Ghost Ship

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the empty fuselage at a glance. There was no equipment inside. Nothing tied down. The cargo bay was wide enough to fit an M1 Abrams tank. Empty, it was like a giant slide to the ground rapidly becoming far below. Four soldiers, tethered into safety lines, were at the end of the open tail gate.

His eyes darted toward a cargo net lining the fuselage. It was more than ten feet away. Too far for him to reach.

The Ducati rolled backward.

Sam dropped the bike. It slid all the way out the open tail gate, toward the ground far below. Irrationally, Sam wondered how he was going to explain its loss to Catarina.The thought didn’t last long. His second thought was that he would be following the Ducati any second if he didn’t do something to avert it.

Spreading himself flat on the steel flooring, he tried to grasp anything he could find. There was nothing but smooth steel.

He tried to jam his fingers into a single opening in the floor — a small hole, designed to attach locking restraints — but it wasn’t big enough to grant any real sort of perch to his fingers. Sam gripped it for a few seconds, the angle on board the C17 increased, and he fell quickly.

Like a kid on a slide, he picked up speed, and slipped past the remaining fifty feet of the cargo hold and out the door.

His fingertips scraped along the edge of the tail gate before he fell into the void that now extended more than a thousand feet below.

A hand gripped his, and his freefall was suddenly suspended with a jarring halt that threatened to rip his arm right out of his shoulder socket.

He locked eyes with his benefactor — one of the soldiers who had been secured to the tail gate by a ten-foot tether had jumped out of the aircraft just to save him.

Sam brought his second hand up to strengthen their grip into a two handed one.

Wind raced passed them, dragging them nearly horizontal, as Sam and the soldier, were dragged along in the air behind the C17 Globemaster III about ten feet outside the aircraft. Neither man spoke. The wind pummeled them, making any verbal communication impossible.

Inside, four soldiers pulled in the tether, dragging Sam and his benefactor into the cargo hold. As soon as they were inside, the C17 leveled out, and someone closed the tail gate.

The man who had saved his life shook his hand, “Sam Reilly?”

Sam grinned. “So I’m told.”

His benefactor met his eye and made a knowing smile. “My name’s Andre Dufort. I work with Interpol, and I’m here to bring you up to speed with the mission.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sam shook the stranger’s hand. “Thank you. I suppose I owe you my life.”

Andre dismissed the praise with a wave of his hand. “It was nothing. I was just lending a helping hand.”

Sam smiled at the joke. “All the same, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now what?”

Andre said, “You can rest now, Mr. Reilly. We’ll be in international air space within a few minutes. They won’t be able to touch us there.”

“Who’s they?”

“The Italian Air Force for starters. Who knows who else wants you dead? We know the Italians are most likely being bribed by the Russian mafia to make sure you didn’t get out of Italy alive.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story. You want a drink?”

Sam nodded. “Yes please.”

“What about food?” Andre asked. “We’ve got sandwiches. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great.”

Sam found a place to sit midway along the fuselage. It was one of those fold down seats, built into the fuselage. He lowered it and took a seat, keeping his small backpack on his shoulders. One of the other men brought him a bottle of water and a sandwich, without speaking to him.

He took a bite. It was corned beef with cheese, mayo, and mustard. It tasted good. He finished the sandwich in about thirty seconds. Real caveman like. Next to him, Andre took a seat and stretched back into it as though he had all the time in the world.

Sam, his hunger and thirst satiated, finally looked at him. “So what happened?”

Andre ran a glance across him, as if trying to judge where to begin. “You want to know why someone erased your mind?”

Sam leveled his eyes at him. “Yeah, that would be a nice start.”

“What do you remember so far?”

“Not much.” Sam thought about that for a second. How much did he remember? “I remember my name… there’s a few memories from my childhood that pop up — you know, things like sailing with my brother, learning to SCUBA dive, stuff like that — but not much. In some of the memories, I’m not even sure who I am. I don’t remember anything about the last decade of my life and I have no idea what the hell I was involved in before this happened.”

Andre nodded as though he expected as much. He smiled supportively. “It must be hard. Look, it will get easier. From what I’m told, you recall distant, more permanent memories first, and then the most recent ones. It will take time, but by the sound of things you’re a fast learner. Maybe a few days, possibly a couple weeks, but soon enough you’ll remember everything.”