Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller)

by Goldberg, Leonard

  Coming to the end of the passageway, David reached for the door to the staircase. As he opened it, there was a loud blast from a shotgun. Instinctively, David dropped to the floor and covered his head while the boom echoed up and down the entire stairwell. In a sudden rush, the flashback came into his mind and caused him to lose his breath. He was back in Somalia, dodging bullets as his Special Forces unit raced across the tarmac to a waiting helicopter. Jesus! Jesus! Got to get back to the ’copter! Got to get out! More incoming! Almost there!

  Almost— Then the flashback abruptly ended. Perspiration poured off David’s brow and onto the cold floor of the stairwell. He began taking long, deep breaths to gather himself while he waited to see if there would be more shots. Everything stayed still and quiet. Slowly he got to his feet and concentrated his hearing. He heard an angry voice from above.

  “The stupid son of a bitch!”

  “What the hell was he trying to do?”

  “Be a hero, I guess.”

  “Well, he’ll never try it again. That’s for damn sure.”

  David remained motionless as he pondered what to do next. A shotgun had been fired and someone was badly hurt or dead. He had to be careful in case the shooter was trigger-happy or nervous. And in the staircase, he’d be out in the open, with no protection.

  “Ahoy, the stairs!” David called out. “This is Dr. Ballineau. May I come up?”

  “Come ahead,” replied the voice from above.

  David cautiously climbed the stairs, keeping his hands in front of him where they could easily be seen. He figured the shotguns would be pointed directly at him. Or would they? For a moment, he wondered if the staircase would be the place to make his move. The two mutineers—assuming there were only two—would be close together. But the space was confined, and that could make things very dicey, particularly when dealing with shotguns.

  Up on the next level, Richard Scott and Robbie were waiting for him, their shotguns at the ready. They were standing over a body with the right side of its chest blown off. There were blood and tissue parts splattered against the walls and stairs.

  David peered down at the body and saw the face of Arthur Maggio. His eyes were wide open, as if showing surprise at being shot and killed.

  “You can’t do anything for him,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

  “Why in the world did you shoot him?” David demanded.

  “He lunged at my weapon,” Scott replied. “We were coming up the stairs, he was coming down. Suddenly and for no reason, he jumped at us. I barely had time to react.”

  “Yeah,” Robbie confirmed. “He went right for the shotgun. I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles.”

  Bullshit, David was thinking. Maggio was a gentle, little man who would never go up against a shotgun. More likely, he stumbled on the stairs and was reaching out to break his fall.

  “You look like you don’t believe us,” Scott said.

  David shrugged. “You two were the only witnesses.”

  “Damn right!” Robbie said, nodding firmly. “The old bastard decided to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “Old men don’t do blaze-of-glory acts,” David countered. “They see the end of their days coming, and they don’t do things to hurry it up.”

  Robbie tensed noticeably and tried to put a mean edge to his voice. “Are you doubting my word?”

  David shook his head. “Just Maggio’s motive.”

  “Good,” Robbie said and gave David a hard stare. “Because you don’t want to call me a liar, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” David replied, now noticing the changes in Robbie’s voice and posture. The mutineer was trying to give the impression he was tough, but David could sense the man’s uneasiness. The mutineer was unsettled. He was unaccustomed to blood and guts. “Would you mind pointing your shotgun at something other than me?”

  “It bothers you, eh?” Robbie grinned and jabbed the 20-gauge Browning at him.

  “A lot.”

  Robbie’s grin grew wider. He kept the shotgun aimed at David.

  Richard Scott was examining the body of Arthur Maggio. He used his foot to turn it over, so that Maggio was now on his back. “I’d say his death was accidental and instantaneous. Wouldn’t you agree, doctor?”

  David nodded, now seeing the full extent of the damage caused by the shotgun blast. The right side of Maggio’s chest was blown open, with his ribs and lungs shredded into almost unrecognizable pieces. The liver was completely gone, but the gallbladder and adjacent intestines remained intact. “He never knew what hit him.”

  “Well,” Scott concluded with an uncaring shrug, “he had lived long enough.”

  “I hope you’re not going to leave him here,” David said.

  “Oh, no,” Scott assured. “We’ll put all his pieces in a body bag. We have to keep the staircase nice and tidy for our passengers.”

  Robbie found Scott’s last statement humorous and chuckled loudly.

  Scott gave him a stern look, and the chuckling stopped. “I want everything cleaned up immediately,” he went on. “There’s to be no trace of blood or body tissue anywhere. Select two of the most experienced deckhands to do the job.”

  “How will I know who to pick?” Robbie queried.

  “Ask Choi.”

  David was suddenly aware of how badly he had underestimated Richard Scott. At first, he thought Scott was just a headstrong braggart who was athletically gifted and knew how to handle a shotgun. But Scott was much more than that. The man knew how to plan and carry out a mission, and which men he could use and control. And then there was his reaction to blowing Arthur Maggio to bits with a shotgun at close range. He had none! It was like he’d killed a fly. The man was unfazed by brutal death. David wondered if Scott was a former military officer who had seen combat. Or maybe he was a psychopath. And that would make him even more dangerous.

