D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

of flat obsidian, reflected the stars overhead, along with the dim light of a jaundiced moon.

Leaving Erika in Nye’s care, Michael ventured to the Harpoonist’s Perch, a narrow plank jutting out from the prow, with a waist-high metal rail encircling its perimeter. Standing at the point, he looked down, watching the prow slice into the water, the incessant hiss of the foam a balm to his soul. The salt air tickled his nose with its complex bouquet, and he reveled in the sting of the spray and the caress of the wind against his face. Visibility was nearly unlimited and, if he squinted, he could see the lights of the French and Belgian coasts hugging the horizon. Tension leaked from him, and for the first time in uncounted hours, he felt relaxed—at peace.

“We’re almost there, Dad,” he whispered.

He cocked an ear, as if expecting an answer his conscious mind knew would never come; and yet he felt closer to his father than he’d ever felt in his life. It was a feeling that both comforted and left him bereft.

What happened out in that desert, Dad? And how the bloody hell did the Royal South Wessex regiment factor into all of it?

He knew the answer lay across the cold black waters. They had to reach Valdemarr, Jarmann, or Von Arnwolf before the killers did. If fate were on their side, one of these men would hold the key. Only then would the killing stop. Only then would they be safe.

He sensed Erika’s presence before he saw her.

She waited for him at the entrance to the perch, trembling from the chill in the air, her delicate brow furrowed with concern. He retraced his steps, went to her and took her into his arms, feeling her body fitting to his like two halves of a mold. Her heart hammered against her ribs, keeping cadence with his own. And then he kissed her. Soft at first, it quickly turned more urgent, her tongue warm and insistent. For Michael, it felt as if nothing else in the universe mattered.

She broke the kiss a moment later, leaning against him, sighing. “You looked so sad just now,” she said. “I was worried.”

“Just thinking about my father. As much as I want to know what happened, Erika, there’s a part of me that doesn’t.”

She shook her head. “You’re afraid he won’t live up to your image of him.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Only in a way that is good.”

“What about you, Erika?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did your father live up to your image of him?”

Michael didn’t get the reaction he expected. Instead of confiding in him, she pulled away and walked to the railing, her head bowed while she stared into the water. He stayed where he was, sensing she didn’t want him near just then. After a long agonizing moment, she turned to face him.

“There’s something we need to talk about, Michael. It can’t wait any longer. I—” she halted, the tears welling anew. “Scheisse! It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

An icy chill swept through Michael. “What is it?”

“You’ll hate me.”

“No, I won’t. I’m too bloody much in love with you.”

An emotional tug of war played across her face. She bit her lip.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” Michael said, giving voice to his worst fear.

She shook her head. “If only it were as simple as that.”

He went to her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

“I don’t care what it is. Do you understand? I don’t care. I don’t care if you’ve had ten husbands, or had a fling with the bloody girl next door!”

“You will care,” she said, her voice a tiny whisper almost lost to the wind.

“Oi, you two!” Captain Nye called out. “It’s bloody cold as a witch’s bum. Get on back here, I’ve got some tea brewing!”

Michael saw the relief in Erika’s eyes and decided that whatever was bothering her could wait. He took her hand, feeling her frozen fingers dig into his, and led the way back to the wheelhouse.

True to the old sailor’s word, a battered enameled teapot sat boiling atop an ancient hotplate, the odor of Typhoo permeating the air. Nye pointed a long bony finger toward two steaming cups, while taking a sip from his own. Michael nodded, picked them up, and handed one to Erika who retreated to the stern, taking a seat on the transom. Michael sat on one of the two swivel chairs and sipped from his; it tasted sweeter than he liked, but the warmth coursing through him was more than welcome. He took another sip and looked up to find Nye regarding him with an expression of cautious amusement.

“I never could understand ‘em myself,” he said, placing his mug on the instrument panel and grabbing the wheel with both hands.

Michael’s puzzled look elicited a soft chuckle from the elderly sailor. “Women. Loved ‘em as much as any man. Had one in every port, you see. But they’d drive me bloody crackers with all their demands and their contrary ways. Couldn’t abide being with one for longer than a week. By then I’d feel the call o’ the sea and back I went.” He gave the wheel an affectionate pat. “Molly’s the only woman for me. Right old girl?”

Michael smiled in spite of his dark mood. It didn’t take a genius to see that the old salt was trying to make him feel better. Funny thing, it was working.

“No regrets?” Michael asked.

Nye shook his head. “Nary a one. Molly and I have an understandin’, you see. I don’t go foolin’ with human females, and she don’t never let me down. So far, it’s been a perfect match.”

Michael nodded,