The Last Passenger

by Manel Loureiro

  Knees aquiver and trying to regulate her breath, Kate wrapped the towel tighter around her body and opened the door. It was Senka accompanied by one of Moore’s guards.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Senka, tossing back her blonde hair and giving a sly smile as she noticed Kate was only wearing a towel. “We’re just doing a quick inspection of all the cabins. It will only take a minute.”

  They barged in without asking permission. While the guard methodically took inventory of the entire room, Kate sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, clutching the towel closer to her skin and trying to keep from shivering.

  “Are you all right, Kate?” asked Senka. “You look pale.”

  Kate shook her head and muttered yes. She did not want them to think she was crazy. But she wasn’t quite sure of her state of mind.

  “I take it that’s your luggage?” Senka pointed to Kate’s unopened suitcase sitting on the sofa. “I need to inspect it. Do you mind?”

  Kate shook her head. All she wanted was for them to get out as quickly as possible.

  Senka opened and began pushing Kate’s belongings to one side. When she got to her underwear, she paused before a smile began to show at the corner of her lips.

  “This is quite seductive,” Senka said, holding a tiny black thong with red trim. “Is all of your underwear like this?”

  Kate shook her head, feeling nervous. She had no interest in playing games.

  “What’s this?” Senka asked, stiffly holding up the urn that contained Robert’s ashes.

  “That’s my husband,” answered Kate. “What’s left of him.”

  “Do you always travel with your husband’s ashes?” Senka looked at her in disbelief as she undid the top to have a look inside. A puff of ashes was sucked out and floated down to the carpet, leaving a small gray mark on the design.

  “Put the urn down. Now.” Kate’s voice was glacial. But underneath, the fury was so intense that Senka’s playful expression melted into an uncomfortable grimace.

  Watching Senka with fiery eyes, Kate’s temples were pounding. All the panic and fear she had felt only minutes before were boiling into a rage that made her want to rip out someone’s throat. Barely thinking, she walked toward Senka and yanked the urn from her hands. Her towel nearly came loose from doing so, but her wrath was such that she hardly noticed.

  “Don’t play games with this,” Kate hissed, “or you’ll regret you ever met me. That’s your only warning.”

  Senka took a step back. She had a strange gleam in her eyes. It was a mixture of fear and respect. Maybe even excitement. “Kitten’s got claws,” she finally said. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  The guard who had accompanied Senka poked his head out of the bathroom door and shook his head. The inspection was done.

  “It’s been a pleasure, as always. See you soon,” Senka said and raised an eyebrow.

  As soon as they were gone, Kate shut the door. She shook with rage. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was determined not to cry. With trembling hands she placed the urn containing Robert’s ashes on the table and kneeled down on the rug, trying to recover the tiny amount that had spilled out. There was so little that she could hardly pick it up. Sweeping her hands over the floor for a second time, Kate lost the majority between the rug’s fibers, leaving behind a dirty streak in the fabric.

  Plop, plop. The first two tears fell like drops of rain. Then, slowly, the rain became a storm, and Kate tried to break free from all the pain and fear she was carrying deep within her. Once again she felt terribly alone.

  XIX

  The inspection of the ship took longer than Kate expected. Mrs. Miller, hair in a bun, came to her room after some time. She was accompanied by a server pushing a meal cart. Kate tried to exchange pleasantries with Mrs. Miller, but all she got in return was a warm smile and the promise that “this little fuss” would be over shortly. Kate didn’t believe a single word of it, especially since the waiter pushing the cart had a holstered gun hidden beneath his white uniform. He looked tenser than a taut bowstring.

  Kate still felt edgy and disoriented after the earlier events. She had searched the room top to bottom—even after Senka’s little inspection—but found nothing that could explain what she’d seen.

  What had happened?

  Kate was certain it hadn’t been a dream. The jar of bath salts, her wet footprints on the rug—it had all been real. But she was still trying to work out which parts were fantasy and which were not. No answers came to her.

