Those in Peril (Unlocked)

by Wilbur Smith

  Jacko bent over the wounded man and seized a handful of his beard. He wrenched his head back to expose his throat. Hector turned away and went out onto the wing of the bridge. Behind him he heard the Arab gasp and gurgle his last as Jacko slit his throat neatly.

  Keeping well back out of sight under the bridge canopy, Hector searched the sky for the helicopter. He picked it up at low level coming in very slowly over the tanker’s bows, its rotor buffeting as the pilot pulled up his collective and began a controlled descent. Hector watched the machine settle gently on the steel deck.

  The door of the passenger cabin opened and a striking figure stepped down to the deck. It was a tall man in a shimmering white robe and turban. His beard was full, black and curling. His belly under the white robe was slightly protuberant. In his left hand he carried a small black leather briefcase. He lifted the other arm in a gesture of benediction as he advanced down the deck towards Kamal and his men. They all fell to their knees and dragged down the two captives with them.

  ‘Hail, great Sheikh!’ Kamal cried. ‘Warrior son of mighty warriors!’ On the wing of the bridge high above the gathering of pirates on the cargo deck, Hector placed his lips an inch from the microphone of his radio.

  ‘Paddy, where are you?’

  ‘I am with Tariq, in position at the Number One entry hatch!’

  ‘The helicopter has landed. Adam has disembarked. Kamal is on the cargo deck to greet him. Nastiya and Vincent are down there with them. Kamal is going to present them to Adam. They are all of them off guard. This is the time to take them before they realize that Nastiya and Vincent are ringers. Go, Paddy! Go! Go! Go!’

  ‘Roger that!’ Paddy sang out with fierce joy. ‘Here we go!’

  Hector made a final check of the situation on the cargo deck below him. Very little had changed while he was speaking to Paddy, except that the pilot of Adam’s helicopter had climbed down from the cockpit and was lounging against the fuselage. He was casually holding an assault rifle. Hector spared him one quick glance. Kamal and Adam were his main concern. Then belatedly he realized who the helicopter pilot was. His gaze darted back to the man, and an icicle seemed to pierce his heart.

  ‘No! It’s not possible. Uthmann can’t fly a helicopter. But it’s him. It’s Uthmann!’

  As he thought it, Kamal shouted an order and two of his men jumped up from the deck and dragged both Vincent and Nastiya to their feet and thrust them forward towards Adam as he approached.

  ‘Behold, mighty Sheikh!’ Kamal cried out. ‘As you commanded me, I bring you the assassin Cross and his harlot.’ Adam stopped and stared at the two captives uncertainly.

  Then from behind him Uthmann Waddah yelled, ‘That is not Cross! That is not Hazel Bannock! It is a trap, my Sheikh. Beware! The infidel is about to strike.’ He did not wait for Adam to run back to the chopper, but hurled his rifle through the open door, and as quick as a ferret into a rabbit hole he followed it. He had left the engine running and the rotor revolving idly. Now he doubled over in the pilot’s seat and kept his head well down as he grabbed the controls and gunned the engine. The helicopter lifted off the deck and turned on its axis to head towards the beach.

  Adam was still running back down the deck screaming in Arabic, ‘Wait for me, Uthmann! I command you. Do not leave me here at the mercy of Cross!’ Uthmann never even raised his head to glance in his direction. Instead he lowered the nose of the machine and roared away, low over the waters of the bay.

  Hector had a distorted view of the top few inches of Uthmann’s head through the perspex canopy. The machine was climbing and banking steeply. The target was infinitesimal and the angles were impossible. In desperation, Hector fired and saw the perspex of the canopy shatter, leaving a gaping hole too far back to be effective in stopping Uthmann. The helicopter did not waver and raced away directly towards the beach, gaining altitude and speed. Hector lifted the microphone of his radio to his lips.

  ‘Dave! Dave! Unmask your guns. Take that helicopter under fire. Uthmann is flying it. Don’t let him escape. Shoot him down, for God’s sake, shoot him!’

