Numa Files: Ghost Ship Part 39

"Both men asked me to give you their regards," the commander said. "Plan on briefing them tomorrow morning. Which is in an hour and forty minutes, by the way."

"Just our luck," Kurt said.

"At least you spent three days snoozing in Korea," Joe said. "Imagine how I feel."

Kurt laughed. "I'll do the briefing," he said, "but I need to get a secure message through before we submerge. Would that be possible?"

"Sure," the commander replied. "What do you want it to say?"

"It's complicated," Kurt began. "Basically, I need someone to declare a bank holiday tomorrow. And maybe for the rest of the week. Just in case."

In the last hours of that night the SS Waratah finally returned home. Some had wanted to delay her arrival until morning, but Paul would have none of it. He thought the venerable old ship had been away long enough.

Nudged forward by the Sedgewick, she came into the harbor virtually alone. But as she approached the dock, Paul noticed a sight he would remember for the rest of his life. It seemed as if half of Durban had come out, and thousands stood quietly in the dark with candles in their hands. They lined both sides of the inlet and the dock.

He saw no camera flashes, and there were no dignitaries waiting to give speeches. All that would come later. For tonight, the people of South Africa were welcoming this ship home.

The Waratah b.u.mped the dock and was tied up. A highranking officer of the South African Navy came aboard and Paul relinquished command of the ship. From that moment on, he thought only of finding Gamay and wrapping his arms around her.

True to her word, she was waiting for him at the bottom of the gangway. They embraced and began walking the dock. Paul had never in his life seen so many cards, flowers, and wreaths.

He stopped beside a picture that looked familiar to him. In the black-and-white portrait he saw a burly man with a handlebar mustache. His name was written below, as was his position, fireman, on board the Waratah, a.s.signed to the aft boiler.

Paul still didn't believe in ghosts, but he wondered if they might exist after all.

Hand in hand, he and Gamay walked the rest of the dock without saying a single word.

The details of Kurt's message explained what he knew about Brevard's scheme. And when the President and the chairman of the Fed were informed, a three-day moratorium on all Fed activity was declared.

Meanwhile, Montresor, Sienna Westgate, and the other hackers willingly explained what they'd done, and been forced to do, revealing the viruses, blinds, and trapdoors they'd planted one by one until all the various dangers were uncovered and neutralized.

After twelve hours on board the Ohio, Kurt, Joe, and Calista were transferred to a ship bound for Durban. At the same time, Lt. Brooks and the other Marines were picked up and flown back to the Bataan after promising never to make fun of oceanographers again.

Upon their approach into the Durban harbor, Kurt and Joe marveled at the sight of the Waratah, back home after all these years. Untold thousands of bouquets lined the dock in front of her, and a proper cleaning and restoration was already under way. Plans were being made to turn part of the ship into a museum and the rest into a floating memorial to the two hundred eleven pa.s.sengers and crew who vanished over a century ago.

A journal discovered in the sick bay gave some closure to the mystery. Though, sadly, the descendants had to live with the knowledge that those who weren't killed in the original hijacking were abandoned in lifeboats to perish at sea in the subsequent storm. A memorial service with full honors was being planned.

As they b.u.mped the dock, Kurt looked around for friendly faces. "I thought Paul and Gamay were going to be here," he mentioned to Joe.

"I got a message from them," Joe said. "They're on a double date with Duke and Elena. Something about going to a shooting gallery to prove, once and for all, who saved the Waratah."

Kurt shrugged. The message made no sense to him. Though Paul and Gamay weren't there to greet them, someone else was. An attractive woman in a white dress that contrasted nicely with her cinnamon-colored tan. She stood on the pier below, waving and shouting up to Joe.

"Didn't know you had friends in these parts," Kurt said, though Joe seemed to have a friend in every port.

"She's the reporter who did the story on how I rescued you from the maw of the angry sea," Joe explained. "We hit it off while you were recuperating."

