by Matt Hilton
‘Drop your fucking weapons!’
Cain held his hands out to his side, allowed the Tanto to fall on to the deck. He nudged it away with the toe of his shoe. Baron wasn’t as happy to relinquish his gun, and the man jabbed his barrel at him. Finally Baron allowed the gun to fall to the deck. It clattered on the metal, sliding away as the deck pitched on a high wave. The sudden surge meant the gunman also staggered, and Cain noted that his left leg could barely sustain his weight.
‘Which one of you motherfuckers is Tubal Cain?’ the stranger asked as he shuffled closer.
Cain understood what would happen should he reveal his identity. He jabbed a finger at the tall Russian. The man glanced at the crewman, but he was not taken in. He returned his attention to Cain, looked him up and down. The man could barely focus, being so close to fainting. ‘What’s up, Cain? Too much of a coward to man up to who you are?’
Cain chuckled.
The man lowered his head slightly, peering at Cain from under heavy brows, and suddenly his gaze was fixed. ‘Try laughing this off, asshole.’
The man fired.
Cain jerked, but it was at the scream of the tall Russian as he took the bullet in his gut. The Russian fell to his knees, both hands grabbing at his wound.
The stranger pointed at the mortally wounded man. ‘See, that’s how I feel right now. I’m in the same kind of pain as he is, and that thoroughly pisses me off. So if I were you, I’d stop the fucking wisecracks before I do the same to you.’
Cain wondered why the man hadn’t simply shot him. ‘You’re Walter Conrad’s man?’
‘Was, but I see things clearly now. I came here to take you back to Fort Conchar.’ The man grimaced in agony. ‘But I’ve changed my mind.’
‘So what’s the alternative? A clean death?’
‘That’s right.’
‘For me or for you?’
‘You, asshole.’
‘Wrong!’ Cain yelled.
From out of the shadows to the stranger’s right came another figure and he too had a gun raised.
Confused by Cain’s shout, the stranger reacted too late. He was now faced by three targets and had no idea which one of them to shoot first. He should have chosen the newcomer.
It was the driver, Pete Eckhart, who’d come with Cain from Baltimore. He stepped up close to the stranger and shot him in the side. The bullet hit like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to his ribs and he staggered. His left leg buckled under him and he went down on one knee. Eckhart swung the gun to shoot again, but even mortally wounded the guy still had some fight in him. He brought round his own gun and fired, taking out Eckhart’s groin. Eckhart screamed and dropped his gun, then went down on the deck, the blood pooling around him so viscous that even the pouring rain failed to dissipate it.
‘You goddamn . . .’ The stranger tried to target his gun again.
Cain was already on the move. But so was Baron. The man flew like a hawk, his hand reaching under his belt as he swooped towards the injured man. Before the stranger could fire again, blue light crackled as Baron jammed the Taser in the hollow under his jaw. The stranger shuddered, a long scream rising from his lips that stuttered in time with the electrical charge racking his body.
Cain came up with his Bowie, and drove in past Baron, plunging the heavy blade between the man’s ribs and into his heart. Some of the charge from Baron’s Taser crackled up the hilt and into Cain’s hand, but he held tight, grinning manically as the light went out of the stranger’s eyes.
Finally both men stepped away, Cain withdrawing the blade with a harsh sucking noise. ‘Well, Baron, that was a bit of a buzz.’
Baron didn’t catch his quip, or if he had, was as unimpressed as usual. Cain tried again, ‘Let’s finish off this pain in the neck.’ He stooped down and jammed the Bowie into the base of the stranger’s skull, then sawed the tip back and forth. He looked up at Baron for approval, only to see that the man had merely busied himself with clipping the Taser back on to his belt. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother,’ Cain muttered.
He left the Bowie in the corpse, like it was a marker on the man’s grave. He stood, looking around at the three dead or dying men. The Russian would take a little time to die, but Cain wasn’t the type for pity. After retrieving his downed Tanto, he just knocked Baron’s elbow. ‘Come on. Joe Hunter’s still here. I think it’s time to go and say hello.’
