“This situation could change quickly,” said Duggan. “Once we’re all aboard and we give the go signal, handsets will be used to communicate. We’ll ask the skipper to assign a trusted crew member to run messages, and give the go signal....Good luck, men. Stay safe.”
We all shook hands, gathered our things, and headed out of the room.
Chapter 54
We boarded the Arthur N McCaul by the main gangway. Duggan and I carried seafaring duffle bags and wore scruffy borrowed jackets and baseball caps.
Being visible wasn’t a concern anyway; Marco had never seen us, and he’d been told that crew members would be rejoining the ship in Halifax. A crewman assigned by the captain,
took us directly to the pilothouse. I wasn’t that familiar with ships, but looking around on the way, I was surprised by the size of this one; she seemed to stretch for more than a city block, and sat higher in the water than most of the freighters I’d seen, possibly due to it’s seagoing capabilities. As we entered the pilothouse, I saw that we were a good height above the pier. Marco had several decks, plenty of holds, and all kinds of nooks and crannies to hide in if he left his cabin.
Captain Travis Cormier was waiting for us. Rolston who knew the captain well, stood beside him. He’d gone up before us to give Cormier an overview of the situation. The skipper looked pissed off, but resigned to the evacuation of much of his crew and the interruption of his ship’s schedule. He shook our hands. Rolston left
“I’ve got Bautista coming up,” said Captain Cormier. “I told him I need to go over the schedule for this maintenance job. He bought it, should be here in a few minutes. Can you men give me a timeline on your situation?”
“You never know,” I said. “This guy’s a killer. He’ll get desperate when cornered, so it’ll take as long as it takes. There are procedures for this type of situation: we have the safety of our personnel and your crew to worry about. We won’t be rushing into anything.”
“Will Bautista be detained?”
“Yes, he will, Captain. We’ll let you know those details as soon as we can.”
He scowled and tilted his cap back. “Son of a bitch.”
We knew our teams would be aboard by now, and Rolston left to join them. Jack Duggan moved closer to the Captain and lowered his voice. “Captain, Mr. Rolston will be going to your communications officer with some of our men. We have to monitor all ship board communications until our operation is finished. In the mean time, if it’s possible, could you stay here?”
“In a situation like this, I pretty much have to. I need to stay on top of everything that happens on the ship, and that includes communications. So, I’ll be listening in, and if I have to broadcast something, I will. You tell me the minute this damn ship is secure. Keep me posted throughout.”
“We’ll do that, Captain.” said Duggan.
Bautista arrived. He stepped into the pilothouse with the swagger of a man confident of his status on the ship.
He stopped in his tracks and turned back. “I left the work order for that engine part in my cabin. I’ll be right back, Captain.”
Captain Cormier had a deep voice. He used it. “These men are police officers, Bautista. You’re here to talk to them, not to review the maintenance.”
Duggan had placed himself in position to block Bautista. He seized the first officer by the elbow, frisked him, and placed him in cuffs.
The captain turned back to us. “This is as good a place as any for your talk, gentlemen. I’ll have most of the crew report to the galley. That’s not an unusual occurrence in port, won’t raise any eyebrows. I’ll let the communications officer know which crew members I need kept aboard. The rest, your men can sort out.” He motioned with his hand. “I’ll be in the chart room.”
We watched the captain step into the small adjoining compartment. He sat in a high leather chair that swivelled to give him a full view along the cargo deck, or back to the bridge, and us.
We arrested Bautista and cautioned him as an accessory to murder. We added a charge of false pretences relating to Marco’s booking on the freighter. Those would be enough to hold him while we compiled a longer list.
“Where’s Marco right now?” asked Jack.
Bautista sneered. “I’m saying fuck all... I want my lawyer.”
Two uniformed Halifax cops arrived on the bridge.
We’d figured Bautista wouldn’t be giving up Marco. We sat him in a chair, handcuffed him with a short link to an anchored table leg, and detailed one of the city men to watch him. The other man we sent to Bautista’s cabin, told him to grab documents, books, cups, plates, pens; anything Bautista might have handled, or that could relate to our investigation. They were to be taken for forensic and print analysis to RCMP Divisional HQ.
Our next move was to get a takedown detail situated around Marco’s cabin. Once everyone was in place, the ship’s communication room would call the cabin and advise Marco that Bautista wanted to see him on the bridge. Jack and I doubted that Marco would spend much time in or near the cabin while the ship was in port, but it had to be covered.
Duggan rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s your gut telling you on this, Phil?”
Jack knew this would be a tough operation and so did I. Marco would never paint himself into a corner, especially at a critical time. He would see being in port on this side of the Atlantic during his escape as one of those times.
“The same thing your gut’s telling you, Jack. Marco’s not in the cabin. He could be holed up anywhere on the ship, would have thought this stop out carefully, and developed his game plan long before the McCaul docked. When he figures out cops are onboard, the situation will escalate quickly. As for Bautista, I have a feeling he’s got other names, and an interesting history.”
Jack nodded. “I’m with you on both counts, Phil.
