Fire And Ice (43 page)

The pilot signed off.

"What's up?" Mr. Jack asked.

"I have confirmed that I'm aboard. From Shanghai." "Everything okay?"

"A-okay to Tokyo Light."

"I'll wake you at Tokyo Light." He closed the door. The pilot retched in the toilet and went back to sleep. Mr. Jack explained, "Regulations require a qualified pilot aboard. I had this bozo flown in to Shanghai." "Maritime Safety went along?"

"Long as I was willing to pay for it. And in Captain Yakamoto's case, I think they're happy to have him away for a while. Drinking man."

"Does he know what you're doing?"

"He's got trouble knowing his own name. Forget it if you're thinking you got a pal in the guy. He's all mine. Everything's ready. The Asian Princess has had Takeshiba Pier reserved for six months. Harbor master's planning to welcome the passengers personally.

"

Tokyo Light was only seven miles from Takeshiba Pier. The ship was steaming at twelve knots, the channel speed limit. Once the ship passed Tokyo Light there would be no stopping it.

What would Sarah say to him? "It's morally wrong to kill a million people"? Mr. Jack wasn't concerned about killing a million people. He liked the idea.

"Mr. Jack?"

"Yeah."

Stone nodded at the helm, which was moving at the

invisible commands of the autopilot. "What happens when something gets in front of the ship?" A good question, and he was, after all, more comfortable talking about what made things tick than about what made people tick.

"She's got more radar than Kennedy Airport. All integrated into the course computer. Something gets in our way, she slows down or turns around it."

"What if there's no place to turn?"

The old man stared, the hint of a smile on his cold mouth. "The computer blows the whistle."

"Amazing," Stone said, trying to sound impressed. "I didn't realize they had taken OMBO so far."

"This is third generation. With this outfit, you can helicopter the crew off after the ship leaves port and helicopter a docking crew on at her next port of call. Hell of a labor savings in between."

"Tough on sailboats."

"Most of 'em carry radar reflectors. Fact is, you don't even need a crew in port if it weren't for the goddammed Coast Guard regulations."

Stone commiserated, hoping to draw him into conversation. It seemed to work. While Mr. Jack monitored the computer screen, they swapped tales of Coast Guard boardings and bureaucracy. Stone told him how he got the Bushmaster from the mercenary. Mr. Jack topped him, claiming he had seduced right-wing Japanese terrorists into supporting Moss's attempt to sink Veronica.

Six times, the VHF interrupted and Mr. Jack roused the pilot to reply to other ships and Tokyo Traffic. Peering blearily at the radar repeater, the pilot ordered minor course changes which Mr. Jack punched into the computer. At other shifts in the channel, the autopilot heeled the ship through ponderous turns while Stone racked his brains for ways to keep Mr. Jack talking.

Suddenly the old man tapped the radar screen and blurted, "You think I'm nuts? You see what that is?" "That big target?"

"Bet your ass it's a big target. That's the Jap Navy's Admiral Yamamoto, biggest helicopter carrier in the world. Dollars to donuts they've got air-to-ground tactical nuke missiles. . . . I'm not really nuts, you know."

Stone stepped gingerly into the opening. "You've sure waited a long time for revenge."

"Not really. I've hated the Japs since the war, but it was only recently that I realized I had all the pieces in place to do something about it—the ship, the gas, my Shanghai buddies.

. . . Your wife tell you I'm nuts?"

Stone didn't know what to say. Mr. Jack stared at him, then answered his own question: " Your wife doesn't think I'm nuts. She thinks I'm evil."

"The only thing she cares about right now is getting Ronnie back alive." Ronnie had drifted into a kind of empty-eyed sleep, half leaning on the old man.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, dear."

"There's another lifeboat." She looked up at Mr. Jack as if expecting him to stop her, but he explained, "There were two boats. The captain took one last night."

"Ah Lee showed me how it works, Daddy. You just pull a lever and it drops off the ship."

"Free fall," said Mr. Jack. "Designed for oil rigs. Drops like a stone. Handy getaway for fires and explosions."

"What about it, dear?"

"You have to wear your seat belt. Because it really crashes. But it won't break. Right, Mr. Jack?"

"Belt in tight and close all the hatches."

"Daddy?"

"What?"

"Run!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

Mr. Jack laughed. "Chip off the old blockette. What a girl!"

"Run, Daddy!"

