Great! David wanted to yell. The not-too-bright creature of habit Robbie was guarding the oxygen tanks, all by himself.
“Tell him to meet me on the bridge,” Scott commanded. “You stand guard in Robbie’s place.”
Shit! David’s spirits suddenly sank. Choi would be a lot harder to deal with. And a lot harder to kill.
“I need keep eye on crew,” Choi said and raised his right hand. Several knuckles were bruised and bloody. “Make sure they stay in line.”
“He’ll only be gone for a few hours.”
Choi gave some sort of salute and left.
“Tommy,” Scott went on, “take the doctor back to his cabin.”
“You want him to stay in there?” Tommy asked.
“For now.”
David quickly interceded. “I’ve got a lot of other patients to care for. Dr. Kellerman can’t look after all of them. She’s already worn to a frazzle.”
Scott studied him carefully, as if suspecting that something was amiss.
“There’s a big ex-marine in a cabin down the way,” David added. “His wife is sick as hell and he demands that she be seen frequently.”
“So?” Scott asked, unmoved.
“So I don’t think you want to piss him off,” David said. “But then, that’s your choice.”
Scott hesitated before nodding slowly. “Okay. But I want you back here in two hours to check on Deedee.”
“In two hours,” David repeated, like he was making a mental note.
Tommy escorted David back to his cabin, keeping the correct distance between them. Not up close, as Robbie had done, but rather eight feet or so behind. That gave Tommy plenty of time to squeeze off a round in the event David decided to make a sudden move. And Tommy made no attempt at conversation. He wasn’t going to be distracted.
At the entrance to the cabin, Tommy recited Scott’s orders. “You show up in Deedee’s room in two hours or I come looking for you.”
David closed the door, then put his ear to it. He heard footsteps fading into the distance. He waited another minute to make certain the mutineer wasn’t creeping back, then dashed into Kit’s bedroom.
She appeared even sicker. Her temperature was sky-high, her pulse racing. And her cough seemed weaker.
“Any change?” he asked Carolyn.
She shook her head. “Not really. Except the good coughs are fewer and fewer apart.”
“Shit,” David grumbled, feeling even more helpless than before.
“David, you’ve somehow got to get Kit more oxygen.”
“I plan to.”
“When?”
“In an hour or so. Maybe a little longer.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“A changing of the guard.”
———
David tiptoed down the staircase, barely making a sound. He kept his ears pricked and listened for any noise that would indicate he wasn’t alone. The stairwell remained dead quiet. He checked his watch. 4:40 a.m. An hour and a half had passed since he’d left Deedee’s cabin. That was enough time for Robbie to go to the bridge and ascertain that the captain was making the desired course correction, then return to his post on the storage level. David could only hope that Robbie had followed that time schedule. Because if Choi was still standing guard, it would greatly complicate matters. Again he listened for noises and heard none.
He altered the expression on his face to one of urgency and hurried out of the staircase and down a long passageway. The carpenter’s shop was dark, the laundry room well lighted but deserted. Ahead, David saw a figure with its back to him. He couldn’t tell if it was Robbie or Choi. It was too dim. Abruptly the figure spun around. It was Robbie. His shotgun came up quickly to waist level as he released the safety.
“What are you doing down here?” Robbie asked suspiciously.
“Scott sent me down,” David said in a rush. “Deedee needs more oxygen now!”
Robbie didn’t budge. “I just took up a tank.”
“Well, she needs more,” David urged. “She’s turning blue.”
Robbie still wasn’t convinced. “I’m not going to let you carry a tank out of here all by yourself.”
“You’d better check with Scott before he gets really mad,” David bluffed, and instantly regretted the suggestion. Robbie might use a phone. “Or better yet,” he went on hurriedly, “you can follow me and the tank up to Deedee’s room. Then you’ll be certain she receives the oxygen.”
“Yeah, we’ll go up to her room together,” Robbie said, like it was his idea.
“Where are the oxygen tanks?” David asked.
“Go straight ahead to the door on your right,” Robbie ordered. “And don’t try anything brave unless you want a load of buckshot up your ass.”
David raced down the passageway ahead of Robbie. But now Robbie stayed ten feet back and remained silent. Maybe he was getting smarter, David thought. But he still wasn’t very sharp. He’d already committed a bunch of mistakes. If I had a weapon, he would have been dead a dozen times over.
They came to a large door that led into the dark storage area. Stopping at the entrance, David asked, “Where is the light switch?”
“On the wall to your right,” Robbie answered.
“To the right, eh?” David queried, now sensing Robbie just behind him.
“Yeah.”
David stepped into the dimness, knowing that it would take approximately five seconds for his eyes to adapt to the dark. He would be virtually sightless during that time. And so would Robbie. “On the right, eh?” he asked again.
Before Robbie could answer, David cocked his elbow and smashed it full force into Robbie’s sternum. The sternum or breastbone consists of 1/4-inch of ossified calcium, and is so hard that cardiac surgeons have to use an electric saw to cut through it. Not that this mattered to Robbie. He was sprawled out on the floor, clutching his fractured sternum and grimacing at the terrible pain, totally unaware of what caused it.
