* * *
Hugo lingered under the stinging hot spray of the shower for far longer than he should have. On the Vichy, the crew was limited to one two-minute shower per person, per week. Hot water was available, but only during strong daylight, and it smelled thickly of rust and oil. The water in Hotel Bermuda was crystal clear, clean, and seemingly unlimited.
Hugo looked down and noticed that the luxuriously tiled shower was awash in dark red blood. Lumpy clots stuck in places. There was a series of nearly perfect, bloody footprints leading from the entry door to the shower. The blood had run down his pants and into his shoes, completely soaking his socks.
When he was done, he left the water running and stuck his feet back under the stream. Too much blood had partially clogged the shower’s drain. He took the thick terrycloth robe, wrapped it around himself, and walked into the living room. He opened his briefcase and went to work.
Hugo glanced up at a knock on the door. He scooped up his pistol before answering. “Yes?”
“I have your clothes, sir.” The voice was locally accented.
“Come in,” he said. The door opened, and a dark-skinned woman with short hair, wearing a traditional maid’s uniform, entered. She stopped when she saw him on the other side of the room, holding his pistol along his leg. She was carrying a large pile of paper-wrapped bundles. Her eyes widened in shock. “Place them on the bed, please,” he said.
She nodded and turned toward the bed. She’d taken two steps when she saw the line of bloody footprints from the door to the bathroom and the big pile of blood-soaked clothing on the tile floor. She swallowed.
“Are you here for the laundry too?”
“Yesa’ sir,” she said and carefully laid the bundle on the bed.
Hugo glanced at his open briefcase, then walked across the bedroom. Her eyes followed him like a deer observing a wolf. In the bathroom, he removed the belt from his pants, as well as a couple of items from the pockets. He placed the items in a pile, then took the bloody towel he’d used to clean his face and wrapped his clothes in it. The towel was almost immediately soaked through.
“Here you are,” he said and held the bundle out to her. She looked at it as though he were handing her a basket of cobras.
After a second, she accepted the bloody bundle and retreated through the door. As she left, Hugo could see a pair of uniformed men in the hallway. They didn’t have rifles, but one had a pistol on his hip. Hugo nodded as the fearful maid closed the door, then began looking through the packages.
He heard another knock as he was buttoning up his shirt. Whoever sent the clothes hadn’t known his size, so they’d sent a range based on Elan’s description.
“Yes?” he called.
“Mr. Legrand, I am Edward Colburn, chief of security for Bermuda. Might I come in?” he asked in a refined and almost perfect British accent.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, and Colburn walked in. He wore the same uniform as the other island security personnel, only he wore it like he’d worn a uniform all his life. He wasn’t as dark skinned as many of the island’s occupants. However, he was the first person of African descent Hugo had seen in a position of authority on Bermuda.
“Mr. Legrand, I trust you are well?’
“Well enough,” Hugo said. Returning to the bathroom, he took a washcloth and began cleaning off his belt and holster. Colburn stayed by the door and watched without comment. Hugo carefully wiped the blood off his gun before holstering it, then did the same with his knife. The new suit jacket they’d brought him covered the weapons perfectly. Lastly, he closed his briefcase.
“That a BayComm 5000?” Colburn asked.
“You know technology?”
“Yes, sir, I was an apprentice tech when the world exploded. Those were used for many things, if I recall, from cybernetic control to over-the-horizon communications.”
“I don’t use a tenth of its capabilities.” Hugo gestured at it with a shrug. “I use it to stay in contact with the Vichy. I thought I should let them know what happened.”
“So they can come to your aid?”
Hugo chuckled and shook his head. “No, my good man, so they can flee, if necessary. My people are far more important than my life.”
“A sign of a good leader.”
Hugo grunted and nodded, then shrugged. “I’m not sure what makes a good leader. I just do what I have to do.”
“I have no doubt. Mr. Olchern sends his regards.” Colburn gestured at the packages of food. “And his apologies for what happened. He also sends his thanks.”
