We climbed back aboard the Disco. Benito was nowhere around, a break which provided relief. I hesitated for a brief instant. The supervisor’s throw had caused me bruises I had only begun to feel. The captain would be waiting, I knew, but a hot shower was vital to getting through the rest of the day. I made for my cabin, moving fast through the corridors. I hadn’t thought of Dutch since departing that morning, and it was afternoon, and something had to be done.
It would take time for Filipe to bring the Zodiac aboard, secure it from the hoist, and then return down to the bilge area. I got to my cabin, tossed the canvas sack onto my bunk, and then stripped. I stood under the hot water naked, taking the heat in, while trying to feel just what kind of damage I’d suffered while on the island. So many things needed to be done. I thought about a resupply of morphine and syringes, which had been expended. There was, of course, the captain. There was Marlys. There was Benito out there somewhere, and then Dutch. My mind burned, as if from the heat of the steaming water cascading over me.
I twisted the handles of the shower until the water was gone, then reached out to where my towel hung on the nearby wall peg. I didn’t find it. Instead, a towel was pushed into my grasping hand.
“The captain’s waiting, and you don’t keep this captain waiting,” Don’s voice counseled me. He chuckled while I toweled off, then went on, “Marlys told me what happened. I would have loved to see you take out the asshole who runs the fish plant there. He’s always been one scary dude. You’re a lot tougher than I thought”
I stuck my head around the bulkhead from inside the tiny shower and looked at him. He sat down on a bunk, his eyes moving to the drawer that held the gold, if it still did. I hadn’t checked, not really wanting to know until I needed to know.
“Marlys told you that?” I inquired.
“Oh yeah,” the big Canadian said, pronouncing the ‘oh’ as an ‘aye.’ I dwelt on Marlys for a moment. The woman was the proverbial riddle buried inside an enigma. At her age, which I guessed to be twenty-four or five, she was far beyond the maturity and life experience of almost every other young woman I’d ever met. She’d moved in on the supervisor at just the right second. Her handling of the syringes was precise, timely, and perfectly done. It was difficult to plant syringes through clothing into muscle and then depress the plungers all at the same time. She’d subdued the giant who would have no doubt either killed or maimed me badly. Now, she was claiming that I’d been the conquering hero no matter how unlikely it was that someone with my hundred- and sixty-pound frame could have subdued the three-hundred-pound monster of a supervisor.
The martial arts were so overrated when it came to actual street application. Training to fall, take a hit, and the attendant physical conditioning that went with it were all great. The rest of its effectiveness was the stuff of movies. With a man like the one I had faced, running was the best choice; show him heels and elbows, unless there was a firearm handy. Shooting such a man would be frowned upon by the Agency, however, especially as the victim was a citizen of the U.S.
I dressed as quickly as I could, going for a more formal look with my Kiton sport coat, paid for from a previous mission. The captain was himself a formal character. It had been written all over him. The ship was underway, gaining speed, I noted. Don grinned, knowingly, noticing that I had noticed, too.
“We are headed north now, and it’s going to be rough. Not like coming down here. We’ll be battening down for this night. Eat light.”
“Eat?” I said, in mock amazement. “On this ship? When?” I adjusted myself in the mirror, done dressing. Don opened the cabin door, stepped out, and then stepped back in holding a covered tray.
“Your newly devoted bilge servants have provided, voila!” He uncovered the tray, which held about a dozen sandwiches. I grabbed one and consumed it in unseemly haste. Then another, and another. “I said it was going to get rough,” Don warned, but I wasn’t worried about getting seasick. I had other problems.
“We’ve got to get Dutch,” I mumbled, through a mouthful of ham, cheese, and bread. I loved the Filipinos and their craving for mayonnaise, which had been thickly applied. Don followed me out of the cabin. We made our way below, no longer needing assistance to find Filipe’s cabin. I knocked. It was like going back in time to earlier in the day. Filipe’s beautiful mate smiled, then exited the door and moved around us. She gently closed it once we were inside. Filipe sat on one bunk, as before. He and Don did not speak.
