To the captain he said, "Do you think wet handkerchiefs will be good against tear gas?"
"Couldn't harm to try."
"Okay, all wet your handkerchiefs under the tap there, and tie them round your noses and mouths. It might stop irritation to the lungs."
Soon, they were as ready as they could be and McBride led the motley team down the corridor, down the crew staircase to the boat station on deck 2. From here there was access fore and aft. There were six watertight doors left open, but automatically closing in case of water access.
The corridor was lit by strip lights placed in line with the corridor, giving scant light and shadows were cast by the service pipes and ducts which ran along the walls under the ceiling, reminding McBride of the service corridors in a large five star hotel he had worked in as a teenager. Then he was temporarily engaged as a bar-runner. This was before the days of health and safety. The ice for the drinks arrived in large chunks, and was crushed by using a hammer. All this took place on the concrete floor.
Their feet drummed on the floor as they ran, but it was doubtful that they could be heard in any other part of the vessel, even if it had been good weather. In the storm, the sound of gale force winds, lashing rain and pounding seas covered any other sound at all. Apart from the creaking of the hull, the slamming of doors, and the movement of loose equipment which assailed the ears. Here in the bowels of the ship it was like Dante's inferno. All McBride and his team could do was concentrate on moving forward, stumbling against the pitching of the ship.
It seemed a long journey until they came to the catering department passing prefabricated cold rooms, white shiny vinyl wall sections edges interspersed with vertical aluminium strips. Black lettering across the walls, described the contents: Fish, and Meat, Freezers and Vegetables; each room with a massive handled door, and above each door, in red led lights, the temperature of the interior – +2, and +4, and so on. The floor here was composition in light grey, with welded seams and radiused corners, for easy cleaning. The corridor walls suddenly clear of pipework which could harbour dirt. They passed double swing doors off to the right. Through the door windows they could see shiny stainless steel equipmentand kitchen staff already working even at this early hour. A few kitchen hands were moving along the corridors, but they stood respectfully aside, unconcerned as McBride's army raced past. Presumably they were re-assured by the uniforms of the deck crew amongst them.
McBride spotted the lift entrance. There was a sign pointing: LIFT to Reception, The Bar, Pool, Observation Lounge; by the side a trolley park, full of Waiter's carts. An illuminated sign above the doors showed a number 0.
"Okay fellows, your carriage awaits," shouted McBride, and pressed the call button. Immediately the two doors slid apart, revealing an area that would comfortably accommodate the eight of them. "People with the guns in last, then they will be first out."
He waited whilst the men arranged themselves to his satisfaction, then he stepped inside at the control panel side. He pushed the button for level five, and they were on their way. Next to McBride was Aldo, Carlo, Luciano, and a seaman holding Aldo's pistol. The lift was slow, but the motion unaffected by the tossing ship. It wouldn't be, of course. This was a service lift built not for speed but to convey goods and food. McBride held a grenade in one hand, in the other his AK47. He hoped Tony and Annabel were on the staircases waiting for the lift to reach level five. If they weren't, there was nothing he could do about it now.
Eventually the lift slowed to a stop. The gunmen tensed themselves, imagining the sight that might await, raising their guns in anticipation.
As the doors parted, Aldo fired a burst blindly out of the door and McBride tossed both his grenades so that they would land in the centre of the lobby. The ship rolled so that the floor fell away from the army as they stood in the lift stumbling and bracing themselves.
Immediately a burst of gunfire came from the left, McBride seeing the flashes from the corner of his eyes. He aimed in that direction with his own rapid fire. And then gunfire was coming at them from all directions. And he could see the figures wearing goggles. As though they knew there would be teargas. Even as he was aware of his own troops, not even out of the lift, falling, hit by bullets, he knew they had been betrayed. A huge bright flash momentarily blinded him. For a moment he thought the enemy were throwing thunder-flashes, and then he saw, that the next flash was lightning, and that a terrific storm was taking place. A further flash had the lobby lights flickering, and McBride was worried that the lift might lose power, and they would not be able to escape. If they were not to be massacred, they must retreat. He pressed the lift button. Agonisingly slowly the lift doors closed. He had to kick one of the fallen guys clear to allow the doors to close.
The lift lurched into life and commenced its descent. Bullets were piercing the doors, until they were clear of the fifth level. Bodies rolled on the floor with the motion of the ship. Somebody was groaning. The lift eventually ground to a stop, and the doors opened. McBride kept his finger on the doors open button, he wanted the lift to go nowhere. At least until they were all clear, and out of range.
He called to a crewman. "Use the phone on the wall there, and get the medics here, tell them it is critical."
The non-wounded left the lift, standing in the corridor. McBride told them to make their way back to deck 10, the way they had come. The medics came running down the corridor, stretcher trolley in tow. McBride spoke to them, as they examined the wounded on the floor.
One male nurse knelt beside Aldo, who lay motionless on the floor of the lift, knees drawn up, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The nurse felt for a pulse, checked out where he was injured, and rolled the body over. The back was a bloody mess, a gaping wound where the bullet had exited.