David watched him for a moment before deciding how to kill him. He lifted Robbie up, and grabbing his head, powerfully jerked it around counterclockwise. There was a loud snap. David knew from the sound alone that the jerk had been a good one, with enough force to tear through the muscles and vertebrae in Robbie’s neck before shredding his spinal cord into a thousand miniscule fibers. Robbie suddenly stiffened in a giant spasm, then went limp. David noiselessly eased the body to the floor and checked for a carotid pulse. None was detectable.
David switched the lights on and waited for his eyes to accommodate to the brightness. Quickly he grabbed Robbie’s collar and dragged his body across four aisles to where the rugs were stored. He unrolled a long, fine Persian one and placed Robbie on the far edge. Then he rolled Robbie up inside the rug and hoisted it up onto a large shelf. But one of Robbie’s feet was sticking out. David added two more rolls of rug atop the stack. Now Robbie’s body was completely hidden.
David sprinted to the next aisle over and found the oxygen tanks and other medical equipment precisely where Carolyn had told him they would be. He stuffed his pockets with IV fluid bags and setups, then grabbed two small tanks of oxygen and dashed for the door.
He nearly stumbled over Robbie’s shotgun. David’s spirits soared. Great! Now I can take out those bastards one at a time or as a group. The mutiny on the Grand Atlantic had just ended. Dropping the tanks, he picked up the Browning shotgun and examined it for damage. None was noticeable except for a scratch here and there. Next he checked the chamber to see how many rounds it held. It was empty! The goddamn chamber was empty! It took a few seconds for his surprise to wear off, and another few seconds for him to list the reasons why the weapon was not loaded. Either it was always empty because Richard Scott trusted no one other than himself, or he demanded it be emptied after the fatal shooting of Arthur Maggio. Whatever the reason, David gro
used to himself, it was bad news. An empty shotgun was a worthless shotgun.
He picked up the small tanks of oxygen and, tucking the shotgun under his arm, ran for the stairs.
twenty-nine
David rushed into Kit’s cabin and quickly closed the door behind. He tossed the empty shotgun aside before dashing into the bedroom.
Carolyn looked up and smiled broadly. “You got ’em!”
“I got ’em.”
“How’d you do it?”
“Later.” David checked his watch. It was now 5:10 a.m. Tommy would be coming in a matter of minutes to escort him back to Deedee’s cabin. “Here,” he said hastily and handed Carolyn the two small oxygen tanks. “Set up one for Kit and hide the other.”
“Hide it where?”
“Use your imagination.”
David sprinted out to the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony and opened them. After a moment’s hesitation, he tossed the useless shotgun overboard. He had considered holding onto the weapon and searching for shells, but that would have been very dangerous. Had the mutineers discovered the shotgun, they would have known it was Robbie’s, and David would have been a dead man. Again David wondered how many of the shotguns were loaded. Richard Scott’s for sure. The weapons of the other two mutineers—maybe. But who the hell knew? And it wasn’t worth the risk to find out. A wrong move could cost him his life.
He spun around and hurried back into the bedroom. Moving quietly to Kit’s bedside, he felt his heart breaking once more. Kit looked so sick, with her short, labored respirations and flushed facies. Carolyn already had the oxygen going, and had ensured maximum delivery by placing a plastic mask over the child’s nose and mouth. But it didn’t seem to be helping much.
“Two small tanks won’t last long,” Carolyn said in a whisper.
“When she needs more, I’ll get more,” David whispered back.
“You should have taken all the damn tanks,” Carolyn chided mildly.
David shook his head. “They probably won’t notice two missing tanks. But if all of them were gone, they’d guess what happened and begin an intensive search for Robbie.”
“What happened to Robbie?” Carolyn asked.
“He won’t bother you again,” David replied vaguely.
“What happened to him?” she asked again.
“I snapped his neck.”
“Good,” Carolyn said without emotion. “Did you throw the body overboard?”
“I couldn’t,” David answered. “There was no open balcony down there.”
“I hope you hid him well.”
“He won’t be easy to find,” David said and glanced around the bedroom. “Where did you hide the second oxygen tank?”
Carolyn gestured with her head to Juanita. “I rolled it up in a towel and wrapped her rosary beads around it. Then I squeezed it inside her bathrobe.”
“Nice,” David approved. “They won’t bother to look there.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Carolyn warned. “They think you’re up to something, and they keep checking on you. About a half-hour ago, one of the mutineers knocked on the door to see if you were still here.”
“What did you tell him?” David asked.
“That you were examining your daughter and for him to be quiet.”
“And he bought it?”
Carolyn shrugged. “He went away. But I could sense from the sound of his voice that he’d be back soon. And he may come in next time.”
“And maybe search around.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too,” Carolyn said, then pointed to Kit’s pillow. “And by the way, I found your hatchet under Kit’s pillow, so I put it inside the pillow case itself. That makes it a little harder to find.”
Kit moaned and coughed, but not with enough strength to bring up sputum. Her face was still flushed and very red, despite the added oxygen she was receiving. She coughed again, the cough even weaker this time.
