Cruise the Storm

by David Chilcott

  He looked at his watch, realised it was lunch time already. Getting up late always caught him out. He set off for The Bar on level five. When he arrived there he saw three tables in the far corner with his members drinking pints and eating sandwiches. At least they had the sense to sit apart from the punters. Or maybe the punters had the sense to sit apart from them. He went to the bar, bought a half shandy, then wandered over to the first table where his second in command, Kevin sat. Audrey was also at the table looking like a streetwalker. Maybe she shagged the members last night, or perhaps the whole ship for all he knew or cared.

  He kicked out a chair and sat down. "Hi!" he said looking at Kevin when he said it. Kevin looked up.

  "Where have you bin?" he asked.

  "Working," replied Bourne. "Checking that the cargo comes aboard on Friday morning, early, and I can tell you it will. Let the others know to stay in their cabins until the delivery has been made."

  Audrey was watching him; when he looked over she smiled and fluttered her lashes. He remained deadpan and did not acknowledge her in any way. His sandwich came, delivered by the waiter. He devoured it swiftly, stood up and made his way to his cabin.

  Chapter 14

  The ship left Vigo at 6pm that evening and they would not arrive at Malaga until 8pm the following day, and there would be an opportunity there for a tour of the night life in the city. The tour bus would collect from the ship at 11pm, since Spanish nightlife started late.

  The next day, it was art class as usual for McBride, and the members arrived clutching the paintings that they had started, even if not finished, on the quayside in Vigo.

  "Good morning," said McBride, "we'll start off this morning comparing paintings and I'll do some quick appraisals. First I'll just pin up the two scenes I did myself."

  He pinned both on the pin board behind him. "I hope to pin some others up there, so I'll come round and have a look." He wandered over to the captain. He looked down at his painting. "Now, class look at your captain's painting here," and he held the paper up, "this is an excellent effort and if the rest of you are near to this standard I may as well go home!!"

  There was an outbreak of talking and it was obvious that the painting was well received.

  By the time McBride had looked at the rest of the class efforts he knew that seventy percent would never get much better.

  At eleven o'clock the captain stood up and said to McBride: "You must excuse me, I have a meeting, but I'll be back at your next class." He collected his belongings and left the room

  The captain hurried down the corridor. Standing waiting by the captain's cabin door was the Catering Director and the MI5 man.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting," said the captain unlocking the door, throwing his painting gear on a chair, as he entered. "Please sit yourselves round the desk there. Gordon, meet Michael Morton. He's travelling as a guest, but in fact represents MI5. Mike, this is Gordon London, our catering director."

  The captain sat in his chair, tipping it back on two legs. "Mike here got in touch with the Line and then spoke to me. Some of our guests on this voyage are being watched by MI5. There are twelve of them, and Mike doesn't think they are on a works outing. I'll let him enlarge on that."

  "Yes. We have been keeping an eye on them for a couple of years. We think they may be trying to hijack this ship." Gordon's eyebrows climbed. "Surely not."

  "Well we hope not, but if not why are they here? Of course at the moment it's very doubtful if they have any weapons. As you know, passengers and their luggage is scanned. But, from time to time, the captain tells me you take on food stores en route. Do you scan that?"

  Gordon shifted in his seat. "It hasn't been found necessary. It all comes in from one of our chandlers. Which chandler depends on which port. Also some chandlers have branches, and in the case we could be dealing with them at several pick up points. Mostly we are picking up fruits and vegetables, especially if it is economical to do that. And of course we can run out of stock that is mostly due to guests all eating the same items on the menu. But that is quite rare."

  "Are the goods coming in on pallets?" said Morton.

  "Well, yes, mostly. Cardboard cartons on pallets."

  "How quickly do they get unpacked?"

  Gordon said, "The goods get taken off the pallets straight away and the cartons are put on our own shelving systems. In the case of fruit and vegetables, they go straight into a refrigerated room at about ten degrees. We try to get the pallets off board again straight away. We don't have much surplus space for waste."