"Well, if anyone's earned some R & R around here, it's you. See you back in D.C."

Joe nodded, sauntered down the gangway, and left with the young woman.

As others made their way off the ship, Kurt turned to Calista. She'd begun to recover from her injuries but looked more drawn than ever.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked. "Am I going to prison?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "A lot of people have questions for you," he admitted. "The FBI, Interpol, Scotland Yard. But there are significant extenuating circ.u.mstances in your case. Beyond that, you helped us when it counted, and you've already provided useful information about the other conspirators."

She perked up a little bit and looked down at her legs. A cast covered the lower half of her left leg while a tracking bracelet on her right ankle reminded her that she wasn't free. The South African police and the British consulate intended to keep track of her until they decided her fate. She'd been told someone would be with her at all times and, indeed, a member of the Durban police force was waiting at the bottom of the gangway.

It certainly didn't look like she was going to have a lot of freedom anytime soon. She turned back to Kurt. "Will you come visit me in the klink? I'm sure I'll be in solitary most of the time."

He laughed. "Absolutely," he promised. "I'll bring you a cake with a file in it."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It's the least I could do," he added. "As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the pack now."

She looked at him strangely. " 'Part of the pack'?"

He didn't bother trying to explain. "When you get some downtime, read Kipling's The Jungle Book. It'll make more sense after that."

She nodded and turned back to the pier, watching as a group of people filed out through the doors of the pa.s.senger embarkation building and stood together, waiting. The group seemed to be three generations. A couple with gray hair, three people in their thirties or forties, and several children.

"I don't know if I can do this," she said.

"These people are your family," Kurt said, "your real family. They've flown all the way from England to meet you."

"What are they going to think of me?" she asked. "What am I going to tell them? I've done terrible things."

"They're going to see you as the prodigal daughter," Kurt said. "They're going to find in you the reward for the hope they kept alive all these years. They're going to tell you stories about your mother and father. To be honest, if it's anything like my family reunions, you'll be lucky to get a word in edgewise."

She appreciated what he was saying, but the fear was overwhelming. "I can't," she said, shaking her head.

"Calista can't," Kurt replied, "but Olivia can. Remember how you set your horse free? Set Calista free too. It's time to let her go."

She took a deep breath, obviously trying to steel herself against the waves of emotion. She turned toward him and changed the subject. "You really should have kissed me," she said. "Back on Acosta's yacht. It would have saved us a whole lot of trouble."

Kurt laughed deeply and a smile came to his face, giving him dimples and wrinkling the sun-kissed skin around his eyes. "I highly doubt a kiss from me is going to change anyone's life."

"Would have been nice to find out," she said.

He continued to smile and then slowly leaned toward her. Sliding his hand across her cheek and cupping her face, he pulled her gently toward him and their lips met softly in a lingering kiss.

When they parted, she was smiling broadly. "I don't know," she said. "That was pretty good."

Kurt laughed again. "Go see your family," he said. "They've been waiting for thirty years."

She nodded, looked at him one last time, and then was helped down the gangway by a ship's officer. The constable from the Durban police force met them and led her toward the family she'd never known.

Twenty-six hours later, Kurt was pa.s.sing through customs in the main terminal at Washington's Dulles International Airport. He'd lost all track of time, but it was dark outside. And considering how deserted the terminal was, it had to be late at night or very early in the morning. In fact, the only people he saw were members of the cleaning crew.

Kurt moved slowly toward baggage claim, pausing when he saw a gathering of airport police near one of the security doors. Outside on the tarmac, several vehicles with flashing red and blue lights were parked in a circle around a private jet that sat with its door open and its stairs down.

Curiosity gave way to surprise when he recognized David Forrester being escorted into the terminal by two agents in windbreakers with FBI written on the backs.

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned," Kurt said.

At the sound of Kurt's voice the agents and the prisoner looked up.

"Excuse me, sir, you'll have to step back," said one of the agents.

