For the rest of that morning and on into the afternoon Jackson continued roaming the passageways and catwalks, nodding and exchanging words with passing crew members as he reviewed his conversations of that morning and the past few days.
Watch out for Supercop. Meaning what, exactly?
They took trophies. Jesus.
And, start signal? Jackson wasn’t familiar with the term but its meaning seemed clear enough. Something like a shot from a starter pistol at the track. Was that a warning? or a threat?
The fact that day six had come and gone gave Jackson little comfort. With Santiago, the killer had already changed his pattern substantially. Who was to say he wouldn’t also change his schedule?
That afternoon he returned to his stateroom to grab a few hours’ sleep so he could walk the passageways again—and especially the exteriors—come the night hours.
He dreamed about his daddy, coming for him that sultry Louisiana night with his switchblade in his pocket and murder in his heart.
At dusk Jackson arose and resumed his circuits, patrolling like a beat cop. Fantail, gun mounts, sponsons, aircraft elevators, anchor room…everywhere that involved direct access to the outside. What was he watching for? Would he know it when he saw it? Pick up the scent of Terrible as it drifted past? He had no answers. All he could do was walk, watch, and listen.
He rolled on through the night.
The moon was one day from full.
August moon, tail end of the Australian winter. In these parts of the world the locals called it “Snow Moon,” “Storm Moon.” “Hunger Moon.” “Wolf Moon.”
All that night, nothing happened.
Finn sat in solitary.
Some six thousand souls snored in their racks or went about their night jobs as above their heads jets shot off into the sky and crashed down to the deck again. The ship hurtled on, shoving aside 5,000 tons of seawater per second as it ate up the miles.
The Wolf Moon watched.
Jackson was out on the flight deck catwalk the next morning when dawn broke, cold and drizzly. He doubted their evildoer would attempt the doing of any further evil during the daylight hours, but he could not be certain of that, so on he walked, through that morning and into the afternoon—when he got word that security would in fact be increasing that night.
The captain had finally agreed to beefing up their detail, with the proviso that it be done as quietly and discreetly as possible.
Jackson had no problem with that. No problem at all. Maybe he’d even get in a few hours of sleep himself tonight.
At 2200 hours, as darkness settled in over the flight deck and catwalks, the extra security detail began moving into place.
At 2300 hours, the incessant rain gave way to a dense, cold fog. The Wolf Moon took its place above the ocean’s horizon, pale and blood-hungry.
At midnight, Finn was released from custody.