Running Dark Part 20

Ha.s.sim looked doubtful. "Banner doesn't work this area much at all. Ali may not know his reputation."

Nick snorted. "Ali knows, believe me."

Ha.s.sim hitched his gun higher on his shoulder. "Whatever's going on here is not my concern. I have a time-sensitive situation that requires my intervention. I need the boat, I paid for the boat, and I'm going to take the boat."

Nick put up his palms in surrender. "Hey, I'm with you. Let's go get the boat."

Ha.s.sim moved out from behind the tree. Emma followed, and Nick brought up the rear. They jogged through the trees, following a jagged path from trunk to trunk. After a couple of minutes, they emerged at the beginning of the road. From the looks of it, Emma guessed that it was the road the Somalis had just used to deliver their provisions. Ha.s.sim hesitated behind another tree.

"They most likely have a Land Rover around here somewhere. It's doubtful they carried that crate the entire way on foot. Let's go down, farther away from the sh.o.r.e, and impound their car. If they want it back, they'd better bargain."

Fifty feet along, they came upon a Range Rover parked dead center in the road. Emma was surprised to see that it was the latest model. Behind it sat an old white panel van. They watched both vehicles for a few minutes. Nothing happened.

Nick shifted. "No one's here. How about I canva.s.s the road on the back end, leading to the village?"

"I'll head farther down the ocean side," Ha.s.sim said. "When you're done, come join me." He turned to Emma. "You stay with the cars. It's the safest place under the circ.u.mstances. They're not likely to get past either Nick or me."

Emma shouldered her gun. "I'll check both vehicles. If there are any weapons on board, I'll drag them here." She watched both men head to their various destinations. Silence settled over the clearing. After a minute she slipped out from behind the tree and walked to the Range Rover. The door opened with a smooth swing. A gust of superheated air washed over her. The inside of the SUV was like an oven. Despite the temperature it still contained a new-car smell. The incongruity of such a beautiful vehicle in Somalia struck Emma as evil. Nothing good had bought this car. She scanned the backseat first, looking for evidence of weapons, peering into the cargo area. Sand was scattered on the carpeting, but on the whole the interior was clean. She lowered herself onto the front seat. The leather was so hot that she felt the warmth seep through her clothes. By now she was sweating freely. Rivulets of perspiration streamed down her sides.

She fished around the glove compartment, the ashtray, and the console. A canteen sat in the pa.s.senger's foot well. Next to that was what appeared to be an aluminum water bottle. The driver must have tried to stash them out of the sunlight. A small burlap bag tied at the top with string sat on the console between the front seats. Emma opened it to find twiggy khat leaves, still fresh. They hadn't started chewing yet, which was unfortunate, because they wouldn't be impaired when they came upon Ha.s.sim and Nick. She gave another cursory look around and backed out of the Rover.

The sun struck her, though it was a bit cooler when compared to the SUV's interior. She headed to the van, ignoring the front area and moving straight to the rear doors. If any weapons existed, they'd be there.

She reached for the handle and yanked her hand off it. The metal scorched her palm. She wrapped her fingers in the edge of her T-shirt and used it as a protective layer. She grasped the handle again and swung the door wide. Another blast of hot air hit her. She peered into the cargo area and gasped.

There, staring back at her, was Richard Stark.

34.

SUMNER STOOD ON THE PORT DECK NEXT TO THE SWIMMING pool and gazed at the cage armor. It sat in a circle of light cast by the overhead lamps. Herr Schullmann supervised a mechanic wielding a torch. Red and yellow flames sparked as he welded one piece to another. It was a grid of metal rods erected on a movable dolly. The bars ran horizontally, s.p.a.ced six inches apart and held together by vertical support beams. The entire grid measured four feet high by five feet across. It was mounted at the end of the rectangular flatbed, which allowed a man enough s.p.a.ce to crouch behind it on the platform. Schullmann moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sumner while he watched the mechanic work.

"It is almost finished. What do you think?"

Sumner walked around the dolly. The beams did not appear to be bolted to it. He looked underneath. Schullmann had welded several beams at a ninety-degree angle to the upright supports. These were six inches apart. They managed to slide over and under the dolly's platform, stabilizing the entire grid without the need to nail it down. But what caught Sumner's attention was the piece of steel attached to the back of the grid. It looked like a door, complete with a gla.s.s porthole. He walked over and tapped on it.

"Where did you get the steel plating?"