“Thanks? For what?”
“For saving his son’s life.”
Hugo looked at Colburn who was staring at him with piercing eyes. “I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”
“Perhaps. We owe you for something else, as well.”
“What’s that?”
Colburn smiled and gestured toward the door. “Please, come with me.”
* * *
The vehicle waiting outside the Hotel Bermuda was a big old crew cab pickup truck, its back full of men in military uniforms, carrying weapons. The truck was painted white with red stripes and had a flashing blue light on top, as if there were any doubt it was official. One of the men was holding the cab’s back door open for Hugo and Colburn. He saluted when he saw the security chief.
Hugo got in without question, and the truck pulled away. They drove down the main road heading south, then east at a steady 20-30 kilometers per hour. People gave way quickly as the truck approached. The driver only had to use the horn a couple of times.
After they’d driven for a few minutes, Hugo asked, “Am I under arrest, Chief?”
The big man looked at him seriously, then laughed. “No, no, not at all. If you’ll just bear with me for a few more minutes…” He looked out the window, apparently getting his bearings. They’d just turned and were crossing a bridge over a causeway. When they reached the other side, Hugo saw a huge expanse of concrete and solar panels. “This was once our airport, but it is now a solar farm and a regular farm. We keep a runway in usable condition, but it’s been five years since a plane landed. It’s still in the hangar. It belonged to a former corporate bigwig who tried to escape from the old US mainland to Russia. He ran out of fuel.”
“What happened to the corporate people on board?” Hugo asked. Chief Colburn’s smile was tiny, and he didn’t respond.
They skirted the former airport, eventually crossing a bridge onto another island. St. George’s Island, Hugo thought. As they exited the bridge, he heard gunshots. Hugo sat up straighter and listened intently.
Chief Colburn noticed and smiled. “Yes, this is the other thing you did for us. You see, the last refugees we took in arrived ten years ago. We were in the midst of many projects to make Bermuda as self-sufficient as possible. Five ships arrived carrying just over 3,000 people. About half were adults. They were settled, here, on St. George’s.
“Mr. Olchern decided it would be beneficial to take them in and, initially, it was. However, when the skilled work ended, they had to take on increasingly menial tasks to survive. The children grew up disaffected, which manifested in the violence you experienced.”
A flurry of gunfire roared near them as the truck came to a stop and the uniformed men piled out of the back. Hugo watched them load their weapons and run into the buildings. The area smelled of smoke and gunpowder, like any other combat zone. Somewhere, a person was screaming. The attack on Elan Olchern had unleashed a small war in the little island nation.
“I have work to do, so I will have my man drive you back to the hotel. Rest and recover, and we will talk more tomorrow.”
“How long should this operation take?” Hugo asked.
“We are being as careful as possible. Skilled trade people are as hard to replace as bullets. However, they are fighting back. That is a mistake.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe a week. Do not concern yourself. None of the workers we need to conduct a trad
e with you are employed here.”
“Thank you,” Hugo said. A bullet sprang off the roof of the truck.
Chief Colburn laughed. “No, Mr. Legrand, thank you!” He opened his door and jumped out to join the men behind cover. The driver spun the truck around and raced away from the fighting. As they drove away, Hugo saw faces of despair.
* * *
“Mr. Legrand.” Deputy Customs Director Jacob Lee walked up to Hugo’s table just as the waiter was refilling his tea. Breakfast was eggs, biscuits, fresh fish, a slice of orange, and a glass of mango juice. He’d asked the waiter what he usually had for breakfast, but the man simply bowed and smiled.
“Good morning, Director Lee,” Hugo said, wiping his mouth. “Care to join me?”
“Alas, I’ve already eaten. If you are finished, I’d like to talk to you about the trade.”
“I haven’t discussed it with Tam Olchern.”
Lee waved dismissively and smiled. “That is of no concern. I spoke with him this morning, and he is eager to move this along. The next step will be for me to see the cargo.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, of course. Anyone could produce a few ounces of fertilizer.”