“How is it that your name is Filipe?” I asked, the thought just appearing in my mind, “You, being Filipino, and all.” He liked the honesty.
“Dutch,” he said. He doesn’t care much for us. Calls us by saying, “Hey, Filipino,” so my people nicknamed me ‘Filipe the Filipino.’ I was about to ask his real name but then remembered why I had come to him.
“Ah, how is the unlovable Dutch?” I asked.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said. He led us out of the cabin toward the starboard side of the ship. We stopped in front of a steel bulkhead. Two of his men relaxed next to some compressed gas tanks. Filipe waved at them. One of the men ignited a torch, and then began to burn into the steel. “Spot welded him into the back of the chain locker. No way they were ever going to figure that out.” I froze up. Most people did not take well to being sealed up in small spaces. And the few people who did probably did not appreciate burning gases being injected into such small confines.
In minutes, an ovoid steel plate came free, clanging to the deck. The Filipinos, wearing thick welding gloves, shoved the hot piece of metal aside. I looked around the dark, smoking hole they’d made. Daylight could be seen, just barely, through the eye where the anchor chain came through deeper inside. At my feet, just inside the steaming oval, lay Dutch, in a fetal position on the deck, an empty bottle of Jameson’s tightly clutched to his chest. He was dead to the world. Don and I dragged him out. The Filipinos went back to work re-sealing the bulkhead. We revived him and got him to his cabin. In the corridor he rambled and sniveled in a drunken slur, nearly crying.
“They sealed me in. Welded me in. Never thought I’d get out. Never thought you’d come, Indy.” I heard Filipe, and his small band of men, laughing all the way down the corridor. I promised myself that I would not anger those people, or belittle them, ever.
After we were done tucking Dutch into his bunk, we stood outside his door in the corridor. Nobody was around.
“Where’s the gold from?” Don asked, as if discussing the weather. I just looked at him, my expression serious and a bit angry. He looked back at me uncomfortably.
“Sorry about rustling your drawer. It was partially open. I saw the reflection of the anklet. I gave it back to her. I thought it would be pretty funny, I mean if you saw it on her ankle again.” I still said nothing. “She didn’t think it was funny…and neither do you. Sorry.” I merely brushed it off.
“The gold is from Aguiak Island. There’s a vein there. The captain’s aware and planning something about it. Günter’s in. Nobody else I know.”
“Jesus Christ!” Don exploded. “You mean it’s real? How can that be? It’s an island. Nobody’s ever found any gold on an island up here.” I put my palms up. My prospecting experience was non-existent.
“You want to come see the captain with me?” I said, hopefully.
Don erupted. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He said no more, merely turning to head toward his own cabin.
“Not a word, goddammit,” I hissed after him. He gave no indication he had heard me, and he refused to look back. For some reason, however, I trusted the big Canadian completely. I headed for the captain’s quarters, up on top.
I knocked on a perfectly white door. ‘Captain’ was tastefully painted in small black letters against the white enamel.
“Enter,” I heard from within. I pushed down on the well-polished brass handle, and let myself in. The cabin was minimalist. Very stark, and very large by shipboard standards. Instead of a steel deck, his floor was covered in the finest woolen rug. Sea blue in color. Two Persian carpets lay strewn over it. The captain sat in a chair behind a beautiful old wooden desk.
“Setzen Sie, bitte,” he said, waving toward the small-armed chair in front of his massive desk. I did as requested.
“You speak German, I have heard.” He eyed me over a Meerschaum pipe as he spoke, poking the dead coals with one of those little picks pipe smokers always have lying around.
I nodded.
“We’ll speak in English,” he said, “for convenience.
It was his interview, and I had no clue as to its destination, so I remained silent.