“Look, we had the pier well covered, so If Marco was onboard when the ship docked, he still is... When we track him down...that asshole’s coming out armed to the teeth and firing.”
Chapter 55
Since the McCaul left Hamilton, Eduardo Bautista had called Marco’s cabin every three hours around the clock. Bautista didn’t spend time in his cabin when he was awake, except to make the calls. He used a loud travel alarm to wake himself up in time to check the ship out and to call Marco on schedule. As first officer, he had the run of the ship, watched and listened for anything out of the ordinary; anything that could mean trouble for Marco. He paid particular attention to the pilothouse and the communications centre. If anything developed it would become apparent in one or both of those places.
The arrangement changed two hours before the ship’s arrival in Halifax. Because this was the riskiest time for Marco, Bautista was to call every thirty minutes until one hour after the ship had sailed again. He was not thrilled by the frequency of the calls, especially during a time period when his ship board responsibilities peaked. But he knew he was being well-compensated for his trouble. He’d known Marco for a long time and knew he was a volatile and dangerous man who wouldn’t be crossed, and that he kept associates alive only when it served his purposes.
Marco Ranez knew something was wrong soon after the McCaul docked. Up until then, all calls from Bautista had been on schedule. The third in-port call didn’t happen.
If Bautista missed a call, something’s screwed up.
He tucked one loaded Browning .45 automatic under his belt and dropped another into a jacket pocket. He put four full clips of .45 ammo and a silencer into other pockets, left his cabin, and scooted down the companionway towards the crew deck.
Marco sat on a step, casually attached the silencer to a .45, and waited. This wasn’t a high-traffic area for the crew. No problem; all he needed was to grab one of them.
A storage room was about ten feet along the passage. He looked past it. A crewman who’d been topside at the bow for docking was making his way back to the engine room. The crewman came towards him. He recognized Marco as the ship’s passenger, nodde
d, and sidestepped the stairway. Marco lunged. His forearm wrapped around the man’s throat. He shoved the barrel of the Browning into his ribs.
“Not a word, asshole.” Marco gestured towards the storage room. “Just open that door. I know you’ve got the key.”
The man hesitated.
Marco struck him on the side of the head with the automatic, not enough to knock him out, but enough to get his attention. The blow made a gash.
“Open that door...now!”
Blood flowed from the man’s scalp. Some of it splattered along the passage, outside the door. It didn’t concern Marco. He needed to send a message. If he was going down, so were as many cops as he could get at.
Let them see what they’re in for. This prick’s dead, no matter what.
The crewman staggered to the door and opened it. Marco shoved him into the storage room. He didn’t know what the man did, but gathered from the state of his coveralls that he usually worked around the engine room. He pushed the man to the floor, and pressed the silencer of the .45 to the back of his head.
“What’s going on, shithead? Anything different on this ship today?”
The man’s eyes bulged like they would pop out of his head. Perspiration pooled through the grease on his forehead and into the streaks of blood. His voice croaked. “What do you mean?”
“I want to know what’s different on this fucking ship. What’s happening that doesn’t usually happen? You tell me or I’ll squeeze the trigger, and nobody will hear it except me. Your brains will splatter all over this room.” He slid the tip of the silencer along the man’s skull to just above his ear, and waited.
“No, please...Look, I don’t know anything except what I was told to do. Some of that was different.”
“What were you told to do?”
“I was up on the bow, taking it easy, getting some fresh air. The ship had been tied up for a while...I was told to go to the galley, right away. Everyone on the crew was told to go there. That happens sometimes, but there’s always lot’s more notice...they said the ship’s phones would be out of commission till further notice. That’s different too...Please, don’t shoot, just leave me here.”
Marco decreased the muzzle pressure against the man’s scalp. “Okay, that’s good to know. And I will leave you here. Just one more question...Did you see anything unusual from up top?”
“Yeah...I wasn’t sure... but it looked like some kind of team came aboard, maybe cops. Three of them had dogs.”
“What else?”
A couple of guys who were supposed to be crew came on and went to the pilothouse. They could have been replacements I guess, but they weren’t regular guys from our crew. They really didn’t look like sailors.”
“How many cops were there?”
“I didn’t count them, but another guy from the engine room told me he’d counted ten.”
Marco had spent five minutes with this man. Timing was critical. He brought the muzzle further away from the man’s head. “Is there another way up to the pilothouse besides the companionway?”
“Go out the door, walk past the next companionway to a hatch. Go through and up the ladder. You’ll come out beside the pilothouse.”
Marco grabbed a rag from a shelf. “Open your mouth. I don’t want you calling for help.” He pushed the rag into the man’s mouth, and pushed his head closer to the floor.
The crewman turned his neck just as Marco brought the muzzle back to his skull. His scream was muffled by the gag, he tried frantically to crawl away. Marco fired a shot into the side of his head.
MARCO PEERED INTO THE pilothouse through a porthole in the starboard hatch. He saw the captain looking out at the cargo deck. Then he saw Bautista, handcuffed and chained down. There was a cop standing a few feet away from Bautista.
He needed to neutralize that cop, but not kill him just yet. At this point he needed bargaining chips. A cop and the captain would be a good start.
