H50H50H50H50
Danny stares at the closed door of his room, willing it to open. He's been asleep for three hours. He hadn't gone willingly: his injured body had made the decision for him. He's awake now though, anger and fear thrusting him back to full consciousness.
Steve.
It's eleven hours since someone took him. He needs to know what's happening. They should have questioned the injured man by now. They should have answers. Someone should be doing something.
He's about to call for a nurse to find a pone when the door opens. When Lou reappears he sags back into his pillows, relieved.
"Where the hell have you been—"
Lou raises a finger in warning. "The Doc said you can get up for half an hour." He lifts up a holdall he's carrying in his other hand. "I bought you some clothes."
"Have you spoken to him? The guy who attacked us. Did he say where—"
Lou raises his hand again. His eyes flick backwards, towards the still open door.
Danny follows his gaze. There are police officers standing out in the corridor, on either side of the door. That's not unusual in a case like this. "What's wrong—"
Lou's tiny nod stops him dead. He frowns as Lou puts the holdall on the bed, pulling out a stack of clothes. Whatever's happening, he needs to take Lou's lead.
Unzipping the holdall, he pulls out a pile of clothes. On the top of the pile is a set of grey sweatshirt and pants. They're well-worn and faded. His heart flips. Gripping them tightly, he meets Lou's gaze. "They're Steve's."
"Oh." Lou's expression morphs from wary to sheepish in a second. Taking the sweat top, he holds it up. "Whoops."
Danny lets out a weak chuckle. The right arm of the top has been chopped off at the shoulder. He appreciates the thought: it'll be easier to get over his broken arm. Steve, he suspects, will appreciate it too. "You had to give him another chance to show off the ink, didn't you?"
Lou snorts. "Right. Like you don't like looking at it…" He trails off. An awkward silence falls between them.
Danny rouses himself before the fog of depression that's hovering over him can take control again. Every muscle in his body groans as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The world tilts, he grabs the edge of mattress to steady himself. Carefully he gets to his feet.
It's not the first time he's got out of bed. The previous time the nurses had been there to help him. He hopes he doesn't lose the contents of his stomach again.
Shuffling carefully, he heads for the bathroom. He doesn't complain when Lou falls in behind, the clothes tucked under one hand, the other reaching out to grab him if he falls.
He lowers onto the closed toilet seat, cradling his broken arm protectively against his chest. It's not the first time he's had a broken arm. But it's still an adjustment, trying to move with it strapped in a sling across his chest.
"Want some help?"
Blinking, he looks up. Lou's crouched in front of him, filling his vision. He leans forward to let Lou untie the hospital gown he's wearing.
A short while later he's dressed, mostly. Lou's rolling up the legs of the pants to make them shorter. Danny smiles at the look of absolute concentration on his friend's face. It should be embarrassing that he can't even dress himself – and maybe it is, just a little – but the care Lou is taking negates that. Ohana, a voice in his head reminds him. It's sounds suspiciously like Steve.
"Let's get this show on the road," Lou announces, getting to his feet. The note of false enthusiasm in his voice matches the worry on his face.
Danny pushes to his feet. "Lead on."
Shuffling back into his room isn't fun either. So he's quietly relieved when he notices something he'd missed before: there's a wheelchair folder by the door. When Lou unfolds it, he gets into it without argument. He ignores Lou's look of surprise. There's only one thing he wants to talk about now – how they get Steve back. Anything else is wasting time.
Lou seems to sense the urgency. Taking the brakes off, he turns him towards the door. "One more thing," he adds, reaching for the door handle. "If anyone asks, we're going for coffee."
"What the…" The words die on his lips as the door swings open. HPD officers are posted all the way along the corridor. "Lou—"
"I'll explain," Lou cuts in, his voice low. "Not here."
The hospital corridors pass at dizzying speed. Almost too fast. Travelling in the elevator almost proves too much for his vertigo-addled brain. By the time the doors open he has a white-knuckled grip on the arm rest. Closing his eyes, he wills everything to stop spinning. When he opens them again, it takes him a moment to realise they're parked in a visitor waiting area.
"Take a minute," Lou instructs, crouching down to catch his gaze.
"I'm fine—"
"Uh, uh, uh. That shade of green does not look good on you."
Lou disappears from his line of sight as he takes a deep breath, then another. By the time Lou reappears with water the nausea is starting to abate. He takes the water and sips it. He sighs with relief when it doesn't come back up.
