Beyond the Poseidon Adventure (13 page)

7

They had faced many dangers. Rogo and the other two original survivors had conquered the grueling climb through the inverted ship, and returned. All of them had experienced the sudden terror of the ship’s lurch, the nagging ever-present dread that at any moment it would sink and take them with it, and the jarring shock of the tiger. They had been in fear, sometimes of each other even, in the dripping darkness of that dreadful floating coffin. The arrival of Captain Bela, however, was a new dimension in danger. They watched his boarding party in fearful silence.

From the moment the cutaway section of the hull crashed inwards, they were aware of the malevolent nature of the intrusion. Pearl light flooded the forward end of the room, the now water-free companionway to the rest of the vessel, the wreckage of machinery across what had originally been the ceiling, and on the far side the little group who stood in front of the hold. They blinked at the neat square of blue sky as the rope ladder snaked over the side. There was no cheerful inquiry, no offer of assistance, no identification, none of the signs that would have indicated honest men in a rescue operation. And no hope could have survived the sight of the silhouetted giant who for a second completely blocked the new source of light, and then swung silently down the ladder.

Manny, who stood with Martin and Klaas and his daughter near the hold, whispered, “He looks like King Kong.”

Rogo had advanced to meet the new arrivals. He thrust out his rock face, prepared to take on all comers, a few feet away from the foot of the rope ladder. But there was little confidence left in him, and the lumbering giant ignored his challenge: “What do you think this is—Visitor’s Day?”

Three more men followed, each in what appeared to be a uniform of turtle-necked maroon sweaters and knitted woolen hats. The first, they saw, had only one eye. It made him look even more sinister. Another mean-faced one fingered his growing moustache with a novice’s pride. They moved without speaking, two to the right by the drained lake which led down to the funnel, and two to the left near the companionway. Each man carried a Russian Stechkin automatic pistol. The guns were trained on the group throughout the boarding operation and when they took up their positions their regimentation suggested a firing squad.

There was something close to admiration in Rogo when he said, “Jesus Christ, Jason, these guys are no amateurs.”

Jason’s reply came, surprisingly, from some distance away. He was behind Rogo. “Don’t worry, Batman,” he said. “They know their job. Let me take care of this, Rogo, huh?”

Rogo grunted assent. There was little else he could do. He recognized professional killers when he saw them. He himself was no longer armed. At least Jason appeared to know who they were. But why had Jason moved so that he was alone? It was as though he had detached himself from the group. Rogo didn’t like it.

Grim-faced, Klaas watched their arrival. The sea, like the land, has its own levels of society, and Klaas was under no illusion about these men. No ship’s crew he had ever seen behaved like this. They were gangsters beyond doubt. They were not the shabby crooks and petty thieves of dockland either; they were trained, ordered, practiced. His arm went round his daughter, and he felt her shiver against his chest. She, too, knew.

Martin, for perhaps the first time, began to wonder if the adventure was worth the risk. There was no ignoring these men or misjudging their character.

They felt as though they were watching the erection of their own gallows. When a slim, poised figure appeared in the blue square, it was without doubt the entrance of the hangman.

“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “let us see what fish we have caught.” His excellent English was made even more sinister by the softened consonants of Eastern Europe. He descended the ladder, taking care to see it did not touch his clothes, and as he stepped to the floor he half-snapped his fingers in irritation at some smear of dirt. As he faced them, the powerful beam of his flashlight lit the barrel of a gun in his right hand.

Rogo was caught like the principal actor in the floodlight, screwing his pugnacious face against the glare. Behind him, it showed Martin and Manny standing together, Klaas holding his daughter, and the wet-suited girl tall and straight and unflinching.

The beam lifted to catch Hely more directly. “Ah yes, of course. The one that got away. I believe you met some of my colleagues earlier.” She did not reply. Rogo thought for a second of all his unanswered questions. To one side, Jason raised a puzzled eyebrow for his benefit alone.

