Never Forget

by Never Forget (retail) (epub)

  As my thoughts themselves started to slur and slow, the temptation was to enter full-blown panic as it seemed there was no way out of this beast of a man’s grip. And the fact I’d come all this way, and fallen at the final hurdle, was almost too much to bear.

  Then suddenly a last-ditch plan entered my head. Emulate panic. Because if I thrashed around, I might be able to shift my position and change the tide. At the same time, if he thought I was in my final throes, he might get complacent.

  I didn’t think through the plan: my brain wasn’t up to it. I just went for it. And a moment later, I was struggling with every fiber of my being; struggling to move my body up, and get my head and shoulders touching the ground next to his, so I could get some purchase.

  Struggling so vehemently that I honestly didn’t know myself whether this was emulated panic or the real deal.

  After a few seconds, I managed to shift my head and shoulders back. It meant that if I could turn sharply back in his direction, I could spin him over. Only, it wasn’t so simple because, as I’d feared, he’d moved his arm up, too, and kept up the pressure. And in a moment of awful futility, I realized I was out of fight; that I didn’t have the strength to make good on my position.

  My body involuntarily went limp. All the guy had to do was keep up the pressure a few more seconds, and I was a goner.

  But then out of nowhere, he let up the pressure. He thought the job was done.

  Somewhere, in a far corner of my brain, I knew this was my last chance.

  Drawing on some primal reserve, I turned sharply inwards, and flipped the guy onto his side, and flung my fists ineffectually into his face – my arms were floppy, devoid of blood – and desperately sucked in breath.

  My fists made feeble contact twice with his face; then, the next moment, he overcame his confusion, and grasped my left hand. As he did so, my right hand scrambled around on the floor nearby, and touched the metal of one of our guns.

  I fumblingly wrapped my limp hand around the gun. Then, just as he started bending my wrist agonizingly back on itself, I lifted the gun in my other hand, and put it to his forehead.

  And this time, there was no ricochet.

  The bullet entered his head, and the pressure of the gas behind the bullet as it expanded beneath his skin, was – even with this silenced weapon – enough to strip off every last bit of skin from his goddamn face.

  Covered in shreds of his flesh, I rolled onto my back, and drew in deep, vital breaths. Concentrated on nothing but getting oxygen into my system. After maybe fifteen seconds, I registered out of the corner of my eye, some movement right by me, and felt a swell of relief. It was Chen. And it meant that, at the very least, the ricocheting bullet hadn’t shot him dead.

  I sat up, and turned to the container’s entrance. First Mate was in the doorway. He may’ve been an old-timer but, judging by his face, I’d given him a show unlike anything he’d seen before.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked nervously. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t – I didn’t—’

  I cut him off with a wave of the hand. I understood. He’d been scared, and I didn’t begrudge that. On the contrary, I was simply relieved he hadn’t disappeared. It was a fairly clear indication that I could trust him – at least up to a point.

  I crawled over to Chen, and found my hand in a pool of blood by his leg. The ricocheted bullet had hit his left calf, and made a small, but no doubt painful wound. He looked at me with wild, terrified eyes. Or, rather, eye singular, since one had clearly been blinded. And I realized with sudden revulsion what they’d done: they’d cut his eyelids to make his eyes appear rounder.

  I gestured at First Mate.

  ‘This is the political prisoner. Help me untie him.’

  As First Mate hustled in, and started gently untying Chen, I began rummaging around the back of the container, which was shrouded in shadows. After a few moments, I spotted what I was after: the hard-drive, in a transparent waterproof container.

  I picked it up, and weighed it in my hand. Given its significance, it felt surprisingly light. And abruptly – though I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it – I felt a giddy surge of relief and happiness.

  I’d derailed Yuelin’s plot and reclaimed her prisoner. All before the ship had set sail.

  I turned back to Chen, who was now standing diffidently, as First Mate undid the rope binding his hands. Then, as First Mate ripped off his sleeve, and started tying it around Xi’s calf, I removed his gag.

