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“The cargo hold must be pitch black.”
Fraser nodded, patted his pocket where he’d detached his NVG scope and stored it. He also carried, along with Ned, his KA-BAR, his Sig, and the multi-tool, along with zip ties and a roll of tape—just a few accessories they’d brought to the party.
They waited thirty minutes until they spotted Sasha on deck. She disembarked with a handful of other guards, and then the stairs were blocked with a tall metal plate.
And all went quiet.
“Let’s go.”
They descended the bow stairs onto the main deck, then headed over to the cargo hold access, unscrewed it, and opened a hatch with a ladder that led into the bow section of the hold.
“Ready?”
“Go,” said Fraser, and Ned hooked his feet on either side of the ladder and slid down. He landed on the floor with a quiet thump, then backed away as Fraser landed beside him.
No movement in the darkness. He moved toward a doorway that led to the cargo hold, one unsecured by the card—clearly, not a passage often used—and opened it. It groaned on its hinges, and he stopped.
“The waves are hitting the boat,” Fraser said, and indeed, down here, the thunder of the surf against the hull made it reverberate.
He timed the door with the thunder, masking it as he urged it open, and finally slipped through.
Then he pulled out his night vision scope. Put it to his eye, closed the other one and got a lay of the area. He’d memorized the layout—four rows of containers, two passageways, and hers was near the end of the first row.
He headed over to her container. Peered through the bars with his scope.
Her bed was empty. He scanned the container, but nowhere really for her to hide.
He looked at Fraser and shook his head.
Fraser used his hand to indicate the stairs, and back they went, into the compartment.
“She’s gone,” Ned whispered. “Where now? The infirmary?”
Fraser nodded.
Ned scampered up the ladder, back to the deck. The wind had started to really blow, cutting through his jacket.
No way she’d survive going into the water. Especially in a cadaver bag.
Fraser joined him and they closed the hatch.
“Patrols on both sides of the ship,” Fraser said, looking through his scope. “And guards on the superstructure.”
“How do we get to the infirmary?”
“Carefully.”
Right.
“On me,” Fraser said and got up, headed toward the mess hall. The structure had been added to the deck long after the ship had come to port—no working cargo ship would have their mess area located on deck. But given the condition of the ship, while it might be afloat, it certainly wasn’t seaworthy. They clung to the darkness and worked their way past the hall to the massive broken crane that sat in the center of the boat.
Another fifty meters to the superstructure, and nothing between them but open space.
And a handful of guards. One of them perched inconveniently in front of the elevator.
“There are stairs in the aft of the boat. We go there,” Fraser said. “We’ll leapfrog. Ready?”
Ned pocketed his night scope and maneuvered the Russian gun to his eye. “Go.”
