There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for a reply, the captain entered, accompanied by Morton, the MI5 man.
The captain said, "Sorry to have dragged you out of bed, Stanley. A bad do, this. It unsettles the passengers. They don't like to be involved with death, and on holiday, too.
"Accidental death, are you saying?"
The surgeon looked up from his examination. "I am not. Firstly, he was dead before entering the water and secondly, if you look here on the neck at this side, you'll see a massive bruise. In my opinion, that was the cause of death by persons unknown. He was murdered, Captain."
The surgeon regularly read detective literature, and had picked up the jargon. He was enjoying himself in a small way.
"Couldn't he have been knocked against the superstructure on his way down?"
"Yes, he has hit the ship on his way down. See this lacerated skin? No bleeding because he was dead. But the blow to the neck was administrated while he was alive, that is proved by the bruising. A blow such as the commandos used during the war. If you know where the target area is, and you deliver enough force, it kills instantly. It was done by somebody who has learned unarmed combat."
Morton spoke for the first time since entering. "Do we know who he is? If we don't, can we get in touch with HR, or whatever you call them on a ship, to check who is absent?"
"Actually we do have HR on board. All cruise ships do. There is someone on duty at all times, since a ship never sleeps, you know. Hold on, and we'll try and raise them."
The captain spotted a phone on a wall attachment, strode over and pressed buttons from memory.
"Captain speaking. We've got a dead crew member in the mortuary, and we need to identify him. Have you got anyone missing, failed to turn up for their shift … that's interesting. I'll get someone along to identify him." He hooked the phone back in its holder, and turned to Morton and the surgeon, who were standing together by the corpse.
"From the catering department, a guy called Adams, Neil Adams, a store superintendent didn't sign on for his shift starting at 8pm. Not in his cabin. Of course, he could have jumped ship in Malaga. Such things are not unknown. But it would be a big coincidence." He looked round the mortuary and his eyes fell on the crewman. "Nip along and see if you can raise someone in Catering who knows Adams, and bring him back here, and then you can leave." The crewman turned for the door, glad to escape from the pungent smell of death.
Everybody waited. Morton was aware of how loud the engines sounded at this level, and he was certain that he could hear the water rushing against the hull. The ship would be picking up speed now, clawing back lost time. The surgeon fussed about, wiping the gleaming stainless steel, operating a small water spray to remove dark liquids running down the table. What a job, thought Morton.
They heard footsteps outside in the corridor, and the crew man was back followed by a chef still dressed in whites, probably coming off shift, or even now prepping for breakfast. The captain looked at his wrist watch. Nearly two o'clock in the morning.
The surgeon took over. "Good morning," he said to the chef. He gestured to the body on the table, now decently shrouded under a white cloth. "If I pull back the sheet here, can you tell me if you recognise the man?"
The chef looked as if he didn't really want to do this, but nodded and moved closer.
With the air of a conjuror reaching the climax of his act, the surgeon flicked back the sheet and revealed the pale face beneath.
The chef looked and quickly turned away. "It's Neil. Neil Adams."
The captain said to him, "You can go now, Chef. Thank you for your identification." He turned to the surgeon. "Issue a death certificate, send it up to HR, ask them to contact next of kin. If they want the body shipping back to the UK, you can put it in storage. If they want it transhipped at the next port, act accordingly. Goodnight." And he turned and went out of the door followed closely by Morton.
In the lift, going back to the captain's quarters, Morton said, "This is a golden opportunity to get that terrorist Bourne slapped into the cells. Get him on accessory to murder, disposing of a body, anything so that you can lock him up until we reach the next port, or back to the UK, if you like. You'll stop a messy attempted hijack. Everybody will thank you for that, the passengers, your employers, and the UK government. You'll be a hero."
The captain smiled. "My God, you do exaggerate."
"Well, I'm in no doubt that it was connected with the search this m—, I mean yesterday morning. That fellow Adams was involved in the search, carried it out. What if he found something wrong? I'm not saying Bourne did it, but he's obviously got at least one crew member working for him, so it's the same thing"
The lift stopped at deck 10. As the captain stepped out, he turned to Morton. "I'll see you at breakfast at seven prompt and I'll have decided whether to arrest him or not."
Chapter 21
The next morning was sunny; another calm day in the middle of the Mediterranean. At six thirty the captain was up on the bridge speaking to the first officer. Then he wended his way to the main restaurant, giving a spritely 'Good Morning' to crew that he passed on the way.
At six fifty-five, he sought out a table in the corner of the large restaurant. There were only a scattering of passengers at this early hour. The captain collected orange juice and toast at the buffet and returned to his table. He spied Morton bearing down on him, grim-faced.
"Good Morning," the captain smiled. "My word you do look grumpy."
"I'm annoyed that you didn't arrest Bourne last night. It would have made it easier for both of us."
"On the contrary, never let a hijack start at night, if it can be avoided. That is what they teach at head office."
Morton stared at him. "You were taught about hijacking?"
The captain buttered a slice of toast. "Of course. Every couple of years we captains go on a course entitled 'Hijacking,' and how to handle it, if it happens to you. Well, they don't add the last bit, but that is what it is, in essence. It is talks by psychologists, mostly."
