Plague Ship (22 page)

thirty-five

In bright sunlight, passengers
bega
n lining up to board the lifeboats. Most were ill, some very ill, a few appeared to be at death’s door.
And every one of them is carrying the virus
, David thought from his final hiding place. He was in a storage cabin on the lower deck, with an excelle
nt view of the passengers and the large lifeboats that were suspended over their heads.

Richard Scott was giving orders to the crowd of people, most of whom, like Scott, were wearing life jackets. “There will be room for everyone, but we must allow women and children to board first.”

There was a murmur of approval from the throng, although many started to inch forward.

“I’ll be in the water, along with some of my men, to see that everything goes smoothly,” Scott continued on. “If this is done correctly, we’ll be ashore within the hour.”

Some in the crowd applauded lightly.

Oh yeah, the Great Savior!
David thought cynically. Scott couldn’t care less about the passengers. His obvious plan was to surround his lifeboat with a half-dozen of those carrying the women and children. It would be the ideal cover for him and his mutineers. Two-thirds of the way in, they’d split off from others and be the first ashore. All the rest could fend for themselves.

David gazed out the porthole and saw the city of Nassau in the distance. They were at the mouth of the main harbor, no more than a mile from shore. And the ocean was clear, with no ships or vessels between the
Grand Atlantic
and land. From what David had read, the lifeboats were powered by small diesel engines that propelled them along at six knots per hour. At that rate, passengers could expect to reach the beach in ten minutes. But that was only true under ideal conditions. And conditions were about to be far less than ideal.

“Please help me!” a female voice cried out.

David’s eyes went to a middle-aged woman who was kneeling over a motionless man. Despite her plea, none of the passengers stepped forward. David couldn’t tell if the man lying on the deck was dead or alive.

“Please help me!” the woman implored again. “I think my husband has passed out from the flu. We have to get him ashore.”

“Move him over to the side,” Scott ordered. “Women and children first. There will be no exceptions.”

“Perhaps we should take him back to his cabin,” a voice in the crowd suggested.

“Stay put!” Scott said tersely.

David watched the woman drag her limp husband away. The passengers parted to give her room, but no one offered to help. They weren’t about to lose their place in line, David told himself. Or maybe they were intimidated by Choi, who was standing beside Scott and holding a ball-and-chain apparatus. The chain was about three feet long, and at its end was an iron ball the size of an apple. When swung with force, it was a deadly weapon, capable of crushing bone and killing with a single blow.

“All right,” Scott called out. “We are about to lower the lifeboats. You will form a single—” He stopped in mid-sentence and abruptly turned as the elevator door opened and passengers in front of it stepped aside.

David had to crook his neck to see what was happening. The crowd moved apart for Jonathan Locke and the mutineer named Tommy. Locke, looking weary and disheveled, was leading the way. It took David an extra second to notice that Tommy had his shotgun planted in Locke’s back.

“What?” Scott asked, annoyed.

“The Navy is ready to come in and begin fueling,” Tommy replied. “They have instructions they want us to follow.”

“Do what I told you before,” Scott barked. “Have the captain tell them to wait because we’re having trouble with our anchor.”

“Locke won’t talk to them unless we give him his insulin.”

“Put your shotgun to his head.”

“I already tried that.”

Scott grumbled under his breath, then rushed over and grabbed Locke by the collar. “I don’t give a damn about your insulin! You make that radio call now.”

“I’m begging you!” Locke pleaded. “I can feel my blood sugar going sky high. If I don’t inject myself with insulin now, I’ll lapse into a diabetic coma.”

“The radio call first,” Scott demanded.

“No!” Locke rebelled. “Give me my insulin or you make the call yourself.”

Scott’s face reddened. He glowered at Locke, trying to intimidate him, but the captain didn’t budge. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Locke remained steadfast and returned the stare.

“Then we’ll do it the hard way.” Scott turned to Choi and gave him a nod.

Choi brought the chain on his weapon up to shoulder level and began to menacingly swing the metal ball back and forth.

