Sea of Terror (11 page)

"In any case, one of the passengers on the Atlantis Queen is a Ms. Gillian Harper. American. She's been in trouble half a dozen times. Two years ago she got a suspended sentence and a rehab order when she tested positive for cocaine.

"And there's a stock trader... Adrian Bollinger. Another American. He did three years for possession back in the eighties. And there's--"

"Just what is the point of this inquisition?" Alcock demanded. "That some of the people on the Queen's passenger list use drugs? Or have in the past?"

"Mr. Alcock--"

Captain Phillips interrupted, his anger barely contained now. "I think the latest statistics say that somewhere between one and three percent of the adult population either use or have used cocaine. Out of three thousand people on my ship, that's at least thirty! So what are you going to do .. . question every person on board? Treat them all like criminals?"

"Mr. Mitchell," Sir Charles said. His heavy face had gone florid, and he was perspiring freely. "Are you seriously considering delaying the Queen's departure? Do you have any
i.e.
how much revenue is involved here?"

"No, Sir Charles. I don't."

"Hundreds of thousands of pounds! Most of the passengers on that ship are on time-sensitive schedules! If there is a serious delay in sailing, they will. . . make other arrangements. Royal Sky will have to refund a fortune in moneys already paid. It could ruin this company!"

"Don't worry, Sir Charles," Alcock said. "He won't delay the sailing."

"And why won't I. do that, Mr. Alcock?" Mitchell asked.

"Because to do so legally you will need to show cause, then get an injunction from the courts. And we will file to block that injunction. The ship is due to sail at nine tomorrow morning. I don't believe you could get the legal mills turning in time, sir."

"In the case of a capital crime, Mr. Alcock, there are ways to expedite matters."

"And there is also the unsavory possibility of a lawsuit against the government. And some very bad publicity both for MI5, and for you, personally. I assure you that if you try to harm this company, your name and the name of MI5 will be prominently displayed on page one of every newspaper in the country, from the Telegraph, the Guardian, the Times, all the way down to the Sun\ After that debacle over the files your bureau holds on ordinary, law-abiding citizens ... is that really something you wish to call down upon yourself?"

Mitchell chuckled. "I'm terrified. Fortunately, I'm not suggesting that we delay the departure."

"Then what are you suggesting, sir?" Captain Phillips asked icily.

"That you take on board two additional passengers, myself and one other. There's no way we could question two thousand people, and no way we could legally hold them long enough to do so. Besides, I assure you, the government has no wish to put you out of business. But if I and an assistant could circulate among the crew and passengers for the next fortnight, we could ask our questions, carry out our investigation, and the entire matter could be kept more or less quiet."

"That seems .. . most reasonable," Sir Charles said. "What do you think, Alcock?"

"I think that the government could still find itself on the receiving end of a major lawsuit if their agents spread slanderous accusations about drug use on one of our cruise ships. I promise you, Mr. Mitchell, that any bad publicity whatsoever concerning this line or its employees could be actionable!"

"Mr. Alcock ... a man is dead." Mitchell's face was stony. "Drugs are involved. Rattle all the lawsuit threats you want at me. I promise we will be discreet, but we will do our job."

They argued for another ten minutes, but in the end Mitchell got exactly what he'd wanted all along.

There were people on board the Atlantis Queen who knew more about Darrow's murder than had emerged from the investigation so far.

And Thomas Mitchell intended to find them.

Chapter 6

Bridge, Atlantis Queen

Southampton, England

Friday, 0849 hours GMT

"the deck crew reports the gangway has been secured, Captain," Vandergrift reported.

"Very well," Phillips replied. "Single up all lines, fore and aft, and secure the spring."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Phillips walked to the port side of the spacious bridge, gazing out through the sloping windows overlooking the bow promenade and, below it and to port, the Atlantis Queen's berth alongside the Royal Sky cruise terminal. With the gangway pulled up and stowed, there were no longer security restrictions along the pier. People spilled out of the terminal to form a dense crowd alongside the ship, families, friends, and well-wishers giving her the traditional bon voyage send-off. Passengers lined the railing of the Promenade Deck, waving back, throwing confetti, and calling down inanities to the people ashore.