"There wouldn't have been a hi-jack last night. We would have taken Bourne out."
"You forget, he has weapons, our security men are unarmed. Company policy, that. So, when our men went to collect him, he would have shot them, or at least arrested them, and a hijack would have followed immediately.
"The company claim, rightly in my opinion, that it scares the passengers more in the dark, panic ensues, and people get shot. The long and short of it is that WE have decided to engineer a daylight hijack. It will happen at about ten o'clock, is my guess. So eat up your breakfast, you've got plenty of time."
Morton stared at him: "You must be insane! Surely there are some weapons on the ship?"
"No, none at all, except we have two undercover security people that have tear gas grenades, in case we get a riot on board. I've never known that scenario, however. It's the same principle as the police force. If you give them weapons, then there are gunfights on the streets."
"Not a good analogy. Hijackers always bring guns to the party."
"Well, I don't have a hand in writing the Shipping Line rules. So what I can't change, I don't worry about. By the way, having that artist McBride on hand will be useful." He ate a mouthful of toast. "You ought to get some breakfast."
"I only have coffee for breakfast. No food." He held his hand up for a waiter, and was soon sipping his black, unsweetened coffee. "What will happen? I mean how do the hijackers announce themselves?"
"It's never happened to me before and rarely to anyone. I don't know their rules. If I wanted to do it, I would use the speaker system, then everyone is aware of what is happening."
"Surely your employers can stop hijackers boarding, don't they have some security screening?"
"They do indeed and they've turned a few people away in the past – told them the cruise is full, or their paperwork is wrong, and all sorts of reasons. In the case of Bourne, the passport he is travelling on is slightly different from the real one he was is
sued with. You know we have a list that you guys supply. The passport he used didn't flag up on the system. We didn't know we had Master Bourne on board, until you told me on the day we sailed. It was too late to do anything but watch by then."
The captain spotted McBride enter the restaurant, waved when he looked across, and he changed course to come over to them.
"Would you join us for breakfast, Mr McBride?" the captain said.
McBride sat down. "It was a pity you both couldn't make it yesterday in Malaga. We had a good time painting the cathedral. The American, Ronson and Birdie, they did marvellous paintings. If you see them, you want to ask them to show you, they won't want asking twice, they were as pleased as punch. A real breakthrough for them." He paused a moment. "You managed to pick up the man overboard last night. Is he okay?"
"Dead," said the captain. "Which is the condition he left the ship. Killed, in fact. Probably by the hijackers, who are due to announce themselves shortly, and take over the ship."
"You seem unruffled about it."
"I can't stop it happening, but I can tell you that it won't succeed, though. I just hope that the casualties are small. We were just mentioning your name. Will you join us in the fight against them? Your background makes you particularly useful. The government will like to have a military assessment of the situation. You will probably find yourself talking to one of your old commanders before the day is out."
"You sound so sure that this is going to happen. What about your security men?"
"They are twelve unarmed bouncers, really. Just to quell drunken brawls, and give an impression of law and order to the passengers. They are not a fighting force. The hijackers took firearms aboard in Malaga. I can't prove it at the moment, but in two hours' time, we will see it."
"Won't they put you under arrest, as captain?"
"Doubtful. They need somebody in charge of the naval side of things. They will know about nothing except rabble rousing."
McBride grinned. "So there is hope yet, we'll be free to cook up some trouble for them. They will only be interested in getting a ransom, and getting off the ship."
The captain shrugged. "You make it sound so easy, but there could be a lot of deaths before that happens."
Chapter 22
Keith Bourne woke early. He lay in bed savouring the moment that had finally arrived. This was his big day. He got up, phoned his colleagues, told them to assemble with weapons at nine thirty, in the reception area. Since all their cabins were on the same level, it was going to be a convenient point to establish headquarters. He told them that if they were approached by security they were to fire warning shots into the ceiling.
He showered, and dressed carefully. He had decided on using a uniform for all the hijackers, light brown chinos, white shirts, red armband worn on the right sleeve, embroidered with the letters WCL, for White Christian League. Today would put them on the map. This was a big step up from burning down a mosque or two.
At nine twenty- five he stationed himself at the end of his corridor, facing the concourse, which was busy with passengers seeking advice, changing currency, arranging side trips.
Four more of his members came up behind him.
"Okay, men, let's get started," he said, even though one of the team was a woman, Audrey, always a good timekeeper.
He strode briskly to the reception desk, lifting his AK47, holding it on an angle across his chest.
The woman behind the desk looked up, saw the gun, and her hand went instinctively for the telephone.
"Don't use the phone," he said harshly. "This ship is hi-jacked." He thought briefly, that didn't sound right. He waved his gun at the woman. "Give me the microphone, so that I can broadcast a message to the passengers and crew."
The woman slowly shook her head. He could see she was frightened even though she was standing her ground. He raised the gun, pointing it up and put a burst into the ceiling.
The result was electric. The woman sank to the floor, either fainting or endeavouring to take shelter. The gunshots echoed round the concourse, and Bourne was momentarily deafened.
