Those in Peril (Unlocked) (53 page)

‘Have you left the bodies of your valiant comrades in there with that she-devil? Have you no respect for custom and law? They must be buried or committed to the sea before nightfall. Bring them out at once!’ None of them seemed in any hurry to lead another foray into the master suite, but at last they garnered sufficient courage cautiously to remove the barricade and open the door a crack. When they peered in cautiously and found that Nastiya was not lying in wait for them they rushed in together, seized the corpses and dragged them out by their heels. Then they hastily relocked the door and piled the furniture back against it.

Meanwhile, in the inner cabin Nastiya lounged in one of the black calf-skin leather chairs, eating chocolates from the box she had found in the refrigerator of the kitchenette, and idly turning the pages of one of the fashion magazines from the stack on the coffee table. She hardly looked up when she heard the Arabs in the next cabin retrieving their dead. Nastiya was wearing a pair of pale green trousers, beautifully tailored in pure new wool, and over them a vivid Emilio Pucci top from Hazel’s wardrobe.

‘The lady has eccentric taste,’ David Imbiss observed.

‘She certainly does,’ Hector agreed. ‘She has paired up with Paddy, hasn’t she? That makes eccentric seem mundane.’

T
here was one more significant incident that they were able to follow on the CCTV screens in the situation room. After his casualties had been dropped overboard with brief ceremony, Kamal was still restless. He took to leaving the bridge at odd times during the day and night. One of his lieutenants stood guard over Cyril Stamford while Kamal prowled around the rest of the ship examining the bulkheads between the compartments and the different tiers. Kamal seemed to have a nagging feeling that he had overlooked something important.

When he took to tapping sections of the hull with his dagger and listening intently to the echo, Hector gradually became alarmed. The tier below the bridge that had been converted to house the Bushmaster cannon came under Kamal’s close scrutiny. He examined it carefully, even descending to the cargo deck to peer up at the blank outer bulkhead which hid the gun deck. When Kamal returned to the bridge Hector overheard a conversation between Kamal and Cyril Stamford about this section. As usual Cyril had a plausible but totally fictional explanation. He described how this area housed delicate machinery that managed the pumps in the depths of the ship. The pumps controlled the temperature and distribution of the gas in the cargo tanks. Over a certain temperature the gas became so volatile that it could spontaneously explode and destroy the entire ship. Cyril explained to Kamal that the machinery was controlled remotely by satellite from the Bannock Corporation’s technical headquarters in the United States. Even he as ship’s captain was unable to enter the sensitive area while the ship was at sea.

‘So these people will be able to read our change of course?’ Kamal asked.

‘Does that worry you, Captain?’ Cyril asked.

‘Not at all.’ Kamal smiled and shook his head. ‘Within a few hours we will be safely in territorial waters. There is nothing they can do about it.’

However, his explorations continued, and he poked and pried into every odd corner. One afternoon he discovered the hatch that led down into the service tunnels which connected the separate gas holds, and housed the huge pumps which circulated and cooled the cargo of gas, transferring it from one tank to another to balance and trim the ship as necessary.

In Taiwan when the hull had been reconfigured to make room for the covert area, it had been necessary to move this access hatch from amidships to the port side of the stern tower. It was an awkward and unsatisfactory compromise that would attract the attention of a seaman of Kamal’s calibre. Kamal opened the hatch and found his way down into the labyrinth of tunnels below the gas storage tanks, and he explored these exhaustively. The observers in the situation room just above his head followed his progress anxiously on the infrared sensors. At one stage Kamal tapped with the handle of his dagger on one of the gas pipes and the sound of his blows carried so clearly that it sounded as if he were in the room with them. They held their breaths until, much to their relief, it seemed that Kamal had at last decided that there was nothing sinister contained in this area of the
Golden Goose
. They heard his footfalls on the steel rungs of the ladder as he climbed back past the situation room to the cargo deck.

T
he
Goose
trod down the miles of glittering tropical waters under her gigantic bows and every hour brought them closer to the African mainland.

‘Do we have an estimate of when we will reach Gandanga Bay?’ Hazel asked as they sat at the mess table.

‘The GPS gives an ETA of 0900 hours Thursday the fourteenth, that is in three days’ time,’ David answered her. They were eating Canadian bison fillets and potato chips with ketchup. Only Hector favoured the fiery jalapeño snake juice. Although this rustic meal was served on plastic plates and cutlery, the polystyrene cups were filled with a vintage Malconsorts Burgundy wine. Hazel had been keeping it for a very special occasion, and she had decided this was it. Hector tasted the wine reverently.

‘One of the rarest and most heavenly wines on this earth,’ he said sadly, ‘drunk in the most insalubrious conditions on this same earth.’

‘Eat, drink and be merry,’ Paddy advised, ‘For tomorrow we—’

‘Do shut up, Paddy!’ David interjected quickly.

‘For tomorrow we flourish?’ Hazel suggested as she raised her cup. ‘Prosper? Thrive? Succeed?’

‘For tomorrow the bad guys die,’ Hector said and they all drank the toast with fitting solemnity. As they set down their cups, Tariq darted up the companionway from the situation room.

‘Hector! Paddy! Come quick!’