  ‘Roger that!’ Dave responded at once. From the deck below his feet Hector heard the crash as the steel doors that concealed the gun emplacement dropped down on their hinges and revealed the two Bushmaster cannon. But already the helicopter was approaching the shore 700 yards away. Hector watched it avidly. He heard Dave chanting his orders to his gunners on the deck below. Then there were the flashes and the stunning multiple cracks as the twin Bushmasters fired three-round bursts of fragmentation shells after the fleeing machine. Hector saw the puffs of smoke and flame of the airbursts appear in the sky above the machine. That one salvo was enough. He saw the helicopter trip and stagger in flight as the storm of steel balls ripped through its fuselage. The pilot must have been killed instantly, and the engine destroyed, for the rotor stopped dead in the air. The nose of the machine dropped and it began a powerless and uncontrolled plunge towards the surface of the sea.

  Then the miracle occurred. Hector saw the helicopter come under control again, the nose lifted into the attitude for auto rotation. The rotor began spinning once more, but now the airflow over the blades was reversed. It was not driving the machine forward but braking its fall sharply. It was gliding towards the beach and Hector shouted an order into the mike for Dave to keep firing at the helicopter. There was no response. Hector’s voice had been drowned by the thunder of cannon. David Imbiss had not picked up Hector’s order. Instead he had switched his targets and both guns were firing at the circling pack of attack boats.

  The fragmentation shells burst in the air above them and the steel balls tore the flimsy wooden hulls to splinters and scythed down the men in them. The surviving boats turned away at top speed and headed for the safety of the shore. The helicopter continued its auto rotation glide towards the beach but as Hector watched it fell only just short and plummeted into the water, kicking up a tall cloud of spray. For a few moments it disappeared, but then it bobbed back to the surface and floated onto its side.

  Surely even Uthmann could not have survived that, Hector thought, but the topside door of the helicopter opened slowly and a human form crawled out and clung to the fuselage. It was too far to recognize a face but he knew it was Uthmann. His hands were empty. He had left his rifle in the cabin. Anyway the range was six or seven thousand yards, much too far even for the Beretta.

  ‘The bastard can’t swim and he is terrified of water.’ Hector spoke aloud, but without any real conviction. He watched the distant figure tumble off the helicopter’s fuselage into the sea, and expected to see him go under. But the water was only deep enough to reach to Uthmann’s armpits. Helplessly Hector watched him as with frantic and uncoordinated movements he floundered towards the beach, and then staggered ashore.

  Hector looked back at the cargo deck just as Paddy and Tariq’s combined strike teams burst out of the lower doors of the stern tower and rushed at the group of Arabs who surrounded Kamal. Immediately both forces were locked in a struggling mêlée. They were almost equally matched in numbers, and the fighting was at close quarters and hand to hand. None of them could risk firing for fear of hitting their own men.

  Hector saw Paddy trying to fight his way to Nastiya in the confusion, but a dozen men intervened and Paddy had to turn on them to protect himself. On the far side of the scrimmage Kamal had grabbed the end of the rope around Nastiya’s neck and was hauling her away backwards, at the same time calling desperately to Adam in Arabic.

  ‘This way, my Sheikh. Follow me. The helicopter and the boats have deserted us. Follow me!’ One of Paddy’s men grabbed a fold of Adam’s flowing headcloth as he passed, but the Sheikh turned on him with his curved dagger and stabbed him in the eye. The man dropped with the cloth twisted around his fingers and Adam ran after Kamal and Nastiya bare-headed.

  Hector was too high above the cargo deck to be able to intervene actively. He tried to work out what Kamal would do next, then saw him run to the hatch in the cor
ner of the stern tower. Kamal knew very well that this was the access to the service tunnels between the natural gas tanks which housed the huge pumps that circulated the gas in the tanks. Only a few days previously they had watched on the CCTV in the situation room as Kamal explored this dank and twisting labyrinth in the bowels of the hull. Kamal must have decided to use this as his bolthole. He dragged Nastiya struggling on the end of the rope into the hatchway and Adam followed them, shoving Nastiya down the ladder after Kamal. He slammed and bolted the steel hatch behind them.