The bastard!
David seethed. So that was how Scott persuaded Locke to join the mutiny. By blackmailing him and threatening to withhold his insulin if he didn’t follow orders.
Christ!
It would only take ten minutes to obtain, prepare, and inject the insulin. But Scott wasn’t going to allow it. He was on a tight schedule, and every minute counted.

“You’ve got five seconds to make up your mind,” Scott warned Locke. “If you still refuse, I’ll turn Choi loose on you.”

Now is as good a time as any
, David thought resolutely. He gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat on the floor for luck, just as he’d done in Special Forces. He opened the door of the cabin and walked out onto the deck.

Scott spun around and glared at him with intense hatred. “You killed my brother!”

“He deserved to die,” David said matter-of-factly.

“You’re going to pay a terrible price for that.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re more interested in saving your own skin than getting vengeance for the actions of a stupid half-brother.”

“We’ll see about that,” Scott growled and motioned to Choi, who promptly began swinging his iron ball again.

“Save the theatrics,” David said without inflection. “And let’s get down to business.”

“Which is?”

In his peripheral vision, David saw Carolyn move to the front of the line. She was holding a sleeping Kit in her arms. David directed Scott’s attention to the two. “I want my daughter to be in the first boat that leaves. I’ll accompany her and so will the nurse.”

The large crowd murmured their disapproval.

David turned to them and snapped. “Put a lid on it!”

They quieted instantly.

David came back to Scott. “Yes or no?”

Scott hesitated, as if weighing the pros and cons of his decision. “Why should I give you anything? You don’t have any cards to play.”

“Oh, I have a big one.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like what happened to Arthur Maggio in the stairwell,” David answered in a low, barely audible voice. “I could conveniently forget that.”

Scott shrugged, but he too lowered his voice. “You weren’t an actual witness.”

“Tell that to a judge and jury,” David said in a monotone. “See how well it goes over.”

Scott hesitated again, longer this time. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t,” David said. “Except for the fact that I have this habit of standing by my promises.”

“That’s not much of a pledge.”

“That’s all you’re going to get.”

Scott considered the proposition at length before nodding slowly. “You and your daughter will be in the first boat, but not the nurse.”

“Agreed,” David said immediately and watched Scott and Choi exchange knowing glances. Choi had been given the go-ahead to kill him.
But when?
David asked himself.
And where?
Probably not here and now because there were too many witnesses. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Scott snapped his fingers at a small group of crewmen, who promptly activated the mechanism to lower the suspended lifeboats. Slowly, a large lifeboat descended toward the deck. The passengers stepped back and aside to make room for the orange, fiberglass lifeboat. They applauded as it came down to eye level.

“Son of a bitch!” One of the crewmen hollered. “Someone has scuttled the lifeboat!”

Scott rushed over, with David only a half-step behind. They stared at the damaged lifeboat. There was a broad, foot-long gash in its side. The fiberglass covering was split wide open, the damage irreparable. It didn’t take an expert to know the boat would sink within minutes of touching down on the water.

Scott’s face lost color. “Check the other boats!” he yelled to nearby crewmen. “Check every one of them!”

The remaining lifeboats were gradually lowered toward the deck. The rate of descent was too slow for some of the crew. A few impatient crewmen climbed up on ladders to perform their inspections. The passengers kept their eyes
glued to the boats, hoping that most were still serviceable. Within a minute, the deckhands began shouting down their reports.

“Scuttled!”

“Scuttled!”

“Scuttled!”

“Scuttled!”

“Same here!”

“And here!”

Scott bellowed, “Are any of the boats intact?”

There was no response.

“What is this?” David screamed. “Some kind of sick joke?”

“It’s no joke,” Scott shot back, “and whoever did this will die for it.”

“Him! He do it!” Choi shrieked and pointed a finger at David. “Him!”

“Piss off!” David hissed, then turned to Scott and Tommy. “Can the damage be repaired?”

“No way,” Tommy said. “This isn’t wood. It’s fiberglass, and we don’t have the time or equipment to patch it.”

