Primordial

by David Wood

  “We’re not far from the coast. I’ll bet he’s got a ship waiting for him and people lined up to make the transfer. The bastard.” Slater banged her fist against the wall.

  Up above, the sounds of feet on deck and the clang of metal rang out.

  “Nothing we can do to stop him now. We have to focus on getting away,” Aston said.

  “But we’re trapped here!”

  “We’ve only tried force. Look around for something that might help.”

  They began searching the small room, lifting the mattress, desperate for anything that might give them an edge. Aston pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. Inside lay an old Bible, a loose deck of cards, a few pencils, and a small sewing kit. He rummaged around until his hands closed on something familiar. Smiling in triumph, he held up a screwdriver. “Now this I can use.”

  Slater looked from the tool to Aston and back again, and then shrugged. “What are we going to do with that? Poke a hole in the door?”

  He pointed to the hinges, fixed to the inside wall of the cabin, each held with three cross-head screws. She smiled and stepped back, gesturing him forward.

  With a renewed sense of determination Aston began working at the hinges. Three of them, top, middle and bottom of the door. He concentrated, working as fast as he could, though the screwdriver was really too small for the job. It kept skipping and slipping free.

  “Take your time,” Slater said. “Those two are pretty busy up there.”

  As she spoke, a metallic bang on the side of the boat rang out and feet clattered past outside the door of their impromptu cell. They were still and silent for a moment, then the feet passed back the other way, accompanied by Holloway’s grunts of effort. They heard the ring of an air tank clipping a door frame, and then the sounds receded back above them.

  Aston returned to work on the hinges, leaning in hard and working slowly at the screw. It turned a fraction and then slipped. “Damn!” he swore as the screwdriver skidded and punctured his free hand.

  “Let me take a turn,” Slater said. “You keep watch.” Aston hesitated. “Don’t be a caveman. I know how to turn a screw.” She snatched the tool and set to work while Aston watched from the small window. He caught a glimpse of movement near the shore and at the limit of his field of view he spotted the robed and hooded man pushing a wooden rowboat out onto the water. The oars silently hit the lake and the man rowed expertly away toward the far side of the boat and out of Aston’s sight.

  “What are you up to?” Aston muttered to himself.

  The man had exulted when the creature took Carly and cried out in horror when Holloway had bagged the beast. Was he about to attempt to rescue it?

  More clattering and voices caught Aston’s attention and he looked up to see a large shark cage being lowered over the side. Flippered feet were pressed against the bottom of it and as it passed the window he clearly saw Holloway, in full SCUBA gear, eyes ablaze with a zealous fire. He held a large gun in one hand, like an oversized automatic pistol with an extra-long barrel. In the other hand he clutched a plastic case of six over-sized syringe darts, filled with a straw-yellow liquid. Aston recognized the arrangement. He’d used similar himself on large marine mammals from time to time. But he wondered if six large doses would be anything like enough to make that monster even slightly woozy.

  The cage and Holloway sank below the window and disappeared under the water. Aston tried to imagine what the billionaire was seeing down there in the murky lake, eerily lit by the glare of the hull-mounted halogens. It was nearly full night now, but the moon, though bright, was quickly becoming occluded by ever-thickening clouds. Stormy weather moved swiftly in from the south. He saw Holloway’s flashlight spike through the flatter glow of the spots and sweep left and right as the man inspected his prize.

  The surface of the lake began to dimple with fat raindrops as the bad weather finally reached them. The moonlight faded altogether as clouds closed in and the rain quickly increased in intensity. The rush of the rain hitting the Merenneito and the lake filled the air, making every other sound secondary. A wind whipped up as the rain grew heavier still. Aston stared, surprised at the speed with which the conditions had changed. But it was all academic now, with the prize bagged and about to be doped. Would Holloway have enough doses there? Aston’s scientific brain kicked into gear, trying to estimate size and weight, guess what drug the billionaire might have, how much he would need. Slater worried at the screws of the hinges. It became darker and darker outside.