‘What is it, Tariq?’ Hector demanded as he sprang to his feet.

‘New radar contact. Strange ship closing with us. Smells like trouble.’ They abandoned the meal, even the Malconsorts wine, and trooped down the companionway to the lower deck, where they gathered in front of the display screens. The contact that showed on the repeater from the ship’s radar was bright and solid.

‘Big ship,’ said Dave. ‘Let me get her speed.’ He worked quickly with the ranger and then leaned back in his chair. ‘Forty-three point six knots. Merchantmen don’t burn gas like that. This is a warship.’ He checked his other instruments. ‘Cyril is holding a constant course and speed.’

‘You bet he is!’ Hector said grimly. ‘No way can he run away from a greyhound like that one. I just hope this isn’t the US cavalry charging in to rescue us, and trampling all over the roses.’ Anxiously they watched the images being transmitted from the camera on the top of the
Goose
’s communications mast. The strange ship came swiftly up over the horizon. She was grey and austere, functional as the blade of a battle axe.

From the bridge of the
Golden Goose
the approaching ship was still below the horizon. Kamal did not have the same height advantage as the covert camera on the masthead, but he was studying the radar image avidly. When he was no longer in any doubt he turned to Cyril Stamford.

‘You are Yankee, yes?’ he demanded. Cyril was from south of the Mason-Dixon line but he did not think it wise to split hairs.

‘I am American, yes.’

‘The strange ship is going to intercept us. It is certainly an infidel warship; perhaps English or more likely American. You will speak to them.’ He seized Cyril’s shoulder and spun him around to glare into his face menacingly. ‘If they wish to board and search us you will stop them. I don’t care what or how, but you will tell them something to make them leave us. You understand, okay?’

‘I understand, okay,’ Cyril said quietly.

‘If a boarding party comes across to us, you will be dead before it arrives.’ Kamal drew his dagger and pricked Cyril’s throat. A drop of bright blood welled up from the tiny wound. ‘You understand that I am serious?’

‘I understand,’ Cyril agreed. He was standing very still but he swivelled his eyes and went on in the same quiet tone. ‘The strange ship is in sight already.’

Kamal turned away quickly and stared over the starboard quarter. The approaching vessel’s superstructure showed clearly above the horizon, and at that moment the marine frequency channel on 156.5 MHz crackled to life in the
Goose
’s radio room at the back of the bridge.

‘Bulk tanker on the port bow! This is Commander Robins aboard the United States Navy destroyer USS
Manila Bay
. What ship are you?’ Cyril glanced at Kamal.

‘You wish me to reply?’

‘Yes. But remember you will be the first to die if you make a mistake.’

Cyril nodded. He crossed the deck to the radio room and unhooked the microphone. He took his time. He did not want to appear over-willing or efficient. The other captain would expect a certain amount of slovenliness from a merchantman.

‘Hi there!
Manila Bay.
This is the
Golden Goose
. Captain Stamford. En route Sidi el Razig in the Persian Gulf to Jedda in Saudi Arabia.’ There was a long silence, then Robins came back on the line.

‘Captain Stamford, sir! You wouldn’t happen to be an American citizen by any chance?’

‘Son of a gun! How d’you know that?’ Cyril exaggerated his accent slightly. ‘Darned right I’m an American. Cyril Stamford, late commanding the US Navy cruiser
Reno
. They put me out to grass for being too old and decrepit.’ He chuckled. From the destroyer there was a momentary silence.

‘What is your port of registry and the name of your owner?’

‘My owner is Bannock Cargoes and the port of registry is Taipei.’

‘Okay! That checks out. Captain Stamford, sir! Did you perhaps have a son graduate from Anapolis in 1996?’

‘Sure did, Commander.’

‘Is his first name Timothy?’

‘You sure as hell know that it was not. His name was Bobby. And yours is Andy. You two were shipmates. Bobby brought you to our house for a barbecue one time. Have you forgotten?’

‘No, sir, Captain. I remember pretty good. I was just making sure. Your wife cooks a great apple pie.’

‘Thank you. She would have been pleased to hear that, Andy. But sadly she passed away four years ago.’

‘I am so sorry, sir.’

‘So am I, Andy.’

In the situation room Hector whistled softly. ‘Where the hell did you find this guy, Paddy? He is a prince.’

‘Sharp as a Samurai sword,’ Paddy agreed. ‘Let’s see how he staves off a boarding party.’ Delicately Andy Robins came back to the business in hand.

‘Captain Stamford, are you in full command of your ship?’

Cyril laughed easily. ‘I darned well hope so. Not senile yet, despite what the Navy thinks of me.’

‘If you need me to do so, I could send a boarding party across to you to render any assistance, sir.’

‘Very good of you, Andy, but that would disrupt both our routines. I assure you it is not necessary. Everything is under control. I am on a strict timetable.’

But Andy came back again. ‘Are you aware that you are sailing into an area of the Indian Ocean which is a hotspot of pirate activity? Only four days ago a Japanese whaler was reported taken by the pirates in the Gulf of Aden.’

‘I heard about that,’ Cyril agreed. ‘However, my owners have made arrangements with the government of Puntland. Puntland has guaranteed us free passage of its waters. We should be safe enough from molestation.’