Cruise the Storm

by David Chilcott

  Audrey studied him. Yes, she thought, the bastard means it.

  "Tell everybody that a shooting competition starts at nine in the morning. If they are on patrol, there will be chance to compete at 2pm. And Audrey, be a love and be the scorer. "

  He thought a moment and said: "We'll have a party each night, starting at eight. So we'll suspend the eight to twelve shift. Do you think it will matter?"

  "How the fuck do I know, Keith?"

  She turned round and marched out of the bar. A few minutes later, she came back, and unpinned the rota, took it away with her.

  The first party was a success, people started gathering in the bar at about seven o'clock, getting drinks from the bar. The bartender decided to remain in attendance, as it was so busy. Bourne was in a good mood, cracked jokes with his men. He saw Audrey with a strange man, beckoned her, and she came over, leaving the guy by the bar.

  "Who the hell is that you're with, Audrey?"

  "It's a man I met on the patrol. You'll be pleased."

  "Why?"

  "He's undercover security with the shipping line. You didn't even know he existed. You thought you had thrown them all off the ship. Anyway," she held up her hand to stop the questions she saw about to come from Bourne. "he's fallen for me, so I think we have a spy who could work for us, rather than the other way. Because I'm not giving any of OUR plans away, and I'm sure you won't. I'll give you all the news as I get it."

  "I'm not going to introduce you, and I'm not inviting him to the party. I'll give him a good time in my cabin, and send him off before dinner."

  She walked back to the bar, and a few minutes later, they both left. Bourne smiled to himself. Trust Audrey, she'd do anything for a shag.

  Bourne went over to the barman, told him they needed a waiter to take dinner orders, because they were all eating in the bar this evening, and for the next few nights, at eight each evening. Several minutes later, white-coated waiters, two of them, circulated with menus and order pads.

  The tables were pushed together to make a large single unit, and twelve of them sat down to dinner. Audrey had slipped back into the room, and Bourne looked surreptitiously at his watch. That was a quickie, just under twenty minutes.

  Bourne sat at the head of the table, motioning Kevin to sit at his right, and Audrey on his left. He had ordered white and red wine, which about half of them drank, the rest having beer. Towards the end of the meal Bourne got up and circulated, chatting with each of his troops. Everybody was in high spirits. Some of that could be the effects of the alcohol, but Bourne detected a returning sense of camaraderie, which had been missing since they had joined the cruise ship. Kevin had been right, but he wouldn't give him the pleasure of admitting it.

  It was half past eleven, before the party thinned out, three people getting ready for their twelve to four o'clock patrol, the rest turning in, three more due to get up at four o'clock.

  Bourne was back in the bar at eight the next morning, talking to Kevin as they both ate a hearty English breakfast.

  "I'm going to get Audrey to keep score this morning for the shooting competition. Where can we find a lifebelt?" said Bourne

  "We can use a lifejacket, better, really because it's a brighter colour, there's a couple in my cabin, I'll get one."

  "What if the ship sinks? Will you swim without a jacket?"

  "I'll nick one later from one of the empty cabins, when I find out how to get into them."

  "How? Blow the locks off?"

  "How do you think the rooms get cleaned?"

  "By housekeeping, I would think," said Bourne. "That's what happens in hotels, so I would think the same thing happens at sea."

  Kevin said, "You're missing the point – how do you think they get into the cabins? They rarely come round when you're there. And if they do, they apologise, and say they'll come back later."

  "Okay, they must have duplicate keys."

  "And you've noticed them trailing carts with huge bunches of keys?"

  "No."

  "They use a single key. One that opens every door. " said Kevin. "They call it a pass key. I will find a pass key, through the computers if I can crack it."

  "Boredom," said Bourne, "that's what I've got, listening to you witter away. I don't care whether you drown or not. Just go and fetch a lifejacket and we'll get rigged up for the game."

  When Kevin returned with a life jacket, in one hand, Bourne was outside the bar, on the narrow walkway in the open air. He knocked on the glass to attract Kevin's attention and made beckoning gestures.

