Muted sounds broke through the drug of sleep. Jason Brand roused himself, becoming aware of the ache that ran the length of his spine. He pushed into a sitting position, scrubbing a hand across his dry face. His fingers rasped against the thick beard stubble. The least they could have done was to have let him shave. He smiled at his own vanity. What the hell did he need to shave for? Right now he had no need for the niceties of life. A rising burst of anger brought him lurching to his feet and he stumbled around in semi-darkness until he tripped over a coil of rope. He went down on his knees, cursing his own weakness, and knew in the same instant that it was exactly what Sung Shan wanted. The Chinese had his own methods for breaking a man. Brand had already acknowledged the possible effectiveness of those methods.
He crawled on hands and knees until he reached the place where a small iron grille afforded him his only contact with the outside world. Pressing his face against it Brand stared out on a wide blue sky curving cleanly above a limitless spread of blue-green water. He felt the slight touch of a breeze against his skin and tasted the salt from the water that sprayed up from below the grille.
The Gulf of Mexico.
A wide and peaceful expanse of ocean that was a long way from the arid terrain of New Mexico. Brand narrowed his aching eyes against the bright gleam of the reflected sun and listened to the sounds around him. Sounds he had come to recognize over the past days. The soft flap of bleached sails catching the high winds and the constant creak of the tall masts flexing against the weight of canvas and rope. He could also hear the slap of the waves against the sides of the ship and the shrill cry of gulls as they wheeled and curved against the clean splash of the empty sky.
Somehow he had known what was waiting at the end of the two-day trip by train, taking them all the way out of New Mexico and through southern Texas. Sung Shan had the whole trip well organized. From the gold-cache they had traveled across country for three days, picking up a backwater spur line just below Gallup. The gold had been transferred into a freight car and stored in prepared wooden crates. A local cattle train had hooked them on in the late afternoon and just after midnight they had been shunted into a siding alongside the southbound tracks of the main Denver to El Paso route. In the early hours a long freight train had made a stop for water and when it moved on the freight car had been added to its complement. At El Paso they had left the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe line, joining the Southern Pacific. They traveled deep into Texas and completed their rail journey just below Corpus Christi. Sung Shan’s pre-planning had been well worked out and another wagon and team had been waiting. The final stretch of their journey brought them to a quiet little bay along the coast from Port Isabel. On the evening tide Jason Brand got his first glimpse of the triple masted 250-foot clipper The Gulf Queen. The gold had been taken on board and stored in the after hold and before first light the ship raised anchor, turned about and had slipped quietly by Port Isabel, leaving behind the calm water of Laguna Madre. The thin spit of land known as Padre Island fell behind them in the early morning mist as The Gulf Queen set a southerly course out across the Gulf, the white yardarm pointing the way to Mexico.
For Jason Brand it meant being confined below decks, relieved only when he was brought a mug of water and a chunk of dry bread by one of the crewmen. On the second day the man himself put in an appearance, accompanied by the ever silent Chu. Sung Shan stood just inside the doorway, a thin smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
‘I’ll wager you were a bastard when you were a kid,’ Brand said. He directed his words at Shan, but his gaze drifted beyond the man, taking in the open deck and the calm sea beyond. Nothing he saw offered much in the way of escape. Brand returned his gaze to Shan. ‘I can just see you pulling the wings off flies.’
Sung Shan stared around Brand’s cramped quarters. ‘I hope you understand that I could not offer better accommodation, Brand,’ he said. ‘If it had been left to Mr. Ruger you would already be dead and not enjoying the pleasure of a sea voyage.’
‘I’m not so sure about it being good for my health.’
‘That is of great concern to me,’ Shan said. ‘I am still undecided as to the extent of your knowledge over my affairs. As I said once before, you will be kept alive until the matter is determined one way or another. Once we reach our destination I will have ample time to devote to you.’
‘The hell with you, Shan.’
Even now Brand could see the cold gleam in Sung Shan’s eyes. Once the Chinese had him where he wanted, Brand’s life would become decidedly uncomfortable. So he needed to do something to alter things. McCord’s priorities didn’t concern him any longer. It was down to pure survival – his own, and that took pride of place over everything else. If he managed to get himself free and clear of Shan and company, then he could follow up his assignment.
‘We will talk again,’ Shan had said.
He stepped back and the door thudded shut again.
Now peering through the grille Brand screwed his head round, trying to get a look towards the bow of the ship. At first all he could see was the blurred merging of sea and sky. He blinked against the bright glare, and as his eyes focused he made out a strip of tree-lined land. Below the trees was a pale beach, waves rolling against the sand. He realized then that the ship was turning in towards the land. He picked up the increasing activity on deck as the crew moved to man their stations.
He moved back from the grille and slumped against the bulkhead. Time was running out. The voyage was coming to an end. Probably at some rendezvous where Sung Shan would unload his gold. That meant Brand would be leaving the ship too. But for where? He didn’t give it too much though. His main concern was his survival.
He stayed close to the grille, watching as the shoreline got closer. He saw they had entered a small bay and the beach was only a couple of hundred yards away. Close enough for Brand to see the wild growth of trees and undergrowth. The area looked uninhabited. First choice for an illegal landing of stolen gold.
