by Jon F. Merz
Thatcher needed to get out of the cabin, down to the engine room where the scene of the slaughter was, embed some type of explosive and plant it near the keel so that the resulting explosion tore the ship in half and sent it to the bottom. He needed to do this without the benefit of a timer that would give him an exact amount of time to be near the lifeboats when it detonated.
No pressure, he thought with a frown. How come Hewitt couldn’t have spared any sort of time for training on how to be a saboteur?
He shook his head. Regardless of that fact, he still had the job to do and complaining about Hewitt’s lack of prepatory training wasn’t going to change the situation he was in currently. He needed to figure it out and carry on. That was it.
Thatcher had been on boats most of his life, although they were usually smaller and more exclusive yachts. But in principle, all of them had the same vulnerabilities. In this case, an explosion near the keel was what Thatcher needed. In and among his travels around the ship, he had noted the gun emplacements. There were always shells stacked nearby. But grabbing one of them wasn’t as simple as pick-pocketing a wallet. The shells were all about eighteen inches long and looked to weigh around fifty pounds. Taking one would mean Thatcher would need to somehow be alone and able to grab it and stow it somewhere until he could place it properly near the keel and work out how to make it explode at the right time.
The task was seemingly impossible while he was a prisoner in the cabin. There was no way Steinkopf or any other guard going to permit Thatcher to pop out and grab one. He smirked. “Lovely night for a stroll, isn’t it? Mind if I take that high explosive round?”
Accomplishing this mission was going to take every bit of guile he possessed and Thatcher frankly wasn’t sure he had enough of it to pull it off. That said, the ticking clock was driving him to consider any number of extraordinary options he might not have considered previously, including overpowering his guard, grabbing the shell, lobbing it into the engine room, and then quickly diving overboard before anyone knew what was happening.
He had already clocked the amount of time it would take to run from the engine room up to a side deck where he could dive off the ship as being somewhere around forty seconds. It wasn’t a lot of time in any other situation, but when you were on board a potentially sinking ship, it was a lifetime. And he would need to get past the guards and sailors who would be rushing to the engine room to put out any fires and contain the damage. Obviously, they would try to stop him.
If that was the fastest he could manage to get off the ship, then he would need to move faster. In his mind, Thatcher ran through the plan. There was nothing complex about it but one thing would hinge on all the others. If he couldn’t successfully take out his guard, then nothing else would fall into place. The time of night was also important and Thatcher figured that somewhere around three in the morning would work best. From his previous criminal activities, he knew that most people slept deepest around that time. The ship would only be slightly different. His guard would presumably be tired. If Thatcher made convincing noises like he was sick and the guard entered to check on him, he could use that to club him on the head, tie him up and gag him, and then get to work.
He leaned back from the table. It might work. It had to work, he quickly reminded himself. He was here at the behest of the Crown and he was alive for no other reason than to get this bit of work done. Forget Steinkopf, forget Schwarzwalder, forget Cyra - they were irrelevant to the matter at hand and Thatcher started preparing himself to do the job as soon as they got closer to the islands.
The other option to diving overboard would be to try to get one of the lifeboats down into the water. Or the motor launches that they used to board the ships they targeted. Thatcher wondered how quickly it took to free one of them. Probably far too long. And worse, if he was in any sort of boat, he was going to subject himself to fire from Raider X if the sailors spotted him and opened fire with any of the deck guns.
Still, it was better than swimming through shark-infested water.
Thatcher sighed. Schwarzwalder had told him they would be in Tenerife in twenty-four hours. That left tonight and part of the night tomorrow before they docked in port. If Thatcher did it tonight then he was still too far away from land to swim safely to shore and the sharks would easily take him before he reached land. That left tomorrow night. The activity level on the ship would be heightened due to the impending docking in port. It would have to alter his timeline. Three o’clock in the morning wasn’t going to be an option.
