Queen's Pawn

by Victor Canning

  The Captain came a few steps into the room, humming to himself, before he saw Raikes. He stopped. His bearded chin jerked up questioningly and Raikes saw the web of lines at the corners of the eyes grow and deepen. Many times he had seen that face in photographs. Many times he had seen himself here talking to this man … this strongly built, greying-haired, pugnacious-looking, solid figure of a bearded sea captain.

  In a surprisingly gentle voice, even a touch of gruff humour flowing into it perhaps at the thought that this was some fool of a passenger who had lost his way, the Captain said, ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’

  Raikes moved farther into the room and raised the automatic.

  He said, ‘I’d be glad if you would be kind enough to sit down and listen to me.’

  The Captain looked from the automatic to the scarf round the lower part of Raikes’s face. Raikes had the impression that he was noting them as he would have noted sloppy dress in his officers or some breach of rules by a seaman, framing already some sharp reprimand. Before the reprimand could come, Raikes went on, ‘I’m a very serious and determined man, Captain. Let me assure you that if you don’t listen to me and do as I say without fuss then a great many of your passengers are going to be killed. So will you please sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.’

  The Captain said nothing. He looked from Raikes to the door behind him and then slowly buttoned up his jacket and sat down.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t waste your civilities on me, man. Just say what you have to say.’ There was a hard, controlled anger in his voice, and Raikes could understand it, and even in his own mood of emotionless movement and intent give a passing sympathy to it. This of all the plan was the hardest section to work through for he was talking to a man for whom—though he knew nothing significant of him personally—he had the greatest respect and admiration. He was talking to a professional man in the fullest sense, a man whose profession was his life, a man who had joined the Cunard Company thirty-odd years before as Third Officer of the Lancastria, served through the war in armed merchant cruisers, with coastal forces in motor launches, and in corvettes in the North Atlantic and on Russian convoys. His first Cunard command had been in 1954 as Master of the Alsatia and his first passenger, ship command the Carinthia four years later, and since then he had commanded nearly all the ships in the Cunard fleet and now sat, at the beginning of duress, the Captain of the latest and greatest of the fleet.

  ‘What’s the matter? Have you lost your nerve and your tongue?’ Anger now held contempt.

  Raikes shook his head. ‘No. Now listen. This ship is carrying gold bullion. I have a helicopter hovering a quarter of a mile off your port bow, waiting to come in and lift a ton of that bullion off your foredeck. You will give all the necessary orders for that to be done without incident.’

  ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

  ‘If you don’t do as I say, and make the correct signals which I’ll explain, I have an accomplice waiting aft who will walk forward through the public rooms of one of the decks and a lot of your passengers will die.’

  Under lowered eyebrows, the Captain looked at him and rubbed a forefinger along his lower lip, and Raikes knew that these were the moments of responsibility; of weighing and calculating so many things in the depth of his, Raikes’s, own intent; the awareness in the Captain’s mind of all the passengers aboard in his trust and care, and more important the real truth of the situation, the truth that was firm and inflexible in Raikes and must show—did show—that it was unflawed. The words that came now showed him that the Captain understood the position.

  ‘How will they die?’

  ‘At least six gas canisters, fifteen-second fused will be dropped. I won’t bother you with the chemical name of the gas—it was stolen from an Army depot some months ago—but I assure you that in an enclosed space it is almost immediately lethal. If you refuse to do what I ask some passengers will die.’

  ‘If I refused, so would you. You’d never get off this ship.’

  ‘That’s true. But then I am prepared to die—if my deductions are wrong. You’re not interested in my death, but you could never justify the saving of gold bullion against the loss of passengers.’

  The Captain rubbed his hand across his beard for a moment, and then said, ‘Go on. But make it short. Your kind are becoming too common in this world and I’m not enjoying your company.’

  ‘Very well. The bullion is in the Specie Room on Eight Deck—’

  ‘I said make it short, man. You don’t have to instruct me on the layout of my own ship.’

