The shout burst unbidden through the night.
But it wasn’t Cain’s yell of frustration, or that of Baron or the Russian.
Cain turned slowly, and watched the man materialise out of the pouring rain, a gun in his hand.
Chapter 43
Going door to door, I checked every conceivable place that Cain could have hidden Jenny, but I had no luck. Part of me was relieved, because if she was in any of those rooms, then she would be dead already. No, Cain must have taken her with him. I was positive that it was his face I’d seen through the porthole just before the crazy man with the meat-cleaver attacked me. Seeing his opportunity, Cain must have ushered her away to another part of the ship. I doubted he’d go deeper into the bowels, now that he realised a rescue party was on board. A stronger likelihood would be that he had taken her up; to use Jenny as a hostage. That was the theory, but I’d still to continue my search.
A set of double doors opened into a galley. The place stank of spoiled food and unwashed bodies, and nicotine-laden stains coloured everything a deep tan. Though not somewhere I’d like to sit down and eat, it was still one of the cleanest rooms I’d come across on the Queen Sofia. My vision flashed to a stain on a distant table. Moving quickly, I went to check and saw something that brought bile into my throat. There was a fan of blood on the table, punctuated at the narrow end by a shallow nick in the tabletop. I could guess what had happened there, but didn’t want to think who had lost a digit to Cain’s blade. I had the sudden urge to kick the table over, to demolish it beyond recognition, but what purpose would that serve? Better that I go find the bastard who had made Jenny suffer.
My boot scuffed something: a severed finger. I scanned the floor and there was another. Over by the wall was yet another, and something tiny that could have only been a toe. In my time I’ve seen many horrific sights, but there was something so disturbing about the presence of those scattered digits that I almost vomited. I headed for the nearest door and was surprised to find a narrow vestibule, and a set of stairs leading upwards. On the third stair up there was a droplet of blood, more blood on the next step. It appeared that Cain had taken Jenny that way, and that she was still bleeding. The son of a bitch had hacked off one of her fingers, and my only grateful thought was that the other digits on the floor had been too thick and long to have belonged to her.
I went up the stairs warily, my SIG held poised to shoot. Last time we’d fought Tubal Cain he’d been in hiding and had ambushed Rink. Only Rink’s supercharged reactions had saved him from having his throat opened wide by Cain’s knife. The scar on Rink’s chin was a sore reminder of how close he’d come to death, though.
The droplets of blood led me upwards, like the breadcrumbs in some insane version of the Hansel and Gretel tale. In that story there’d been a cannibalistic witch plotting to devour children, but even the old hag was nowhere near as much of a monster as Cain. Throwing caution aside, I went up the stairs three at a time and banged out of a door and on to a rain-swept deck.
In front of me were the towers of stacked containers, behind me the aft of the ship. I swung round, seeking movement, but the downpour made it difficult to see far. I headed forward, following the wall of the steel containers along the starboard rail. Any second, I thought, and I’d find Cain. My nerves were strung taut, and adrenalin began to flood my senses. I had my game face on.
‘Where the fuck are you, Cain?’ I whispered, confident that I wouldn’t be heard over the drumming of rain and the groaning of the shifting containers.
Then, a second thought struck me. What had become of Ray Hartlaub?
Chapter 44
The man approaching with his gun extended in both hands didn’t look like he’d the strength to support the gun much longer. His face was smeared with grease, but looked very pale between the streaks, and blood pooled on the deck beneath his boots. He was dying but he could still drill the three of them full of bullets before his strength gave out.
Cain had no clue who the man was, but he’d a good idea why he was here. He was a friend of Joe Hunter who’d come to help save Jennifer from the nasty Harvestman. Cain shook his head. Hell, a few moments earlier he might have even stood a chance. The old chaos factor had definitely kicked in.
‘Drop your fucking weapons!’
Cain held his hands out to his side, allowed the Tanto to fall on to the deck. He nudged it away with the toe of his shoe. Baron wasn’t as happy to relinquish his gun, and the man jabbed his barrel at him. Finally Baron allowed the gun to fall to the deck. It clattered on the metal, sliding away as the deck pitched on a high wave. The sudden surge meant the gunman also staggered, and Cain noted that his left leg could barely sustain his weight.
‘Which one of you motherfuckers is Tubal Cain?’ the stranger asked as he shuffled closer.
Cain understood what would happen should he reveal his identity. He jabbed a finger at the tall Russian. The man glanced at the crewman, but he was not taken in. He returned his attention to Cain, looked him up and down. The man could barely focus, being so close to fainting. ‘What’s up, Cain? Too much of a coward to man up to who you are?’
Cain chuckled.
The man lowered his head slightly, peering at Cain from under heavy brows, and suddenly his gaze was fixed. ‘Try laughing this off, asshole.’
The man fired.
Cain jerked, but it was at the scream of the tall Russian as he took the bullet in his gut. The Russian fell to his knees, both hands grabbing at his wound.
The stranger pointed at the mortally wounded man. ‘See, that’s how I feel right now. I’m in the same kind of pain as he is, and that thoroughly pisses me off. So if I were you, I’d stop the fucking wisecracks before I do the same to you.’
Cain wondered why the man hadn’t simply shot him. ‘You’re Walter Conrad’s man?’
‘Was, but I see things clearly now. I came here to take you back to Fort Conchar.’ The man grimaced in agony. ‘But I’ve changed my mind.’
‘So what’s the alternative? A clean death?’
‘That’s right.’
‘For me or for you?’
‘You, asshole.’
‘Wrong!’ Cain yelled.
From out of the shadows to the stranger’s right came another figure and he too had a gun raised.
Confused by Cain’s shout, the stranger reacted too late. He was now faced by three targets and had no idea which one of them to shoot first. He should have chosen the newcomer.
It was the driver, Pete Eckhart, who’d come with Cain from Baltimore. He stepped up close to the stranger and shot him in the side. The bullet hit like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to his ribs and he staggered. His left leg buckled under him and he went down on one knee. Eckhart swung the gun to shoot again, but even mortally wounded the guy still had some fight in him. He brought round his own gun and fired, taking out Eckhart’s groin. Eckhart screamed and dropped his gun, then went down on the deck, the blood pooling around him so viscous that even the pouring rain failed to dissipate it.
‘You goddamn…’ The stranger tried to target his gun again.
Cain was already on the move. But so was Baron. The man flew like a hawk, his hand reaching under his belt as he swooped towards the injured man. Before the stranger could fire again, blue light crackled as Baron jammed the Taser in the hollow under his jaw. The stranger shuddered, a long scream rising from his lips that stuttered in time with the electrical charge racking his body.
Cain came up with his Bowie, and drove in past Baron, plunging the heavy blade between the man’s ribs and