One of the men, from the deck crew, was not badly injured, having taken a bullet in the lower arm. He was attended to by another nurse, who had seated him on the edge of a stretcher trolley.
The outcome of the failed raid was two wounded, not seriously, but not taking part in any fighting in the near future. And, one dead man, Aldo. Luciano, who had hung around to find out, was heartbroken.
Luciano was looking down at his dead colleague. He seemed to be praying, and probably was. The Italians are a religious people.
"He is not only my bodyguard, but he is my friend. I will not rest until the hijackers, they are all killed."
McBride approached the medic who was examining the third man. The medic said
"He's still unconscious. He was hit in the gut. Impossible to know how bad it is, until we get him into surgery."
Eventually the medics left with their patients and one corpse. McBride asked the rest of his army to make their way back to the command room by the same way as they had come. Come. McBride and Luciano led the way.
In the command room, the captain sat alone. The storm was easing already. He looked up as McBride entered, and his eyebrows raised as he saw his blood-spattered clothes and grim expression.
"We were betrayed. They were expecting us. They knew we would use tear gas so they all wore goggles. We had no option but to retreat. My old major used to say, the most important part of battle is knowing when to leave. Most of us live to fight another day, but unfortunately Aldo was killed. There are two more injured."
The captain grimaced, and stood up from the desk. "We've got a spy?"
"Afraid so. I need to talk to you privately in your cabin, just the two of us. In the meantime, you might invite the rest of the team to have breakfast here in the command room. Order it in. They really would appreciate it. I am really sorry that we had to pull out. But anything else would have resulted in pure carnage."
"I agree. Live to fight another day."
"Of course," replied McBride, "But we don't have any more arms. And we are very short of people who can shoot, even if we had more rifles."
Benvento was standing behind McBride, listening in to the conversation.
"May I say something, Capita
no? This hi- jack, she is serious." He thought a moment, then "It seems that no-one is coming to 'elp us. I 'ave a suggestion.. I can get a team of men. You know my connections. It will cost nothing to the shipping line. I can charter a 'elicopter, big one, bring ten to twelve men easy. Properly armed with the machine guns, stun grenades. What you say? It could be done tonight, I am sure. I owe it to Aldo, my bodyguard. Yes, and also because I 'ave many happy voyages on this ship. What you say?"
For Benvento this was a long speech in English. He looked at the captain waiting for his answer.
"For myself," said the captain, "Yes, certainly. I would have to speak to my chairman, but that can be done now, while you are eating."
McBride said, "I think it must be done, and I doubt the British government will help us."
"Okay, I start now, here. It will take some time to organise, so I better be quick. He picked up the GPS handset and was soon talking rapid Italian.
Meanwhile, the captain used the internal phone to speak to the medics. After a few minutes, he put down the phone and turned to McBride.
"You scored injuries on the other side. The medics have three wounded hijackers in the sickbay, all in handcuffs. Would you like to do the math? How many left?"
McBride counted on his fingers, "One dead of heart attack, one captured on the bridge this morning, and three in sick bay, only seven left then."
Benvento had put his phone down by now, and the captain said: "Did you hear that? Only seven hijackers left free. How about your men? Can you get them?"
"Oh yes, the men, they are no problem. Now my man, he is checking for the 'elicopter. Then he will phone back here. So can I wait by the phone for maybe half an hour, or a bit more?"
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang, and it was Luciano's contact. More rapid Italian conversation ensued. When he put down the phone he was smiling.
"We 'ave been very lucky. There is a 'elicopter in the airport at Palermo, so we have chartered it for tonight. It will drop my ten men, then go back to Palermo. It is not available after that, so can my men stay on board until we get to port? They can sleep even in the crew quarters. In case, one or two could sleep in my suites."
"That will not be necessary," said the captain, "we have spare passenger cabins."
The McBride army had rearranged the furniture to put all the chairs round the large centre table and clear papers. Stewards were entering with the food almost before these operations were complete. The captain disappeared to his cabin for a few minutes, and was smiling as he returned.
Chapter 40
Cecil had made it to the office from his club early the next morning, but when he got in, there was already a message from the duty officer lying on his desk. It was headed 'urgent' underlined. It said 'please phone captain Helena soonest.'
Cecil picked up the phone and dialled the number himself. It was picked up straight away. Cecil could hear voices in the background. Geoffrey said: "Yes?"
"You wanted me to phone you, Geoffrey."
"Oh, yes. Good morning," said the captain. "I just wanted to tell you that we made an unsuccessful raid on the hijackers early this morning, and found that the hijackers had been tipped off and were waiting for us. There was a nasty battle led by our painting fellow, you know, the ex-SAS man. He had to make a tactical retreat, two of our men were injured, and one killed. However three hijackers were wounded and are now in the sick bay, in handcuffs. The man who was killed was our Signore Benvento's bodyguard. He was furious, not against us, but the hijackers. He has approached me with a proposition, which I have, in turn, to put to you. I daren't make the decision alone. It is a hot potato. He has offered to send ten of his men on a hired helicopter tonight, to take the hijackers out. He has offered to finance the adventure. His men will be armed to the teeth."