  ‘Paddy!’ Hector called him on the battle radio and saw him look up at the bridge. ‘Kamal and Adam have taken Nastiya down into the pump service tunnel. Kamal has a rifle, but Adam has only a dagger. Put a guard on both ends of the service tunnel. There is no way out for Kamal and Adam. They’re trapped down there. We can winkle them out later. But first you must launch Sam’s AAVs and send them ashore to take the town and release the captured seamen from the stockades. I am handing over command of the Golden Goose to you. I’m going ashore to deal with Uthmann.’ As he spoke Hector was stripping off his heavy body armour and all the other equipment that would weigh him down in the water. He kept only his knife, his radio and the Beretta 9mm pistol that were all attached to his webbing harness. He looked around to find Jacko MacDuff at his shoulder.

  ‘I’m going ashore, Jacko. Take command of the stick. Our work up here is done. Go down and put yourself and the men under Paddy O’Quinn’s command on the cargo deck. Good luck, Jacko,’ said Hector. While they were speaking he was working out his next move. Most of the attack boats had made a run for the shore in an attempt to escape the fire of Dave Imbiss’s Bushmasters. However, there were a few more crafty pirates who were using the Golden Goose’s own hull as a shield. They were hugging the sides of the ship so closely that the cannon set high up in the stern tower were unable to bring them under fire. At this moment one of these attack boats was hiding directly under where Hector was standing on the wing of the bridge. Although there was a fearsome drop from the bridge to the water, Hector did not hesitate. He backed up as far as the navigation console in the centre of the bridge. Bingo MacDuff had just released Cyril Stamford and he stood beside the console. Cyril understood at once what Hector was about to attempt, and his voice was gruff with respect.

  ‘You have got a fine pair of balls, Mr Cross.’

  ‘Look who’s talking!’ Hector smiled grimly at Cyril, and then started his run.

  When he reached the rail at the wing of the bridge he was moving at the top of his speed. He dived as far out as all his strength and momentum could carry him. From this height he could not risk a head-first dive. If he turned over in the air and landed on his back his spine would snap like a pretzel. Instead, as soon as he was airborne he rolled himself into a ball, his knees tucked up against his chest, his head bowed and fingers of both hands locked together at the back of his neck. His guts swooped up under his ribs as he fell, and then he hit the surface of the water. The impact drove the air from his lungs and numbed his buttocks, which had struck first. He went under with the impetus of a cannonball. From deep down he looked up and saw above him the wavering silhouette of the longboat against the light. Fighting the urge to breathe he swam up towards it. He propelled himself upwards the last few feet and burst out alongside the low hull of the attack boat. He hooked his fingers over the gunwale and heaved himself over the side, at the same time drawing a mighty breath of sweet air.

  There were two pirates in the boat. They were naked except for their grubby loin cloths and turbans. They stared at Hector in astonishment. One of them jumped to his feet with an assault rifle in his hands. Before he could raise the weapon Hector crashed into him with his shoulder and sent him hurtling over the side into the sea. Hector felt a fleeting regret that he had taken his rifle with him. The other man was squatting at the controls of the silver-and-red 200 horsepower outboard motor in the stern. He began to rise to his feet, but not fast enough. Hector jumped over the thwart and took two more flying paces towards him, then kicked him under his raised chin as though he were punting a football. The man’s head snapped back and he sprawled over the cover of the huge outboard motor, then slipped down into the bottom of the longboat and flopped about in the bilges as helplessly as a stranded fish. Hector stooped over him, grabbed him by the heels and flipped him over the side. The pirate wallowed face-down in the water. Hector turned back to the outboard motor. It was still running, the exhaust burbling under the stern. He engaged the gear shift and twisted the throttle grip. The boat surged forward.

  However, at that moment a human body plunged down the tall side of the tanker and splashed into the water just in front of the longboat’s bows. Hector recognized the jumper as he flashed past. He closed the throttle and kicked the gear shift back into neutral, then ran forward and peered over the bows into the turbid water where the body had struck. He saw the man swimming up from the depths and then his head broke the surface. He was gasping for air.

  ‘Tariq! You bloody fool, I could easily have chopped you to mincemeat in the prop.’ He reached over the side and caught hold of Tariq’s arm and hauled him on board. Then he ran back to the big outboard motor in the stern and twisted the throttle grip wide open. Under him the boat bounded forward and he lined it up with the wreck of the helicopter that was still wallowing on the edge of the beach. He looked back over the stern at the Golden Goose and with alarm saw the barrels of the two Bushmaster cannon swivelling towards them and beginning to range and track them.