“I have returned to my ship to discover it is not the same ship I left, only two weeks ago.” He tapped the pipe against the desk, as an excellent stalling device. “You came aboard. That is the only thing I can see that has changed everything.”
We exchanged looks for a moment before he went on. “You are responsible for me having to lie to Immigration. I don’t like that. You are responsible for burning a Russian island. I don’t like that either. You’re also responsible for inserting yourself into my personal affairs, Günter tells me.” He stopped.
I thought it was my turn to talk, so I tried, but he held up his ‘pick’ hand. “And you are the head of this little band of mutineers called the Mouseketeers,” at which point he reached down below the desk and came up with a folded cloth. He threw the cloth, which I identified as the Mouseketeer Pirate flag, over the desk and into my lap. “Finally, and I also take this personally, you are sleeping with my stepdaughter, or so they tell me.”
My pulse quickened as I clutched the flag. He went back to prepping his pipe for a smoke, although no tobacco was anywhere evident. I remained silent, for his last point was too fantastic to consider, much less answer.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said, putting the pipe aside. He brought both elbows down to the top of the desk; his hands cradled under his chin. His eyes were piercing. “They tell me your nickname is Indy,” he began, as I tried to protest, but he waved me off. “You have done all this, yet you look like, what do you Americans call it, a morph. A morph between the comedians Laurel and Hardy. Mr. Peepers, on steroids maybe, without the glasses. You know, from the old television shows?”
My face reddened as I absorbed his analytically delivered insults. He registered my discomfort, I knew, but did not change his stance or expression.
He turned to a non sequitur. “What is an Eigenfunction?” he asked, to my great surprise.
I just looked at him.
“Well, do you have any idea?”
I nodded.
“An Eigenfunction is a derivative of an eigenvalue. It’s derived from the use of scalar analysis in higher math.” I’d been a physicist in one of my former failed careers.
Kessler got a big kick out of my reply, then folded his hands behind the back of his head and leaned back in his chair.
“Now what are the chances that an anthropology lecturer, deep-sea diver, physician-trained medic, and God knows what else, would know what an Eigenfunction was?”
I rewarded him with silence again, wondering what I had given away. The man was proving to be dangerously intelligent. But what caused me real worry was just how well organized and informed he was in such a short period of time, and how adroit at outmaneuvering me at each turn. He smiled, but the expression was pasted on. It was my turn to talk.
“I’d say that it’s as likely that I’d know what an Eigenfunction was as it is likely that a normal captain of a broken-down expedition ship out of the Maldives would know.”
The smile slowly peeled off his face. He leaned forward again.
“I don’t really care who you are or what you’re doing on my ship. What I really care about, right this minute, is what you told that Immigration agent.”
It was my turn to sit back and consider. What I’d told the immigration agent? My mind raced. I brought back all of what I had said from memory. It dawned on me. The gold. This was about the gold. He didn’t really care about the rest.
“What do you want of me?” I said, knowing now what was likely coming.
“You need. I need. We need. You’re a certified anthropologist. You registered with both Alaska and Russia prior to setting foot on this ship. Some of our landings are based upon your credentials. It’s why we pay you more.”
I almost slapped my thigh at that. The amount was five percent more.
“I need you to file a site, a dig, if you will, for Aguiak Island.” I mirrored his serious face, and spoke in reply.
“So you couldn’t get anywhere on your own. You couldn’t get anyone to give you any permission to do anything without telling them about the vein. And that would have been it.” I finished, still stern. “Let me think about it,” I said, rising to my feet.
I let the mouse flag unfurl. “Tonight the Mouseketeers are meeting in Botany Bay’s cabin. Why don’t you come by.”? His face turned beet red. I carried the flag with me to the door.
“You’re going to need me,” he said to my back. I knew he was right. But he was going to need me more, and that made me feel good.
“How could you possibly have known that I would know what an Eigenfunction was?” I asked, in open curiosity.