  Night had arrived. In the circle of light surrounding the ship, she could still make out the whitecaps that frothed up all around the Valkyrie. Beyond that, darkness.

  Someone knocked on her door. A uniformed crew member handed her an envelope. Kate watched him knock on other doors along the corridor. Several passengers lingered in the hallway with a look of boredom or fatigue while others were half-asleep. All of them, however, had one of the envelopes in hand.

  Kate opened hers. It was a formal invitation to attend dinner that night. The card included the KDF logo in the corner, minus the swastika, of course, and a beautiful sketch of the Valkyrie. In the middle, written in elegant German, was the menu. As Kate read through it, she deduced that the menu had to be the same as the one offered the first night of the Valkyrie’s inaugural voyage. Feldman was attentive to detail.

  She glanced around at the other guests in the hallway. She immediately wondered if one of them might have also had a similar experience to hers. If someone had, would the passenger be willing to say anything? She studied each person. Most acted relieved to see an end to the confinement, but a few just looked groggy. None of them had the appearance of having seen anything unusual during the last few hours.

  She would talk to Carter. The talkative physicist would be able to help her, of that she was sure.

  She checked the time and cursed. Dinner was in half an hour. She would have to hurry to get ready. She used only a minimal amount of makeup but made an effort to style her hair. She wanted to look attractive without looking like she was dressed up for a cocktail party. Truth be told, she had no idea what was on the agenda that evening. As she was doing her hair, she began thinking, somewhat cynically, about all the gala society dinners she used to cover just a few weeks ago. How different things were now.

  Ten minutes later she found herself strutting down the hall accompanied by two middle-aged chemists who were thrilled to escort a beautiful young woman to dinner. Trying to impress her, they battled each other in a game of witticisms. But all Kate wanted was to be alone.

  Each new hallway they passed through elicited renewed gasps of awe. Luxury and good taste were on full display everywhere on the Valkyrie. Its original designers had conceived the ship, or at least first class, as a great neoclassical mansion in which passengers would be able to mingle and dine in a refined atmosphere. The gaming floor equipped with roulette and card tables, the cigar lounge, the library and all its books—every space was incredible. Kate stopped to peruse the shelves in the library and found that they had replaced the original books with newer ones. There were tons of bestsellers and a selection of magazines and newspapers from that very day.

  She was unsurprised to find a couple of copies of the London New Herald among the many newspapers in half a dozen languages. Still, as much as she looked, she could not find a single copy of Mein Kampf or any of the other books that had first occupied the shelves. Apparently, Feldman’s rigorous adherence to historical accuracy had its limits.

  Finally, they entered the dining room by crossing the great hall and ascending its beautiful balustrade staircase. To Kate, it was thrilling. She knew she was entering the same hall Carroll and his shipmates had entered several decades before. They had crossed those same floors in the dark, only to find a vast, empty ship and a baby abandoned in the middle of the dance floor.

  Kate and her two companions were the last to arrive. The rest of the guests were already seated around cocktail tables in the back o
f the hall, near the bandstand, sipping drinks. In another corner Kate could see a table already set for some twenty diners; the cutlery and china sparkled underneath the lights. The delicious aroma of roasted fish wafted around the room, and Kate’s stomach growled with hunger.

  Feldman greeted her amiably, but he was engrossed in conversation with Cherenkov. The Russian gesticulated wildly as he spoke and, on occasion, sent little pearls of spit flying at Feldman’s jacket. Enthralled by what Cherenkov was saying, Feldman paid no attention.

  “Kate!”

  She turned around to see Carter signaling her from his table. He was sitting with Paxton, the geologist with the epic mustache. She excused herself from her two escorts and walked toward their table.

  “Please allow me to say that you are the loveliest lady on board,” Paxton said with a slight bow.

  Kate loved his deliberately antiquated style. She smiled and pointed to Senka, who was standing in a corner alone, her blue-green eyes narrowed as she watched everyone like a wolf near a chicken coop.

