Van Kleef looked rather annoyed.
‘Mr. Badrick,’ he said dryly, ‘I thought you knew the design of the ship thoroughly. The tanks of the Albatross carry sufficient fuel for the return trip. We contain enough fuel to make a very thorough blaze.’
Saxon rose to his feet.
‘What shall I do?’ he demanded.
Terrasino grinned.
‘Reckon you’ve done enough, Saxon. Just fly this bloody contraption and let me handle things from now on.’
Saxon caught sight of Van Kleef’s pained expression and gave an answering grin.
‘Right. And if you can’t deal with the bloody bomb, just tell me when to jump.’
*
As Saxon entered the flight deck Art Stein glanced up.
‘How’s things, skipper?’
Saxon looked round at the anxious expressions of the flight deck crew.
‘Terrasino has things in hand,’ he replied shortly as he slipped into the command chair. ‘At the moment we have a bomb on board but we think we know where it is.’
Danny Macmillan exchanged an anxious look with Billy Heath.
‘Terrasino only thinks he knows where it is?’ asked Heath.
‘That’s right. It was Nieman’s farewell gift to us. But as we can’t do anything about it, let’s fly this airship. Give me our position, Billy.’
Billy Heath seemed to have a little difficulty in articulating. Finally, he stammered out their position.
‘Good,’ answered Saxon. ‘That makes just nine hours and thirty minutes from the Irish coast. How’s the wind velocity, Art?’
Art Stein checked some figures.
‘We are picking up a ten-mile-an-hour tail wind, skipper, so we’re coasting along at the moment.’
‘What’s the weather like ahead?’
‘Pretty fair,’ replied Billy Heath, checking his charts. ‘There’s a low pressure over Ireland and we might run into some localised rain but it’s more or less okay.’
‘How about the engine systems and controls, Danny?’
The flight engineer grinned.
‘No problems. She’s running like a dream.’
Saxon sat back satisfied. It was like old times. The accents were different but the esprit de corps was the same. The old days. He felt like a man emerging from some dark nightmare. The old days …
*
It was Parish who actually found the device.
‘It’s housed in a black rectangular box, chief,’ his voice crackled over the intercom in Terrasino’s ear.
‘Where is it placed?’
‘It’s wired up to the computer control system next to Fuel Storage Tank Seven.’
Van Kleef, standing next to Terrasino, banged his fist into the middle of his hand in agitation.
‘Okay, Parish,’ replied Terrasino. ‘Stand by. I’ll be down.’ He turned to look quizzically at the chief designer.
‘It’s next to the middle storage tank,’ explained Van Kleef. ‘If that goes up then everything goes up.’
Badrick moved forward angrily.
‘How are we going to handle it?’
‘I’ll see if I can deal with it.’
Maclaren pursed his lips and shook his head.
‘Dammit, man! You’re running round with a gunshot wound.’
‘Have you anyone else in mind for the job of defusing it?’ Badrick started and frowned.
‘Defusing?’
‘You don’t reckon that now we’ve found it, we are just going to sit round staring at it until it goes off?’ Terrasino demanded sarcastically. ‘Someone has got to disconnect it from the computer section and drop it overboard.’
‘Are you up to it? Can you do it?’ Badrick stared at him, with worried expression growing more acute.
‘Terrasino has had bomb-disposal experience in Air Force security,’ pointed out Maclaren.
Terrasino was grinning at Badrick.
‘With the sort of stakes that we are playing for, Mr. Badrick, I can make myself up to it.’
*
The explosive device was perched high on a small ledge near the control gauge panel which showed the fuel pressures from the main storage tanks to the power units. As Parish had stated, it was a small black rectangular box; a tin box. It reminded Terrasino of a small cash box. Even from his position six feet beneath the ledge Terrasino could see some coloured electrical wires snaking out of the tin and disappearing into the fuel-vent control panel which he knew was activated by computer controls from the main flight deck.
A movable maintenance ladder stood nearby.
‘Put that in place for me,’ he asked Parish.
