.’
They were in some kind of storage deck. It stank. A thick, greasy, petrol-station smell that made Zak feel nauseous. Fuel, he thought to himself. There were certainly a number of large red jerry cans stashed up against one far wall and held in place by a series of thick ropes. Aside from these jerry cans, there was nothing else. The ceiling was about three metres high and a single light bulb wa
s suspended in the middle from a wire. The listing of the ship caused the bulb to swing, which made the shadows move around like they had a life of their own. The space was four times the size of Zak’s cell on the Mercantile, but it was more than four times as terrifying. Here, in the bowels of the ship, they could hear the violent waves crashing against the metal hull. It boomed and echoed like a drum. The noise was constant and it vibrated through to Zak’s core and made his ears numb. His throat was raw too – he felt like he’d done nothing but shout against the storm, and he had to yell even louder to be heard down here.
The entrance to the storage deck was via a big metal door. Zak was examining it as the ship listed and swayed. Just before Cruz’s men had thrown them in here, he’d checked the bolt on the outside. Simple but heavy, and impossible to open from in here, even if he had tools, which he didn’t. There was no way they’d be breaking out of this prison.
‘Yeah,’ he shouted back at Bea when he realized she was still waiting for an answer. ‘When I say an old friend, I suppose what I really mean is … an old enemy.’ He paused. Wasn’t he too young to have enemies? And anyway, Zak had never thought of Cruz in that way before. He relived the moment his former friend had killed Acosta. Zak had no love for the brutal skipper of the Mercantile, but his death had been so sudden. So violent. And carried out with such lack of emotion. The memory made him shudder. That wasn’t the Cruz he had known. But then, the death of a parent can change you. Zak knew that better than most.
He knew something else too. The two of them being together on a blank patch of sea, miles from land wasn’t – couldn’t be – a coincidence. Had Cruz been tracking him? Following him? Waiting for the moment to pounce? Or was there another explanation?
Suddenly the door opened. Cruz appeared. Zak noticed that he still had a smear of blood on the skin of his right hand. Acosta’s blood, but el capitán wouldn’t be needing it any more. Behind Cruz stood two heavily tooled-up crew members. Assault rifles. Pistols in their belts. Enough hardware to take out a platoon of soldiers, let alone two unarmed kids. Bea looked scared, and for the first time Zak didn’t reckon she was faking it.