Lou peers down at him. Whatever he sees must meet with his approval because he unlocks the wheels and starts pushing again. It's not long before they reach their destination – the room where the man who attacked them is being cared for. Spotting it isn't difficult: this one has SWAT officers posted outside.
Lou speeds up before he can say anything. Taking the hint, Danny keeps his eyes front. As they roll into the hospital room and the door swings closed behind them, it's on the tip of his tongue to ask why there are SWAT officers outside instead of regular HPD. The question goes out of his head as he registers the scene in front of him.
The hospital bed is empty. There's no sign of the man that attacked him – who attacked Steve. The only occupants are Tani and Junior, sitting perched on the edge of the bed.
"Let us explain," Lou pre-empts him as he parks the wheelchair next to the bed. "There's a reason for this."
Danny forces himself not to react. Every iota of his being had been focused on questioning the man, on getting answers. It feels like that opportunity has been snatched away from him - along with any chance of finding Steve.
Lou squeezes his shoulder. "I know, okay? But we had to do it this way."
"Where is he?" he asks, staring at the empty bed. He doesn't miss the way Junior and Tani flinch at the anger in his voice. He knows he should care but he doesn't.
Lou pulls up a chair beside him. "He's up on the fourth floor. Anyone looking at the hospital records will think he's in here."
"You think someone's going to try and get to him?" Danny rubs his hand over his face. He winces as he touches a bruise. "That's why you've got SWAT officers outside." He licks his lips. He wishes Lou could magic up another glass of water. "So. Did you speak to him? Did he tell you where Steve is?"
His heart fills with trepidation as Tani and Junior share a look. There's no sense of urgency. They're not rushing out to rescue Steve. He already knows that all they've got is more damn questions. The panic and fear that's been lurking in his chest slowly creeps out of its hiding place.
"We didn't get long to talk to him," Tani explains, regretfully. "I don't think he's the chatty type, even without being pumped full of drugs. But we did get a chance to run a few names and photos past him."
"Jerry couldn't find out who these guys are working for now," Junior adds, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the screens, "but he got us the names of the people these guys have worked for in the past. Our guy here didn't react to any of them apart from this one."
Danny takes the phone, studies the picture. "When you say he reacted…?"
"Fear." Tani waves her hand across her face. "He was trying to hide it but you could see it. He was scared."
Danny chews at his bottom lip and studies the picture again. Guys like this don't show fear to anyone. "So who is he?"
"Mick Appleton. British. Ex-SAS. Dishonourably discharged. He works as a fixer for organised crime mobs. If there's something they don't want to be blamed for, he steps in."
Danny hands the phone back. "For a price."
"Yup." Junior swipes through the screens again. "Millions of dollars, according to Jerry."
"So what's that got to do with Steve?" Impatience is making his voice loud. He looks away, tells himself to breathe.
Tani gets up and starts pacing. "Jerry's been talking to the FBI and Interpol. They're playing their cards close to their chest. But using whatever mystery geek friends he's got Jerry's managed to map out Appleton's movements over the last six months." She straightens up. "They look kinda familiar."
Danny's heart sinks. "Who?"
Lou leans forward in his chair. "Anton Fedorov."
Danny holds on tight to the arm rest as the world spins again. "I'm gonna kill him. If he's hurt Steve I swear—"
"Easy." Lou reaches out to steady him again. "Easy."
"How the hell…" He takes a shaky breath, tries again. "Isn't he in Halawa maximum security?"
"He's due to be shipped to the mainland next week." Junior's reading from his phone again. "I reached out to Ellie. She's the Public Prosecutor on this case. She visited him in Halawa three days ago. Only she and his lawyer have visited him since his arrest."
Danny shakes his head. He holds his breath as he realises his mistake. "So how is he connected to this guy Appleton?" he asks through gritted teeth. He doesn't believe in co-incidences.
"We don't know that either." Junior's face falls, his frustration clear. "Jerry's still checking. The Governor's reaching out to her contacts."
"The Governor? Why don't we get HPD to help? They've got contacts—"
"We can't, Danny." Lou's leaning forward again, sympathy written across his face. "That's the other reason we're in here. The Fedorov case. We were worried there was a leak inside the Department, remember?"
