The Night Ferry (34 page)

If there’s any chance at al that she’s on board, I have to find her. Running along the gangways and up the stairs, I stop people and show them Samira’s photograph. I’m doubling back on myself, lost in a maze. Have I been down this corridor before? Is that the same passenger I asked earlier? Most of them are in their cabins now, lying down to sleep.

I turn another corner and suddenly I feel it. A shiver in the air. It’s an uncanny sensation, as if I’m prescient. Along a long corridor, a figure with his back to me pauses to unlock a cabin door. I see a quarter profile and suddenly flatten myself against a wal . My phantoms are fol owing me.

14

The ferry shifts and I brace myself. We must have reached open water, or maybe it’s my heart lurching. I am sure it was
him
. Brendan Pearl. He is here because
she
is here.

My first reaction is to retreat. I pul back and take a few deep breaths on the stairwel , while contemplating what to do. Taking out my mobile, I check the signal. Nothing. The ferry has moved out of range. I should talk to the captain. He can radio ahead and get a message to Forbes.

A member of the crew is climbing the stairs. Although dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt with epaulettes, he looks too young to be at sea. He has a name tag on his chest.

Raoul Jakobson.

“Do you have keys to al the cabins?” I ask.

“Is there a problem?”

“There is a man on board who is wanted by the British police. He is staying in cabin 8021.” I point along the passage. His gaze fol ows my outstretched hand. “I am a British police officer. A detective constable. Is there a passenger list?” I show him my badge.

“Yes, of course.”

He opens a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and retrieves a clipboard, running his finger down the page until he finds the cabin number.

“That cabin is occupied by a Patrick Norris. He is a British driver.”

Pearl has a new identity.

Is it possible to find out what vehicle he drove on board?”

Raoul consults the list again. “V743 LFB. On Deck 5.”

“I need to check this vehicle.”

“Passengers are not authorized to be on that deck.”

“I’m looking for an il egal passenger. She could be locked inside the truck.”

“Perhaps you should talk to the captain.”

“Yes, of course, but there isn’t time right now.
You
go to the captain. I need him to send a message to this man,” I scribble a phone number on the clipboard. “His name is Detective Inspector Robert Forbes. Mention my name. Tel him that Brendan Pearl is on this ferry.”

“Is that it?”

“He’l understand.”

Raoul looks at the phone number and glances down the passage toward Pearl’s cabin.

“Is he dangerous, this man?”

“Yes, but nobody is to panic. Let him sleep.” I look at my watch. “We’l be in Harwich in four hours.” Moving toward the stairwel , I nod goodbye. “Tel the captain. I have to go.” Taking the stairs two at a time, I swing through the landings and reach Deck 5. Hitting the red button, I hear the air hiss out as the seal is broken. The metal door slides open. The noise of the ship’s engines is amplified in the cavernous space and transfers through the floor in pulsing vibrations.

Stepping over the lip of the door, I begin walking down the first line of vehicles. The trucks are parked seven abreast and nose-to-tail, so close together there is just enough room to squeeze between them. I wish I had a torch. The strip lighting can barely cut through the gloom and I have difficulty reading the vehicle numbers.

I walk the length of the deck and back again, fol owing the lanes. When the ferry pitches and rol s in the swel , I brace my hand against a wheel arch or trailer. My imagination puts me inside them. I can picture Hassan and the others, trapped, suffocating. I want to hammer on the metal sides and fling open the doors, fil ing them with air.

I’m in the second lane on the starboard side when I find it. The rig has a maroon Mercedes cab and a white box trailer. Stepping onto the running board, I grip the side mirror and pul myself up to peer into the cab. Takeaway coffee cups and food wrappers litter the floor.

Stepping down, I slowly circle the trailer. Pressing my ear against the steel skin I listen for a sneeze or a cough or a whisper, any sound at al . Nothing. The rear doors are sealed with a metal rod and cam lock. The barrel is closed and padlocked.