It was his turn to relax. “I do my homework too, Indy, and here’s your camera.” He pulled the Leica from his breast pocket. “Agent Maxwell said to tell you that he’s an immigration officer, not a thief.”
I retrieved my camera, relishing the cold, rainy night Maxwell was about to endure on the wharf at St. Paul Island because of me.
“Oh well,” I muttered, then walked out of the cabin and closed the door softly behind me.
I knew we were out in the open sea, away from the island, by the ship’s movement. It had become very difficult to walk up the corridor toward the bow. I had to halt when the bow thrust upward, and then scurry along when it bit down between the great waves. The ship would be a quieter place this evening, I’d bet on that.
I walked right into Don’s cabin. The Basque was in her usual position against the outside bulkhead, looking wonderful as usual. Don was propped on his bunk, as I sauntered in. With a curtsy, I tossed the flag to the Basque.
“Mouseketeer meeting tonight. Call it. And include Günter. He’s one of us, or about to be.” I stared at Don. “How do you suppose the captain found out that she and I were intimate?” I asked, pointing at the lovely woman, but not looking at her. Don lost his smile, and then looked away.
“Sorry again,” he said. “I’m on shaky ground with that man in the best of times. I need this job.” I held up my hand. I did not want him to say more in front of the woman. I had not intended to embarrass him or reduce him in any way. I didn’t really know what I wanted, other than some understanding of what was going on.
Dutch staggered through the open door behind me at that very moment. “Ah, Indy, ya better get down to Marlys’ cabin. First Mate’s drunk. I think she needs a bit of help.” With that, he plopped himself face down on Don’s spare bunk. I looked up at Don. Both of us made for the corridor as fast as we could move.
Don and I ran through the corridor to the port side of the ship where Marlys’ cabin was located. The sound of a guitar and singing grew louder as we neared our destination. Marlys’ cabin was adjacent to the stairway that connected the bilge deck to the Lido. We soon came upon the source of the music. Strewn about the top of the staircase were a number of Germans, with instruments. They were singing away, while First Mate Borman pawed at the outside of Marlys’ closed door. I hadn’t realized there were so many Germans aboard, as they never collected at one place at any one time, but it came to me that there had to be. They ran all engineering, communications, and finances on the ship.
With Don behind me, I eased around the group, all of whom ignored our presence, and stepped close to Borman. I grimaced. The smell of alcohol emanating from the burly German was over-powering. Dutch had been accurate in his assessment of the Mate’s condition. Borman manipulated some hand tool, with which he was attempting to pry open the lock to Marlys’ cabin.
“Come out, come out,” he mumbled softly as he worked, in German. I wondered if Marlys comprehended German. I doubted it. There was no love lost whatever between the Dutch and the Germans, stemming back from the Second World War.
I tapped Borman on his left shoulder, rather hard, to get his attention. It almost cost me part of my face. He swung around, brought up the sharp edge of his tool, and sliced down. I was only able to pull back a few inches, but it was enough. The instrument the mate had been using proved to be a Boatswain’s knife. It missed my face by less than an inch. I pushed backward a bit further, running up against Don’s significant bulk. The Germans played on as if in a trance, seeming to notice nothing.
I confronted the First Mate. I didn’t turn to the side to present him with a smaller target or protect my abdomen, as I would have with an unarmed opponent. Facing the knife, I needed the shortest distance between the weapon and my hands. In a knife fight everything happened in an instant, unlike in almost all movies I’d ever seen. The best way to face a weapon when you were unarmed was not to face it at all. Do anything, even run. But I couldn’t run, not under the circumstances. However slight the chances were, Borman might actually be successful in getting through the locked door, and I owed a debt to the woman on the other side.
“You want to get in that cabin?” I asked him, putting my hands up, palms out, to show I had no weapon. I smiled while I talked. “I can get you in there, if you really want to get in there,” I confirmed, motioning toward the door with my left hand.