  Kevin strolled outside, to annoy Bourne, who expected every person to jump to it, when he called. "Yes?" he said, and went to stand next to him at the railing.

  "Look down there," said Bourne, and pointed below him.

  "What are you trying to show me?" said Kevin.

  " here's a piece of paper floating in the water, can't you see it?"

  "Yes."

  "Well I threw it in ten minutes ago, at least."

  "So?"

  "Well it's not moving, there's no current, or if there is, the ship is drifting along with the paper. That means if you chuck the life jacket in, it won't float away. So it will be a stationary target. That's good, gives everyone the same chance"

  "So you want me to chuck my life jacket in, now?"

  "Yes, but when you do, chuck it hard, so that it goes at least fifty yards. Do you think you can do that, or would you rather I did it?"

  "Oh. For God's sake," said Kevin, and hurled the jacket into the sea. It didn't go as far as he expected due to the lack of streamlining, but fluttered and landed on a steep trajectory. The jacket floated serenely twenty-five yards away.

  "Not as easy as it looks, is it?" said Bourne, in a condescending way.

  Kevin didn't answer.

  "Go and get your rifle, and you can have a practice shot," said Bourne. He was still there, leaning over the rail and watching the jacket when Kevin got back. He was momentarily tempted to shoot Bourne in the back and chuck him in.

  "Right, I'm having a practice go, now," he said, and steadied his arms on the rail. The first shot was way off the mark, and Bourne saw the splash, about two feet from the jacket. "And again," he told Kevin. Kevin brought the rifle up to his eye this time, and leant his body against the rail, elbows tucked in, as his dad had told him, when he had an air rifle as a kid.

  The life jacket jumped in the air, the bullet hitting it with a thud you could just hear below the crack of the propellant burning.

  "That was much better, Kevin," said Bourne. Praise indeed from the boss. "Don't waste any more ammunition at the moment. Everybody else will be out soon, if Audrey remembered to tell them."

  When they came, they sauntered out in dribs, and it wasn't until ten past nine, that the last man was there. Bourne gave them a short lecture on timekeeping, quite angry really, at the shambles that was his army.

  "So that we can get going, we'll have two people at once shooting, Kevin will check the number of hits, and Audrey, you've got your notepad?" She nodded, waved it about. "Then you write the results. Ten rounds each person, single shots, and give a bit of a pause between shots, so that Kevin can keep count. Okay first two. Just remember, don't turn round with your rifle pointing at us." Kevin thought, chance would be a fine thing.

  The first man to shoot hit the jacket every time and scored maximum points. Bourne was thinking he had made it too easy, but nobody else scored top marks, and two people failed to hit the target at all. Kevin was a good shot and Bourne decided he would ask him to give the poor marksmen some tuition.

  It took an hour before the contest was over. Bourne invited them all into the bar for coffee. When they all settled down at the large table were they had eaten, he made an analysis of people's prowess and Audrey read out the scores from her notebook. The morning had been a success.

  "Okay fellows," Bourne said. "We'll pack up now. Tomorrow we might make it harder for those of you who won. We'll see."

  When people had wande
red off, Kevin and Audrey still there, Bourne said: "This is the sort of leisure time pursuits we need. Put your thinking caps on, and see if we can come up with some more games. Hey, we could play board games!"

  "Kevin can you look for some board games – chess, draughts, monopoly, that sort of thing. Try the lounges, or ask one of the stewards, they would know."

  That evening, Kevin came into the bar with a sack in one hand. He sought out Bourne, who was over by the large table, talking to a couple of members.

  "Board games, Keith. You asked for them. Here they are."

  Bourne looked down at the bag, now sitting on the table. "Great, leave them somewhere safe, and I'll sort them out after dinner."

  After the meal, which was as successful as the previous night, Bourne stood up and mentioned that board games were available, and they should organise teams of two people, who would play against each other, in a series of board games. After an hour of playing and changing games, most people got bored, and the evening ended with most people conversing and drinking.