If he charged right in, there would definitely be shots exchanged. There’s no leverage in dead hostages, and the cop’s gun wouldn’t have a silencer. An exchange would attract unwanted attention. Marco decided to wait for his opportunity.
CONSTABLE DERMOT SWINTON liked anything that wasn’t routine. That’s why he’d become a cop in the first place, you rarely knew what was coming next. Police work suited him, but at times, even police work could get a little tiresome. For the first few years of service, domestic disputes, traffic accidents, minor occurrences, and wrestling with drunks kept him content, but he’d always wanted more.
He'd been delighted at his assignment to a major occurrence unit in Halifax. It wasn’t a huge squad, sixteen men overall. They specialized in major crime assists and takedowns like this one. The call promised some excitement, so he was disappointed when detailed to guard a prisoner in the pilothouse.
Ten minutes after his arrival, Swinton was restless. Everything in the pilothouse was secure. He decided to step out for a minute and grab some air. The prisoner was only a few feet away, and shackled. He could watch him easily.
MARCO SAW THE YOUNG cop coming. He pressed his back to the bulkhead and waited as the hatch swung open, concealed from the officer’s view. Marco jumped quickly, wrapped his arm tight around the cop’s throat, and held the gun to the back of his head.
“Get back inside. As soon as we’re through the hatch, you drop flat on the floor and put your hands behind your head. Don’t say a word, or you’re done.”
The hatch banged open and Swinton went down as instructed.
Captain Cormier’s mouth dropped open. “What the—-”
“Shut up, Cormier, and get over here,” said Marco. “One more word and I’ll put a slug in his head, and another in yours.”
Marco knelt on the officer’s back, the gun pressed to his head as he removed his weapon and handcuffs. He snapped one ring of the cuffs on the cop’s wrist, and told him to get on his knees. He ordered Cormier to his knees and cuffed him to Swinton. He pointed the .45 at the cop’s face. “Where’s your damned cuff key?”
“Right tunic pocket.”
Marco backed up from the pair, weapon trained on the cop. “Fish it out with your free hand, toss it on the table.”
A full key ring clattered onto the table. Marco found the tiny key and released Bautista. He used those cuffs to secure the cop’s other wrist to the same fixed table leg that had anchored Bautista. The cop and Captain Cormier, cuffed and gagged, were no longer a threat. Now they were currency.
Marco steered Bautista towards the far hatch. He spoke softly. “Have you got the balls to see this through with me? If we can get rid of most of our visitors. Keep these two and a few more as collateral, we could get this tub heading east. Portugal would be a no-go for now, but we could make for one of those dumps on the African coast.”
“Man, that’s such a long shot, Marco.”
“Well, it’s the only one we got, and let me ask you a question. What have they thrown at you so far?”
“Accessory to murder and some other fucking thing I didn’t understand.”
“When they dig up your real name, they’ll tack on the old shit you told me about and you’d be screwed down for life... I need you to help me pull this off. Bigger cut for you if we make it. Are you with me or not?”
“What choice have I got? I’m with you.”
Marco handed the cop’s gun to Bautista.
“Here. We’ve got people to take out.”
Chapter 56
We needed a key to the storage room and sent one of our team to get it. We’d also sent for one of the dogs.
Jack looked down at the bloodstains.
“A little message from Marco,” I said.
Duggan reached his hand out to the guy bringing the key. “You mean shedding some blood, or shedding it right here?”
“Shedding it here. I guess we can see where this is heading.”
“Right, a hostage play.”
“The blood on the deck is our invite to take a loo
k. You can bet the rest of the message is behind this damned door.”
An RCMP constable with a dog arrived. Jack waved him over. “Let’s get the exterior sniffed for explosives before we open the door.”
The dog worked the deck right up to the door’s threshold. No reaction. Duggan inserted the key and turned it. He opened the door slightly; enough for the dog to get his snout in. Still clear. Jack pushed the door open a little wider. We saw what Marco had left us: a crew member with the back of his head blown away.
Jack looked up from the body. “Phil, if you were Marco, where would you be heading next?”
“The pilothouse...for sure.”
We needed the murder scene protected. Charlie Hackett came along the passageway to tell us someone was on the way. He asked for an update on this situation.
I pointed to the dead crewman. “We figure Marco’s next play is on the pilothouse, and he’s up there now. Might have the Captain and Swinton as hostages. Tell the communications officer to get the phones back up. Maybe the prick will want to talk.
“And Charlie, you be the mouthpiece. You know the drill. Don’t negotiate yet, find out what he wants. Get to know him a bit, and string it out. At some point, go off procedure and get him pissed off. That might give us an opportunity.”
Charlie rubbed his palms together. “No problem, Phil. I’ll keep the boy talking, I’ll tell him a few coaster jokes before I put some pepper up his ass.”
Duggan and I smirked. Jack slapped Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re a piece of work, Hackett. You must be related to Buddy.”
“I love old Buddy. Always watch when he’s on the Tonight Show. Cracks me right up, he does.”
We’d needed the mood lightened. Charlie delivered.
Diamond Run Page 22
