"Life's a gamble," said Cecil, sipping his wine.
When Cecil got back to the office, the press meeting was just about to start, late as usual. Cecil entered the room, standing at the back. Jon announced what had happened that morning, and the unfortunate death of one of the passengers who had taken part in the assault on the hijackers. He also mentioned that a Mediterranean hurricane had blown up last night and that a forty-foot container had been washed overboard from a containership that was standing by. This had damaged the Helena, which had been holed, but well above the waterline. The ship's engineers had been working on it overnight, and the ship was now watertight. It was intended to complete repairs when the ship reached port, which was anticipated to be tomorrow.
In the following question time, the press picked up on Jon's slip of the tongue.
"The Times. You just said that you hoped that the ship will be in port tomorrow. Have the hijackers surrendered? Or do you have plans to incapacitate them?"
"We are always looking on the bright side," said Jon, inanely. "The storm will be over, hopefully. I cannot divulge all our plans, as I hope you will understand. The hijackers are not without means of communication with the UK, by GPS phone for example. If they overhear sensitive information by radio, or any media, they may be alerted. So you will have to bear with us, and be assured that when and where possible, we are keeping you up to speed."
The media might not have been happy, but they asked no more searching questions about future events.
After the meeting, the chairman asked Jon to step into his office. When they were seated the chairman said: "That was a close call, Jon. You will really have to be on your toes. That especially goes for the next, and final meeting. Just bear it in mind." Jon was not happy, but he privately shrugged it off.
The captain took a seat next to McBride. "The duty officer was impressed and contacted the chairman, who gave approval. He was a bit worried that the mafia might hijack the ship themselves, or claim salvage!"
McBride looked across at Luciano. "All systems go. You had better get on the phone. If you can get your friends over tonight say seven, that would be fine."
The captain said, "The storm will have abated by then, and it should be possible to land a helicopter."
"Have I your permission to use the GPS phone here?"
"Of course," said the captain. He turned to speak to the rest of the men round the table.
"I recommend you all go back to your cabins, and get some rest. The deck crew can start again with the 2 o'clock watch. One important thing is, please don't talk to the passengers about this morning's episode. We don't need them panicking to add to our problems."
The captain turned to McBride. "Shall we go to my cabin to discuss the spy?"
Once they were seated at the Captain's desk, he put his elbows on the top, and steepled his fingers.
"What is it you want to discuss?"
"The spy is Tony, your security man, as I suppose you have guessed. He is Bourne's spy.
"Bourne was aware we would attack from the crew lift. Even as the doors opened they were there already firing, lined up to get us. They knew we would use tear gas, even though it was not common knowledge that there were teargas grenades on board. Bourne knew, and his men were all wearing goggles. Tony told us he had cleared out the shop buying goggles for us. He must have bought goggles for Bourne's men at the same time. And they knew the time the attack was to take place. Who told them all this, if it wasn't Tony?
"I think we must keep our plans secret from both Tony and Annabel from now on, do you agree?"
The captain nodded. "Yes, I agree. It saddens me that they could be traitors, I have known them for some years now."
"And where is Tony today? I didn't see him either before we set out on the raid, and I haven't seen him since I got back."
He captain said, "He phoned in sick, first thing this morning. Seasickness, he said."
"Have you known him to suffer before?"
"Now you mention it," said the captain, "No, I haven't, and we've been through a few rough seas in the past. I just didn't think of that."
"Once Luciano's men land in that damned noisy helicopter everyone on the ship will know about it The super puma is the noisiest of them all. Do you want to bet which helicopter Luciano has chartered? £5 to ten pence that it's a Super Puma. Do you want to bet, Captain?"
"For ten pence, I'll take you on, McBride."
"Anyway, the moment it lands we must get the men down to level five and attacking, before Bourne has time to react. Do you agree?"
"For sure," said the captain, going to the cabin door, and heading back to the command centre.
