and a single blocky cabin in the middle. A ladder ran up the side of the cabin and the mast stood behind it, a curved area of wooden deck leading aft.
Dahl started down the quayside, coming to stop at the mooring post in front of the boat. Through the grimy window at the front of the cabin he could just make out some movement. At that moment, the glass shattered and a man ’s head came part of the way through. Dahl then heard another man’s malicious laughter. He cleared the quayside and landed on the boat, sprinting hard. Within seconds he had reached the cabin. Through the wide-flung door he saw an older man who could only be Jakob Hult falling to his knees, looking up at a much younger, fitter man. The second man wore a black t-shirt that emphasized his bulging muscles, had a grim set to his face and a bearing that screamed military.
Dahl moved in fast, coming close to the military man. “What ’s going on here?”
The youngster ’s eyes went wide. Clearly, he had been enjoying himself too much to even notice the Swede’s approach. “Who the—” he began, speaking with an accent. Something mid-European , Dahl thought. Hard to pinpoint.
“Walk away,” Dahl was told. “Leave now and you won ’t get hurt.”
The Swede could barely keep the smile from his lips. “ I won’t get hurt?”
“Don ’t fu—” ended up being the last two words he was going to speak for a while as Dahl smashed the bridge of his hand under the guy’s nose. His eyes rolled up and he slithered to the ground like a set of falling curtains.
“Oh, thank you.” Jakob Hult breathed a sigh and moved so that his back was against the bulkhead. “I don ’t know—”
“Cut the crap,” Dahl said quickly. “I know what those men were doing here and I know what you did. Now, speak to me. Fast. There ’s no way he was acting alone.”
As he spoke he heard a whisper of sound at his back and spun. The man there – another military figure – was actually leaning around Dahl ’s bulk, pointing a weapon at Jakob.
“Stop!”
The gun went off, the bullet shattering Jakob’s collarbone. Dahl used the seconds at his disposal to lunge and take hold of the gun hand, shatter it against the door frame, and twist it first to the left then right, dislocating the shoulder. Before his opponent could even scream, Dahl slammed his face into the ship’s side.
Akerman was screaming. Dahl looked up to see the translator running down the quay, a man in black chasing him. Dahl cursed. He looked to Jakob, took in the gr ay pallor and pouring blood. Hult was dead, but wasn’t quite there yet.
Damn.
Dahl scooped up a handgun and fired at the figure chasing Akerman. Within a moment he had pulled up and backed away, giving Akerman precious moments to hide. Dahl gritted his teeth, put his feelings aside, and ran to Hult’s side.
“Tell me,” he hissed. “Tell me what you know.”
Jakob’s mouth worked, his eyes wide. Blood flew from his lips. “I . . . can’t—”
“They killed you,” Dahl spat. “For what? Tell me. There is no man better equipped to avenge you better.”
The eyes closed, life slipping away. Dahl leaned in as sound flitted through the torn lips. “Found a translation . . . relating to . . . about the device.” His head lolled. Dahl held it steady between his hands.
“There shall remain one other way to activate . . .two failsafes . . .” Jakob sat up a little, suddenly stronger. His eyes flew open. “Three minds, three tombs, three bones. Do you see? Do you see?”
Dahl was silent for a heartbeat. Then, “Not really.”
“And Cayman.” The translator’s head sagged for the last time, his entire body now going limp. “He . . . he too knows . . .”
Dahl cursed loudly. Hult was dead. With no time to spare he lifted his head and looked out the window. The last remaining merc was still casting about for Akerman. Time for Dahl to pay him a visit. He grabbed another weapon and exited the cabin, making sure he
Dahl started down the quayside, coming to stop at the mooring post in front of the boat. Through the grimy window at the front of the cabin he could just make out some movement. At that moment, the glass shattered and a man ’s head came part of the way through. Dahl then heard another man’s malicious laughter. He cleared the quayside and landed on the boat, sprinting hard. Within seconds he had reached the cabin. Through the wide-flung door he saw an older man who could only be Jakob Hult falling to his knees, looking up at a much younger, fitter man. The second man wore a black t-shirt that emphasized his bulging muscles, had a grim set to his face and a bearing that screamed military.
Dahl moved in fast, coming close to the military man. “What ’s going on here?”
The youngster ’s eyes went wide. Clearly, he had been enjoying himself too much to even notice the Swede’s approach. “Who the—” he began, speaking with an accent. Something mid-European , Dahl thought. Hard to pinpoint.
“Walk away,” Dahl was told. “Leave now and you won ’t get hurt.”
The Swede could barely keep the smile from his lips. “ I won’t get hurt?”
“Don ’t fu—” ended up being the last two words he was going to speak for a while as Dahl smashed the bridge of his hand under the guy’s nose. His eyes rolled up and he slithered to the ground like a set of falling curtains.
“Oh, thank you.” Jakob Hult breathed a sigh and moved so that his back was against the bulkhead. “I don ’t know—”
“Cut the crap,” Dahl said quickly. “I know what those men were doing here and I know what you did. Now, speak to me. Fast. There ’s no way he was acting alone.”
As he spoke he heard a whisper of sound at his back and spun. The man there – another military figure – was actually leaning around Dahl ’s bulk, pointing a weapon at Jakob.
“Stop!”
The gun went off, the bullet shattering Jakob’s collarbone. Dahl used the seconds at his disposal to lunge and take hold of the gun hand, shatter it against the door frame, and twist it first to the left then right, dislocating the shoulder. Before his opponent could even scream, Dahl slammed his face into the ship’s side.
Akerman was screaming. Dahl looked up to see the translator running down the quay, a man in black chasing him. Dahl cursed. He looked to Jakob, took in the gr ay pallor and pouring blood. Hult was dead, but wasn’t quite there yet.
Damn.
Dahl scooped up a handgun and fired at the figure chasing Akerman. Within a moment he had pulled up and backed away, giving Akerman precious moments to hide. Dahl gritted his teeth, put his feelings aside, and ran to Hult’s side.
“Tell me,” he hissed. “Tell me what you know.”
Jakob’s mouth worked, his eyes wide. Blood flew from his lips. “I . . . can’t—”
“They killed you,” Dahl spat. “For what? Tell me. There is no man better equipped to avenge you better.”
The eyes closed, life slipping away. Dahl leaned in as sound flitted through the torn lips. “Found a translation . . . relating to . . . about the device.” His head lolled. Dahl held it steady between his hands.
“There shall remain one other way to activate . . .two failsafes . . .” Jakob sat up a little, suddenly stronger. His eyes flew open. “Three minds, three tombs, three bones. Do you see? Do you see?”
Dahl was silent for a heartbeat. Then, “Not really.”
“And Cayman.” The translator’s head sagged for the last time, his entire body now going limp. “He . . . he too knows . . .”
Dahl cursed loudly. Hult was dead. With no time to spare he lifted his head and looked out the window. The last remaining merc was still casting about for Akerman. Time for Dahl to pay him a visit. He grabbed another weapon and exited the cabin, making sure he
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