"What strikes me about this, is that if he'd been shot by an AK47, the exit wound would have been a clean hole, his face wouldn't have been blown away. So Bourne must have a different weapon, most likely a pistol."
"There aren't any pistols aboard, except for Luciano's bodyguards." He paused. "My God, you don't suppose …"
"No chance. It's just that we don't know everything about Master Bourne."
Annabel shouted across the room. "I've just printed out the details you wanted, they should be on the printer nearest to you."
McBride went to the printer, pulled out the sheet with the passport details, and studied it.
Mr and Mrs Stanley Brown, English, born, both of them, in Leeds. Age, let's see, seventies, yes, late seventies. Hey, there's a note attached by reception here: 'Mrs Brown disabled.'
Didn't the woman killed earlier have a wheelchair? Could be a coincidence, I suppose."
McBride turned the paper closer to the light, so that he could see the images more clearly.
"Look the man's photo looks like the one we decided was Bourne. We must have been wrong."
"I bet they were husband and wife, and the cabin is on the same level as mine. I told you Bourne came to my cabin last night, and tried to kill me. When I chased him off, he must have gone to the Brown's cabin, and killed them."
"He couldn't have done. This photo from the CCTV has a time and date imprint, here in the corner," said the captain. He peered more closely at the print: "Today's date 14.35 hours.
That's what four hours ago, maybe."
Morton, came through the door. McBride said, "Look at this." He shoved the piece of paper into his hand.
"That, we think, is your latest victim. A Mr Brown, who was one of the occupants of cabin seven three nine. That's his passport image. And here is a print we got off CCTV. We think he is the same man."
Morton studied the CCTV image. That can't be the man, if you look at the time and date. He'd been dead at least eight hours, even I could see that. This guy who was shot, my God, what a mess, half his face is missing, but the blood congealed, must have been dead a fair time. He's been moved now to the morgue, so we can go down and see. We had a look round the cabin. An empty whisky bottle on the coffee table, two glasses, but in the bathroom …"
"Go on," said McBride, "I'm an adult, heard some bad things, seen even worse."
"In the bathroom, there was a lot of blood and brains, and most of his face in the lavatory bowl. He must have been shot while he had his head over the bowl …"
"Being sick?" said McBride.
"Couldn't tell, but there's a powerful reek of whisky, so maybe. I suggest we get down to the morgue."
They went down in the lift, turned right and walked to the medical centre, past doors marked waiting room, clinic, theatre, and to an unmarked door, which McBride knocked on, and entered.
"How did you know it was this unmarked door?" asked Morton.
"The only unmarked door in the block. Stands to reason why."
The arc lights over the stainless steel table were on, light glinting on the man's exposed skull bone. McBride nodded to the surgeon, and looked down at the body.
"How tall is he?"
"Five feet, six inches, aged late seventies, I would reckon. False teeth, completely hairless, that's Alopecia areatis, he suffered from, look, no eyebrows, no pubic hair," he flicked the sheet back briefly.
Too much information, thought McBride. He would have settled for the eyebrow evidence alone.
"Take a look at this," said McBride. "This is the passport photo of Mr Brown, who was supposed to be the resident of cabin three seven nine."
The surgeon took the photostat from McBride, examined it, and said, "Yes, passport photographs are terrible, aren't they? But it is quite possible him, age, height and weight match, and, of course, he's wearing a wig. Quite an expensive one."
McBride looked at the surgeon for a few moments.
"My God, you've solved it. The man on the CCTV isn't Mr Brown, it's Keith Bourne, wearing Brown's wig, and spectacles, even his clothes!"
The surgeon had lost the plot, and looked puzzled, but Morton shouted, "Yes, yes, yes."
McBride spoke to the surgeon. "You had another body down here a few hours ago, and old woman, who was actually this man's wife, we think. From this passport image," McBride held out another paper to the surgeon, "would you think it was Mrs Brown?"
