Salt (3 page)

Ch
apter 4

Jim entered the wheelhouse of the Bravo, heading for the brig to find Duncan, but his son was already making his way to him.

“You got something from Frank?” Jim said.

Duncan grinned. “Yeah, we got something all right. And it didn’t require much to get him talking. He’s shit scared.”

“Of what?”

“You mean who.”

“Go on. What did he say?” Jim leaned against the wheel of the ship. The steering had seized up when it had run aground on the range two years ago. Jim remembered the sight of it—nearly at a forty-five degree angle on the rocks—when he did the very same thing with the Alonsa. It had taken months of work, but eventually he organised them so that they made up the bulk of the flotilla. The two ships provided the backbone for all the others to join like ribs.

Duncan closed the door behind him, shutting off any would-be eavesdroppers.

“He said someone paid him a visit last night, threatened his family if he didn’t make the attempt on your life. Had to be today when the crowd were gathered for Mike’s departure.”

“They wanted it to be public, then… did he say who coerced him to do this?”

“No, he didn’t know him. The person wore a hood and a mask, visited him early this morning while Frank was still in his bunk. But he did say he had a US military pistol. Frank’s a gun nut apparently and recognised it instantly. The guy had already taken Frank’s wife and used her life as payment for this job.”

Jim sighed, rubbing his chin. When they first set up the flotilla, they had a strict no firearms policy, for the safety of everyone. All guns were tossed over the side, and any new boats or ships that joined the flotilla were checked. Still, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility someone had decided to keep one for personal safety.

“Other than the US sub here, there are no other American military vessels. And those on the sub were all dead. All weapons were tossed. I was there when we brought it in and swept it for resources.”

“Could have found it on a yacht or one of the pleasure craft. There’s a whole bunch of American ones on the west side. What’s to say one of the owners of those wasn’t military? Perhaps on leave or retired, and whoever this is found it?”

“Aye, it’s possible. The last thing we need at this time is a nutter with a gun. But that brings up the question, if they’re armed and obviously not a little crazy, why get Frank to try and take me down with a gaff hook? Surely it’d be easier to shoot me if this guy really wanted me dead.”

“So you think this was designed to fail? A distraction, or a warning or something?”

“Maybe.” Jim thought about it. That someone wanted him dead wasn’t exactly startling news. His decisions were never popular, but then everyone else wasn’t in his position, trying to keep the community together. That it was likely to be a diversion or distraction seemed the most obvious choice. But for what?

“The other issue is whether Frank’s telling the truth. This could be a load of bollocks to cover for Marcus,” Jim said.

“I don’t think so. He even asked that we keep him locked up, for his own safety. He’s so scared at this stage, he doesn’t even care that this guy, whoever he is, has his wife. He says he’ll be dead within hours of leaving here.”

“And he said nothing else about this man? Nothing else about what he wanted. What his accent was. Any weird smells or something that could identify him?”

“Just said he was American. Couldn’t tell what state or accent. Frank’s only ever been out of the UK once, and lucky for him, it was the day he was on a boat with Marcus; otherwise he’d have drowned with everyone else.”

“There are at least thirty Americans on board. We can’t just round them up. I don’t think our authority or leadership would extend that far.” Jim yawned, the effects of the rum and the stress of the day catching up with him.

Before the solar storms melted the ice and set off the earthquakes, releasing all the trapped water in the Earth’s crust, he had lived every day with verve and optimism.

It was what had got him his position on the Alonsa. But this was beyond his skills. An assassination attempt, faux or not, put a dent in one’s optimism.

He needed someone who knew investigation. Eva. She’d be on patrol tonight.

“Okay,” Jim said. “We need help with this. You fancy a stroll out in the storm with your old man?”

“But what if
he’s
out there waiting?”

“In this weather? I can imagine him being a little crazy, but he doesn’t sound stupid. Besides, there’s nothing stopping him from just coming in here and gunning me down. No, there’s something else going on here. And like or loathe Graves’ lot, we can’t just ignore the fact Frank’s wife has been taken.”

“Would buy you some favour with Graves too, I imagine.”