  “What are you going to do with the doc?” Robbie asked. “He could say we gunned down the old man.”

  “He didn’t witness anything,” Scott said. “It would be his word against ours.”

  “I guess,” Robbie agreed hesitantly. “But they might believe him—him being a doctor and all.”

  “Well,” Scott said, after giving the matter more thought, “we can always cross that bridge later.”

  “Yeah, later,” Robbie nodded, and when Scott wasn’t looking, he ran his finger across his throat and grinned menacingly at David.

  We’ll never cross that bridge, David thought to himself, because I plan on killing both of you before you can kill me. And then I’ll put you two in body bags, right alongside Arthur Maggio, who you murdered.

  Scott gestured with his weapon to the staircase. “You can go now, Dr. Ballineau.”

  David started up the stairs, slow and easy, not bothering to look back. He didn’t have to. He could sense the shotguns following his every step.

  “And you’d be smart not to mention this to anyone,” Scott called after him.

  “Right,” David said, deciding to kill the investment banker first. He’d pick the time and method later.

  eighteen

  “I’m dying!” Juanita groaned.

  “No, you’re not,” David told her.

  “I feel like I’m dying,” Juanita insisted.

  “Feeling like it and doing it are two different things,” David said. “Now be quiet while I listen to your lungs.”

  He placed his stethoscope on the nanny’s chest and heard scattered crackles and rhonchi, but now there were far more loud wheezes. It was an ominous sign that indicated Juanita’s airway was becoming obstructed with blood and mucus. And David knew the worst was yet to come.

  “So?” Juanita questioned as she watched him put away his stethoscope.

  “So far, so good,” he lied.

  “Hmm,” she moaned, not believing him. Juani
ta leaned back heavily on her pillow before saying, “I have become a burden.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I was supposed to look after the Little One and now I can’t.”

  “She’s doing fine, and she’ll continue to do fine until you get better.”

  “Please, God! Watch over her,” Juanita prayed and crossed herself, then added, “with or without me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” David said.

  “That is in God’s hands,” Juanita said and gave him a very long look as if trying to read his mind. “You will remember where I am to be buried.”

  “I will remember.”

  “And the Little One is not to attend my funeral.”

  “She’ll demand to be there.”

  “You are her father!” Juanita raised her voice. “You will make that decision.”

  David shook his head. “She’s Marianne’s daughter and just as headstrong.”

  “She will cry.”

  “Only if you die.”

  Juanita crossed herself once more and said, “It is in God’s hands.”

  David patted her shoulder reassuringly, but he was thinking that none of the sick aboard the Grand Atlantic were going to be buried where they wanted. In all likelihood, the dead would be incinerated, because it wouldn’t make sense to put the deadly virus in the ground where it could sit and wait to infect its next host and start a pandemic that would kill millions and millions. For a brief moment, David considered his own mortality. Whoever thought it would end this way? he asked himself as he reached for the door handle. On a luxury liner with a deadly virus, for Chrissakes!

  He opened the door and stepped out into the passageway, and came face to face with Choi. The stocky, muscular Asian was standing outside Kit’s cabin, with his arms folded across his chest. He stayed in front of Kit’s door, refusing to budge an inch.

  “I’d like to see my daughter,” David requested.

  “No,” Choi said curtly.

  “What the hell do you mean, no?” David growled.

  Choi uncrossed his arms and flexed his huge deltoid muscles. “Move on or you get hurt.”

  Choi never saw the blow coming.

  David’s fist caught him flush on the forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. Choi sank to the floor, stunned by the vicious punch. He tried to get to his feet as blood streamed out of both nostrils.

  David smashed his fist into Choi’s forehead again, and the crewman fell to the floor in a heap. Quickly David reached in his pocket for a roll of duct tape and bound Choi’s hands together behind his back. He grabbed Choi’s collar and dragged him to his feet. A half-smile came to David’s face as he said, “We have a little business to attend to.”

  Choi could barely stand, but David held him up by the back of his shirt and pushed him down the passageway into a waiting elevator. As the elevator ascended, Choi regained his senses and struggled mightily to free his hands.

  He twisted and turned, but the tape held. Out of desperation, Choi tried to butt David with his head. David stepped aside and kneed the crewman in the groin, then watched the man bend over in pain.

  “Be nice,” David said hoarsely.

  Choi retched and brought up some bilious vomit, which he spat on the floor. He stared at David hatefully, then again twisted and turned in an effort to free himself from the tape.

  David pushed Choi up against the rear wall of the elevator and said coldly, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m going to get you off this ship.”

  The elevator came to a stop, and the door opened into bright sunlight. David pushed Choi out onto the deck. There were at least two dozen crewmen milling about the pool area or enjoying drinks at the bar. Every one of them stopped and stared at the pair by the elevator, unable to figure out what was happening.

  “Take him down!” Choi yelled.

  “One more word and I’ll snap your goddamn neck,” David said in a voice loud enough for everybody to hear.

  None of the crew moved.