Unless Raider X stood just offshore until the following dawn and waited to pull into harbor during the daylight. Thatcher smirked. He was willing to bet that Schwarzwalder would do that. He was a proud German naval academy graduate and even though Raider X wasn’t a war vessel as much as a battleship, it was nonetheless a vessel in the German navy and he would want the locals to see the ship sailing in. Schwarzwalder was a proud man and proud of his crew. He would give them the opportunity to look the part that the vessel played when it wasn’t busy disguising itself as a merchant ship. And docking in the middle of the night, while tactically smarter, wouldn’t be what Schwarzwalder or his men would want.
Which meant an extra few hours to do the deed, Thatcher decided. Good. He could get everything into place in the meantime and not have to rush through this. Rushing, as he’d learned many times in his past, was the best way to make mistakes. Slower was better when it came to capers like this and he intended not to make any errors. His own life was on the line.
With Raider X standing just offshore, he could get the explosion accomplished and then slip overboard. If the ship sank, it would do so in relatively shallow water - perhaps no more than one hundred feet - but it wouldn’t matter at that point: Thatcher had accomplished what Hewitt had demanded. If not in the way that Hewitt had initially visualized, then at least to the letter of the law. Thatcher couldn’t be faulted for not sinking the damned ship in thousands of feet of water where it couldn’t be salvaged. Even though he doubted the Germans would bother launching a salvage operation in Tenerife.
He crawled into bed and turned off the light, laying there for several more minutes, replaying the scenarios in his head. He went through each of the steps in turn, from stealing the high explosive round to lobbing it into the engine room down near the keel. That was the best he was going to be able to do. He suspected that once he removed the safety device on the shell, it would explode on impact provided he threw it high and far enough within the compartment.
Hopefully, the blast didn’t kill him in the process.
Chapter 31
Schwarzwalder’s schnapps once again failed to do anything to guarantee Thatcher a good night’s sleep, however, and he found himself once more tossing and turning despite his best efforts to get rest. This time, instead of fighting it, Thatcher got up, but kept the light off, and dressed. He stalked toward the cabin door and put his ear against the door to listen. He could hear nothing and wondered if there actually was a guard outside of his room or not. He risked turning the knob and found that it was locked. But interestingly enough, no one from outside his cabin came in after he rattled it once or twice. Where was his guard?
Thatcher bent down and examined the lock as best he could in the darkness. It was a simple latch system that he could pick in seconds. He glanced around the cabin and found a pen with a clip that he removed and then worked into a useable shape. Then he slid it into the keyhole, carefully raked it against the lock, and heard the distinct pop a few seconds later.
Thatcher removed his improvised lock pick and slid it into his pocket. Then he squeezed and turned the door knob, cracking the door as he did so. A bit of fresh air swept into the room and Thatcher peered through the crack out into the hallway. It was the first time since he’d been aboard Raider X that he’d actually felt like he had freedom.
He stepped out into the hallway, glancing in both directions, but saw no indication of his guard anywhere nearby. Thatcher pulled the door shut behind him and t
hen stalked to one end of the corridor. The ship was quiet even though a skeleton crew would still be manning all the duty stations. Outside on the deck, Thatcher saw one of the gun emplacements and looked around. No one was nearby. This was his chance.
Thatcher stole up to the emplacement and peered to the side, finding one of the shells. He picked it up, then turned and headed back to this room. This was the thing he needed to hopefully send Raider X to the bottom. Now he just had to conceal it somewhere.
He heard voices to his left, hushed but not too distant. He felt his heart rate kick up another notch and hurried back into the corridor where his cabin was. If anyone spotted him now, the gig would be up. He was holding a large shell and would have to answer questions as to why he was. Thatcher put it out of his mind, and stumbled a bit down the hallway toward his cabin door.
Behind him, he heard the voices louder now. Was it his guard? He had to hurry.
He reached the door, opened it, and slid inside.
