Silence of Ash, page 18
“Can you repeat that?” Avondale said.
“She’s with them, Avondale. My mother is working for Prendergast,” Zanzi said.
“Of her own accord?”
“It appears so.”
“Wow. I would never have thought that in a million years. Hang on. If Cal is there, where’s Ryan?”
Avondale had a point. They had vanished from The Eyrie at the same time. Was it possible he too was working for Prendergast? Zanzi shook her head and slammed her fist against the desk. Anything was possible but Ryan, her father, working for a bunch of lunatics? It went against everything she knew about him. She looked at the image again. Then again, it went against everything she’d thought she knew about her mother too.
Sofia slowly stood and hugged Zanzi. “I’m sorry. I should have seen this.”
“Why would she do this?”
“I don’t know, kid.” Sofia squeezed her tighter. “Avondale. Widen your search parameters, see if Ryan’s in Hong Kong. And fill in Beta team. We need a few minutes here.”
“Wilco.”
Sofia took Zanzi’s hand and left Reid to watch the monitors. She led Zanzi into the lunchroom and hugged her again. Zanzi welcomed the comforting embrace. So many emotions ran through her, she didn’t know what to think other than that she had been betrayed. She buried her head into Sofia’s chest, muttering curses.
Seventeen
South China Sea
Ryan shivered again and lunged his hand higher, groaning in frustration as it slipped on the ship’s railing. Sea spray drenched him with each wave that crashed against the cargo ship’s bow. Every muscle in his body ached and shook from the cold. How he was still hanging on, he had no idea. And how long had it been since they had left Lantan Island? He didn’t know that either.
Ryan locked his left arm around the lowest rail and sucked in a few deep breaths before stretching for the top rail again. His hand closed around it, and he flopped over the railing with a thud. Ryan lay panting on the deck, praying that none of the crew could see him. After some time, he somehow got up onto his knees and crawled behind the first stack of containers, out of the driving wind. The containers creaked and vibrated as the ocean passed underneath the keel. At least he now had a rough idea where he was. Somewhere in the South China Sea.
His relationship with his father had been strained, but he had taught Ryan how to navigate by the stars. “You live in Polynesia, boy. Learn to sail like they did.”
While he had clung to the ship’s hull, he had spotted Canis Major and Orion. He had further oriented his location using the Northern Cross. Along with the evidence he had collected inside the slave factory, Ryan figured the ship was heading north, toward China; possibly one of its southern ports.
Now that the wind wasn’t howling in his ears and chilling him, Ryan could think logically. He took out the hazmat suit from his makeshift satchel and struggled to put it on. The effect was almost instant. The suit sheltered him from the biting cold and soaking sea spray. Slowly, circulation returned to his limbs. He stretched his legs and flexed his arms, feet, and hands, working out all the kinks. After another ten minutes, Ryan felt good enough to move, so wended through the containers, his eyes flicking up as he swiveled his head, hunting for the crew. He spotted a couple of figures on top of the flying deck next to the bridge. They were looking the other way and pointing at the radar equipment behind them. He kept an eye on the two men and risked sprinting from behind his cover.
The small feeder cargo ship only had one structure that jutted above the deck, which housed the crew’s cabins and amenities, the bridge, and the funnel. At the very top was the deck he’d heard called the monkey island.
Ryan slipped inside and paused, straining his ears. Apart from the hum of the giant engines, nothing else stood out. The air was warm and humid, and dull lights illuminated the white and green bulkheads. Grease and dust covered most surfaces.
He took the ladder to his left, peering around the corners for the crew, but again came up short. Maybe they were all sleeping? Surely someone would be on duty somewhere? He ducked into a lifejacket storage cupboard and closed the door. It was about the size of a wardrobe, with only a few buoyancy vests hanging from hooks. Whoever ran this ship, safety and cleanliness was not a priority.
