Cruise the Storm

by David Chilcott

  As they came rattling down the stairs from the pad, McBride said to the captain, "My God, they've even got Kevlar vests on."

  "A professional force, one's got to hand it to Luciano."

  The men were down to McBride's level now, and the Puma's engine roared as it lifted in a swirl of down-draught. It rose rapidly and banked round to take the direction back to base.

  Each of the men shook the captain's hand and then McBride's in their excitable Latin way. They were high on adrenalin now that their fight was near. McBride glanced over at the bridge. He could see the guard outlined in the window, the phone to his ear, and his mouth rapidly speaking into it, alerting the hijackers, in case they were stone deaf, to the drama playing out on the top deck. It reminded McBride that they must press on with all speed.

  "Okay men," he said, "we must attack now, so follow me." He waved to indicate the direction, then had a second thought. "Who can speak English?"

  Two hands went up.

  "Then you two stick by me, and interpret for your colleagues, please. Come on, we go NOW"

  They ran, a long snaking line, for the central staircase, boots noisy on the deck, McBride leading. When they reached deck 6, he led them into the lobby there, and beckoned them to gather round. Explained that the deck below, where the hijackers were based, was a similar layout to this. One of the Italians noisily translated as he spoke. He showed them the corridor of cabins. He pointed out that the corridor on the floor below was a cul de sac, only 100 or 200 metres long. Finally he pointed to the other side of the lobby and told them that there was a large bar on the deck below.

  Between each deck staircases were positioned at each side of the lobby, so McBride sent half the troop down each staircase, mimed throwing grenades, and ducking back on the staircases to avoid the blast. The men nodded their heads as if they understood.

  "When we have cleared the bar and the lobby, then we start on the cabins. I have a pass key to open the doors." He waved the card. "It will open all the doors, and then we can use the grenades."

  Every one nodded agreement again, amid a babble of Italian, and then they cautiously went down the staircases. At the bottom, both squads tossed grenades across the lobbies, withdrew to the shelter of the staircases. The grenades clattered across the floor and seconds later, exploded with a noise of 150 decibels, and a blinding flash of ignited magnesium. Anybody in the lobby would be disorientated for some seconds by the effect, and temporarily blinded too.

  McBride hastily poked his head round the corner. The lobby was empty. Frome both staircases the squad spread out across the expanse, guns at their hips, ready to fire. He glanced through the windows into the bar. Completely empty, just the emergency security lights illuminating bare tables, the grill pulled down over the bar counter. There was a lack of customers, as passengers were not encouraged to linger on this level.

  The men had converged at the beginning of the corridor McBride went over to them.

  "It won't harm to toss a few grenades down here to flush the hijackers out." He heard the translation, and then one man fired a burst of gunfire, and two men threw grenades with enough power to propel them to the end of the corridor. Everyone raced clear of the entrance.

  The noise was even more dramatic, echoing out of the corridor, and the flashes as bright as daylight. Even tucked behind the wall they could feel the blast coming out of the corridor.

  When the smoke cleared, three cabin doors opened, and three terrorists came out with their hands in the air. They were still dressed in their uniform of white shirts with red armbands.

  The Italians advanced on them machine guns at the ready, to escort them to the lobby. McBride fetched cable ties from his pockets, where they had been since early that morning when they had made their aborted raid. He quickly handcuffed them, and herded them into a corner of the lobby, singling out an Italian to stand guard over them.

  The whole team moved down the corridor. McBride felt that the terrorists' cabins were the nearest to the lobby, but they would have to search all of them until they had the full quota of seven people. No, he thought, only six down here, because one was on the bridge. Three to go.

  McBride used the pass key on the first cabin, pushed open the door, and an Italian lobbed a stun grenade, and after it had detonated was through the door with his gun raised, a colleague on his heels. They came back out shortly, covering a man and a woman in front of them. McBride was surprised to see that the man was Tony, the undercover security man. He pushed both of them to face the corridor wall whilst he handcuffed them.