The silky voice went on with its commentary as the flashlight continued its search of the room. “Here, I presume, we have the captain of the little freighter.” Klaas gave a formal, stiff bow. “A girl, two little men whose New Year’s Eve dinner must have been rudely interrupted, and a tough guy.” The last remark came as the light landed again on Rogo’s narrow-eyed face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice soothed, with elaborate courtesy. “May I introduce myself. I am Captain Ilich Bela, captain of the salvage ship
Komarevo,
and I am afraid that from now on you must accept that I am in authority here.”

The eloquent beam momentarily illuminated the armed guards on either side.

“I am, in this context, a salvage expert.”

Another voice, equally casual, cut in. “An expert in salvaging other people’s money, an expert in smuggling and stealing and killing. Right, captain?”

It was Jason. Bela’s swiftly moving beam found him sitting astride a shattered generator, his back against a girder. He was grinning. “Well, Bela,” he went on, “I had a feeling you might be dropping in.”

His smile held through an interminable silence. At last, Bela spoke, “You have the advantage of me, Jason. What are you doing here?” He was obviously shocked, and not too pleased.

Jason grinned back, “Why, the same as you, of course. Trying to earn an honest crust.”

The light again flashed on the expressionless figures of the three gunmen and the towering Anton, and Bela’s words came clipped and anxious, “Don’t play games with me, Jason. You should know better than to try to take me lightly.”

Mock gravity replaced the grin. “Don’t try to frighten me with your trained poodles, Bela.”

Rogo was confused. He did not like the familiarity between the two of them. What was so special about Jason that he could joke with this crew of killers? He demanded, “What the hell is going on here?”

Jason explained, “Bela is quite a character. He’s probably the only Communist ever to grasp the principle of the profit motive. But he also knows his limitations. And he knows that if he kills me, there isn’t a port anywhere he could land and stay alive for twenty-four hours. Isn’t that a fact, Bela?”

Bela sounded more composed again. “You have a lot of friends, Captain Jason. But why argue? We are in the same line of business.”

“Oh no we are not!” Jason’s gravity was quite genuine now.

Bela was teasing. “Come, Jason, you surprise me. I heard your name mentioned in connection with several rather unorthodox cargoes.”

The others watched this meaningless exchange in silence. Jason spoke quite evenly. “My business is my business, Bela. But I don’t make money out of arming murderers. I don’t take checks for slitting throats. I don’t shift Mafia men across frontiers. No, Bela, we’re not in the same business at all.”

“Ethics, my dear Jason, mere ethics. We both supply demands. It is the law of your admirable capitalist world, is it not? I may do it for money, you may do it for some more romantic motive. It is the same thing.”

The discussion halted as one of the half-lit figures moved forward. The guns and lights turned on him. It was Klaas. He looked what he was, frightened but determined.

There was a slight quaver in his voice as he gripped tightly onto a bent rail and said, “Captain, I wish to speak with you. I have a line aboard this vessel, and you must realize that you are trespassing and will be held to account for it. As captain of the authorized salvage operation, I am in charge and I must ask you to withdraw and take these armed men with you.”

Bela’s laugh was full of enjoyment. Anton, bored with the talk, grunted with pleasure. He did not understand. But if Captain Bela was laughing then everything was all right.

“Skip it, Klaas.” The Dutchman heard Jason’s plea. “Keep out of this.”

“No, no,” said Bela, still burbling with laughter. “The good captain is right. We must address ourselves to the facts of the situation. And, of course, my good fellow, you do have salvage rights. That is a fact. It is also a fact that I can, if I wish, kill you and all your companions. You will still be quite within your rights. I shall see to it personally that it is inscribed on your gravestone.”

The Dutchman’s face crumpled. The order by which he lived had no application here. He was a man of peace among men of violence. He was powerless. He backed slowly out of the light.

“Now let us come to another fact,” Bela continued. “Which of you is Detective Lieutenant Michael Rogo?” Silence. He gestured impatiently with the flashlight. “Come now, which one?”

No one looked at Rogo. The cop stood where he was. He was amazed when he heard Martin’s shaky voice say, “Me, I’m Mike Rogo.” They all looked, everyone incredulous. “I’m the cop,” he added, and folded his arms in an unconvincing gesture of masculinity.

It was his big chance. He had watched with envy as Jason and Rogo had led the action and made the decisions. No one ever asked him what he thought. Now he was up there with the men, even if he was frightened. He knew that he could be committing suicide.

