Those in Peril (Unlocked) (50 page)

‘If you think you can treat me like a real vife, Wincent Voodvard, I vill tell Mr O’Quinn and he vill kill you, but first I vill remove by force those round things that hang between your legs and I will push them up your nose holes.’

Paddy was greatly heartened to overhear this moving expression of her feelings towards him.

A
dam’s uncle, Kamal Tippoo Tip, stood in the wheelhouse of the 110-foot captured Taiwanese trawler and watched his helicopter skimming the tops of the swells as it raced back from its reconnaissance. He turned the trawler’s bows into the light breeze to facilitate the landing. The mast and most of the superstructure had been removed from the trawler not only to assist the operation of the helicopter, but also to offer a lesser target for the radar of other shipping. Forward of the wheelhouse a wooden landing platform had been laid on top of the deck. The choice of material was also to reduce radar echoes. Now the Bell Ranger hovered above this and then delicately lowered itself until it settled with a barely perceptible jolt onto the platform. The crew ran out with mooring lines to secure the machine.

Kamal nodded his approval. The pilot was an Iranian who had been trained by the airforce of that country and was an enthusiastic recruit in the Islamic jihad against the infidel. As soon as his aircraft was secured he shut down the engine and jumped down to the trawler’s deck. He hurried back to the wheelhouse, pushing up his goggles and unwinding the scarf that covered his lower face.

‘Praise and gratitude to Allah and his exalted Prophet,’ he greeted Kamal.

‘To them be all praise and devotion,’ Kamal agreed. ‘What news, Mustapha, my brother?’

‘The infidel is delivered into your hands. The ship is only one hundred and fifteen miles ahead of us, and closing with us at a speed of well over twenty knots.’

‘You are certain it is the ship we are hunting for?’

‘There can be no other on all the oceans like her. She is bigger than a mountain and her name is on the bows and the stern. She is the
Golden Goose
. Praise be to Allah, his Prophet and all his saints.’

‘All praise and devotion to Allah! Tell me all you have seen.’

‘On her bridge three men were visible, but on her foredeck there were a man and a woman. The woman has yellow hair, and was not old. Her hair and her face were uncovered.’

‘Praise Allah! It is the Bannock whore! What of the man?’

‘He is tall and with dark hair. He was openly caressing the woman in the most obscene and shameless fashion.’

‘It is the assassin Hector Cross! This time he will not escape our righteous wrath.’ Mustapha went on to describe details of the ship’s structure and possible weak points, not forgetting the workmen’s cradle hanging conveniently over the side.

‘I must inform the Sheikh at once of our great good fortune,’ said Kamal, turning to the electronic array at the back of the wheelhouse and switching on the satellite telephone. There was a delay as his call was passed upwards but at last he heard the voice of his nephew.

‘Who is this I speak to?’

‘It is Kamal. Greetings and the blessing of Allah upon you, mighty Sheikh!’

‘And on you also blessings, revered Uncle,’ Adam answered.

‘We have found that which you seek, my beloved Sheikh. It is delivered into your hands along with the man who murdered both your father and mine.’

‘How do you know for certain that the pig Cross is on board the ship?’ Adam demanded insistently.

‘Mustapha saw him on the deck, with his whore, Allah be praised.’

‘All praise to God and his Prophet. But there is no mistake? It is the Bannock woman? Are you certain?’

‘It is certain, my Sheikh. Her head was uncovered. Her hair was yellow. It is her! The ship is fully laden and low in the water. Her cargo is worth almost as much as the vessel itself. The stupid infidel sailors have left rope ladders hanging over her side. It will be very easy to take her, my esteemed and beloved nephew and Sheikh.’

‘If you do so you will make us both very rich, my uncle. When will you reach the prize?’

‘She is on an interception course, sailing directly towards us at twenty knots. If Allah is kind we will be alongside her in less than five hours. By dawn tomorrow the ship and all its contents will be in your hands. The blood debt can at last be settled in full. As you do also, I mourn the murder of my father and your grandfather.’

‘May Allah and Muhammad his Prophet bless our enterprise, revered uncle. Make certain that the infidel dog Cross and his whore are brought to me alive. I wish to talk with them before they die.’

T
he only sounds in the situation room in the covert section of the
Golden Goose
were the soft rush of the sea along her hull, the thumping and wheezing of the gas pumps in the adjoining holds and the low hum of the electronic equipment. Hector, Paddy and David Imbiss were seated at the long table facing the computer screens. Tariq had pushed his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest. They spoke seldom and when they did it was in whispers. Hazel was curled up on the narrow padded bench at the rear of the cabin with a blanket around her shoulders. She was sleeping quietly. Most of the lighting came from the glow of the multiple CCTV screens. The clock on the wall above them showed ten minutes before midnight. Infrared sensors in each of the hidden cameras detected any live movement around the ship. When they did they automatically switched the camera on and gave it precedence on the screens. At the moment one screen showed the bridge and Cyril Stamford pacing up and down the deck, staring out into the darkness over the bows. The screen beside it showed two of his crew sitting in the mess, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Another screen abruptly switched over to the camera in the bedroom of the owner’s suite. The suite was in darkness, but the camera was in infrared mode. The images on the screen were in monochrome. Nastiya Voronova threw back the bedclothes and stood up. She wore a dark one-piece jump suit. As she crossed the deck to the door of the bathroom there was a glimpse of Vincent in the background. He was sleeping alone on the sofa against the far bulkhead.