Borman’s knife stayed at his side, at the ready position. The casual, relaxed move told me the German had experience with using the weapon in a fight. He was drunk but capable of a killing blow at any instant. There was a long pause. Borman reflected, and then saw Don peering over my shoulder.
“Can he really get me in there, Doctor Botany?” he asked. I almost staggered in surprise. Borman’s address had been the first usage of any professional designation I had heard, with respect to the staff crew’s credentials, since I had stepped on board.
“Easy there, Mate,” Don cooed to the drunken German. “If he says he can get you in there, then I have no doubt of it. He saved your anchor, remember?”
The First Mate nodded, his eyes sharp, but alcohol deranged. Finally, he stepped back a couple of feet, retaining his knife at the ready position.
I moved to the door. “Marlys, it’s me, Indy. You need to let me in for a second.”
I waited, staring at the wood of the door, hoping she was not too frightened to comply. I needed to defuse the current situation as fast as possible. If real injuries were inflicted, or even death, then the authorities would effectively terminate my mission. And an unknowing young American might die. My consecutive run of successful missions, at thirty-seven, would end as well. I wasn’t sure which cause meant more to me.
The door opened a crack. I pulled it a bit further. I went in backwards, holding up one hand and murmuring, “give me a minute,” in English, and then German. Borman and Don stood outside, more in anticipation than anything else. I closed the door in their faces, and then threw the deadbolt.
I looked into the bathroom, located in Marlys’ cabin right behind the main door. I reached into the little cubicle and pulled out a bath towel. I moved toward Marlys who was near her single porthole. I also noted her almost complete lack of attire.
“Could you maybe wear a gunny sack now and then?” I said, not expecting a response.
“You think an animal like Borman would be distracted by clothing? Maybe you think that I dress just to attract men like him…or you.”
I groaned. I wouldn’t attempt to answer those questions.
There was no purpose to coming back at her. I should have just shut up to begin with, I realized, but the woman made me irrational in ways I could not count. I suddenly palmed a little soapstone figure from a shelf above her bunk. Obviously, she’d purchased a few from the native carvers on one or more of our frequent stops.
“What are you doing with my things?’ She asked, but made no effort to stop me.
“The morphine, remember the morphine,” I said, and then I wrapped the towel over a half dozen of the little heavy items. I backed inside her tiny bathroom, pulling the covering cloth serving as a door. Through the vents, I instructed her to unlock the outer door and let Borman in.
“Are you crazy?” she gasped. “I’m supposed to let that drunken lout in here?
“I don’t know why you trust me, but I know you do,” I replied. “I also know you don’t like trusting anybody, including me. Now open the damn door and trust me.”
She didn’t delay. I heard the lock, then the opening of the door, then her welcome invitation for Borman to enter. I heard her soft-soled shoes whisper backward and felt Borman sweep by in triumph. Once he was past me, I pushed the bathroom curtain aside, closed the outer door behind him, and swung the towel-wrapped figurines forcefully down onto the left upper side of his skull.
He went down instantly, as expected. I swung the towel weapon back over my shoulder, in case I needed to hit him again, but he was out. I checked his carotid artery, but it was unnecessary. The unconscious man was snoring gently. Carefully, I unwrapped the towel and replaced all the statues where I’d found them. I took the knife from Borman’s unconscious hand, folded it, and then stuck it into my front pocket.
“Not exactly a fair fight,” Marlys observed. I looked at her, in surprise, but then saw her ever-so-slight smile. “He’s bleeding all over the deck,” she noted. I checked Borman’s skull.
“Oh damn,” I said, exasperated. The cabin door opened. Don filled the gap. I informed him, “He’s fallen, in a drunken stupor, and cut himself on the head. We need to get him down to the infirmary so Doc can sew him up.” Finally stopping their playing and singing, the Germans hauled the First Mate out, looking at me strangely, more in question than anger. Don and I followed down to the infirmary, where I knew the doc wasn’t going to sew anyone up. I would have to repair the damage I’d done myself.
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