"The woman who was asphyxiated, probably died about the same time as this guy, let me get the body out and have another look. If you are right, I can put an identity tag on her, keeps the records up to date." He moved the trolley with Mr Brown on it over to the corner of the room, pulling up another trolley to a bank of huge drawers let into one wall of the room. A refrigeration hum came from the unit, and when he opened one of the drawers, a blast of cold air swept into the room.. The body was transferred to the new trolley, with hardly any effort.
He brought the trolley with the new body on it under the lights. He looked at the passport image
"It quite possible is Mrs Brown. The age and height is consistent, and the photograph is a fair likeness.
"There is an observation on the ship's paperwork, that she is disabled. Could you confirm that?"
The surgeon pointed to a wheelchair in the corner. "They brought the body down in that, so I supposed it was hers. She is obese, and suffering from diabetes two, judging from the poor blood flow to her lower limbs, so yes, I would say she was disabled."
"Thanks, doc," said McBride. Morton led the way out.
"I don't know how you can look at those dead bodies without it worrying you,"
"When you've seen a fair few of them, you don't let your emotions show. Believe me, in the army, especially in my regiment, we saw plenty, some with horrific injuries. It still wakes me up at night, but I don't let it show. And don't go telling anyone else what I said, promise?"
"I won't" promised Morton.
When they returned to the command centre, McBride brought the captain up to speed.
Morton said, "Captain, we really need more men, any crew you can spare, to beef up the patrols."
"I can't promise, but I'll speak to the first officer, and the catering director. I'll even speak to the Entertainments Director, and see what we can do. Keep in touch with us here."
Annabel was still searching the CCTV records in the proximity of the cabin belonging to the victims. McBride went over to help her.
The phone rang. McBride made a dive for it. It was one of the patrols. "We've spotted Bourne, and we're chasing him on level five. One of our guys took a pot at him, but we don't think he was hit."
"We'll try and get you some back up down there," said McBride. But there was no way of contacting the other teams except by word of mouth. McBride sped out of the command room and along to the lift. He stepped out on deck 7, and saw a patrol vanishing round the corner. He shouted.
"Hey, Bourne's on level five! Quick get down the stairs and help." There was a mad dash for the stairs, and a clatter of boots fading away.
By the time McBride got down to deck 5, he saw men milling about everywhere, and intermingled amongst them, bewildered passengers, keeping to the sides of the corridors to avoid the running crew.
McBride thought that if they were not careful, they might panic the passengers into a stampede, and have injuries as a result. However, the patrols calmed down, as their initial excitement abated.
Chapter 44
Tony lay on the bed in his prison cell. It was noisy, all the cells facing in wards in a square, the central area where all the doors opened. The doors had a small high window, wire reinforced glass. It was set about six feet from the floor. Most inmates would not be able to see out. The internal space of each cell measured five feet wide by ten feet deep, with a double bunk bed at one side, and open ablutions at the other comprising a wash hand basin, and a lavatory bowl,
Tony didn't know the arrangements for getting a shower. He assumed there was a communal shower somew
here in the area. He was lucky that he had a cell to himself. Most of the others were sharing a cell. He had been imprisoned after the Mafia raid, along with six others. Some more of the hijackers were in the sick bay. He knew that Audrey was in the next-door cell, with her arm bandaged. He knew this because she had come back from the sick bay, and when he had heard her voice he had jumped up and down, looking out through the window in the door. Alongside the door there was a ventilation grill, just bars across an opening up against the ceiling. This was where sound was transmitted, and it kept him awake.
He had been incarcerated for about three hours, when he heard the ship's engines, quite loud there, they were not far from the engine room. He lay there calculating how long the voyage would be before they reached Palermo. About twelve hours, he thought. He had better think of a way to escape well before then, or he would end up in a civil, proper prison. He knew that a security man sat in an office watching CCTV screens which were installed in every cell. His was just to the left of the door, on the wall, an eye watching him. He put out his tongue, and gave a two finger salute. He could disable the lens, if he had any tools. Not surprisingly, there were no loose pieces of equipment. Everything was bolted down, including the bunk beds, which were screwed to the floor. The sanitary equipment was of unbreakable stainless steel. They had left him a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush and a bar of soap.
