The Will Of The People
* * *
The van slowed to a halt and Charlotte heard the driver’s door open and close. McDowell sat opposite, finger moving to his lips in a warning not to make a sound. Although their trip from Erdenheim had been relatively short, it hadn’t been the most comfortable of journeys, with all three seated on the bare metal of the vehicle’s floor, backs pushed against the sides of the van. Charlotte and Anderson sat side-by-side, handcuffed together, warily watching as McDowell’s gun with its silencer had swapped aim from one to the other, fearful in case the van should hit an unusually deep pot-hole. Now the gun was rather less mobile, resting on McDowell’s thigh and pointed loosely at Anderson, almost as though tempting one of them to try something stupid.
After some five minutes the driver returned and the van cruised slowly to its destination, reversing the last few yards. Again the driver left them alone, and McDowell repeated his warning as to the need for silence. From outside, Charlotte could hear people talking, the words indistinct, also machinery and the clink of metal on metal.
Abruptly, the rear doors were pulled open. Only yards away towered the blue-painted hull of a cargo ship, sunlight glinting off the pillar box red of her hold and hatch covers. McDowell clambered out onto the concrete dock, impatiently gesturing at Charlotte and Anderson to do the same. Charlotte shuffled her way forward, having to work with Anderson so they could simultaneously slide off the rear edge of the van.
It had been years since Charlotte had last visited Boston’s small port, but it could be nowhere else. Not that she could see much, a grey warehouse to her left, the river away to her right. Even before their eyes could adjust to the early-morning sunshine, McDowell pushed them forward, hustling them up onto the gangway. The van driver followed close behind, a suitcase in each hand.
The Princess Eloise looked to be relatively modern, although there was still plenty of chipped paint and well-worn metal. Sturdy but somehow also elegant, her white superstructure reached up to the radio mast and a flag of blue, yellow and green. It was a combination Charlotte frustratingly failed to recognise: a vertical band for each colour, with three green diamond shapes in the centre, arranged like a V.
From the top of the gangway, Charlotte caught a glimpse of two more ships berthed on the opposite side of the dock, cargo vessels similar to the Princess Eloise. Then the view was blocked as McDowell shoved them through a watertight hatch.
Once the van driver had followed them inside and pulled the hatch shut, McDowell grabbed Charlotte’s wrist and undid the handcuffs, gesturing at her to go up the angled ladder to their right. Once she had reached the top, McDowell repeated the exercise with Anderson, reinforcing his orders with an unnecessary shove towards the ladder. Charlotte waited impotently, noting with concern Anderson’s wince of pain at every other step, despite trying to keep his weight on his left side. Finally, it was through into a surprisingly large and pleasant-looking twin-bedded inside cabin.
Without comment, the van driver barged past and half flung the two suitcases onto one of the beds, obviously annoyed at being a porter without even the prospect of a juicy tip. McDowell waited at the threshold, looking relaxed now he had successfully transferred his two charges.
“All the comforts of home,” he said with a grin. “And far better this than a bullet in the head.”
Charlotte asked, “Where exactly are we headed? Or is that a state secret?”
“You should reach Gdansk sometime Sunday morning, Russian blockade permitting. The Captain’s name is Koval – he’s Ukrainian but his English is excellent. Have a nice trip...”
“We will,” Anderson said. “I don’t suppose you know the weather forecast?”
McDowell ignored the comment, and without a backward glance he thrust the cabin door shut, the handle trembling slightly as something was affixed to it.
Charlotte gave it a few seconds before trying first to turn the handle, then the lock; sadly, neither would budge. She turned back and gestured at their surroundings, “It could be far worse.”
“True enough... two single cabins would have been a complete disaster.”
“How are you feeling?” Charlotte enquired, still worried that Anderson was suffering rather more than he indicated.
“Pretty sore, but better than earlier. Give me twenty-four hours on the high seas and I’ll be throwing up like any healthy person. There’s just one problem...”
“Only one?”
“I’m sure I ordered a double not a twin room and the brochure definitely showed a balcony.”
“Would you like me to scream loudly for McDowell and tell him you’re not happy? I’m sure he can have a quiet word with Captain Koval and sort something out; perhaps a nice room in the hold or even the bilge.”
“No need; three days, alone with you in small cabin, and nothing to do – I should really be writing him a thank-you note.”
“And I thought you were poorly.”
“Not that poorly. I’m just hoping it wasn’t McDowell that packed your case.”
Charlotte pulled a face at the thought and started to rummage through the first of the suitcases. “It’s just clothes and all neatly folded, so I’m being positive as to who packed it. You get some sleep, Mike; you look like you need it. I’ll sort this lot out.”
Anderson knew he was taking the chauvinistic option but he was too exhausted to argue, “Just yell if anything exciting happens...”
Anderson lay back on the free bed and closed his eyes. Within minutes he lapsed into a fitful sleep. Charlotte quickly sorted out the two cases, then sat on the other bed, knees pulled up to her chin while studying their new domain.
McDowell hadn’t been exaggerating: the cabin was en-suite, with table, two chairs, desk, wardrobe and drawers, even a wall-mounted TV and a small fridge. The fridge was in fact part of a well-stocked mini-bar, with wine, soft drinks, snacks and chocolate. The hotel theme continued into the en-suite shower room with its range of luxury toiletries. Overall, there was ample room to swing several cats, while the quality furnishings and dark blue wall-to-wall carpet gave the cabin a luxurious feel. It was not at all what Charlotte expected of a small cargo ship. Sadly, being an internal cabin, there was no porthole, so the traditional message in a bottle option was a definite non-starter.
Charlotte’s thoughts turned to her mother, concerned her earlier phone call might not have been convincing enough for Rebane. She was certain Jessica had no suspicions there was any sort of a problem, and her mother had seemed delighted Charlotte was off to Warsaw to meet up with Anderson. Jessica had even promised to restrain her curiosity and only interrogate Charlotte more fully once she’d returned.
Charlotte could only hope that events would allow Jessica to keep to her promise, preferably the sooner the better. Still, as McDowell had said, things could be far worse, and even though Anderson was a bit under the weather, his bruises would heal. He had tried apologising, blaming himself for the mess they were in, but Charlotte would have none of it – she had free will, which combined with her stubborn streak, meant that her active involvement in Anderson’s quest was never really in doubt. Poland was days away and a lot could happen before then; she certainly had no intention of brooding on what might be their fate once they arrived – at least not until Saturday night.
Of more immediate concern was the fear Anderson might possibly have a fractured rib or two, and Charlotte made a mental note to try and find out if any of the ship’s crew had medical training. Assuming, of course, the Captain didn’t decide to cut his losses and throw them both overboard.