‘Yeah.’ This time Baron did laugh.
Chapter 45
I heard the gunshots and knew the answer to my question.
Hartlaub was in no fit state to take on Cain, so at the cessation of gunfire I had a horrible feeling what I would find. It spurred me with even more determination. Cain had caused untold suffering to people I cared for, and now I suspected that I could add Hartlaub to that tally. If there was any justice in this world, I’d make Cain suffer . . . tenfold.
The ship pitched and then yawed to starboard. The deck went from under my feet for the briefest of moments and I almost went over the side. I wondered if Lassiter and Terry would still be around to fish me out of the water. If they were even a fraction as loyal as Hartlaub had turned out, then there was no question. Steadying myself, I headed for the port side, seeking the source of the brief gun battle.
The most direct route was between the towering stacks, but as the ship rose and fell, I could detect movement in the upper levels that I didn’t like. It seemed that the ship’s ill maintenance was a factor everywhere, and I didn’t trust that the containers had been secured as firmly as they should be. The last thing I wanted was to head through one of the narrow walkways only to find a thousand tons of steel falling on my head. I went quickly towards the front, where I recalled the collection of machine rooms were, as well as an exit from the lower decks. As I progressed, I thumbed the button to release the clip on my SIG, took out a fresh one and slapped it in place. It was the old Boy Scout in me: be prepared.
The rain didn’t let up for a moment. Earlier I’d worried that the sea water dripping from our clothes would give Hartlaub and me away; that was no longer an issue, but the rain had caused me other problems. It had wiped out the trail of blood I’d followed until now, and also covered any trail Cain might have left behind.
Coming across the machine rooms, I used one as cover while I peered over towards the port-side rail. There was a lifeboat hanging on winches, and it looked like it had been prepped for launching. Were Jenny and Cain already on board? If they were then they were being very quiet. Was Cain holding a knife to her throat and threatening to kill her if she made a sound? Or worse: had he silenced her permanently? There was only one way to find out. I snuck out from behind the machine room, heading for the boat.
I saw the jumble of corpses and my breath caught in my chest. Two of the men I didn’t know. But the third, the one in the black jumpsuit lying face down on the deck with a Bowie knife savagely plunged into the base of his skull, was Ray Hartlaub. He looked dead, but impulse drove me to check. There was no pulse. I drew my fingers away from his cooling flesh and they were smeared with Hartlaub’s blood. I swore: I owed Hartlaub both Imogen’s and my life, but now I’d never be able repay that debt. No, I corrected, I could repay him by killing the man who’d murdered him.
There was a groan. The nearest man was a corpse. His groin had been torn away, as had half of his lower spine. So I looked at the third man and saw him move slightly. The clothing at his abdomen looked black with the copious amount of blood he was losing. The man had no weapons I could see, and he didn’t have the strength to lift one even if he had. Still, I couldn’t take the chance he’d try to kill me in his dying moments, so I approached him slowly, my SIG pointing directly at his face.
‘Where is the woman?’ I demanded. ‘Where’s Jennifer?’
The man rolled pale eyes my way, and I could tell from their unfocused stare that he was moments from death. He probably didn’t even know that I was there. Keeping an eye on the lifeboat above, I nudged him with the barrel of my gun. ‘The woman.
Where is she?’
‘Ona ushla . . .’ the man said. ‘Ona umerli.’
‘Speak English, goddamn you,’ I said.
‘Ona umerli . . . ona umerli . . .’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘He says that “she is dead”,’ a voice whispered in my ear. ‘Just like you are.’
I spun, aiming an elbow at the skull of the man leaning over me. But the strike never reached its mark. Before I’d even made it halfway round he thrust something against the nape of my neck and I was assaulted by a charge of electricity that simultaneously stiffened my entire body and sent my SIG spinning out of my grip.