Someone holding a torch is walking toward me. The beam swings from side to side, blinding me momentarily. I edge away from the trailer. Darkness feathers around me.

“You’re not supposed to be down here,” says a voice.

At that same moment a hand snakes around my face, cupping my mouth. Smothering al sound away.

I can’t breathe. My feet are off the ground. His fingers are digging into my cheek, tearing at my gums. His other forearm wraps around my neck, searching for my windpipe. I brace my hands against it and kick backward, trying to find his instep or his knee. The blow barely touches him.

He lifts me higher. My toes scrabble at the floor, unable to get leverage. I can hear blood pulsing in my ears. I need to breathe.

Karate training taught me about pressure points. There is one in the soft flesh between the thumb and forefinger, above the webbing. I find the spot. He grunts in pain, releasing his grip on my mouth and nose. I stil can’t breathe. My windpipe is being crushed. I keep driving my thumb into his flesh.

A knee snaps into my kidneys. The pain is like a blast of heat. I don’t let go of his right hand but at the same time I can’t see his left fist cocking. The punch is like a punctuation mark.

Darkness sweeps away the pain and the memories. I am free of the ferry and the incessant noise of the engines. Free of Cate and Samira. Free of the unborn twins. Free at last.

Slowly the world becomes wider. Lighter. I am suspended for a moment a few inches above my body, staring down at a strange scene My hands are bound with electrical tape behind my back. Another piece of tape covers my mouth, wrapped around my head like a mask, pul ing at my split and swol en lip.

There is a weak light from a torch, lying on the floor near my feet. My head is on Samira’s lap. She leans forward and whispers something in my ear. She wants me to lie stil . Light catches her pupils. Her fingers are like ice.

My head is pressed to her womb. I feel her babies moving. I can hear the sough and gurgle of the fluid, the melody of their heartbeats. Blood slides back and forth beneath her skin, squeezing into smal er and smal er channels, circulating oxygen.

I wonder if twins are aware of each other’s existence. Do they hear the other’s heartbeat? Do they hold each other or communicate by touch?

Bit by bit the confusion and darkness work their way into some semblance of order. If I stay relaxed, I can breathe through the tape.

Samira’s body suddenly spasms and jackknifes from the waist, squeezing my head against her thighs. Regaining control, she leans back and breathes deeply. I try to lift my head.

She wants me to lie stil .

I can’t talk with the gag. She hooks her fingers beneath the plastic tape and lifts it away from my lips just enough for me to speak.

“Where are we?”

“In a truck.”

Our whispers are magnified by the hol owness.

“Are you al right?”

She shakes her head. Tears form at the edge of her eyes. Her body convulses again. She’s in labor.

“Who brought me here?”

“Yanus.”

He and Pearl must be working together.

“You have to untie me.”

Her eyes sweep to the closed rear doors and she shakes her head.

“Please.”

“They wil kil you.”

They will kill me anyway.

“Help me to sit up.”

She lifts my head and shoulders until I’m leaning with my back against a wal . My inner gyroscope is total y messed up. I may have ruptured an eardrum.

The trailer appears to be ful of pal ets and crates. Through a square narrow opening I see a crawl space with a mattress and three plastic bottles. Someone has built a false wal to create a secret compartment in the trailer. Customs officers wouldn’t notice the difference unless they measured the outside and inside of the truck.

“When did the contractions start?”

She looks at me helplessly. She has no way of judging time.

“How far are they apart?”

“A minute.”

How long was I unconscious? Raoul wil have gone to the ferry’s captain by now. They wil telephone Forbes and come looking for me. Forbes wil tel them to be careful.

“Undo my hands.”

Samira shakes her head.

Letting go of the tape, she tugs a blanket around my shoulders. She is more worried about me than herself.

“You should not have come.”

I can’t reply. Another contraction contorts her face. Her entire body seems to lock up.

The rear doors swing open. I feel the draft and hear the intake of Samira’s breath.