  ‘The keys are here in your safe. You’ll get them out. We’ll go up to the wheelhouse and you’ll give the necessary instructions for the ship to reduce speed and come up into wind so that the helicopter can come in and hover over the foredeck to winch up the bullion. The bullion is packed two or four bars to a case. Anyway, I want the equivalent of eighty bars brought up in Number One freight lift, which is opposite to the Specie Room, to One Deck and from there carried out on to the foredeck. I want four men for carrying the gold from the lift and another one on the foredeck to load it into the helicopter lifting nets. When the last load is up the helicopter will take me off. Until I’m lifted off the threat to your passengers remains.’

  ‘Is your accomplice going with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That means your accomplice is a bonafide passenger and you’re not?’

  ‘You’re very quick, Captain. Yes.’ He moved back a little. ‘Right, are we ready to go?’

  Unmoving, the Captain said, ‘ I don’t know that we are. What happens if I sit here and do nothing? Call your bluff?’

  ‘There’s no bluff to be called.’ Raikes brought the Very pistol from his pocket. ‘ If a signal isn’t fired from this from the bridge wing within the next fifteen minutes then my accomplice begins to walk forward, dropping the canisters.’

  ‘So you say.’

  Raikes shrugged his shoulders. He understood that the man had to probe this line, but there was no future in it. ‘It’s out of my hands, Captain. No signal and the walk begins. Passengers die. And, so do I.’

  The Captain nodded at the automatic. ‘And me?’

  ‘No. I have nothing against you. You’ll live—and have to explain what happened. Explain why you set a ton of gold against fifty, sixty lives.’

  The Captain considered this for a moment or two and then he stood up. He picked up his cap from a nearby chair, put it on and then walked to the bulkhead behind the desk and fished in his pockets for his key ring. From the safe he took out the ring with the Specie Room keys on it. Without seeing them Raikes knew there were three keys on the ring, one for the main door lock and two more for the additional two Union locks on the door. Berners, purely as an exercise in acquiring information, had amused himself with picking up details of the Specie Room from his own sources.

  Raikes said, ‘ There’s a padlocked dead arm across the front of the lift on One Deck. I presume there is too across the lift entrance on Eight Deck.’

  The Captain turned and a shaggy eyebrow lifted.

  He said, ‘It’s a pity you haven’t done your homework in some worthier enterprise. The Second Officer has those keys. He’ll be in charge of the bullion party. Personally I’d like to be in charge of a firing party with you at the other end.’

  He began to walk across the salon to the door on the port side. Before he reached it, he stopped and turned to Raikes, nodding at the automatic in his hand. ‘Put that away. I’m not going on to my own bridge with that at my back.’

  Raikes slid the automatic into his pocket. Without another look at him the Captain turned and went through the door. Raikes followed and then moved up the narrow portside stairs to the entrance to the wheelhouse.

  The wheelhouse was lit by shaded lights and the reflected glow of panels from the big console under the forward windows. There, were four people there. The First Officer, a white silk scarf about his neck, w
ho stood by the console, looking out of the central window, a Third Officer who leaned over the chart table laying off bearings on the chart, a Quartermaster, in white jersey and blue trousers, who was manning the wheel immediately behind the console, and a bridge boy who was wiping down the inside of the port windows.

  As Raikes and the Captain entered, the First Officer turned towards them. He looked momentarily surprised to see the Captain.

  The Captain said, ‘Good morning, Mr Dormer.’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  The Captain said, ‘Mr Dormer, I can’t introduce you to our guest, except to say that he’s unwelcome. However, I can say that because of him a situation has arisen aboard which could well endanger the lives of many of our passengers. Because of this, I must ask you to carry out the orders I give, even though they may

  seem very odd and you may not agree with them. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Raikes saw the First Officer’s eyes move to him.

  The Captain called the bridge boy to him. To Raikes, he said,

  ‘Give him the pistol.’

  Raikes took the Very pistol from his pocket and fitted a cartridge

  and then handed it to the boy.

  The Captain said, ‘Get out on the port bridge wing and fire it.’

  ‘High in the air,’ said Raikes. ‘ Straight up.’

  The boy took the pistol and went through the door to the port

  wing.

