Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“Wait!”

The order came from a female voice. The man pulled Kurt from the water and held him there.

“We can use him,” the woman said.

As he was allowed to breathe, Kurt stared at the woman. He recognized her. The short dark hair, wet and matted to her head. The high cheekbones. He knew her somehow. Her name was . . . Calista.

“He’ll tell the world about us,” the man said, objecting.

“Someone has to,” she said cryptically. “You idiots have killed the captain and the crew. We planned on using them for that purpose.”

“We didn’t expect them to fight.”

She dropped down beside Kurt and opened a small case. Kurt could feel the yacht rolling in the swells. It was in danger of going over. Almost unconscious, Kurt fought to stay awake. His strength was gone. His mind clouding over.

The woman produced a syringe and jabbed it in his neck. Kurt’s mind drifted further.

She moved close to his face and held it in both hands. “You came aboard the yacht,” she said, her voice a distant echo. “You saw Sienna beyond this wall.”

She turned his head toward it. The cracks caught his eye. “She was floating facedown. Her hair was wet, waving like sea grass.”

Kurt stared at the glass wall. The glare of a flashlight reflected off it, blinding him. When it was gone, he could see through the glass. The room was half filled with water. The cushions and papers floated in muck.

Sienna was there, he saw her. He lunged toward her only to bang into the glass.

“She drowned,” the voice told him. “Along with her daughter. Such a pretty child. Such a shame.”

Kurt could see it happening. The little girl in her dress, a towheaded blonde. Her small fingers were still curled around her mother’s hand. He remembered hearing that her name was Elise.

“Her eyes are open,” the woman said.

Kurt winced at the image. He tried again to get to them but was thrown back to the deck.

“The yacht is sinking,” the voice told him. “Filling with water. Break the glass! It’s your only hope.”

Kurt slammed his fist into the glass wall but it was no use. He couldn’t break through.

“You tried to smash it with the chair but the glass would not fall. Instead, you did.”

He was pushed onto his back.

“The yacht is rolling over. You’ve run out of time.”

“No!”

“They’re pulling you out!”

“No,” Kurt shouted. He felt himself being drawn backward. His mask was ripped off. And then the back of his head slammed against something once again.

But instead of finding himself out in the sea, he realized, through the haze in his mind, that he was still on the bridge.

He saw the woman and the others walking away. He heard her speaking to someone by radio. “Open the sea cocks. Sink this ship. And let’s get out of here.”

“What happens when he starts to remember?” another of them said.

“He won’t,” she insisted. “Not until we let him.”

Kurt lost track of them and tried to move. He had to get out of there, he had to escape. He tried to stand, but his arms felt as if they were made of lead. His legs were useless.