“Are you an expert on boats?” Scott asked sharply.

“No,” Tommy replied. “But I know fiberglass.”

“Well, let’s be sure.” Scott signaled to a group of crewmen and yelled to them, “Get the ship’s carpenter up here.”

“Can’t,” a crewman yelled back. “He’s damn near dead with the flu.”

“Christ!” Scott grumbled, then eyed David suspiciously. “How do we know Choi isn’t telling the truth? How do we know you didn’t somehow scuttle the lifeboats?”

“Yeah, right,” David snapped. “I did it so my little girl can die aboard this goddamn ship.”

“He do it!” Choi growled and lifted up the ball and chain, then began swinging it like a pendulum. “He die!”

The crowd of passengers quickly backed away, giving Choi and his deadly weapon plenty of room. Then everybody became still and silent.

“You’d better control him,” David cautioned.

Scott shrugged. “You’ll have to fight your own battle. Besides, Choi owes you something, doesn’t he?”

David unbuttoned his white coat and readied himself for what was certain to be a life-and-death struggle. Scott had decided to turn Choi loose and remove the only witness to Arthur Maggio’s murder. Choi was now swinging the iron ball in a circle well above his head. His eyes were filled with so much hate, it was almost palpable. David slowly backed up, scanning everything and everybody around him. The crowd of passengers had moved aside and spread out to give everyone a good view of the fight. Scott had his shotgun pointed downward. Tommy had the muzzle of his gun planted on the deck, while he leaned on its wooden stock, like a spectator at a sporting event.

David watched every move Choi made, paying particular attention to the arc of the iron ball. Now it was lower than before, which meant Choi would go for a body blow first, probably to the chest.
That way he can incapacitate me, then move in for the kill. But death by itself won’t be enough for Choi
, David thought grimly.
He wants revenge. He wants me to die a slow, painful death. Martial-arts experts like him are very good at inflicting pain and even better at killing.

Swish! Swish!
The moving iron ball drew nearer and caused hot air to stir against David’s skin. He had to force himself to hold his ground. Choi began swinging the iron ball in an even wider arc, which left most of his head exposed. And that gave David all the opening he needed. He rubbed his palm against his shirt to dry the perspiration, then he waited.

Choi advanced closer to David as he let out the chain bit by bit. The iron ball swished through the air, going round and round, now less than ten feet away from David’s body.
Give him another couple of feet
, David thought and inched his way nearer to Tommy. The iron ball was swishing even louder, now only seven feet away.

“You die!” Choi snarled.

“Try this on for size,” David said and reached for his hatchet, and in the same motion threw it at Choi’s head. The thick blade sliced off the left side of Choi’s face and brain. A giant mist of blood spurted up into the air. A good portion of Choi’s brain was now on the deck of the
Grand Atlantic
, its convoluted surface glistening in the sunlight.

Everyone, including the mutineers, gaped at the bloody sight, horrified and transfixed by its gruesomeness. For a brief moment, Tommy averted his eyes. It was all the time David needed. He lunged at Tommy and, before the mutineer could react, grabbed his shotgun and released its safety. Quickly he pointed the shotgun at Scott, whose weapon was still aimed downward. Scott stared back at David, stunned by the sudden turn of events. As the surprise wore off, he moved his finger ever so slowly toward the trigger housing.

“Go for it,” David said tonelessly. “Give me a reason.”

Scott dropped his hand away from the shotgun’s trigger.

“Good,” David said. “Now place it down on the deck, with the barrel facing you. Then, very slowly, using your left foot, kick it aside.”

Scott did as he was told.

“Now sit on the deck, with your hands on top of your head.”

Again Scott did as he was told.

“Good,” David repeated, then turned to Tommy and said, “Are you doing all right?”

“So far,” Tommy replied.

“Well, ‘so far’ just ended.”

David swung the butt of the shotgun up and slammed it into the side of Tommy’s head. The wooden stock broke skin and smashed into bone, producing a thump-like sound. Tommy crumpled down to the deck in a heap, out cold, with blood oozing from the wound above his ear.