Deadly Cargo: BookShots Read online

  CONTENTS

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by James Patterson

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  We have to go out, but we don’t have to come back.

  When a distress call is received at the Casco Cove Coast Guard Station in Alaska, Rick O’Neill readies his team for a rescue mission.

  In the storm-tossed freezing waters they find the foundering Russian cargo ship, but when they try to make contact they receive no response.

  Boarding what appears to be a deserted vessel, O’Neill begins to realise that nothing on this ship is as it seems, and he may have just led his team into a trap.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JAMES PATTERSON is one of the best-known and biggest-selling writers of all time. His books have sold in excess of 325 million copies worldwide. He is the author of some of the most popular series of the past two decades – the Alex Cross, Women’s Murder Club, Detective Michael Bennett and Private novels – and he has written many other number one bestsellers including romance novels and stand-alone thrillers.

  James is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his own son who was a reluctant reader, he also writes a range of books for young readers including the Middle School, I Funny, Treasure Hunters, House of Robots, Confessions and Maximum Ride series. James has donated millions in grants to independent bookshops and he has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past ten years in a row. He lives in Florida with his wife and son.

  ALSO BY JAMES PATTERSON

  ALEX CROSS NOVELS

  Along Came a Spider

  Kiss the Girls

  Jack and Jill

  Cat and Mouse

  Pop Goes the Weasel

  Roses are Red

  Violets are Blue

  Four Blind Mice

  The Big Bad Wolf

  London Bridges

  Mary, Mary

  Cross

  Double Cross

  Cross Country

  Alex Cross’s Trial (with Richard DiLallo)

  I, Alex Cross

  Cross Fire

  Kill Alex Cross

  Merry Christmas, Alex Cross

  Alex Cross, Run

  Cross My Heart

  Hope to Die

  Cross Justice

  Cross the Line

  THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB SERIES

  1st to Die

  2nd Chance (with Andrew Gross)

  3rd Degree (with Andrew Gross)

  4th of July (with Maxine Paetro)

  The 5th Horseman (with Maxine Paetro)

  The 6th Target (with Maxine Paetro)

  7th Heaven (with Maxine Paetro)

  8th Confession (with Maxine Paetro)

  9th Judgement (with Maxine Paetro)

  10th Anniversary (with Maxine Paetro)

  11th Hour (with Maxine Paetro)

  12th of Never (with Maxine Paetro)

  Unlucky 13 (with Maxine Paetro)

  14th Deadly Sin (with Maxine Paetro)

  15th Affair (with Maxine Paetro)

  16th Seduction (with Maxine Paetro)

  DETECTIVE MICHAEL BENNETT SERIES

  Step on a Crack (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Run for Your Life (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Worst Case (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Tick Tock (with Michael Ledwidge)

  I, Michael Bennett (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Gone (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Burn (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Alert (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Bullseye (with Michael Ledwidge)

  PRIVATE NOVELS

  Private (with Maxine Paetro)

  Private London (with Mark Pearson)

  Private Games (with Mark Sullivan)

  Private: No. 1 Suspect (with Maxine Paetro)

  Private Berlin (with Mark Sullivan)

  Private Down Under (with Michael White)

  Private L.A. (with Mark Sullivan)

  Private India (with Ashwin Sanghi)

  Private Vegas (with Maxine Paetro)

  Private Sydney (with Kathryn Fox)

  Private Paris (with Mark Sullivan)

  The Games (with Mark Sullivan)

  Private Delhi (with Ashwin Sanghi)

  NYPD RED SERIES

  NYPD Red (with Marshall Karp)

  NYPD Red 2 (with Marshall Karp)

  NYPD Red 3 (with Marshall Karp)

  NYPD Red 4 (with Marshall Karp)

  DETECTIVE HARRIET BLUE SERIES

  Never Never (with Candice Fox)

  Fifty Fifty (with Candice Fox, to be published July 2017)

  STAND-ALONE THRILLERS

  Sail (with Howard Roughan)

  Swimsuit (with Maxine Paetro)

  Don’t Blink (with Howard Roughan)

  Postcard Killers (with Liza Marklund)

  Toys (with Neil McMahon)

  Now You See Her (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Kill Me If You Can (with Marshall Karp)

  Guilty Wives (with David Ellis)

  Zoo (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Second Honeymoon (with Howard Roughan)

  Mistress (with David Ellis)

  Invisible (with David Ellis)

  The Thomas Berryman Number

  Truth or Die (with Howard Roughan)

  Murder House (with David Ellis)

  Woman of God (with Maxine Paetro)

  Hide and Seek

  Humans, Bow Down (with Emily Raymond)

  The Black Book (with David Ellis)

  Muder Games (with Howard Roughan)

  Black Market

  BOOKSHOTS

  Black & Blue (with Candice Fox)

  Cross Kill

  Private Royals (with Rees Jones)

  The Trial (with Maxine Paetro)

