The Target

by Roger Weston

  “I’ve got a Bible,” Jake said. “I’ll say a prayer over to the grave unless one of you guys wants to.”

  Andres stepped forward. The cold wind shook his short graying hair. “I worked with Francisco in the engine room. I’ll read a prayer for him. He had two kids. I don’t got no kids yet, but my wife is pregnant, so I know how much he’ll be missed.”

  Jake passed over the pocket-sized Bible, and Andres opened it and paged through it for a minute. Then he said,

  “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

  He leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul:

  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.

  Yeah, and though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;

  Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;

  Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

  and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

  Jake glanced around at the others. Strom Pace wiped his eyes. Len Jackson stood there with his arms crossed, shaking slightly. His chin rested on his chest, and he seemed to be in deep thought. Talia had tears in her eyes and seemed to be gazing off toward nothing. Jake caught Red Mayo staring at him, but as soon as they made eye contact, Red quickly looked away. Andres was silently reading from the Bible when Jake heard the faint crack of a suppressed gunshot up in the mountains. Before he had a chance to look, Andres staggered forward and fell onto the pile of rocks.

  “Sniper,” Jake yelled. “Take cover.”

  The mourners scattered.

  Jake bear-hugged Andres, lifted him, and ran toward the nearest row of whale oil tanks, weaving as he went. A second shot just missed him and hit a tank just ahead to his right. With good cover now, Jake laid Andres down on his back. A blood-red stain was spreading across the chest of Andres’ tan jacket. His eyes were open, and he was trying to say something, but he lost consciousness before he could. Jake checked his pulse, but couldn’t find one. Andres had been shot through the heart. Jake looked up into the hills.

  “The storm will rise,” he whispered. “And with it fury.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Next Day

  The day after the funeral, most of the crew wanted to stay inside. Those who did wander about stayed in the whaling village where they could hide among the buildings. Fog rolled over the station, at least, and buried the mountain, which was good.

  However, it wasn’t just sniper fear that worried Jake. He saw signs of depression. Because the shelter was good there, most everyone had been crashing in the bunkhouse with plans to clear out in a hurry if they heard the helicopter. While Jake was taking it easy, mainly to give his leg a chance to heal, he found them lying around fixated on the many deaths and lost hope.

  Ava avoided him, but once she came around the old bunkhouse where he was resting. She couldn’t find what she was looking for, and she started slamming things around. Then she confronted Jake. She said, “Are you happy now? Andreas didn’t have to die. You’ve got blood on your hands. Are you happy?” She hurried away.

  Len Jackson was gone again, allegedly to find the missing scientists. Jake just hoped he remembered that there was a sniper in the hills.

  The wind died off to nothing, and Jake went outside and took the skiff out to the Atlas. He was accompanied by a couple of nervous sailors. In his zodiac, he motored out over the rolling swells and couldn’t even see the ship until he practically bumped into her. In the galley, he filled trash bags with any supplies that Horace had left behind: Pots and pans, dishes silverware, cups, hot chocolate, and freezer bags. A wall of wind struck the ship, however. Jake heard howling up in the rigging and felt the ship begin to rock.

  “Not again,” Jake said. He ran down into the hold. “We’ve got a storm on the way, boys. Get up to the boat. We’re going ashore.”

  The waves heaped up large and menacing, but Jake used the outboard to stay ahead of the breakers. As he approached the beach, he motored in right behind a curling wave as it crashed and fanned out across the sand as whitewater and foam.

  Back at the bunkhouse, everyone was waiting to see what new supplies he’d found. Jake was accosted by Ava as he stepped into the door.

  “Did you get me my snow outfit?”

  He handed her an orange duffle bag. “It’ll all in there—boots, snowshoes, goggles, everything.”

  The sailors added a few bags of groceries to the supplies. “Listen, everyone,” Jake said, “we’re going to move our sleeping quarters.”

  “Who in the hell died and made you captain?” Braulio snarled. A rusted whaling harpoon filled his gloved hand. “We’re just getting this place set up.”

  “For all we know,” Ava cut in, “you’re the one that sabotaged our ship.”

  Jake shook his head. “Thank you for saying that, Ava. I appreciate it. Now, if you want the truth, I’m looking out for your safety. If the helicopter comes back, it will hit this building first. Also, we’re too bunched up over in the old manager’s house. We need to spread out. I want us sleeping in at least three or four different buildings. We’ll be safer that way.”

  “He’s right,” Strom Pace said. “Problem is that in my condition, I could catch pneumonia the way the wind’s picking up, and in my case, pneumonia would be fatal. We don’t even have a doctor.”

  A sailor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The helicopter won’t come in a storm.”

  “It did last time,” Ava said. “It could come at any time.” She pressed all ten of her fingers through her white hair and against her pink scalp. “I could die at any moment. I can’t take the pressure.” She walked toward the doorway, but stopped and pounded her fist against the wall. “I just can’t take anymore of this.” She ran out.

  The remaining scientist walked out shaking his head. “What a nutcase,” he said. “I should be out in the field collecting data.”

  Braulio came at Jake from behind, but stopped when Jake turned on him.

