The Abigail Affair (38 page)

He heard a shot.

He felt nothing.

Hold on.
If he heard the shot, he wasn’t dead.

Where had he been struck?

He did a quick inventory of his body. It all seemed OK. No pain.

He wasn’t even hit.

What the hell?

Haase’s eyes opened wide. Then his knees buckled and he toppled forward. The gun dropped from his hand and fell towards the water. The man belly-flopped into the pool with a splash. He almost landed on top of Toby, who rediscovered the power of movement and dived to one side.

Toby came up on the far side of the pool, furthest away from the action.

He pulled himself up, got a knee on the edge of the pool and clambered out, hair dripping. His ill-fitting shorts had slipped down. He pulled them up and surveyed the scene. His pulse boomed. He tried to control his breathing. Haase was motionless, floating on his front with his limbs outstretched.

Julia stood with a gun in her hand, still in the firing position.

Toby looked back at the body in the pool.

Somehow, Julia had shot Haase in the back of the neck.

Spiegl lay motionless beside the teak patio table, which had fallen on its side.

Toby looked back at the pool. Then at the deck. Two bodies in the pool. One on the deck. He counted them again to be sure.

All three men down.

No other hostiles evident.

He and Julia were safe.

He looked back at Julia. She still held her weapon.

“Put it down, Julia,” he called. “You’re making me nervous.”

She remained motionless.

“Put it down.”

Finally, she lowered her arm and tucked away the gun. Toby took the few paces over to her and put his arms gently around her. “How did we do that?” he asked. He pointed back at the pool. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“I think we both realised we had to try something. Your run to the pool was a good diversion.”

“I thought Haase got you.”

“No, he fired too quickly and just missed. I felt it pass by my head. I decided the safe thing to do was to shriek and collapse anyway, play dead and hope that he would then go after you. Which he did.”

“Quick thinking. Have you killed Spiegl?”

“I hope not, but I might have overdone it. I did hit him very hard indeed with the business end of my putter. He was only distracted for a split second, by you and the incoming call, so I had to move very quickly. I thought it better to err on the side of caution.”

“Absolutely.”

“I hoped Spiegl would have his own firearm. It wasn’t obvious on his person, I couldn’t see any bulges of holsters, so it was going to be a little girl’s gun for close combat if he had one at all. But logically he had to be armed, being so close to Krigov and us. Anyway, he
was
carrying, in the front of his pants. Once I had his little popgun, it was only a matter of stopping Haase before he got you. That meant I had to get extremely lucky. Those things won’t stop the average dog, and usually bounce off a skull at that distance. And they’re really inaccurate. Luckily, I got him in the neck, which was the plan. If I’d missed or connected just about anywhere else, he would have got his shot off and you would be dead meat.”

“I guess all that training on the range paid off.”

“I’ve shot all my adult life. One of the benefits of the Second Amendment.”

“’The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.’”

“Absolutely. And the CIA does require its field operatives to be able to handle themselves.”

“Good shooting, partner.”

“Good work yourself, Toby.”

Toby looked up at the hills bordering Nelson Bay, now dotted with orange streetlights. He watched a car’s headlights sweep the hillside as the vehicle ascended. On the skyline, a glimmer of milky light appeared. In a few more seconds, he could see that it was the full moon, rising in the east.

“Thank you. Can I kiss you now?”

She sighed. “Talk about a one-track mind. No. We’re not home free yet, Toby. You gotta keep moving. We need to restrain Spiegl for when he comes to. Although I think he’ll have an emperor-sized hangover, which should slow him down for some time.”

They moved to the prone Spiegl. Julia pulled out the gun again and held it in the firing position, using both hands.

“Get some iced water and try to rouse him. And something to tie him up.”

“OK. And I might be able to find the paper with the bomb coordinates on it.”

“Good. Get it. Hurry.”

Toby scurried to the stateroom entrance door, pulled it open and entered. Inside, everything looked normal enough. There was his bar, ready for action. First, he ran up the stairs to the bridge, keyed in the access code and squeezed through the door before it had slid fully open.

