by Lyle Howard
Cal put one hand on the first guard’s chest to hold him in place while he yanked on the handle. The knife came free with a repulsive slurping sound. Then he gingerly stepped over to the second and did the same.
“What do you make of it?” the deputy asked.
Cal blotted the blades on Artie’s already blood-soaked shirt before slipping them back into their ankle sheaths. “Sounds like something’s up, but let’s hope it has nothing to do with us. I’ll meet you on the helipad in fifteen minutes!”
“Fifteen minutes?”
That awful look was back in Cal’s eyes. “Yeah, fifteen minutes,” he said, holding up a disposable lighter he had discovered in the guard’s pocket. “There’s something I’ve gotta do first!”
Thirty
Deep within the Nocturne’s hidden brain, Von Robles looked pensively at the monitor. Seated in front of him, Gregor, the surveillance technician, was busily trying to clarify the reception on one of the thermal scanners.
“We are still not functioning at one hundred percent capacity, sir,” he apologized in his native language. “It is going to take a little while longer before all of the systems are back to normal.”
Von Robles stared at the blurry thermal image of the approaching boat. The heat trail from its engines stood out like a bright orange plume against the cool blue contrast of the ocean. “Then I will take your best guess about them, Gregor.”
The technician held his thumb up against the screen. It was an old trick he had learned to help him with scale. “A Cigarette perhaps. From the speed and dual exhaust trail, I would guess perhaps a Thunderboat. The heat signature fits the profile.”
The frustration was evident on Von Robles’ dark facial features. “Why is this all happening at once?” he muttered. “When it rains, it pours!”
“I beg your pardon?”
Von Robles put his hand on the technician’s shoulder. “Nothing, Gregor. I was just thinking aloud. Can you tell how many passengers?”
Gregor spun a dial and the image grew larger and sharper. “Two animated red blotches came into focus. Two … unless there are others below.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just the two.”
Von Robles counted his blessings. “Good. This should not take long then. Get on the intercom and have Alexi and Ian handle this as soon as they are through securing our guests below deck.”
The technician looked back over his shoulder. In the green cast from the monitors, Von Robles’ face looked even more sinister than normal. “How do you want this handled?”
On another screen, Von Robles studied the proximity of the two ships on radar, displayed by one small dot and a second larger one, growing dangerously close. Watching the two dots converge, his eyes grew wickedly narrow. “They will probably circle once or twice to check us out before attempting to board.”
The technician knew from experience that this was the usual course of action followed by drug runners. Considering the danger of their profession, they tended to be a cautious and suspicious lot. “Should I also clear the decks?”
“Absolutely!” Von Robles insisted. “The temptation of such an easy score will be too great for them!”
The cramped quarters of the surveillance center always got a bit more claustrophobic whenever Gregor heard that diabolical lilt in his employer’s voice. “Well, it has always proven that way so far.”
Von Robles stared at the screen the same way a researcher would stare at a lab rat running a maze. If there was one thing he could always count on in this otherwise wretched life, it was the all-consuming avarice of his prey. It was what made the hunt so exciting. It was what made the killing so fulfilling. No carrot he could dangle in front of his intended victims drew them in more than simple greed. All except ... yes, he would have to have a long talk with the bartender. He was anxious to find out what his motivations were. It was obviously not monetary. There was something else, something that Von Robles was afraid to admit scared him a little. But he had to focus on the situation at hand. The bartender would have to wait. “I want them taken quickly and quietly.”
Gregor scanned the series of green and red lights that represented the status of the cargo holds. “Do you realize that nearly all of the compartments are filled? Are we going for some sort of record today? We have never kept anyone down there this long before!”
Von Robles wasn’t perturbed by the technician’s presumptuous turn in attitude. Gregor was right. Suddenly, the Nocturne had become a floating prison ... not what the ship was intended for at all! Two hours at the maximum for each victim to be bled; that was all it would normally take. But they had to leave that infernal island in such a rush! “How much more room do we have?”
“We should have enough…”
“Has the lawyer’s body been disposed of yet?”
Gregor had only caught a glimpse of the woman the lawyer had been brought aboard with, but, oh Lord, if he could only have five minutes alone with her before the old man got there! Just the thought of her strapped to the table made his crotch throb. “No, I do not believe so.”
“I want it done immediately!”
“And what about the woman?”
Von Robles could have been deaf in one ear and hard of hearing in the other and still perceived the lecherous inflection of the technician’s words. “You’ve been stuck down here in the dark a little too long, eh, Gregor?”
“No, sir, I did not mean to imply...”
Von Robles patted the technician on the shoulder knowingly. “You do good work for me, Gregor, and I always like to reward my people for their loyalty. When I am done with her, you may have some time with her before she goes overboard!”
Gregor winced. “Done with her?” The thought of that possibility made the technician’s skin crawl. He definitely wanted her, but not after all the life had been milked out of her! “You are much too kind, sir.”
