The Death Trade (14 page)

She had a kind of Arab calmness to her, turned to the watchman, and said, “No need for that, is there? You will do as he says?”

“Sure, why not? I've just about had enough of this old tub. And if guys like you are around, I'd imagine our time is short anyway.” The watchman held out his hand. “I'll show you on one condition. That I can leave with her.”

“My pleasure,” Billy told him.

—

I
n the tween decks, he showed Billy the sliding bulkhead, which revealed an Aladdin's cave of weaponry. Boxes of rocket-propelled grenades, the ubiquitous AK-47 rifles, plus a supply of general-purpose machine guns, just right for mounting on Land Rovers. Stacks of ammunition, hand grenades, and Stinger missiles completed the picture. Billy told the watchman to wait outside, did what he had to, closed the door and followed him.

It took no more than fifteen minutes and they were back on deck, where the woman was still waiting. “I think we should go now,” she said and took the watchman's arm as a door opened in the bowels of the ship and music erupted.

They went hurriedly. Billy paused to let them get ahead and then slipped down the gangplank and started to run back along the side of the pier toward the Paradise Club and his friends on the terrace.

“So what was that all about?” Sara asked Billy when he joined them.

“The watchman had a
poule
on his lap, and she was the one smoking the cigarette. Love won out in the end, he showed me a false hold crammed with arms, and I allowed them to slide off into the sunset.” He grinned. “Obviously, not exactly like that—I mean it's dark, but you get the picture.”

“I think so,” Sara said. “You didn't have to shoot him.”

“Which makes a change,” Dillon said. “So, except for his absence, no one on the ship is aware of what happened?”

“So it would appear,” Billy told him.

“Now we wait and see what happens.”

C
aptain David Rajavi looked more than respectable in the summer uniform of a captain in the Merchant Navy. They'd made up a uniform for Abu, the bosun, consisting of a peaked cap in navy blue, a khaki shirt with black tie, and a navy blue pea jacket.

“Yes, very nice,” Rajavi said after looking him over. “Your face is still ugly enough to frighten the Devil himself. There isn't too much we can do about that, but on the other hand, it has its advantages.”

They were in the captain's cabin, Rasoul and Yousef sitting on two chairs in a corner, and Rajavi said to them, “You just sit tight. I'm going to go face the enemy, see where that gets us. I've an idea that it might be good for us to move on sooner rather than later.”

It was Rasoul who answered. “We are in your hands, Captain.”

“I'm glad you see it that way.” He picked up the internal phone and called down to the chief engineer. “I'd like you to make ready for
Kantara
to put to sea, Mr. Stagg.”

The Scottish burr sounded comforting. “And when would that be, Captain?”

“Within the next hour. I'm going to just pop in at the Paradise Club first.”

“In your best uniform, no doubt.”

“Of course. We mustn't let the side down. But I want your assurance that if I want a quick departure, I'll get one. Two long blasts on the foghorn as you cast off.”

“If that's what you want,” the old Scot said, “that's what you'll get.”

“Thank you.” Rajavi put on his cap and that, plus a certain amount of gold braid, made him look rather handsome and dashing. He led the way down the gangway to where a Land Rover waited. Abu opened the door for him, the captain got in, and the Somali slipped behind the wheel and drove away.

“Park at the bottom of the terrace steps and be ready for a very fast exit.”

“What you want, you get, Captain, you know that. So it's to be the woman?”

“I think she could prove to be the key to the whole thing. A mine of information . . . and a very useful hostage.”

They were at the bottom of the steps in a few minutes. Abu had to maneuver skillfully because of a couple of parked motorcycles, but he finally ended up pointing the right way for a quick departure.

“Good man. Here we go.” Rajavi started up the steps, climbing toward the sound of piped music, Abu following him, a light duster coat over his left arm.

—

T
he bar and dining room was distinctly overstaffed. No more than a dozen hotel guests were scattered around the cane tables, but with half a dozen waiters and three barmen serving them.

Adano, wearing a white tuxedo, was standing at the end of the bar next to the open glass doors leading on to the terrace. Rajavi moved in without hesitation, Abu remaining outside by the steps.

Adano held out a hand. “Captain Rajavi, isn't it? We saw you a couple of times last month.”

“Yes indeed,” Rajavi said.

Adano made the introductions. “Sara Gideon and Sean Dillon of the Playwright Production Co. We're considering improving our entertainment facilities. Mr. Salter here is interested in developing a diving business.”

“How interesting,” Rajavi said to Sara. “You provide acts for cabaret, is that the idea?”

Adano said, “Yes, but actually they do a very good act themselves.”