He must have pressed the trigger again, because I got another whack of power through me, and I almost bit off the tip of my tongue as I fought against it. Somehow, I ended up on my back, lying against Hartlaub’s corpse, staring at the shadow leaning over me, and he must have released the trigger because I was now shivering only from the residual effect of the charge through my body.
‘You!’
‘Bet you weren’t expecting your old pal, Baron, huh?’
He was just about the last person I ever expected. I’d gained the impression the smarmy prick had set the police on me and Harvey in that hotel in Virginia, then gone to ground under whatever rock he’d originally crawled out from. There was I thinking that if I survived this latest round with Tubal Cain, I’d have a devil of a time finding Baron. His turning up here wasn’t a pleasant surprise.
My SIG was five feet away from me. It lay close to the dying Russian, but the man didn’t seem inclined to come to my rescue. I thought about snatching for my Ka-bar from the sheath in my boot, then remembered I’d left it sticking in the corpse of the first Russian I’d killed on the stairwell.
Baron stooped close to me. He held what I could now see was a Taser in his left hand. His right, he touched to his ribs. ‘I owe you big time, Hunter. You shot me back at Hendrickson’s place. Worse than that! Do you know how much money you have cost me?’
‘Oh, right, I remember now. You were only there for the money, weren’t you?’ I spat at him. ‘What a load of crap. You’re a fucking sadist, Baron. It’s as simple as that.’
Baron’s lips pinched together. Then he nodded as if conceding a point. ‘I suppose I am.’
He jabbed the Taser into my chest and gave me another zap.
I shuddered and thrashed and went part way on my side, my body jammed up against Hartlaub’s.
Baron straightened, stood there with the rain plastering his hair to his pale forehead. ‘You know, Hunter, I could keep this up all day.’
‘No . . . no more!’ I held up my open right palm, warding him off.
‘Actually, there’s plenty more,’ he said, and dipped in for another blast.
‘No,’ I said, and rolled on to my back, the knife so recently spearing Hartlaub’s neck clutched in my left fist. Baron blinked down at me, raindrops shivering on his lashes. Then he lunged at me with the Taser. There was nothing I could do to stop the contacts striking me, or to halt the electric charge shooting through my body, but I swung hard with the hilt of the Bowie and got him directly in the centre of his face. His nose was crushed under the blow and he staggered back. I swarmed up and went after him. Now it was him who was stunned, and as I backhanded the hilt of the knife across his jaw he went down on his arse on the slick deck.
‘You’ve been a little too handy with that fucking thing,’ I said as I stood over him. ‘You should’ve checked the charge, Baron, ’cause it isn’t strong enough to stop an able-bodied man now.’
Baron looked at the Taser. He’d depleted most of the power the first time he’d hit me; second time it was enough to cause me to spasm but that was all, third time, all I experienced was a tingle. Fuck, the anger I felt towards him hurt more. When I’d checked Hartlaub’s throat for a pulse, I’d noted the faint red marks on his skin. At the time I hadn’t recognised them for the localised burns caused by the Taser, but as soon as Baron introduced me to it, I’d known. The piece of shit had used it on Hartlaub before he’d died. Maybe he’d used it on others on the ship, too, the way he had when torturing Rink.
‘You know something, Baron? I promised Rink that I’d save him a piece of your arse.’ I hit him with the blade this time, leaving an inch-deep slash in his skull. ‘But I’m sure he’ll forgive me for keeping you all to myself.’
Baron fell on his side and the Taser clattered away from him. He was concussed at least, perhaps brain damaged, but he still had some life in him. His super-quick draw was pretty feeble though. He inched his hand towards the gun holstered on his hip. I stooped, picked up my SIG and languidly shot him in the skull, once, for Jenny. Then I fired three times into his body – once for Hartlaub, once for Rink, then once for myself. There were others I could have punished him for – not least Louise Blake – but that would have been overkill.
Then I went back to the Russian and kneeled close to his head. His face had taken on the colour and texture of molten wax and his eyes were practically the colour of cataracts. ‘You said that the woman is dead?’