But just as he did so, he heard the voices outside. It was his guard, which meant the Thatcher couldn’t re-lock his door at the moment without alerting the man. So instead, Thatcher crept across his cabin, hoping he didn’t trip on anything in the dark. He knew that he could hide the shell under his berth and it would be reasonably safe there provided he could keep the cylindrical round from rolling about. He would need to wedge other stuff against it to keep it from moving around. If something knocked against it and managed to release the safety, it could blow up right underneath Thatcher.
He frowned. Hewitt would get a two-for if that happened. Raider X might not sink and but Thatcher would be dead. Thatcher shook his head and continued stowing other gear against the shell. When he was finished, he felt a measure of relief at having managed to gain access to an explosive round he could use. He just had to keep it concealed for the next twenty hours. Only time would tell if he was capable of doing that or not. He hadn’t seen any indication that someone entered his room when he wasn’t there, but that could always change.
He was about to remove his clothes and try to sleep again when he heard a shout outside of his room. Quickly he got up and moved to his door. The voices on the other side were muffled but insistent. Thatcher couldn’t make them out aside from someone imploring the other to come with them.
Without thinking, Thatcher opened the door.
Steinkopf stood there with another man. They both looked at Thatcher in surprise.
Steinkopf nodded. “You’re awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Thatcher. “I was about to ask you if I could take a walk when I heard the commotion.”
Steinkopf frowned and seemed to be weighing something. Finally, he just motioned for Thatcher to come with them. “Another one of the crew is missing.”
Thatcher frowned but followed them both as they hurried down to the next deck. Thatcher recognized they were heading toward Cyra’s cabin. By the time they reached there, Schwarzwalder and several other sailors were already there. Schwarzwalder crouched on the floor and seemed to be examining something. He glanced up, saw Thatcher and looked about ready to yell at Steinkopf but instead motioned Thatcher over.
“The guard outside of her door is gone.”
Thatcher frowned. “When?”
“We don’t know. The man who was supposed to relieve him came down on time and found no one here.”
Thatcher eyed the cabin. “Has anyone been inside?”
Schwarzwalder stood and shook his head. “We only just got here.”
“What’s on the ground there?”
Schwarzwalder pointed. “It would appear to be a smear of blood, judging by the smell of it. But just a drop.”
Thatcher squatted and saw what Schwarzwalder had been looking at. Given the state of the engine room on the previous night, the fate of the missing man seemed fairly predictable. He stood again and looked at the cabin door.
“Knock?”
Schwarzwlader shook his head. “I’m done knocking.” He looked at one of the guards and asked for his pistol. The guard handed it over and Schwarzwalder chambered a round before taking the key and inserting it into the cabin lock. He turned the key and then stepped back.
As Thatcher watched, Schwarzwalder chambered a kick and then exploded forward into the cabin with the pistol at the ready.
Thatcher was inside immediately after the Captain, anxious to get a glimpse at whatever sight might be awaiting him within.
The cabin was empty.
Schwarzwalder lowered the pistol and shook his head. “She’s gone as well.”
Thatcher sniffed the air. He knew the smell of blood and it cloyed to the air of the cabin. Schwarzwalder must have smelled it as well because he frowned and then turned to the men that were assembled there.
“I want the woman who was in this cabin found. Turn the ship upside down. Two-man parties only. No one alone. Take guns and search everywhere.”
The men dispersed and Thatcher felt his gut twinge. If they searched everywhere then there was a good chance that they would find the shell in his cabin even though it was hidden. If they found the high explosive then they would naturally want to know why Thatcher had stolen one.
That wasn’t good.
Schwarzwalder eyed Thatcher. “You seem fully dressed.”
Thatcher nodded. “I couldn’t sleep again. Despite the best efforts of that wonderful schnapps.”
Schwarzwalder grunted. “The same fate befell me. I don’t know that I’ll have any degree of rest while that woman remains aboard the Loki. The sooner we find her, the better.”
“Where could she be?”