“Did you test it?”
The man smiled. “I understand it was given to a tree in The Tower garden within hours of your coming ashore.” His expression turned serious. “Have no doubt, had the tree suffered ill effects, we wouldn’t be speaking right now.”
“I understand.” Hugo finished his tea and stood. “Ready when you are.” He picked up his briefcase, which he’d set next to the table while he ate, and Lee led him out the door.
When he’d awoken, he’d found his original clothes neatly folded on the dressing table. Somehow, they’d gotten the blood out of his white, cotton undershirt. Either that or they happened to have his brand. He couldn’t tell. The other packages of clothing, the ones that didn’t fit, were gone. He’d taken another luxurious shower and dressed in his freshly laundered clothes before packing everything else to take with him.
He’d cleaned his gun before going to sleep. There was blood in the action, and he was glad he’d brought along a small cleaning kit. He’d slept with the weapon under his pillow.
Lee drove Hugo back to King’s Wharf via the same route they’d taken earlier. When they arrived, he saw, more or less, what he expected. Four patrol boats idled next to the dock, each holding a half dozen armed men.
“That’s a lot of firepower,” Hugo said. “Can I ask your intent?”
“We want to be sure of your intent, Mr. Legrand. I’ve been instructed to do a customs inspection of your ship.”
“That requires four boatloads of soldiers?”
“They are not soldiers, Mr. Legrand.”
Hugo surveyed the men, noting that every one of them was armed. He also noticed that machineguns were now mounted on the boats. “Looks like an assault force to me.”
“This is what we must do,” Lee said.
“Okay,” Hugo replied, and the other man smiled. “I guess we are not doing business after all.” The smile faded. “If you could have an unarmed boat take me back to the Vichy, I would appreciate it.”
“You are being unreasonable, Mr. Legrand.”
“If you feel I am alarmed that you wish to bring an assault force, a heavily armed assault force, onto my ship, I plead guilty, sir.”
Lee licked his lips and looked at his people. The men waited impassively in the boats, bobbing up and down in the gentle harbor swells.
Hugo sighed and put his briefcase down on the pitted dock, opened it, and took out the BayComm 5000 headset.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling for a ride.” Lee scowled. “Or to report that I am a hostage.”
“Sir, you insult us. We would never take you hostage after what you did for us.”
“Yet, you are determined to take a strike force onto my ship?”
Lee stared at him for a moment. Hugo had no idea what Lee was thinking, but he suspected he was trying to decide what he could get away with before calling his boss.
“Legrand to Vichy.”
“Vichy here, go ahead.”
“I’m going to need a ride, please.”
“Wait,” Lee said, holding up his hand. “Let me talk to Mr. Olchern.”
Hugo nodded. “Belay that, just a second.” He touched the headset, putting it on hold. Lee’s mouth became a thin line as he walked back to the small customs office at the end of the pier and disappeared inside. The armed men in the boats continued to wait and watch Hugo. Eventually, Lee returned. As he walked down the dock, Hugo could see the look of dissatisfaction etched in the other man’s features.
“Tam Olchern has acquiesced to your demands—in part.”
“I see.”
“If you agree to broadcast a specific message to your ship, we will board with two boats and 20 men. The boats will not have heavy weapons and the men will only carry sidearms. In return, you will allow me and my agents 12 hours of unobstructed access to your vessel.”
“Eight hours,” Hugo said.
Lee cursed. “Eight hours, then. If we find what we expect, you will meet with Tam Olchern, and we’ll move forward.” Hugo nodded. “Good. The message is this: you are coming with two boats and twenty of my men, including me, for a customs inspection. You may inform them of the men’s armament.”
“Very well. Now?” Lee nodded and Hugo pressed the headset controls. “Captain Mercier?”
“Standing by, sir.”
“I will be coming with two boats and twenty men, including the Deputy Customs Inspector, for a customs inspection. The inspectors will all be carrying sidearms. The inspection will take eight hours, and we should be there in about two hours.”