The security guard did so and then looked dubiously at his chief.
‘You can’t go up there with that leg,’ he said.
Terrasino raised a shoulder and let it fall.
‘I’ll have a damn good try because it’s the only ball game in town.’
He began to climb up. It hurt. It hurt like hell but he forced himself to climb slowly. He could feel the blood oozing from his wound, seeping through the bandages. It seemed an age before his eyes drew level with the small box. He found himself drenched in sweat.
‘Throw me up a towel,’ he called.
Parish frowned but put his head into the corridor and repeated the request. A few moments later he thrust a small towel up to Terrasino who, holding on with one hand, wiped his face and then his hands, changing hands to hang on to the bars of the steel ladder.
‘Okay, Parish, I’m going to start now,’ he said evenly. ‘It’s no good telling you to get the hell out … if this baby goes up then we all go up with her.’
He peered closely at the box. It looked so innocuous, apart from the coloured wires at the back. Why connect the box to the computer terminals? Terrasino frowned a little as he studied the connections. It seemed odd, terribly odd. A thought struck him which he immediately dismissed as nonsensical; the box was in a clear vantage point, could so easily be seen and discovered. He moved his hand to test whether the lid of the box was secured or open. It moved a fraction. He let his hand fall away and turned to Parish waiting below.
‘Can you find me an engineering plan of what’s behind that control panel? I want to see where those wires are likely to terminate.’
Parish nodded, turned and left.
Terrasino looked once more at the coloured wires. If the wires, as seemed likely, were fixed to an electrical charge, then they would have to be cut simultaneously. But to do that he would have to have both hands free and synchronised. Not easy; even if he didn’t have this ferocious stabbing pain in his leg it would not be easy.
‘Here you are, chief,’ came Parish’s voice from below.
With an effort, Terrasino bent down and took the small clip-board from the security guard. Stuck on it was a plan of the control board system. Hell! He was right. The two wires were obviously fixed into an electronic power circuit. Well, there was only one thing to do.
‘I want two pairs of very sharp pliers and a strong leather belt.’
Parish looked amazed.
‘A leather belt, chief?’
‘Yeah.’
Terrasino winced in pain and forced himself to turn back to the plan. He examined it, trying to figure out how the charge would be ignited.
‘Hey,’ he called, ‘is Van Kleef out there?’
The chief designer looked into the cabin section. He was pale and nervous.
Terrasino, groaning inwardly, climbed down the ladder and thrust the plan at him.
‘Oscar, what would cause a charge of electricity to pass along these terminals?’
He pointed. The designer looked at the diagram and frowned.
‘The only time those wires become live is when the fuel tanks are changed. The pilot or co-pilot or engineer would switch over the fuel supply tanks and the vents are operated by a charge of electricity.’
‘So until the fuel tanks are changed there is no power on the line at all? You’re sure?’
Van Kleef smiled thinly.
‘I designed the system. There’s no power until the switches are pulled.’
Parish returned with the pliers and the belt.
Terrasino shoved both pairs of pliers in his pockets, draped the belt around his neck and began to climb slowly up the ladder again. Once on a level with the box he halted and then, still holding on with one hand, managed to wrap the belt around his waist and over the rungs of the ladder. Leaning backwards a little, he was able to use both hands to tighten the belt so that he could perch securely against the ladder, leaving both hands free to work. Next, he took out both pairs of pliers and gently laid them by the box.
‘Towel,’ he snapped and Parish threw it up again.
Once more Terrasino wiped the sweat from his face and hands and threw the towel down to Parish.
‘Okay, the moment of truth, fellers,’ he breathed.
Taking a pair of pliers in each hand, he manoeuvred them into position over the two wires at the back of the box. Then, gritting his teeth, he snapped them shut. The wires cut cleanly in two simultaneously.
Nothing happened.
Terrasino breathed a long shuddering inhalation.
Slowly he replaced the pliers on the ledge beside the box and turned to scrutinise it again.