Ryan peeled off the hazmat suit and changed into the spare set of dry clothes he had brought sealed in plastic bags. Weariness took over and he shut his eyes. The risk he had taken to escape played on his mind. Leaving Fiona and the other slaves to their fate was not like him. It was a selfish move, even though Fiona had gone to that island voluntarily. He should have insisted. But then, would they have succeeded? And he had killed Gregory Prendergast. He blew out a long, exhausted breath. He knew that they were not going to let that go unpunished, even if someone high up was looking out for him. Regardless of the consequences, Ryan was convinced this was the right course of action. OPIS had to be stopped at all costs, even if it meant his death.
Footsteps banging on the metal ladder outside the cupboard snapped his eyes open. He grabbed the handle and held onto it, but the thumping feet faded away, to be replaced by faint voices. He strained his ears and tried to pick out what was being said. The voices were speaking in a mixture of Cantonese and a dialect he didn’t recognize. It made sense; they were in the South China Sea after all. He ran through the geography of the area in his head. This body of water stretched from Taiwan down as far as Malaysia and Singapore. The ship could be anywhere, but he knew they were heading north. North meant the major ports of China and Taiwan, or even Japan. Once the voices abated, Ryan cracked open the cupboard door and peered out. Nothing in the narrow passageway moved, but pungent cigarette smoke made his eyes water. Leaving the relative safety of the storage locker behind, he snuck up the stairs to the accommodation deck and took a set of hi-vis wet weather gear off a hook and slipped it on. He looked the part now; anyone spotting him from a distance would think he was one of the crew. He knew he was jeopardizing his safety further by searching the ship, but seeing slaves and Siphons being loaded like cattle motivated him to do something about it. Something drastic.
The door to the flying bridge groaned as he opened it and peeked out. The two figures he had spotted from behind the containers were still leaning against the rail. Now that he was closer, he could see that they were armed, HK416 rifles hanging loosely at their sides.
Why does a container ship have armed guards? Pirates?
He burst from the doorway and sprinted across the deck, charging into the armed men like they were a defensive line. His shoulder hit the first man in the sternum and sent him tumbling over the railing, his cry of terror and surprise blowing away with the wind. To the other guard’s credit, he reacted, kicking out at Ryan to give himself enough distance to raise his rifle. Ryan avoided it by spinning toward the astonished man. Ryan’s hip knocked the guard off balance. As he struggled to both right himself and aim his weapon, Ryan used the opening and grabbed the rising rifle. Then he smashed the guard’s chin with his free forearm. The guard’s head snapped back, and he sank against the railing, unconscious.
Once Ryan had secured the HK416, he dragged the guard away from the railing and searched through his pockets. A set of locker keys. A pack of cigarettes. An old-school Nintendo Gameboy. No ID or wallet. Tucked into the waistband of his pants was an HK P30 pistol with a fifteen-round magazine. A further search of his cargo pants located a spare magazine. Ryan pocketed both. Like the security on Lantan Island, the unconscious guard was European. He had an Iron Cross tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, but no other distinguishing features.
Ryan hauled him up with some difficulty and draped him over the railing while hanging onto his feet. The South China Sea churned sixty meters below. Iron Cross stirred and began to struggle, coughing and spitting.
“What the fuck?” he shouted.
“Hello, sunshine.” Ryan smirked menacingly.
“Who are you, asshat?”
Ryan kicked him in the ribs and said, “You first.”
“I ain’t telling you shit. There’s another twenty guards on this ship. Pretty soon they’ll hear me and come looking.”
“Twenty, huh? Is that all?” Ryan said. He wasn’t concerned about being heard. The howling wind would drown it out. The bridge was a few meters below, but the thick glass windows would muffle any noise.
“You’re dead meat, asshole.”
Ryan relaxed his grip slightly, and Iron Cross dropped several centimeters, earning a shout.
“Fuck you!” cursed Iron Cross.
“I’ll make this really easy so you understand. Where are we going?”
“Your mum’s house.”
Ryan kicked him in the ribs again, harder this time.
“One more chance. Where are we going?”
“Fine. China or some shit. Chungzoo. I don’t know. All the Oriental fucking places sound the same to me.”