“Unlikely, but possible.”

***

The wind gusted across Jim’s face, bringing with it stinging rain and sea spray. The sun had gone down, and the black clouds, full of menace, hid the moon. Brief flashes of lightning, followed by deafening thunder, lit up the flotilla erratically, each split-second flash burning the image into Jim’s vision and helping him find his way through the maze of wreckage paths.

“Eva will be on patrol for a few hours yet,” Jim shouted over the din of the weather to Duncan, who had his waterproof fishing jacket done up tight around his chin. His hat blew at all angles with each gust of wind.

“Reminds me of the old days on the trawler,” Duncan said as a wave crashed between the Bravo and the mountain, sending an avalanche of chilled water over the side of the ship and running off down the sides.

Jim leaned into the wind, lighting his way with a rechargeable torch, and headed to the bow of the ship, where a rope ladder led down to what he called the fish-maze: a group of some thirty-odd fishing boats, tiny and large, cobbled together with chains and ropes and netting.

Large sections of white fibreglass hull from some dead millionaire’s yacht had been cut into long pieces, creating a network of planks across the decks of the various boats. Holes had been cut into the ends of each one, and ropes looped through to keep everything together while allowing them to move with the rise and fall of the tide.

Tonight was particularly wild.

Since the oceans had risen to cover all but the tallest mountains, the tidal system had been strange and erratic. Some days, despite the storms, the sea remained level, and other times, like tonight; it felt like there were entirely unnatural forces at work beneath the water.

Various people, their faces illuminated by flickering candles, looked out of their cabin windows and portholes as Jim and Duncan continued through the maze and headed for the west side: Graves’ territory.

None of them returned Jim’s smile or wave of acknowledgement.

The temporary brownout was clearly an unpopular decision.

Jim slipped when he reached the end of the fish-maze. He tried to leap across the gap to the lower part of the container ship—all red rusted metal and square edges—but his foot lost its grip on an algae-covered board, and he fell backwards.

Duncan was there, though, to catch him. “Easy, Dad, you’re not a young buck any more. Watch your step.”

Jim shrugged him off. “I might be at the end of middle-age, but I’m not a cripple yet.”

He adjusted his stance and jumped the gap, landing on the deck of the container ship. As he landed, the torch slipped from his hand. He reached out for it, the grip just bouncing off his fingertips, sending it rolling away over the edge and into the sea. The float device, attached to the end of the grip, was no help.

As the boats rose and then fell on the waves, the two hulls crushed it, the light winking out in the gloom of the water. “God damn it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Duncan said from the other side. “I brought a spare.”

Jim helped his son across.

Duncan’s right leg was permanently crooked after he had capsized during the early settlement of the flotilla. One of the smaller boats had broken away and was toppled by a freak wave. Despite a broken leg, Duncan had managed to save the crew and bring the boat back to the safety of the other ships. Dr Singh could only splint it. She said it really needed a plate and screws, but their medical facilities were not up to that level of operation.

Still, Duncan was young enough to work around it.

“Eva should be around here somewhere,” Jim said. “She’s covering this and most of Graves’ spot.” It pained him to refer to the west side of the flotilla as Marcus Graves’, but that was the truth. He and his firm had tight control of it.

To make matters worse, some of the containers in his area held the stockpiled fuel and other resources, such as fresh water and canned goods.

“Oh, crap,” Duncan said.

“What is it?”

“Battery’s dead in mine.” He tapped the side of the flashlight against his palm. Nothing happened.

A crash of thunder covered his words, but when it dissipated, Jim pointed between rows of containers.

Duncan leaned in, whispering, “What is it?”

“I saw movement there. The lightning reflected off a dark coat. Someone’s heading for the northern section.”

“The stockpiles?” Duncan asked, but really it was more of a statement. “And it wasn’t Eva?”

“No,” Jim said. “Come on. This might be our saboteur.”

Like predators stalking their prey, Jim and Duncan followed the dark shape through the rows of containers. They passed a few semi-open ones, the dull amber light of candles glowing inside.

Each flash of lightning gave them a fix on their quarry.

