Chapter Forty-eight
The captain of the Excelsior stood in Mark DeVillier’s stateroom looking at the girl crumpled on the floor. She was naked, her hair had been braided and tied into a tight bun and her spine heaved repeatedly as she sobbed. He sniffed and detected a light haze of blueish smoke in the air and the room stunk of burnt lard, a smell that took him back to the cheap gin-houses he had visited in Chinatown when he’d been stationed in the Philippines. He’d frequented those joints to buy girls, not to indulge in the food and drink.
“How far out are we?”Mark asked from his upholstered chair behind the coffee table.
The captain drew his eyes away from the girl. “About twenty nautical miles, sir. By the time I return to the wheelhouse, the mooring target will be on radar and I will
