Headhunters

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The voyage proceeded without incident. They had waited inside the metal box for twelve hours, sweltering as the sun beat down on it, before they had been craned onto the deck of the freighter. The ship was the MSC Maris, a large freighter with a deadweight of 63,500 tons and capacity for more than four thousand containers. It was owned and operated by a German company, and the crew member who had finally opened the container and let in the late afternoon sun was a big, tattooed Austrian. Milton and Matilda had stepped out and gulped in the air tangy with salt and followed the choppy wake to where the port was a fast-disappearing smudge on the horizon.

They had been given a suite on F Deck. It was generously proportioned, over thirty square metres with a double bedroom, a separate sitting room and a functional bathroom. Milton had insisted that Matilda take the bed, choosing the sofa for himself.

The crossing between Melbourne and Auckland was scheduled to take six days, but the sea was as flat as a millpond and they made good time, shaving off a day en route. It was a comfortable voyage, and Milton took the opportunity to decompress. There was a library in the crew quarters and, to his surprise, he found a battered copy of the Big Book. That wasn’t surprising, he concluded when he considered it. There were long periods of inaction to fill during a voyage, and it was no wonder that some crew members might choose to fill their downtime with drink. The previous owner of the book had marked up several passages that Milton also favoured; it was a poor substitute for a meeting, but he felt a connection with the man, whoever he was, the sense of fellowship that was the most powerful benefit of the program.

Milton was the most relaxed he had been for days. There was almost no prospect of threat while they were at sea. And Walter had been as good as his word. The money — plus the threat to his well-being that would have materialised with anything untoward — had served to provide them with safe passage. Milton’s anxiety had increased a touch as the skyline of Auckland hove into view, his worry focusing on the practicality of going ashore without arousing suspicion.

As it turned out, his concern had been misplaced. Their Austrian chaperone had led them back to the same container that had been used to smuggle them aboard. They waited inside it once again, listening to the crashing of metal as cranes hauled the surrounding containers off the deck, and then there came the stomach-churning moment as it was their turn. The container swung to and fro as it was hauled into the air. Milton and Matilda anchored themselves to one another and then braced themselves for the thud of impact as they were positioned onto the back of a tractor trailer. The locking mechanism thumped as the bolts secured the container to the trailer bed and then a big engine growled to life. They were jostled together again as the tractor pulled away; their journey lasted an hour before they heard the hiss of the brakes and felt the deceleration.

The doors were opened and the cool night air disturbed the stifling humidity that had left them both covered in sweat. The driver said nothing as they clambered down. They were on the edge of the city, the glow of the neon announcing it to the south. It was a truck stop, their disembarkation hidden among dozens of identical vehicles.

Their own truck drove away, headed south toward Wellington.

Milton and Matilda paused for an hour, refuelling with a quick meal, before beginning the long walk back to the city.

The lights of Tokyo glowed beneath them as the jet descended to Narita airport. Milton knew how big the city was, but it was especially evident from above. It sprawled in all directions, nearly fourteen million people going about their business, a billion busy points of light that glittered and glowed. The perspective was narrowed as the plane closed on the runway and then, as the wheels thudded down, it was reduced to a fast-accelerating parallax as the hangars and buildings and then the terminal rushed by the windows.

The eleven-hour flight from Auckland had been uneventful. Milton had even been able to sleep, which was unusual for him. He awoke to Matilda nudging him with her elbow. They were on their final approach.

The jet taxied to the gate; they disembarked and made their way through the terminal. There was a small queue for the immigration desks, but, with typically understated efficiency, additional staff appeared and the queue dissipated quickly. Milton thought about the fake documents and trusted that they would hold up to inspection. They had stood up to scrutiny as they had passed through security at Changi airport in Singapore. Matilda went up first and her papers were given a brief inspection.

Milton used the pause to consider the message from Ziggy that he had received on board the freighter. The ship’s library had two PCs that were connected to the Internet. The message had been left in a forum that they had used to exchange information before. Milton had left the first message and then, with surprising haste, Ziggy had responded. He had explained that he had found himself in a spot of bother, and Milton would need to assist if at all possible. He was brief on the detail, suggesting that he had run into trouble with local toughs and that he was unable to leave his apartment.

Milton had rolled his eyes with mild exasperation. Ziggy was a bona fide genius, but he lacked common sense. That had nearly got him killed in New Orleans on the night before Katrina, and Milton had hoped — vainly, as it soon turned out — that the experience might have taught him to temper his more foolish ideas. Ziggy didn’t explain what had happened to him this time, but Milton didn’t really need to know. It could wait. And, in the meantime, he would proceed with caution when they got there. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

The border guard waved Matilda through and tapped on the window.

Milton looked up at him, smiled, and walked forward. The guard said nothing, checked his passport, and handed it back.

“Welcome to Japan.”