  He pulled roughly at Tony to turn him round so that he faced him. "I'll have more to say to you later,"

  Tony cringed. "You don't understand."

  "I understand that you caused a man to be killed, or maybe killed him yourself this morning." And he turned away in disgust

  McBride moved up the corridor with his team, as they opened doors and tossed stun grenades. Two doors down they captured two more hijackers, and then in the next cabin, two more. All the rest of the rooms were empty, but it had taken half an hour to prove it.

  "We'll take the prisoners down to the cells, when I've phoned to tell the crew to prepare for them." They loaded the crew lift, the same lift that had been involved in the retreat earlier, and as they reached level three, they were met by two crewmen, who accompanied them to the cells, where the prisoners were handed over.

  "Now we go up to the bridge, to take the guard out there," announced McBride.

  The sight of the Italians entering the bridge in their Kevlar vests, brandishing machine guns, was enough for the guard. He dropped his rifle and raised his arms in the air. Two crewmen were detailed to remove him to the cells.

  The captain had been on the bridge when they entered and said now "Well done everybody. Have you mopped them all up?"

  "Except for Bourne. There is no sign of him. I question all of our prisoners, and none of them have seen him since last night. We really need to organise patrols and that is possible, now we have the manpower. We could start be checking the empty cabins. We flushed out Tony, by the way. He was in a cabin with one of the girls."

  "Do you think he was converted before the League came on board?" said the captain.

  "No, I think he met the girl and she seduced him!"

  "We're sailing for Palermo tonight, at ten o'clock. We're expected in harbour at ten tomorrow. If we haven't found Bourne before then, we'll arrange for the police to meet the ship."

  The captain decided he must make an announcement to keep the passengers aware of what had happened, but for them to keep a lookout for Bourne. Under no circumstances should they attempt to tackle him themselves. There were plenty of armed men on patrol, and they should report sightings to them, or by internal phone number 123, which was the number of the command centre.

  The captain told McBride that he had rescinded Annabel's leave, since she was no longer under suspicion. She was manning the phones in the command centre even as he spoke.

  McBride went along to the centre with the captain. He had an idea. He could use Annabel to scan the CCTV records from the previous day, and see if she could spot Bourne leaving level five. It was a long shot.

  He stood and looked at the array of cameras recording in live time. There were more people about now, since the captain's broadcast. The improving weather was also helping, of course. The restaurants were filling up, and the bars were busy. Passengers were making up for lost time. There was a carnival atmosphere that McBride could pick up even from the black and white CCTV images. The chances of spotting Bourne were almost negligible. Even if you sifted people by height, you would get confused because women were generally smaller than men and you couldn't always tell the difference. Not on the grainy monochrome CCTV images, anyway.

  The door to the centre opened and a thinner and paler Morton joined them.

  "Are you completely recovered now?" asked McBride.

  "Oh yes. Once the weather improved my recovery was miraculous," said Mo
rton. "Is there anything I can do?"

  "Well, any ideas you have about finding Bourne would be welcome."

  Morton strolled over, and stood alongside McBride, looking at the images.

  "I have to say even I would be hard pressed to recognise Bourne on these screens"

  "Yes. I'm just trying to think of a way these images might be some use. If we get a report of a sighting it might be helpful. The trouble is the ship is a honeycomb, too many places to hide. I've suggested to the captain that we ask the Italians to search every empty cabin. There's a hundred of them, though."

  "I suppose we could phone every cabin."

  "And if a passenger is being held with a gun to his or her head, what would they tell you?

  If Bourne himself answered, would you recognise his voice?"

  "Perhaps not," admitted Morton.

  The captain went to the bridge to give orders to sail for Palermo, the weather system continued to move swiftly eastward, much faster than the ship was now travelling. The sky was cleared of cloud, and the moon shone brightly.