  A sudden blistering flash of lightning lit up the night and thunder smashed through the sky. Aston cried out as the brightness briefly illuminated a shape right outside the window.

  “Slater!” he whispered sharply. “Look!”

  She hurried over and lightning flashed again. The robed figure had rowed, obviously unseen, around the Merenneito and stood in his dinghy to reach up and grasp the ropes of the dive cage. He had no idea Aston and Slater were only inches away, watching as he sawed through the cage bindings with a large Bowie knife.

  With a thunk and a sudden rocking of his rowboat, the man successfully cut the tether and the rope slipped beneath the surface as the cage sank like a stone. The man in the boat staggered at the change in tension and sat down hard as lightning lit up the night again.

  Aston and Slater both stifled cries as the face of the mysterious zealot was revealed in stark, white light and black shadows. Alvar Laine sheathed his knife with a grin and took up his oars again.

  “What the actual fuck?” Aston whispered. “He’s… That’s…” He trailed off, lost for words. “He faked his own death?” he managed eventually. “How?”

  “Who cares how? He clearly decided we were getting too close and needed to throw some fucking interference at us. I’d say he succeeded!” Slater spun back to the cabin door and set to work once more with her screwdriver. “We have to get out of here right now!” she said.

  The top hinge was free and she had two out of three screws freed from the middle one. As the third screw came free, Joaquin’s voice cried out from above.

  “Ellis? Ellis! Mister Holloway!”

  “He’s just realized the cage has gone down,” Aston said. “Hurry!”

  The third screw came free and Aston jammed his hands against the top of the door, forced his fingers into the gap the removed hinges allowed, and hauled back. The door flexed in its frame. Slater joined him and they wrenched hard twice more and the lowest hinge gave up its grip on the wall, shearing out through the tough plastic, and the door fell in. They tumbled back with it, tangled atop one another and jumped to their feet with grins of triumph.

  “Let’s go!” Aston said.

  They ran out into the SCUBA room, the back doors open to the dive platform.

  “The dinghy is gone!” Slater said, aghast.

  Aston clasped his hands on top of his head. “Laine must have cut it loose. We are surrounded by fucking lunatics!”

  An angry roar drew his attention and he turned to see Joaquin barreling toward him, the huge man’s face twisted in a snarl of rage.

  Chapter 36

  Superintendent Paavo Rinne ground his teeth in frustration as he squinted against the stinging rain. Heavy clouds hung low, swept along by a damp, chill breeze that sliced through his jacket and uniform.

  A flicker of lightning licked the horizon, and a low rumble rolled across the lake, scarcely audible over the whine of the engine. He’d seen weather like this plenty of times and knew he needed to take care of business and get back to safety before Lake Kaarme turned into maelstrom.

  Bright headlights on the police launch drove ahead of them, highlighting the rain and the wave tops as the boat bounced along. But weather be damned, he would not turn tail and run. He would bring those crazy foreigners to justice. He took care of a peaceful town and while it had its problems and its legends, they were known and respected. Then thes
e Americans and Australians came blundering in, upsetting the status quo and killing his staff. His family! The thought of what they might have done to Pieter Lehtonen before leaving his boat adrift and blood on the shore drove Rinne to distraction.

  Mikael pulled the collar of his coat up around his exposed neck, leaned in to Rinne, and shouted in his ear. “We should turn back. This weather is going to be insane!”

  Rinne turned to the deputy, his face as stormy as the night. “No,” he shouted back.

  Rain dripped down the veteran officer’s heavily lined face, tracing rivulets across his ruddy cheeks. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Even if the storm is worse then, at least we will have the light!”

  “And let them see us coming? No.” The police launch skipped and danced on the choppy lake, Rinne’s knuckles white on the rail. “We push on! This ends tonight. The storm will give us cover and we can easily round them up. I’ll have them in holding cells and you’ll be back home to your warm hearth in an hour.”