Danny opens his mouth to protest. Just as quickly he closes it again. Internal Affairs had started an enquiry but it was still ongoing. His heart sinks. More questions without answers. "I don't understand…" He closes his eyes. God, he's tired. "Why did they take Steve?"
His question is met with silence. He opens his eyes again. Three pairs of eyes are watching. They all reflect the fear and despair he's feeling.
Swallowing hard, he voices the fear uppermost in his mind. "What it's Anton's killed him? What if this is some sort of revenge for capturing him and the sick son of a—"
"No." Junior's shaking his head. Raising his chin he looks at each of them in turn. "If it was revenge we would have found a body by now. Anton Fedorov would want everyone to know." He drops his chin, his body huddling back in on itself. "Sorry," he adds, meeting Danny's gaze. "It's just…I've seen this stuff before and I know—"
Danny stops him with a wave of his hand. "You're right." Dear god, please be right. "This is something else."
"And we're gonna figure out what it is." Lou gets to his feet. He releases the brakes on the wheelchair. "Tani and Junior are going back to the office. They've got an appointment with IA. If they've got any suspects within HPD who are working with this bastard, we're gonna find out. Ellie's waiting for me over at Halawa. I've got a date with Anton Fedorov." He reverses the wheelchair, aiming for the door. "And you—"
"—I'm coming with."
"—you're going back to your room. You need rest."
"Lou." Danny puts his feet down, effectively stopping the chair. "I'm coming with you."
Lou glares at him but there's no heat in it. "When Steve gets back I need to look him in the eye and tell him I looked after his man. You understand me?" Shaking his head, he gently nudges the chair forward. "I've seen him when's he angry. It ain't pretty."
Danny picks up his feet, sitting back as Lou wheels him into the corridor. He's used to Lou's style of light banter. He can hear the message underlying it, loud and clear. They're all worried - seriously worried – but they're going to stick together, no matter what happens. Even if Steve doesn't make it back.
No.
He silently repeats the word, like a protective mantra, as Lou wheels him back to his room. Lou's still radiating worry as he helps him back into bed so he waits until Lou's gone – with a promise to be back in a few hours – before he presses the button for a nurse. Getting out of here is going to require a lot of persuasion. He needs to get started if he's going to be ready to leave by the time Lou gets back.
H50H50H50H50
"Hey. Nice evening, huh?"
"Sure is."
"Don't think I've seen you round here before?"
"Nah. We're just visiting. Shore leave. Our boat's moored out in the bay.
"Oh. One of those huge pleasure cruisers?"
"Obscene, huh?"
"It's not my idea of sailing."
"Mine neither. Gotta make a living where you can, right?"
"Can't argue with that."
"We better be going. If we're late back on board they'll dock our pay."
"Must have been one hell of a shore leave. Your friend there, he isn't looking too good."
"Started on the beers. Moved on to the whiskey. We warned you, didn't we Steve?"
"Jeez. He really is drunk. Last time I couldn't string two words together like that, I'd been celebrating my divorce for two days straight. That's gonna be one hell of hangover tomorrow, buddy…"
H50H50H50H50H50
"Okay, you've got two choices. My place or yours. Renee's got a room for you if you want it. We thought maybe you wouldn't want to go home…"
Danny blinks, forces himself to focus on what Lou's saying. They're in Lou's truck, heading out of the hospital parking lot. Night's fallen. He checks the display on the dashboard. It's fourteen hours since Steve was taken. Lou's not updated him yet on what's happened but they fact he hasn't means it's bad news. "I'm going to the office."
Lou raises an eyebrow at him. He flicks the indicator stick down. They're turning away from the Palace and HPD headquarters.
Danny slumps further into his seat. They've given him meds for his headache but it still feels like his skull is being ripped in two. All he wants is a bed. With Steve in it. He tucks his injured arm in protectively. "Fine. Home."
The bright street lights make his headache spike. Tucking his chin down, he tries not to look at them. Pain shoots up the side of his face. Getting ready to leave in the hospital, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He's got a deep laceration above his temple, they had to shave away a small patch of hair. The left hand side of his face – from his eyebrow down to his cheek bone – is bruised and swollen.
Beside him, Lou's concentrating on driving. He's gripping the steering wheel like he wants to rip it out of the dashboard. Lou's been on edge, brittle, since he got back from Halawa.