  When the captain got back to the command room, there were trays of sandwiches on the table. Annabel was still at the CCTV screens. Whenever she spotted someone she judged to be the right height, she copied it, and printed it out on to 6" x 4" cards. She had a stack of them at her elbow. The captain picked up the pile, and riffled through them, but didn't spot Bourne and replaced them.

  McBride entered the room. "Ah, captain, get yourself something to eat. I need to speak to you regarding armed patrols. We've got our ten Italians, armed to the teeth, and say seven decks to patrol, if we ignore the crew decks. There is too much activity on those decks and surely if a civilian was amongst them and I mean Bourne, surely he would be spotted. We have to make some assumptions.

  "That leaves seven decks."

  The captain picked up a plate, began loading it with sandwiches. "You're a long time getting to the point, McBride"

  "This is the point. Seven decks, and with some crew, maybe fourteen or maybe fifteen men, works out at ten men per deck, or maybe three men on the busiest deck."

  "Yes, I was already there. It's not really enough patrols, up against a man determined to stay out of the way. And we know that Bourne is determined – and insane."

  "However, it is a start. We just can't do nothing. Some time in the future our actions are going to be examined, and we don't want to be found lacking."

  There was a knock on the door and a senior officer looked in. "Captain, there's a report of a body in the central lift. One of the guards has just reported it."

  The captain looked perturbed. "You mean an accidental death?"

  "No. There's a sheet of paper pinned on the front says 'Your time is up. One body every four hours until you pay the ransom. Signed K Bourne (WCL)' I didn't touch the note, in case of fingerprints. The medics have just taken the body down to the morgue."

  "I'll go down now, and find out some more. There may be identification."

  "That would surprise me," said the captain to his departing back.

  "Now we've got something to work on." McBride seemed excited. He went over to Annabel. "Can you get the CCTV that is in the central lift and take the film back an hour?" he said.

  "Of course, that is easy." She pressed buttons, and got the camera history on the bigger central screen. The captain came over and stood behind McBride, looking at the screen over his shoulder.

  "You only need to go back about an hour, I suppose, then forward from there," said McBride.

  Annabel made the tape go backwards at speed so that no picture was visible, and suddenly stopped. "There you are, one hour ago. The lift was empty, so the camera was not recording.

  Then a group of three people entered the frame, starting the movement operated camera. Two of the people stared at the lift door. The third, gazed at herself in the mirror on the wall. The camera was recording from the back wall. Annabel adjusted the speed, watching the digital timer in the corner of the screen. McBride noticed that the floor level indicator could be seen in the cameras scope, above the door. People came and went. Faces where clearly visible as people entered the lift. It wasn't busy, ten minutes elapsing on one occasion between journeys. And then they saw a person entering the lift walking backwards, pulling something, which turned out to be a wheel chair. The man was wearing a coat, the collar turned up high, and a baseball cap pulled well down. He manoeuvred the chair, swinging it round, so that the person faced the camera. They saw a face, eyes closed, and mouth a big round zero. A note was pinned to the dress. A4 size. The man had exited forward, so that at no time was the face exposed to the camera, which switched off, due to lack of movement. Then it came on again, a lone woman entering, mouth opening wide hands up to her chest as she saw the wheelchair's contents. A silent scream, but you could see the tension of the situation. A guard appeared in the doorway, then another, helping to remove the chair with its ghastly occupant.

  McBride turned to the captain. "What do you find strange about Bourne on that film?"

  "Wearing the coat, do you mean?"

  "No. Disguising himself. That is odd, isn't it? I mean we know it is Bourne who murdered the woman, he even signed the note."

  "Go on, tell me," said the captain. "I can see you know."

  "Well, I think he's wearing a disguise, and that way he can get about the ship. If he shows himself with the victim, we know what his disguise is."

  "By Jove, you're right."

  "Well, now we need to track him either coming or going from the lift," said McBride. "The trouble is he will try to avoid the cameras. Do you think it possible, Captain?"