“Think nothing of it, Gregor. Now…” Von Robles added, as he began to pace around the tiny room, “how long do you think it will be before they attempt to board us?”
Gregor tried to erase the gruesome vision of him mounting the blanched and cold dead girl in his mind, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t stop imagining her blue lips curled wide, her lifeless eyes staring up at him. There would surely be the stench of decay coming out of her mouth, and her flaccid limbs would probably hang over the table like wilting vines. He was going to be sick if he didn’t stop thinking about it. “They have gone around the ship twice already,” he said, shifting his attention thankfully to the task at hand.
“Well, since you mentioned going for records, why do we not try for one with these newcomers? The minute they have stepped foot on deck, I want them dropped, drained, and disposed of in record time!”
“And their boat?”
Von Robles tried to judge the dimensions of the Thunderboat by the size of the blip on the screen. About forty-five feet bow to stern, he figured. “It should make a nice artificial reef, do you not agree?”
The technician’s stomach was still turning, but he somehow managed to nod in agreement. “I am sure it would.”
“Always trying to help the environment,” Von Robles chuckled uncharacteristically as he started for the door. “No one can ever accuse me of not doing my part!”
The technician covered his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to hold down the rising bile in his throat. “And where will you be, if you are needed, sir?”
Wolfgar Von Robles was not one to be pinned down. “Around, Gregor ... I will be around!”
Thirty One
Artie stared mournfully down at his watch and then glanced backward one last time at all of the decimation Cal had single-handedly caused. He thought he had seen some pretty heinous sights when he was patrolling the streets of Philadelphia, but nothing even came close to this! The room looked like a damned slaughterhouse! It was hard to believe that one man was capable of inflicting such mortal damage. Then again, Artie had never seen the Devil�
�s own fire burning in someone’s eyes like he had seen in Cal Mackey’s.
Fifteen minutes...
He didn’t have to be told twice what that meant! The honed edge of Cal’s warning stabbed at his memory, over and over, scaring the heck out of him...
Fifteen minutes...
That was all the time Cal had given these people. In the court of Mackey’s law, there was no leniency ... no clemency. The verdict had been pre-determined and, within the next ten minutes, the sentence was going to be carried out aboard the Nocturne. May God have mercy on their souls!
Fifteen minutes...
What had sounded like such a long time now felt way too short. Where was he supposed to start? He didn’t have the slightest idea when it came to the layout of this ship! He stood poised behind the partially opened cell door, and beat his palms against his sweaty forehead trying to remember the route Von Robles’ goons had brought him here by. Who was he kidding? Fifteen frigging minutes? He’d consider himself lucky if he somehow managed to find his way back to the helicopter pad in the allotted time, much less search for other hostages! Oh Jeez...
Fourteen minutes...
Okay ... the corridor was clear ... too clear, Artie fretted, as he skulked across the hallway. Where had everybody suddenly gone to? What was going on topside that would cause someone as wary as Von Robles to leave his prisoners unattended? And, most importantly, why was he talking to himself? That wasn’t a good sign. No time to think ... just keep moving!
A series of unpromising steel doors lined each side of the corridor. Each door, like the one he had just stepped through, had a dead bolt securing them; upon closer inspection he noticed no key lock. Artie never considered himself a religious man, but he still thanked God whenever good fortune smiled upon him like this...
Thirteen minutes...
The first cell he checked, the one opposite of his, was vacant. The dead bolt slid open and echoed in the abandoned room with the same ominous sound that dead bolts always made in prison movies. There was nothing in the cabin but the stark white tiled walls and stainless steel operating equipment that he imagined must have filled each of the rooms. No time to stand and wonder how many victims had been ghoulishly bled to death in here ... he had to keep going...
He found the next two cabins in the same condition as the first, primed and ready for whatever diabolical procedures were performed there, but still cold and empty. What if Ernie, the lawyer, and his girlfriend were already dead? An icy spasm made his whole body shiver at that thought. He had to stay focused on the job at hand ... no time to think about the prospect of that!
Still no sign of life in the carpeted corridor. You would think that with all of the wheezing and puffing he was doing someone would have come to investigate!
Twelve minutes...
The fourth door...
“Ernie!”
The old man was motionless. The only thing holding his head from falling into his chest was the strap pulled taut against his forehead.
“Ernie!” Geiger shouted again, as he dashed over to the table. “Aw, buddy... Am I glad to see ya! We’ve come to get you outta here!”
Cal’s father looked like a skeleton wrapped in beige tissue paper. His wispy blue veins surfaced through his thin skin like road maps and his eyes were as dark as the holes in a bowling ball.
“Come on, Ernie!” the deputy implored as he checked under the old man’s eyelids. “I know you’re in there! I can still smell the stinkin’ rum on your breath!”
The tip of the senior Mackey’s pasty white tongue poked out between his cracked lips. “What the hell took you so long?” he groaned.
