The QE2 Is Missing

Uzi interrupted before Josep’s temper flared again. “You shouldn’t blame your intelligence people, Josep. Remember our agents are professionals with years of experience. We have files and access to information not normally available. So take advantage of it. Do you have enough men to spare to take the cashier’s office?”

“Yes — I'll just rearrange the assignments.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll divide into three strike groups. I will head the attack on the bridge while you, Diaz, will take out the radio room. Concepcion, you will stand by with one man as a reserve. If you are not needed, then you will hit the cashier. Now when we go we strike hard and suddenly. No shooting, but knock down anyone who resists or tries to spread the alarm. We’ll go into exact details before the attack. Later. The diamonds first, then those two sons of pigs. Then the ship. One step at a time. The first step is — waiting.”

They waited, first with impatience, then with growing concern at the increased rolling of the ship. As the slow hours passed the fury of the tropical storm steadily increased. By mid-afternoon Hank, normally a good sailor, was beginning to feel some discomfort. Everyone felt the effects to some degree and they were eating dramamine pills like candy. Hank had placed a number of calls to the Lido Bar and was finally rewarded when the barman put Frances on.

“Order me a drink and I’ll be right there,” he said, then hung up. The others were watching him. “You don’t need me now,” he told them, “and I want to see my wife. Phone the Lido Bar and I’ll be back in two minutes.”

“All right,” Uzi said, speaking before there were any protests. “Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t be.”

As he made his way down the corridor towards the stern, Hank became aware just how rough the seas were. Lines had been rigged and he had to grab for them for support as the ship heaved beneath him. Then he had to stand aside as Robert, their room steward, staggered towards him with a covered tray.

“Thank you, sir. Desperate weather indeed.”

“Do you get this sort of thing often?”

“Only twice before, thank God, in my seven years aboard. These seas can’t trouble the ship, but you can’t tell some of the passengers that. Think we’re sinking. Some of them in bed, fully dressed, with life vests on, would you believe it. And sick! Excuse the expression, sir, but you being a far tougher individual eating your three squares and everything, wouldn’t know the amount of puking going on. Don’t want to complain, but you know who has to clean it up. And no one going up for meals, I been on the trot for twenty hours with tea and toast and soup until my feet have given out. Two more years I retire, sir, if I live that long.”

He heaved a deep sigh, reshouldered his tray and went weaving back down the corridor. Hank worked his way aft and had enough sense not to try the stairs but waited for the elevator to take him down to One deck. Frances was alone in the bar, looking out with some dismay at the ocean. When he touched her she gasped, then grabbed him hard and kissed him when she realized who it was.

“What an ocean!” she said, then kissed him again. “I’ve been sitting here looking at it and working myself into a black depression. Every time we go down like that I’m sure we’re going to sink.”

The view across the empty swimming pool and the stern of the ship was certainly impressive enough. As a giant wave surged down the length of the ship, its crest reached almost up to the height of the deck, in fact the strong wind tore spray from the top of the wave and spread it across the decks. Since the QE2 was so long, it did not ride up and down on the individual waves, but rather stretched between two and three waves at one time. Which meant once the wave had passed and the trough came behind it, the stern rose higher and higher above the sea. It was like looking down into a watery valley hundreds of feet deep, as high as from the top of a tall building. Then the next wave appeared and the stern went crashing down and down again, as though it would never stop. The ocean surged up and over the rails again and Frances clutched at Hank’s arm.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said, turning towards the bar and holding her so she turned with him. “I see that you have a lovely big drink — but are drinking alone. And no barman?”

“Poor Sean was definitely green when he sloped off a few minutes ago. Told me to help myself since Cunard owed me anything I wanted for riding out this storm. Then he vanished.”

“As the good gray Robert, our steward, said, you wouldn’t know the amount of puking going on! I’ll help myself.”

“Oh yes, I would. I tread the light fantastic up here from the cinema, around all the neat little piles of damp sawdust.”

“Enjoy the film?” he asked, looking at the ranks of bottles, and decided what he really needed was a large tequila and a wedge of fresh lime.