  "When the system was put in, which was when the ship was built twelve years ago, the idea was to cover the communal areas, principally the lobbies and staircases. So maybe with care, you could avoid detection, except when moving between decks."

  "Of course, if Bourne is confident of his disguise, he might not worry about cameras."

  "We really need Annabel to vet the tapes over the past hour, using the recordings from cameras in the vicinity."

  "Okay Annabel, you heard that, can you get started?"

  McBride said, "Deck 7, then and the time Bourne left the lift is on this piece of paper." He handed it to Annabel.

  * * * *

  Three hours later, Annabel was still searching tapes, and was by now looking at deck 8.

  "Shortly, we should be getting another corpse, if he's working on a four hour cycle, as he originally said," the captain remarked.

  McBride turned to Annabel. "Stop searching. We must have missed him. Go back and search the lobby seven cameras, and I'll look with you." It was exhausting work, there was a constant flow of people, such that the camera rarely shut down. McBride was looking at height of people, since he could judge by a door in the camera's view. He kept asking Annabel to stop the camera, but each time it was a false alarm.

  An image came up that he was sure was significant, although he couldn't think why. "Go back … there, stop"

  He looked again at the figure. "Print that one, Annabel, please."

  Turning to the table McBride picked up the pack of photos that had been printed earlier, started going through them carefully, one at a time.

  "Eureka," he shouted. "Quick give me the latest one," he said, snapping his fingers and holding his hand out. Annabel put the warm print in his hand. Holding one print in each hand, he compared the images.

  "Captain, have a look at these." The captain studied each print. "They might be the same person, but they're not of Bourne."

  "Are you sure? See in the latest picture, he's carrying a coat over his arm. That is what alerted me, actually. And the face reminded me of one picture I'd seen earlier."

  "But that man has grey hair, very long too. It's an old man."

  "It's a small man, the same height as Bourne, in the right location, now with his coat over his arm. Who else would be carrying a coat in temperatures of, what twenty-four, twenty-five?

  I thin
k the shape of his face is right, see the nose?"

  "I'm not convinced," said the captain. Just then Morton came back from the morgue.

  "That was a bit of a waste of time," he said. "Absolutely no identification. An old woman, mid-seventies, the surgeon reckoned. Cause of death, asphyxia. The woman was smothered.

  Here's the note, if you want to see it."

  "We haven't made much progress here, except I think that this is Bourne, in disguise."

  Morton took the photograph he was handed and studied it carefully. "Well, I wouldn't have recognised him."

  "He was hoping for that," said McBride. "He was so careful not to show himself to the CCTV when he deposited the old lady. That was why I thought of disguise."

  "So what happens now?"

  "I think we should distribute copies of this photograph to each members of the patrol. Will you undertake that?"

  "Sure," said Morton, "but I wish I had your confidence."

  The captain said, "The four hour interval for a new body has gone. Maybe our patrols are hindering him. He might gone back into hiding. That is good, All the time we are getting nearer to docking at Palermo. The pressure must be getting to him."

  Chapter 43

  The telephone's shrill ring broke the silence. McBride picked up the receiver.

  "Yes?" He was quiet, listening, and then "What cabin number? Yes, I've got that. This could be a breakthrough." He put the phone down, and turned to Annabel. "I've got a job for you, urgent. Can you get on the computer here and tell me who is allocated to cabin seven three nine? And then cross reference it and find details of the occupants. Passport photos would be excellent."

  "Yes, that's easy." She sat down in front of the computer.

  "What's going on?" asked the captain.

  "There's a new victim, I'm sorry that you were wrong. This is an old man, Morton has just told me. It happened when he was giving out the photos of Bourne. Morton says he was sitting in a chair in the doorway of eight three nine. He's been shot in the back of the head, so his face is a mess, what is left of it. It upset the passenger who spotted him. She passed out in the corridor, and another passenger tripped over her.