  Morton asked, "When do you next take on supplies, Gordon?"

  "Tomorrow morning, 7am. Oranges and grapefruits, cardboard cartons, on two pallets."

  "I shall want you to have someone you trust stand by whilst the cartons are transhipped off the pallets, and then whilst every carton is opened, to make sure that what they contain is what is written on the box. Is that okay with you, Captain?"

  "Yes," said the captain. "Tell us some more about your terrorists."

  "Known as White Christian League, leader Keith Bourne is a breakaway organisation from the English Defence League. About two years ago this happened. Bourne was too wild even by English Defence League standards, and they were happy to wave him goodbye. Took about twenty or thirty naughty people with him, and I have to say that the membership could now be in the region of ten thousand. Extremely anti- Jewish, totally anti–Muslim, and so far right-wing that they are out of sight. They have organised many street riots, and last month a mosque was firebombed, with ten people being burned to death. You may have seen that on the news. We are certain that it was the work of League personnel.

  "We know that Bourne has ideas of forming a new nation, but needs money for that. Hence a good hijack, if successful, could swell the coffers."

  The captain looked sceptical. "No-one has ever come close to success. Not with ship hijacks."

  "No," agreed Morton, "and I'm not saying that the League could pull it off. In fact, they are ten to one against, in the betting stakes. But they could cause a lot of deaths and damage trying. Bourne is a driven mental case, a loser trying to be a winner. Another Hitler, but worse.

  "Well, Gordon, if you can stand by yourself tomorrow morning, and ensure the cargo is searched, that's all we can do. Report to the captain, especially if anything is found."

  Chapter 15

  Fortune does not always favour the brave. Something happened later that day that would alter the odds of a ship hijack.

  The manager of the ships' chandlers was working at his desk, sheets of paper littering the surface. He knew that there was never going to be a paperless revolution, not in his lifetime, at least. There was a knock on the door and his foreman came in without waiting for a response.

  "Pablo, I have no staff early in the morning, I see you have a delivery to the Helena at 7am. Two pallets only. Why cannot we deliver tonight? It is due to dock at 8pm. I can do it myself"

  Pablo was anxious to finish the paperwork, he had a date tonight and wasn't going to miss it. "Okay, if you meet the boat yourself Jose, and deliver that will be fine. If they agree, of course, otherwise you will have to sort something else." He turned back to his desk in dismissal.

  So when the Helena nosed its way up to the wharf, Jose was standing on the quay exactly where he knew the crew gangway would be lowered. He had worked so long at the Malaga docks that he knew every ship's movements. His lanky figure was bathed in the arc lamps that shone down on the quayside, leaving a sharp double shadow around his feet.

  He watched the swirling foam as the bow thrusters pulsed, pushing the bows out, and causing the stern to move inwards. The ship came to a slow stop, barely touching the fenders on the quayside. Dockers wearing huge leather gloves caught the warps that came down from above, and quickly wrapped them round the bollards. Almost at the same time the crew doors swung outward, allowing the gangway to roll forward on to the quayside. Further aft, the boarding bridge edged forward, nuzzling at the ship like a
baby animal seeking its mother's teat.

  Jose rushed up the gangway from the arc lamp lit quay, into the gloom of the crew quarters, along corridors until he reached the stores office and opened the door to the shift supervisor office.

  "Good evening, I am going to ask you a favour. I am from Hyton's Chandlers. We are supposed to load tomorrow at seven o'clock, only two pallets, but I 'ave no staff then. Can I load tonight, now?"

  The supervisor, considered this request for a moment. "Okay, if we do it in only half an hour maximum."

  "Ten minutes only, I promise. I go now for the goods." Jose was out of the door in a flash.

  The supervisor went quickly down to the crew cabins, rapped once on a door. "Come in," a voice said. He swung the door in. There were two men inside, both dressed in going-out-on-the-town-clothes.