A bar of soap, Tony had read a story once, where a man blocked a camera lens with a piece of soap. He got up and went over to the sink. The bar of soap was as hard as steel, a fresh bar. He turned on the tap, put a small amount of water in the basin. Making sure the swivel metal plug stopped the water leaking out. Then he went back to lie on the bunk. He drifted off to sleep, and when he woke, the lights were still on, and he was not sure how much time had elapsed.
He got up, went across to the sink. The bar of soap was now lying in a creamy solution, it was dissolving nicely. In fact it was ready for use. He picked up the softening bar, moulded it into a nice round ball. He carried it over to the camera lens. Question was, would it stick? Gingerly he reached high and pressed it as firmly as he could putting every ounce of pressure he could exert, then cautiously let go. The soap remained stuck to the lens.
Quickly he got back on the bed, draped at an angle so that his head was hanging over the side. For a few minutes nothing happened.
He knew there would only be one person in the office with about six screens in a bank in front of him. He would be reading a book, Tony guessed, only looking up occasionally. He was a part of the regular deck crew. All the security men had been transhipped at the start of the hijack.
It must have been ten minutes that Tony lay motionless, and then he heard steps, running on the hard floor of the central area. He quickly opened his mouth, so that it would look as though he might be dead. He heard the cover over the spyhole in the door, being lifted, then the sound of a key in the door. He tensed himself. The guard entered, not expecting any problem except that of having a dead prisoner. He did not connect the two events, stupidly. He went over to Tony and reached out his arm.
Tony, ready, grabbed the arm, and pulled him savagely down, at the same time getting a leg over his body. He chopped wildly at the guard's neck, and got in a lucky blow. The guard went down, unconscious. Tony fumbled for his keys, only a couple of them hooked on his belt. He tore them off, and raced out of the door, trying one of the two keys in the door of the next cell. It fitted, and he shouted out to Audrey even before the door was open. Quick on the uptake, Audrey was ready to flee as soon as the door was open. They left the cell area, Tony leading the way.
"Come on, I know where we can hide." His intimate knowledge of the ship was critically useful. They ran down a deserted corridor, in through a side door, and Tony told her it was a disused store. She certainly hoped it was disused, otherwise they were trapped. They could not guess the time. All of the deck they were on was below the waterline. Both their watches had been taken away from them, as had the contents of their pockets. They felt their way to the back of the storeroom, and huddled together in a corner, on the bare floor. Audrey had visions of rats, which she had heard, travelled on ships. They dozed, with no concept of time, waking now and then, but hearing no sound that would have caused them to wake.
Eventually, they heard the engines slow, and the ship was picking up the pilot, Tony recognized the sounds, and the vessel could only have slowed for this purpose. He woke Audrey, and told her that they must get on deck, ready to leave the ship.
Sleepily and carefully they emerged from the disused store. The light was blinding in its intensity, following the blackness of their hideaway. Cautiously they made their way to the crew staircase, and climbed to the lowest deck with outside access, deck 5, at the stern. Tony made for one of the crew lockers on this deck, where he knew he could steal a stout rope. They needed to wait until the ship was entering harbour, and Tony's idea, which he told to Audrey, was for them to get down the rope, and drop into the water. For them the best chance of escape would be on the port side. They would be shielded from sight from the quayside, by the hull of their vessel. The plan was to swim to the opposite side of the harbour. This didn't look much used, and derelict buildings could be seen, where they could possibly hide. It was not much of a plan, but it was the best they had. The length of rope was about thirty feet, and this still left another ten feet to drop into the water. They sheltered out of sight, unless anyone strayed on to this area of deck, which Tony knew, almost never happened as the ship approached port. The passengers and crew both were looking ahead.