Chapter 41
Audrey stretched out on the bed. "Tony, it would have been touch and go without you. Keith owes you for this, big time."
"Speaking of Bourne, where is he?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. He does disappear when the going gets tough. He doesn't like the front line"
"So will he win?" asked Tony. "I don't think so. He'll end up dead, or imprisoned for most of his life, is my guess."
"Why help us, then?" Audrey lifted her head, resting it in her hand, elbow sinking into the mattress.
"You, of course. That's why I'm helping."
"I'll be in prison."
"I think we can escape before we reach port."
"Bollocks, Tony. You're living in a different world. You don't think that the attack this morning is their last effort, do you? Next time it will be government forces, they're probably on their way now. Already we're down from twelve people to only seven, and that is while we are winning! Five days on the ship, and we're no further on!"
"No one can get aboard in this storm, so that gives you time to regroup. A bit of breathing space."
* * * *
Bourne lay on his bed in a cabin on the eighth level. He had located the cabin by studying the void list. It was dangerous to stay in one of the vacant cabins, and he was aware of it, and intended moving before long, as part of his revised plan. He had heard sounds of distant shooting earlier, and it was now nine o'clock, and he thought he ought to find out what had happened.
He reached out for the phone, and dialled Kevin's cabin.
"Kevin, how did it go this morning?" There was a brief silence at the other end of the phone, and then:
"You cowardly bastard!"
"You don't understand, Kevin," said Bourne. "I have to be free to start killing the passengers. This is the bigger picture. This is the way to the ransom."
"Piss off," said Kevin and put the phone down.
Bourne redialled, but got the engaged tone. The ex-deputy leader had left it off the hook. He didn't let it worry him. They were all expendable. He could appoint new officers once he had the ransom. He went along to the grill room for a meal. He was nearly alone in the restaurant. The ship was in the jaws of the gale, the wind whining noisily, spray hitting the windows even this high up the ship.
The storm still raged outside, lightning flashing, thunder crashing. It didn't bother Bourne.
As Bourne was returning to his cabin, he saw the little Jewish man, the one with the wife in a wheelchair. They had been in a party of four, whenever they were in the bars, or in one of the restaurants. He knew Jews when he saw them. The man didn't spot Bourne. Here it was, maybe noon and he could see the guy was staggering, not through the motion of the ship, but due to being out of his head on booze. The little man could certainly put it back. He watched the man take a left at the bottom of the stairs on deck 8, and stop at one of the cabins at the beginning of the corridor. He fumbled in his pocket, holding on to the doorknob with the other hand. Eventually he found his key card, and managed to open the cabin door.
"I'm back," he slurred and slammed the door behind him.
An idea was forming in Bourne's mind. He needed a temporary refuge, it wasn't safe staying in one of the voids that could be searched. He pulled out his pass key, slotted it into the Jew's lock, opened the door. The m
en by now had discarded his jacket, tossing it on the floor next to a wheelchair that was parked against one of the beds. The bed contained an old lady, hair in rollers, who sat up.
"You stay out all night, and then you bring your friends home, eh?" She thrashed her hands on the bedclothes in fury.
"Do I know you?" the man managed to say, looking at Bourne with puzzlement.
Bourne improvised. "You've been drinking with me all night." God, a twelve hour binge, no wonder he staggers.
"Well, come an' sit down," said the old man, who promptly fell back into one of the upholstered chairs next to the patio doors. Bourne walked over, and sat in the other one. The old man gestured towards the mini bar.
"Get us a drink, then."
Bourne got up again, went to the bar, collected a whisky bottle that was half empty, and two glasses. He placed them on the coffee table between the chairs, poured two large drams and sat down again.
The old man lifted his glass. "Here's looking at you," he said, imitating somebody, possibly a film star that Bourne couldn't put a name to. The old woman started up again, shouting from her bed.
"Shut the fuck up," she screamed in a sluttish manner.