"So," Danny says, dread making his throat dry, "what did Fedorov say?"
Lou doesn't answer. He tightens his grip on the wheel. A few moments later he slows the truck down, pulling in at the side of the road. Switching off the engine, he rests his arms on the steering wheel. He stares out through the windshield.
"Lou?"
"He laughed at us."
"What?"
Lou turns his head. Even in the shadows the anger he's feeling is obvious. "The asshole laughed at us."
Danny tucks his injured arm in closer to his body. The hatred in Lou's voice sends a shiver down his spine. "So he knows where Steve is?" It's a stupid question. He knows that. But desperation is driving him.
Lou looks away, then back again. "He's behind it. It's his fault you and Steve..." He squeezes the steering wheel. " God help me, I wanted to wipe that smile off his face.
He reaches out. Lou's arm is trembling. "What did he say?"
"Nothing." Lou curls his top lip. "He said nothing."
Danny removes his hand, gives Lou a minute to breathe. Lou's a great detective, one of the best he's ever worked with. But there's still a question he needs to ask: "You're sure he's behind this?"
He's deliberately kept his tone light. He's not trying to insult Lou. He needs this though, one solid fact to hold on to, the first step to getting Steve back.
He needn't have worried. Lou lets out a shaky breath, then another. Pulling himself upright, he turns on the engine. "Oh, he's behind it. I got no doubt about that." Glancing over his shoulder to pull out, he flashes Danny a humourless smile. "We'll figure out where his buddy Appleton has got Steve hidden. Then we'll take these bastards down."
The pass the rest of the journey in silence. Lou's still tense, his body thrumming with anger. Danny lets him have his own space. It's for selfish reasons: his mind's racing through what little information they have.
'Revenge' is the word his brain keeps coming back to. Fedorov's usually a smooth operator. Profit is his focus, he doesn't let emotions get in the way. What happened that morning, it was all about emotion. Sloppy, rushed, someone had been making bad decisions.
All day he's been trying to keep his anger in check. From painful experience he knows concussions and anger don't mix. But now he can't stop it, he doesn't want to.
That bastard had laughed.
By the time they get to the house the meds are wearing out. Eyes half-closed against the glare of the street lights, he doesn't notice at first the dark coloured vans parked out their house. When he does his body flips into panic mode.
Lou looks apologetic. "It's the clean-up crew."
"Oh."
"We can still turn round. Renee won't mind—"
Danny raises his hand. His exhausted brain is recoiling at the idea of going in there. Everything is still too fresh, too raw. But everything that connects him to Steve is in that house. He needs it like a starving man needs food.
Lou waits for him to get out of the truck. Awkwardly, he slides out. His lack of agility isn't helped by the large bag of meds he's carrying in his good hand. The doctor had been insistent. He rattles as he shuffles to the front door.
As he enters the house the smell of cleaning fluid fills his nose. His stomach roils at the eye-watering scent. Two steps in and his gaze is drawn to the empty space on the floor in the office where the rug had been. The naked floorboards glare accusingly at him.
You should have stopped them.
Self-loathing and despair almost make him take a step back, back towards the door. The sound of paws scrabbling down the stairs stop him. Eddie's bounding towards him, his ears flapping as he launches off the bottom step.
The meds clatter as they hit the floor. His body protests at crouching. Instead, he drops to the floor, stretching out his good arm to gather in a lapful of excited dog. Lou had told him Eddie was okay but seeing him with own eyes is a huge relief.
It could have been so different.
His body aches at that thought. He pets Eddie some more but as glad as he is to see him, there's someone else he wants in his arms. Looking up, he checks the rest of the room. Everything's as he'd left it - they'd left it – that morning.
It doesn't feel real.
That might have been the last time that he and Steve—
The sound of creaking floorboards cuts into his dark thoughts. Junior's standing on the landing. He nods at Lou and starts down the stairs.
"I put extra pillows in your room," Junior says casually, as if he's not armed and wearing his tac vest indoors. "I opened the window too, let the smell out." He freezes half way down the stairs as if he's just processed what he's said. "That's okay, right? I figured with your arm you'd need…"
Danny grunts in acknowledgment. He's too busy trying to get to his feet. Lou's hand on his elbow is welcomed. Puffing out air, he straightens up. "Thanks. But I won't need it. I won't be sleeping—"
"Too right," Lou cuts in, surprising him. "Well, not much sleep," he corrects, gently herding Danny towards the stairs. "Doc gave me strict instructions. Every two hours, I wake you up, check you're okay."