“Wait,” Jim said as he ducked in behind a blue double-height container. Duncan slipped into a row opposite. Jim pointed forward to the series of locked units, the very ones that held their reserve fuel stocks.

Jim watched as their target worried at the iron padlock and chains. It occurred to Jim then that whoever it was, they weren’t professional. They had a steel bar and were trying to prise the lock off. It’d never be opened that way. Still, the person worked, their dark waterproof coat flapping in the wind.

Stepping slowly and quietly, Jim moved out from his position and approached the thief. He took a gutting knife from his belt and crept closer. Duncan stepped out from behind Jim and took the left side, wielding the flashlight like a weapon. Jim took the right side.

When the last crash of thunder passed, he called out, “Put your hands where we can see them, and step away from the container.”

The person dropped the bar, visibly startled at the command. They spun round and nearly slipped on the wet deck. Duncan rushed forward, pushing the figure against the steel doors, and pulled its hood back.

Jim leaned forward as a flash of lightning revealed a face.

“Susan?” Jim said, taken completely off guard. “What the hell are
you
doing?” He had been expecting one of Marcus’s goons and certainly not the flotilla’s most devout person.

Duncan lowered his flashlight and stepped back.

The woman looked scared out of her skin.

Jim didn’t blame her; Duncan was an imposing figure, especially with his thick ginger beard hiding most of his face and his long hair giving him the look of a Viking.

Susan remained quiet, her face growing defiant.

Jim moved closer. “I asked you a question, Faust. What do you think you’re doing? Why are you trying to get to the supplies? You working for Graves now, eh?”

She spat on the deck. “Like I’d work for that scum,” she said in her strong German accent.

“So you’re working for someone, then?” Duncan asked.

“It’s none of your business who or what I work for.”

“What? You telling me this is God’s work? God tell you to steal from your own people, did he?” Jim said.

“I owe you no explanation.” Susan crossed her arms. “I explain my actions to no man. Especially not the likes of you.”

“Well, explanations or not, Faust, you’ve earned yourself a berth in the brig.”

Duncan grabbed the woman, spinning her around, and brought her arms behind her back. He reached into his coat and pulled out a set of plastic ties and bound her wrists.

“Get your filthy hands off me,” she cried.

“If you start talking,” Jim said.

She spat at his face, but the wind whipped it away. Her face twisted into a grimace. How a woman filled with such hate could lead a growing congregation of converts, Jim just couldn’t understand. “No? Fine, let’s take her back to the Bravo, Dunc. We’ll catch up with Eva later toward the end of her shift.”

“Righto,” Duncan said, pushing Susan Faust ahead of him.

As they made their way back to the Bravo, forcing Faust up the ladder to the ship’s bow, Jim heard a scream from the stern of the ship.

Beyond the stern of the Bravo was one of the main fishing trawlers used by the community to bring in the nets from the edge of the flotilla, but there shouldn’t be anyone on the trawler tonight; they weren’t due for netting for another two days.

“Did you hear that?” Jim said as Duncan continued to push Faust ahead.

“What’s that?”

The sounds of rain and the grumble of thunder made it difficult to speak, so Jim had to shout. As he did, another scream came on the air, and all three of them stopped and looked in the same direction. A few seconds later Jim saw a dark shape running towards the trawler across the various boats lashed together off the Bravo’s starboard side. A flashlight’s beam bounced ahead of the runner.

“It’s Eva,” Jim shouted. “You take Faust to the brig. I’ll see what the matter is.”

Before Duncan could speak, Jim set off, running towards the trawler, trying to catch up with Eva. She seemed to move like a stop-frame motion picture, her image jumping forward with each flash of lightning.

Eventually he caught up with her. She was leaning over the side of the trawler, her hands covered in blood. She looked out to the roiling sea and screamed, “Jean!”

C
hapter 5

Eva leaned over the trawler’s railing, shining her flashlight into the water. The waves crashed against the boat, covering her face in salt water. She blinked away the spray and continued to train the beam of light on the water’s surface. “Jean,” she screamed. “Jean, are you there?”

