Hell Ship (12 page)

Professor
shook his head. “You’re the boss, boss.”

Dane crawled
into the back seat and used the captured revolver to clear away the broken window. The van was closing the gap, but for what Dane had in mind, it would have to get a lot closer.

“Stay down,” he warned.

Alex ducked her head and her eyes came to rest on the gun in his hands. “How many shots do you have left?”

“Don’t worry about it
. Professor, speed up a little. Make them work for it. Then when I say the word, you slam on the brakes, got it?”

“Loud and clear
,” Professor answered, betraying none of the doubt or confusion he surely felt.

“The brakes?” said
Alex, incredulous.

Dane didn’t elaborate, but motioned for her to stay
low. The van was gaining, slow but steady, two hundred yards back…one-fifty….

“Ease off.
And get ready.”

The van seemed to surge ahead, closing to within a dozen car lengths.
Its windshield reflected only the sky and the green of passing trees, hiding the occupants and their intentions, but as the gap tightened Dane saw a figure lean out of the left side window.

“Incoming!”

The report and the sound of the bullet slamming into the sedan’s roof were almost simultaneous. There was another shot and a round sizzled through the air above Dane, punched through the passenger seat headrest, and smacked into the windshield.

“What are you waiting for?”
Alex shouted. “Shoot back!”

She didn’t sound nearly as frightened as Dane would have expected under the circumstances, but maybe that was because she didn’t know what he was really planning.

“Wait for it, Professor,” Dane yelled, weighing the revolver in his hand and wondering if his crazy plan had even a snowball’s chance in Hell of succeeding.

Only one way to find out
.

“Now!”

Professor stomped the brake pedal and the sedan skidded along the gravel roadway. The sudden deceleration threw Dane against the back of the passenger’s seat, but he was expecting it. The hunters weren’t.

The
van seemed to shoot forward, filling the empty frame of the sedan’s rear window. The driver reacted instinctively, slamming on his own brakes, but it was already too late.

Dane hurled the empty revolver at the approaching windshield, even as t
he van skidded forward. The reinforced glass did not shatter with the impact, but the heavy steel pistol chipped a huge pockmark in the tempered pane and sent out long cracks like lightning bolts. An instant later, the van slammed into the trunk of the sedan, accordioning the rear end and propelling the smaller car forward.

Dane was ready for that, too.
As soon as the gun left his fingers, he hauled himself through the broken rear window and launched himself at the van’s fractured windshield.

It
had to be the craziest thing he had ever done, but he didn’t let himself think about that, didn’t think about what would happen if he mistimed his leap, or if the windshield didn’t break.

He didn’t.

It did.

He felt
just the slightest bit of resistance as the windshield collapsed on impact, and then he found himself practically in the driver’s lap. The man was looking away, covering his eyes as if to protect them from flying debris, and before he could recover, Dane drove a solid punch to his temple, putting him out.

There was no sign of the man in the passenger seat and Dane could only surmise that he had been thrown clear at the moment of impact.
There was no one else in the vehicle.

Dane squirmed around to an upright position.
Everything seemed to be working okay, a few scrapes and probably a lot of bruises, but nothing visibly more serious. He knew that when the adrenaline finally boiled away, he’d feel every bruise, but for the moment he was fully operational. He reached across the unmoving driver and worked the door handle. A single shove dropped the would-be killer’s limp, unconscious body onto the road, and Dane scooted into the empty seat.

The engine was still running, the
automatic transmission still engaged and trying to move the van forward but the unyielding mass of the sedan kept it stationary. Alex was staring through the broken rear window of the rental car in complete disbelief.

“
Get in!”

Alex
didn’t move, but a moment later Professor got out and opened her door. “You heard the man.”

The transfer took only a few seconds, and as soon as they were aboard, Dane threw the transmission into reverse, backed away from the wrecked car, and then shifted forward.

Without the front window in place the wind blasted through the van like a gale, but Dane didn’t slow.

Professor
leaned close. “Tell me again why we just did that?”

“These guys are organized.
Ten-to-one there will be more of them waiting down the road.”

“And this changes things how?”

“They’ll be looking for our car. I’m hoping our new ride will give us a chance to slip past them, at least long enough to get to the main road.” Dane looked back at Alex who sat on the floor of the rear cargo area. “Then we’re going to have a long talk with our passenger. I think she might know more about this than even she realizes.”

London, England

“I want to
go with you,” Alex announced. “I want to help you find the medallion.”

The request surprised Dane.
“A few hours ago, you said you didn’t want to be involved. Why the change of heart?”

Before she cou
ld answer, their server, and attractive young blonde, arrived to greet them

“Ever had
Scurvy?” the girl asked.

They had
settled into a corner table at The Mayflower, a cozy riverside public house built in 1550, reputedly the oldest on the River Thames. According to local lore, in 1620 the famous ship which had brought the Puritans across the Atlantic to their new home in the Americas, had pulled up to the dock and taken on some of its passengers who were waiting at the pub, before sailing on to its more noteworthy homeport at Plymouth. Dane was fascinated with the nautical décor and the historic theme, but his primary reason for choosing the pub was that it was the kind of place where three Americans could lay low for a while without attracting too much attention. During the train ride from Hertfordshire to London, and subsequently as they traversed the city looking for a refuge, there had been no sign of pursuit. Nevertheless, Dane was not about to relax his vigilance.