“Indeed? I'd be fascinated to hear them.”

There was a slight challenge there, or so it seemed to Adano, who dismissed it by saying to Sara and Dillon, “How about something for Captain Rajavi?”

“Why not?” Sara turned to Dillon. “Do you recall a film called
To Have and Have Not
?”

“Great novel by Ernest Hemingway,” Dillon said. “Bogart played a sea captain. His girlfriend in the movie, Lauren Bacall, sang a number called ‘How Little We Know.'”

“Would you happen to know it?”

There was a certain skepticism on Rajavi's face, but Dillon said, “For you, anything. I love that movie.”

He stepped onstage, sat down, raised the lid, and his fingers felt for the beginning. One of the waiters, a boy of sixteen named Javier, dropped his napkin, ran to the stage, and started to play the drums. Slow and sensual, the music had people mesmerized. When Sara started to sing, there was instant applause.

When she finished, there were cries for her to repeat it, so she did. After that, people made requests, calling out titles, and Sara complied, ending up singing by popular demand “As Time Goes By”
from the film
Casablanca.

But enough was enough. Adano said, “My God, I could fill the place with you two during the season.”

Sara smiled and said, “If it were only possible, Andrew,” and walked out on the terrace.

Abu was still standing at the top of the steps, the duster coat draped over an arm, and Rajavi went after her, followed by the waiter, Javier, who had played the drums. He offered her a glass of champagne on a tray, which she took, and he retreated to the open glass door and watched her, fascinated.

Rajavi said, “You are a remarkably talented young woman.”

Sara said, “I learned to play guitar as a child, and singing came naturally.”

“There's more to it than that, Captain Gideon. I think you are a woman of many talents.” A foghorn sounded mournfully twice.

She knew instantly what was happening, but in the same moment, he shoved her hard toward Abu, who punched her in the side of the face with such savagery that she was momentarily stunned, then tossed the duster coat over her head. Abu slung her over his left shoulder and went headlong down the steps to the Land Rover, followed by Rajavi.

Javier ran into Adano and the others. “The men from the ship have run off with Miss Gideon.”

Billy and Dillon ran through to the terrace, Adano trailing, reached the head of the steps, to see Rajavi vanishing inside the Land Rover after Abu and Sara. The engine started, and the vehicle roared into life and made for the
Kantara
, clearly visible in the lights on the pier.

Billy arrived at the bottom of the steps first, swung a leg over the first motorcycle, and a moment later, it roared into life. Dillon just had time to leap on the pillion and they were away in pursuit. In the distance, they saw the Land Rover stop.

The two men pulled Sara out between them and rushed up the gangway onto the ship, which was just casting off. They dragged her across the deck and mounted to the bridge.

As the ship drifted away from the pier, Billy aimed for the gangway, which was inclined upward. He accelerated and they soared over the rails, landing on the deck and sliding sideways. They kicked free and let the machine skid away. In the darkness, the ship seemed to be lit up like a Christmas tree.

At the upper-deck rail above them, two sailors appeared holding automatic shotguns. Both Dillon's Glock and Billy's Walther fired instantly. Their silencers on, they knocked the sailors back without a sound, their shotguns flying.

Someone called in English above them, “For Christ's sake, keep your heads down.”

There was a sudden silence, and Dillon said, “Let's find Sara, they were taking her up to the bridge. I'll cover you as you go up that ladder.”

Billy nodded, ran crouching across the deck. Someone glanced over the bridge rail, a porthole to one side. Dillon fired at once, the only sound glass splintering. “If you do that again, I'll kill you,” he called. “We've come for the woman. If you don't have her, stay out of it.”

—

I
t was Rasoul who had peered over. He and Yousef crouched behind the rail while Rajavi and Abu dragged Sara to where the door to the wheelhouse stood wide, brightly lit in the darkness, showing Chief Engineer Stagg at the wheel. “I'll need some help if we're to get out of here,” Rajavi said.

Rajavi's arm hugged Sara's neck, who was already regaining her senses as he squeezed and dragged her in to Stagg, followed by Abu, who tied her wrists with twine, and Rasoul and Yousef, out on the rail, heard nothing of the exchange that followed.

“Do I alter to the emergency course, make for Turkish Cyprus, or not?” Stagg asked.

Rajavi nodded to Abu. “We'll do that. You stay and help the chief engineer, I'll go round the ship and rally the troops.”

“What about the woman?”

“I'll get those two fools outside to look after her.” He dragged her out into the captain's cabin, shoved her into a chair, and called to Rasoul and Yousef, “Get in here!”

They appeared, and he said, “Obviously, this woman is not our friend.” He opened a drawer in the desk and produced a revolver. “It's nice and simple and loaded. You just pull the trigger.”

