The Hostage (48 page)

He heard someone outside on deck and pulled back behind the door and out of sight. His immediate question was if he should capture them as they stepped into the corridor or let them pass. If he was going to take this boat, dealing with the crew one at a time was the perfect solution and a gift from God if he could have them all that way. He decided not to pass on this opportunity, especially since the target would have his back to him. He would shove the barrel into the back of the man’s head and take him somewhere where he could secure him. Hank gripped the weapon tightly, clenched his jaw, determined and ready to be ruthless. But whoever it was continued along the deck past the open door. Hank released the chest full of air he had been holding and relaxed his grip on his weapon to let the blood flow back into his fingers.

He stepped out from behind the door and looked outside once again, this time poking his head out enough to look left and right. There was no sign of life. Up to a few metres out from the side of the boat the water was bathed in light. Beyond that it was black. He could just about make out the far bank, a dark line a good hundred feet or so away. There were clusters of lights up and down the river but none directly opposite other than in the far distance, perhaps a mile or so away.

He stepped back into the corridor and walked along it to the opposite end to explore the other side of the boat. The door was not fully closed and there was a gap large enough for him to see through. The edge of the quay was a couple of feet higher than the rails and there was a gap of a few feet between it and the boat. Hank would have to climb on to the rail and scramble on to the quay, which didn’t present a problem other than he would be in full view of the deck above and the bridge.The quay itself looked quite open, the nearest building at least thirty yards away. There wasn’t a soul in sight. If a lookout wanted to take a shot at him as he ran they would have a fair amount of time to do so. Where he headed to depended on the country he was in.The Med or Atlantic, Seamus had said. Hank suddenly thought of that poor bastard and where he was right now. No doubt at the bottom of one of those seas.

He gleaned nothing about the country from the few silhouettes of buildings he could see. There was a sign on the warehouse or factory opposite but not enough light for him to make out the letters. His confidence in being able to escape increased yet again and he therefore decided to stick with the plan and recce the rest of the boat. It was time to check the deck above and then perhaps get a look into the bridge.

He moved back to the centre of the corridor, where the central staircase ran up another two flights, and made his way up to the next deck. He peeped through the open doorway into the corridor and counted four internal doors, cabins most likely, and noted the heavy doors either end of the corridor that led to the outside were closed.

He decided to ignore that deck for the time being, moved back into the stairwell, and cautiously climbed the last flight of stairs until the bridge door came into view. There was no glass in it as he had hoped but he could hear men’s voices. It sounded as if they were speaking English but he couldn’t be sure. Only for a second did he think about rushing in on them, but since he did not know the layout of the bridge or the number of people in it, it was not the wisest idea. Even if he survived unscathed, a gunfight would bring others and things might then come unstuck. The risk was more than he was prepared to take. This was about survival first and being a hero second. He had every intention of going home to his wife and children in one piece. Taking the boat was a bonus, not an essential. But so far, the option was still open. While he had the advantage and the freedom he would continue to test its feasibility.

He went back down to the corridor and stepped inside. He ignored the four cabin doors and headed to the heavy metal door at the port-side end. He released his weapon to hang by its strap and carefully unclipped the six dogs that surrounded the door and then gave it a little shove with his shoulder to open it an inch. He paused to listen. There was nothing unusual. He opened the door enough to step through and shut it behind him, turning one of the dogs to hold it closed.

The water shimmered below as he stood on a platform with stairs running down to the main deck and up to the bridge wing, a larger platform outside the bridge.

Hank focused his attention above and climbed the steps, high enough to be able to see the bridge over the lip of the bridge wing. The bridge itself was surrounded on three sides by plate glass from the ceiling down to rail level. It was slightly darker inside than it was outside making it difficult to see. Hank took another step up and could then make out three men and possibly a fourth on the far side.

‘Don’t fall off there, Pat,’ came a man’s voice from below. Hank almost did exactly that as he fumbled to turn and level his gun. When he looked below a man, wearing a red work jacket and blue bobble hat, was heading casually along the deck to the bows. He had obviously mistaken Hank for the young Irishman, the owner of the coat. Hank quickly climbed back down the steps and into the corridor. This was becoming risky, he warned himself.The more he moved about the greater the chance of bumping into someone, and the longer he took increased the odds on someone becoming curious about the whereabouts of the two men he whacked.The ship-takeover was becoming less of an option. If he sneaked off right away all signs indicated he could manage it without anyone noticing.

 

Spinks had maintained a running commentary on his radio, describing the activity he had seen on the boat in every detail. He had counted eight different persons since he moved into his OP and had become familiar enough with four of them to differentiate. The man in the red coat and blue bobble hat had been given the name Red. He was the most active on deck and probably the duty crewmember since he was the only one who seemed to be doing any work. There were two who wore yellow waterproof jackets, known as Yellow One and Yellow Two and Spinks had confirmed that both carried SMGs under their jackets. Yellow One was about six foot and Yellow Two, dark-haired, shorter and stockier than his mate, had not been seen for a while. A new crewman, also in a yellow coat and carrying an SMG, had appeared on the main deck level a short time ago and Spinks named him Yellow Three. The most recent movement was Red passing along the main deck while Yellow Three climbed the superstructure staircase halfway to the bridge seemingly looking for something. After a brief word with Red, who carried on aft, Yellow Three went down and back into B deck superstructure.

Bob, on the roof of the corn exchange, shared his space on the ledge with an M squadron sniper and another operative holding a directional microphone aimed at the bridge. They had a good view of the top of the boat and the starboard side and Bob confirmed or added to Spinks’s commentary when appropriate.The combined observers and listeners updated every movement on board so the assault teams could establish routines, habits and most importantly pinpoint the whereabouts of each crewman, information that would be useful when they got the ‘go’.