Geiger unfastened the strap holding the old man’s head in place and then quickly worked his way around the table, undoing the rest of the bindings. “You’ve gotta help me here, Ernie. We don’t have much time!”
The urgency in the deputy’s voice was indisputable, but the old man could only move so fast. As much as the soul of the cop wanted to bolt out of this room and kick the ass of any of those bums that had turned him into a pincushion, it was the body of a decrepit alcoholic that prevented it.
Ten minutes...
With one of Ernie’s arms draped around his neck, the deputy was practically carrying the old man. Mackey’s feet tried to function, but in actuality they were doing little more than dragging across the ornate carpeting.
“Did you see them bring anyone else here, Ernie?”
The old man’s head wobbled back and forth like one of those toy baseball players with the spring-loaded, oversized heads. “Where is here, Deputy? Where the hell are we?”
Pulling Ernie along was like dragging an anchor.
“You’ve gotta focus, Ernie. We think Bushkin is onboard too. Did you see any sign of him?”
The old man’s eyes were crusted over and he was having a hard time keeping them open. “The lawyer?”
The physical strain was evident in Geiger’s constant panting. “Yeah, Bushkin, the lawyer!”
“You’re wasting the last few minutes I may have in this world looking for a God-damned lawyer?”
Ernie’s skewed insight even managed to get Geiger to crack a smile. “Wait here,” the deputy directed as he helped the old man rest against the bulkhead. “I’ve gotta check the rest of these cells, and it’ll take me forever unless I do it on my own.”
The old man, Cal’s father, grabbed his arm. “You’re not gonna leave me, right?”
Geiger looked at the old man right in the eye. “I always get you home, Ernie. Your son and I are gonna get out of here in one piece ... that I promise. And when we do, he said with a confident smile, the first round’s on you!”
Ernie held up a trembling thumb. “Amen to that, brother!”
Nine minutes...
Cal had also been pleasantly surprised by the lack of resistance. After prowling like a cat burglar through one nondescript passageway after another, he began to relax. As far as he could see, there wasn’t even the slightest trace of anyone else down here, so he picked up his pace and slid down every ladder he came to, heading even further into the bowels of the Nocturne.
His surroundings grew darker and danker as he ferreted his way toward his objective. All he had to do was follow the sound. As the noise grew louder, he knew he was getting closer.
It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. Steel drums. The engine compartment was full of them. Amid the labyrinth of steam pipes and electrical conduit, they sat there like the Promised Land. Fifty-five gallon drums filled to the brim with marine grade fuel. More than enough to send this juggernaut plunging to the seabed like a ton of bricks.
Setting the fuse would require a bit of guesswork. He had already found a wreathe of cotton line that would do the job nicely. That was a stroke of luck. Most boat owners nowadays prefer to carry ropes made from nylon for its inherent strength, but the problem is these lines don’t burn—they melt. Leave it to Von Robles to be a traditional kind of guy!
He checked his watch ... less than nine minutes. He pulled twelve arm-lengths of line from the coil, cut it with his blade, and tossed the rest aside. Using his ankle knife once again to pry the metal cap out of the centermost drum, he slipped about two feet of the rope inside. He laid the rest of the line along the floor and then doused it with the remainder of the rubbing alcohol. This was just an added incentive to assure a steady burn. It was amazing the tricks of the trade one could remember when the situation called for it.
He pulled out the guard’s lighter, lit the fuse, and watched for a second as the blue flame engulfed the end of the rope. Slow and steady, the fire swallowed the line just like it was supposed to.
Eight minutes left...
Cal should have marked his trail with bread crumbs. All he knew was up. That’s all he cared about now ... up. Up would take him where he needed to go... Up to fresh air... Up to blue sky... Up to anywhere but here...
There would be no taking of elevators on this run ... too risky. He hit the first
ladder at full speed, ascending the metal rungs like a telephone lineman. Sliding down the ladders was far easier on his legs than climbing up, and he could feel every muscle in his calves and thighs protesting each grueling stride. He remembered making his way down three ladders to the engine room, but that was from the holding cells. The top deck, he calculated, had to be another two or three levels above that point. If he could cover each deck in less than a minute, he would have plenty of time to spare.
* * *
Only once did Artie Geiger cross Cal’s mind, and that was as he raced down the interminable span of the second corridor. “Who the heck was it that designed this ship with the ladders at alternating ends of each hallway?” Cal grumbled as he gasped for air. “Whoever it was should be shot!”
Anyway, it was too late to be thinking about Artie. Either he made it to the helipad in time or else he would get to experience firsthand what it would feel like to be harnessed to the engines of the space shuttle!
Halfway up the next ladder, Mackey froze...
Gunshots?
Seven minutes...
“Any signs of life?” Ernie called out.
Geiger motioned for the old man to keep his voice down. Just because they were alone now didn’t mean they had to announce their presence. “Keep it down. I’ll let you know if I find anyone!”