Using one hand only, he eased up the lid a fraction, cautiously peering for any tell-tale signs which would indicate the box was booby trapped. He could see nothing and raised the lid carefully. Inside, taped together, were three sticks of dynamite, each one eight inches long and about an inch and a quarter in diameter. He had seen the type before. They were Du Pont Red Cross Extra, very powerful charges containing forty per cent nitroglycerine. The wires were effectively attached. Any charge passing from the terminals in the control board would have set off the explosive.
Savagely, Terrasino tore the wires from the control board and handed the entire contraption down to Parish. The security man took it gingerly.
Terrasino untied his belt and climbed painfully down.
Van Kleef had been joined by Badrick and Maclaren. All three clapped him on the back and voiced their congratulations.
‘Put that over the side, Parish,’ Terrasino advised him as he tried to shrug off their words of praise.
‘Brilliantly done, Terrasino,’ said Badrick.
‘Yeah,’ grunted Van Kleef. ‘I wouldn’t like to go through that experience again.’
Terrasino smiled wryly.
‘Let’s hope we don’t have to.’
*
Saxon smiled broadly at the news over the intercom.
‘Damn good show!’ he said, and turning towards the others added: ‘Terrasino has defused the bomb.’
There was a chorus of congratulatory shouts on the flight deck which Saxon tried to still.
‘Now we can relax,’ breathed Billy Heath.
‘We’ve still got to fly this thing,’ admonished Saxon.
‘Okay, skipper,’ smiled Macmillan, ‘just point the way.’ Saxon glanced at the ship’s chronometer.
‘The way for this crew is our respective bunks for the next six hours. The relief crew should be here in a moment. And I want you all spruced up when we land in dear old Blighty.’
Macmillan gazed at him in incomprehension.
‘Land where?’
‘Ignorant man,’ smiled Saxon, raising his voice to a theatrical pitch. ‘I mean that royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars … this precious stone, set in the silver sea … ’
Billy Heath grinned.
‘He means England.’
Macmillan sighed.
‘I always knew Limeys were crazy.’
*
Terrasino lay back on his bunk and tried to ignore the throbbing of his painful leg.
He was not relaxed. He was worried. He could not fully understand why. He had defused the bomb. It was a fairly simple device compared with the others he had handled in the Air Force. The only thing that had made it complicated had been the bullet wound in his leg. Apart from that the bomb had been a fairly crude affair, as if put together hastily. A crude affair! That’s what did not fit in with Nieman’s character. He remembered seeing the hoax bombs which Nieman had set before.
There was nothing crude about them. This device was not in keeping with Nieman’s precise and careful workmanship. Terrasino suddenly sat bolt upright on his bunk.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ he muttered.
Chapter Fourteen
Terrasino paused outside his cabin door and groaned as the pain in his leg hit him. He looked up and down the corridor. There was no point in arousing Badrick, Maclaren or Van Kleef. If his surmise was wrong then he would look a damn fool. He turned and began to limp towards the centre of the ship.
‘Terrasino!’
Tom Saxon came round the corner from the flight deck elevator.
‘Oughtn’t you to be in sickbay?’
‘I ought to be in a nursery school,’ growled Terrasino sarcastically. ‘I reckon Nieman is laughing at us from hell.’
Saxon gazed at Terrasino in puzzlement.
The security chief decided to confide in the Englishman.
‘The bomb I defused … I reckon it was a phoney.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I reckon that Nieman planted a decoy. All the while I was defusing the bomb I felt something was wrong. I’ve seen his work before — he doesn’t go in for crudely constructed devices and this one was crude. Then it was wired to an electrical circuit which would never have been used on this flight. I thought that Nieman might have tampered with the circuits but he hadn’t. No, the sonofabitch put a dummy device where we’d find it and easily defuse it, then — thinking how clever we were — we’d go away and forget all about it until the real device went off.’
Saxon’s mouth gaped.
‘Do you know where the real device is?’
‘I’ve an idea,’ said the security chief. ‘Come with me.’