  The weather was turning nasty. The ship was tossing and people walked in a series of zig zags, in an effort to keep their feet. One by one, they drifted to their cabins, until Kevin and Bourne were the only ones left in the bar. Kevin went over to the large windows. He could see a bright horizon line which was moving up and down, or looked as though it was. Of course Kevin realized it was the ship's movement that gave this effect. He turned back to the room as looking at the horizon began to affect him. Once he forgot about it, he felt fine again. He was pleased. He didn't want to be a bad sailor.

  Chapter 35

  Don Walker sank into the upholstered chair by the patio doors in his cabin. His wife Grace was on the balcony somewhere. He pulled the paperback off the coffee table, and opened it at the bookmark. Time to let his breakfast settle before he did anything else. That was the whole point of a holiday – to take it easy. He worked all year long, and only two measly holidays to show for it. Not that he worked all that hard, he had to admit, but only to himself. To his wife he told a pack of lies about how hard it was, and the money wasn't nearly enough. He mostly spent the surplus on women, and having a good time. He kept a mistress, of course, and she should have been along with him. That would have been something, but his wife had insisted on coming along.

  His wife barged back through the doors into the cabin. She was overweight, so she barged everywhere.

  "Can't you hear the shooting, Don?" She was panting, and that was only moving about ten yards. With a bit of luck she'd die and he'd be free.

  "What shooting?" He had heard it, but he wasn't going to give in easily.

  "It's coming from downstairs. Those hi-jack people are murdering some of the passengers. Then they'll come up here. Don, what are we going to do?" She was wiping her eyes, performing her act.

  "I'll come out and listen, just as soon as I've finished this page." Grace had left the door open, and sure enough he could hear shooting, and some raucous cheers.

  He got up and went to the door. Grace was surprised. He didn't usually react so fast. He walked across the balcony to the rail, and peered over. The first thing he saw was somebody in the water, in a life vest. And then he realized that the vest was empty, and saw splashes in the water from bullets. When a shot hit the vest, it rose out of the water, and produced a few ragged cheers.

  He leaned over the rail perilously, and he could see heads against the rail on the deck below, looked like ten or so people, most with rifles, nasty black ones, Russian rifles, were they? It incensed him that his peace and quiet was being disturbed.

  He rushed back inside. "I'm going to see the guy next door, Mick. We need to see the captain about this. Why doesn't he get a grip? We'll get this sorted."

  He dashed into the corridor, banged on the next cabin door. There was no reaction for a minute or two, and Don raised his fist to renew the knocking, when he heard faint footsteps, and Mick opened the door, dressed in vest and trousers.

  "Jesus, you're loud in a morning, what do you want?"

  "Can I come in, I want to show you something"

  "Won't it wait?"

  "Up to you. Go out on the balcony, look over the rail. A crowd of hijackers are having a shooting match. I'm going to the captain to complain. He's taking no notice, and we've paid good money for this cruise. You might want to come along as well."

  "It was a bloody cheap cruise actually, but I'll have a look, come in."

  Don understood why Mick wasn't keen to invite him in. It looked as if there was a party last night. He wasn't invited, and felt a bit put out about that. He strode over bottles, and glasses were littered on every flat surface, except the floor. And there was a smell of stale alcohol. By the time he had negotiated the mess, Mick was on the balcony and hanging over the rail.

  "Yes, it is a bit noisy, but I wouldn't like to be the one to tell them, I like my body without bullets in it."

  "I'm not suggesting we deal with it. Just go to the captain and complain. He's not dealing with the problem. If it was my ship, I would do something about it."

  Mick raised his eyebrows but didn't answer.

  Back in his own cabin, Don, picked up the phone, pressed the button for reception. It rang and rang. No reply. Don was getting even angrier. He decided to go up to the top deck, where presumably the captain steered the boat.

  Fortunately, on the way, he met an officer with quite a lot of stripes on his epaulettes. All the officers were in shirt-sleeve order now they were in the Med.