  He opened and closed his mouth. Then he said simply: ‘Thank you.’

  That was all he needed to say. I felt elated. I’d saved this guy’s skin. Saved him from the overreaching power of tyranny, which’d attempted to pluck him from the Land of the Free and exact punishment on him for nothing more than speaking out against that tyranny.

  And by securing this hard-drive, I’d ensured that many brave individuals like Chen – individuals who were daring to resist online – wouldn’t face the firing squad.

  That was worth every single bruise on my aching body.

  But then, even as the smile induced by this thought was still on my lips, my walkie-talkie crackled, and Ellen’s voice – panicked, fearful – came through:

  ‘Yuelin’s just boarded the ship, with three men. She’s got a pistol; the other three are carrying silenced MP5 submachine guns like back in Joshua Tree. They’re splitting up: two heading for below decks; Yuelin and one other heading for the deckhouse.’

  Chapter 47

  All at once, I understood.

  Yuelin had been watching the ship to make sure nobody gate-crashed the party. And though I’d missed it, the clue was obvious: the warehouse opposite the one I’d parked behind, unlike all the others I’d passed, had had its lights on and so must’ve been her observation point. And, with high-powered binoculars, it would’ve been a cinch for her to see me arrive: the road lights would’ve made it possible to make me out in the truck’s passenger street.

  And given that the other warehouse was a good couple of miles away, it made sense that it’d taken her ten minutes to get over here. She’d boarded in the nick of time.

  And as the fact of her presence sunk in, I was struck by a powerful mix of emotion.

  First, fear and frustration. She was sending men my way with terrifying fire-power. And I doubted they’d refrain from lethal force on the grounds the hard-drive could be on my person, since I was a big target, and the hard-drive was small. And it meant Chen and Ellen – and even the crew – were now also in mortal danger.

  Secondly, there was a perverse and powerful happiness. Because deep down, I knew that had she not turned up, I would’ve dedicated my life to hunting her down: it would’ve been the only way to make things right. And now she was here. And this had already set my heart racing like mad; had already got me salivating for her blood.

  But I couldn’t indulge these emotions. I had to think survival; had to work out what would happen next.

  Yuelin and her man would likely take control of the ship, and perhaps move the crew to a particular location. She would then, I reckoned, have the ship leave the port because if the ship didn’t leave at its allotted time, questions would be asked.

  Of course, she might have used her influence for this not to be necessary. But it seemed unlikely at such short notice.

  But Ellen’s status was less uncertain. There was a good chance Yuelin wouldn’t know she was here at all. After all, she wouldn’t have been able to see Ellen as we arrived: she’d been in the back of the truck. And when Ellen did actually get out, we were in an unlit area behind the warehouse, meaning that Yuelin would only have been able to see her if she’d had night-vision binoculars. And I knew that, even if Yuelin had interrogated Callum Jones, she was unlikely to’ve received a definitive answer: he never saw Ellen.

  So Ellen’s best bet was to hide.

  I, on the other hand, had no choice but to face the music: the two sub-machine wielding men fast coming my way. And I reckoned they knew to head to Con
tainer Hold 3: Yuelin would’ve extracted that information from the captain earlier.

  But I had one significant advantage: the element of surprise. And because the men thought they were the ones with surprise in their favor, it made my advantage all the more potent. And no sooner did I think all this than a plan flashed into my mind.

  I took a deep breath. It’d now been three or four seconds since Ellen contacted, and I knew I couldn’t afford to delay any longer.

  I produced the walkie-talkie, pushed the button:

  ‘Ellen, hide. There’s a chance Yuelin doesn’t know you’re on the ship. And even if she does, she might assume you’re with me. I’ll take on the men, and will stay in touch.’

  ‘Okay,’ came the response.

  I felt sick with worry for Ellen. But there was nothing I could do.

  I turned to First Mate.

