Dead Men's Harvest

Chapter 42

Cain was assailed by mixed feelings.

He was happy that Joe Hunter had arrived: he could repay the bastard for everything he’d suffered at Jubal’s Hollow, and for the many months he’d spent cooped up in a cell at Fort Conchar. In fact, he was ecstatic to find the Englishman was as remorseless as he’d warned Baron, because it meant all his preparations had been worth the time and effort. An eye for an eye, a frickin’ throat for a throat.

On the other hand, he was angered that Hunter’s younger brother was a no show. All of his plotting, his escape from prison, his wild goose chase to Montana, the trip he’d taken to the UK and then on this ship had all been to find and finish things with John Telfer. Now it looked like the search wasn’t over.

First things first, though. He’d warned Walter Hayes Conrad what would happen if anyone tried anything stupid. Well, Hunter and his mysterious friend coming aboard the Queen Sofia could be classified as such.

On hearing the brief gun battle, he’d left his hostage in the capable hands of Baron, made his way along the hall past the cells and peered through the porthole in the adjoining bulkhead door. Hunter, he was certain, had seen him before he ducked back into the shadows, but then one of Grodek’s crew had attacked Hunter. Cain had recognised the burly man, a Siberian who’d greeted the death of his captain with a shrug. It seemed he didn’t care who his commanding officer was, so long as he was rewarded handsomely for his service. Cain approved of the Siberian’s weapon of choice — the meat cleaver. They were both men of the blade. He didn’t think it would avail him against Joe Hunter, though, and wasn’t surprised to hear another short gun battle a while later. By then, Cain was already on his way back to slaughter Jennifer Telfer.

As he’d been ordered to, Baron had led the woman up another set of steep stairs, taking her to the upper deck and the motor launch that the crew had prepped. Cain found the stairs and went up them, as nimble as a cat. Coming out on the deck, he found he was faced by the towering stacks of freight containers, and the loading mechanisms looming like misshapen giants against the night sky. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t see Baron or his charge. The launch was to the front of the ship, and on the opposite side of the towers. He’d been below decks for some time now, and the cold wind tugging at his hair and clothing brought an unwelcome chill to his body. Overhead, the sky was shrouded by heavy clouds and he felt the first patter of rain on his upturned face. He shivered, thought back to the warm desert he loved and wondered why the hell he was here in this freezing, horrible place. Chaos: that was the answer. It had its way of upsetting the natural order of things. But he was a Prince of Chaos and it was also his ally. It would hinder his enemies more than it would thwart him. As if in agreement with his thoughts the clouds gave up their burden and rain lashed the decks.

He dodged between the freight containers, following narrow paths as though he’d wandered into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. There he was spared the fury of the rain, but there was no avoiding a soaking because mini-waterfalls teemed from the containers above.

Without power, the ship was at the sea’s whim, and it drifted on the currents, lifting and falling as the rainstorm kicked up whitecaps. All around him the containers moaned like living things, and he wondered if his short cut had been such a good idea. If any of those containers should shift, he’d be ground between them and all thought of revenge would be finished. He quickly slipped out on the port side of the ship, searching the deck for any sign of Baron and the woman. The storm was coming from the north-east, having skirted Virginia before sinking south-west again towards the North Carolina coastline. There, by the port rail, he was blasted by the wind shrieking across the deck, and had to bend his back to avoid being thrown off his feet. He shuffled along, eyes searching for movement ahead. Through the billowing spray he caught sight of an indistinct shape and, as he approached, it metamorphosed into the small group he’d been seeking. One of Grodek’s crewmen had joined them.

Jennifer read the menace in his features. She twisted past Baron to place him between Cain and herself. Baron grasped her by the neck of her blouse, pulling her back towards the lifeboat where the other crewman took hold of her, ready to throw her aboard.

‘Leave her,’ Cain said. ‘She’s not coming with us.’

The crewman was a tall, thin man with receding hair and pale blue eyes. Another Russian, Cain guessed. He wouldn’t understand his command, so Cain decided to show him instead. He stalked forward, lifting his Tanto, and went to grab at Jennifer, but came up short as Baron gripped him round the wrist. Cain stopped, and peered into the man’s bland face. ‘Release me or lose your hand,’ he warned.

‘Don’t do this, Cain.’ Baron’s voice too held a note of warning. His gun was only a second away from Cain’s gut. ‘You’re angry that Telfer hasn’t come. I understand that, but the woman’s worth far more to us alive than dead.’

‘Let. Me. Go.’

Baron slowly unfurled his fingers, but he didn’t step aside. ‘We can still use her, Cain.’ This time he tried to reason with Cain’s better sense. ‘Hunter and who knows who else is on board. We might need her as a shield.’

‘You still expect to use her as a bargaining chip? That’s finished with. If Walter Conrad sends anyone now, it won’t be John Telfer… it’ll be a full strike team.’

‘Hunter might be working under his own power. Who’s to say the CIA even knows he’s here? You can still use Jennifer to get what you want, Cain… but not if she’s dead.’

Cain fumed. ‘You know something, Baron? You’re right.’ He flicked a command to the Russian crewman. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get her on the boat.’

Jennifer had taken the opportunity to move a few steps away while the men had been caught in the tense moment. Now, as the Russian turned for her again, she shook her head adamantly, refusing to get on the lifeboat.

‘Do not try me, woman!’ Cain roared. ‘Baron has just won you a reprieve. Now get on the goddamn boat before I change my mind again!’

‘Fuck you, Cain,’ Jennifer said with equal ferocity. ‘And fuck you, Baron. You aren’t using me to murder my husband!’

Then she threw herself over the rail and into the storm-ridden sea.

Despite himself, Cain lunged after her, but it was a fruitless task. She was gone and that was that.

‘No!’

The shout burst unbidden through the night.

But it wasn’t Cain’s yell of frustration, or that of Baron or the Russian.

Cain turned slowly, and watched the man materialise out of the pouring rain, a gun in his hand.