The Last Passenger

by Manel Loureiro

  “A sailor from the Pass of Ballaster is still alive?” His voice betrayed his torment. He sprang up, and the folder and its papers fell to the floor. “Where? How?”

  Kate was puzzled. She remembered that the men at the base had said Feldman’s employees were rude and arrogant when they came to take away the Valkyrie. Perhaps they had not mentioned anything to Feldman about the old man and his strange obsession with the ship.

  As she told him about her conversation with Carroll, Feldman’s apprehension increased. He took wide strides across the living room, pacing past the mounted animal heads with a look of distress.

  “I must talk to that man. Where does he live?”

  “I’ll tell you if you let me go with you and allow me to take notes for my story.”

  Feldman stared blankly at her for a few seconds. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

  “All right, Miss Kilroy . . . Kate.” Feldman started toward the door. “You’re in. Now let’s go see Mr. Carroll.”

  Ten minutes later a caravan of five vehicles departed Usher Manor. Kate and Feldman sat in the backseat of an Audi SUV with tinted windows. The four other vehicles flanked the Audi: two in front and two behind. Seated with them were bodyguards like those who had captured Kate earlier. Richard Moore, head of security, sat up front and spoke by phone to the other cars as the convoy sped down the highway.

  Kate and Feldman kept quiet in the backseat, each lost in thought. Kate wondered what might be going through the head of the man by her side. As if by reflex, Feldman moved his hand toward the gold pendant around his neck and held it tight. He seemed to be lost in the throes of a memory.

  Kate tried to imagine what Robert would have done in her position. She was sure he would have been chatting effortlessly with Feldman, calm and relaxed, dissipating any tension as if by magic. Robert had possessed an innate ability to make everyone around him relaxed and comfortable. Kate cursed herself for not having the same gift. All she could do was look out the window as the scenery whipped by.

  When they arrived in Denborough, Kate could sense the tension rise. Dozens of prostitutes and junkies wandered near trash piles and ruined houses, regarding the convoy with the same empty expression before returning to their dark lives. In the daylight, the neighborhood looked even more dirty and downtrodden than it had last night. Kate shuddered. She had almost been killed.

  She looked at Feldman. His surprise at discovering Carroll had been genuine, of that she was sure. Feldman had never heard of the man, let alone where he lived.

  So if Feldman hadn’t put a hit on Kate, then who had? Her head buzzed as she racked her brains for a clue.

  The caravan came to a halt in front of Carroll’s little home. The bad scrape across the front of the house was still visible from the night before. Kate and Feldman got out of the Audi and climbed the two front stairs that led to the entrance. But before they could reach the front door, Moore ran up, looking grave.

  “One moment,” he said in a low voice. “Something’s not right here.”

  Kate did not understand until she saw that Carroll’s front door was ajar. The door’s wood trim was cracked, and the frame was damaged in one corner.

  Immediately, half a dozen armed guards surrounded Feldman and Kate, each pointing his gun in a different direction. The lost souls who were milling about on a nearby corner had the sudden urge to be anywhere else but there, leaving the entire street deserted.

  “Wait here,” Moore ordered in a grave tone.

  Three of Feldman’s men entered the house cautiously, guns ready, while the rest waited outside impatiently. After two minutes, one of the guards returned with a strange and somewhat pallid expression. He leaned against the doorway and vomited on the doorstep.

  “Clear,” he croaked and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one’s inside. But I warn you, it’s a butcher shop in there.”

  Kate felt her legs begin to shake. Feldman, cold and ruthless, lived up to his reputation and did not bat an eye.

  “You don’t have to go in,” he told her, placing a hand on her arm with surprising gentleness.

  “I’m going in,” she said, taking a deep breath, wishing her voice had sounded firmer.

  The hallway was just as it had been the night before. Beyond that, it looked as though a tornado had hit.

  The first thing that struck her was the smell. It was slightly sweet and sticky, with a touch of ocher to it. But underneath was another scent. Burnt hair.