  Chase (with Michael Ledwidge)

  113 Minutes (with Max DiLallo)

  The Verdict (with Robert Gold)

  French Kiss (with Richard DiLallo)

  Killer Chef (with Jeffrey J. Keyes)

  The Christmas Mystery (with Richard DiLallo)

  Kidnapped (with Robert Gold)

  Come and Get Us with Shan Serafin)

  Hidden (James O. Born)

  Malicious (James O. Born)

  French Twist (with Richard DiLallo)

  The Exile (with Alison Joseph)

  The End (with Brendan DuBois)

  The Shut-In (with Duane Swierczynski)

  Private Gold (with Jassy Mackenzie)

  After the End (with Brendan DuBois)

  Diary of a Succubus (with Derek Nikitas)

  What you are holding in your hands right now is no ordinary book, it’s a BookShot.

  BookShots are page-turning stories by James Patterson and other writers that can be read in one sitting.

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  BookShots – the ultimate form of storytelling.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Freighter M.V. Ossora, Bering Sea – 1240 nautical miles west of Anchorage, Alaska

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN on the frigid stretch of water that lay between Alaska and the eastern tip of Russia, the weak disc of the sun disappearing behind dark ominous clouds that seemed to stretch across the whole western horizon. The sea beneath this overcast sky was a roiling mass of dark waves and churning foam, whipped up by strong winds howling in from the north.

  And it was through this stormy weather that the massive bulk of the M.V. Ossora floundered slowly southward, rolling and pitching in the heavy seas as powerful waves crashed against her rusted bow. Every once in a while her single propeller would roar as the ship’s roll lifted it right out of the water, only to crash back down amidst a torrent of churning foam.

  A relic of the days when the hammer and sickle still flew over the Kremlin, she had been designed without the slightest consideration for aesthetics or comfort – her hull was wide and squat, her bow blunt and uncompromising, her superstructure little more than a gigantic white box streaked with corrosion. Now almost forty years old and suffering from neglect by a company unwilling to scrap her but unable to overhaul her, she required the combined efforts of her entire engineering staff just to stay running.

  These matters were of little to concern to Leonid Ivanov however as he hurried down a narrow corridor lit by flickering electric lights, its yellowed walls and ceiling testimony to the countless sailors who had passed this way with cigarettes in hand. Turning right, he ascended a steep flight of steps to the next deck, silently cursing as the ship’s roll threatened to pitch him backward.

  Clutching at a handrail, Ivanov waited a few moments while the vessel temporarily stabilized before resuming his climb, intent on reaching his destination.

  The ship’s bridge was, in contrast to the rest of the dilapidated vessel, a haven of order and cleanliness, its navigation and communications equipment carefully maintained. He might have been in charge of a run-down cargo tub destined for the breaker’s yard, but Captain Nikolaev took his responsibility as ship’s master seriously.

  The atmosphere in the control room was tense and silent as Ivanov entered. Men were hunched over navigation consoles and chart tables, or peering out into the freezing darkness as if they could pierce the gloom beyond their vessel through willpower alone. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke and fraught nerves.

  Nikolaev himself was standing near the ship’s wheel, surveying the radar plot with a grim, unhappy expression. A bear of a man who must have been seventy if he was a day, Nikolaev was an old navy veteran who had long since moved into commercial shipping. He was soft spoken and reserved for the most part, radiating a silent calm and rarely raising his voice in anger. When he did, however, he was a force to behold. Ivanov had seen more than one outspoken sailor cower before his wrath.

  “Captain,” Ivanov began.

  Several pairs of eyes turned to him, then quickly glanced away again as the bridge crew resumed their difficult task of navigating the Ossora through rough seas. A lowly cargo handler, Ivanov wasn’t important enough to warrant their attention.

  “What is it, Leonid?” Nikolaev asked, stirring from his ruminations.

  Ivanov moved closer and lowered his voice. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I need to show you something. In the cargo bay.”

  The captain’s thick graying brows drew together in a frown. “We have a storm bearing down on us, son. Unless the ship’s in danger, I’m needed here.”

  Reaching out, Ivanov grabbed the older man’s arm. “Sir, it’s about the cargo containers. I think … I think there’s something in them that shouldn’t be. I don’t trust anyone else but you.”

  Nikolaev stared back at the young sailor, comprehension dawning on him. Seconds passed, broken by the patter of rain and sea spray lashing against the bridge windows.

  “Chief, take over here,” Nikolaev said abruptly, addressing the ship’s first officer, before turning back to Ivanov. “All right, son. Show me.”

  It took about five minutes for Ivanov and the elderly captain to make their way down from the bridge to one of the Ossora’s two cavernous cargo holds. Nikolaev was as sure footed as a mountain goat and knew the ship from bow to stern, but he was also a big man who wisely moved with caution. He’d lost more than one crewman in his time to a careless slip down a stairwell in high seas.