  “I think she’s much prettier than me,” Kate said. “She could be a model.”

  Paxton shook his head, aggrieved. “She is also lovely, no doubt, but I do not believe she wants much to do with me. We do not play on the same team, unfortunately.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked, confused.

  “I believe Mr. Paxton is referring to the fact that Senka is a lesbian, Kate,” Carter chimed in, laughing. “I figured you already knew.”

  “Oh!” Kate stuttered and blushed. At times she lacked the social skills necessary to avoid embarrassing moments like this. “Well, either way, that is a very kind thing of you to say, Mr. Paxton.”

  “Either way, he’s just telling it like it is,” added Carter, enjoying Kate’s discomfort more than anyone.

  “How was the afternoon for you two?” Kate asked. “Have you noticed anything strange in your cabins?”

  Carter and Paxton exchanged glances and shrugged.

  “No,” they responded nearly in unison.

  “Actually, I slept the afternoon away,” Paxton said.

  “I was on my laptop going over one of my students’ thermodynamics projects,” Carter said. “Actually, I can’t remember if I finished or not. I must have fallen asleep as well. A room with no TV or radio can become somewhat tiresome.”

  Kate was about to share her experiences with them when dinner was announced.

  Fuck, Kate. Get your act together. You’ve got to tell someone what you saw, or you’ll go crazy. That is, if you’re not already crazy.

  There were no assigned seats, so everyone began sitting down in the groups they’d already formed during cocktails. Kate was about to take a seat next to Carter and Paxton when Feldman motioned for her to sit by him. She gave her companions, who looked quite disappointed, an amused look before walking over to join the expedition leader.

  “How’s the Valkyrie treating you, Kate?” Feldman asked as she sat down.

  “I haven’t had much time to see it. But I must say it’s a spectacular ship. There’s nothing like it in the world.”

  “Indeed. Of that, I am certain.” Feldman took a sip of his wine and looked thoroughly satisfied.

  “You still owe me an explanation, Feldman. About the bombs. And Carroll. You know who’s behind it all, don’t you?”

  Feldman nodded thoughtfully before taking an enthusiastic bite of the tuna appetizer. “I will tell everyone when the time is right, after dinner.”

  Famished, Kate resigned herself to eating. She saw that nearly a third of the diners, including Carter, were vegetarians and had received special meals.

  As they ate, the conversation around the table was light and entertaining, but in that superficial, nervous way typical of an elevator. Everyone was anxious to finish what they had started earlier that day. Everyone wanted answers.

  When Feldman proposed an after-dinner coffee in the dance hall, everyone agreed, relieved. The diners rose from their seats nearly in unison and left behind half-finished desserts.

  As Kate walked in, it was clear to her that Feldman had considered the moment very carefully. Apart from a round table surrounded by comfortable chairs for everyone, someone had placed a podium beside a big screen. A projector was humming. On the table, a gadget that reminded Kate of a cross was set between a satellite telephone and a computer.

  They all took their seats and waited as Feldman went to the podium. Giving a half smile and exuding energetic confidence, he began his speech.

  “Good evening. I hadn’t planned to have us meet so late. But considering what happened earlier, I think you’ll understand.”

  A murmur of assent swept around the room. Feldman’s animal magnetism in action again, thought Kate, intrigued to see what he had in store for them.

  “First, a brief explanation of what happened this morning. Everything was an unfortunate accident. After sending out a team of technicians, we have confirmation from Hamburg that the explosion in the Mauna Loa’s engine room was accidental. A worn-out pressure valve burst and caused the short circuit that sparked the fire. The engine on that ship was more than thirty years old. It would seem that quality control wasn’t everything it could have been back then. I’ve been told corrosion of the steel in the engines is to blame.” He looked down at some papers before continuing. “This is a problem not uncommon of old Soviet ships.”