  “Go ahead and try it, Braulio. Why are you hesitating? You prefer to attack a man from behind? Is that it? Sneak up on me like game? When you hunt a man, you better think twice because it goes both ways.”

  “I’m not hesitating nothing.” Braulio clung to the old whaling harpoon. “I just decide I’ll deal with you later—my way.”

  “I look forward to it.” Jake turned to the others. “Until Braulio gets a backbone and makes a decision, there’s work to do. Now!”

  The whole crew jumped into action—grabbing supplies and dousing the fire. The coals hissed and evil black smoke gathered under the bullet holes and then swirled out the corner with no roof. The crew spread out to find other buildings to camp in. By the time the preparations were done, the wind was hard and cold, blowing in thick flurries of snow.

  On his way out, the scientist gave him a cold look and said, “I don’t need a damn traitor telling me what to do.”

  “Don’t pay attention to Ava.”

  “She told me you’d say that.” He turned and walked out.

  Jake realized then that Ava’s lies were working. She was turning the others against him so that he could not organize resistance against their enemies. He wondered how many people would have to die before the survivors wised up.

  CHAPTER 13

  Alamar, the Gitano, walked the decks of his new cruise ship, supervising the current operations. A dozen more platforms had been hauled over from his cargo ship, assembled, and lowered over the side of the vessel. The smell of paint filled the air under the massive camo tarps. Handlers stalked the decks, leading around pairs of snapping jaws on leashes. As dog teams passed each other, a couple of fights broke out, and the handlers had to drag the rottweilers and bull mastiffs ap
art. Drops of blood marked the spots.

  The barking was somewhat drowned out by the sound of the wind crashing into the massive camouflage effort. Fortunately, canvas tarps were thick and heavy, built for the elements, and undergirded with heavy rope nets. Nevertheless, Alamar wasn’t taking chances. He stood at the rail next to piles of small sandbags attached to rope ties, pointing left and right. “Hurry up,” he shouted. “Work faster. Lower that platform. I want more sandbags tied to the net down there.”

  When he walked forward, Alamar spotted a worker sitting on his platform, his face buried in his knees. “What’s wrong with him?” Alamar looked evenly down on him with his pitbull eyes.

  The worker’s partner said, “He hasn’t slept for 48 hours. He’s worked nonstop. He needs rest.”

  Alamar drew his pistol. “Fine then. Rest in peace.” He shot the deadbeat off the platform. The victim fell thirty feet and splashed into the water. The other worker held on to the nearest rope as his platform swung. Other workers stopped painting and looked up glazed-eyed at their tormentor or down at the victim.

  Their faces showed no emotion or surprise. A couple of pale-faced wraiths were visibly sweating and shaking.

  “Back to work.”

  People resumed painting the hull and tying little sandbags to the net beneath the tarp.

  His lieutenant, Falco, approached. Snow and frost clung Falco’s red beard. Alamar was surprised by what he saw, but his eyes didn’t show it. Falco was followed by an attractive pale-faced woman with ghostly white hair. She was dressed up in arctic gear.

  Alamar pointed toward the stern. “Wait over there. I’ll talk to Ava.”

  Falco nodded and hurried down the companionway.

  Alamar looked into her eyes and saw fear. “Tell me what’s happening over there. Why haven’t they surrendered?”

  Her lips quivered. “I—I argued for it, but others fought back. I argued that they surrender and engage in dialogue with you.”

  Alamar laughed. “You did the right thing. Why didn’t they listen?”

  “I—I risked my life to come here.”

  “You are a brave woman, but I expect you to do your job.”

  “I am here to warn you that one of the crew named Jake Sands has arranged for the crew to split up into three different buildings. That way, if you attack one group, the others will fire on the helicopter. They’re also hiding away from the beach to avoid your gunboat.”

  “That is very helpful. I want you to draw me a map and show me which buildings they are in.”

  “Fine, but—but you’ll pay me the rest of my money, right?”

  “Of course. Why do you even ask?”

  She shook her head.

  “I know you’ll do your job,” Alamar said.

  “Thank you. I opposed resistance. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Falco will give you a Satphone. If there is any change, you let us know. You can only call us at noon or midnight; otherwise the phone won’t be able to get through.”

  “Okay.”

  Alamar stepped up to her. He lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. They parted and looked into each others’ eyes. Alamar said, “Do not let me down.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  Wind hit the tarps and made constant noise. The big nets under the tarps swayed and gyrated. The anchor-sandbags swung on their two-foot ropes. They were attached to the big patchwork of heavy nets at ten and twenty foot intervals.

  “I didn’t expect resistance,” Alamar said. “I need you to convince them to give up. Tell them it’s the only way to save themselves.”

  “I already did, but Jake Sands convinced some of them to hold out. Others I’ve turned against him. A sailor named Braulio is on the fence, but he’s leaning our way. He could possibly take out Sands. Horace has agreed to kill Sands if I pay him another ten grand.”

  “Can he get the job done?”

  “Killing is all Horace knows. He’s good at it.”

  Alamar waved to Falco. The red-bearded capo walked up the companionway from where he was waiting for Ava.

  “Get me ten grand in cash,” Alamar said. “I need it quickly.”