"It's all right," another voice interjected.

Kurt didn't recognize the speaker, but the man obviously knew him. He introduced himself. "Trent MacDonald out of Langley."

Kurt recognized the name, recalling that MacDonald was the first person at the CIA to share any information regarding Sienna's possible survival.

They shook hands. "Thanks for your help," Kurt said. "Caught yourself quite a fish, by the look of things."

"Not as big as the one you bagged," MacDonald admitted, "but we're happy. We pa.s.sed the information your friend gave us to the FBI. Fortunately, they were able to grab Forrester before he took off for a country with no extradition treaty."

One more point in Calista's favor, Kurt thought. "So what part did he play in all of this?"

"Forrester was Brevard's inside man," MacDonald explained. "All the financial maneuvering ran through him. He used his contacts to plant the computer viruses at the Federal Reserve, compromising the main system and the accounting protocols. He also set up a network of sh.e.l.l corporations that would have made it virtually impossible to track the money once it was moved."

Kurt wasn't surprised.

"And if that's not enough, he's been controlling Westgate," MacDonald added, "with an implant in Westgate's brain, making sure he didn't remember too much too soon."

That put a new light on the confrontation at the Smithsonian. "I knew this guy was a snake from the moment I met him," Kurt said.

"First impressions," MacDonald said.

Kurt nodded and looked past Forrester out the window, where he could see FBI agents clearing the plane, looking for evidence. As they worked, the first sign of daylight appeared, and the high clouds were brushed with the slightest hint of pink. Apparently, it was morning after all.

Kurt looked back at Forrester, who glared back at him without a trace of remorse. "Might want to enjoy the sunrise," Kurt said coldly. "You're not going to see many more where you're going."

A twitch ran across Forrester's cheek, but that was his only response. It was enough.

Kurt turned back to Trent MacDonald, shook hands once again, and then continued on his way.

He left the terminal and stood at the curb, wondering just how long he'd have to wait for the shuttle to long-term parking. Before he could hazard a guess, he spotted a familiar-looking black Jeep coming his way. His Jeep. It pulled up and stopped right in front of him.

As the driver's door opened, Anna Ericsson's pretty face, flaxen blond hair, and beaming smile popped up over the roof.

"Did you take up auto theft while I was gone?" Kurt asked.

She laughed. "With all your memory problems, I thought you might have a hard time finding your car in the parking lot when you got back."

Kurt pretended to be hurt, but he honestly couldn't remember driving to the airport two weeks earlier. "You might be onto something," he said, and then added, "Sorry for how I behaved. I wasn't exactly myself."

"I realize that," she said. "I crossed a line too. Any interest in starting over?"

"Nothing would make me happier," he said.

She jumped down, came around the Jeep, and offered her hand. "Hi," she said as if meeting him for the first time. "I'm Anna Ericsson. I'm a psychiatrist. And I'm not allowed to date my patients."

He shook her hand. "Kurt Austin. Fortunately, I no longer need a shrink." He opened the pa.s.senger door for her and asked, "Mind if I drive?"

She settled into the pa.s.senger's seat as Kurt made his way to the driver's side and got behind the wheel.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Somewhere we can look out at the river," she said coyly.

He shut the door, put the Jeep in gear, and pulled away from the curb, smiling. "I know just the place," he said. "And the best part is, we'll be the only guests."

DIRK PITT ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER.

POSEIDON'S ARROW (with Dirk Cussler).

CRESCENT DAWN (with Dirk Cussler).

ARCTIC DRIFT (with Dirk Cussler).

TREASURE OF KHAN (with Dirk Cussler).

BLACK WIND (with Dirk Cussler).

TROJAN ODYSSEY.

VALHALLA RISING.

ATLANTIS FOUND.

FLOOD TIDE.

SHOCK WAVE.

INCA GOLD.

SAHARA.

DRAGON.

TREASURE.