  The deputy stared for a moment and must have seen the clear determination in Rinne’s eyes. The man seemed a little disturbed, like maybe he saw more than simple resolve there. And perhaps he did. Rinne was under no illusions, knew he was acting irrationally. Perhaps they could wait until morning. But something in his gut told him there was danger afoot this night and he needed to be there, get amongst it, maybe stall it. He had grown up to feel his town like a friend. Like a lover. And tonight, Kaarme was disquieted.

  Mikael looked up at the sky and then down at the waves slapping at the gunwales of their launch.

  “You know, it was a night like this when your father died.”

  Rinne’s thoughts froze. This was the last subject he wanted anyone to broach with him.

  “I was a rookie,” Mikael continued. “We were looking for a fisherman who didn’t come home on time and his wife was getting worried, with the storm and all.”

  Rinne could only manage a nod. He’d heard this all before. The tale both captivated and horrified him, just as it had in his youth when he’d lurked in the doorway while Mikael, then just a young man, recounted the tale to Rinne’s sobbing mother.

  “We found the guy on the far end of the lake. Piss drunk, lying in his boat. Your father got him on board the launch and started towing his boat back to town. It was right about there.” He pointed toward the dark hulk of Holloway’s boat, little more than a shadow in the night ahead. “The waves were high, some of them breaking over the boat. I was at the wheel and your father was laughing with the drunk. He was always like that, you know. He didn’t see himself as an authority figure so much as a shepherd, and the town his flock.”

  That bit stung, and Rinne wondered if Mikael had meant it as a barb. He knew he wasn’t his father, though he hoped to be some day. He’d done his best considering he’d basically raised himself. His mother had retreated into her grief when Rinne’s father died, and never fully re-emerged.

  “I’ll never forget it. I looked over at him and it was like the water just reached up and snatched him out of the boat. It was dark, like now, and I could scarcely see, but the waves looked like jaws closing around him. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.” Mikael hung his head. “I wish we’d found his body for you, Paavo. A proper funeral, and not just an empty casket, might have helped your mother in her grief.”

  “I don’t think anything would have helped her,” Rinne said, his throat tight. He glanced back. He hadn’t managed to raise much of a posse, especially with Pieter missing, almost certainly dead. One other deputy and three part-timers, all of whom had taken hours to round up and all of whom protested equally loudly. They returned his look with sullen eyes, half-closed against the driving rain, their jackets and hair whipping, soaked in the powerful wind. The man at the launch’s helm shook his head, lips pressed into a flat line.

  Five of them in all, against seven foreigners he assumed were still up to no good out there. But five trained and armed officials against seven fools was no contest. With a sneer he turned back to stare out across the lake. In the distance, through the shroud of the downpour, he could make out pinpoints of light on the deck of the Merenneito.

  He forced the dark memories away and grinned. He was looking forward to this.

  Chapter 37

  Aston managed to yell, “For god’s sake!” to no one in particular, and then Joaquin was on him. Aston ducked his shoulder to meet the big man’s charge and grunted as the impact sent a stab of pain through the injury he’d already put there trying to bust open the cabin door. Joaquin drove him backwards, but Aston had been in his fair share of street fights and had every intention of fighting dirty here. He clasped his arms around the back of Joaquin’s knees and used all his strength to haul the man’s legs together. He had hoped to tip them both over so Aston could land on top, but Joaquin was no fool. Holloway’s henchman tipped and rolled when he realized he was going over and Aston was rattled as he hit the floor and came to rest with the giant bastard sitting on his chest.

  Joaquin drew back one meaty fist and Aston just managed to turn and shrimp his body sideways as knuckles like wheel bolts slammed into the deck. Joaquin barked in pain, Aston kept his momentum and drove his legs against the wall to push free from the big man’s legs. He rolled to his feet and threw a wild punch as he moved, exalting as it cracked into Joaquin’s jaw with a satisfying thwack. But the hit didn’t even rock the big man and Joaquin swung a return punch of his own. Aston ducked, but those massive knuckles still clipped the top of his head and everything went gray and glassy for a moment.

