The Company of the Dead Read Online Free

appear amiable, keeping it light.
    “Not your Titanic ,” said Kennedy. “I’m talking about the original ship.”
    This was becoming ludicrous, Lightholler thought. Confederate security agents in his hotel room, with a letter of authority from the palace demanding his assistance, here to discuss a matter that was the focus of every magazine and news programme across the planet.
    He forced a laugh. “Surely you didn’t cross half the continent to listen to stories about the original ship.”
    “No, Captain.” Morgan spoke up. “We crossed half the continent to tell you one.”
    Lightholler let his gaze fall on each of the men in turn. “Must be one hell of a story.”
    “It has its moments.” Kennedy rose out of his chair. He straightened his jacket. “But this isn’t the place to discuss it.”
    “Where did you have in mind?” Lightholler took a bite from a slice of toast.
    “Dallas suits our purpose.”
    He almost choked. “ Texas? ”
    “You have three days. I’ve arranged a flight for Tuesday.”
    “That’s impossible,” Lightholler spluttered. “The Titanic is due to sail this Friday, after the Berlin peace talks have concluded.”
    “She’ll sail without you,” Kennedy said. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to return to the ship later.”
    Lightholler stood quickly and walked over to Kennedy. “I’m going to contact my embassy, Major. Perhaps I should have a chat with the local authorities too. They might be interested to hear about your little invitation, not to mention your presence here in the Union.”
    “That wouldn’t be very wise, Captain. I’d hate to think of the complications that might cause you.” There didn’t seem to be any threat in Kennedy’s voice. If anything there was a touch of sadness. “You have three days,” he repeated. “Contact your superiors at the White Star Line. Get in touch with the Foreign Office in London if you need to confirm the letter’s authenticity, but be discreet.”
    Lightholler felt light-headed. It was all happening too fast.
    “Meet me here, Tuesday, two o’clock,” Kennedy concluded, handing Lightholler a card.
    Lightholler examined the piece of paper. The words “Lone Star Cafe” were pencilled in broad strokes. The address was in Osakatown, in the East Village.
    Three days would be more than enough time to extricate himself from this predicament. He said, “I’ll consider it.”
    “Come alone. Don’t worry about your belongings—they’ll be taken care of.”
    “I’ll consider it.”
    Hardas and Morgan rose from their seats. They moved towards the hallway entrance.
    Kennedy nodded at the letter in Lightholler’s pocket. “I’m afraid it’s out of your hands, Captain.” He pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
    In the hour that followed, Lightholler checked his hotel suite door twice, making sure it was locked. He paced the floor and slammed his fist into the wall of his bedroom, leaving a faint impression in the plaster. He smoked seven cigarettes, lighting one from the other.
    He stood in the bathroom before the full-length mirror. He ran the palm of his aching hand over a stubbled chin, teeth clenched. Snatches of the conversation repeated themselves in his mind, the words playing over and over till their meaning was lost.
    White noise.
    You have three days...
    He went over to the shower, a glass-walled cubicle that took up nearly half the room. He ran the water cold at first, sending a shock through his frame, then slowly increased the heat. He looked up at the showerhead and screwed his eyes up tightly, letting the furious stream blast into his face.
    He stood there, eyes closed, hands braced against the wall, and pictured the great ship as his great-grandfather had described her, all those years ago.

II
April 15, 1912
RMS Titanic, North Atlantic
    Wells sprawled over the cabin’s table, one hand outstretched on the journal, the other cradling his head. A tumbler lay