  "Can you both spare half an hour unloading some stores? You can come on duty tomorrow two hours late, in exchange."

  Much to the supervisor's surprise there was no grumbling from the two men. He intercepted a glance pass between them, then, "Of course," they replied.

  They hurried down the corridor, dressed in civvies, on the way to the crew entrance.

  "That was lucky," one said, "if we'd got off the ship, the shit would have hit the fan."

  When they arrived at the wharf, they could see the chandler's forklift trundling towards them across the concrete expanse. One of the men turned back to get the hand operated forklift, whilst the other pointed out to the chandler's man where he wanted the pallet dropping, actually on the gangplank. Jose expertly deposited the pallet, where indicated, and spun the forklift round, heading back to the depot for the remaining pallet.

  Alan, the porter came back pulling the forklift and his colleague Mike waited whilst he jacked up the pallet and preceded him down the corridor to the cold room, opening the heavy thick door. The lights inside went on automatically as the door swung open, illuminating long aisles of stainless steel racking stretching into the distance.

  "Row 2," said Mike, moving off to the left. "Drop the pallet here, and go get the next pallet. Sign the guy's paperwork. I'll start to move these on to the racks."

  Mike worked quickly, chilled in the low temperature inside the room. The cartons were heavy and he looked carefully at each one, searching for the cartons with the crosses. When he found them, they would have to be hidden on a waiters' trolley. That would have to be brought by Alan once he came back with the remaining pallet

  By the time he heard the rumble of the hand forklift returning, he had half of the cartons neatly stacked on the racking. "Alan, go and pinch a waiters' trolley, over by the lift. And a cloth with it, as well." Alan reacted quickly, going off at a swift jog down the aisle, to return in two minutes, wheeling the trolley, a folded cloth on top.

  "I haven't found the fucking boxes yet," Mike panted. Moving the cartons was hard work. "Just scan the rest and see if you can spot the crosses." Alan stooped beside the stacked cartons on the pallets he ran his hand down the stack, then moved to the other side of the stacks. A moment later he had them, one above the other, a few boxes down.

  "They're here, let's get the cartons off the top first and separate them." He began moving cartons on to the racking at speed.

  "For God's sake, stack them neatly, you know what a prat the super is."

  "If he sees what's in those two, he'll be more than angry!"

  They were both panting when they had removed the cartons uncovering the relevant boxes.

  Alan grabbed the waiters' trolley and it took the two of them to lift each of the boxes with the crosses on to the bottom shelf of the trolley. "Quick, unfold the sheet, here grab hold of one end," he said, and between them they let the crisp white cloth drop neatly over the trolley, covering the tops, and hanging down the sides, only the castors still exposed.

  "Now if we just leave the trolley here at the far end of the aisle, we can collect it in the morning." Alan rubbed his hands together, more to warm them, than in satisfaction. It was dangerous, but ten grand was a good price. "Come on get the rest of the cartons racked, then we'll leave the pallets on the wharf. You know the super doesn't like them on the ship."

  Chapter 16

  At five to seven on Friday morning, the catering director was in his office on deck 5. He phoned down for the supervisor.

  "You've got stores coming aboard in five minutes, I want you present when they're loaded, and then organise every carton opened and inspected for what they contain. Do it in person. I'll be down there shortly, myself."

  "What's going on?" asked the super tiredly. It had been a good night ashore, and he hadn't spent long enough in his bed.

  "Captain's orders. He thinks someone is trying to smuggle arms aboard."

  "Sounds like bollocks to me," moaned the super. "And there's no stores coming aboard this morning, they were delivered last night"

  "Oh Christ!" There was a few moments silence, and the super thought his director might have put the phone down. "Stay where you are, I'm coming down now."

  Thirty seconds later the office door burst open. Gordon looked wild eyed. "Quick, where are the goods, in the veg and fruit store?" The super nodded, standing up from his desk.

  "Well, go on, collect your porters and start going through the cartons, don't just stand there."