"I can't leave you," said Stone,

"Then who will be with Mummy?"

Stone's eyes filled. "Sweetheart."

"Kid's got a point, Doc. Maybe I'll let you go at Tokyo Light."

"Let her go."

"No."

"Why? She's just a child."

"Like you said before, Doc. I changed my plans. But I don't want to die alone. The way things have worked out, Ronnie's my best friend on the planet."

"Then let her go."

"Daddy. Please run. Tell Mummy I love her."

Stone took his daughter's eye, saw the bravery shining

there. He said, "I couldn't face her without you." "That's not fair," Ronnie shot back.

"Why don't we ask Mummy to decide?" said Mr. Jack, ... switching on the VHF. Stone stood up.

"Where you think you're going, Doc?"

"I won't let you torture her."

"Easy, Doc." Mr. Jack waved the pistol at him, then put it to Ronnie's head. Stone started walking toward him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what my wife would do."

Mr. Jack's eyes got wide. "What are you talking about? Back off, man. I'll kill her."

"Then what?" said Stone, drawing nearer.

"One more step and she's dead."

"Your best friend on the planet."

"Jesus, Doc, you don't know me. Get on the radio and ask your wife if I'll shoot. She knows me."

"We both know you."

Stone kept walking. He was eight feet from the chair. He felt like he was conning the Swan through coral heads in murky water.

"Last warning, Doc. Stop."

"You're going to kill her anyhow." .

"You asked for it. Sorry, kid—"

Ronnie pulled away, arms, legs and torso compressing like a spring. He yanked her back with the handcuff. But her free hand had already closed in a tiny fist. A shrill scream ended with the dry snap of the gunshot.

RONNIE FELL UNDER THE OLD MAN, AND THEY WENT DOWN

together like a heap of twigs and branches.

Stone grabbed frantically for the pistol. But it whipped past his hand—the 0 of the barrel full in his face.

Ronnie reared back and drove her fist a second time into Mr. Jack's wounded shoulder. The old man's eyes popped wide. Another scream, shriller than his first, spewed from his mouth, then trailed off. He convulsed and dropped the gun, grabbing his shoulder and tucking his body into a fetal ball.

Stone slid the gun across the deck and grabbed Ronnie. "You okay?" Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flaring, her lips drawn tight in a snarl. "Son of a bitch."

"Where's the handcuff key?"

"He threw it overboard."

Stone ran for the axe. Mr. Jack was moaning and clutching his arm.

"Move," Stone said to Ronnie. He shielded her hand with his, pulled the chain tight from Mr. Jack's wrist, and pounded it with the axe.

The deck absorbed the blows. He swung a dozen times, aiming for one link. It was awkward swinging with one hand. He felt Mr. Jack's eyes on him.

"Too late, Doc. You can't stop it."

"Watch me."

"Did you see the shaped charge along the waterline?"

"Yeah, I saw it."

Mr. Jack was having trouble getting a breath. "Best bomb squad in the world couldn't get that off in time." "Thanks for the warning."

"And if you turn the ship around, it's programmed to blow." Stone continued hacking at the chain. There'd be bolt cutters in the bosun's store, but he would as soon leave Ronnie alone with a wounded jackal. "Can't be programmed to blow up if you turn her around; you've already programmed her to turn away from ships the radar spots."

"There's slack built in, smart guy. Ah!" He gripped his arm harder and Stone realized, belatedly, that it wasn't only the wounded shoulder that was hurting the old man, but his entire left arm.

"You're having a heart attack, aren't you, Mr. Jack?" The old man sucked air. "Got a heart like a turbine." "How much slack is built in, Mr. Jack?"

"Fuck you!" Mr. Jack convulsed again, his lungs rasping. "Jesus! Give me a shot of something."

"How much slack?"

"You gotta give me a shot. You're a doctor."

"You got the wrong guy. I'm a lousy doctor."

The link parted. Stone wrenched Ronnie's half of the chain loose and scooped her into his arms. She was breathing almost as hard as the old man, but her eyes were starting to glaze as her mind began a merciful shutdown. Holding her tight, he ran out onto the bridge wing, out past the superstructure.

The fog had lifted. The afternoon was dull, visibility clear. They had already passed Yokohama. Kawasaki was to the left, Tokyo Light dead ahead. Once past it, the ship would be locked into the channel with no maneuvering room before it hit the inner harbor. He could see the Tokyo Tower, and hundreds of office buildings. The lights of the Ginza grew bright in the lowering winter sky.