  ‘Listen. I know I’ve already put you through hell. But two men are on their way with submachine guns, intent on executing me and there’s a chance they’ll also kill the two of you. I need you to hide inside a new container, let’s say that one over there.’ I pointed to a crate a short way off. ‘Got that?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And you, Chen?’

  Chen nodded.

  ‘And what will you do?’ said First Mate.

  ‘Take them out.’

  Without another word, I began sprinting back the way we’d come, back in the direction of the staircase leading up to the main corridor. Fifteen seconds later, I was leaping up the stairs. As I did so, I knew I was about to throw the dice. My plan was to get behind the door to Container Hold 4 because if I could do so undetected, it would mean I could catch the men from behind as they entered the opposite Hold. Only, there was a chance the men would’ve already passed through the first partitioning door approximately 150 yards away – after all, it’d been a good twenty seconds since Ellen had been in contact. And if they had, then, when I entered the hallway, I’d be a sitting duck.

  But I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

  Barely had I thought this when I hit the top of the stairs. I pulled open the door, and, in one continuous motion, leapt into the hallway, closed the door behind, and took two steps – at which point, with my heart in my throat, I glanced to my right. At the end of the hallway, I could see the partitioning door just starting to open. I took another two steps, tugged open the door to Container Hold 4, and slipped inside.

  The next instant, I closed it carefully behind myself, with no clue if the men had seen it shut.

  I put my ear to the door, and listened carefully.

  It’d probably take them between fifteen and twenty seconds to arrive. If they’d seen me, the only thing protecting me was the door. So I just had to hope to hell they hadn’t.

  Five seconds later, everything around me lurched. The ship was leaving the berth.

  I started counting, while breathing deeply. Ten seconds. Fifteen.

  At twenty seconds on the dot, I could hear footsteps. Moving quick, but not in a mad hurry. A moment later, they stopped just outside the door, and I could see them in my mind’s eye: cradling those terrifying killing machines; fanaticism in their eyes.

  I held my breath. The tension was sickening.

  Then I heard a door open. The one leading to Container Hold 3.

  This was my chance.

  I raised my Walther, and threw open the door. Directly ahead, the second of the two men was passing through the door to the opposite Container Hold, which was closing behind him. I took four light steps, caught the door before it closed, and aimed a single silenced bullet into the back of the guy’s head.

  The blood and bone splattered the back of the second guy, who was maybe eight stairs down. As he started turning, I began running down the stairs.

  I wasn’t going to win a shoot-out because I knew that in the time it would take me to prepare another head shot, he would’ve turned, and then, even if I got my shot in first, his post-death spasms would mean he’d hit the trigger anyway, and we’d both die.

  So I needed to get to him before he could turn.

  I pounded down the stairs – two at a time – as he pivoted, in what seemed like incredible slow motion.

  I had a vision of myself punctured by thirty bullets, and bleeding uselessly on these austere metal stairs.

  A heart-beat later, I was two steps away, and the guy had spun around enough to exchange an electric moment of eye-contact. Enough to see that this was, in fact, one of the two men who’d abducted Ellen; who’d instigated the car-crash in San Fran. The muzzle of his gun was maybe a half-second away from pointing at my body. Without thinking, I dropped low – falling just below the stream of silent bullets as he started squeezing the trigger – and wrapped both arms around his ankle. I pulled his foot towards me, while smashing my shoulder into his shin.

  He toppled backwards, his arms flying upwards, his finger still working the trigger. I could see a wild succession of muzzle flashes above. Next thing, he was tumbling down the remaining ten or so stairs and I was tumbling after him, on my front, in a more controlled fashion. He hit the hold floor hard, on his hip – I could hear the bone crack – and I landed on top of his legs. And though this partially broke my fall, it failed to save my shoulder from driving painfully into the stair railing.

  But I had no time to recover because, though clearly badly injured, the guy immediately started crawling towards his weapon which’d fallen a few feet beyond him. Crawling with animalistic determination.

