The QE2 Is Missing

The Second Mate was indeed bored. In reality he liked chatting up the birds, and even the old folks from time to time. Behind him the door opened and he was glad of the welcome interruption. Unless it was the Captain looking in on his charge. He turned and gaped at the man in the rubber ape mask standing close behind him, at the other two men walking quickly across the bridge.

“You there, stop! You can’t come in here…. “

Bright light and pain mixed together, sudden and confusing. He had no memory of falling but he was sitting on the deck holding his face with one hand. When he pulled his hand away he saw that it was sticky with blood.

“Stand up, you,” the stranger said, waggling a pistol barrel under his nose. He must have been struck with it. He stood and saw that all the men on watch were grouped together, arms raised.

“Very good,” one of the attackers said. “Now just stand that way.” His English was good, but he had a pronounced accent. Sounded Spanish, maybe Cuban. What on earth were armed Cubans doing — hijacking the ship? It sounded impossible, but it was happening. He looked at the phone on the bulkhead out of the corners of his eyes and wondered if he could reach it. He had to warn the Captain.

“Are you out of your mind, walking in here like that?” Captain Rapley had jerked awake as his cabin light came on, in a foul humor, looking at his steward standing beside the bed, gaping and apparently shivering.

“What’s going on here? Speak up man…. “

Then the Captain saw the man who stood behind the steward and held a submachine gun pressed hard against his back. A man in cheap civilian clothes wearing a Frankenstein mask.

“Get up and get dressed,” the man said. “Quickly.”

“Plenty of traffic tonight,” the third radio operator said, watching the hammering of the telex. “You’d think with the stock market closed for the weekend that the passengers’ brokers would take a rest.”

The clacking machine had a soporific effect. He nodded, then pulled his head up with a jerk. He almost yearned for the bad old days again, when you worked the bug for hours on end, then transcribed code. Hard work but fun in a way. Now, with the communications satellites, cables and phone calls were just bounced down to them through a computer and transcribed automatically. Over the sound of the machine he heard a thudding sound and what sounded like a small groan.

“Not falling asleep on the job,” he said, turning. And stopping.

The other operator was lying on the deck with a masked man bent over him. Another man stood beside him pointing a wicked looking machine pistol of some kind at his stomach.

“Well, I’ll be God-damned,” the third radio operator said and slowly raised his hands over his head.

“The bridge, the captain’s quarters and the radio room are all secured,” Josep said. “So we won’t need you and Jorge as reserves. Take out the cashier’s office.”

Concepcion had been waiting by the telephone in the alcove under stairway G for twenty long minutes. Since there was just a single night clerk in the cashier’s office it had been decided to save this target for last; Concepcion and another Tupamaro had stood by at the phone in case there was an emergency and they were needed. But everything had gone smoothly.

“That is good,” she said. “Jorge and I will take care of that other matter now.”

“Will you need more aid?”

“Two to one. The odds are very good.” She hung up and signalled Jorge, who rose hesitantly from the chair and bent to pick up the violin case. The dramamine had his seasickness under control but he still felt less than human.

They climbed the stairs in silence and stopped outside the cashier’s office. The corridor was empty. Everything had been meticulously planned and they had carried out this kind of operation many times before. Nothing more need be said. Jorge opened the violin case and took out the two submachine guns and dropped the case on the floor. They faced each other as they flicked off the safeties and pumped the slides to put a cartridge in each chamber. When this had been done Jorge pulled a rubber vampire mask from his pocket and slipped it on. Concepcion seized the door handle and nodded. Jorge raised his gun.

“Now,” she said and threw the door open.

Jorge went in at a rush, shouting as he did.

“Hands up you! In the air!”

What happened then happened fast. The man behind the desk was white haired with great flowing silver mustachios. He was reading a magazine and he looked up as Jorge charged in at him levelling the sub-machine gun. In addition to the magazine he had a pistol in the open drawer close to his hand.

It happened so quickly that Jorge never knew what hit him. The barrel of a pistol appeared beneath the magazine and fired once, the slug hitting him square in the heart. He kept on going, face first, and was dead before he hit the deck.