  A few moments later, standing in the stern still, Belle saw the green flare burst high in the dark sky forward. The slow tension which had been building up in her suddenly drained away. She turned away from the rail and lit herself a cigarette.

  A quarter of a mile away on the port bow, a thousand feet up and well below the cloud level, Berners and the man with him in the stripped main cabin of the Bell 205A saw the flare.

  Over the roar of the main rotor and the Lycoming gasturbine engine, the man leaned forward and shouted in Berners’s ear, ‘Thank God for that. You know I never thought this crazy stunt would ever get off the ground.’

  Berners said nothing. Away in the distance he could see the white steaming light at the QE2’s masthead and as the helicopter swung a little, he caught a glimpse of the red port light on the bridge. Aft of the bridge the liner was a blaze of lights from cabins and public rooms, bright jewels flaming across the face of the night. And Raikes was on the bridge at this moment, untouched, unmoved, all feeling deliberately frozen, moving inexorably step by step through the performance which he had drilled into himself in the past weeks. Berners looked at his watch. It would be a good twenty minutes to half an hour before the first of the bullion was on the deck and ready for loading and the second signal went up for them to come in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Without waiting for the boy to come back, the Captain moved across the wheelhouse nearer the First Officer. Raikes followed him but stopped after a few paces so that he was able to keep all four men in view. He saw the Third Officer, back to the chart table, watching him woodenly. The Quartermaster looked neither to right nor left. All these men, he thought, all knowing that something was very wrong, but all held by the power of the Captain’s authority, and the Captain held by the power of duress. Men fashioned their own chains out of the good steel of order and respect for authority.

  The Captain said, ‘Mr Dormer—put the engines on Stand-By. Tell the Turbine Control that … well, say visibility is deteriorating and we’ll be reducing speed immediately.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The First Officer picked up the talk-back microphone from the console. Just for a moment his eyes ran over Raikes and his mouth twisted a little pugnaciously. Then he spoke into the mike. ‘Turbine Control. Bridge here. We’ll be going on to Stand-By immediately owing to poor visibility.’

  The boy came back from the wing and Raikes moved a little and held out his hand for the pistol. The boy gave it to him.

  The Captain ordered, ‘Stand-By Engines and reduce to manoeuvring speed.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The First Officer reached forward to the console and pressed the Stand-By button for each engine. A few seconds later a buzzer sounded as the Turbine Control Room repeated the order. Behind him, briefly remembered from his conducted tour, Raikes heard the chatter of the Engine Telegraph Teleprinter logging the order and its time.

  Into the mike the First Officer said, ‘Turbine Control Room, this is Bridge. Reduce to manoeuvring speed. 100 revs.’

  Over the talk-back system Raikes heard the engineer’s voice repeating the order as the Captain moved closer to the First Officer and said, ‘All right, I’ll take it from here, Mr Dormer. What ships have you around?’

  ‘Nothing to worry us, sir. That one over on the starboard bow will pass about three miles to the north of us. Our course is 270 plus two degrees for set. Gyro Course 272.’

  The Captain nodded and then ordered, ‘Half ahead both engines.’

  ‘Half ahead both, sir.’

  As the orders were passed through and the engine revolutions dropped well below the hundred mark there was the loud blare of escaping steam from the funnel top outside.

  Over the noise, the Captain said, ‘Where is the wind now?’

  The First Officer said, ‘WNW. Force 3, sir.’

  The Captain turned to the Quartermaster. ‘Steer two-eighty.’

  As the Quartermaster acknowledged and obeyed the order, Raikes felt the swing of the ship as she came round on to her new course.

  Raikes said to the Captain. ‘What speed are we doing now?’

  Without looking at him, the Captain said, ‘Tell him, Mr Dormer.’

  The First Officer said, ‘We’re at 60 revs. About ten and a half knots.’

  Raikes said, ‘ I shall want the foredeck lights on.’

  Ignoring him, the Captain turned to the Third Officer and said, ‘Call the Second Officer on the phone. Tell him to come to the bridge immediately. Then call the Night Security Petty Officer and the Bosun’s Mate of the Watch. They’re to stand by with five seamen outside the Specie Room.’

