Cruise the Storm

by David Chilcott

  Bourne opened the door, dressed only in a tee shirt and jeans, hair ruffled. "Yes," he sneered.

  "The captain has ordered a cabin search, sir. It will only take a few minutes"

  "What are you looking for?"

  "Anything that has been brought aboard illegally."

  "Nothing," said Bourne, "now go away."

  "We have to search the cabin, Sir." Bourne looked as though he was going to fight someone about it, but he clearly thought better of it, after weighing up the odds against the two burly men, bouncers in reality. He back stepped into the cabin and let them search. He became perturbed when they made to search his chest of drawers.

  "Just a moment, I have some private papers in there," and he stepped forward, and scooped them out of the drawer, and laid them on the bed behind him. "What are you looking for anyway?"

  "I don't think we are forced to tell you, but anything that is banned from being brought aboard, under the regulations listed on your ticket. That includes weapons, drugs other than for medicinal purposes, explosives, just for a start. I'm sure that you aren't guilty of that, Sir, but we have to look at all the cabins, on the orders of the captain."

  "I shall be writing to the head office of your organisation about this," said Bourne.

  "Surely, Sir, you can get the address from the reception desk on this deck."

  * * * *

  Mike came out of the service lift dressed in a borrowed steward's white jacket and black trousers, pushing the trolley, which now had some crockery on the top. He was extremely worried and trying not to show it. If he was stopped and the trolley searched he was looking at a lot of prison time.

  He made to turn down the corridor and saw a lot of security people, including two just going into Bourne's cabin. He reversed the trolley and walked back to the lift. As he walked past reception he said: "Got the wrong level, must have been dreaming."

  Once in the lift, and in case the receptionist was watching the lift indicator, he went up one level. Kept his finger on the shut doors button for half a minute, and then pressed the crew deck button.

  When he came out Alan was loitering in front of the lift.

  "What's happened? You've forgotten to leave the trolley, silly bugger."

  "Security are searching the cabins, we'll have to wait."

  "There's that alcove behind the trolley parking, we'll hunker down there for half an hour or so, then you can try again."

  When they got into hiding Mike saw another trolley draped with a cloth. Nodding at it, he said: "Is that who I think it is?"

  Alan nodded, and leaned against the bulkhead.

  Back in the captain's cabin later, the security man was making his report. All they had found in their detailed search of six cabins was a small envelope containing cannabis. No weapons.

  "Must be picking up at the next port," commented Morton.

  Chapter 18

  At the next attempt half an hour later, Mike and the trolley got to their destination without difficulty.

  Mike rapped heavily on the door. Bourne opened it cautiously, saw it was Mike, and opened the door fully.

  As soon as the trolley was inside, Bourne shut the door and locked it. "You didn't have any problems?" he asked.

  "Just a few," Mike screwed up his face. "Everybody is guessing what you're doing. You're lucky you've got the goods. And, cos of the alert, I had to do something I'm asking you to clear up."

  "What are you on about?" Bourne was sawing through the plastic straps of one carton with a penknife. He flipped the lid; revealing oiled weapons.

  Bourne reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of envelopes, the white, normal letter type, thin. Not much in them. "Look take these, they're the address of the Western Union in Naples. And, for each of you, the name on the parcels you're collecting, and the passwords. The ten thousand pounds each, as agreed."

  "Naples? And when is the hijack? Before we get there?"

  "Of course, but that will soon be over. Even if the ship doesn't go on to Naples, you'll be able to afford to fly there. They hold the parcels for six months, you know."

  "I'm just going down for another delivery. I can't let it stay down in the crew quarters, that's the first place they'll search. I had to well, kill the super, just as he was about to open those cartons of yours. He's currently on a trolley like this one. Just hang on to it, and then dump him overboard would be my advice."

  "That's terrible, can't you dump him? You are nearer the water. It wouldn't make such a splash."

  "We can't dump him in the harbour, he'd be spotted straight away. Bodies float, didn't you know?"

  "Of course. So you want me to live with a corpse until it's ripe?"

  "Look, just hang on until this evening. We sail at six, and an hour or two later you can tip him into the sea. Nobody will hear the splash, and it will be dark."

  Chapter 19

  McBride had promised to take the art class into Malaga for a painting lesson, something simple, he promised, and they would return for a late lunch on the Helena.

  The day had dawned sunny, a clear sky, with temperatures even at half past nine, twenty three degrees, and a gentle breeze. McBride had organised a couple of taxis through the reception desk. He estimated that his art class had currently dropped to eight members. The captain and Morton had missed the last and also this class, for which he had received an apology earlier this morning. McBride guessed there was trouble brewing on this cruise and was curious about it. It was unlike the captain to abandon the class, which he had so obviously enjoyed, without good cause. And Morton, who was he, and what was he doing on the cruise?

  It wasn't completely unknown for a single person to go on a cruise. But Morton had shown no inclination to join in the organised events, nor join any off-ship trips. He just hung around with the captain. Curious.

  And was there some connection with the motley band of travellers on deck 5?

  The taxis dropped the artists off in the square in front of the cathedral, as McBride instructed.