The response he got was not what he expected. Again Bela’s clear, amused, and pleasant laugh rang out. Whatever Captain Bela’s weaknesses, he was an authority on policemen. He knew, for instance, that they did not come five foot six inches high with freckled faces and voices like choirboys.

“Ah, a little hero, I see. Very brave, my friend, but it will not do, I am afraid. I would say that the policeman must be our silent friend here.” His gun barrel in the light indicated Rogo. “Yes, he has the right look of cretinous hostility.”

Rogo kept his eyes on the gun. He said, “So I’m Rogo. What’s it to you, pal?”

Bela had reverted to his persuasive mood again. “There you are, Anton,” he called across. “I promised you a little fun.”

Anton lurched forward, delight all over his face.

“Tame gorilla, huh?” Rogo said. “Call him off, fella, or I might have to throw him back in the trees.

Play it the way you know best,
Rogo told himself.
Don’t back off before hired muscle.

Bela was talking again, “You see, Lieutenant Rogo, you set us something of a problem. I personally, of course, have no argument with you. However, my employers feel it would be better if you did not leave this ship.”

The tone, the setup, the type were all familiar to Rogo. What he did not understand was the background to all this. “Why me?” he asked.

“Those are my instructions,” Bela sighed, with infinite regret. “My employers are anxious that the world shall not know about your cargo of gold. You are surprised I know about it? Ah, officer, the world is perhaps a good deal more complicated than you realize. Now please tell me where it is stored.”

So this guy was just a hood who wanted the gold. He might shoot him. But at least now Rogo would know why. He stabbed out a finger at Bela.

“This lousy tub must be about a hundred miles long and most of it’s under water. So you go swim for the gold, wise guy, because I ain’t telling.” He clamped his arms across his chest. Rogo was going down fighting.

Bela was angry. He was totally conscious of the time limit set by the boat’s precarious position. He issued rapid instructions:

“Get those sheep lined up over there. I do not want people hiding in corners.”

Directed by the gun barrels, Manny and Martin, Klaas and Coby and lastly Hely moved along the bulkhead into the light, where they grouped blinking by the companionway. Jason did not move. He stayed in the shadows, a few feet in front of the hold door. Bela ignored him.

When he turned again to Rogo, Bela was sharp and businesslike. “You will tell me where the gold is and you will tell me quickly. I am not prepared to be hindered by some ignorant American policeman.”

Rogo stepped closer to him and no fear showed. “And I ain’t going to cooperate with a fancy-talking smart-ass Commie.”

Bela was decisive and explicit. “Anton—break his bones!”

A look of anticipatory pleasure covered Anton’s face.

Rogo braced himself as he heard the giant lumber up behind him. He felt his own steeled biceps squash beneath fingers of terrible strength. He closed down the shutters of his mind and surrendered himself to the future.

It was several seconds before he realized that the calm drawl he heard was Jason talking.

“If you want to waste time bashing cops, Bela, go ahead,” he was saying. “But I would have thought a guy like you would be more interested in a deal. This ship is sinking, you know.”

“What deal?” All playfulness was gone from Bela.

“Rogo knows and won’t tell. You unleash the gorilla on him, it wastes time and you haven’t got a lot of that left. Besides, Rogo might not talk for a long time. Look at him. He’s all leather, that guy.”

Bela was impatient. “What deal?”

Jason still flopped unconcerned against the girder. He said, “Me, I’m in the neutral corner here. I’m not on anyone’s team. And I know where the gold is too.”

They were going to kill Mr. Rogo. Manny could see that quite clearly, and he marveled at his own lack of horror at the situation. It seemed as though he could not feel anything anymore. The sequence of disaster and tragedy and menace had anesthetized him. He was numb. He trudged on mechanically. All the talk of gold, the tiger, even these evil men with guns did not seem to touch him. He watched it all wonderingly. Rogo appeared to understand it. So did Jason. Even little Martin wanted to be a part of it. But Manny felt himself to be a spectator at a grotesque charade: he had no role. Now they were going to kill Mr. Rogo and he could not understand why Rogo did not protest.