The paper could well be where he left it.

He went to the printer and raised the platen.

Nothing.

Hell!

He hurried out, down to the stateroom, went across to the bar, and opened the flap of the stainless-steel icemaker. No ice. Haase had been negligent in his duties. A good barman always has ice to hand. Toby grabbed up the ice bucket, conscious that Julia was outside waiting for him, standing over Spiegl.

He headed for the corridor to the galley. Reserve bags of ice were kept in the freezers. The air-conditioning purred so gently that it almost seemed to accentuate the silence. Toby’s clothes were wet through from his time in the pool, and he found himself shivering a little in the dry, cool air. The shock of the recent action hadn’t helped, either. He put his hand in the small of his back. There was a bruise coming up where he had grazed himself falling into the pool.

He pulled open the galley door.

Something was wrong, he saw immediately. There were heaps of laundry on the floor. Sheets had been pulled over the top of the pile, which was about waist height. But Toby knew that somehow this wasn’t dirty washing. At least, not of the linen variety.

Chapter 40

With trepidation, Toby pulled aside the sheet on top. There was another layer of sheet underneath, with some stains that could only be blood. He pulled aside this sheet too. He saw flesh tones and the glint of a gold ring. Fingers with dirty nails, fingers with clean nails. Blood stains. And what was that? Pulpy, bloodstained meat. His pulse pounded. His brain only made sense of the images when he saw the owl-like spectacles of Timmins the engineer, the lenses splattered with blood. He looked for a face to match them to. But there were no faces that you could recognise.

But these were the bodies of the crew, nonetheless. Each had been shot at point-blank range in the back of the head with an extremely powerful weapon loaded with ammunition which had torn their entire faces apart when the projectile exited.

He pulled aside more sheeting. Only the hands and clothes gave clues as to the identities. That one must be Scott. And that one, his former nemesis Ski-Pants, recognisable by his long, skeletal fingers. The tubby one was Timmins. How many were there? He had never met the captain or chief engineer, but they were surely in the nightmarish tangle of death.

So much for the crew partying ashore.

But the sight of what he had first thought to be laundry had at least jogged Toby’s memory. He now knew where the other paper with the bomb coordinates was—the copy he had made.

He stepped around the edge of the grisly mound and opened the freezer. He half-expected another gruesome cadaver to tumble out on top of him. But the freezer held the usual contents. He scooped ice into his bucket and retraced his steps. As he reached the stateroom, he remembered the rope or twine to secure Spiegl. He ducked to the door, opened it and checked that Julia was OK. She looked up, still in the gun-ready posture. “For God’s sake, Toby, where have you been? You gotta move faster.”

“Coming,” Toby said. He hurried back to the galley, ignored the heap of dead human meat on the floor, and tore open drawers like a burglar raiding a kitchen. Chef must have some string at least. Yes, here it was, a ball of stout twine for trussing chickens and joints of meat. He seized a paring knife too, and panted back to Julia’s side.

“They shot the crew,” he said breathlessly. He crouched down and together they turned Spiegl over.

The man was breathing.

“Careful!” Julia commanded. “He may be playing possum! Turn him over again. Tie him good. Cross his wrists behind his back and tie it all around. Tight. Tight as you can. And quickly.”

Toby obeyed. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard five shots earlier. I imagined the worst. The party scenario didn’t convince. Pull tighter. I want it to hurt, as well.”

“No problem.” He heaved on the string and wound it around and around. The man stirred and a low moan issued from him. Good. He was coming to, aided by the pain. “Will Spiegl disarm the nukes if we revive him?”

“Not for you or me, but we’ll transfer him somewhere secure like the Embassy and give him some harsh interrogation. That never fails.”

“I thought you gave all that up after George W Bush, and now you just asked them politely.”

“Get real. If he’s set four nuclear devices, I think we’ll make an exception. We don’t have much time. What—four hours? We need to get the reinforcements in here fast. Tie his feet too. Did you get the paper with the coordinates of the bombs?”

“Not yet. I just worked out where the copy is, though.”

“Where?”