"No—"
"Yes." Lou nudges again, until they're at the bottom of the stairs. "I promise to tell you what's happening okay?"
"I should be at the Palace—"
Lou pulls his car keys out. He offers them, eyebrows raised. The message is clear: if you think you can drive, go for it.
Danny shakes his head. He knows his friend is right. But it hurts. It hurts so much. "You need sleep too," he protests as he tackles the stairs. Lifting his feet in the right order is a monumental task. "I'll be—"
"We've got this, sir."
Danny looks up from where he's been staring at his feet. Junior's two steps up in front of him. His eyes are glittering dangerously. His body is tightly coiled, a bundle of barely restrained energy. He looks so like Steve – the Steve he met all those years ago.
Dropping his eyes again, Danny tackles the rest of the stairs.
It doesn't take him long to get settled in bed. Collapsing on top of the sheets is all he's got the energy for. Junior's right about the extra pillows, rearranging them does support his injured arm. Junior and Lou fuss for a while but eventually it's just him.
He closes his eyes.
This is their room, his and Steve's. It's where they retreat to when life is hard. It's where they go to celebrate when life is good. They haven't been together as a couple for long but it feels like they've been together forever.
It smells of them.
It's the scent that slowly unravels him. All day he's managed to keep everything bottled in. Despite the pain, anger and despair he's continued to function. Now, in this room, he feels very alone.
Pulling Steve's pillow close, he lets himself go.
H50h50H50
"Here you go, McGarrett. Home sweet home."
Steve can feel the shackles they lock around his wrists and ankles. The weight of the chains pull him down. Every cell in his body wants to fight back, to hurt these bastards. His brain is formulating a plan but whatever they drugged him with is still in his system and his synapses are sending signals to his limbs in slow motion. It's like wading through quick sand.
The anger boiling in his chest insists he tries. He swings his arm but he hits nothing but air. One of the men punches – no, taps – him on the chest and he tilts backwards. Too slow to stop falling, he lands on his ass, hard. He can feel the sharp pain that shoots up his spine just fine. He can hear the men's laughter too.
Wherever he is, it's almost dark. The only ray of light is from a door six feet away from. That disappears too as one of the men kneels in front of him. He's a huge hulk of a man. The black balaclava over his face looks innocuous against the tee-shirt and boardies he's wearing.
"Remember what we said about your boyfriend, McGarrett?" The man shifts. He's got a gun in his hand. "One word from us and he'll die in his hospital bed. You understand?"
Steve opens his mouth, closes it again. Talking is so hard. He doesn't want to ask the question, doesn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing his distress. But he's got to know. "'e's alive?"
When the man laughs in reply his arm twitches in response: in his head, he's punching the man's lights out.
"Here you go."
The man's showing him his phone. His vision's double, he's got a splitting headache. But after a moment the picture on the phone comes into focus. It's a hospital room. There's one bed. His heart soars then plummets in quick succession as he recognises Danny. The last time he'd seen Danny he'd been lying on the kitchen floor, looking more dead than alive. The Danny in this image looks awful – one side of his face is bruised, his arm is strapped in a brace – but he's alive and that's all that matters.
His relieved gasp brings more laughter. Steve ignores it, huddling in on himself. Until that moment he really hadn't been sure.
The men leave. The door shuts, plunging him into darkness. He raises his head, tries to make out his surroundings. Whatever he's sitting on is metal: he can feel the cold starting to seep through his clothes. Reaching out proves the room he's in is only six feet across and that the walls are metal too. Breathing in deeply, he recoils: he can smell human excrement. Underlying that, though, he can smell something equally familiar. It's engine oil, the type used on boats.
Leaning his head against the bulwark – and he's sure now that's what it is – he does a personal inventory. Whatever they gave him is starting to wear off. There's a spot on the back of his neck that's pulsing with pain, probably where the needle went in. The numbness in his limbs is starting to wear off too. Investigating with his fingers makes him wince. He's covered in knife nicks and bruises. There's a deeper cut on his arm that feels like it's crusted with dried blood.