  Aston desperately struggled to maintain his feet, staggering without any equilibrium. He heard a clang and a grunt of pain, and then Slater yelped. As his vision came back, Aston saw Slater crashing back against the opposite wall, blood on her lips. She held a SCUBA tank in one hand and Joaquin was on his knees looking dazed. She’d obviously managed to brain him with the tank, but not hard enough to stop him punching her.

  Aston lifted his knee and drove a kick at Joaquin, who tried to twist away but didn’t quite make it. Aston’s boot glanced of his cheek and into his shoulder, but Joaquin rolled with the hit, went to hands and knees and then drove himself to his feet.

  “Just let us go!” Aston yelled. “Keep your monster and your money. We just want to leave!”

  Joaquin said nothing, but his face spoke volumes of rage. He came at Aston again, slamming into him with his full weight, and they crashed down among SCUBA tanks, wetsuits and weight belts. Joaquin dropped quick, short punches, rocking Aston’s head back against the deck. Stars burst out all around as Aston’s hand fell on a strip of nylon loaded with square, lead weights. He whipped it up and it bounced off the side of Joaquin’s head, and the big man grunted and tipped to one side. As Aston circled the weight belt around for another hit, Joaquin caught himself on one hand, the other coming up in a block. The belt wrapped around his wrist and he wrenched it from Aston’s grip. With a roar of triumph he sat up tall and raised the belt high above his head.

  “You killed Carly!” Slater screamed. A loud snap of rubber cracked through the air.

  Joaquin stiffened and looked down at the three-pronged claw of metal protruding from his chest. He coughed and blood bubbled over his lips. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief as he looked back to Aston. Aston didn’t dare move, still wincing at the possibility of that lead belt crashing into his head, and Joaquin fell sideways to thump into the deck and lay still.

  Slater stood behind, a diver’s harpoon gun dangling limply in one hand. She stared at the dead man, her mouth hanging open.

  “Slater? You okay?” Aston asked.

  She didn’t say anything, just looked at Joaquin and the widening pool of blood leaking from his chest and back.

  Aston struggled out from under the man’s legs and hurried over to her. Gently, he took the harpoon gun, slid an arm around her waist, squeezed her tight. “I
t’s all right. You saved my life. You saved us both.”

  “I killed him.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

  “You had no choice.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head so she gazed up at him. “They killed Carly – him and Holloway. And who knows what else he’s done for that madman over the years. It’s justice and self-defense all rolled into one. There are so many reasons for you to not worry about killing that bastard.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone before.” A high pitch of hysteria entered her voice and she began to tremble.

  Aston squeezed her tighter. “Of course not. And it’s going to take a while to process that. But remember, you had no choice.”

  Her body shook as she began to cry, deep, racking sobs rising from her stomach. She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “It’s okay, Jo. Let it out. Let it out.” He held her for a few moments longer, stroked her hair, and reassured her. He then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back slightly so he could look into her eyes.

  “I know this is hard,” he kept his tone gentle but firm, “but right now we need to figure out what we’re going to do, yeah?”

  “Everyone’s dead,” she said, not quite meeting his eye.

  “Well, not everyone. Holloway’s in a cage underwater and that mad bastard Laine is out there somewhere.”

  Slater took a deep breath, sniffed hard. “Right. What do we need to do?”

  Aston was impressed with her rallying. She was tough.

  “The hell with Holloway,” she said, scrubbing her wet eyes with the back of her arm. “Let him deal with his own situation. I say we go up there, release the net so that creature can get on with its life, and we take the Merenneito back to town. Tell Rinne everything that’s happened, tell him how Holloway held us all against our will, and see how it all pans out. Hopefully we’ve got a shred of credibility with him since you made the effort to tell him about Dave while Holloway tried to hide it.”