The rowboat disappeared from view as the Brown Pack swarmed up the side of the schooner, careful to keep their heads below the rail. The crew had finished setting the remainder of the sails and the ship’s speed perceptively increased. Unlike a trained navy crew, these men sauntered from place to place, unhurriedly completing their menial tasks.
Many were undoubtedly still feeling the effects of their onshore activities and unhappy with the late night departure. Some had the visible signs of a hard fought brawl, with fresh cuts, scrapes, and bruises overlapping less recent ones.
Colonel Bufford’s unmistakable voluminous voice carried across the decks, yelling out commands and insults. Pierce snuck a quick peek and saw that the Colonel was pacing the quarterdeck, to the clear discomfort of the man at the wheel. Seeing their target in person cleared any sliver of doubt he had about the current mission. The weapons had to be on board.
They all clung to ropes hanging from the side of the ship as they waited for the watch to change and the top deck to clear of the majority of the crew. It was wet and cold but none of them moved, unwilling to risk discovery and start a gunfight hanging off the side of a moving ship. However after a seemingly endless wait, the noises and footfalls above them faded and only the sound of rushing water and wind remained.
Venturing another look onto the top deck, Pierce could only see three figures left. The new captain had remained behind the wheel while two crewmen walked to the bow. Pierce ducked down and motioned to the others what he’d seen. Nodding in unified comprehension they all started moving to their respective places. Remaining on the outside of the ship, Sean slowly moved to the bow while MacDuff moved to the stern, both keeping their heads down. When they were in place, Liam and Pierce rolled over the gunwale onto the deck. They immediately stood up and casually walked towards the stern, talking in low but not secretive voices.
“…So that was the second time she caught me…” Liam laughingly intoned as they approached the stairs leading to the quarterdeck where the captain was dutifully at the wheel.
“What does the Colonel want now?” The captain asked, too tired to hide his contempt. He’d readily accepted his promotion to Captain from first mate when the new owner had arrived at the dock hours before. However in that short time he’d started to wonder if it had been a mistake. The new owner was much too involved in the running of the ship, despite clearly having a good knowledge of seamanship. These thoughts, along with having not slept in a day, made the Captain confuse Pierce and Liam for Bufford’s two hounds. The long leather jackets were just similar enough that the mistake was almost guaranteed in the darkness.
“He wants us to check his cargo,” Pierce replied evenly, hoping his voice sounded confident. “Where is it again?”
“Second section on the deck below,” the Captain answered immediately, half ignoring them with his eyes scanning the sea beyond them. “You should know that since you watched us load it on board. Wait, you’re not…”
Too late to realize his mistake, MacDuff had silently approached from behind him and knocked the Captain out with one fell swoop from the hand guard of his cutlass. He was able to catch the Captain before he landed on the deck, setting him down quietly and then grabbing the wheel.
Liam then left and replayed the previous act with the crewmen at the bow, only with Sean emerging with stealthy precision to provide the knock out blows. They then returned to the stern carrying the sailors between them. Sean then expertly tied the unconscious men together and draped a canvass tarp over their bodies. Pierce had given them all stern instructions that killing innocent bystanders in their conflict with Bufford was to be avoided.
“So far so good,” Pierce whispered in relief. “Next step; Liam up to the crows nest with your rifles for covering fire, MacDuff you stay on the wheel and keep us from crashing. Sean, we’re going to check the cargo and then blow a hole in the bottom. Good luck everyone, but remember that this ship can never reach another port.”
Sean and Pierce made their way to the forward hatch as Liam scrambled up the rope ladder above them, a pair of rifles strung across his back. They found the hatch easily and started to ease it open as quietly as they could.
“Ever been on a ship like this?” Sean asked quietly, barely breaking the silence of the ship.
“I was on the Bluenose once as a kid in Halifax,” Pierce replied with a smile. “So it’s probably best if I follow you.”
As the hatch opened completely, a roar of sound emanated from below, making both men move back from the opening. They could hear yelling, singing, swearing and other such noises from the crew. But a quick glance through the hatch only provided a view of tarp covered bundles lashed down. So they silently descended the stairs to the deck below, mindful of anyone who might appear.
“The crew will be in their mess behind that bulkhead,” Sean pointed backwards to where the noise was coming from.
“Really?” Pierce observed sarcastically, the tension of the moment getting to him. He then turned and looked at the cargo surrounding them. “We’ll these aren’t crates of submachine guns and ammunition.”
“No, they should be stored in the section forward of us, according to the captain.”
The cargo holds were thankfully clear of people, allowing Sean and Pierce to continue their journey within the bowels of the ship unobserved. They continued to stop at corners and doors, maintaining their vigilance despite the absence of direct danger.
“Now that looks about right,” Pierce observed as they rounded another load. There were six wooden crates stacked on top of each other and lashed to the deck. Sean found a small lantern and risked some light to have a decent look at what they’d found. There was some black stencilling on the second crate, but was upside down and somewhat smudged. “I think this is it, wait… Bingo!”
Pierce had moved to another crate and there he found a much more definitive clue. A large black stamp marked the crate with the notorious image of an eagle holding a swastika in its talons, the evil image of Nazi Germany.
“Want to open it?” Sean asked as he went to remove a boarding axe resting in his belt.
“No I think we’re good,” Pierce stopped him with a wave. Having finally found the weapons, Pierce wanted nothing more than to send them to the bottom of the sea as quickly as possible. “Find some gunpowder and set it up to blow here. The blast should punch a hole in the hull and with luck set the ammunition off as well.”
Sean nodded in agreement and turned to go, having spotted what looked like barrels of gun powder earlier. But he was stopped by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, followed by another and a rush of feet above them.
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 101
