Ghost Ship

“It’s frustrating when the only thing I know is that I somehow need to be in The Hague in less than three days.”

Catarina sighed. “There’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, if you want you can gamble trying to get it during the peak time, but it’s almost a certainty someone will spot you — and I can’t say what might happen if they do.”

Sam nodded. “I know. I can imagine what would happen if you were caught. With so many polizia around, you would be forced to open the suitcase, and then who knows what they would find — maybe the truth about my past, and maybe something that incriminates me.”

“I doubt it. Whatever’s happened, you’re not a criminal.”

Sam crossed his arms. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re not.”

“What about organized crime?”

She laughed and fixed her gaze on his. “Jesus! You’re serious! Why are you asking?”

“I just need to know. That’s all. I was attacked by three men who I’m pretty certain were part of the Russian mafia. They said I was a bad man and my death wouldn’t be missed by anyone.”

“My god, how did you escape?”

Sam recalled the incident. He’d killed two of them within seconds, with the ease of a trained assassin. He swallowed. “I defended myself and ran off.”

“So you’re worried you might have been part of the mafia?”

“It certainly crossed my mind as a possibility.” There was unexplained guilt in his voice. “After all, you should have seen how well I defended myself. I was barbaric.”

She didn’t recoil at his admission. “Last time I saw you, you had joined the marines. I assume you learned to defend yourself there.”

“Yeah. Maybe. This seemed a little more than just basic training in hand to hand combat.”

“It comes naturally to some people. You’ve obviously retained muscle memory from your time in the marines.”

“But you’re certain I didn’t join the Russian mafia?”

“No way in the world.”

“Why?” Sam persisted. “Is it that impossible to think that my life had changed that much in the past fifteen years?”

“Yes. I find it impossible to believe.”

He met her eye. “How can you be so sure?”

“For a start, I know you…” She grimaced, slightly hurt, and looked away. “Or at least I did, once. Besides, you just simply didn’t have the sort of personality that leads someone to enter the world of organized crime.”

Sam said, “People change.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Not that much. No one changes that much.”

He turned his gaze to avoid her eyes. “There’s something else you should know about me.”

“What?”

Sam swallowed hard. “I’m pretty certain I murdered a girl last night.”

Chapter Eleven

Sam filled her in with what he knew about finding the dead woman on the rowboat with the execution style bullet holes in her head, and the Russian built Makarov semiautomatic handgun in his pants, the fact that he instinctively knew how to disassemble the weapon — and that it was missing two rounds.

“You didn’t kill that woman.” Catarina’s words were emphatic.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“I don’t know. You’re not that type of person. You’re bound by a stringent code of duty and honor, which would prohibit gross murder.”

Sam bit his lower lip. “I may have killed two thugs — presumably Russia mafia — in self-defense earlier.”

“Even so, that’s self-defense.”

“Maybe I killed the girl to save myself?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. It still doesn’t make you a murderer.”

Sam said, “Should I leave? I mean, there’s no reason for you to feel unsafe in your own house.”

Her gray eyes sparkled as they fixed quizzically on him. “You think I’m having second thoughts, and am worried that I’ve inadvertently let a murderer into my house?”

“Technically, I let myself in, but yeah… aren’t you?”

“No. Not in the slightest. I’ll bet my life there’s a perfectly good explanation that will absolve you of all wrongdoing.”

“All right. But I don’t plan on staying here, burdening you, for any longer than I have to.”

“Agreed.” Catarina’s voice turned hard. “On that subject, we need to get you to a hospital. You might have sustained a serious injury.”

“No. It’s okay. I feel fine… apart from the fact that I can’t remember anything about my life before waking up on a rowboat this morning.”

“You need to be assessed.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Sam said, “Because I don’t know what I’ve done or who’s trying to kill me. One thing’s for certain, whoever it is who’s looking for me, they have powerful resources, which means they would have someone keeping an eye out at the local hospitals.”

“Would they?”

Sam shrugged. “I would. A man wakes up with no memory of his life beyond the day he woke up, surely the first thing he’s going to do is find a hospital and get checked out.”

“And yet you won’t.”

“No. I can’t.”

Catarina smiled. “Okay, okay… you’d better let me have a look at you.”

“Why?” Sam met her eye. “Are you a doctor?”

She nodded, her lips parting into a coy smile. “I am.”

“What sort?”

“A medical one! Not a philosopher…”