That explained the Iron Cross inked on his wrist. People got stupid tattoos in their youth. But not this guy.
“Next question. Who do you work for?”
Iron Cross laughed and spat on Ryan’s shoes. “You’re a fag, ain’t you.”
Ryan ignored the taunt and kicked him again, this time in the face. He was getting frustrated and beginning to realize this wasn’t going anywhere fast. “Who…” Kick. “Do you work for?”
“Fuck you, incel jag off.” Iron Cross spat again and lashed out with both feet. Ryan’s grip slipped, and Iron Cross tumbled off the railing to plunge head-first into the sea far below.
Ryan sat back, frowning. The guard would rather plunge to his death than give away the name of his employer? He figured Prendergast owned the ship, since they ran Lantan Island, but it would have been nice to confirm his suspicions.
Ryan broke down the HK416 rifle and stashed the parts behind the fire hose. Pausing at the door to the bridge, he listened but couldn’t make out any voices. The ladders remained clear as he headed down to the engine room. Ships this size normally had a running crew of twenty, sometimes twenty-five. Fifteen were asleep – he hoped – in their bunks. That left a possible ten. Maybe three or four were on the bridge.
Ryan searched each deck carefully, starting on the main deck and down through the upper and lower decks. He spotted two crew near the exit to the foredeck, chatting in the Chinese dialect he’d heard before, and another one fixing an electrical fault on the poop deck. Lastly, he checked the engine room and counted another three crew members. That brought the total to twenty-five, just as he’d suspected. What concerned him was the lack of armed guards Iron Cross had talked about.
Ryan continued searching the ship, pulling the hood of his rain jacket over his head to obscure his face, and headed deeper along the lower deck until he reached the hold. As he rounded the corner, he found his armed guards. Three sat in deck chairs around an upended banana crate that served as a card table. Open beer bottles were scattered around, and ashtrays were overflowing. Ryan slipped his HK P30 free behind his back and flicked off the safety. Two of the guards gave him a cursory glance and went back to their game. The third eyeballed him longer. An angry scar cleft his lip in two.
“What do you want?” he said, then frowned. He dropped his cards as he muttered a curse.
Ryan shot the nearest two in the head before they could figure out what was going on. The third guard, the one with the scar, bellowed and charged Ryan, knife in hand, making up the distance with surprising speed. Ryan twisted away and squeezed the trigger, but his bullet went wide, pinging off the metal walls. Scar thumped into Ryan and knocked the gun free. In the next movement, he crouched and jammed the knife into Ryan’s leg, sending bolts of pain spasming up Ryan’s body. Ryan gasped and landed a couple of blows onto his opponent’s head, trying to fend him off. At least he managed to dislodge the knife. The guard shoved him hard against the bulkhead, knocking the air from his lungs. In a flash, Scar had him on the deck and was raining down blows, howling in anger. Spittle flew from his mouth as rage glazed over his eyes. All Ryan could do was weather the storm. He blocked each blow and managed to get a couple of jabs into the guard’s throat. Scar hauled him to his feet and spat at him. “I should call this in, but I want my fun first.”
He punched Ryan in the kidney, sending new waves of pain through his battered body. Scar reached down and picked up his knife. He twirled it around between his fingers.
“Normally I’d ask who you are and why you’re here, but I already know that.” He kept twirling the knife, catching it, and making a few dummy lunges at Ryan.
“You know who I am?” Ryan said.
Scar sniggered and said, “You’re the guy the boss told us to look out for.”
“If you knew I was on the ship, why didn’t you search for me?”
“We did. Ship is big, can’t look everywhere. Boss said you would show up eventually.”
“Is your boss one of them?” Ryan motioned toward the dead guards with holes in their foreheads, blood pooling underneath. When Scar looked, Ryan scanned the vicinity for his pistol. It lay against the bulkhead, three meters away.
“Boss is watching the merchandise,” Scar said.
