Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) Read Free Page B

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    man.
“Has anyone else made it?” Jack asked.
The man looked uneasy.
“Sorry boss, but you are the only one,” said the man.
The man looked at his watch.
“If they don’t turn up in the next few half hours then they will have
literally missed the boat,” he added.
Jack nodded his
head as he tried his
best
not to look pleased at
the news. He was pleased at the thought that no one else had made it.
Then the operation would really be finished.
The small craft ploughed into the gentle waves on the open sea at
an alarming speed and within minutes Jack was soaked through to the
skin. The man noticed Jack’s discomfort.
“Sorry about the rough ride,
boss,
but if I am to get
back to the
harbour to pick up any latecomers then I have to put the boot down,” he
said.
“I understand,” Jack said.
“There will be a change of clothes for you on the container ship.
And anything else that you might need,” said the man.
“Twenty year old, Swedish twins?” Jack asked, wryly.
The man smiled.
“You know what boss, it wouldn’t surprise me one little bit.”
Within a few minutes they were pulling up alongside the container
ship. The large vessel was still
moving,
but
only just. A rope ladder
was dropped over the side of the vessel and the man brought the small
boat tight in against the hull
of the larger vessel. Jack stood up and
he grabbed hold of the ladder. Transferring from the small boat to the
ladder was unexpectedly easy.
“Good luck
boss,” said the man, just
rection of the harbour.
The waves breaking against the hull
at Jack’s heels as he climbed the ladder. Jack
didn’t look down.
As he
got to the top of the ladder two arms and a hat appeared and grabbed
him. Jack struggled as he was being
pulled
onto the ship—his
mind
was in conflict—run from the grasping hands—but run to where?
12
     
    before he sped
off in the di
    of the container ship nipped
Jack landed awkwardly on the deck of the container ship. Immediately
his nostrils were filled with the overpowering stench from burnt diesel
fuel.
As he looked down at the rusty deck
of the ship Jack was not at
all confident that it would ever
make it as far as South
Africa. Jack
raised his head with more than a little trepidation as he looked at the
man who had helped him
onto the ship for the very first time. The
man was everything that Jack had been expecting. He was dirty, badly
shaven, with a face that looked as if it had weathered more than its fair
share of
Atlantic storms. The man was the very embodiment of a salty
old sea dog—or a cutthroat mercenary, as the case might be.
    “Welcome
onboard,” said the sailor, in a thick South
African accent. “I am glad that you could make it. Your friend is waiting for you
down below.”
    “Friend?” Jack
quizzed. “What friend? I was told that no one else
had made it this far.”
The sailor looked uncomfortable as he answered Jack’s questions.
“Eh…I…I am certain that one of your friends is already onboard.
Perhaps I am mistaken? You know how it is? With so many
people
coming on and off the ship it is hard to keep track of them.”
Jack smiled, but it was an uneasy smile. It was simply beyond all
belief that the ship would have taken on so many passengers out in the
middle
of the Irish Sea
on that
day for it to be considered a routine
event. One of the IRA men was already
picked Jack
up at
Annalong
harbour
about the small fact that he already taken one of his associates to the
container ship.
The sailor waited for Jack to ask another
question but when that
question did not materialise the sailor turned and began to walk away.
Jack followed the man. They
moved across the large forward deck of
the ship until they were standing in front
of a metal door several storeys below the bridge. The sailor made a fist and then he banged on
the door three times. There was a short pause and then the door swung
open.
Another sailor was standing on the other side. The second sailor
was even more menacing looking and