The Marble Sea by Brian Russell

Author:Brian Russell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2021-12-20T16:05:59+00:00

Chapter 22

Sofi reached the door to the bridge first. She glanced through the glass and without waiting, grabbed the handle and slid the door open. She stepped through, gun drawn and smiled at the shocked faces of the two men. She pointed her Glock directly at the face of the tall one and barked orders in Turkish. In unison, the men raised their hands and dropped to their knees. Behind her, Peter watched them intently; aware that a part of him hoped one of them would do something stupid. He had no doubt he could happily empty his gun into either one of them. He didn’t have long to wait.

As the taller man removed his gun from his belt and slid it across the floor toward Sofi’s feet, the fat one made a fatal mistake. He slowly withdrew his weapon from his pocket as directed and made to slide it to Sofi. For a second, she took her eyes off the man, anticipating the sliding gun. But instead of releasing it, he grasped the handle and pointed the pistol at Sofi. Without blinking, she shot him through the eye. Before Peter could even begin to react to the threat, the fat man was face down on the wheelhouse floor, a pool of dark viscous liquid spreading from underneath him.

Sofi immediately spun and took aim at the tall man’s face again.

“Please,” he whispered, this time in English, “don’t shoot.”

“Is there anyone else onboard?” she demanded. “If you lie to me, you’re a dead man.”

He shook his head allowing his eyes to dart around the room, settling for a second on Peter.

Peter had the impression that the man had recovered from his initial shock and was now trying to decide on a course of action. Obviously, given his line of work, this was not the first time he’d been in a precarious position. He was a paid killer and not someone to underestimate.

“Peter,” Sofi said firmly, “find a rope or something. We need to tie this man up before we have a conversation.”

Peter scouted around the wheelhouse and found a coil of tight rope stashed in one of the lockers. As Sofi kept her gun trained on the man, Peter hauled him roughly to his feet and lashed him to the huge wooden wheel with his arms and legs outstretched. He then stepped back to evaluate his work.

“Looks like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man,” said Sofi grinning, “very artistic, Peter. I’m impressed. Now just in case our friend here is not being truthful, why don’t you watch the door while I have a little chat with him?”

Peter moved to the doorway where he had a full view of the deck as Sofi moved as close to the prisoner as she could without retching. The man, aided by the sweat that now soaked his shirt, smelled like a septic tank. “What is your rank on this sorry rust pail,” she asked in Turkish.

The man shook his head and responded in Italian.

“I see,” she continued, switching to English.

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