“You sure? That one’s head is pretty messed up.” Ryan dived to his gun and scooped it up. Pain roared up his side as something thunked into him. Still on the deck, he tucked the pistol under his arm and fired, hitting Scar in the shin. He fired again, and a third time. Each shot hit the guard’s leg.
Scar hit the deck with a thud. “Asshole!”
Ryan pulled the knife free from his side and stood. Scar made a final play and lunged at him, but Ryan skipped out of reach. He shot Scar in the chest and stabbed him above the right ear to make sure he stayed dead.
Ryan pilfered two more magazines from the dead guards and spent the next few minutes hauling the men back into their seats and setting up the card table. He grabbed a set of keys off Scar’s hip and unlocked the door to the hold. An overpowering stench of excrement and sweat invaded his olfactory nerves. Ryan pulled his T-shirt over his nose, but it did little to block out the stench.
A wide passageway ran in each direction. Directly ahead was a set of double metal doors, the red paint long-since faded to a dull pink, and full of chips and pockmarks. Whimpering and crying sounded from the other side. He hesitated for a moment before turning the key. Ryan knew only too well what was behind the door; he had seen the cargo being loaded from the factory, the vacant expressions on the men and women as they were loaded. Men and women who had long ago given up hope, accepting their fate of misery and despair.
Like any school-aged child, Ryan had learnt about the world’s dark past. About the slave trade. One of the books on his One thousand books to read before you die list had been Roots by Alex Haley. Even that harrowing tale had not prepared him for what he now witnessed.
The hold had been divided up into twenty long columns, separated by metal tubing barriers. Humans of every size and race, dressed in blue overalls and frequently bumping into each other with the motion of the sea, were shackled to the pipes, crammed in like sardines. The stench of feces and urine made Ryan gag. With the door open behind him, he looked around in horror. Some heads turned toward him, tears in their eyes, lips silently pleading with him.
Ryan ground his teeth and hunted for the locking release. He found it near the door and activated it. Sections of the tubing retracted, freeing the collar shackles of the slaves. He had to activate a separate switch for the leg shackles. Most of the prisoners looked around in shock and started rubbing their necks and stretching their backs. A few collapsed onto the excrement-covered deck. Ryan switched on a fire hose and sluiced some of the waste toward the drains in the deck before giving the hose to a Filipino man. He said something in Tagalog, which Ryan didn’t understand.
“Thank you,” he said in Spanish.
“Any time.”
“Why are you helping?”
“Because I’m not one of them.” Ryan gestured up. “Keep an eye on this door for more guards.”
He nodded and beckoned another Filipino over to help him.
Even though the human cargo had been freed from the tubing, they were still shackled. Ryan returned to the dead guards and searched through their pockets for the key. As he searched the last guard, he spotted it hanging on the wall next to a manifest clipboard just inside the first door. Ryan unlocked the first few prisoners and handed off the key to a stocky Indonesian man with two fingers missing.
“Release everyone you can. I’ll find some food and water.”
“You’re freeing us?” The stocky man held the keyring out from his body like it was contaminated.
“I was like you on Lantan Island. I escaped onto this ship. Name’s Ryan.”
“Dom.” Dom still held the keys away from his body.
“Dom. I need you, buddy. Release the others.”
“Then what?”
“How about a bit of mutiny?”
Dom’s eyes widened, and he smirked. “Now you’re talking.” He hurried along the column, unlocking his fellow slaves.
Fearing they would be discovered, Ryan shut the hold door and grabbed the manifest clipboard off the hook. It contained several spreadsheets with ID numbers. At the top of the page was where they had departed from – LI – and in the next box, the destination, were the initials HKVH.
Were they going to Hong Kong? It fit the direction the ship was heading in and the fact they were in the South China Sea. He scanned the manifest again. HKVH. He shook his head at his stupidity. Hong Kong Victoria Harbor. A calmness enveloped him. For weeks, the question of his whereabouts had nagged at him. Now he knew. The knowledge gave him renewed strength.
On a third hook, he found three scanners like the one they had used to scan him in the factory silo on Lantan Island.
