Page 37 of Nobody's Hero

Until that time, he was supposed to stay hidden in his cabin.

Which was fine in theory. For ten days, Jenkins had done exactly that. He’d not seen or spoken to anyone. His meals were left outside his door by Gregor, the first mate. Other than Gregor and the captain, no one knew who he was. And that was fine. It was how it was supposed to be. It was what he’d signed up for.

Except he’d overheard one of the crew mention the northern lights. The aurora borealis. The natural light display caused by electrically charged space particles getting trapped by Earth’s magnetic field.

Jenkins waited until the crew had retired for the night. He figured that if he didn’t turn on any deck lights, it was unlikely whoever was on the bridge would see him. He would stay in the shadows and spend an hour watching the light show. Get some fresh air.

He was a heavyset man, running to fat, but he’d been a smuggler all his life. He knew how to move quietly. He made his way along the corridor and opened one of the watertight doors that led to the deck. The Arctic air hit him in the face like a blast-chilled sledgehammer. It literally took his breath away.

He was about to give it up as a stupid idea when he saw them. The northern lights. Dancing rivers of green and blue. Curtains of light, the edges tinged with crimson. Swooping and swirling like a murmuration of starlings. He stood and stared, his freezing face temporarily forgotten. It was mesmerising.

Hypnotic.

Which was why he didn’t hear the bosun.

Andrei Belyaev had been on the MVSwan Hunterfor seven years. He’d started on the deck crew as an ordinary seaman, had quickly been promoted to able-bodied seaman, and had taken up the role of bosun during the refit. The bosun oversaw all deck operations, and he was keen to do a good job. Which was why he was on deck at 3 a.m. when everyone else was in bed. Strong winds were expected in the morning. He wanted to double-check everything loose was lashed down.

At first, he thought the big man was a trick of the shadows. The same way manipulating your hands could make a bunny hop across the wall. He didn’t know why he thought that. It was clearly a man. But it was so unexpected his mind had provided a more plausible explanation. In all his years on the MVSwan Hunter, they’d never had a stowaway. Murmansk was the asshole of Russia, but Churchill in Canada was even worse. The northern tip of an Arctic wasteland. The nearest town was two hundred miles away; the province capital, a thousand. Churchill was supposed to be the polar bear capital of the world, like that was anything to brag about. Any town where there were as many polar bears as people, and the locals had to keep their doors unlocked so people could run into their house if a bear was chasing them, wasn’t a real town as far as he was concerned.

Andrei didn’t need to tiptoe up to the man. His eyes were fixed on the northern lights, and even if they hadn’t been, the wind masked his approach. He pulled a wrench from his tool bag and tapped him on the shoulder.

Then he bashed him over the temple.

The captain of the MVSwan Hunterwas called Dominik Volkov, and he wasn’t a happy man. He blew into his hands and stomped his feet as he stared at the Australian. Jenkins was trussed up like a November Christmas tree. The bosun had restrained him with deck ropes, then alerted Volkov. Volkov had asked him to fetch the first mate.

‘I only wanted to see the lights,’ Jenkins tried to say. His teeth were chattering so much it was hard to talk.

Volkov ignored him. He waited for the bosun to return with his first mate. They weren’t long. No one got undressed on this trip. Even with the heating on, it was too cold to get naked.

The first mate and Volkov shared a glance.

‘Show me where he was standing,’ Volkov said to the bosun.

The three left the shivering Jenkins and walked over to the edge of the boat. The deck was icy, and even with their rubber boots, it was treacherous underfoot.

‘Just here, Captain,’ the bosun said.

‘And he wasn’t doing anything?’

‘Just watching the lights.’

‘Did anyone else see him?’

‘No, Captain.’

‘And have you told anyone about this?’

‘Only you.’

‘That’s a shame, Andrei,’ Volkov said. He nodded at the first mate.

The first mate was a squat man with weightlifter arms. He crouched behind the bosun, wrapped his arms around his lower legs, and heaved him over the side of the ship. The bosun might have screamed on his way down, but if he did, the wind stole his voice.

The captain and the first mate walked back to Jenkins.

‘Andrei was my friend,’ Volkov said. He let that sink in. ‘He was my friend and now the crabs have him.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jenkins said. ‘I only wanted to see—’