Chapter Two
Six Months Later - September 1929, the Mediterranean Sea
Standing on the deck of the Nereid Cameron looked out across the ocean. The silhouette of Algeria was in the distance. The full moon clearly revealing the shape of the coastline against the dark blue of the night sky.
In the months since his escape from the Egyptian Museum his life had changed forever and though there were times when the loss of his friends and the life he had known was dull ache, that sense of loss was becoming easier to bear and was fading as all pain did eventually.
Upon finding work on the Nereid he had quickly realised that everything he had was out of place in this time. His cell phone, Beretta handgun, Swiss army knife, and watch, all stood out as being from the 21st century and were now at the bottom of the Mediterranean along with his clothing and dog tags. Letting them go had been particularly hard.
Even now he could still recall the weight of them dangling from his fingers, the grey metal glinting in the early morning sunlight, before he had finally let them go and the dog tags had slid from his fingers to fall into the ocean.
The only thing he had kept from his previous life was his leather jacket which was now packed in a battered leather bag along with a spare set of clothing, a shaving kit, a handgun and a copy of '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea' which somehow had seemed appropriate, considering his life was now mostly spent on board the Nereid.
Life on board was busy. Traveling back and forth along the North African coastline between Cairo and Tangier, stopping at various ports on the way, the Nereid delivered cargo and the odd passenger. A small ship with only a handful of crew on board, there was plenty to keep them all occupied.
The crew was an interesting mix of nationalities and misfits lead by Captain Montet and united by an unspoken rule of respect for each others secrets. Their past was no-ones business but their own and Cameron liked the fact that he didn't have to reveal anything about himself. He was anonymous, just a member of the crew and having that in common with the others meant that they all got along just fine most of the time.
"Mitchell."
At the sound of the Captain's voice Cameron turned around. Captain Hans Montet stood in the doorway of his cabin, a glass half filled with dark amber fluid in one hand, a cigar in the other. Cameron had come to like and respect Montet though he was careful in what he revealed about himself; covering his true identity with a series of plausible lies though he suspected that Montet was not easily fooled.
Half German, half French, Montet was a man of many contrasts.
His dark blond hair and even darker blue eyes were the obvious legacy of his German father, as was the German accent. At 5'9 he was a couple of inches shorter than Cameron but other than that they were similar in build with both men being toned and fit. Montet was not the kind of captain who sat idly back letting others do all the work. He believed in working along side his men, yet there was no doubt that he was in charge. In his early 40's he was a man of action, strong and decisive when needed and more than capable of holding his own in a fight. He also possessed a sophisticated grace, a legacy of his French mother who had passed onto him not only her keen intellect but her love of books and music and art. Women in particular were drawn to him, the combination of ruggedness, good looks and intellectual charm appealing to many.
"Come, join us. Drummond has brought some cognac as a gift."
Montet knew there was more to Mitchell than what he appeared. He could always tell a man with secrets and this strange American was hiding something big. It was of no matter to him, everyone had secrets and as long as they didn't bring trouble on board his ship, he asked no questions. Mitchell though, was different. He was a hard worker, never complained and did everything that was asked of him, and yet Montet knew that here was man who was more use to giving orders, making decisions, thinking for himself. He was a leader not a follower.
It would be good for Mitchell and Drummond to meet.
Charles Drummond was an old friend and a regular passenger. Montet was fairly sure that he would sense the same thing that he did about Mitchell, that here was a man who didn't belong on board a ship as a deckhand. Drummond knew everyone and everything that was going on. He might be able to find Mitchell a job that was more suitable, somewhere that was not on this ship, for though Montet liked Mitchell and might even considered him a friend, he knew that whatever trouble Mitchell was hiding from it would find him eventually and when it did he didn't want his ship anywhere near it.
For now though all he wanted was for Mitchell to have a drink and play some cards with himself, Drummond and Wani. The rest would sort itself out.
*S***S*
"My friends, I believe this hand is mine."
Taking a drag on his cigar, Captain Hans Montet laid down his cards, revealing a full house. The night was going well. Of the dozen or so hands they had played he had won more than half, and though they didn't play for high stakes, he was still accumulating a small pile of cash. That and having a good bottle of cognac and a cigar were enough to make it a good night, having friends to share it with made it more so.
Of the men sitting at the table with him, Charles Drummond was one of his closest friends. It was unlikely friendship. Drummond was a tall, thin, wry man and came across as very much like the Englishman he was with dark brown hair, black rimmed glasses, a pale beige colored suit and hat, a darker colored tie at his throat, his voice upper class, belying his Scottish roots. Their friendship was born from their differences as well as their similarities but like most close friendships it was founded on trust. In a world where Montet did not trust many people, Drummond was one of the few he did so. Of the others he trusted one was Wani, who was also seated at the table. The fourth player at the table was Mitchell, who Montet sensed was a decent man, but was not yet sure if he could trust him.
"You truly have God on your side, Captain." Wani, a tall dark Sudanese, looked down at his own hand which was also laid down on the table, showing three of a kind.
Montet smiled as he pulled his winnings closer, taking another puff on his cigar, followed by a mouthful of cognac. "Perhaps it is not God who is on my side."
"God believes in you even if you do not believe in him."
"Still trying to save the Captain's soul, Wani," said Drummond, taking a cigarette case out of his suit jacket pocket.
"The captain's soul is already saved; he just doesn't know it yet."
Joining in with the laughter of Montet and Drummond, Cameron leaned across the table to collect the cards. As he did so, Drummond turned to him holding out his cigarette case.
"No thanks," said Cameron giving a shake of his head as he began to shuffle the deck.
"Mitchell doesn't smoke."
Glancing from Montet back to Cameron, Drummond nodded. "Of course, Mustard gas. Terrible business. The war left many scars."
Just then loud singing echoed through the ship, shattering the quiet of the night. Not only was the singing loud but it was also obscene.
"Sounds like O'Malley found the booze again," said Cameron as he dealt out the cards.
Cursing in German Montet got up, pushing his chair back with force, ready to go and deal with the situation. Everyone on board knew what O'Malley was like when he got into the booze, and that the next stage that followed the singing of obscene songs at the top of his voice were the fights that would inevitably break out as he accosted anyone he could find.
"Captain, stay. I will see to him." Wani gestured for the Captain to sit back down as he himself got up. Switching from German to Nubian Montet spoke to him causing Wani to smile broadly and nod in return before he turned and left.
"Some more cognac?" Montet poured a measure into his own glass, and looked at the others, questioning.
"Something stronger, I think." With that Drummond got up, going to his cabin next door. As he left they all heard the loud cursing of O'Malley, followed by a very loud splash, an obvious sound of someone hitting the water.
"You told Wani to throw him overboard?" Cameron looked at Montet, trying not to laugh.
"It will not do him any harm. He can swim and it will sober him up. He just better hope that no crocodiles come looking for a meal before Wani pulls him back in."
"Now this is more like it."
Coming back into the room, Drummond carried a bottle of Scotch in one hand and a large folded up piece of cloth in the other. He placed both of the items on the table. Opening up the bottle and pouring some into a glass for himself and one for Mitchell, he watched as Montet leaned across the table picking up the folded cloth. Feeling that there was something wrapped inside Montet weighed it in his hand, looking up at Drummond.
"What is it?"
"Have a look. I think you'll find it interesting."
Unwrapping the cloth, Montet looked inside. "Egyptian?"
"I think so."
Curious Cameron watched as Montet placed the unwrapped object, still nestled inside the cloth back on the table. For the briefest of moments surprise and recognition flicked in his eyes as he saw what the object was.
*S***S*