“We’ll be there in 20 minutes,” Lee corrected.
“Sorry, make that 20 minutes.”
“Right you are, sir. We’ll be expecting you.”
* * *
The two armed patrol boats stopped a mile from the Vichy. The two boats with Hugo and the twenty inspectors approached the former container ship, slowing to a few knots as they got close.
Hugo could see the crewman of the Vichy lining her railings. They manned the water cannons and other defenses, such as they were, meant to protect the ship from pirates. Those defenses weren’t effective before the world went to shit, and they were even less effective now.
Captain Mercier stood on the bridge wing with a pair of binoculars, carefully examining Hugo and his situation. The captain was doing his best to make sure things on the approaching boats were as Hugo said they should be. The man looked unhappy. Hugo wasn’t surprised.
Once they came alongside the boarding ramp, a small dock was lowered. A pair of men climbed down and tossed lines to the customs boats. Hugo was the first off.
“Ahoy, Mr. Legrand,” Captain Mercier called. “All well?”
“All’s well,” Hugo called back. The captain nodded.
“Deputy Customs Director Jacob Lee. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission reluctantly granted,” Mercier replied.
Lee chuckled. “He’s a captain, all right. We’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.” He climbed the steps behind Hugo and stood at the railing. He took out a piece of paper and handed it to the captain. “Here are the areas we need to inspect, and I’ll point out other locations as I see fit.”
“You have eight hours, as specified,” Mercier said. “After that, you’ll get off my fucking ship.”
“Aye, Captain, I will.”
Hugo stayed with Lee as the customs man directed the search. First, the bridge and crews’ quarters. Afterwards, the engine spaces and bilge. He never explained what they were looking for. After four hours, he met with the men who’d been checking cargo containers, all of them escorted by crewmen.
Hugo heard the crewmen talking to Mercier. The customs people were opening the cargo containers. Hugo nodded. After a brief talk with Lee, the customs people resu
med their search, this time going through the passenger containers. Hugo stayed back; he was way too familiar with the smell of those.
Time was almost up when one of the inspectors said something to Lee. The man turned to Hugo and spoke. “Come with me, please.” Lee led him to the second level of containers near the rear, right where Hugo expected him to. They stopped at a container similar to the passenger models, except it had an inside door. Two of Lee’s agents were there.
“Why do you have dogs?” Lee asked. Inside, a dozen dogs slept peacefully, each connected via wires and hoses to complex machinery. “And what are you doing to them?”
Hugo smiled and put a hand against the glass. “They are mine,” he admitted. “We try to act as though we’re the same as our people, but we do take some privileges for ourselves. I couldn’t leave them to die in radioactive fallout from the Blayais meltdown.” He sighed. “I never married. They’re my children.”
“Expensive children,” Lee said. “But, what are the machines?”
“They’re in hibernation,” Hugo explained. “Some of my chemists were part of Russian Techno’s hypersleep projects. They never got past prototyping canine suspension. They wanted to develop it for manned spaceflight to colonize Mars.” He shrugged. “But the technology works fine for our four legged friends.”
“Cerberus?” Lee asked, reading the tag on the nearest support machine.
“The project that developed the suspension technology.”
“Never heard of it,” Lee said. “In any event, we don’t allow dogs on Bermuda. Too many problems with the farms.”
“I understand. They’ll stay with me until we get to North America.”
Lee nodded and left. Hugo looked at the dogs a moment longer and smiled. Soon, my children. He gestured to the crewmen who sealed the container.
“Cargo time,” Lee said, and Hugo followed him.
The fertilizer was contained in ten chemical transport CONEX containers located in a secure area forward of the bridge. They were indistinguishable from the other containers, which was according to plan. Their location was only noted in a handwritten cargo report in a hidden safe in Hugo’s cabin. He didn’t know where they were without consulting that log.
From the Ashes Page 41