  “Now we’re going over to the railing,” David went on, watching the crowd and trying to pick out who was the most likely to lead them. His eyes settled on a broad-shouldered deckhand with a jagged scar on his cheek and a sheathed knife hanging from his belt. “If you crewmen are smart, you’ll make way.”

  The crowd of crewmen began to move aside, but the deckhand with the facial scar didn’t budge. Instead, he stepped forward, his hand now resting on the handle of his knife. “Let him go, doc, and we won’t hurt you.”

  “Come get him,” David said evenly.

  The deckhand was a large man, only slightly taller than David but at least forty pounds heavier. His face and posture indicated he’d been in more than a few fights. “Don’t do anything stupid, doc,” he warned in an Australian accent.

  “Right,” David said and drove his fist into Choi’s ribs. Choi dropped to his knees and tried to catch his breath. “You stay put.”

  “Bad mistake, doc,” the deckhand growled. “Now I’ve got to hurt you.”

  He tensed his muscles and sprang forward with remarkable speed. But David anticipated the move and ducked under the deckhand’s outstretched arm, then delivered a powerful blow to the Australian’s trachea. The man dropped to the deck, clutching his throat and gasping for air. To make sure the deckhand remained down, David kicked him in the base of his spine and watched the man writhe in pain.

  The crowd of crewmen froze in place, stunned by the doctor’s viciousness. Seconds ticked by before they began murmuring among themselves.

  “Jesus Christ! Did you see that?”

  “That was mean, man! Really mean!”

  “What the hell kind of doctor is that?”

  David leaned down and removed the deckhand’s knife from its sheath. It was a large knife, with a thick handle and a sharp, ten-inch blade. David held the knife up for all to see. “The next man who comes too close dies.”

  The crowd remained motionless as they watched David reach for a large coil of rope and tie Choi up in a peculiar fashion. The rope went around Choi’s waist and between his thighs, then up the front of his body and over his shoulders before being knotted in the back.

  “There,” David said and gave the rope an extra tug to make certain the knot was secure. “Now, as I promised, it’s off the ship for you.”

  He lifted Choi up over the railing and slowly lowered him until he was halfway down to the waterline. After tying the rope to the railing, David held the blade of the deckhand’s knife against the knot and addressed the gathering of crewmen. “I want seven of you to go to the sick bay and help transport the ill passengers back to their cabins.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Or I start cutting through the rope,” David threatened.

  Still no one moved.

  David began to slowly saw through the rope. From over the side, Choi was yelling, but the wind was blowing and it muted his cries. “I’m about a quarter of the way through,” David called out.

  “You can’t get all of us,” challenged a burly crewman, with very thick arms. He stepped forward, unafraid. “And you’re backed up into a corner.”

  David recognized the crewman as one of the two he had seen earlier leaving the spa. “You didn’t want to lend a hand before, did you?”

  “And I’m not going to lend one now.”

  “Okay,” David said calmly and walked briskly over to the crewman, catching him by surprise. Before the crewman could react, David stomped down on the man’s foot and broke all the metatarsal bones. The burly man fell to the deck and, grabbing his foot, howled in pain.

  “Now once I’ve cut Choi’s rope and he’s in the water, I’ll throw this dumb son of a bitch in after him,” David continued on. “And then I’ll come for all of you, until either you’re dead or I am.”

  “He’s bluffing,” someone in
the crowd said.

  “There’s one way to find out.” David returned to the railing and began sawing at the rope again. “I figure I’m about halfway through, or maybe a little more than that.”

  “Jesus Christ!” a voice muttered. “He’s really going to do it!”

  “It’ll be murder!” another voice said.

  “Who gives a shit?” a third voice joined in. “Unless we reach land soon, we’ll all going to be dead anyhow.”

  The crowd of crewmen went silent, their collective gazes fixed on the doctor holding a knife against the rope. To a man they all wondered if he would cut through the rope and drop Choi into the ocean. And to a man, they all decided he would.

  A lanky crewman, in his early thirties, with straight blond hair, moved forward and asked, “Do we have to touch these people?”

  “No,” David answered. “All you have to do is push wheelchairs and stretchers back to the passengers’ rooms.”

  “O-okay,” the crewman said hesitantly.

  “And Choi stays where he is until all those people are cleared out of the sick bay,” David added.

  “Okay,” the crewman said again. He walked over to the elevator and a half-dozen others followed him.

  From the deck below, Choi was screaming his lungs out in a foreign language. His voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as before.

  nineteen

  Richard Scott glared at David, who still had a knife on the rope that held Choi in suspension over the side of the Grand Atlantic. David stared back, his eyes on Scott’s shotgun that was pointed at him. The crew was now bunched up behind Scott, all silent and waiting to see which man would give in first.

  “Pull Choi up!” Scott demanded.

  “Not until every single patient has been moved out of the sick bay,” David told him.

  “And what if I say that they’ve all been moved?”

  “Then I say prove it.” In his peripheral vision, David spotted Robbie high up on the bridge, with his shotgun aimed directly downward. “And order your friend on the bridge to raise his weapon. It’s making me nervous, and I might accidentally cut through this rope.”