Demon (21 page)

Semyaza was a few meters away when the man saw what ran toward him. He screamed and turned and tried to flee, but Semyaza had closed the distance enough to leap.

And leap he did, releasing his vessel and plunging into the man with furious desperation.

Y
usuf heard a scream from the weather decks. He turned from his log, his pen hovering over the page. Then another scream. Then gunshots.

He darted over to the starboard side of the wheelhouse and looked out the windows. Below near amidships, crewmen were tearing at each other like wild animals.

“My God,” he said. In the water, the first of the lifeboats had lit their green chemical lights and drifted far enough away as not to appear to be affected by whatever had taken over the men on the ship. Then he checked the boat that had just entered the water. And there, like on the ship, men attacked each other, turning the sea around them into a thrashing nightmare.

Yusuf backed away from the window, his whole body shivering. He thought he had beaten it, able to evacuate his crew safely. And now, below him, the stinging sound of failure met him in the screams of crewmen ripping each other to pieces.

And this meant it had escaped and was close to the weather decks. Which means it could have infected any of those men down there. Could he allow them to leave now? If any of them survived? Or would he have to execute them?

No,
he thought.
I cannot execute them.
And he needed to get those men in the other lifeboat, the ones who had made it clear of the madness, rescued.

Yusuf ran over to the bridge-to-bridge radio and picked up the handset.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” he said in English. “This is the merchant vessel
al-Phirosh
. We are sinking and abandoning ship. Request immediate assistance. I repeat: mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the merchant vessel
al-Phirosh
. We are sinking and abandoning ship. Request immediate assistance. Something is killing my crew.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

M
ike stood on the end of a wooden pier surrounded by ocean. The water, black as oil, lapped gently around the pylons. A solid gray sky hung overhead. A foul wind blew from the sea, carrying with it the scent of decay.

He glanced over his shoulder. The pier stretched on forever and he saw no land. Just more gray sky and black water.

Mike leaned on the rail in front of him. He dug into an old barnacle with his thumbnail, chipping it away from the rotting wood. The wind caught it when it broke free and blew it away.

“You need to pull yourself together, Mike.” Greg leaned on the rail next to him. “It's almost time.”

“No, it isn't.” Mike dug his thumb into the wood, pulling up chunks and flicking them into the water. “I'm in the Horn of Africa, waiting for word on who to kill next.”

Greg shook his head. “You really are a sad piece of shit, you know that?”

“I am what I am, right?”

Greg pushed off the rail and straightened up. “You'll learn who you are real soon. I hope you figure it out before it's too late.”

“I can't kill this one, right? So, what does it matter? Sounds like I lose either way.” Mike went to say something else, but Greg was gone. Instead, he went back to picking at the pier.

“I am what I am,” he said.

“And you need to accept that.” Lowe stood on his left side, still in his cammies.

Mike smirked. “Yep, sure do. Because I'm still a good guy. I'm a good killer and a good guy. It's how I'll win, right? Can't kill it, so maybe I defeat it by being nice to it? Whatever
it
is?”

“Cut the smart-ass shit, Mike.”

“Tell me what the hell is going on and maybe I will.”

“That's not important right now.”

“And what is?”

“Answering your phone.”

T
he ringer on Mike's cell phone sounded twice as loud as it normally did. It echoed around his head like an amplified burst. He blinked hard, his vision blurry, and winced as it rang again.

Where the hell am I?
Mike thought, expecting to still be on the pier, looking out at the black ocean. It took him a moment to realize he was in bed.

He sat up and his brain seemed to slosh back and forth in his skull like a small boat on a rough sea. A small sliver of light filtered through the drawn curtains of the room. He squinted, trying to find his phone. It wasn't on the bedside table.

“Will you get that already?” a female voice said.

Mike looked to his left and saw Katherine curled up under the covers next to him, her eyes closed and the sheet pulled over her ears.

“Trying to,” Mike said, his mouth dry as sandpaper. “Do you know where it is?”

“Check your pants.”

Mike turned and looked on the side of the bed. On the floor were a couple of empty wine bottles. Then his shirt. Farther away, his boxers. His gun lay a few feet away from there. And his knife. He finally located his pants near the edge of the bed in a coiled mess.

He pushed off the bed, almost tripped over a wine bottle, and stumbled for his pants. He lifted them, rifled through his pockets, and found his phone.

“Hello.” Mike walked back over to the bed and sat down and took a deep breath.

“Drinking again, huh?” Glenn said.

“How'd you know?”

“It only took you about three minutes to answer your damn phone.”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “Right.”

“I need you to get your head straight quick.”

“I thought I had two days.”

“Plans change.”

“What's up?”

“It looks like whatever happened in Basra might have spread.”

Mike stopped rubbing his eyes. “What?”

“A merchant ship, an oiler, in the northern Indian Ocean sent a distress call last night. The captain said his ship was sinking. Before he gave the coordinates, he said something on board was killing his men.”

“How do you know it's the same thing?”

“The ship, the
al-Phirosh
, set sail from Basra the night of the riots.”

Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

“You could say that.”

“Well, it sank, right? So maybe whatever it is sank with it.”

“A US Navy warship is in the process of rescuing what crew made it off.”

“Shit.” Mike stood and walked into the bathroom and shut the door. “And how do I come into this?”

“The president does not want this thing, whatever it is, to spread to a ship full of America's bravest.”

“So tell them to call off the rescue.”

“Someone else will rescue them then. And then it will make it to another city. Not to mention the black eye the navy would get if anyone found out they left mariners in distress on the sea. Plus, the navy isn't part of my jurisdiction.”

