Chapter 4: Two Lines
When Ryan got back to the bar, it was just past three in the afternoon.
Thursday. The day after tomorrow.
He pulled out an old laptop from under the bar. It took forty seconds to boot up. The fan sounded like it was about to take off. He opened the browser and typed "Grayveil" into the search bar.
The first result was a shipping website. Registry: Asteria. Gross tonnage: 42,000. Year built: 2008. Last port call: Silverspire Port, Raven's Berth, Berth B6. Expected departure: Thursday, between 22:00 and 24:00.
Ryan closed the screen.
"You're checking the ship," Voss said. "Not Anton."
"Ship first."
"You're avoiding it."
Ryan didn't respond. He pulled out the old newspaper from under the bar and looked at Vladimir's photo again. Then he laid the newspaper and photo side by side on the bar—the dead arms dealer on the left, the living deputy on the right. A ship in between.
"Thursday night, you get on the ship, find this 'person who'll tell you the truth,' and then what?" Voss asked.
"Then I know who bought the guns three years ago."
"And after you know?"
Ryan's fingers tapped the bar twice. "I'll figure it out after I know."
Voss's data stream flickered at the edge of his vision.
At four-thirty, Selena showed up.
"Found it." She tossed a USB drive onto the bar. "Charlie has a shipment going out Thursday night. Grayveil, Raven's Berth B6. The cargo manager on the ship is Ivan Soderberg, from Meridian. He was one of Vladimir's old guys."
Ryan's hand stopped on his glass.
"After Vladimir died, Ivan went to Charlie," Selena continued. "He's got all the records from that deal three years ago—who paid, who made the connection, who pulled the trigger."
"The person Ghost mentioned is him."
"It's him." Selena repeated. "But there's a problem."
She looked at Ryan.
"Anton's also looking into Ivan. He found out Ivan's connected to Charlie, been watching Raven's Berth for two months. Thursday night, he might be there."
Ryan said nothing.
"So Thursday night when you go to B6, you might run into him," Selena said. "He knows what you look like. His office has a whole wall of photos, all your materials from when you were 'alive.'"
Ryan poured a whiskey and pushed it toward Selena. She didn't take it.
"You scared of him?" Selena asked.
"It's not him I'm scared of."
"Then what are you scared of?"
Ryan didn't answer.
"You know," she picked up the whiskey without drinking it, turning it in her palm. "Three years ago when I brought you back from Aurelia, you had a high fever, your right eye was a bloody hole, and you kept mumbling someone's name. I thought it was your woman."
She took a sip.
"Turned out it was Ghost."
Ryan's fingers stopped on the bar.
"I thought right then, this guy's done for. Stabbed in the back by the person he trusted most, burning up out of his mind and still saying his name." Selena put down the glass. "You hated him for three years. Then he gives you an address and you believe him."
"I don't believe him."
"You're already checking the ship."
Selena stood up. "I'll keep an eye on Anton's movements. Thursday night, if he shows up at Raven's Berth, I'll tell you beforehand."
"Don't take risks."
"You take care of yourself." She walked to the door and stopped. "Ryan."
"What?"
"Don't ever make me think saving you was a mistake."
She pushed the door and left.
Ryan plugged the USB drive into the computer. There was only one file in the folder, a PDF, encrypted. He tried Ghost's birthday, his own birthday, the founding date of Tideward Mercs. All wrong.
On the third try, he typed "Gregor."
It opened.
The file was just one page. A scanned document, handwritten. He read it line by line. Numbers, dates, code names. One line in the middle was smudged with ink, unreadable. The last word in the last line, he recognized.
"What does this mean?" His voice was low.
"What it says," Voss said. "Someone used your code name to buy the guns that killed you."
"I know what it says."
Voss's data stream ran at high speed in his vision, like someone frantically flipping through a book.
"Three years ago, someone using the code name 'Fenrir' contacted Vladimir's people and made a deal. The target was you. Leader of Tideward Mercs, code name Fenrir. The buyer used your name to buy your life."
Ryan's hand started shaking. Something he'd never experienced before—like something inside his chest was being twisted in a circle, twisted to the tightest point, and still twisting.
"This person knew your code name. Knew your movement routes. Knew you'd be on that oil rig at that time."
"Ghost knew."
"Ghost was the executor. Not the buyer."
Ryan pressed down the laptop screen. The keyboard made a crisp crack.
He stood up and walked behind the bar. Hands braced on the counter. His breathing got heavier and heavier in the quiet bar, like an overheating engine.
"Ryan," Voss said.
"Don't talk."
"Your heart rate is one-fifty."
"I said don't talk."
Voss shut up.
Ryan stood behind the bar, eyes closed, motionless. After a long time, his breathing slowed down. He opened his eyes and pulled out a metal box from a crack in the floor. Inside was a passport, three stacks of cash, a spare key, and a phone. An old phone from three years ago, from his Tideward Mercs days.
He turned it on. The screen lit up. Forty-seven missed calls, over three hundred texts. All from three years ago. He scrolled through the first few. All from the same day, the same time. After the explosion, when the news got out, everyone was asking: Is Fenrir still alive? Where's Fenrir?
He hadn't replied to anyone.
He turned off the phone and put it back in the box. When he closed the lid, his hand paused on it for three seconds.
"What are you thinking?" Voss asked.
"I'm thinking about who else knew my code name."
"Every mercenary in the world knows your code name."
"Who knew that code name and I were the same person."
Voss was silent for a long time.
"No one. Except yourself."
Ryan shoved the metal box back into the floor crack.
"Thursday night," he said.
"Yes."
"Turn on the ballistics module. From the moment I walk in."
"Keep it on the whole time?"
"The whole time."
"Got it."
At five in the afternoon, the light on the sea changed from gold to orange, then from orange to a purplish dark red. He parked the car in an alley outside Raven's Berth and walked into the dock area.
Berth B6 was at the far east end of the dock, with no cover on the ocean side.
"If Anton's people are here, they'll pick that spot," Voss said. "Full view of the entire B6 berth. Best position for a sniper."
Ryan didn't speak. He walked a circle around the dock, counting all the entrances and exits. Three. One at the main entrance, one at the side employee passage, and one on the water—the gangway at the stern.
"If Anton comes, he'll post guards at the main entrance, hidden security at the employee passage. The gangway is the only uncontrolled entrance."
"Also the only entrance that requires swimming," Voss said.
Ryan stood at the edge of B6 and looked down. The water was about six feet below the dock platform, dark green seawater slapping against the cement wall, splashing white foam. Swim three hundred meters to the stern, climb the gangway, enter the engine room.
"You're considering it."
"Yes."
He turned around and walked toward the alley. By the time he reached the car, it was already dark. The dock's searchlights came on, lighting up B6 as bright as day.
He sat in the driver's seat, looking at that patch of light.
"You're watching to see if Anton will come," Voss said.
"I'm watching to see where he'll stand after he comes."
"Your conclusion?"
"He'll be on the crane tower. Or at the main entrance."
"You're assessing him."
"I'm preparing."
Ryan started the engine and drove the car out of the alley. In the rearview mirror, he saw the searchlight at B6 still sweeping, like an eye that wouldn't close.
Thursday night, under that eye, he had to get on that ship.
