Pressure (15 page)

It was almost dark by the time they reached the harbor. All that remained of the sun was just a dim red smear on the horizon. Carrie glanced around at the harbor, trying to figure out where they were, but again, she saw nothing familiar.

Abhi fidgeted nervously in the backseat.

“What's on your mind?” Carrie asked, trying to keep her voice low.

He glanced at the agents in the front seat and then shrugged.

“You suspected that the monster was afraid of sunlight.”

“It's not a monster, Abhi. It's just a lifeform we haven't identified yet.”

“Perhaps that is so. But whatever it is, it does not like the light. Correct?”

“That's my best guess, yes. It didn't surface to attack us until Paolo took the egg. And even then, it kept most of its bulk beneath the water.”

“Well, now the sun has gone down, and we're going back out there. Probably not our wisest choice. Don't you agree?”

“It's not a choice at all,” Carrie replied. “But you heard what the doctor said. Every minute we waste is one less minute Paolo has left.”

“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Abhi said. “I just wish the rest of my paint thinner hadn't gone down with the boat. I could do with a drink right now. Not to mention my father's pipe. That was irreplaceable, and it was on the boat, as well. I had always hoped to pass it on to my son, some day. Of course, in order to do that, I would have to have children first.”

“I'm sorry.” Carrie took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “When this is over, you can make all the hooch you want. And you can make all the kids you want, too. And I'll even buy you a new pipe.”

“And a new Sudoku book? Because I never finished my other one.”

Carrie laughed. “And a new Sudoku book.”

“And don't forget, you still owe me money for the last boat.”

“But the creature trashed it.”

Abhi grinned. “That doesn't excuse your debt.”

“You're a conniving old fart.”

“Thank you, Carrie. I'm fond of you, too.”

“Hate to break up your touching moment,” Mariotte growled, “but we're here.”

The vehicle slowed to a stop alongside a ship that looked so decrepit, Carrie's first thought was that it must be decommissioned. That notion was squashed when she saw all the activity onboard the vessel. She judged that it was approximately 160 feet long, with a beam of maybe twenty-five feet. The hull was a patchwork of different colors of paint, all various shades of gray or black, interspersed with clinging barnacles and cancerous-looking splotches of rust.

“Wait here,” Mariotte said. “This isn't the type of place you want to go wandering off in. Especially after dark.”

“I'm a big girl,” Carrie said. “I can take care of myself.”

Shaking his head, Mariotte got out of the SUV. A moment later, Maberry joined him. The two men hurried toward the ship.

“I'm a big girl, too,” Abhi called.

Neither agent turned around.

“So,” Abhi said, “what now?”

“They didn't lock us in,” Carrie observed. “I don't know about you, but I'm tired of sitting.”

“That's a good idea. My ass hurts.”

Carrie opened her door slightly. When the two agents didn't turn around or react, she pushed it out the rest of the way.

A group of clouds passed over the moon, and the already shadowy pier grew even darker.

“Jesus,” Carrie muttered to Abhi as they exited the vehicle and stretched. “And I thought that boat you got for us was bad.”

Abhi nodded. “I'm not sure I've mentioned it lately, but I still haven't been reimbursed for that boat.”

“You have mentioned it lately.” Carrie snickered. “Two minutes ago, in fact.”

He shrugged. “Dementia is common in men my age. Why else would I have agreed to go back out there with you tonight?”

“Because you love me.”

Abhi chuckled. “Have I mentioned that you owe me money for the boat?”

“Stop it, Abhi! You're going to give me a complex.” Carrie gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I'll add it to the list, okay? Sudoku book, a new pipe, and money for the boat. Maybe you can buy this thing. Although, I'm not sure you'd want to. It looks ancient.”

“Aye,” Abhi agreed, surveying the vessel. “She's old, for sure. I'd guess she was built in the fifties, maybe. Probably steam-driven at one point, but she's been retrofitted for diesel now. And that's not the only modern enhancement. See all those small arms mounted at various spots? And that big gun there is a Bofors.”