David reached for this stethoscope and listened to Kit’s chest. As before, he heard rhonchi and rales, but now there were wheezes too. A bad sign. Her airways were becoming more obstructed. He quickly examined the mucous membranes in her nose and mouth. They were as dry as sandpaper.
“Let’s start an IV,” David directed.
Carolyn nodded and reached for an IV setup. “Five percent dextrose in water?”
“For now,” David said and leaned over to kiss his daughter’s forehead. Her skin was still hot, her fever at least 102º. “And she’ll need more Tylenol.”
David stepped back, feeling helpless and wishing he could do more. Kit was deteriorating right before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it. Once again he considered joining Richard Scott and the others, and taking Kit ashore in one of the first lifeboats. At least that way there was a chance for survival. It was admittedly a slim chance, but nevertheless a chance.
Juanita propped herself up on an elbow and asked in a worried voice, “How is the Little One?”
“Not good,” David said candidly.
With effort, Juanita pushed her body to the edge of her bed. She didn’t notice the small tank of oxygen roll out from under her robe and clang onto the floor. “I will help her.”
David eased her back onto her pillow. “In a little while, you can help us.”
Juanita nodded, exhausted by the brief exertion. Slowly her eyes closed. “You will tell me when.”
“I will tell you when.”
Carolyn started an IV infusion of 5 percent dextrose in water on Kit and taped the needle down securely, then leaned over for the fallen tank of oxygen on the floor. “Not such a good hiding place after all, eh?”
David gazed rapidly around the room. His eyes went from the mattresses to the leatherbound chair to the chest of drawers, then to the closet and lamp tables. Too much in the open, he thought. They’d find the tank in a matter of minutes. And they’d take it from the cabin without giving Kit a second thought. His gaze drifted up to the ceiling and to the expensive lighting fixture that had wide blades of glass protruding from it. Too small! Not strong enough! Then he saw what he was looking for. He pointed to a large ventilation duct. “We can unscrew the screen and stick the tank in there.”
“Perfect!” Carolyn said and reached in her pocket for a coin to use as a screwdriver.
Juanita raised up once more, saying, “I will help the Little One now.”
“Later,” David told her and waited for the nanny to plop back onto her pillow. But now she kept her eyes open and fixed on Kit.
In a barely audible voice, Carolyn asked, “Where does she get her strength from?”
“From loving Kit as much as I do, I guess,” David said and grabbed a chair to position it directly under the large ventilation duct. “Once I get the screen off, you hand—”
There was a powerful rap on the outer door to the suite. A voice yelled, “Ballineau, out!”
“What do you think he wants?” Carolyn asked quietly.
“For me to see Deedee again,” David surmised.
Carolyn shook her head. “He sounds really angry. Like maybe they found Robbie’s body.”
“We’ll see,” David said and motioned up to the ventilation duct. “You hide the oxygen tank while I’m away.”
“Be careful, David.”
He darted through the sitting room to the door, thinking that if Tommy was by himself, there was no real trouble. If Choi was with him, it meant double trouble.
David opened the door and saw only Tommy, with his shotgun pointed downward. They obviously hadn’t discovered Robbie’s body or that two oxygen tanks were missing.
“What?” David asked.
“We’re going to the bridge,” Tommy answered.
“Why?”
“Because the captain says so.”
David squinted an eye quizz
ically. “Locke wants to see me?”
“No. Richard Scott does.”
“He’s no damn captain,” David said derisively.
“As long as he controls the ship, he is,” Tommy growled. “Now move it.”
They walked at a fast pace down the passageway and into a waiting elevator. As the elevator ascended, David studied the mutineer in his peripheral vision. Tommy stood off to the side, expressionless, his eyes glued on David. The mutineer carried the shotgun exactly right. He held it waist high, not too tight, ready to fire instantly. Tommy was clearly at ease around shotguns, but that didn’t tell David whether it was loaded or not.
David motioned with his head toward the Browning shotgun. “Is that a Citori model?” he asked, already knowing it was.
“Yeah,” Tommy said tersely.
“Does it have a chrome-plated chamber?” David asked, again knowing the answer.
“All Citoris have a chrome-plated chamber,” Tommy said neutrally.
“How many rounds does it hold?”
“Make a sudden move and you’ll find out.”
It’s probably loaded, David thought to himself. Just the way Tommy held it and talked about it told David that the mutineer had a lot of experience with shotguns. And Tommy didn’t learn all that from skeet shooting. He knew how to bear arms.
“Were you in the Army?” David asked casually.
“Airborne.”
David nodded to himself. Tommy had checked out the weapon, like any good soldier would. It was loaded for sure.
thirty
They stepped onto the bridge in bright sunlight. It took a few seconds for David’s eyes to adapt and see beyond the sunbeams streaking in through the wide glass windows. There were three others on the bridge. Directly in front of him was Richard Scott, who was nibbling on a donut. Off to the side, Jonathan Locke was peering at a radar screen, while another mutineer stood guard over him. David briefly studied the youngest of the mutineers. He was tall and muscular and had red hair, with a buzz cut. He also had a raspy cough that he tried to suppress.
“How is Deedee?” Scott asked.
Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller) Page 21