“But Dillon and the other man, what happens there?” Rasoul demanded.

“The ship, as you may have noticed, is starting to swing, which means we'll be pointing out to sea very shortly. Dillon and his young friend won't last long on their own.” He opened a small door in the corner, which gave entrance to a spiral staircase. “I'll be back soon,” he said and disappeared.

“So what are we going to do?” Yousef demanded.

Rasoul was examining the pistol. “Suddenly, everything is different,” he said.

Behind them, sitting in the chair Rajavi had thrust her into, Sara reached down with her bound hands to withdraw the flick-knife from the sheath around her right ankle. She pressed the button, and the razor-sharp blade jumped into view, slicing her bonds instantly. She pushed the blade back in and stood, the knife concealed in her hand.

They turned to look at her. “You're not laughing now, bitch,” Yousef said and snatched the pistol from Rasoul's hand. “I could put a bullet in you, but then, with a long sea voyage ahead of us, it might be to my taste to put something else into you.” He stroked her cheek with the pistol barrel. “Would you like that, eh?”

“You sick bastard,” Sara said, springing the flick-knife and ramming it under his chin. His eyes rolled as he dropped the weapon, choked on his own blood, and fell to the floor. She picked up the pistol, and Rasoul, terrified, staggered back, hands raised.

“Please, no, this whole affair has been nothing to do with me. I was at my Master's bidding. I am a simple servant.”

“Just shut up.” Sara opened the small door in the corner. “Get down there and stay out of the way, or I'll kill you.”

Rasoul did, without a moment's hesitation, and Sara flung open the door into the wheelhouse and confronted Stagg and Abu. The Somali reached in his pocket.

“I wouldn't, if I were you. I've still got blood on my hands from Yousef. Put your weapon on the floor, kick it over, then slow this tub right down.” They stood there gaping at her, uncertain what to do. “It's time scum like you learned to take women seriously.”

That was too much for Abu, who said, “Who do you think you are?”

Sara shot the lobe off his left ear instantly.

Abu grabbed it, howling, blood spurting between his fingers, and Dillon said as he walked in behind her, “That's who she is.”

Billy appeared from the darkness. “There's a ship's tender tied to the end of the passenger steps on the port side. Big outboard motor. We can get back with no trouble.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Abu. “Here, hold that on it and shut up. I say we go.”

“Agreed,” Dillon said. “As there hasn't been any sign of Captain Rajavi, I can only conclude he's decided that discretion really is the best part of valor. We'll vacate the premises, although taking the tender with us.”

“Never mind, Dad,” Billy said to Stagg. “There is one God and his Prophet is Osama.”

“Don't give me that kind of crap,” Stagg told him. “I'm just a ship's engineer, son.”

—

R
asoul had sat at the top of the spiral staircase, listening through the door. He was certain only of one thing. He had no intention of remaining on the
Kantara
.
When all was quiet, he went out and discovered that someone had bolted the wheelhouse door, leaving Stagg and Abu inside. He decided to leave them to Rajavi, but sought out the captain's black bag, remembering that it contained not only a considerable wad of cash and two mobiles, but also his and Yousef's passports. By now familiar with the ship, he located the tender in spite of the darkness and before the others. He burrowed under a pile of tarpaulins in the prow and waited.

Sara, Dillon, and Billy appeared after fifteen minutes. “Let's just get out of here,” Sara said. “It's been fraught, to say the least.”

“Yousef was a despicable human being and no loss,” Dillon told her.

“I wouldn't try telling that to his father if I were you,” Sara said impatiently. “Let's get back to some sort of civilization.”

The engine rumbled and they were on their way. Swathed in tarpaulins, Rasoul had heard only the murmur of voices, but the sound of the running engine wiped out all conversation.

“Well, there she goes, the
Kantara
,” Dillon said. “God knows where she's bound for after this, but I shan't be wishing her well.”

“I know where she's going,” Sara said. “I heard the chief engineer asking if he should change course to Turkish Cyprus.”

“I can see the point of that,” Dillon said. “Easy routes across to Turkey, Lebanon, Syria, perfect if you're running in guns by night. I should imagine Ferguson would want us to dispose of her when she gets there.”

“Well, he'll have to wait,” Billy said. “As far as I'm concerned, I'm hoping our friend Adano has got something good for supper.”

“Well, you'll soon see,” Dillon said as he sat in the stern, grasping the tiller. “There he is now, standing by the Land Rover with what looks like three or four members of his staff and a few curious locals.”

“Do you think there's likely to be any repercussions from the local police force?” Sara asked.