  Falco rushed inside the accommodation.

  “We had an intruder on the ship,” Alamar said. “Who was it?”

  “It was Sands.”

  “We think there might have been two intruders.”

  Ava shook her head. “I don’t think so. It was Sands. He told me so.”

  “You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Ava?”

  “I course not. I love you.”

  Alamar stared at her in the purple light. The only sounds were from the wind pounding the tarps. He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. He pushed her away. “Get the job done.”

  She was about to answer, but Falco returned with an envelope. He handed it to Alamar. He handed it to Ava.

  Alamar said, “Tell Horace that if he fails the Gitano, he’s a dead man. The Gitano will gut him like a dead camel.”

  Ava nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

  Alamar glanced at Falco. “Take her in the gunboat. Drop her off where she won’t be seen, but can walk back to the station. Hurry. The storm is building.”

  After they left, Alamar frowned. If he had a traitor like that among his own crew, he would feed them to the dogs. He hadn’t forgotten about the intruder. If anyone betrayed him, they would pay for it with their life.

  When Alamar saw Rat coming his way, he watched his minion with contempt. The men called him Rat because he was a rat-faced little creep. Alamar called him Rat because he was half-hearted, which made him repulsive. He did everything timidly and without passion—everything, this is, except killing. Only then did he come alive, and only for that reason did Alamar keep him around.

  “You won’t like this,” Rat said, sniffing.

  Alamar waited.

  “This storm’s going to get a lot worse.”

  “How much worse?”

  “Typhoon. I don’t like this at all.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Alamar said. “A typhoon is a great event—a marvel of nature. Where I go, great things happen—great wonders, great destruction and profit. Soon this storm will be forgotten. I will never be forgotten.”

  “I agree with that,” Rat said. “I’ve never met a greater man.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “We better get the passengers off those platforms. The ship is going to start rocking, and they won’t be able to hold on.”

  “Then we will replace them with other workers. They will stay where they are.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Midnight

  Jake decided to camp out with the artists and Red Mayo because the sailors had their lodgings over in the manager’s house, and Jake didn’t feel welcome there. Not that sleeping under the same roof as Ava was appealing, but he was too tired to fuss about it. At least here he could get some rest and think about how Ava had poisoned the waters to the point where some of the sailors were about ready to string Jake up. Talia reminded Jake that Horace had also threatened him, and Horace had friends that would do anything he said. Horace had left, of course, but he wouldn’t have gone far in an open boat. Horace was no Ernest Shackleton.

  The artists, including Len Jackson and Red Mayo, were now shacked up in the station store, which was a good place to be because Red had boarded up the windows. Since Jake and Red had made a run out to the boat earlier, they all now had flashlights, which was good because there was no fireplace in here.

  The store was sturdy although the walls vibrated when the winds pounded the building, and the sounds of creaking beams and moaning winds made Jake wonder if the whole building would collapse. The store’s interior was twenty-by-twenty with shelves on the walls. The crew was all in sleeping bags lain out on tarps from the ship. Red looked asleep, eyes closed, his climbing pick at his side. Len Jackson was over in the corner, sitting on his bag and studying digital photos in his camera. Strom Pace was stretching, and he
groaned on occasion from his aches and pains. He clung to a bottle of pills, and sometimes it made a rattling sound. Talia was writing in her diary, which was lit up by her flashlight. Ava was fully dressed sitting against the door and looking at a picture book of hot glass creations. She’d gone exploring for several hours, but since she’d returned, she’d been more relaxed and friendly.

  In the weak light of a battery-powered lantern, Jake lay in his sleeping bag thinking about the funeral. He had liked Andreas. In his mind, all he could hear was the crack of that gunshot over and over again, and he kept seeing Andreas fall forward over the grave stones. If the sniper had been trying to demoralize them, then he’d done a good job. It infuriated Jake to think that it had happened right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Tomorrow someone else might get shot. Maybe tonight even.

  He didn’t know what to do next. Was he supposed to just keep on digging graves until the crew was wiped out by attrition? Tomorrow he’d have to start digging another grave in the frozen earth. Where would he dig this one? It certainly wouldn’t be out in the open. Maybe he’d just think about it for a day or two. Andreas was frozen solid and wasn’t going anywhere. Jake didn’t like it, but he knew it might take a couple days to get the job done with all the other things he had to do.

  There was one thing he had to do as soon as the storm eased off. Nobody knew what he had planned, and there was no way that he would tell anyone either. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. Nothing could stop him. He would sleep, and when the time came, he would take action. Fortunately, his bullet wound had had a day to heal, and his leg was feeling slightly better—at least when he didn’t move.

  Jake realized that he hardly even thought about the Greifswalder and her lost cargo anymore. His best guess was that the orders from Nazi Admiral Dönitz had survived the decades and could be found down the coast, but things hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. The murderers from the cruise ship had denied him of the luxury of hunting for what could be one of the great historic finds of World War Two. Now he lay in his sleeping bag and forced himself to think about finding the ship and its priceless cargo. It helped him to keep his mind off of Andreas, which was too depressing anyway. So far, he’d found only a present-day shipping disaster.