"Where's Mummy?"

Stone had already looked. "We'll see her soon." "But Mr. Jack said we'll blow up."

"Come on, give me a hand." He carried her back into

the bridge. Mr. Jack was lying quietly with his eyes closed. "Go, wake up the pilot," Stone told Ronnie. "Pour water on him."

He hit the emergency button for the whistle, which began thundering a series of seven short blasts, and ran to the helm to view the monitor. The Dallas Belle's programmed course was laid out in a neat blue line between the harbor's outer breakwaters into the Tokyo West Passage, past container and RoRo wharves, past the signal station, past the gas wharves and the Toden Oi power plant—which would explode in secondary ignition, destroying the harbor—past the World Trade Center, where the ship would veer left out of the main channel for a thousand-yard charge at the Takeshiba Passenger Terminal.

"Here he is," said Ronnie.

The pilot was swaying on his feet, wet and belligerent, wincing at each deck-shaking blast of the whistle. Stone shoved the VHF in his hand. "Radio Tokyo Traffic Advisory. Tell them we are commencing a one-hundred-andeighty degree turn to port, across the channel and into the outbound lane. Tell them all ships stand clear. Tell them we are carrying fifty thousand tons of liquefied natural gas which is going to explode— Listen to me!" The dissipated face had gone blank. "Explode at sixteen hundred—thirty minutes from now. Tell them we're heading for the middle of the bay." The pilot blinked.

"Do it!"

On the monitor, the graphic ship representing the Dallas Belle was nearing the outer breakwater. Other ships were shown as radar targets with their speed and bearing displayed. He touched the helm, and to his relief the ship began to turn. He had been afraid the old man had locked it somehow, but the override worked and the ship was leaning in response.

He checked the impulse to run out to the wing to see. It was all there in front of him on the screen:" a column of ships coming in behind him; the column opposite, outbound. As the Dallas Belle turned, the monitor projected a blue line ahead that kept turning as the ship turned. It

looked like a scythe cutting through the radar targets. The numbers on the screen showed them changing course and speed as traffic advisory radioed warnings that caused them to scatter.

The pilot was shouting at him.

"English!" Stone yelled.

"Tokyo Traffic Advisory denies permission to stay in Tokyo Bay."

"What do they want me to do?"

"They say head for Sagami Sea."

"No way. At sixteen hundred we'd be dead center in the narrows. We'd wipe out Yokohama, Yokosuka, and Kimitsu. Tell them we're staying in the bay." The pilot edged toward the curtain.

"Ronnie! Quick! The gun."

She darted to where it had slid and ran with it to Stone. "Go back in that bathroom, sir, and close the door. We'll take you in the boat when we're ready." The pilot headed for the curtain. Stone squeezed the trigger. Glass shattered. The man covered his head with both hands and ran into.the cubicle.

"How you doing there, sweetie?"

"I'm okay. I think. You okay?"

"Wonderful. What time is it?"

"Fifteen forty-eight."

"You know your way to the lifeboat?"

"Yes."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"Four minutes."

"Is it all ready to go?"

"Oh yeah. You just jump in and pull the lever." "Is the elevator here? Why don't you check?"

She ran through the curtain. Stone watched the monitor.

A very large ship was cutting across the Dallas Belle's

bow. Stone held the whistle down and stayed on course. "Mr. Jack? Can you hear me?"

"I hear you, you bastard."

"Can you walk?"

"No."

"We'll carry you."

"Let me die my way."

Stone looked down at the crazy old face. "I'm not leaving you anywhere near the helm." Ronnie came back. "Elevator's here. It's fifteen fifty-one, Daddy." He beckoned the pilot, who was watching from the glass bathroom. The man rushed out.

"Help him up," Stone said. "We're outta here." Mr. Jack rose to one knee, moaning with pain.

"Hang on," said Stone, and locked the helm hard over. A warning siren shrieked. The Dallas Belle crash-turned to port, heeling like a destroyer. Stone hit the automatic emergency on the whistle again and they retreated from the bridge, fighting the steep incline of the circling ship.

Mr. Jack and the pilot struggled into the elevator. Stone followed, holding the gun in one hand, scooping Ronnie into his other arm as the car descended. When the door opened on the main deck, they again struggled against the steep incline as Ronnie led them out an aft hatch onto the afterdeck.