  He shouted at Tariq over the roar of the motor, ‘Quickly! Stand up and give Dave Imbiss a wave. He’s about to make a little mistake and blow us out of the water.’ Tariq jumped to his feet and balanced in the dancing longboat as he waved both hands above his head. At once the cannon barrels lifted off them, and they saw Dave’s head appear from behind the starboard cannon. He waved his helmet in the air in a gesture of apology. Then he disappeared back behind the blast shield and the cannon traversed right and resumed fire on some of the other attack boats which were scattering across the waters of the bay. Tariq crawled back along the bouncing and plunging longboat to Hector in the stern.

  ‘What’s going on, Hector? While I was still in the tunnel I heard you tell Dave to fire at a helicopter. You said that Uthmann was in it. But by the time I reached the cargo deck with Paddy I couldn’t see any helicopter. I was mixed up in the fighting. Then I heard you warn Paddy on the radio that Kamal and Adam had escaped down into the pump service tunnel. By that time the other pirates had been subdued. There was no reason for me to stay, especially when I saw you jump off the wing of the bridge. Of course, I had to follow you.’ Tariq looked anxious. ‘Did I do the right thing, Hector?’

  ‘Completely the right thing, as always, Tariq,’ Hector replied in Arabic, and Tariq lapsed into the same language.

  ‘Thank you, Hector. But where is Uthmann now? What happened to the helicopter? Where are we going?’

  ‘Dave gunned the helicopter down, and it crashed on the edge of the shore.’ He pointed ahead. ‘There, you can see the wreckage floating in the surf.’

  ‘But Uthmann? What has happened to him?’

  ‘He escaped from the wreck. I saw him wading ashore. I jumped from the bridge to go after him.’

  ‘I am glad I followed you. I want him even more than you do,’ Tariq said softly.

  ‘I know.’ Hector nodded. ‘He belongs to you. We will hunt him down together, but you will be the one to take vengeance.’

  ‘Thank you, Hector.’ Tariq drew a long breath to steady himself. ‘Is he alone? Is he armed? Neither of us has a rifle.’

  ‘Yes, Uthmann is alone. He had a rifle when he took off from the cargo deck, but after the helicopter crashed I saw him wade ashore. Too far off to be certain, but I don’t think he was still carrying it. He probably panicked when he hit the water, and forgot all about his weapon. His only thought would have been to get to dry land. We will make a quick search of the helicopter cabin, if it’s still
afloat when we get there.’

  They were tearing across the bay at fifty miles an hour, leaving a long straight creaming wake behind them as they headed for the wrecked machine. The sprawl of shanties which made up the town was half a mile further down the bay shore. Hector stood up and studied the terrain beyond the wreck into which Uthmann had escaped. It was devoid of any habitation, with rolling sand dunes covered in dense thickets of coarse salt scrub.

  ‘Not a good place to track a wounded lion,’ he decided. Uthmann was as dangerous as any wild animal. Hector slowed the longboat as they came up to the floating helicopter. The bows bumped against the wreckage. The air was heavy with the smell of spilt aviation fuel. Tariq scrambled up onto the battered fuselage and knelt to peer into the open doorway.

  ‘There it is!’ he called and disappeared through the door. He emerged again only seconds later brandishing a Beretta assault rifle.

  ‘Ammunition?’ Hector demanded.

  ‘None,’ Tariq answered, ‘only what is in the magazine.’

  ‘Maybe twenty rounds, if we’re lucky. That should do.’

  Hector put the outboard motor into gear and moved in slowly towards the beach. They both saw the string of footprints that Uthmann had left in the yellow sand. They ran from the edge of the water up the slope of the first dune and disappeared into the saltbush thicket on the crest. They wasted no time trying to moor the boat. Hector cut the motor, but let the boat drift. They jumped down into the knee-deep water and Hector led Tariq at a run to the foot of the first dune. Here they paused briefly to examine the spoor and then check the weapons they carried.

  ‘Here, take this!’ said Tariq, proffering the Beretta. ‘You are a better rifle shot than I am. Let me have your pistol.’ They exchanged weapons. Both rifle and pistol were soaked with saltwater. They shook it out of the magazines as best they could and made sure the barrels were free of sand or any other obstruction.