Herr Schullmann jerked his head at the mechanic. "It's the metal door to one of the engine rooms. We took it off its hinges."

"So maybe it will protect against a blast after all. I'm impressed. This is excellent, Herr Schullmann," Sumner said.

Schullmann shrugged without smiling, but Sumner thought the man was pleased with the praise.

"It is movable as well as removable. If it needs repair, we can simply slide it off."

Sumner nodded. "I noticed the way you attached it. Almost like a paper-clip bottom, with supports on each side of the flatbed."

"But you know, even with the solid door, it will not necessarily protect the person hiding behind it, right?"

"I know."

Block walked up to them. He eyed the armor. "h.e.l.luva contraption you got there." He moved around it, checking it out from all angles. He reached over to pull on the bars. The system didn't shake. "Solid. You sure do know your armor, don't you?" Block extended a hand to Schullmann. "I'm Harry Block. I sell cars in Houston. You must be Marina's father."

Marina, who was standing next to Sumner, translated for her father.

Schullmann brightened. "What example of cars do you sell?" His English was pa.s.sable, Sumner decided.

"You name it, we sell it."

"SUVs?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah."

Sumner could see a long conversation ensuing, and he had no time to spare for it.

"Any action out there?" he said.

Block broke off his patter with Schullmann. "No. But Clutch is back. He's drunk. I wanted to punch the guy, but he's so d.a.m.n impaired, wouldn't be sporting."

Sumner was finding Clutch's behavior to be more and more strange. He made a mental note to ask Wainwright how the man managed to become chief of security. He checked his watch.

"It's late. You want to be spelled?"

Block nodded. "Cindy came by about an hour ago. I promised her to get some sleep."

"Give Janklow your weapon. I've got to get some sleep myself."

"I thought you went to do that already."

"Didn't work out."

"So go. But this time, sleep, will ya?"

"First we've got to set up the armor." He turned to the mechanic. "Can you get it to the first deck level? The area nearest the ladder."

Block snorted. "You think these guys will be able to board?"

"I don't think they'll board, I know they'll board. The only question is from which side?"

The entire group fell silent. Sumner glanced at Marina. Her face had lost all its color. He wished he could a.s.sure her that she was safe, but he couldn't. Odds were they were soon to be attacked. The only questions were who would live, who would die, and who would be kidnapped.

He put an arm around Marina. "Why don't you get some sleep? You may need it later."

She shook her head. "I won't be able to. I'm too afraid someone will climb in the porthole."

"Come with me."

Sumner took her by the hand. He nodded at Block and Schullmann before walking her to the decks. Block pursed his lips but refrained from commenting. Schullmann hardly noticed that his daughter was leaving.

Sumner escorted Marina to the kitchens behind the main restaurant. It was deserted. Pots hung from hooks overlooking a long steel prep table. The walls on each side were lined with sinks, counters, and bins labeled as containing food, spices, and various utensils. Sumner walked over to a wooden block with black knife handles sticking out of various slots. He pulled one out. The steel made a sleek slipping sound as he removed it. He handed it to Marina.

"Take this and keep it with you. They won't need it tonight. You can return it in the morning."

Marina gazed at the knife with a disappointed air.

"What's the matter?"

She shrugged. "I would prefer it if you stayed with me." She gave him a direct look that left no doubt as to what she was saying.

Sumner was surprised at the offer. He couldn't remember the last time such a thing had happened to him, and for sure he couldn't recall saying no. He could only hope circ.u.mstances would turn around soon and he could say yes. With Marina he was sorely tempted. He'd come to like her in the short time he'd known her. He admired the way she kept her dignity around her difficult father, and how she'd fired the flare gun. If he weren't so sure the pirates would return soon, he would have liked nothing better than to keep her company. But the pirates' inevitable attack occupied his mind and dominated his thoughts. He needed to focus on survival, and sleep was essential to his ability to function. Once he was horizontal, it was imperative that he rest. He paused a moment while he tried to marshal his tired thoughts. He wanted to explain why he wouldn't stay in a way that spared her feelings.

"I can't stay with you tonight; I'm needed on the deck. But don't think for a minute that I don't wish I could."

She smiled. "I understand." She showed him the knife. "I will take this. Thank you."

"Let me escort you to your cabin."

They left the darkened kitchen, moving down the dimly lit hallways.

"Why are the halls so dark?" Marina asked.