“I told you not to touch her,” says Yanus, springing into the trailer. He seizes her, smearing his hands over her face as if covering her with filth. Then he peels back her lips, forcing her jaw open and spits into her mouth. She gags and tries to turn away.

Then he confronts me, ripping off the gag. It feels like half my face is torn off with it.

“Who knows you’re here?”

My voice is slurred: “The captain. The crew…they’re radioing ahead.”

“Liar!”

Another figure is standing in the open end of the trailer. Brendan Pearl. He can’t have been there for more than a few seconds yet I have the sensation that he’s been watching me for a long time.

The light behind him washes out his features, but I can see how he’s changed his appearance since I saw him last. His hair is shorter and he’s wearing glasses. The walking stick is a nice touch. He’s holding it upside down. Why? It’s not a walking stick. It has a curved hook like a fishing gaff or a marlin spike. I remember what Ruiz cal ed him—the Shankhil Fisherman.

Yanus kicks me in the stomach. I rol once and he places a shoe on my neck, forcing it down, concentrating his weight on the point where my spine joins my skul . Surely it must snap.

Samira cries out, her body wracked by another contraction. Pearl says something and Yanus lifts his foot. I can breathe. He circles the empty trailer and returns, putting his heel on my neck again.

I force my arms out, pointing toward Samira. She is staring at her hands in horror. Liquid stains her skirt and pools beneath her knees.

Pearl pushes Yanus aside.

“Her water has broken.” Desperately, I choke the words out.

“She pissed herself,” sneers Yanus.

“No. She’s having the babies.”

“Make them stop,” says Pearl.

“I can’t. She needs a doctor.”

Another contraction arrives, stronger than before. Her scream echoes from the metal wal s. Pearl loops the barbed hook around her neck. “She makes another sound like that and I’l take out her throat.”

Samira shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hands.

Pearl pul s me into a sitting position and cuts the electrical tape away from my wrists. He pauses for a moment, chewing at his cheek like a cud.

“She don’t look so healthy does she?” he says, in an Irish lilt.

“She needs a doctor.”

“Can’t have no doctors.”

“But she’s having twins!”

“I don’t care if she’s having
puppies
. You’l have to deliver them.”

“I don’t know how to deliver a baby!”

“Then you better learn quick.”

“Don’t be stupid—”

The stave of the marlin spike strikes my jaw. When the pain passes, I count teeth with my tongue. “Why should I help you?”

“Because I’l kil you if you don’t.”

“You’re going to kil me anyway.”

“Know that, do you?”

Samira’s hand shoots out and grips my wrist. Her knuckles are white and the pain is etched on her face. She wants help. She wants the pain to go away. I glance at Pearl and nod.

“That’s grand as grand can be.” He stands and stretches, twirling the spike in his fist.

“We can’t do it here,” I say. “We need to get her to a cabin. I need light. Clean sheets. Water.”

“No.”

“Look at this place!”

“She stays here.”

“Then she dies! And her babies die! And whoever is paying you wil get nothing.”

I think Pearl is going to hit me again. Instead he weighs the wooden stave in both hands before swinging it down until the metal hook touches the floor and he leans on it like a walking stick. He and Yanus converse in whispers. Decisions have to be made. Their plan is unraveling.

“You have to try to hold on,” I tel Samira. “It’s going to be OK.”

She nods, far calmer than I am.

Why hasn’t anyone come looking for me? Surely they wil have cal ed Forbes by now. He’l tel them what to do.

Pearl comes back.

“OK, we move her.” He raises his shirt to show me a pistol tucked into his belt. “No fuckin’ tricks. You escape and Yanus here wil cut the babies out of her. He’s a frustrated fuckin’

surgeon.”

The Irishman col ects Samira’s things—a smal cotton bag and a spare blanket. Then he helps her to stand. She cups her hands beneath her pregnancy as though taking the weight. I wrap the blanket around her shoulders. Her damp gray skirt sticks to her thighs.