The Rotting Deck
My Breguet told me that we were twenty minutes late for our meeting with the Russian Jeep, which was supposed to be all the way down at the dock, near the ship. Moreover, we did not have Hathoot’s passport. I was not sure that proving his U.S. citizenship was going to be an issue, since we were no longer intending to turn him over to Kasinski. I just didn’t want any loose ends hanging out.
I approached the tank. Don and Dutch helped the drug addled Purser into the old converted warehouse, which we had re-opened with free booze from the ship’s stores. The crew of the huge T-72 iron monster was nowhere around. The top hatch gaped open, as if the crew had fled in great haste. A vehicle was parked right next to the tank. I walked closer to examine it. It was the identical Russian Jeep we’d ridden in the day before. I felt a bit of relief. The driver must be in the bar.