Agent 21: Reloaded: Book 2 (17 page)

It took him a few minutes more to find the light switch. It was lower on the wall than he expected and encased in a waterproof rubber housing. He switched it on and immediately touched his fingers to the wounds Acosta had inflicted across his face. The cuts were still bleeding – Zak needed to put pressure on them to encourage the blood to clot, so he quickly pulled off his T-shirt and pressed it against his face. It was still damp from his swim, and the salt water stung the cuts. He kept it pressed against his cheek for a full two minutes, however, before removing it and gently touching the wounds again. They were dry. His T-shirt, however, was streaked with blood.

Only now did Zak properly look around the room. It was very small. Along the left-hand side was a bunk bed with very narrow mattresses. Its posts were fixed to the floor. He threw his bloodied T-shirt on the bottom mattress. There were threadbare carpet tiles on the floor and a writing desk on the right-hand side. Nothing else. This was not luxury accommodation.

He looked in the desk for anything that might be of use. There were some old biros and a sheaf of blank paper. Apart from that, nothing. On the wall was a laminated safety poster – exactly the same as the one he’d seen earlier. It was set in a steel frame, but was
easy to remove. The material was thick and only slightly flexible. That gave him an idea.

He sat on the edge of the bed to get his thoughts together. They must have left the Angolan coast fifteen minutes ago. Even if his dive gear was still attached to the hull he’d be lucky to get at it. But there was only enough gear for one person, and he was too far out to safely make it back to shore in any case. He counted the number of crew members he had seen: Acosta, Karlovic, Eduardo and Barker’s mate. Barker, of course, was dead. Four men, but there was no guarantee that was everyone. They were armed; he wasn’t. His chances of overcoming them were very small and he had no doubt that Acosta would kill him if he tried.

No. If Zak was going to have a chance, he needed to do something cleverer than that. If he couldn’t get himself to safety, safety was going to have to come to him. And to Bea too. Zak couldn’t work her out. Maybe she was in league with his abductors, maybe she wasn’t. All he knew was that he couldn’t just leave her to Black Wolf when there was a chance she might be innocent …

Suddenly he felt the ship lurch. It felt like it had risen several metres in the air, then fallen sharply. Instinctively he grabbed the corner post of the bed and he realized now why it was fastened to the floor.
Zak couldn’t see outside, of course – there were no windows in this little cabin – but he sensed that the conditions outside were getting rougher. That could make things difficult. He needed to do something to stop the ship. To put it in danger, or at least out of action. If Acosta was forced to issue a Mayday call over the ship’s radio, whatever vessel was nearest them would be obliged to respond …

Zak stood up. The ship lurched again and he almost lost his footing. But then he headed towards the door.
Do not escape
… Bea had tapped on the wall in Morse code.
Yeah
, Zak thought to himself.
Right
.

He stood in front of the safety poster. That, he decided, was his ticket out of this prison. Back on St Peter’s Crag, Raf had given him a lesson in lock-picking techniques. Several lessons, actually. Zak knew how to force a lock using nothing but a paperclip or a hairpin. He knew how to fashion a workable skeleton key. And he knew how to open a locked door with nothing but a credit card. He had none of these at his disposal. But the hard, laminated plastic of the safety poster wasn’t far off the flexible strength of a credit card. It was too big, of course – about the size of a piece of A3 paper – but it wouldn’t take much to cut it down to size.

Zak slid the poster out of its steel frame and laid it on the floor. It was written in French, and Zak, thanks
to his language lessons back at St Peter’s Crag, was able to translate it automatically as he read it. Almost without knowing he was doing it, he memorized the positions of the emergency muster stations. He raised a rueful eyebrow at the crudely drawn image of a crew member throwing a life ring out to sea. The only thing Acosta and his Black Wolf buddies would be throwing over the side of the
Mercantile
, he reckoned, would be a body. Barker was probably food for the fishes already. If things didn’t go well, Zak would be joining him. The thought made his hands shake.

He folded one side of the laminated poster over so he had a strip a couple of inches wide, and flattened it down to form a crease. Opening it out again, he turned the poster over and bent the strip in the opposite direction. He repeated this several times, and with each fold the crease grew weaker and weaker. A couple of minutes later, Zak was able to tear it carefully so he had a long strip.