He became aware of people dashing out of the immediate vicinity, screams and shouts now being heard as his ears cleared.
He saw a man approaching from an office behind the counter. He shouted at him.
"Give me the microphone!" He pointed his gun at the man, took aim. The man put up his arms.
"Yes! I'm getting it for you. Don't shoot." He walked backwards alongside the counter, reached out and grasped a black object, held it up in his hand. "Here you are; it's a radio mike. Don't take it too far from the counter, or it won't work, you'll get static."
When he was sure that Bourne wouldn't shoot he began to edge forward to him. Bourne leaned over the counter, gun now in his left hand, the other reaching out, wrenching it out of the other man's hand. He passed his gun to Audrey, hefted himself on the counter, and stood on it.
For a moment or two, he was silent looking round the lobby. He felt like Hitler at a large rally, confident, making the silence stretch. There were very few people in the lobby now; an old couple who didn't appear to know what was going on; an even older woman, examining tourist brochures further along the counter – obviously profoundly deaf; almost at the limits of the lobby, a pair of security men, uncertain what to do.
Then Bourne began to speak, reciting the words that he had learned by rote. As a result, it sounded stilted, and his voice rose in tenor from time to time. Audrey had to bite her lip to avoid an amused expression.
"I am Keith Bourne, head of the White Christian League, and we are taking over this ship. We are holding you all hostage. When the ransom is paid we will vacate the ship. Until this time we are in charge.
"However all you passengers can continue your holiday as normal, except we will not be putting into port. Please note that this lobby and the desks are only for the use of the WCL.
"I want all the security men to assemble immediately at the passenger tender station. They will be allowed to leave in the ship's tender, in fact they will be compelled to leave. I know that there are twelve of them. If a security guard fails to leave the ship, he will be hunted down and shot.
"Finally I ask that the captain goes straight to the bridge, and I will speak to him there.
Other announcements will be made from time to time."
He leapt down from the counter, his brow coated in sweat. "Seven of you see that this area is kept clear of passengers. Two of you with me, to the bridge, two more of you down to the tender, count the security men on board, and cast their boat off. Jenny, circulate the rota you did yesterday. There'll be a twenty- four hour guard here, also on the bridge, and then regular patrols."
Bourne and his partners raced up the final steps to the bridge. They rapped on the door with the butt of a gun and the door opened.
The captain stood in the doorway, then stepped aside. "The door wasn't locked, come in."
Bourne stood for a moment taking in the scene. Apart from the captain, there was a helmsman and another officer of some sort looking at a TV screen, or rather a monitor of some sort. Across at the other side was someone he recognised, the man who had been keeping the captain company for the past few days.
"You heard my announcement?" he asked the captain.
The captain nodded and smiled slightly. "Yes, we thought you would make the announcement at ten o'clock. You're early and I've lost my bet."
Bourne didn't understand. So that he didn't appear stupid, he ignored the remark. "I need you to stop the ship. I take it we are not in a shipping lane?"
"We won't be by the time we stop. It will take a couple of miles to stop the ship." He turned to the helmsman. "You heard the gentleman, Jenkins. Heading, east south east. Shut engines down. Start generators"
"I'm posting a couple of armed men here, four on four off. If they see anyone doing something they don't understand, you are to explain, okay?"
"That is perfectly acceptable. You'll be wanting to speak to the
owners?" He gestured at the satellite phone.
"Yes, of course." Bourne was slightly worried, the captain was being ultra polite, yet treating him as an underling, in fact, almost as a child.
"Would you like to speak to the chairman, or the finance director?"
Bourne thought, then said, "Either."
"It might take some time, it is Saturday. Normally neither of them goes to the office on Saturdays. With your permission, I'll phone the duty officer, and get them to call us back when they've roused one of them at home, and got them down to the office. Shouldn't take too long, not more than two or three hours. It's quite awkward that you haven't chosen a weekday."
Bourne said, "You'll have to send someone for me, when they phone. I have to go now,"
And turned and exited the door. He felt strangely like a schoolboy leaving the headmaster's study. Fuck it, he thought, what difference does it make what day it is? The captain was taking the piss, and thought he didn't know it.
On the bridge, Morton turned at went out of the door, almost unnoticed. The captain picked up the phone, spoke briefly to head office. He didn't need to have a long conversation, because he had been in touch throughout the voyage alerting head office what was going on, asked them to phone back when they had chairman in the office and put the phone down.
He said to one of the gunmen, "I'm leaving the bridge now, I have other duties. I'll leave you in the capable hands of my first officer. This is Mr Bridge, apt name, don't you think? I didn't catch your name?"
The gunman said nastily, "Jim."
"Well, good day to you, Mr Jim."
Chapter 23
The captain strode past his cabin, and three doors later, he turned to make sure there was no-one in the corridor, rapped once, and the door was opened by McBride. The captain quickly entered.
"The meeting went well?"
The captain laughed. "Bourne naturally wanted to speak to the owners, and I said, well it is Saturday, nobody is at the office, it really floored him. If I'm not careful he's going to shoot me, he's the sort of guy I can't help winding up!"
Cruise the Storm Page 8