The Captain shrugged. “It’s a big ship. If she finds a crevice or a nook, she could hold out for a while until we finish searching.”
Thatcher eyed the pistol the Captain still held. “At least you all have weapons. I feel naked without one, frankly.”
Schwarzwalder chuckled. “Are you in any danger?”
“I might be.”
“You slept with her,” said Schwarzwalder. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should have nothing to fear,” said Schwarzwalder with a sly grin. “Unless, perhaps, you weren’t up to her expectations. In that case, you might have more to fear than any of the rest of us.”
Thatcher frowned. “Oh, that’s quite amusing, Captain. Thank you.”
“Maybe even now she waits for you in your cabin.”
“In which case, I’m a dead man,” said Thatcher.
“My men will find her,” said Schwarzwalder. “They will be methodical about how they search the ship. They will leave no place unchecked. If she is still aboard the ship, they will find her no matter where she chooses to hide.”
Thatcher took a breath and let it out slowly. That was exactly what he was afraid of.
Chapter 32
“How many men do you have aboard?” asked Thatcher a moment later.
“We had 340,” said Schwarzwalder. “We seem to be down six currently.”
It was a sizable crew, thought Thatcher. The Loki was long enough and big enough that Cyra could presumably hide in any number of locations. But why was she hiding at all? Had she actually killed those crew members? Had she killed the guard outside of her cabin? Thatcher wanted to put his own plan into motion but was seriously hamstrung by the fact that Cyra was off creating her own chaos.
Was there a way for Thatcher to take advantage of the chaos to make his own plan work? More importantly at the moment, was there a way for him to safeguard the shell he’d stolen from the gun emplacement? As soon as his cabin was searched, he knew they would find it. Schwarzwalder’s men weren’t lazy; they were professional sailors who would carry out his orders to the best of their ability.
That didn’t leave Thatcher much time. It was still the middle of the night. Could he secrete the shell to the engine room now? Thatcher dismissed the idea immediately. The damned thing weighed fifty pounds and was eighteen inches long. It was not
the sort of thing he could waltz through the corridors carrying. He’d be stopped as soon as he stepped out of his cabin.
Gunfire sounded just as he was about to broach the idea of being free to walk around with Schwarzwalder. But the Captain pushed past him. “Come on!”
Thatcher ran to catch up with him and they raced down to the lower deck. There was commotion by the stern and then as they rushed closer, the sea plane that was strapped down to the Loki’s deck blew up, flames jetting away from it as the fuel burned. A second later, a massive fireball went up and the machine gun rounds exploded spraying everywhere.
Thatcher tackled Schwarzwalder to the deck as the blast went off and the bullets exploded. Thatcher kept their heads down until the chaos died down and there were no more bullets ricocheting anywhere.
They got to their feet slowly seeing the devastation before them. All around the deck were the bodies of the men who had been caught in the hail of bullets that had gone off. Thatcher counted at least two dozen bodies unmoving on the deck while scores more moaned and bled about the place.
Schwarzwalder grabbed the closest sailor. “What the hell happened?”
“One of the men thought he saw someone by the plane and fired at it. It must have blown it up.”
Schwarzwalder let the man go and shook his head. “Of course it blew up, the fuel in the wings would have caught as soon as the bullets touched it.”
“So it wasn’t Cyra?”
Schwarzwalder shrugged. “I have no idea if it was. She could have been there, but the sailor who shot should not have fired knowing what could happen.”
Medical teams raced to help those who could be saved. Schwarzwalder moved among the injured and dying, taking his time to tend to them. Thatcher glanced around and knew he wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this. He turned and ran back toward his cabin, ducking inside as more sailors rushed past him, seemingly oblivious or uncaring what Thatcher was up too.
As other armed parties moved past, Thatcher told them that there were tons of injured on deck. He wasn’t lying. The explosion of the plane had effectively whittled down the Loki’s crew considerably. And if Cyra was on the prowl, then there was a chance she was going to have her fill as well.