He was about to make another crease when the ship lurched again. Worse than before. So badly, in fact, that Zak was thrown against the wall. It took ten seconds for the vessel to settle, but then there was a terrifying rumble from somewhere up above. It took a moment for him to work out what it was: thunder. It felt and sounded like the
Mercantile
was heading straight into the middle of a storm.

The cabin light dimmed momentarily. Zak tried not to imagine what sort of waves would be having this effect on the ship. When the light came on again he turned his attention back to the strip of laminated plastic and repeated the folding process until he was able to tear off a rectangle the size of a credit card.

He looked towards the door. The slip of laminated card in his hand would be enough to get him out of here, but what would he do then? Forcing a Mayday call was all very well, but to disable the ship in the middle of a storm would be madness. He could do nothing unless the gale eased off.

Zak hunkered down in the corner of his cell. The lights failed again. This time they didn’t come back on. He crouched in the darkness as the
Mercantile
lurched and swayed. Now and then he heard a massive creaking sound. It was as if the ship was groaning, protesting at the conditions outside. His mouth grew dry with fear. The vessel was being battered. He hoped it was up to the job …

He didn’t know how long he’d been crouching there when the tapping sounded again. Regular. Monotonous. Almost as if the girl in the cabin next door was trying to taunt him.

Do not escape
…

Do not escape
…

Zak clutched his makeshift credit card firmly. He
didn’t know what to do for the best. He wished Raf and Gabs were there. They’d be able to help him. They’d tell him the right path to take. He remembered something Gabs had said to him once.
A bit of fear is good. It keeps you alert. Trust me – in our line of work you don’t want to get blasé
.

If Gabs was right, Zak reckoned he must be on high alert now.

Do not escape
…

Do not escape
…

He felt like beating on the walls with his fists. Yelling at her to shut up. The repeated message of Bea – whoever she was, whichever side she was on – needled him. A repetitive reminder that he didn’t fully know what was going on.

That he was in the dark, in more ways than one …

Time had no meaning in the total darkness of that little cell. Zak didn’t know how many hours he sat there, brooding over the fact that his mission had failed and his chances of escaping were slim. All he knew was that the storm was getting worse, and that the ship’s movements were becoming more and more terrifying. As time passed, he grew cold. He felt in the darkness for the T-shirt he’d dumped on the bed. It was still damp – salt water, he now remembered, dried less quickly than fresh water. He put the clammy
T-shirt on anyway. It didn’t make him feel much better.

When the door opened and a torch shone from the doorway into the cabin, it hurt Zak’s eyes. He sensed two figures coming for him. The room filled with the stench of sweat and salt.

Hands. They gripped the top of his arms and pulled him to his feet, before pushing him violently towards the door. Zak stumbled out into the corridor, where the sway of the ship knocked him to the ground. He looked up, praying they wouldn’t notice what he’d done to the laminated poster and half wondering if he could just make a run for it now. But then the men were towering above him. He didn’t recognize either of them, which meant he was right about there being more crew members on the
Mercantile
than he knew about. Both of them had MP5s. It crossed Zak’s mind that this was Black Wolf’s weapon of choice.

‘Get to your feet, kid,’ one of the men said. He was a pasty-looking man with a large mole on the side of his face. ‘
El capitán
wants a word with you.’

‘I’m honoured,’ Zak muttered. He was rewarded for his sarcasm by a sharp kick in the stomach that knocked the wind from him. He gasped and gulped and felt himself being pulled roughly to his feet again.

Acosta was waiting for him on the bridge. It was dark here too, but he could make out the shadow of the skipper’s face, thanks to the light from his assailants’ torches. Outside it was inky black, but as Zak entered the bridge, a flash of sheet lightning lit up the whole sky. For a couple of seconds, the sea was illuminated. An enormous wave – at least as high as the
Mercantile
itself – rose up just metres from the deck. It was like a nightmare. Everything went dark again, just as the wave crashed over the ship. It made a thunderous noise and it was followed seconds later by
real
thunder that crashed and echoed everywhere around. It took all Zak’s strength to keep upright.