  The super bolted through the door and was within seconds rousting his porters out of bed. "Come on, there's a flap, get down to the vegetable cold room, we've got to open the cartons that came aboard yesterday. Directors' orders. I'm as pissed as you are, but throw your clothes on and follow me."

  The super was there first, standing by the cartons of oranges and grapefruit. Oh God, he thought, about fifty cartons at least. He heard hurried steps, and his porters appeared, wild-haired, and carelessly dressed.

  "Put each carton on this shelf, cut the straps, and lift the lid. I'll poke around, then put the lid back on, and put the carton one row down, so that we know we've looked at it. We could have it done in an hour, tops."

  They were about halfway through the checking when the director appeared, looking nervous.

  "Found anything?" he asked.

  "Lots of oranges and grapefruits," the super said, "would you mind having a look at the computer to check how many boxes came on, and how many have gone out to the kitchen?"

  Alan and Mike, the porters, gave each other a nervous glance. There were the two boxes on the hidden on the trolley. The game might yet be up.

  The director disappeared to look at the computer. The super declared that they had just checked the last carton and everything was correct. Next, they each counted the boxes and they all agreed that there were forty-six cartons.

  The director bounced back into the cold room the door banging behind him. "How many there?"

  "Forty-six," said the super.

  "Bang on," smiled the director, "that lets us off the hook. Carry on." And was gone through the door on the way to tell the captain and his mysterious guest.

  The super, now smiling and affable, looked round the laden shelves of his cold room. Suddenly, his face changed.

  "What the hell is a waiter trolley doing here?" he snarled and was off down the aisle towards it. Mike rushed after him, Alan at his heels.

  The super tried to pull at the handle and realised it was heavy.

  "There's something on this. Stolen goods, I suppose," and he bent down to lift the cloth. Mike stood back in terror. Alan rushed past him and hit the bent super across his neck, with the side of his hand, the noise of connection like a gunshot. The super issued a grunt and fell against the trolley, and then to the floor in a crumpled heap. Mike automatically bent down and grasped him, to haul him upright. He realised that the super was unconscious and his face a shade of blue.

  "Christ, Alan, what have you done?" Mike reached for the super's wrist, but could find no pulse. "He's dead. Now what happens?"

  "Go and get another trolley and tablecloth, and we'll put him aboard, and wheel him up to Bourne's cabin
. Let him dispose of him. He thinks he's God, so it will be no problem for him."

  The difficult job was to contort the super's body to fit on the lower shelf of the trolley. It took both of them fifteen anxious minutes, before the super was hidden under the cloth.

  Mike said, "I'll go up to Bourne's cabin with the first trolley and you stand around near the goods lift, as though you're waiting for it to come down, I'll come back for it as quickly as I can".

  Chapter 17

  The captain was working in his cabin, Morton with him, when there was a knock on the door. The catering director popped his face through the door.

  "Success," he said. The captain made a beckoning sign

  "For God's sake, man, come in. What do you mean, success?"

  "The stock is all present and correct. What came in last night is all fruit, as advertised. The correct number of cartons."

  "Why does that please you?" interjected Morton. "There was bound to be the correct number. Any arms, or whatever would be surplus to the advice notes. So that means the goods have been moved. Presumably to Bourne's cabin, or one of his associates."

  The captain stared at him. "You are really sure?"

  "Well, if this is the port they had intended using, then yes. It would be worth getting security to search the cabins of the White Christian League members. In fact, I have to insist on it, on behalf of the Government."

  "That's okay by me." The captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked sceptical. "You want me to ask the security leader up here?"

  "Thank you," said Morton. "It needs to be done now. If we find anything, we need to find it whilst the ship is in port. It would be impossible to hijack a ship while it is in port."

  Five members of the onboard security men were considered to be adequate for the search and they were on the fifth floor corridor within ten minutes. At Morton's insistence, they started with Bourne's cabin. Two waited outside the door after knocking, the other three at the end of the corridor, in case the other members tried to make a break.