He was almost gone, but he still had enough strength to lift one hand and point towards the rail. He jabbed his finger, and I understood. She’d gone over the side. Then the Russian’s arm flopped and he lay there, just another corpse among the pile of dead men.
No, that wasn’t the entire truth. One of those was a dead friend, and I went to him. I rolled Hartlaub over on to his back, looked down at his relaxed features. In death he looked decades younger. Whatever the man’s motive for being here, he’d given his life to help me. It was another burden I’d have to carry, but I wasn’t about to waste his sacrifice.
I lifted my face to the storm. The rain pelted me and I opened my mouth, letting the water pool on my tongue. Then I spat it out, and raised my voice in competition with the roaring wind.
‘Tubal Cain,’ I screamed. ‘You piece of shit! I’m going to tear your fucking heart out!’
Chapter 46
Even over the tumult of the storm and the crashing of waves against the hull, the ominous moaning and the bangs and clicks of the ship, Cain heard the gunshots.
They came in a single harsh crack, followed by silence, then another trio.
They had brought him to a halt as he’d moved along the starboard side of the ship, retracing his steps towards the stairs to the galley. He turned, listening for more gunfire, but knew that those final rounds, so controlled and spaced, were punctuation marks in a very definite statement. The last was the full stop.
You should have kept a gun, he told himself. But he wouldn’t let the fact that he’d foregone his firearms in favour of his blades trouble him. He had all the weapons he required, plus one very special addition. Actually, he relished meeting Joe Hunter with only the simple tools of his trade. It would be far more satisfying showing Hunter that the last time they’d met had been a fluke. Hunter had brought guns that time, but their fight had still ended blade to blade, and it would be the same here. Someone once claimed you didn’t bring a knife to a gunfight. OK, you didn’t: not unless you were Tubal Cain, the Father of Cutting Instruments.
He heard his name, the shout challenging the level of the rainstorm, and he smiled. It sounded like Joe Hunter had indeed survived his meeting with Baron.
‘You piece of shit! I’m going to tear your fucking heart out!’
A poor choice of words from someone who had almost lost his heart to Cain’s blade.
I’ll show him the error of his ways, he thought. It was one thing killing a baron, quite another taking on a prince.
He chose the Tanto for setting up this kill. It had proven itself before and it would serve him well until he elected to show his ace card. Gripping the Tanto’s hilt, he carried the blade braced against his wrist and crept slowly across the deck to the port side.
There was a rumble somewhere to the east. Thunder?
Let the storm build, it would add atmosphere to the drama about to play out. He knew the ro
ar from the heavens was a sign that Chaos favoured his actions and that today would be his.
Kill Hunter.
Take his trophy.
Move on.
He had a more important reckoning to see to, and that was with Hunter’s brother. Big bad Joe was simply a stepping block in the right direction.
He’d lost Jennifer to the sea, but he’d been seconds away from killing her anyway. Once Hunter was out of the way, who’d know that the woman was no longer under his control? He could still draw John Telfer to the prearranged meeting. It would be an even sweeter reunion when Telfer found out he’d come too late to save his wife.
Cain wiped the rain from his eyes. There on the port side, the full fury of the storm was once again in his face. Wind tore at his clothing, as though trying to strip it away, leaving him naked, and in his most natural, feral form. For the briefest moment he even considered helping the wind in its mission: tearing off his clothing to meet Hunter the way nature had designed. But that would be stupid: in this weather hypothermia would kill him as readily as would Hunter’s gun.
He moved slowly, but surely, towards the area where the lifeboat hung on its winches. Though he was still too far away to make anything out, he thought he saw movement through the drifting spray. He batted more rain from his eyes, thankful that he hadn’t discarded his clothes in that moment’s madness, because he needed the sleeve of his jacket to keep his vision clear.
The ship tilted, and he grabbed at the rail for support.
Again came that rumble from the east.
Was it thunder . . . or something else?
He searched the storm-tossed sea but couldn’t detect anything; even so, this time he knew that it wasn’t a product of the storm. That was a goddamn engine revving as a boat fought the waves.