  I scrabbled on top of him. He elbowed me hard in the cheek, but I kept on coming, the adrenaline rising in my neck. And as his hand reached his weapon, my hands reached his neck, and I snapped it in one brutal twist.

  Again, I rolled off my dead opponent, drenched in sweat. But whereas last time I’d had time to catch my breath, this time, no such luxury. So I instantly hobbled to my feet, and took out my walkie-talkie.

  ‘Ellen, you okay?’

  I waited, but there was no reply. Of course, seeing that her plan had been to lie low, she might’ve simply turned off her walkie-talkie. But at the same time, I feared the worse.

  I frisked the guy, and produced a walkie-talkie, but it was off, and not preset to any particular frequency. I then clambered up the stairs, and frisked the second nationalist, who I only now realized was the other guy who’d abducted Ellen. Nothing on him save his gun.

  I picked up both of their weapons, and started back in the direction of First Mate and Chen. But as I moved across the hold floor, it began hitting home that I had zero plan. Yes, I had Chen and the technology, but Yuelin had the crew all of whom were potential hostages – as well as Ellen. What’s more, she had control of the ship.

  Any sense of happiness at her presence was gone. She held all the cards.

  I set my walkie-talkie to the frequency I’d previously used to contact Yuelin.

  ‘Yuelin, this is Saul Marshall,’ I said.

  I waited. No answer. If she could hear me, she was choosing not to answer.

  ‘Yuelin, I’ll destroy the hard-drive if you don’t respond,’ I said.

  Again, no reply. I knew it was just as possible that Yuelin was simply no longer using that frequency.

  Before long, I neared the crate I’d pointed out to First Mate, and called out that the coast was clear. In response, the crate slowly opened, and First Mate stepped out.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They’re dead.’

  ‘But the ship’s on the move? What’s happening?’

  ‘The terrorists – there’s two more – have taken control of the ship. And they’ve left the port so as not to raise suspicions.’

  ‘And what’s happened to the girl you were with?’

  I shook my head dimly. He got my meaning.

  ‘They’re after me, right?’ said Chen, who’d now appeared at First Mate’s side.

  ‘You’re one of the things they want.’

  ‘My crew are in trouble, aren’t they?’ said First Mate, with genu
ine worry. I imagined these were people he’d worked with for some time. Close friends.

  I made no reply. Again, he got my meaning.

  ‘And there’s no way to contact them?’ said First Mate.

  I shook my head.

  ‘So what the hell do we do?’

  I rubbed my temples, trying to force my brain into action; trying to come up with some inspiration—

  Abruptly, a new voice broke the silence. But this one wasn’t from a person inside the room, nor from a person speaking through a walkie-talkie: it was from someone using the ship’s tannoy system. And the very sound of the voice which suddenly surrounded us, made my skin crawl.

  ‘Saul Marshall. This is Yuelin Lie. I have the deckhouse under control. I’ve separated the occupants into three separate rooms. Seven in one room; seven in the next; six in the last. They believe that me and my comrade are with the LAPD, and are offering them protection from a fugitive on board. In fact, they are my hostages. Once this announcement is over, my comrade will slaughter everyone in the room containing the six hostages just to show you we’re serious. You’ll then have ten minutes to bring Chen and the hard-drive to the entrance of the deckhouse, otherwise the hostages in the next room will be slaughtered.’

  She paused, then added slowly:

  ‘As you might’ve guessed, this is only being broadcast below-decks. I’m willing to take as many lives as necessary. The authorities will be only too happy to pin them on you.’

  Her voice cut off.

  Chapter 48

  I saw it in my mind’s eye: her last remaining accomplice marching into the room, and mowing them down. They’d be dead within seconds.

  My gut heaved. They were already dead. Six lives needlessly gone.

  I tried to picture their faces. And I had to know: was Ellen among them?

  I turned to First Mate.

  ‘How many in your crew, all in all?’