  As they entered the living room, Kate grabbed Feldman’s arm to avoid collapsing. It looked like a mad butcher had decided to decorate the walls with human remains. On the table lay Mr. Carroll’s body, or at least what was left of it. His hands were tied to his feet with wire, and every one of his fingers was broken or severed and scattered on the floor. Horrified, Kate noticed that nearly all of them were missing fingernails. The body had been torn open. His organs had been extracted and placed in neat piles as if some forensic specialist had simply done his job. Blood was streaked across the walls in crimson designs. But the most striking thing of all was Mr. Carroll’s head was nowhere to be seen.

  “But who? How?” Kate stuttered.

  “Who could have done this?” Feldman responded, somberly. “Someone hell-bent on getting answers.”

  One of Feldman’s men found a scalpel and blowtorch underneath the coffee table. It was a cheap blowtorch, the kind that could be bought at any hardware store. From the foul stench in the air, it had been used for a very different purpose than its manufacturer had intended.

  Kate glanced at the wall in disgust. She realized something was off. The pictures chronicling Carroll’s life at sea were still hanging there except now they were spattered with blood. But one was missing.

  An empty yellowed piece of wallpaper occupied the space where the picture of the Pass of Ballaster had once been. Someone had taken it.

  “This is barbaric,” Kate said in disbelief. “He was a charming, polite man.”

  “He chose the wrong neighborhood to live in,” replied Moore, who seemed to be the only one unaffected by the slaughter, apart from Feldman.

  “This wasn’t done by any old crack addict,” answered Kate, pointing toward the television, which was still on. Instead of a busty young hostess on-screen, however, a movie was playing. Next to the television was Mr. Carroll’s open wallet with a few ten-pound notes visibly protruding.

  “I must agree with Miss Kilroy,” Feldman said icily. He was undoubtedly thinking something, but it was hard to say what that was. “This was the work of a professional. Someone motivated enough to behead a man.”

  “There’s also one picture missing,” Kate pointed as she tried to avoid stepping in a pool of blood. She wanted to vomit, but she refused to give Feldman and his men the satisfaction. “The picture with Mr. Carroll aboard the Pass of Ballaster.”

  “That’s not all that’s missing,” Moore chimed in with a strange note in his voice.

  Intrigued, everyone turned around to look at Moore, who was standing beside the corpse.

  “His heart is gone,” he said, pointing to the pile of organs. “Someone’s taken it.”

  XI

  Moore shoved them out of the house before the police could arrive. Kate tried to protest, but one look from Feldman quieted her down immediately.

  “There’s a decapitated body on the living room table. Parts are missing, and we’ve made a thorough search of the house,” Feldman reasoned as they climbed into the Audi. “I don’t want to spend the whole day in a police station, trying to explain why we were there in the first place.”

  It occurred to Kate that she had been in the house less than twenty-four hours ago. Her fingerprints were probably everywhere. She shook her head as she reached to open the car door. “The police will want to talk to me. We should stay.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Feldman said as the Audi started up. “Things are about to get hot around here. And fast.”

  Kate looked at
him blankly before noticing a subtle movement in his eyes. She turned around and looked out the back window. Without realizing she was doing it, she let out a cry of horror as flames burst from the windows and the front door of the house. Thick clouds of smoke billowed out, enveloping that entire stretch of road.

  “You set the house on fire,” she cried.

  Feldman nodded as the convoy rounded a corner en route to the highway. In the distance, the wail of sirens could be heard, but they were not heading toward the fire. Denborough wasn’t a high-priority neighborhood. By the time emergency crews arrived, the house would probably be nothing but ash.

  “Why?” asked Kate, still not understanding what had happened.

