The QE2 Is Missing

“I did not say that. We are leaving the ship soon. We have done what we had to do.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Your radio room is shut down and guarded, but I have had your Chief Radio Officer in there and we have been exchanging cables with a shore station, though, of course not identifying this end as the QE2. I have had the answer that I have been waiting for. Another ship will rendezvous with us at this location. If you agree to set the correct course to get us to the appointed place at the correct time, and also agree to hold your crew in check until we get there, if you do that, why then the violence will be at an end.”

“Do I have any choice?”

“No. And someone will be dead very soon if you don’t make your mind up rather quickly.”

“Ml do it, of course. But I promise you that I will make every effort to see that you are apprehended as soon as possible when I am once more in command of this ship.”

“Of course. I expect no less.”

“Then it is agreed. I want to issue orders to the crew at once, then we’ll go to the bridge and I’ll set the course.”

The telephone rang, and the Captain answered it after Josep nodded permission.

“What does this mean?” he asked Josep, covering the phone with his hand. “Radar reports that we are within range of Clipperton Island.”

“Hang up. We’ll go to the bridge. Clipperton is simply the reference point where we stop and turn around. Let us go up there so you can take charge.”

Captain Rapley walked in front of Josep, so he did not see the smile of victory on Josep’s face, the outward sign that with this one last bit of trickery and deceit the entire operation would finally be able to fall into place.

29

The abrupt, piercing scream of the ship’s siren jerked Angus Macrahanish out of a half-doze. He was lying on his bed, reading Greenmantle, not for the first time, and sipping some good Campbletown malt now and again. This was the easiest way to pass the time until the storm died down. His wife, in the next bed, snored lightly in her sleep, rendered unconscious by a combination of lunch and large doses of dramamine. The shrill siren did not disturb her in the slightest.

“Now what the bloody hell is it?” Angus said, throwing the book down and jumping to his feet. When he stood up he realized that the ship was barely rocking, the first time in days, and that the engines had slowed, almost stopped. He went to the window and wiped off the condensation; a large rocky cliff was visible not too distant, only partially obscured by the driving rain.

“Wake up,” he said, giving Martha a shake. “Something’s happening. This bloody cruise.” Not for the first time did he wish he was still back behind his desk in Aberdeen getting a decent day’s work done and not pissing about all over the seven seas on a so-called holiday. The speaker in the wall rustled and crackled and came to life.

“This is Captain Rapley speaking. You will all have heard the alarm sounded for abandon ship. Everyone aboard has an assigned station and you will remember from boat drill that you are to proceed to your stations wearing your life jackets. Now I wish to be very frank with you. The ship is in no danger of sinking, no danger at all. But there has been a fire aboard which is being contained. Until it is absolutely secure I wish you to proceed to your boat stations. Will you kindly proceed now to your assigned stations. If you are in any doubt about this please ask your room steward who will give you specific instructions. I repeat — the ship is in no danger, no danger at all. However, noxious fumes from a small fire are creating an annoying hazard and it would be better if you left your cabins and proceeded to your stations at once.”

“Bloody hell!” Angus said, shaking his bleary-eyed wife awake again. “Wake up, that’s a good girl, wakey wakey. They’re having a bit of the old lifeboat drill just to keep us amused.”

He dug the life jackets out, then opened the door to the corridor — slammed it at once. “Bloody hell,” he muttered again to himself, and choked back a cough. Filled with acrid smoke. They had better get on deck.

“My jewels!” Martha said, knotting the ties of the vest. “I can’t leave them here. Someone will steal them.”

She dug the jewel box out of the dresser drawer and Angus took it from her and threw it into a small suitcase. Along with two bottles of whisky. There was no telling how long this nonsense would last.

Sheila Conrd hoped that what was happening would last forever — or even longer! This was passion, passion that she had never experienced before, a rising all-consuming tide of pleasure that did not stop, a wave that rose up and up and threatened to break and never did. Jesus, it was wonderful… wonderful! She was moaning, then shrieking aloud with the unbearable gorgeousness of it all, wrapping her legs around his back and pressing, squeezing, her arms tight around his back as well, her fingernails digging into his flesh.