Dark Moon Walking by R. J. McMillen

the summit. He didn’t know how close the black ship was or how exposed he might be. Plus, the girl might not be expecting him.
    She was sitting in the shadows, watching his approach.
    â€œHi,” he said. “I’m Dan.” He stopped and waited for her to respond. Considering all she had been through, she was undoubtedly exhausted and scared and maybe near breaking point. There was no need to add to her stress.
    There was a faint rustle as she stood up and stepped out into the light.
    â€œThanks so much for coming.” She walked toward him. “I’m Claire.”
    The greeting seemed formal and was at odds with her tousled hair and rumpled clothes. Shadows rimmed her eyes and there were lines of tension drawn around her mouth, but in spite of that, she looked surprisingly healthy. She also looked . . . what? Open? Warm? Maybe both, although neither was exactly right. It was something more than that. Perhaps “real” was the closest he could get, but whatever it was, he found himself drawn to her in a way that he would have had difficulty explaining—or even admitting—to himself. And that smile. It was amazing, especially considering the circumstances. He felt himself respond to it instantly. It was like Susan’s . . . He shut off the thought before it had time to complete.
    â€œThe black ship . . . ?” he asked.
    Her smile dimmed, and she turned to point back at the trees.
    Walker was right, of course. The black ship was still anchored and there was no sign of activity. At least, not that Dan could see. He checked the angle of the sun for possible reflection, then raised the binoculars he had brought with him. They were surveillance binoculars, 20x50 power. He didn’t have a tripod, but there were plenty of rocks scattered along the ridge that he could use to keep them steady. At this distance they wouldn’t let him see much detail, but they would help some.
    He let his eyes drift slowly from bow to stern, then top deck to waterline. There was a forest of antennae. He counted two radar, a couple of satellite phones, a satellite dish, GPS , SSB , VHF . The works. Nothing unusual and nothing useful. A rigid-hull inflatable maybe twenty-five-feet long swung on davits above the upper deck, and two dinghies floated off the stern, just as Walker had described. Nothing special about them either. He couldn’t make out the name or port of registration. Just a faint tracery of lines on the stern. Same thing for the registration number. No flag either. Nothing.
    He was about to turn away when movement caught his eye, and he quickly swung the glasses forward. Someone was coming out of the wheelhouse. Dan was too far away to make out his features, but as he watched the man walk aft along the deck he felt a faint shiver of recognition. There was something familiar there. Nothing specific. Not at that distance. More a combination of shape and movement: top-heavy with an odd mincing twist to his walk. That and a heavy thatch of thick, dark hair. Probably curly from the way it caught the light. He had seen him before. But where?
    The man disappeared into the cabin a few seconds later, and when he failed to reappear Dan slid back down to join Walker and Claire. They had both caught his reaction when he noted the movement and now they were staring at him, waiting to hear if he had seen anything. He shook his head. “Nothing happening. Time to get out of here.” He turned to Walker. “Got the radio handy?”
    Walker passed it over to him. Dan had left the SSB radio open back on Dreamspeaker , as well as the vHF , in the hope that he could hear and speak directly to Hargreaves from the hand-held. He didn’t want to think about what it would cost him when the bill came in, but whatever it was, it would be worth it if it worked. It did—sort of. Hargreaves’s voice faded in and out and sounded weird, but there was enough