Tradition. . .

To starboard, the two harbor tugs Cornwall and Devonshire signaled their readiness to proceed with short whistle blasts. Southampton occupied the south-pointing arrowhead of land between two rivers, the Itchen to the east, the Test to the west. Where the rivers joined became Southampton Water, a broad, straight channel running southeast toward the coast and the Isle of Wight. The Royal Sky Line terminal was located on the Test, only a few hundred yards from the beginning of the Water. Phillips could see the numerous white triangular sails of pleasure craft beyond the Point, along with the faster-moving specks of powerboats.

Just ahead of the Queen, the harbor pilot boat chugged into position, ready to guide the ninety-thousand-ton behemoth down through Southampton Water, past the Isle of Wight, and out into the English Channel beyond.

The tide had turned and was now in ebb flow. The weather was sunny, with just a hint of haze against the southern horizon. Even the met reports had been more promising this morning.

Omens of a good cruise.

The captain tried not to think of the bad omens ... of Darrow's murder, or of the presence of two MI5 people conducting a surreptitious investigation on board his ship. He was just glad things had worked out as they had. He knew how close Royal Sky Line was running financially right now. Had the cruise been canceled or badly delayed, Phillips would have been looking for a new job .. . and there just weren't that many openings for cruise ship captains right now. It would have meant going back to piloting the Channel Ferry or skippering supply boats to North Sea oil platforms.

"Engine room reports both Azipods ready and turning," Vandergrift said. "Captain, the Queen is ready in all respects for sea."

He could only just barely feel the hum of the Queen's powerful Sulzer ZA40 diesel plant through the deck beneath his shoes as it cranked out 63.4 megawatts of power. Azipod was the brand name for the ABB Group's azimuth thruster. The Queen had two, electrically powered propellers mounted in pods beneath her stern capable of turning 360 degrees to face any direction. Normally turned with the propellers leading, in a tractor configuration, the Azipods provided the Queen with superb maneuverability.

Captain Phillips was fiercely proud of his vessel.

He glanced at the digital clock above the bridge windows. Two minutes before nine.

"Mr. Vandergrift, you may give the order to cast off fore and aft. Mr. Cardew, signal the tugs that we are ready to put to sea."

"Aye, Captain."

The last slender tethers holding the Queen to the shore were flipped free from their bollards and run on board. Towering above the crowded pier, the ship gave one short, mournful hoot from her whistle . . . then another . . . and finally a third long blast. The throngs both ashore and on board cheered and waved.

Urged along by her Azipod thrusters and gently nudged by her tugs, the huge ship edged farther out into open water, the gap between ship and shore steadily widening, the bow swinging out to align with the harbor pilot ahead.

And Captain Phillips breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

The Atlantis Queen was under way at last.

Fantail, Atlantis Queen River Test, Southampton, England Off the cruise ship dock Friday, 0901 hours GMT

At the very stern of the Atlantis Queen, Yusef Khalid stood with another man and watched the crowded pier slowly recede across the water. "Praise be to Allah," the other man said quietly in Arabic. "He has seen fit to bless us with success!"

"Success for the first steps, at any rate," Khalid replied in English. "We have many steps to go, yet."

"Allah will provide!"

"If you say so," Khalid replied with a shrug.

Khalid had little patience with the hyper-religious posturings of some of his fellow, more passionate jihadists. Passion could be a good thing when it came to war, especially when men were asked to sacrifice their lives to carry out a mission such as this one. And it was useful to pretend a passion for the Divine in order to manipulate credulous people.

But he was not in this for spiritual reasons. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Your problem," Rashid Abdul Aziz told him, still speaking in Arabic, "is that you have been too long in the World. Your faith in the Almighty and in His Prophet, bless his name, has grown weak!"

"And your problem," Khalid snapped in the same language, "is that you rely too much on God! When you fail, you claim that it must be God's will! It wasn't that you didn't plan enough, or prepare enough, or take the proper precautions, or even that the enemy was too strong, or too smart. No! It must have been God's will! Don't you see that that is the worst kind of blasphemy, that you are blaming God for what has gone wrong?"