  “To avoid potential problems,” answered Feldman. “Going in there, we left footprints, hair, and God knows what else. Half a dozen junkies watched us go in, and even if their word isn’t worth shit, they could lead the police to us if they found any forensic evidence. Our license plates are fake, so that won’t be a problem, but I don’t want anything that might lead to a criminal investigation. Not now that we’re so close.” Feldman stopped as if he had said more than intended.

  “So close to what?” asked Kate with a knot in her stomach, sensing the danger of the situation. Feldman’s sinister reputation took on a whole new meaning.

  “Nothing you need to worry about, Miss Kilroy,” Feldman grunted hoarsely. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “You mean that the house and the body were just loose ends that needed tending?”

  Feldman confirmed her accusation with a single nod.

  A long silence ensued between the two of them as the convoy merged onto the highway.

  “Am I just another one of those loose ends?” she whispered, the knot in her stomach turning to ice.

  Feldman’s blank expression slowly transformed into one of respect. He nodded. “It’s true. You’re another loose end, Kate.”

  “Where does that leave us?”

  “In a complex situation for the both of us. You’re a strange variable in my equation. I’m not sure what to do with you.”

  Kate shrunk into her seat. She looked out the window and immediately discarded the possibility of jumping out of a moving vehicle. They were traveling well above the speed limit, weaving between heavy traffic. A man like this paid no mind to things like traffic tickets.

  Feldman looked at Kate, and a sudden look of understanding crossed his face. He let out a thunderous guffaw. “Do you think I’m going to kill you? Who do you take me for?”

  “You’re Isaac Feldman,” she said weakly. “You’re a gambling tycoon. They say you enjoy watching your enemies get slaughtered. You have your own private army at your disposal. You’re a man who just set fire to a crime scene without batting an eye.”

  Feldman laughed harder than before. “Some of those things are certainly true, and others not so much. But rest assured. I do not intend to harm you.”

  Kate noticed that when Feldman let himself smile, his face became calm and peaceful.

  “So?”

  “So we have a complex situation on our hands. You know too much about the Valkyrie, which is not good these days.” He motioned outside in reference to Carroll’s house. “And you know too much about me. Plus, you’re an accomplice to the destruction of a crime scene.”

  Kate opened her mouth to protest the accusation, but Feldman raised a hand to silence her.

  “On the other hand, you’re a smart woman who seems to ask the right questions. You want to write a story on the mysterious ghost ship that comes to life after seventy years.”

  When he said the words ghost ship, Kate noticed that Feldman made an effort to utter them calmly, but his eyes betrayed him.

  “We cannot forget that you were the last person to talk to the only survivor of the Pass of Ballaster. All of that makes you quite valuable.”

  “I would like to go aboard your ship, Mr. Feldman. I want to tell that story.”

  “You can’t do that until the voyage is over, and you will let me read your story before it’s published.”

  Kate would rather die than allow Feldman to censor her report, but she agreed. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  “All right, Mr. Feldman.” Kate extended her hand and, for the first time that day, felt like everything would be OK. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” he said. “Welcome to the crew of the Valkyrie.”

  XII

  Hamburg, Germany

  Pier 74b, loading dock

  The Elba River was dark gray that morning, concealing innumerable secrets as it splashed softly against the piles of Pier 74b. In the cold morning air a few seagulls squabbled over a piece of trash floating downstream as the river rolled toward its final destination in the North Sea, some sixty miles away.

  Kate stood at the edge of the pier and zipped up her jacket, craning her neck in an effort to warm her face in the few rays the sun had to offer at that hour. Around her the people of Hamburg were shaking off sleep and getting ready for a new day.

  Pier 74b was located in the heart of the port, near the city. It was one of the oldest sections in the entire port complex. A nearby set of low, run-down warehouses made the area appear even older than it was. During World War II, the Allied forces had thoroughly razed the port, which meant the warehouses couldn’t be more than fifty years old. Still, they looked older than the river itself. The dark windows loomed imposingly as if watching, and being utterly bored by, Kate and the two dozen or so people scampering about the docks.