"They're trying to conserve energy. The ship is on generator power only."

They turned a corner. Marina's mother stood in front of her door, a frightened look on her face.

"You are safe! I was worried about you." The woman eyed Sumner. Marina introduced them, speaking in German. Frau Schullmann's eyebrows rose.

"Herr Sumner, you speak German?" she said.

"I do." Sumner kept his voice neutral. Marina's mother was wound tight. Her lips were pinched together, creating hollows under her cheekbones. She clutched at Marina's arm, and her eyes widened as she took in the wicked butcher knife. Sumner sought to put the woman at ease. "It's from the kitchen. I suggested Marina sleep with it nearby. Just in case."

Frau Schullmann visibly relaxed. "It's good. Marina, would you like me to stay with you as well?"

"That's not necessary. You're just next door."

"I'll wish you both good night, then," Sumner said.

He headed to his own stateroom and threw the metal bar that locked the door. He set his watch alarm to wake him in thirty minutes, hit the lights, and crawled into the bed fully clothed.

35.

WHEN BANNER WOKE, IT WAS FULL DARK. THE HOUSE HELD A quiet, restful feeling. His shoulder, however, was less than restful. In fact, it was throbbing in a persistent rhythm. The ice pack remained full of not-yet-melted ice. Stromeyer must have replaced it recently, but for the life of him Banner couldn't recall her doing so. He heaved himself to a sitting position, catching the ice bag as it dropped off his shoulder. He headed straight to the shower, studiously avoiding looking in the mirror. While the hot water was not the greatest for his swollen shoulder, it did wonders for his mood. He dressed and strolled to his living room, where a light glowed through the open door.

He found Stromeyer there, sitting in his favorite reading chair, next to his favorite reading lamp, her feet on his favorite ottoman. She had a stack of paper next to her, along with a gla.s.s of red wine, a plate of cheese, and a highlighter pen. Banner's gas fireplace threw flickering color around the Oriental carpet on the floor, and in the background his integrated music system played soft jazz.

"How do you like the chair?" he said.

Stromeyer looked up at him, and a smile lit her face. "How do you feel?"

He wanted to shrug, but the movement would cause unnecessary pain, so he settled for rocking his left hand back and forth. "Okay. Shoulder is bad, but not as bad as it could have been."

She rose. "Do you want to sit?"

He waved her back down. "You stay there. I'll use the other one." Banner sank into a matching chair opposite Stromeyer. She went to a minibar set in a corner of the living room, poured him a shot of his preferred cognac, and walked across the room to hand it to him. He noticed she was barefoot. Her toes were painted a nude color.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

Stromeyer settled back into her prior position, folding her legs underneath her. "Eight hours. The police were here. At first they insisted that I wake you up. I refused, and I opened the door to the bedroom so they could see you. One look at your face and they agreed that the interview could wait until after you woke." She picked up a business card off the c.o.c.ktail table in front of her. "Here's the detective's number. He said just call the interview in. He'll take it from there."

"How bad do I look?" Banner was so busy focusing on his shoulder pain that he'd forgotten about the temple shot. He reached up to touch it gingerly. There was a swelling that felt like a small egg, but it didn't throb nearly as much as the rest of him.

Stromeyer c.o.c.ked her head to one side as she a.s.sessed him. "Like you've been in a car accident. The side of your face is a lovely black with red around the edges. Not to worry, though-I don't think you'll have any lasting marks. Your good looks remain."

Banner snorted. "Who cares about my looks as long as everything continues to function?"

Stromeyer took a sip of her wine. From her expression it appeared as though she wanted to reply, but she refrained. She held the cheese plate out to him. "Hungry?"

Banner leaned forward to pluck some cheese from the platter. "Starving. Want to go to dinner? There's a great trattoria around the corner. Run by an entire Italian family. It's not fancy, but the food is outstanding."

Stromeyer nodded. "Sure. But before we go, I have some bad news and some much worse news."

Banner didn't like the sound of that. He grimaced and took a swallow of his cognac. "Okay, go ahead."

"Ahmed never made contact with Caldridge. He was found dead in his apartment."

"Who found him?"

"The neighbors called the authorities after they smelled a stench. No signs of a struggle. The authorities are conducting an autopsy."

"And Caldridge? Is she still in Nairobi, then?"

Stromeyer shook her head. "Roducci said she insisted on flying a khat flight into Somalia. Vanderlock flew her."