He jerked away from the grille as he heard the bolt on the door being jerked back. He saw it swing open. Saw the stocky figure framed in the opening. One of the ship’s crew.
‘Come on, Yank, the Chinaman wants you on deck.’ The voice was harsh. The accent British. The threat behind the tone was clear. To add emphasis to the order the revolver in the sailor’s hand moved menacingly towards Brand’s stomach. ‘Buck up, Yank, or I’ll let you have one your own bleedin’ bullets.’
Brand stood up slowly, bracing himself against the bulkhead as the ship rolled slightly. He heard the man laugh softly. Brand crossed to the door, ignoring the gun. He had already noticed it was his own Colt. That angered him more than anything else. The bastards were already dividing up his belongings.
‘Blimey, I thought you cowboys were fast on your feet.’
As Brand drew level with the door the sailor stepped aside but reached out an impatient hand to push him out onto the deck. The moment was ill chosen. A sudden swell rolled the ship and the sailor was forced to shift his stance as the deck canted. For a second the Colt’s barrel moved away from Brand and he took the chance, pushing from the door, driving his shoulder into the crewman’s chest. His right hand reached out, finger’s closing over the Colt’s hammer. Brand slammed the point of his left elbow into the sailor’s exposed stomach. The man grunted, winded, eyes staring wildly as he struggled against Brand’s weight. Aware he didn’t have the strength for a prolonged struggle Brand hauled himself around and kneed the sailor savagely in the groin. As the man sagged Brand slammed his left hand under the sailor’s chin and rammed his head back against the solid door frame. All resistance went and as the man sagged Brand snatched his Colt free, turning to step out on deck.
And found himself lost in a world of tall masts and flapping canvas, ropes and rigging. A world where the deck moved under his feet. The sudden cold splash of spray rising over the ship’s side snapped him back to some degree of normality. He felt the ship roll and threw out a hand to hang on to a rope, eyes searching the way ahead.
He heard a shout. Brand spun, saw a moving figure, and ducked as he spotted the raised revolver in the man’s hand. He heard the vicious crack of the weapon. The bullet chunked into the wood railing only feet away, raising splinters. A second shot smacked against the wind, this bullet tugging at Brand’s shirt sleeve. He lunged forward, crouching and snapped off a quick shot. He knew he had missed even as he fired but at least the closeness made the other man draw back. Brand saw him bobbing up and down, using deck clutter for cover. He waited, taking his time, and fired again when he felt satisfied. This time he made a hit and the target twisted as blood and fragments of cloth burst from his shoulder. The hit man stumbled, losing his revolver as he went down on his knees. Brand saw his own exposed position as close to being suicidal. Attack could – and would – come from any number of directions. He had no offensive advantages, or defensive ones. At most he had four shots left. After that...
In the seconds his enemies organized themselves Brand assessed his position, weighed his options – he changed that to a single option – and took it.
He jammed the Colt down behind his belt, turned and ran for the side of the ship. In the instant before he went over the side he looked down at the blue-green water, figuring he was way out of his depth in more ways than one, then he was falling.
As he cleared the rail a shot rang out, the bullet ripping a furrow across the top of his left shoulder. The pain made him yell and he barely managed to suck in air before he hit the water and sank below the surface. He fought against rising too quickly, aware he needed to gain some distance from the ship. He kicked out with his legs, driving himself through the water until his starving lungs demanded he offer them air. Bubbles streamed from his lips as he pushed towards the surface. The sun blinded him for a moment as his head cleared the water. Gasping wildly Brand made vain attempts to steady himself against the pull of the current. He looked out for the shore but found the ship first. The Gulf Queen, already yards away, still loomed large. Brand was still able to make out Ruger and Sung Shan at the stern rail. There were others too. Members of the crew. Armed. They had rifles and they started to fire. Brand heard the whip crack of the shots. Bullets zipped angrily through the water around him, but it was hard for the shooters to make accurate fire due to the roll of the ship.
Brand felt a sudden, powerful force grip him. He was lifted and hurled shoreward by the swell of the water. The power of the waves proved too much for him. Brand was overwhelmed, flung back and forth. In the end he went with the flow, realizing he couldn’t do a thing to prevent it. He concentrated on keeping his head above water, snatching in air whenever he could. He kept getting brief glimpses of the green shoreline as he was turned and twisted by the current, his battered body aching. He swallowed mouthfuls of water, choking and gasping as the waves slammed him down, then lifted him in a terrifying moment before dropping him yet again. The action was repeated over and over. He was lost in an alien environment, the pressure from tons of water forcing him down until he was dragged along the sandy seabed. Gravel and sand tore at his flesh and clothes. His senses dulled. He was barely aware of being flung into shallow water, rolled back and forth by the crashing waves until they reluctantly retreated and left him sprawled on the beach.
Brand lay motionless. He could still hear the rolling sound of the waves close by, the water still tugging at his legs. He was still not fully aware of his surroundings. It was only when his stomach rejected the salt water he had swallowed, making him retch violently, that he finally realized where he was. When his retching ceased he lay shivering despite the hot sun. It took him some time before he recovered enough to be able to drag himself to his knees and crawl up the dry, sandy beach until he reached the fringe of palm trees. He lay on the warm sand and passed out.