  Some one hundred yards away several enormous cargo ships from some of the world’s most unlikely places were docked. Cranes were lifting and lowering huge, colorful metal containers. The noise of the engines and the clanging of the containers was deafening, even from afar.

  More than a half mile away, the upper edge of the Oasis of the Seas was visible through the fog. The enormous cruise ship had a maximum capacity of more than six thousand passengers. Its white body blended together with those of three or four other cruise ships in the vicinity. They were nearly as massive as the Oasis and were docked at the beautifully modern passenger terminal.

  This is not that terminal, Kate thought to herself as she blew into her hands for warmth. Now we’re on this bloody awful pier waiting for Feldman.

  Despite being the middle of August, it was actually quite chilly. In the distance Kate could see the cafeterias and restaurants in the passenger terminal. They were most likely serving the first breakfasts of the morning. Her stomach growled in protest. But she ignored it completely. She had eyes only for the ship immediately to her right. Floating. Silent. As if out of a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.

  The Valkyrie.

  Kate had arrived in Hamburg barely twenty-four hours earlier. Feldman had arranged for a private jet to fly her. Parting with Feldman had been truly bizarre. Instead of taking her back to Usher Manor, he’d insisted on taking her directly to her hotel in Liverpool. Once there, Feldman and his men waited patiently as she went up to her room, showered, changed, and came back down again. From there they drove her to the train station, where she almost died of embarrassment when their cavalcade screeched to a halt in front of the station entrance and several men in suits surrounded the perimeter.

  “Tomorrow I will send one of my associates to meet you at your apartment,” Feldman said from the Audi window. “That person will accompany you to Hamburg. The Valkyrie and the rest of the team are there.”

  “Hamburg? Germany?”

  Feldman nodded.

  “Will you be there?”

  Feldman smiled astutely. Kate recalled that Feldman was being investigated by the Treasury Department and a judge had revoked his passport. Theoretically, he was not allowed to leave the country.

  “I’ll be there, Miss Kilroy. But I’ll have to make the journey solo. Not to worry, though. We’ll see each other in Hamburg.”

  Then, with a wave of his hand, the caravan started up again, and Kate was left alon
e in the middle of the sidewalk, confused and somewhat frightened.

  That was how things were done in Feldman’s world.

  Several hours later Kate was home, talking on the phone with her editor while she frantically packed a suitcase with her free hand. Finally, she did not feel trapped in the tomb known as her apartment. Kate realized the story of the Valkyrie had enthralled her because it gave her a way to escape the black hole she had wallowed in since Robert’s death. But there was something else. Something deeply disturbing about the whole thing held her inexplicably spellbound. She was hell-bent on finding the answer.

  As she decided what clothes to pack, her gaze crossed to the mantel and the ceramic urn containing Robert’s ashes sitting on top. Kate had not passed by the fireplace for several days in an effort to avoid the agonizing evidence of his absence. On a whim she picked up the urn.

  For the first time she was able to look at it without bursting into tears, though her heart still felt a lash. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the musk of his flesh, the feeling of their embrace, and the vibrant force of his body. She shook her head to drive away the memories. Robert was gone forever. Hit by a drunk driver who fled the scene. Now he would walk on the dark banks of the River Styx for eternity.

  On another whim she placed the urn in her suitcase. She didn’t know exactly why, but it suddenly seemed unbearable to be separated from him. If Kate were going to board the Valkyrie, the urn would have to come, too.

  That night she dreamed of Robert. Her husband was aboard an empty ship and held a parcel, a parcel that was crying and had two chubby little arms flailing out of it. She tried to chase him, shouting his name but to no avail. She sprinted through the corridors, compelled by an infinite urgency. When he finally got to the dance floor, he gently placed the baby in the middle of the room. Then, as he turned to Kate, she saw that the man was not Robert, just someone who looked a great deal like him. Something dark, voracious, and evil had set a trap for her. She awoke screaming and soaked in sweat.