  He led his small party to a group of public seats.

  "Okay, it's time to learn something new. Firstly, you don't have to paint all of an object, especially the size of this cathedral. Just to depict a part, if chosen carefully, can be superior to the whole." He turned to the scene. "For example," he held up a sheet of paper, "what the paper covers, is quite a good composition. Do you see, when I take the paper away, which scene I am going to paint?"

  McBride quickly erected his easel and clipped the sheet of paper to it. "What we are going to learn today is called 'pen and wash', which is what you would imagine you draw the scene in pen and ink and colour in washes of paint. There are two ways of doing this, you could paint the scene in a series of washes, and then add the pen and ink afterwards. When we do it this way the lines don't have to faithfully enclose the paint, in fact an Edinburgh artist in the nineteenth century perfected this technique. It's really like a mis-matched impression from a printing machine. Difficult to do, if it is going to look good.

  "We'll tackle the traditional method, by doing a drawing, in pen, with no shading, because we will use paint. For the drawing using ink, we are not going to use pens, because the lines would be too even in thickness. I normally use a twig off a bush in the garden, but if we nick the council's shrubs, we may be put in prison.

  "Therefore I have nicked these lolly sticks from the ship's kitchens, I've sharpened them roughly and you dip the stick in the ink and you'll find it gives an irregular line, which you will admire and wonder how you've been so clever.

  "Fortunately, I have brought some jars of Indian ink. A note of warning, if you spill it on your clothes, it will not wash out, so be careful. You can take the ink back with you, but if you intend to use it in your cabin, do not spill it, or the cruise line might charge for ink-stained bed linen and carpets."

  McBride handed out the materials and returned to the easel. "I'll just give you a quick demo. You can lightly draw in pencil first, if you like, but be prep
ared to remove the pencil later, or it will spoil the effect."

  He started on the paper using his stick dipped in ink. "You can be very detailed, putting in lots of lines, in fact it is better for the effect." He worked on the sketch for a few more minutes, working without pause until he had built up the scene. "Now we come to the interesting part .We mix some wash in our palette. You can use fairly pale colours and you don't need much contrast between the colours because the lines are doing the job for our brains."

  "What do you mean?" asked one pupil.

  "Well I told you that the brain has to understand a picture in only two dimensions. One way of doing that is by change in tone. By having the colours marked by black lines, these act as a marker to the brain.

  "It is better not to have too many colours, so these can be quite subdued. See what you think."

  He quickly put paint on, using a large sable, quite loose application.

  The class were very impressed and wanted to get right down to work. McBride walked slowly round, helping some out, commenting encouragingly to others.

  As the morning wore on McBride was surprised and pleased to see that Ronson and Birdie, the Americans, were doing some stunning work. Previously they had been lacking in ability, but this technique had grasped their imagination. He was pleased to see the success he had brought about, which made teaching so rewarding. He vowed that he would increase the amount he did back home. He must tell Ian Smith, his agent, that he would do some painting holidays for pupils.

  When McBride suggested they pack up and move to a nearby café for drinks in the shade of parasols, people gathered round to admire Ronson and Birdie's work, and McBride was sure that would encourage the others.

  Chapter 20

  Bourne spent a miserable day cooped up in his cabin, with the door locked and a 'Do Not Disturb' card on the doorknob. He phoned round the other cabins, giving the code word, 'RED 10', which meant that the hijack would begin at 10am the next day. It also meant that Bourne had the weapons.

  By evening, hungry and with no food, Bourne was sure that he could smell the superintendent decaying. He moved the trolley nearer to the patio, and was alarmed when a limp arm and hand dropped out from behind the cloth. For one awful moment he thought the superintendent had become a zombie and would attack him. After half an hour he plucked up courage, and using the cloth in his hand, he pushed the protruding arm back inside.

  At half past seven, with the ship well under way, he phoned Kevin but there was no reply. Bourne realised the rest of them had gone to eat. It was ten o'clock before Kevin returned to his cabin.

  Bourne had been phoning with no reply for half an hour before Kevin answered.

  "Kevin I need you in my cabin at once. Don't hang about, it's really urgent."

  Kevin moaned but agreed to come. As soon as he knocked, Bourne shot out an arm and pulled him in.

  "Just look at this, Kevin," Bourne said, pulling the cloth back from the trolley. On the bottom shelf, an arm fell out, limp grey flesh.

  "Christ," said Kevin, "You've got a body there. How did you kill him, and more importantly, why?"

  "It wasn't me, but help me tip him overboard." Bourne was trying not to show his repugnance.

  He pulled the cloth completely off the trolley and with his foot endeavoured to roll the body on to the floor. It stuck obstinately to the trolley.

  "Kevin, give me a hand grab his shoulders and I'll lever him out."

  Bourne got hold of the super's shoes and pulled energetically, whilst Kevin, yanked at the corpse's shoulders. After another strong pull, the corpse rolled over on to the carpet.

  Between the pair of them they part dragged and lifted the super's body to the patio, where they lifted the corpse on to the rail. With superhuman effort by both of them, they rolled the body overboard, and it fell spiralling into the ocean. For a few seconds they eyed each other with repulsion and turned as one back into the cabin.