  Kate listened to him in amazement, unable to believe what she was hearing. Feldman was blatantly lying. She had seen the fire from the explosion. She was no expert on the matter, but she was certain the fire had not been caused by a steam valve bursting. She furtively glanced around to see the majority of the scientists breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing there was no terrorist in their midst. Only Carter looked as dubious as Kate did.

  “Our inspection of the Valkyrie has confirmed that we run no risk aboard this ship.” Feldman was cut off by a wave of applause.

  Cherenkov stood up. “I believe I speak for all of us when I say thank you for your efforts in keeping us safe. Now we can begin work on our project as soon as possible.”

  “Certainly, Professor,” answered Feldman, “we shall not waste another second. Lights, please.”

  The lights in the room dimmed. The projector turned on, and a black-and-white image of the Valkyrie popped up on-screen.

  XX

  “On the twenty-eighth of August in 1939, at 4:57 a.m., this ship, the Valkyrie, was found adrift in the middle of the ocean at approximately 53 degrees, 94 minutes and 17 seconds latitude north, 18 degrees, 47 minutes and 15 seconds longitude west. We don’t know the exact position because the crew that found the ship logged the position a few hours after the fact. I’m guessing they were too busy trying not to keel over in awe.”

  A surge of laughter swelled throughout the room, and Feldman went on.

  “I know I’m not saying anything new when I say there were no passengers on board except me. Everyone knows that. But although it may seem quite strange, the Valkyrie is not an isolated instance. It’s not even a first. Such an event has happened before. Many times, in fact.”

  The projector clicked and a map of the world appeared, showing dozens of red dots throughout the oceans of the world.

  “Since the dawn of recorded history, tons of ships have been documented as disappearing and reappearing without the crew aboard. Herodotus, the ancient Greek historian, recorded three different cases in his writings. He calls them the ‘ships without a soul.’ Strabo, Pliny, Agricola, Manetho—dozens of writers and historians of antiquity reference the obscure histories of ships found adrift. Often, they are missing no cargo, there are no signs of violence or damage, and the crew has vanished. If we look at sources from China, India, or Japan, we find the same phenomena. The history of ‘ships without a soul’ is found throughout ancient texts from the Old World.”

  “I suppose each and every one of those cases has an explanation.” Carter’s voice sounded from the darkness.

  “Many of
them do, no doubt. Pirate attacks, epidemics, ships overturned during storms, human error. The possible causes are numerous. But there’s something important that distinguishes the case of the Valkyrie.”

  Feldman pressed a button. On-screen, old manuscripts in several languages flashed by in between images of old ships. Galleys, galleons, liburnas, and xebecs cast their glow across Feldman’s face. Kate was reminded uncomfortably of a dark wizard conjuring up shadows that should be left alone. Shadows capable of destroying a room and leaving it new again.

  “The problem with ancient sources is that they are often incomplete and imprecise. Historians tend to adorn cases like these, anomalies as they like to call them, with epic or death-defying backstories. Finding the real story behind something cloaked in so much folklore and legend has proven exhausting. Fortunately, we’ve found a team willing to work on the case for the past three years.”

  Feldman took a sip of water and continued.

  “Throughout the centuries, these cases have occurred again and again. It’s even been partially documented how, in 1660, five galleons from the Spanish treasure fleet suddenly vanished, only to be found adrift a week later with the cargo untouched but no signs of the crew. Only the cats and dogs remained on board.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Kate interrupted. “I grew up in Spain, and I don’t remember ever hearing that story, not even in school. That story’s strange enough to be known.”

  “Two English vessels were the ones to discover the ships,” Feldman said. “At that time, England and Spain had just finished thirty years of war, and the British throne had no interest in letting the rest of the world know that they had captured five ships laden with gold that didn’t really belong to them. So they covered it up. Only later do we learn anything about this event from inquiries made by the British Admiralty.”

  Carter mumbled something unintelligible. Kate was only able to make out the word fantasies and couldn’t help but smile in spite of his bad mood.