If the skipper was alarmed in any way by the raging storm, he didn’t show it. He grabbed Zak by the scruff of his T-shirt and pulled him so their faces were only inches apart. He was forced to shout above the dreadful noise.

‘Have you ever wondered what it feels like to drown?’ he yelled.

Zak shook his head.

‘Who are you, and who do you work for?’ Acosta’s eyes gleamed in the darkness and his face was sweating.

Another great wave crashed against the ship.
If he wanted me dead
, Zak told himself,
he’d have killed me already
.

‘I told you!’ he shouted back. ‘My name’s Jason Cole. Ntole made me—’

Acosta swiped him across the side of his face – not with his vicious ring, this time, but the blow made the wound on Zak’s face sting anyway.

‘They say that drowning is the worst death of all,’ Acosta shouted at him. ‘Well, you’re about to find out, my friend.’ He looked at the two men who’d brought him from the cell. ‘Grab him!’ he instructed.

There was no way Zak could escape. Within seconds each man had taken one of his arms. Acosta was in his face again.

‘Do you know what waterboarding is, kid?’

Zak nodded mutely.

‘We have our own version on this ship. We’ll put a hood over your head. Then we’ll tie you to the railings on the deck. You’ll feel like you’re drowning every time a wave hits you. We’ll see how keen you are to talk to me after a few hours of that.’ He gave Zak a nasty grin. ‘Most people last about ten seconds before they crack.’

‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ Zak said. ‘Please don’t do this.
Please
…’

But Acosta had already turned away. He disappeared to a far corner of the deck. When he returned, seconds later, he had an old pillowcase in his hands. He held it up by the corners. ‘It’s very important,’ he said, ‘in this day and age, to recycle, don’t you think?’

Zak struggled to get away, but the men had him gripped firmly. Acosta advanced, and without another word he pulled the pillowcase over Zak’s head. Zak writhed but it was no good. He felt Acosta wrapping a cord around his neck and tying it – not so tight that he couldn’t breathe, but tight enough to secure the pillowcase. Within seconds Zak found himself gasping for air, just as his arms were pulled behind his back and tightly bound together.

‘Take him outside,’ Acosta ordered. ‘Let’s see how brave he is after a while on deck.’

Zak felt himself being pulled away. ‘You’re making a mistake,’ he shouted. ‘
You’re making a mistake!
’ No one replied as he was pushed and pulled, unable to tell which way he was going.

He fell twice before they arrived outside on deck. Each time it was because the ship had lurched, and each time he was pulled roughly back onto his feet and told to move. But when he was out in the open air, all his troubles up till now seemed like nothing.

The first thing that hit him was the noise. He’d heard it inside, of course, but out here it was deafening. The air was cold and filled with spray and hard rain. He hadn’t been on deck for more than two seconds before he was soaked through. The pillowcase became saturated and Zak found it even more difficult to breathe as he was pulled along the deck and forced
up against the railings, facing out to sea. From beneath his hood he sensed another flash of lightning; ten seconds later there was a boom of thunder that almost shook his bones.

Rope around his ankles. He felt his assailants tying his legs to the railings, before binding his body and his arms. He tried to struggle, to get himself away, but they were too strong for him.

‘Let’s get inside before we’re washed over,’ one of the men said once Zak was fixed firmly to the side of the deck.

‘Yeah,’ the other replied. ‘I don’t fancy joining Barker.’

‘Don’t go!’ Zak shouted. ‘Your skipper’s made a mistake … I’ve told him everything I know.’

The two men gave ugly laughs. ‘Come sunrise,’ one of them said, ‘you’ll be racking your brains for things you
haven’t
told him. You’ll be crying like a baby. Oh, hang on, I forgot – you
are
a baby, aren’t you. You just thought you could mix it with the big boys.’ Another brutish laugh and their voices disappeared.

‘Don’t go!’ Zak repeated. ‘
Don’t go!
’

But it was too late. Zak was all alone. Bound. Hooded. And about to experience everything the ocean could throw at him.