  The first officer made his way across the restaurant towards the captain's table, which was still occupied by his guests, many of whom were by now fairly merry. The officer bent to the captains' ear and said in a confidential voice, "Captain, there's several reports of m.o.b., so I've ordered the Williams turn."

  The captain stood up and said to his table guests: "I'm sorry, but I must get back to work. Goodnight to you all." He accompanied the first officer to the bridge.

  He knew that he must make an announcement. The ship was slowing preparing to take a wide sweep to starboard, where it would circle to rejoin its original course, but in the opposite direction. The passengers would be aware of something happening, so when he arrived at the bridge he picked up the microphone and spoke in a confident friendly fashion

  "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Several people have reported that there is a man overboard. Accordingly, we are now turning back to arrive at where the incident occurred. We will then launch what we call an m.o.b boat. This is a very fast launch that will search the area where, we believe, a person fell from the ship. I will keep you posted from time to time."

  Three volunteer deck crew were selected, and they made their way to deck 2, where the passenger tender was launched, and where the m.o.b was stored. The liner was almost at a stop as it approached the point where the incident had occurred. It was probably further back than the logged point, because of the possible delay in the report reaching the crew, and the captain decided to travel a further half mile, but now with arc lamps sweeping the sea on either side of the ship.

  Historically, the chances of rescuing people who fall into the sea, is remote. But, of course it would be unthinkable not to try. The boat was now launched, and preparing to follow a search pattern . In addition to the ship's powerful arc lights, the small boat had searchlights, too.

  Passengers moved out onto the decks and onto their cabin balconies, to watch this free show, even though it was getting on for midnight. The sea was calm with a slight swell and the captain thought there was an even chance that they may improve the statistics. But, even if they recovered the person, he or she may not still be alive. The shock of falling into the sea, from high up on the ship, could be fatal if the person was old, and the passenger majority were just that.

  There was a shout from inside the bridge, and the captain turned to hurry inside.

  "What's the matter?"

  The acting helmsman said, "Over to starboard about two hundred yards, there's a white object, can you see?" He pointed, and the captain spotted what looked like a large white parcel bobbing in the water, vanishing and then reappearing.

  "Get on the radio to the m.o.b. and give them a position," ordered the captain, and then ordered more arc lamps to focus on the object.

  As the m.o.b. was on the port side, it had to travel past the bows to starboard. Since the passengers had been at the port rails, there was a rush to move starboard as fast as possible. This action was increased because passengers in the port cabins that had been enjoying a good view, now had to exit their cabins.

  The captain watched them moodily. They were all the type of people who ogled car crashes, he thought, rather unfairly.

  The rescuers edged up to the object in the sea, and with a boat hook, rolled the object until it was lying in the water alongside. They could tell it was definitely a body, and two men grabbed to pull the body aboard, whilst the remaining sailor laid out a tarpaulin sheet, to accept the corpse. They made an untidy parcel, tied with rope. They turned for the ship, reporting to the captain by radio telephone.

  As they approached the ship, they saw two crew members waiting at the launching doors, with a wheeled stretcher. As soon as the sailors were aboard the ship, they manhandled the m.o.b., still with the body in it, aboard. The doors were closed and locked, the body was placed on the stretcher, and the five people made their way along the corridor that ran the full length of the ship. The corridor was bisected by bulkheads, now with waterproof doors open.

  The captain was waiting up on the bridge, microphone in hand, and
he broadcast an update.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing more to see, a person has been pulled from the sea and brought back to the ship. At this stage we have no further information, but first indications are that it was a crew member that was overboard. Thank you, and goodnight."

  He watched the passengers slowly drifting inside, in groups, chattering and gesticulating. There was nothing like a good sea rescue, he thought sourly, to cement friendships on board.

  The morgue, and operating theatre, together with a surgery and waiting room, were placed centrally in the ship, and connected to deck 5 by a passenger lift which was large enough to accommodate stretchers. It is not unusual for a cruise liner to have a mortuary. A lot of the passengers are old and the strain of too liberal a diet of food and alcohol can take their toll.

  The mortuary was lined floor to ceiling in stainless steel, with a table of stainless steel, with cold water taps, and channels to carry fluids away. The floor was plastic laminate, sloping to a central drain.

  The surgeon had already been called from his bed, where he was attempting to have an early night, and stood sleepily, dressed in tee shirt and white cotton trousers.

  He spoke to the assembled crewmen. "Okay, I only need one of you to assist me, who is it going to be?" There was a shuffling of feet, and each of them moved to the door.

  "Then I'll make a decision," said the surgeon, "get the body out of the tarpaulin, and then you," he pointed to the nearest man, "stay and help."

  When they had the body laid on the stainless table the surgeon took a knife and slit off the wet clothes the corpse was wearing.

  "Ship's clothing," he remarked. "Must be crew, do you recognise him?" The other man shook his head. "Whoever he is, he doesn't look well."

  The surgeon began his examination. "He didn't drown. No water in the lungs. He was dead before he went in the water, Rigor mortis has been and gone, I think he has been dead perhaps twelve hours."