"Put her out of her misery," pleaded the old man. Bourne took a large swig of whisky, got up again and walked over to the bed. He picked up a pillow from the vacant bed, and pressed it down on her face, holding it down with difficulty as she gasped and writhed. Eventually she stopped struggling but Bourne held the pillow firmly for some time longer, then removed it. The woman's eyes were open, staring sightlessly. Her mouth was a big round O. Bourne reached over and shut her eyes with his fingers. He put the pillow back on the other bed, walked back to his chair, poured himself more whisky, and sat down.
The old man muttered to himself. He was either asleep, or unconscious with alcohol. Bourne had another couple of drinks. He knew he wasn't sober. Good job he'd just had a meal. He was sober enough to sense the ship was rolling violently, loose objects skating across the floor. The old man's jacket came past Bourne's feet, and lodged against the patio doors. The fresh movement of the ship woke the old man, who struggled for several minutes to get out of his chair, whilst Bourne sat quietly and watched him. At last the old man leaned forward far enough at the same moment that the ship moved in the same direction. He was propelled out of his chair, grasped at the high back of Bourne's chair, pulled himself upright and staggered to the bathroom.
After a few moments, Bourne heard sounds of retching. He went to investigate. The man was on his knees with his head down the lavatory bowl. The man was quiet, so Bourne grasped his shock of grey hair to pull him up, and the wig came off in his hand.
Bourne had not guessed that the old man wore a hairpiece, so good was the quality. He tried the wig on, it fitted rather well, and he looked in the bathroom mirror. Instead of a fair haired stubble he now had luxuriously thick grey hair, slightly over the ears, long at the back, over his shirt collar, and cut in a fringe over his forehead. The old man's spectacles lay on the vanity top below the mirror. Bourne picked them up, bifocal lens, and wide black arms. He tried them on. He could not focus through the bottom lenses, but the distance-lens were not of great magnification, and didn't bother him. Bourne was looking in the mirror at someone he didn't recognise. A perfect disguise. He turned from the mirror, stepped round the body still with its head in the toilet and went into the main cabin. He opened the door into the corridor, and hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob.
He went back into the bathroom, and pulled the Sig Pro out of his pocket. Put it near the back of the old man's bald head and pulled the trigger. The sound was loud in the bathroom, and he listened for signs that the shot had been heard, but when he went back into the main cabin he could hear no sounds in the corridor through the door. He went to the wardrobe, and opened the doors. One side was filled with the man's clothes. All the contents were of fine quality. He pulled out a light sports jacket, and a pair of dark, almost black trousers. He tried on the jacket, and it was a good fit. He put the trousers on, and paced up and down the cabin, looking at himself sideways in the mirror when he passed by. He found that if he pushed his neck forward by hunching his shoulders, and then thrust his face to look straight ahead, he gave the impression of being an old man.
Sleepy with the whisky, Bourne sat down in the chair and nodded off. He woke with a start, looked at his watch. It was half past seven. He could hear explosions coming from a long way off, not loud enough to have woken him. He looked through the balcony windows, saw that the storm had passed, the moon was out in a clear sky. He sat there and later on he heard the tramp of feet passing a long way off. Going over to the phone he tried to get Kevin, but there was no reply.
It was time to get the old woman into her wheelchair. It was then that he heard the tannoy announcement by the captain and how the League had been imprisoned. And the message that passengers should be on the lookout for Bourne. He felt a warm glow when he heard this. Already he viewed himself as a senior citizen.
Chapter 42
McBride was tired, and told the captain that he would get some sleep and be up again during the afternoon. He certainly wanted to join Luciano's men when they attacked with superior force and weapons. In the event he did not wake until four in the afternoon, and was surprised to find that the storm had abated. He lay for a few moments in bed, marvelling in how he wasn't fighting the motion of the ship. He glanced at the balcony doors and could see that the sun was shining.
By the time he was making his way to the command centre, he passed passengers making their way to the pool area, and to the outside bars.
The captain had some bad news.