  On the last two words, Raikes saw the quick jerk of the First Officer’s head in his direction.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the Third Officer and he moved to the telephone by the port entrance to the bridge, passing close to Raikes. He moved by him without looking at him, ignoring him, and Raikes knew that in the man’s mind, in everyone’s mind here, he was already branded and outlawed, that they did what they did because the Captain ordered it and they were now in no need of explanation for the orders. The duress had moved to them. Hold them by it for too long and they would begin to question it, work to find a way round it, and perhaps, one of them, stupidly try to destroy it. There was a long time to go yet.

  The Captain said, ‘Mr Dormer, switch on the for’d deck lights.’

  The First Officer moved to the light switch panel at the rear of the wheelhouse and threw a switch. Through the centre window Raikes saw the foredeck jump into brilliant detail from the night shadows.

  From the helicopter Berners saw the lights of the ship angle away from them as it changed course and slowed speed. Now as the helicopter moved keeping station with it, he saw the deck lights come on.

  The man behind him shouted, ‘ Everything going like clockwork. Better get your body harness on because when we go in and start lifting you can go through that hatch like a dose of salts if you slip.’

  On One Deck Lido Belle had felt the ship swing round and slow, heard the noise of escaping steam from the funnel and knew that it all meant that somewhere up there things were going the way Raikes wanted them. It was late now and there was no one else on the deck. She pitched her cigarette over the side and moved into the shadows near the entrance to the cabin run on the port side.

  The Second Officer, looking a little weary at being called from his sleep, was on the bridge and was being addressed by the Captain.

  ‘… I don’t want any questions. What I am ordering you to do is directly
concerned with the safety of our passengers. The Night Security Petty Officer, the Bosun’s Mate of the Watch and five seamen are standing by the Specie Room. Here are the keys of the Room. I want—’ he looked for a moment at Raikes.

  ‘Eighty gold bars, I want. They may be packed anything from one to four a box. Just make up the load as fast as you can.’

  The Captain said ‘Forty double boxes. Put them into Number One lift and have them brought up to One Deck and then get the men to take them out on to the foredeck.’

  For a moment the Second Officer hesitated, began to open his mouth to say something and then thought better of it.

  The Captain turned to the First Officer. ‘Give the Second Officer a walkie-talkie, Mr Dormer.’ Then to the Second Officer he said, ‘Report to me when the load is on One Deck.’

  The First Officer handed over a walkie-talkie set and gave one to the Captain who tucked it in his pocket.

  Raikes had been shown one of the sets when his friendly officer had taken him over the bridge weeks before. They were Stornophones No. 5 with a two-mile range.

  The Second Officer left the bridge. The First Officer stood at the console, staring down at the lighted foredeck. The Quartermaster stood at the wheel, a white and blue statue, and the bridge boy moved a cleaning rag busily over and over the same window, knowing there was something wrong, remote from it and still wrapped in the aftermath of pleasure from firing the Very pistol. The Captain, ignoring Raikes, walked to the chart table and with the Third Officer made a check of the ship’s position.

  For the first time in his life Raikes knew the real meaning of isolation; the coldness of its grip, colder than his own tightly controlled emotions, a coldness that was intellectual and shaming. Every man on this bridge, dedicated to the service of this beautiful ship, had rejected him utterly. They tolerated his physical presence because they had to, but they had consigned him as a person to limbo. He was the violator, the unspeakable defiler of the one thing which filled their lives with pride. They no longer wished to see him and, when they heard him, they heard him as a voice without humanity or decency. Isolation he had thought he once loved, the sweet, time-eating loneliness of the river, the isolation of his own dedication to revenge his father and return to Alverton … but none of these he knew now began to be isolation. This was isolation, here and now on this bridge. The thought flashed through his head, too, that were his brothers here now, seeing and hearing him, knowing the ultimate blasphemy that he was practising, then they too would have rejected him, turned from him and made his name a sound of horror to them for evermore.… For the first time in his life he was lonely and hated it and hated himself. And for the first time in his life, even as he crushed the thought, strangling it before it could move to full birth, he knew that he was an evil, twisted caricature of a man.