“Scurvy?”
Dane feigned a look of horror as he considered the server’s question, but knew from a glance at the pub’s listing in
London A to Z
, that Scurvy was the name of The Mayflower’s signature house bitter ale.

“I take
Vitamin C everyday just to prevent it,” deadpanned Professor.

The girl rolled her eyes, but before sh
e could launch into her well-rehearsed explanation, Dane said, “Let’s have three pints of Scurvy, and a plate of chips.”

As she departed, Dane turned to
Alex and repeated his question. “So, what’s changed?”

“
Nothing. I wanted in all along. What I said back there, that was just the panic talking back there. Everything was happening so fast, and people
were
shooting at us.”

I
t was an adequate explanation but Dane sensed that she was holding something back. “You know, we sort of skipped over the proper introductions earlier.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.
“Kind of seemed like there were more important things to take care of.” She stuck her hand out. “Alex Vaccaro.”

Dane took her hand and gave it a gentle shake.
“And you’re a historian? But you said the Templars aren’t your area of expertise.”

“Not even close.
I’m getting my Master’s in Twentieth Century history, specifically military history, World War II.”

“So
that’s how you got involved in all of this. Researching the
Nagata Maru
led you to Hancock.”

The server arrived with three tankards, each brimming with foam and dripping brown ale onto the table surface.
They all took long drinks. Dane found the flavor interesting—mellow, bitter, and slightly fruity. It wasn’t Dos Equis, but it wasn’t bad.

“I was worki
ng with a writer,” Alex continued. “Don Riddell, doing research on a book about the hell ships. Are you familiar with the term?”

Professor
couldn’t resist a chance to show off his encyclopedic knowledge. “The Imperial Japanese Navy commandeered ocean liners and cargo freighters to transport their POWs to forced labor camps. The conditions for the prisoners were deplorable. They crammed hundreds, even thousands of men onto those ships—stacked them like cordwood. No food, no water, barely even any fresh air. Disease was rampant.”

Alex
nodded. “But the worst part was that the ships themselves were often targeted by American forces, who didn’t realize that they were carrying Allied prisoners. It’s estimated that over 18,000 Allied personnel were killed that way.”

“From what I’ve heard of the Japanese labor camps,” Dane remarked. “That might have been a kinder fate.”

“Perhaps. But that wouldn’t have been much comfort to the crews of the ships and torpedo planes responsible for sinking them. And it didn’t play well in the news back home; it still doesn’t. That was going to be the subject of Don’s book; examining the impacts of the deaths these POWs.”

“Was?”

“Don is dead. Murdered.” The admission seemed to take something out of her. She took a deep draught of the ale before attempting to continue. “He…they…whoever…tried to kill me, too. That’s why I ran.”

“You’re safe now.”
Dane reached out and took her hand again. “How did you make the connection to Lord Hancock?”

“This all started when Don requested some material from the National Archives; recently declassified documents pertaining to the sinking of several hell ships.”

“Why would those documents be classified in the first place?”

Professor
cleared his throat. “I know a little about the hell ships. There were several instances where Allied command knew ahead of time that the ships were carrying POWs. They had broken the Japanese codes, knew the routes and cargos, but if they had let those ships pass, the Japanese would have realized their codes were compromised, and it would have been back to square one.”

“
They did their best to cover it up,” Alex added. “The truth came out of course, but it’s one of those ugly subjects that no one likes to talk about. That’s the subject of Don’s book…or would have been.”

Dane waved his hand as if trying to wipe a chalkboard clean.
“Focus. Declassified documents. What next?”

“Someone killed Don and tried to kill me.”
Her voice had become loud and strident enough that a few heads in the pub turned to look in their direction. She took another sip of ale, and then continued in a more subdued tone. “I ran. Hid out for a while until I could figure out what was so important in those records. That’s when I discovered the discrepancy about the
Nagata Maru
. And this message.”

She took a folder from her backpack and shuffled out a sheet of paper.
Dane read it and handed it back to her. “So you decided to play Nancy Drew? Follow this clue and see where it leads?”

“If I’m Nancy Drew, then you two are the Hardy Boys.
We ended up in the same place.”

“Fair enough.”
Dane savored a sip from his tankard.

“How do the Templars fit in?”
asked Professor.

Dane gave a quick synopsis of what he had overheard in the chapel.

Professor considered this for a moment. “Templars are the bogeymen of conspiracy theories. They’re believed to be involved in everything from controlling the world economy to hiding the Lost Ark of the Covenant.”

“Is any of it true?”

Professor spread his hands. “The Templars were real. We know that much for sure. They fought in the Crusades, established what was probably the world’s first international bank, and were for a time, more powerful than any of the European kingdoms of the day. Incidentally, there are long-standing rumors of a Templar presence in Hertfordshire, so there’s that. But a lot of the rest is gossip, innuendo, or just plain crazy.

“
They may have discovered the holy relics of the Temple of Solomon. Maybe they found the Holy Grail. Maybe they possessed the lost Gospel of Jesus Christ or were the guardians of the secret bloodline of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Or maybe those are all just rumors, spread by the Templars to increase their power, or by their enemies to make them seem more dangerous. Again, all we really know for certain is that they did exist for about two hundred years, and that they were destroyed by the church in early 1300’s.”