"There is an armed guard back on duty on the bridge. They may be depleted, but they're still active," reported the captain. "And look, here's Morton back on his feet."
Morton grinned at McBride. "Sorry to say I'm a lousy sailor. I've only just found out."
"Any further news on the helicopter?" asked McBride.
"Yes," said the captain, "They've advised an ETA of seven o'clock tonight. And I owe you ten pence, it is a Super Puma, I asked Luciano. By the way, I have given Tony and Annabel two days leave. That gives me a reason not to employ them on the next mission, and we can arrest them when we reach Palermo. I expect to be getting under way tonight, as soon as we have wrapped up the hijackers. I estimate it is twelve hours to Palermo, we could be there before noon tomorrow." The captain was acting as if he was sure of success tonight.
"If we are not going to be interrupted, how about discussing our plans?" asked McBride.
"Good idea," said the captain, and the three of them moved to the central table and sat down.
"Well," said McBride, "coming up in the service lift this morning didn't turn out very well in the event. If they hadn't been pre-warned I'm sure it would have worked, but of course we were pinned down in the lift, and that was the worst thing to have happened. I think on the next occasion we ought to be coming down the staircases, both of them. If Luciano's men really do bring machine guns and stun grenades, then we will surely bowl them over. There may be some deaths of course, but we can't help that."
"Have we enough prison cells?" asked Morton. The captain nodded.
"Surprisingly, the ship came equipped with six two-bedded cells. The idea was that we may need to lock up drunks, and occasionally we have had to that. But cells for twelve was insulting the guests we attract."
The GPS phone rang and the captain moved to the desk to answer it.
"Yes, yes, speaking." He listened for a few moments before he spoke. "We'll have the lights switched on to illuminate the pad." He quoted facts and figures regarding the sizes. What the pilot thought he would do at this late stage if the pad was too small, he didn't know. Unless he intended to drop rope ladders, and unload that way.
The captain turned to Morton and McBride who were still at the table. "I must make arrangements with the duty officer to make the pad ready. I'll be back shortly."
"Han
g on," said McBride, "When will the chopper get here?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"Then we're coming with you." McBride picked up the AK47, which was propped up where he had left it that morning. He followed the captain out, Morton close behind him.
It was perfect weather now for the helicopter to land. Soon the pad was illuminated by arc lamps, which lit the area like daylight. McBride winced. It was becoming obvious what was going on. The hijackers could hardly help but guess; especially with a guard on the bridge.
He looked northeast and within moments, he could see the dark outline of the helicopter against the starlit sky. It had the forward spotlights on, and the downward pointing lights illuminating the sea beneath it. McBride glanced back at the bridge, and saw the guard on the telephone, his mouth moving rapidly. He was aware of the noise increasing in volume. All the passengers would hear it, even if they were in their cabins.
The chopper changed course slightly to approach the ship from the stern, rising now, to avoid any rigging. It was impossible to hear anyone who spoke. Above the droning sound came the whump-whump of the rotors. It was like a machine from science fiction, when one looked up at it. As it came nearer it was the size that impressed, and the external clutter, stuck to the fuselage like afterthoughts of a mad inventor. No sleekness here, unlike a conventional plane.
Now over the pad, it hung like a hungry monster, waiting to pounce. The downdraught ruffled McBride's hair, and his trousers rattled against his legs, and then slowly the machine settled its eleven ton weight on the pad. The ship didn't even move. But then what was eleven tons to a 38,000 ton ship?
Immediately, the rotor began to slow, the individual blades could be seen turning. Two doors, one at each end of the fuselage opened and Luciano's men came out at a crouching run, guns in their hands, their belts studded with stun grenades. McBride could see that the guns were Stoner LMGs, a good lightweight gun. Well, at ten pounds, relatively light. He guessed the grenades were M84s, all good modern US weaponry. The guns, with their box magazines were capable of 650 rounds a minute.
Cruise the Storm Page 19