The wait was nerve racking for them both, but Tony particularly had another reason to be frightened. He could swim, but he was not a strong swimmer. He wondered if he would drown on the long swim across the harbour. He started to tremble. Audrey thought he was shivering with cold, and offered her cardigan to him, but he declined it. The time dragged, and then the ship was entering the harbour, now barely moving.
"Time to go," said Tony, and they moved to the handrail, where Tony tied the stout rope to the handrail, and looked over the side at the rope now hanging, finishing about fifteen feet above the calm waters.
"Come on, I'll go first," said Audrey, sensing his fear. "Then I'll hang around making sure you're all right." She had voiced his fears. He nodded, ashamed.
She climbed over the rail, with the rope over one shoulder, a hand above, and the other below, as she started to drop hand over hand, fending off from the hull with her feet. A gymnast, thought Tony, and watched her closely, so that he could descend in the same way.
She didn't appear to be rushing, but it was only seconds before she reached the end of the rope and immediately dropped off; her feet together, dropping like a backward dive, and the water closed over her head. For a few moments, Tony worried that she would not break the surface, but she did, using her arms in a lazy circle, and puffing and spitting water.
She looked up at him, and beckoned. Like a mermaid luring a mariner to his doom, Tony thought. But he had to do it.
Copying her method of descent he began to go jerkily downward, not looking down but up, as vertigo cut in. If he hadn't felt so cold, his palms would be sweating. The rope was rough to his hands, and he had sometimes let them slip, so that he felt the rope abrading his fingers. And then there was no more rope left. He forced himself to let go, and remembered to take a deep breath, filling his lungs. It was as well he had. He hit the water, and then his vision was going as he descended deeper than he thought possible. He only just managed not to panic. Still holding his breath, his lungs aching, he pushed down on the water. At first nothing was happening, but then his eyes could see light. His head broke the surface, and he was breathing fast, shallow breaths. He started to go down again. He felt Audrey holding him up.
"Breathe through your mouth, deep breaths. I won't let you sink. Just keep calm."
After a few minutes he felt better, and remarkably, the water was warm. He doggy paddled.
"Come with me
," Audrey said, "Get clear of the ship. We don't want to get close to the props."
He looked round, and saw an area of turbulent water, much too close. The ship was swinging round to the berth. The turbulence was overtaking them.
Audrey pulled at him with tremendous effort, her feet threshing with strong strokes.
She was shouting at him. "Come on, come on, swim, SWIM, damn you."
He was trying to and didn't have the breath to answer back.
The turbulence was all around him. Audrey was a little distant. He watched her, as he felt his feet being pulled down. A terrible pain engulfed his lower body, and then he blacked out.
Audrey saw him go under, very quickly. And then the sea turned red.
She was nauseous, and weeping as she struck out for the further shore. The swim lasted forty minutes. Destinations often look nearer than they are. As she neared the shore, she had made up her mind. She would stay in Italy. She had always come back from poverty, and she would again.
She held that thought, why was she doing that. Something flashed on the edge of her memory, something she ought to remember. Something she must remember. She carried on, first her arms, then her feet kicking, God, she was tired. But the shore seemed nearer now, but the arm where she had been injured. Only a flesh wound they said, in the sick bay. Just keep it dry, they said. She laughed aloud. Rather hysterical now. Keep it dry! No wonder it stung so much, the salt water in her wound. Wasn't salt water cleansing? Hadn't her mother said that? Maybe this harbour was full of Italian shit, for all she knew. The kitchen porters were shitty people. Twenty grand, just to bring some weapons up a couple of decks, that was usury, no that was the wrong word, but is was taking advantage. But they hadn't been paid yet. The thought came back, in full flower. It would never disappear again. They hadn't been paid.
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