The Ragnarök Conspiracy

EPILOGUE

The freighter cut through the waves with tremendous momentum. The craft was weighed down by its stacks of cargo, giving it a heavy sail en route but a respectable profit at harbor. The captain of the craft looked down from the piloting room at the tourists who paid money for a “freighter cruise,” a relatively new and low-thrills way to take to the seas. More and more captains were entering this market, and it allowed them to pocket substantial extra cash.

The cruise passengers were usually the very young, lots of college kids, low on cash but high on adventure, eschewing fancy and expensive cruise boats for container packing freighters. He was glad to see them. Not only did they bring him money he wouldn't have had otherwise; they brought some youth and vitality to a job that was as monotonous as any he could imagine. Besides, the young girls were something to look at in their miniskirts and shorts.

The captain's gaze paused and lingered over the group. He focused on the one passenger that did not fit the pattern. The man was older, in his fifties and traveling alone. He came onboard with a limp, and he seemed in poor health. But he was an imposing man, built like a tank, with a blond crew cut and a hard face that made even the captain uneasy to look at him for very long. He had asked the strangest questions, insisting that he had to know whether the boat would take a certain route, underneath the site where that plane with the bomb had exploded. The captain told him there was no debris to see, but the man had waved him off, saying he knew that.

The captain shook his head. There was no point in concerning himself too much with any one passenger. In all his travels, he had come to know clearly that there were all kinds of strangeness in human beings.

The wind picked up strongly, and it was cold even in the January Gulf weather. Many of the others went inside for shelter. The blond man did not stir. He simply gazed into the sky as the boat motored on.