He led Saxon down to the lower levels of the ship, to the cabin where he had defused the dummy bomb. The maintenance ladder was still in place. Terrasino glanced round and found a tool-kit locker. He bent, swearing in pain as he did so, and extracted a screwdriver before he began to haul himself up towards the control gauge panel.
Saxon tried to stop him.
‘Tell me what you want doing and I’ll do it.’
Terrasino was about to ignore him when the pain in his leg caused him to slip from the ladder, groaning.
Saxon reached out and took the screwdriver.
‘I reckon I’ll pass out anyway if I have to spend any more time scrambling up and down that goddam ladder,’ admitted Terrasino, gritting his teeth.
‘What am I to do?’ demanded Saxon as he clambered up towards the panelling.
‘Straight ahead of you, on that ledge, is where we found the tin box with Nieman’s crude device. The fake bomb. Right? He had wired it into an electrical circuit in the panel straight ahead of you.’
‘Yes. Now what?’
‘My guess is that Nieman’s convoluted mind told him that we would spot his bomb, defuse it and, breathing thanks, would not look any further. I reckon that Nieman placed his real bomb behind the control panel immediately to the right of his fake bomb.’
‘Why not immediately behind the fake?’ demanded Saxon.
‘Because the wires lead into the panel. If we had decided to defuse the fake bomb by unscrewing that panel we would have found the other bomb.’
‘Well, we’ll soon see,’ muttered Saxon. One hand grasping the ladder, he began to loosen the dozen screws which kept the panel frontage in place. It took him some time, for many of the screws were machine-tightened. Finally, the panel — a section of thin metal about two feet square — came away.
‘Go easy,’ Terrasino called up anxiously. ‘It might be booby trapped.’
Saxon broke into a sweat and nervously craned his head to peer behind the panel.
‘The
panel covering is free but … by God!’ He was suddenly quiet.
‘What is it?’ demanded Terrasino anxiously.
‘You were right. There is something behind it … here, I’m passing the panel covering down.’
Terrasino caught it and placed it on the deck.
‘What do you see?’ he called up.
‘It’s a device, right enough. God help me, I can’t make head nor tail of it.’
‘Okay, Saxon. Come on down. I’ll take over.’
Saxon slipped down the ladder.
‘You sure you can make it?’ he asked.
Terrasino, his pale face pinched with pain, nodded.
‘Quit worrying about me,’ he grunted. ‘That’s a live bomb up there.’
Gritting his teeth once more, Terrasino hauled himself up the ladder. It was lucky that he had left the leather belt on the ladder after he had used it earlier. It took him a while to fix it around his waist so that he could have both hands free. Then he leant forward to peer into the panelling.
There were four main components to the device. There were four dynamite cartridges, again the Du Pont Red Cross Extra, taped together with insulating tape, wired up to a blasting cap, a twin cell transistor radio battery and a small travelling clock. Terrasino grinned savagely. This was fairly simple but still sophisticated. It was certainly more like Nieman’s usual devices. The minute hand had been removed from the clock and close to the figure of 10 was a small metal plate which had been screwed down. When the hour hand came up to it, it would form a circuit and the dynamite would blow. Small, simple and deadly. He looked curiously at the clock face. Four hours to go.
‘Hey Saxon,’ he called down. ‘Where will we be in four hours?’
Saxon stared up, puzzled.
‘Give or take a few minutes, I’d say we’d be over Dublin. Why?’
‘Dublin, eh?’ Terrasino sighed. ‘Guess I was wrong again. Nieman didn’t set the bomb to go off while we were over England but over Dublin.’
‘Dublin? Well, it’s a European capital,’ replied Saxon. ‘That would be good enough to demonstrate Nieman’s idea of God’s will.’
Terrasino turned to the device.
It was, as he had seen, a fairly simple device with no secondary circuits, booby traps nor back-up systems. He reached forward and gave the connecting wire a sharp tug. It came away with ease. Then Terrasino disconnected the battery and blasting cap. He turned and dropped the components one by one to Saxon who caught them and stared at them.
Airship Page 38