  "Excuse me, " Don said, "can you help me?"

  "I'll certainly try," said the officer politely and smiled. Tensely, thought Don. Perhaps the whole crew was suffering some stress.

  "I'm wanting an appointment with the captain."

  "He's under a bit of pressure at the moment, as I'm sure you can imagine. Can you talk to me, do you think? I'm the second mate, and I'm fairly up to speed, you know."

  "Okay, I'll start with you, but if you can't help, I'll still want to meet the captain."

  "Well, if you just come with me to the observation lounge, I can hear what you want to tell me."

  Don followed the officer. Soon they were sitting in easy chairs in the impressive lounge with wall-size windows, looking over the ocean. But the ship was going nowhere at the moment. Just stationary. Don could see, a distance away another vessel, it looked like a container ship. And it was stationary too, it seemed to him.

  Don pointed. "I know we aren't going anywhere, because the hijackers won't let us, but why is that container ship not moving either?"

  "It's keeping a watching eye on us, make sure the hijackers don't start throwing us off. There is quite a lot of assistance when you're at sea."

  "Well, what I want to know is what are you doing about the hijackers? They are playing about shooting at targets in the sea, and having a whale of a time, and they are keeping the passengers prisoners, effectively. Why doesn't the government do something about it?"

  The young officers looked at Don for a few seconds. "How do you know that we aren't doing something?"

  "You don't seem to be."

  "We can't reveal everything, because the hijackers would get to know. That is the difficulty that we have. As regards the government, I can assure you that we are in contact with them. The problem is, of course, that we are not a British vessel, but flying a South American flag. Also, of course, we have a lot of American passengers, and European Mainland passengers. That is not to say that the British government is not concerned, but perhaps you can see that it makes things difficult for them. I think I can reveal to you that there is a standoff in place, until Tuesday. And then further negotiations will take place."

  "That's no help to the passengers."

  "It might be, if the alternative is that you might be shot.

  "If it is the noise of shooting that concerns you, or even if it is your proximity to the hijackers that worries you, we could possibly relocate you to another deck, say deck 8 or 9. But I would have to sp
eak to the accommodation director. Do you want me to do that?"

  "I don't know," said Don, rather sheepishly, "I would have to ask my wife." He got up from the chair and shook the officer's hand. "Thank you for listening to me, I feel better for getting that off my chest."

  When he got back to the cabin he found his wife in a deckchair on the balcony, looking rather like a beached whale.

  "Where have you been?" She looked up from her magazine and nibbled at a biscuit.

  "I told you I was going to complain about the shooting."

  She looked impressed. "You went to the captain to complain? What did he say?"

  'Well, the captain was busy, because of the hijack thing, so I spoke to his assistant, a very polite officer. We had a chat."

  "And…".

  "And he said if you were concerned about the noise, or worried about being close to the hijacker's, well their 'den', so to speak, he might get us moved up a deck or two."

  "And, what did you say to that?"

  "I said I would ask you."

  "You silly old bat, of course I don't want to move."

  "Suit yourself," he said and went back into the cabin to fetch his paperback. The doorbell rang and he detoured to open the door. It was Mick from next door.

  "What did the captain say?" he asked and walked in to the cabin, unasked.

  "Would you like a drink?" said Don, to make up for any earlier churlishness.

  Mick looked at his watch. "Yes please, the sun might not be over the yardarm, whatever that means, but why not? Make it a gin and tonic, eh?"

  He threw himself into the upholstered chair and Don fetched his drink, also bringing one for himself. "Well, they're having problems. Did you know that there is a container ship standing by, in case we get into difficulties? There is stand off until Tuesday, then the officers are hoping to negotiate an extension. If they don't, I suppose they will start shooting some people. Which will be the passengers, I suppose."

  "Did the captain say that?"

  "Well, he wouldn't, doesn't want to spread fear. But it stands to reason. Kill the officers, and they wouldn't be able to sail anywhere, would they?"