His investigations also reveal he's dressed in a tee-shirt, boardies and training shoes. There's a part of him, deep in his mind, that's still screaming with anger, the way he'd been silently screaming when they'd dressed him back in that garage. His adrenaline spikes. Gritting his teeth, he clamps down hard on the memory. Wrapping it into a tight little ball he throws it into the deepest recesses of his mind.
Sitting back, he stares into the darkness. Gradually his mind settles, allows him to think. Whoever took him, they've got resources. The men who attacked, they'd been experts. They've taken risks to get him in here, more risks than he would have taken in their shoes. They must want him badly.
They'd been moments away from killing Danny to get to him.
Anger flares in his chest. Danny had been helpless in that hospital bed when someone had taken his picture. There's no way HPD wouldn't have put a guard on him after what happened. Hell, Lou and the team wouldn't let that happen. So, there's someone on the inside who's working for these bastards. That takes planning too.
A muscle in his calf cramps sharply. The chains around his ankle rattle when he shakes it out. The air is cold and damp. Rubbing his arms, he tries to warm up. Whoever these bastards are they want something. That means they're gonna come back. He needs to be ready to take advantage of any opportunity to escape.
Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on the mission ahead. Instead all he can see in his mind's eye is Danny lying in the hospital bed. Anger muscles its way through the calm he's trying to impose on himself. He should be there, with Danny, for fuck's sake. He should be there.
Opening his eyes again doesn't make anything better. All he wants to do is get up and pace. Instead, he tests the limits of the chains that are holding him. Feeling his way along them he discovers they're bolted into the wall and floor. They're long enough that he could probably stand up, if his legs weren't too wobbly to support him. But he'll never make it to the door that way.
Crawling forward, he finds a bucket in one corner. That explains the smell. Next to it is a plastic bottle. Opening it proves how shaky his hands still are. Sniffing cautiously reveals its water, he allows himself a drink. Dehydration is his enemy. And they've already proven they can drug him if they want.
It's not just dehydration he needs to worry about: infection is a threat too. Since the transplant Danny's made him carry anti-septic wipes with him everywhere. There's a big box of them in the trunk of the Camaro. He'd bitched about it because it was easier than watching Danny worry. But he understands the risk: the anti-rejection meds he takes everyday make him susceptible to infection. Early intervention will keep him alive.
Shaking the bottle, he estimates how much water he's got left. His heart sinks. He needs to keep some for drinking. He's got no idea if he'll get any more. Mentally he triages the injuries he aware of. Decision make, he carefully pours some on the cut on his arm. It stings, he swears as his hand wobbles. He can't afford to waste a single drop. Cupping his hand, he half-fills it with water, then pours it on the needle entry site on the back of his neck.
Sitting back on his haunches, he strains his ears to listen. He can't hear an engine. But he is gently tilting backwards and forwards: it's a motion that's so familiar to him he hadn't noticed it before. If he's on a ship it must be a big one otherwise the motion would be more noticeable. He frowns as a sketchy memory stirs in his mind.
He's on a pleasure cruiser. A large one.
He chews over that thought. Being held prisoner on a boat, he can work with that. But it still doesn't explain why he's here. A pleasure cruiser suggests someone with money. A lot of it. The only person they've had contact with like that is Anton Fedorov. He's securely locked up in Halawa.
What if Anton's escaped?
The thought makes him rock back on his heels. His brain goes into overdrive as images assail him of the brutality that Fedorov is capable of - the pictures from the FBI case files will be imprinted on his mind always.
What if Fedorov's out there with Danny, with his Ohana?
A cold flush sweeps across his skin. He folds over as his stomach rolls. Gulping in air he angrily tells himself not to panic. They can look after themselves. They'll be fine. For a moment he manages to reassure himself. Then guilt takes over, blinding him. He's left them unprotected. They're his responsibility and he's let them down.
Crawling back up against the wall, he wraps his arms around his knees. Lowering his head, he tries to clear his mind. He's been drugged before, he's aware of the after effects. Mood swings are normal, he reminds himself. He's not going to be himself for a while.
He's not sure when he first realises he can hear whispering. He's too focused on stowing his panic, calming his heart rate, to register anything else. But when he does he raises his head, scowling. It sounds like it's coming from the other side of the metal wall.
Shuffling sideways, he presses his ear against the metal. It's cold against his skin. For a second or two all he can hear is the creak of the boat, of the metal. But slowly he can make out the words:
"Hello? Is someone there?"
To be continued…