A dark spot appeared beneath her light, disappeared, and then appeared again. A weak yell came to her on the wind. Jean was there. Then Eva saw two arms shoot out from the water. Jean stretched her head back and screamed before she went under the water again.

Blood shone like oil around her as the water thrashed. Then Eva realised why Jean was screaming. It was the thing she feared most.
Shark
.

Eva turned away from the edge and sprinted across the trawler’s wooden deck, grabbing onto fishing crates and netting to stop herself from falling over. Her heart pounded, and her chest tightened against her straining lungs as she smashed open the cabin door and crashed in. She found the harpoon gun and made sure it was cocked and ready for use.

Back at the rail, she held the flashlight in her mouth.

She saw the blood and thrashing in the water and sighted down the harpoon’s length, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t accidentally hit Jean.

The thick, ancient form of a great white slipped out of the water as it circled Jean’s position. Her body was limp on the surface now, but if there was a chance…

The shark straightened. With a flick of its tail fin, it brought its nose up out of the water. Its mouth opened; its teeth gleamed beneath Eva’s light. Its dark eye seemed to blink.

Holding her breath, Eva pulled the trigger.

The harpoon fired out of the gun and struck the shark just behind its mouth, slicing through its gills. It turned away with the hit.

The rope, coiled behind her, burned her arm as it ran out. She dropped the gun, gripped the rope, and tied it to a bollard on the trawler’s deck.

Once the slack had run out, the boat jerked with each pull as the shark tried to get free, but the barb was hooked too deep. It wouldn’t get free now.

“Jesus, Eva, what’s going on?”

She spun at the voice, raising her flashlight ready to strike someone down. A hand gripped her wrist.

“It’s me, Jim.”

“Shit, Jim, Jean’s gone over. Please help me.”

Jim looked down at the rope and the emptied harpoon gun. A confused expression came over his tired face, but his bright blue eyes sharpened as he realised. “A shark?”

“Quick, help me get her in.”

With Jim’s help, Eva grabbed a weighted net and managed to throw it over Jean’s body and drag her in. They used a couple of long boat hooks to hook Jean under the arms and lift her up.

For a moment she moved as if she might still be alive.

“Jean, it’s okay. We’ve got you,” Eva said.

But as they lifted her clear of the water, Eva had to hold back the impulse to throw up. Jean’s legs were in tatters; blood dripped from her wounds. Still, they brought her remains into the boat. Jim covered her ravaged body with a tarp.

The rope went limp.

Eva cast her flashlight across the waters and saw a dozen fins piercing the surface, lured by Jean’s blood. The bastards would have no easy meal tonight. She cut away the rope, letting it fall from the side of the boat, hoping the one she shot was dead.

She turned to Jean’s body.

Jim was standing over her, checking her neck and wrist for a pulse. Her eyes were shut, and her mouth hung open. Jim shook his head before pulling the tarp over her face.

“I’m sorry. She’s gone,” he said, his voice barely audible over the storm and the pounding of blood rushing through Eva’s head.

The shock hit her hard; she lost her balance and fell backwards.

Jim grabbed her, steadying her before leading her into the trawler’s cabin.

“You need to tell me what happened,” Jim said as he sat opposite Eva, a small table between them. The rattle of rigging and a ship’s bell acted like a hypnotic song, helping to slow her heartbeat down.

“Why would Jean go over?” Jim asked. “Grief for Mike?”

Eva closed her eyes, concentrating on the events before the sharks… “No. This was not suicide. Someone did this. Someone killed her by throwing her over. This is murder, Jim. Cold-blooded murder.”

***

“No, Jim. You’re wrong.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time the spouse of a volunteer has gone over with grief. We have to see that as a possibility.”

“You’re not listening to me. I saw someone on my patrol. I was on my way to speak with Graves—” Eva stopped, not wanting to go into detail about what she’d done to Shaley and Tyson. “About some trivial thing. Anyways, he wasn’t there, so I headed back to start my route properly when I saw a light here on the trawler. When I got closer, I must have spooked them.”

“Did you get a look at them?” Jim handed her a cup of tea and sat down again.