In the makeshift ops room behind the corn exchange Captain Singen and the team leaders pored over blueprints and plans of the boat that had been faxed from London. Everyone was dressed and ready to go at a second’s notice. Over their Kevlar assault suits they wore biological warfare suits, a one-piece outfit made of absorbent material and a neutralising agent. It had a hood designed to fit completely over the head and snugly around a gasmask.The suit generally made things more cumbersome but no one complained or considered going in without one. Each man was aware what could be on board and what the consequences might be if it were released. The possibility that the bio might even be thrown at one of them had been considered and so each man carried a decontamination spray as well as a bag of absorbent powder. There was nothing more they could do to prepare themselves.

Most of the men sat back and waited, keeping movement to a minimum to avoid overheating. Their faces were already wet with perspiration just sitting still. Not that they cared much at present. Each was thinking of his own role in the upcoming assault. They had been told that there was a very high chance they would be going in hot. That was as good as it got in this job. When the signal was given it would be a simultaneous multi-pronged attack. Snipers would take aim as three teams sprinted from the shadows of the corn exchange. When the teams were halfway to the target the snipers would take out anyone in view using the silenced, high-velocity 22.250 rifles, more ideal for this scenario than the Barking Dogs. It had been decided not to use incendiaries, percussion devices or entry charges for fear the bio, should it be in a glass container or similar, might not take kindly to the shockwaves. All weapons were suppressed, meaning they were virtually silent but for the metallic clatter of the breach mechanism as it shunted back and forth like a piston, picking up and firing bullets. Speed and stealth were the watchwords. The most difficult order to interpret was that if a target was even suspected of holding the bottle he was not to be shot unless he was an absolute threat to life.

‘Red from aft to stern-port side,’ came Spinks’s voice over each man’s earpiece.

Lieutenant Stewart flexed his back and stretched his arms to test the movement in his extra large bio-suit. He was the biggest operative on the assault although everyone looked like a giant in the outfits. He looked over at Jasper, who was quietly staring into space, chewing his tobacco. Pete was the other side of the room studying a copy of the ship’s blueprints. The three Americans had been divided up into the three teams. They would have preferred to stay together as a single team but that had been overridden. Since they had not trained with the rest of the men the variation in two standard procedures was considered a danger in such a confined space. They could live with that though and had not argued. It was after all the wisest choice and at least they were going in.

Captain Singen checked his watch. In this situation he would not have the power to give a ‘go’ under any circumstances, even if Hank were dragged on deck and hung by his neck from the cargo winch. The priority was the virus and the decision to charge on board, guns blazing, to capture it was going to have to come from on high. That might happen in the next second or days from now.

 

Bill opened the door to the apartment building and held it open for Aggy. He still hadn’t worked out how he was going to tell her she couldn’t come in. They had hardly talked on their walk. He thought they might pop into a pub for a drink but she didn’t suggest it and he didn’t feel like it either, so they kept on walking the streets in a large square until they ended back at the building.

Because of her strange attitude he had suspected she was looking for a way to tell him it was over between them; that would have upset him even though he knew it was over anyway. But when he asked her if everything was okay she smiled and apologised for being so distant and explained that she had family matters on her mind and her silence had nothing to do with him. That only made him wonder if he should announce the end of the relationship himself, but that would only lead to questions and explanations he was not in the mood to create. What bothered him most was how she would think of him when she eventually learned he had been the IRA mole. He wanted to find a way of saying goodbye that would contain some sort of hidden message, something she would understand the meaning of later. It would take something special to convince Aggy he had not been her sworn enemy. But as proud as he was of his gift for the gab he couldn’t find the words in the twenty minutes they had been walking.

He followed her up the stairs and when they arrived at his front door she stood back from it.

‘Well, then,’ she said. It was a clear message that this was to be their parting point and that she was not coming inside. Once again Bill was hurt by the rejection even though it saved him doing the same to her.

‘I understand,’ he said, lying, curious as to why she did not want to come in. He began to wonder why she had come to see him in the first place.

‘I don’t think you do,’ she said, stepping closer and putting her arms around his neck. She had already decided she would remain affectionate towards him, not because of any urge to but it was the least suspicious thing she could do. She was compensating for her inability to act natural with him earlier, worried that he might be wondering why she had come over. But her task was complete. It didn’t really matter after she left. She had given Stratton his twenty minutes.This would be all over soon anyway, and Bill would be arrested.

Bill held her tightly, wanting her terribly, knowing this was the last time he would hold her.

‘I suppose I’ll see you over the water,’ she said.

‘Yes . . . Maybe we can hop down to the Golden Harp next Friday. That band last week was good, wasn’t it?’

‘They were,’ she said.

‘Remember you have that op Tarquin coming up next week. I hear they’re going to let you plan that one. Your first op.’

‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘The weapons cache in Omagh?’

‘Team leader. I heard the CO give it the nod himself,’ Bill said with a wink. Deep down, behind the smile, he was suddenly missing his job in Ireland too. It had become so much more fun since he started seeing Aggy. ‘You’ll be running the detachments before you know it,’ he said.

She smiled with difficulty. His comment only served to fuel bitterness towards him. Not just because of his deceit but every op Bill had anything to do with or could conceivably know about would be cancelled. And anyway, her career was over, even after this little job. She had always wanted to run her own op. Now, just as that was about to happen, it was all over.

He moved a strand of hair off her brow, an excuse to touch her and look at her face, her eyes, her perfect lips. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said.