Mike flipped on the cold water in the sink and ran his hand under it and splashed his face. “You just said the president didn't want it to make it onto one of his ships. I think the navy's in his jurisdiction.”

“The president needs to stay away from this.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, it can't appear the US turned its back on humanitarian assistance.”

“What do you want me for then?”

Glenn was silent a moment. “I need you to make sure those remaining merchants never make it off that ship alive.”

Mike turned off the water and closed his eyes. “This isn't funny.”

“I'm not joking.”

“You want me to kill a bunch of people just in case they might be carrying this . . . thing? How are you going to explain that?”

“The same way we're explaining Basra.”

“And that is?”

“Biological attack. The biologic is highly communicable but survives for only a short period of time when airborne due to its inability to survive in solar radiation. But in confined places where lots of people are gathered, it can spread and kill in alarming numbers. Someone who had been contaminated with a small dose made it onto the ship. But unfortunately, said person eventually succumbed to the illness, and it became communicable again once the incubation period ended.”

“That sounds like a big load of horseshit.”

“Regardless, it's the story. The
al-Phirosh
left Basra with an infected person. It later spread with alarming speed once they were at sea. What crew did make if off the
al-Phirosh
later died in quarantine on board a navy ship. All possible treatment was rendered.”

“This is insane.” Mike walked over to the toilet, flipped the lid down, and sat. “There's no way you'll keep the crew who made it off quiet on this one.”

“The crew will be debriefed once they're in port again and sworn to secrecy.”

Mike chuckled. “And if they violate their oath?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

Mike shook his head. “What if it spreads to the navy crew later, after the others are disposed of?”

“The ship will be kept at sea for thirty days, isolated with all noncritical communication secure. If they make it through the quarantine without incident, they will pull into Bahrain and receive their debriefing.”

Mike rocked back on the toilet, his bare back leaning against the cool porcelain. “What if it spreads to the navy crew before I get there?”

“We'll address that if it comes to that.”

Mike didn't say anything for a minute or two. Instead, his mind drifted to thoughts of killing innocent people. All as a precaution.

“Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“I know it's ugly. But it has to be done. And it needs to be handled by someone who'll ensure it gets done without error. This isn't a job for a couple of guys with machine guns.”

“It's a job for a professional killer.”

“That's correct. And you're the best one I got.”

Mike's stomach hurt. He leaned forward and clutched it.

“I need you sober, Mike,” Glenn said. “You can deal with the demons afterward.”

“Right.”

“And I need you on a helicopter in one hour.”

Mike stood and turned the shower on. “An hour?”

“A CH-53 will shuttle you from Djibouti to the USS
Rushmore
. Once the ship recovers the survivors, it's going to turn west and close the distance. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours to get there.”

“What's my cover?”

“The
Rushmore
's captain has been told a team of investigators is being flown out to determine whether the survivors are infected with any communicable disease. The survivors should already be quarantined by the time you arrive.”

“And once he realizes I'm a team of one?”

“Once you're on-site, get the CO in private and call me. I'll inform him of why you're there and tell him to provide all assistance as necessary.”

Mike felt the hot water on his hand and inhaled steam. “Well, I better get going then.”

“Call me once you're on the ship.”

T
en minutes later, Mike had toweled off; he walked around the bedroom, picking up his clothes and getting dressed.

“Leaving me already?” Katherine said.

“Afraid so.” Mike pulled his pants on. “Got to go save the world.”

Katherine smirked. “Sure. I know a one-night stand when I see one.”

Mike pulled his shoes on. “Not the deal here.”

“So you're coming back.”

“I don't know where I'm going after this.”

Katherine sat up in bed, the sheet pulled up over her chest. “Look, you don't have to try and make me feel better. I knew what I was doing last night. It was fun.”

Mike pulled on his shirt and smiled as he tucked it in, ignoring the pain in his side. “It was, even if I didn't do much of the work.”

“Couldn't have you ripping your stitches, could we?”

“Nope. And I wasn't trying to make you feel better. I'm just saying last night wasn't a one-night stand.”

Katherine shrugged. “Sure.”

Mike moved up the bed until he was beside her. He looked her in the eyes and smiled. “I'm saying, if I weren't leaving, I'd want to see you again tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night you're here until you head back home. But I am leaving and, believe me, I wish to God I wasn't. So, don't cheapen last night as if it was a passing fancy. I sure as hell don't want to feel like I was used.”

Katherine giggled.

“Don't laugh,” Mike said. “After where I've been, what I've seen, and where I'm going, I needed last night.”

Katherine's face sharpened and Mike could tell she was suddenly serious.

“What are you going to do, Mike?”

Mike smiled. He'd forgotten he'd told her his real name. And he didn't regret it for a moment.

“I can't say,” he said.

Mike stood and lifted his gun and holster off the ground and slid it over his shoulders and secured it. Then he found his knife and put it in his pocket.

“Wait.” Katherine pushed out of the bed and walked over to the dresser. Mike admired her naked body as it seemed to glide across the room. She reached into her purse and dug out a business card. Then she scribbled something on the back with a pen and walked over to him.

Mike looked from her body to her eyes as she extended the business card.

“Take this,” she said.

Mike did and read her title and business phone and e-mail on the front. He flipped it to the back and saw her personal phone number in black ballpoint.

“If you're ever back in the States, give me a call.” Katherine smiled.

Mike nodded, slipped the card in his pocket, and leaned in to kiss her softly. “I will.”

Then Mike turned and walked out of the room.

A few minutes later he was in his room, packing his bag. Before heading out, he pulled the card from his pocket. He smiled again as he looked at her poor handwriting. Then he dropped it in the trashcan on the way out the door.