“No. I just saw Jean hit the water, but heard someone running off across the boards. What is it with you Brits and tea?”

“Calms the nerves, helps you think clearly.”

“It tastes like shit, and I don’t need calm nerves. I know what I damn well saw. Hell, you can even see the footprint in the blood on the deck. And half of Jean’s coat is torn on the railing that’s nearly coming away. That’s what we call a sign of struggle.”

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry. Let’s just think things through. Who would want her dead? You mentioned something about Graves. Do you think he’s involved?”

Eva tipped the tea out of an open porthole, unable to stand its awful stench a moment longer. “I doubt it. There was… an altercation earlier when Shaley and Tyson turned up to claim Mike’s possessions. I persuaded them that wasn’t such a good idea, but it was nothing that would make him kill Jean for. Graves is many things, but he’s not so stupid to kill someone like this.”

“I don’t know what you thought of coincidences when you were in the force,” Jim said, “but I’ve got Frank in the brig. That puts Marcus Graves at the centre of two incidents in the same day.”

“What did Frank have to say about his pathetic attempt?”

Jim sat back, scrutinising her.

“You don’t think you can trust me?” Eva said. “Is it something to do with Jean?”

“No, quite the opposite, but listen. I was out tonight because I wanted to find you. And after this, I think it’s even more important.”

“What is?”

“Mike, he came to me specifically to request volunteer status, and when the weather broke, it was him that wanted to get away. Said it was safer for everyone concerned.”

Eva thought about that. She had spoken with Mike that very morning, and he hadn’t mentioned any of this. Could Jim be lying? If so, what would his motivation be? To take the responsibility off his shoulders perhaps? But then surely, he’d make sure the whole community knew it wasn’t his decision. It wasn’t like he needed the extra hassle. He was already on shaky ground.

“Mike did some work for Graves recently,” Eva said. “And I noticed Ade going to Graves’ place this morning. Do you know anything about that?”

“I don’t, but Mike was really eager to leave when I spoke with him. I thought that perhaps he’d upset Marcus over something.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Eva said. She leant back against the cabin wall, feeling its smoothed wooden surface against her skull. She wondered how many fishermen or women had sat against this very spot, rubbing it smooth, thinking over their problems, their grief.

“You said you were looking for me. What is it you wanted?”

“Someone put Frank up to my assassination. Took his wife as a bargaining chip.”

“And what? You want me to find her? After all this?”

“Frank mentioned the guy had a US pistol. I’ll get you all the details, but kidnapping, assassination, and murder in the same day… if that’s not a coincidence worth investigating, I don’t know what is. Will you take this on, like you would a case? I’ll give you everything I can to help you. Find the killer.”

“Only if I can start with paying a visit to Marcus Graves. He’s been an itch I’ve wanted to scratch for some time.”

Jim shrugged. “Do what you want; it’s your investigation.”

“On one condition,” Eva said, leaning forward over the table.

“Name it.”

“You make sure Danny has a safe place. Before I came out, Jean asked me to look out for him if anything happened to her. It seems she knew something was up after all. I betrayed her friendship with Mike; I’m not going to betray my promise to her now.”

“We’ll bring him into the Bravo right away. I’ll send Duncan and some of the crew. In the meantime, you can set up in the ops room; use that as a base of operations. It’s secure.”

He handed her a key. She pocketed it.

“So, you in?” He held out his hand.

She shook it, gripping hard. “I’m in. But I will be judge, jury and executioner on this one.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Eva let go of Jim’s hand, stood, and walked out of the cabin. She stopped at the tarp, pulled it back, and looked down at Jean’s face one last time.

Pain was etched into every salted skin cell.

“I’ll get him, Jean, I promise you that.”
I owe you at least that much.

She accompanied Jim back to the Bravo.

Duncan and two crewmen were already setting out to retrieve Danny. That poor kid. Losing two parents in the same day. Too fucking cruel. But then she thought back to her family, her child, the one she left at home while she agreed to take a boat trip on some smuggling operation.

It was days like these that made her wish she’d stayed behind with her daughter. Together in death was better than separated in life.