Ghost Ship

Someone was following him. He darted into a small lookout dug into the mountainside. It was an enclosed section of a rock that overlooked the sea. He stepped inside.

And was greeted by two men with guns.

Neither looked like police officers.

If he had to guess — which he did — these were paid goons, sent to fetch him.

One of the men fixed a pistol on him. “All right, that will do now. You’re done running…”

He twisted the palms of his hands skyward. “All right, all right. I’ll stop. Just tell me what I’ve done?”

The second one opened a butterfly knife. “And you’re not here to ask questions. I’m afraid you’re here to answer what we want to know.”

Chapter Four

His heart pounded in the back of his head.

He pursed his lips and breathed hard, still trying to catch his breath from the constant uphill running. He took in the two men at a glance, sizing them up for a fight, like a professional boxer might before entering the ring.

The man was no longer frightened. The reign of fear and confusion was replaced by mechanical automation as his instincts took over.

Am I a professional fighter?

The man with the knife approached him.

The man with the pistol kept it fixed on him. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

His heart thumped.

The man came close to him with the knife. “Who else knows?”

He frowned, no recollection of his past having yet returned. “Knows what?”

The goon shifted the knife and it sliced him lightly beneath his shirt on his chest. It stung, but he was determined not to betray his pain.

“I’m afraid I really don’t know anything. In fact, I’ve lost my memory. I have no idea who I am, or what I did. So, I guess we’re both shit out of luck…”

The enforcer raised an eyebrow. “How stupid do you think we are?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. I can’t say whether I’ve ever met you or not — and if so, if you were dumb or smart.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The man changed the grip of the knife so the blade tilted inward. “Look. We’re going to kill you anyway. You know that. We know that. The decision here is rather simple. Do you want to die quickly, or pleading for mercy?”

He sighed and took a deep breath. “Look. I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve lost my memory, so I have no idea whether I’m the sort of guy who would like to go out quickly and quietly, or am I the sort of guy who would like to go out against the odds writhing in pain?”

Knifeman started to laugh. “You know… you of all people, I wouldn’t expect to have a sense of humor. Not after the sort of life you’ve led. Not after what you’ve done. Now what’s it going to be?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seriously. I guess you’d better help me decide.”

A third person entered the visitor’s lookout and closed a thick wooden door behind him. The new arrival was decidedly shorter than the other two. He wore an expensive suit, was well groomed, and looked like a high-profile lawyer. But instead of carrying a suitcase, he carried a duffel bag. There was no doubt in his mind it contained a precision rifle and not the man’s luggage.

The new arrival glanced at the two thugs. “Did he tell you?”

“Not yet, boss.”

The boss turned to face him. “Well? Where did you put the suitcase?”

He shrugged. “What suitcase?”

The boss punched him hard in the gut.

It made him crouch over. The pain in his diaphragm made it impossible to breathe for a few seconds.

He slowly straightened himself up. “Ah, that suitcase.”

The boss said, “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know that, but your friends are trying their best to remind me.”

The boss’s eyes narrowed. “What is this, a joke? You think all this is funny?”

Knifeman said, “He keeps telling us he’s lost his memory.”

The boss frowned. “Did you try to remind him?”

“Yeah, yeah… I told him I could kill him quickly, or I could make him suffer and beg for his life.”

“So, what did he say?”

Knifeman shrugged. “He said he’d lost his memory, so didn’t know if he was the sort of man who wanted to go silently and painlessly in the night, or kicking and screaming in pain.”

The boss gestured toward him. “So remind him!”

He took a deep breath and patiently waited until knifeman moved in close with a sharp jab of his knife.

The knife approached his chest.

He moved on instinct. His attacker had expected him to move backward.

Instead he shifted his weight to his left foot and drove his right knee up into his attacker’s groin.

Knifeman cried out in agony, and the blade slipped past his left arm.

He twisted the attacker’s wrist and removed the knife in one swift movement. He rotated the angle of the blade and drove it into the man’s chest.

Knifeman cried out.

He rotated the blade and drove it upward. The razor-sharp blade slid effortlessly between the intercostal space, between the fourth and fifth rib, piercing the heart.

The man didn’t die instantly.

He shuddered and thrashed around, like a wounded animal.

The boss yelled, “Shoot him!”

The second goon raised his pistol.

He grabbed hold of knifeman who was now struggling to breathe. There was frothy blood gurgling from his mouth.