‘No cause for anxiety there, Paddy,’ Hector murmured. Nastiya entered the bathroom and closed the door. The camera in that particular bathroom had been deactivated on Hazel’s orders. It was like watching one of those reality TV programmes such as
Big Brother
, Hector thought, and every bit as boring. Paddy closed his eyes and put his head down on his folded arms on the table top in front of him. Hector stood up and stretched. He went to pour himself a mug of black coffee from the thermos flask and returned to his chair.

‘Not much longer to wait. I can almost smell them,’ he said softly to Paddy, who opened his eyes and nodded, then lowered his head again. Hector looked back at Hazel, and almost as though she could feel his eyes upon her she opened hers and smiled at him. Then she changed her position and adjusted the pillow under her head. In the owner’s suite the door of the bathroom opened and Nastiya returned to the emperor-size bed. She pulled the cover over her head and disappeared from view.

‘Does she always sleep like a mole in a hole?’ Hector asked.

‘Mind your own bloody business, Cross,’ Paddy replied in mock indignation. Hector grinned and watched the red second-hand of the clock click relentlessly around the dial. It was now fifteen after midnight. Then suddenly one of the darkened screens at the end of the array lit up. It showed an infrared image of the tanker’s main cargo deck. Hector straightened up in his chair, and his expression changed, his eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into a hard line. This camera, which was sited on the top of the stern tower, had detected live movement, but the image of the foredeck was dark, monochromatic and distant.

‘Dave!’ Hector said curtly. ‘Pull focus on Number Four camera. There is movement there at the port deck rail.’ Dave Imbiss blinked the sleep from his eyes, and tapped a message into the keyboard of the camera controls. He zoomed in on the deck below. Now they could make out the gantry from which the rope ladders and the workmen’s cradle were suspended. Abruptly a man stepped out from behind the cable winch where he had been concealed. He was dressed all over in black and his features were hidden by a scarf wound around his face. He turned his head and looked behind him. He must have given a command or made a signal because immediately a string of similarly dressed figures swarmed up over the rail and raced down the deck towards the stern tower. Every one of them carried a weapon.

‘The Beast has arrived,’ Hector said softly. Paddy, Tariq and Hazel sprang up and crowded forward to the desk, from where they stared up at the screen in silence. Hector pressed the ‘Send’ button on his Falcon hand-held battle radio.

‘Bridge! Cross!’ he said into the microphone, and on one of the other TV screens Cyril Stamford stood up from his command chair and reached for his own set.

‘Cross! This is Stamford.’

‘They are on board,’ said Hector, still staring up at the screen. ‘Fifteen of them already, but more are coming up the ladder every second. I am losing count. Make no response. They must believe that they have achieved total surprise.’ The order was redundant; Stamford and his crew had rehearsed this drill many times.

‘Roger,’ he said. ‘Minimum retaliation and quick submission.’

‘That’s the medicine, Cyril,’ Hector agreed and changed frequency on the radio. On another screen they saw Nastiya sit up from under the bedclothes and reach for her radio set.

‘Voronova.’

‘The pirates are aboard. They will be in your cabin in a few minutes. Do not switch on the lights. Get Vincent into the bed with you. Hurry.’

‘Hokay!’

‘Remember, no fighting back.’

‘Hokay!’ she said and Hector again changed the frequency. He grinned at Paddy.

‘That wench of yours is a regular little chatterbox, isn’t she?’

‘One of her many virtues,’ Paddy replied seriously. They turned their full attention back to the TV screens as they lit up in quick succession, following the pirates as they stormed up the companion-way of the stern tower towards the bridge. Five of them burst into the crew’s quarters. The two men seated at the mess table were clubbed to the deck, and the others were dragged from their bunks and forced to their knees while their wrists were pinioned in front of them with nylon cable ties. Another gang of pirates swarmed into the bridge house howling threats and orders in Arabic.

Cyril Stamford sprang up and ran towards them shouting, ‘Who the hell are you? You are not allowed here. Get out, damn you. Get out!’ One of the pirates knocked him to the deck with the butt of his AK-47 and two others pounced on him and bound his wrists together with cable ties. The helmsman and the radio operator received the same treatment. One of the pirates went quickly to the control console and closed all the throttles.

‘It will take at least ten miles for the ship to stop,’ he said in Arabic, and removed his mask to reveal his face. His features were fierce and forbidding, his beard tinged with grey.

‘It is Kamal Tippoo Tip!’ Tariq exclaimed, staring up at the image. ‘He is Adam’s uncle and the commander of the pirate flotilla. I would know him anywhere.’

‘We were expecting him,’ Hector said. ‘The one I’m worried about is Uthmann Waddah. He’s the only one of the gang who will know that Nastiya is not Hazel, and that Vincent is not me. Keep an eye out for him.’

On the screen Kamal was still giving orders to his men. ‘Find the Bannock whore and the Christian assassin. They will certainly be in one of the cabins in the deck below us. Secure them but do not hurt them. If you value your own life make sure they stay alive.’ Five of his men hastened from the bridge to obey him. Kamal turned to his remaining men.