“A Bofors?”

Abhi nodded. “Bofors forty millimeter auto-cannon. It's an anti-aircraft gun. First became popular back during World War II, but they're so reliable that they're still used today. That things got a range of over twelve thousand meters and can fire, if I remember correctly, three hundred thirty rounds per minute.”

“Should I be impressed?” Carrie asked.

“I certainly am,” Abhi replied. “Whoever the owner is, they're not here to fuck around. I guarantee you this ship has seen some combat more than once. It's a good guess the crew has, too. She's not a research vessel. It's a boat made for fighting. And notice something else?”

“What's that?”

“She's got no markings. No designation. She's flying a Japanese flag, but there's no number or classification on her hull. Not even a name.”

Carrie frowned in confusion. “So what does that mean?”

“That she's not loved.” Abhi sounded sad. “That she's just being used. She's just another weapon. Another tool.”

Mariotte and Maberry approached the rusting hulk as a Japanese man descended the accommodation ladder clinging to the ship's side. He was short, stout, and somewhere in his sixties, Carrie judged. His greasy black hair was streaked with white, as was the goatee around his mouth and chin. A horrific, wide scar ran from the right side of his forehead to the lower left of his jaw, zigzagging at various junctures. The flesh inside the ragged mark was a sickly shade of pink. The contrast against his darker features was jarring. The scar was made worse by his general demeanor. His expression was like curdled milk.

The scarred man huddled with the agents at the bottom of the ladder. Although Carrie couldn't hear what was being said between them, it was easy to tell from his body language and his tone that he wasn't pleased about the inclusion of Abhi and herself. They argued for a few minutes, and then the man's demeanor suddenly changed. He seemed satisfied, if not happy. Turning, Mariotte motioned for Carrie and Abhi to approach. They did so with some trepidation.

“I don't like this,” Abhi whispered.

“Too late to back out now,” Carrie replied.

“This is Katashi Takenaka,” Mariotte said, introducing the Japanese man. “He's the captain of this vessel, and in charge of this expedition. I've informed him of Miss Anderson's objective, and he is to give you his full cooperation while at sea, provided it doesn't interfere with his mission.”

Well,
Carrie thought,
now we know why he looked so pissed off.

She stuck out her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Takenaka. This is my assistant, Abhi.”

“Assistant?” Abhi frowned.

Carrie ignored him. “I'm sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances. I'm sure it must be an inconvenience for you, but we'll do our best to stay out of your way, and not trouble you or your crew any further.”

Takenaka nodded curtly, his expression dour, but did not shake Carrie's hand. Instead, he turned his head, snorted, and then spat a wad of mucus into the water.

“Yes,” he said. His English was almost flawless, if somewhat clipped, but his voice sounded like car tires crunching on gravel. “It is an inconvenience. My crew and I are not babysitters. But now I am being paid more money than was originally contracted, just for taking you both aboard, so … welcome aboard.”

He swept his hand toward the ship, and smiled. It looked more like a grimace. Carrie had the impression that this was a man who was unaccustomed to displaying joy or happiness or good cheer. She noticed a long tattoo running along the inside of his left forearm—a series of Japanese letters. She had no idea what the translation was, but the tattoo had obviously been there for some time, judging by how faded the black ink had become. Another old scar bisected the tattoo's middle.

“You'll be the only vessel out there tonight,” Mariotte informed them. “Our superiors made an arrangement with both the Mauritian government and the international research flotilla. No marine traffic is allowed in these waters until dawn.”

“What about air traffic?” Takenaka asked.

“There's also a no-fly zone in effect until dawn, as well,” Mariotte said. “Just make sure the job is completed before then.”

“Make sure you have my money,” Takenaka replied.

“You'll be paid the second half upon completion of the mission, Captain.”

“I'd better be.”