"You mean invite the mafia aboard?"
"Yes."
You trust them not to take the ship for salvage? Or is that not possible, I can't remember the rules of the sea. If that was what they wanted to do, it might be very difficult."
"I think we can trust Mr Benvento, he has been sailing with us for at least the past ten years. He could have tried it on before now, if he had wanted. No, I am talking about the repercussions, if the media found out. No, not if they found out, when they find out that the mafia helped to capture the hijackers. We could be accused of helping to launder mafia money. Money laundering for big international criminals, that wouldn't help our sales."
"I think it would be looked on as a helping hand, by a grateful guest, don't you?"
"I'd rather not make the decision," said the captain. "It's isn't within my remit. I would like to accept his offer, and I can personally see why he made it. He treated the boyguard like a son, and is very upset."
"How much time have we, to decide? When is the deadline?"
"There is only one large helicopter that is available, and within range of the ship. Mr Benvento has to confirm pretty quickly, or somebody else may commission it, and in any case it is only available this evening, due to prior bookings. So we need a decision within the hour."
"Then I will have to make the decision myself. Go with it. Good luck."
He put the phone down and called in Mark and Jon.
"I've had to make a decision this morning, and I hope it was the right one. We had a setback today when an attack on the hijackers went wrong." He explained what had happened, and the injury and death that had followed. He also told them about his decision to let the mafia aboard to clear the ship.
"I don't want that to come up at the press conference today. We will only say what has happened this morning. The press are bound to ask what we are going to do next. We must keep silent, say if we released anything about that the hijackers might hear, on the radio say, or from sympathisers in this country."
Jon looked apprehensive. "Tomorrow, if all goes well tonight, be the last of the press meetings. They will want to know who was used to clear the ship. If we say our government, will they believe it? And will our government go along with the idea?"
Mark said, "It's going to look a bit odd if we are reticent about it. Could we say it was a private force that we hired internationally?"
"That sounds even more unlikely," said Jon.
"I will have a meeting with MI5, and see if they can persuade the prime minister," said Cecil and ended the meeting at that point.
He phoned Baxter at MI5 and suggested meeting at his club for lunch. Baxter was always game for a free lunch and regularly agreed.
It was twelve thirty when they went into the club restaurant, and were shown to a table by the window, but with no chance of being overlooked. The restaurant was on the first floor. As the studied their menus, Cecil spoke.
"We have a small problem and I really need your help. We have tried, early this morning, to capture the hijackers. John McBride, the artist fellow gathered some of the crew, together with two bodyguards belonging to a passenger who, strangely, had pistols in their possession. In addition, we had come by two AK47s that had belonged to the hijackers themselves. So we had some firepower. But there was a spy in our midst, and, as a result we were met with opposition, and McBride had to pull the team out. One member was killed on our side, and it happened to be one of the bodyguards."
"Benvento's bodyguard, presumably," said Baxter.
Cecil raised his eyebrows. "You know the Mafia boss?"
"We know everything," said Baxter. "We are spies. It is our stock-in-trade. Let me guess – the man Benvento was so upset with the hijackers he has let you borrow some of his armed men to retake the ship. How is he getting them aboard? By boat?"
Cecil had recovered his composure and shook his head. "Too rough after the storm. He has leased a helicopter. He is doing all this at his expense."
A waiter approached to take their food orders. Baxter chose sirloin steak, rare, with a side salad. Watching his figure. Cecil ordered sea bass with a small amount of spinach, and a separate sauce boat of hollandaise. Cecil recommended the b
aby squid for starters. "It has barely touched the inside of the frying pan before it is taken out. That is the secret of tenderness, take my word for it." So Baxter nodded. The wine waiter approached and Cecil ordered a bottle of Chablis.
"So when will all this take place, the raid?" said Baxter.
"This evening. You realise, I am sure, the risk we run, working with the Mafia. If this gets out to the press, we will be accused of money laundering, or of being run by the mafia. It could all get very nasty. I am surprised that they have never latched on to the fact that we have Benvento as a guest every year on the Helena. But of course they will know that now because we have released our passenger list, as part of the press conferences."
"You want me to arrange for the government to tell everybody it was their UK forces that landed on your ship?"
Cecil gestured with the hand holding the glass of pale yellow wine. "Too dicey. One of our passengers is bound to tell the press that all these men were jabbering away in a foreign tongue, sounded like Italian, poured from the helicopter. There will be lots of interviews after the event, as you can imagine."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"The men could have been Italian Carabinieri, acting in a spirit of European Union solidarity, maybe."
"You want me to convince the Italian embassy to confirm that?"
"I thought you might. After all, don't you owe us one? If you had spotted Bourne's actions earlier, none of this would have happened."
Baxter looked at Cecil. "You don't mind throwing the insults around, do you?"
"The Italians might go with it. It makes them look brave, without actually having to experience the emotion."
"Okay, I'll try to do it. But this will only apply to the Italian embassy in London. If you press boys have links in Italy, the story won't be the same there. You take a chance."
Cruise the Storm Page 18