  Much of Number One Hold’s internal space was given over to big steel shipping containers, holding everything from engine parts to computer components and mass-produced clothing, their careful arrangement to balance the ship’s load resembling a stack of giant Lego bricks. Illumination was provided by a few weak overhead floodlights, a couple of which were out of action, leaving the hold bathed in gloom.

  “You’re sure of what you heard?” Nikolaev asked as the two men halted before one container in particular. Checking the container number, the captain held up a flashlight and surveyed the cargo manifest he’d brought with him. “According to this, it holds water pumping equipment.”

  This was his last chance to back out, Ivanov knew. To force open a container without the owner’s permission would involve a breach of their shipping contract, and likely result in severe financial penalties for them all.

  “I’m sure, sir,” he said after a moment.

  The captain chewed on it for a few seconds, before finally nodding his assent. “Very well. Open it up.”

  Like most the other containers, Number 29 was secured with a steel padlock to prevent tampering or theft of its contents. However, the pair of heavy bolt cutters Ivanov brought with him made easy work of the hardened steel shackle. Removing the defeated lock, Ivanov yanked upward on the container’s securing bolt, held his breath and swung the thick metal door open.

  The moment Nikolaev’s flashlight beam played across the interior of the container, illuminating its contents, the old man’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Oh my God,” Ivanov gasped.

  CHAPTER 2

  Casco Cove Coast Guard Station, Attu Island

  “SHIT,” LIEUTENANT RICK O’Neill growled, watching the slowly expanding patch of red on his chin as it blended with the white of shaving foam.

  The light above the mirror in his washroom was defective, flickering on and off seemingly at random. As a result, his daily shave had become a clandestine affair: using the brief moments of visibility he ran the razor over as much skin as possible before the bulb gave out again. But with haste came mistakes, as his father had once said.

  One of the few bits of useful advice the man ever gave him.

  Sighing, he dabbed at the bleeding cut. He leaned forward, looking at his reflection in the steamed mirror. Even features, a clean jawline, a straight nose, eyes that were the same gray-blue as a stormy sea, dark hair still shiny and wet from the shower. Thirty-eight years old, and going nowhere fast.

  The light flickered, struggled vainly to stay lit, then went out again.

  Satisfied that he’d done what he could, he walked through to his living quarters, wiping off the last of the soap from his face and pressing the wash towel against his chin to help stop the bleeding. The place smelled of dust and old leather and age. Like his washroom light and everything else on this lonely U.S. Coast Guard station at the end of the world, it was faded and worn out and overdue for retirement.

  Casco Cove was scheduled to be decommissioned in six months or so, but for the time being the Coast Guard maintained a tenuous presence here. A skeleton staff kept the island’s only runway up and running, allowing supplies and equipment to be flown in, while a single 47-foot MLB (Motor Life Boat) sat in a covered maintenance shed ready to be launched in the event of an emergency.

  And in charge of this graveyard operation was O’Neil
l himself. Well, for now at least.

  Slipping on the dark blue shirt of his operational dress uniform, the standard Coast Guard uniform used for day to day work, O’Neill straightened up, took a deep breath and opened his door.

  A short walk brought him to the station’s ops room, nominally the hub of all activity on the base, but today resembling a deserted office. Only two personnel were on duty at such a late hour, neither of whom looked particularly engaged in their work.

  O’Neill couldn’t blame them. This far from the major shipping lanes, the most excitement they had around these parts was the monthly supply flight from Anchorage.

  “You’ve been in the wars,” Ensign Wyatt Richards remarked from behind his satellite communications terminal.

  Short, stocky, and with his receding hairline shaved almost to the scalp, he was a couple of months away from leaving the Coast Guard. He was intelligent and competent enough, but had no real ambition to get anywhere in the service, which was probably why he’d ended up here. He’d joined because the Coast Guard offered an easy way to get his ship pilot qualifications.

  “Cut myself shaving,” O’Neill said.

  “What do you shave with? A bread knife?” O’Neill flashed him a warning look, which prompted a blush to rise to his otherwise pale face. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

  “Already done,” O’Neill assured him. “Now, what’s our status?”

  Richards shrugged. “All clear across the board. No contacts, no active incidents to report.”

  O’Neill sighed and looked around, taking in the largely inactive ops room. This was as good a place as any to make the announcement. “Where are Watkins and Rodriguez?”

  The other two members of his station detail, Bryce Watkins and Sebastian “Seb” Rodriguez were as thick as thieves and rarely to be found apart. Not that there were many places to go in such an isolated posting.

  At this, the second officer on duty piped up from the other side of the ops room. “Saw them in the rec room about half an hour ago, sir.”

  Kate Starke was, in contrast to Richards, a bright and promising young Petty Officer who just happened to have drawn a bad hand with her posting here. Still, she appeared to have accepted the unenviable assignment without complaint, which put her well up in O’Neill’s estimation. Successfully completing a tour in a place like Attu Island without going mad would bode well for her chances of promotion later.