The two security agents didn't wish them luck or say goodbye. They simply returned to their vehicle and drove away. As their taillights faded into the darkness, Carrie and Abhi followed Takenaka up the ladder. When they reached the deck, a seaman approached the captain and said something in Japanese. While the two spoke amongst themselves, Carrie and Abhi observed the ship, taking it all in. The crew was a ragged, swarthy bunch composed of different nationalities and races. They seemed to emit a collective atmosphere of danger. She saw no other woman onboard. Despite the disconcerting vibe the sailors gave off, they obviously knew their craft, and went about preparing to get underway with a skill and efficiency that left her impressed.

“What do you think?” Abhi whispered.

She leaned close to his ear. “I feel like we just walked into the Mos Eisley spaceport.”

Nodding sagely, Abhi tried to do an impression of Sir Alec Guinness. “We must be careful.”

“You'll be dead,” Takenaka barked, startling them. Then he attempted another smile, and failed once again. “Yes, I know Star Wars, too. And yes, it applies to these men. Most of them have worked for me for years. I know them all too well. They are hard men. But no harm will come to you. This is business and we are on the job.”

“Do you get a lot of jobs like this?” Abhi asked.

Takenaka shrugged. “Until Alpinus Biofutures hired us, we were fighting pirates off the coast of Somalia. Protecting merchant vessels, mostly, for various companies and magnates. Before that, we fought sex-slave traders off the coast of Yemen. Before that, a militia in Sudan, and we also provided security after the tsunami back in 2004. But Alpinus offered us more money than any of these.”

“I see,” Carrie replied. “And what, exactly, did they hire you to do, Captain?”

“Ah, well. I cannot say. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. You understand? Legally binding and all that. I don't want to jeopardize my payday.”

“I won't tell anyone.”

“Neither will I. That's the point of a non-disclosure agreement. Things were much easier before we had those. I would like to find the lawyer who invented them and gut him like a fish.”

Carrie ignored this, refusing to be dissuaded from her questions. “Were you paid to capture the creature?”

Takenaka's eyes shifted. “Not capture. No.”

“To kill it then? They are paying you to do that?”

“As I said, I am forbidden to discuss the details of the arrangement. But we are not being paid to capture it.”

“So you are being paid to kill it,” Abhi said.

Something that could have been either a smile or a grimace crossed Takenaka's face. The scar on his face seemed to grow larger.

Carrie rubbed her forehead. “But why would Alpinus Biofutures want this thing dead? The United Nations already revoked their contract. It doesn't add up.”

Takenaka's expression turned sly. “The only thing I care about adding up is the money. And now, we get a nice bonus for helping you. You need a poison gland from this fish, yes?”

Carrie nodded. “Yes. Although I don't know that fish is the right term, exactly.”

“Does it need to be alive when you take this gland?”

“No.”

“Then we can help you. There is no one better qualified.”

Carrie realized that, despite his expression and gruff way of speaking, Takenaka was trying to put them at ease. She also realized that he had just confirmed, at least indirectly, what she and Abhi had guessed, and in a way that didn't violate the terms of his non-disclosure agreement. She was impressed.

“What exactly are your qualifications, Captain?”

“I am a mercenary. These days, I know the term is … how do you say it? Private security professional? I never liked that term. It was invented by the same men who invented non-disclosure agreements, I think. I fight for money.”

“But how does being a soldier of fortune qualify you for this particular mission?”

His expression turned sour again. “Before I became this, I was a whaler for many years.”

“A whale hunter? Isn't that illegal now?”

“It is now, except for scientific purposes. It was not when my father did it. And not when I started. I grew up in Osabe. Always, the people there were poor, except for the fishermen, and especially the whalers. So, I became a whaler, like my father. When they imposed the moratorium on commercial whaling in 1986, there was no more money to be made. Now, in Osabe, the only jobs are pouring concrete for the seawall they are building to keep out the tsunamis. There is no more whaling. No more fishing of any kind. So, I became a mercenary instead. It is better wages. Plus, my children do not hate me if I kill a pirate or a sex trafficker, like they do if I slaughter a whale. They want to be friends with the whales. I blame cartoons.”

Carrie nodded again, unsure of how to respond. Abhi made a point of watching the crew bustle about.