Stunned, Aziz shook his heaJ. "You . . . you are wrong, my brother. All things are in God's hands. Our successes, and our failures as well"

Khalid took a moment to slow his breathing, the pounding of his heart. His own outburst had caught him by surprise. Where had that come from?

"I am . .. sorry," he told Aziz. It would serve no purpose to berate Aziz for his misplaced faith, or to engage in useless disputation. Let the man believe what he wanted. "I've been under a great strain lately."

And it was true. For months, now, he'd been one of the four team leaders involved in Operation Zarqawi, and the planning, the preparation, had been both intense and exhausting. There'd been a very real possibility that the police would have kept the Atlantis Queen from sailing. Had that happened, his half of the plan would have failed. Operation Zarqawi would have continued--indeed, it could not now possibly be stopped--but the strike against the hated West would be so much more devastating, so much more effective, if the Atlantis Queen could be taken and brought into the unfolding plan.

It had been a close-run thing, but the Queen had sailed despite the murder of the ship's officer, had sailed exactly as he had predicted she would when he'd first laid out his plan for approval in front of the guiding lights of al-Qaeda, in that mountain cavern back in Pakistan's Northwest Territories.

And perhaps Aziz was right. Allah was smiling upon this venture. At least, it would do no harm to allow himself to believe that, to enjoy the warmth that came with the sincere belief that God was with you.

So long as he didn't begin counting on God's blessing. What was it the Westerners said? God helps those who help themselves.

"What was our final count, Rashid?" he asked. "How many did we manage to get on board?"

"Thirty-one, praise Allah!"

"And supplies?"

"Three trucks, Amir." The honorific meant "Commander." "A total of twelve tons of explosives, as well as rifles, ammunition, detonators, hand grenades. And the special weapons. Everything we need!"

"It is good. Remind them to stay out of sight. This ship has security cameras everywhere. We don't want anyone to show himself and give our presence away too soon."

"It will be as you say, Amir."

"Our man in the security office should have passkeys for everyone before tomorrow." He pointed forward with a twitch of his head. "Go, now. Tell them to stay out of sight."

"Yes, Amir Yusef!"

Khalid pulled out his phone with its encrypted satellite link.

It was time to begin coordinating events with the Pacific Sandpiper.

Pacific Sandpiper

St. George's Channel

51deg 20' N, 5deg 45' W

Friday, 0920 hours GMT

West of Saint David's Head and the coast of Wales, the leviathan plowed forward into rolling seas and a stiff breeze. The blue-and-white-painted PNTL transport had a top speed of eighteen knots, but since leaving Barrow some two hundred nautical miles astern she'd been plodding along at a mere eight, a concession to safety regulations. Sea traffic was heavy within the confined waters between England and Ireland and the chances of a collision markedly higher. The Pacific Sandpiper's stringent insurance contracts required that she move slowly enough within congested waters that even rowboats could avoid her, or so it seemed. She would be required to crawl during her approach to the Panama Canal, and when she entered Japanese waters as well.

High on the ship's spacious bridge, her captain, Neil Jorgenson, stood next to the helm and studied the waters ahead. Their escort, the Ishikari, led the way nearly half a mile off the bow, a narrow gray silhouette rolling alarmingly from side to side in the heavy swell. To starboard rode their second escort, the Royal Navy frigate Campbeltown. The Campbeltown's Sea King helicopter was a speck in the distance to the southwest, scouting ahead for trouble.

"Looks like the Japs'll be feeding the fishes this morning, Captain," the first officer, Roger Dunsmore, said, grinning as he lowered a pair of binoculars.

Jorgenson had been a sailor for nearly all of his fifty-two years, starting out as a boy on the family fishing boat in Norway. His parents had immigrated to Great Britain in the early 1970s, and his very first adult job had been as deckhand on board a British Petroleum supply ship in the North Sea. Compared to that, a bit of roll like this was nothing.

"That's what you get when you go to sea in a cockleshell," Jorgenson replied with a shrug. He fished inside the pocket of his jacket, extracting a battered pipe and a tobacco pouch. There were regulations against smoking on board--there were regulations for everything on PNTL vessels--but at sea he was the master. He began filling the pipe. "I imagine they envy us our rock-solid little island now!"