“It was in my uniform shorts pocket. The back buttoned pocket. They made me change before they put me ashore after Irina’s death. I left the shorts and shirt in the boat bay. They probably got taken to the laundry, because they weren’t there later. Did you do my laundry?
Darling
?” He raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips.

“Yes, I did laundry every day,
my dear
. Chief stewardess, remember? And the pressing, so you and the rest of the crew could strut around looking sharp. I remember doing those shorts. I checked the side pockets for tissues and coins and condoms and chewing gum, but maybe not the button-up pocket. The paper should still be in there. Good work, Toby. You get on to your man Smithers and rustle up the Marines from our Embassy and a helicopter from
HMS Surrey
with an armed party, and we can retrieve something from this sorry mess. Although I guess the twenty billion bucks have gone. I assume that was the satellite call he was about to take when I whacked him.” She looked up at Toby. Her face was a mess, but not such a mess as those of the rest of the crew down below.

Over her head, the full moon was now visible as a complete disc in the darkened sky.

Toby felt his spirits start to lift a little. He picked up the ice bucket. “Shall we?”

Julia nodded. The ice had already started to melt in the hot night air. Toby tipped the bucket and let a trickle of icy water flow over Spiegl’s face and nostrils. The man grunted and stirred, then snorted as the water went up his nose.

“Reflexes seem OK. But he has got a big bump on his bonce,” he said. A lump the size of an orange and of similar hue protruded from Spiegl’s skull above and behind the ear.

“I think he’s haemorrhaging. Shit,” Julia said. She squatted down and felt carefully around the man’s ear and face, probing the swelling. “Get on that phone now, Toby.”

He bent down to pick up the dropped Iridium phone.

There was no display. “It broke when he dropped it. No, wait. The battery has come unclipped.” He rotated the retaining clips for the battery, removed it, replaced it, and locked it in. He pressed the power button and puffed out his cheeks with relief when the welcome screen lit up.

A moment later, his hopes were dashed again when “ENTER PIN” flashed up. “Hell. There’s a PIN code.”

“Try 1111 and 1234,” commanded Julia, urgency in her voice. “This man is not going to be any help to us unless we can get him medical attention and stop the bleeding.” As if to confirm this diagnosis, Spiegl suddenly convulsed. His body jackknifed at the waist, his legs jerked, and his eyelids opened. Only the whites of his eyes were visible, like a zombie in a movie. After a moment, the shaking stopped.

Toby, meanwhile, tried the two PIN codes. Each time, “INCORRECT PIN” flashed up. “I may not have more than one more go,” he said. “What shall I try?”

“Go find a cell phone. The captain has one. There might be some international service back in action. If not, we’ll call the US Embassy here.
Move it
.”

“Right-oh.” The prospect of returning to the galley with its grisly mound of death was unappealing, but clearly essential. He scooted off. His clothes were still clammy from his immersion, but at least he had stopped dripping. He hurried barefoot back to the galley. Now he had to find the captain. He pulled at the topmost body, Scott. He was heavy, like a sack of cement. It was amazing how uncooperative a corpse was. Having dealt with Irina already, he was becoming quite an expert.

Scott tumbled over. His arm flailed spookily as he flopped down to the floor. Next was Ski-Pants. Toby put his foot on him and shoved. He almost gagged at the sight of the man’s face as it became visible. What sort of men could do this? The same breed as could fly a passenger plane into a skyscraper, he guessed.

The captain was identifiable by his epaulettes, thank goodness. Toby leaned over, trying not to look at the face. He reached into the dead man’s pockets in turn. Nothing. Damn. Then he felt around the waist. Yes—a phone on a belt clip. He tore it off and raced back to the sundeck. “Got it.”

“Call the Brits. Now.”

Chapter 41

Toby unlocked the phone. There was a new text message. He pressed “view.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR DARLING, THINKING OF YOU OUT THERE, HOPE YOU GET A RUM PUNCH OR TWO AT MIDNIGHT! THE TWINS SAY HI TO DADDY XXXXXX.”

The captain’s wife.

She would never see him alive again. Nor would the twins.