Ben ignored the protests. “Listen, I propose we break into his room and hand over the proceeds to Ingle.”
“Ingle? Why not eat it ourselves?”
“Because, Norman, some of us wish to retain our dignity.”
“Why not just tell Ingle that Wells has food. Wouldn’t it be easier?” suggested Ross.
“Okay. We’ll go to Ingle.”
******
First Officer Ingle was resting in his quarters when Ben and Ross knocked at his door. He was to be woken by his crew immediately the fog lifted. The door opened and Ingle faced them. He peered through half opened eyes. “What is it? This had better be good.”
Ben did the talking. “We’re sorry to wake you, Mr Ingle, but we’ve reason to believe that some passengers may be stashing food.”
“And what am I expected to do?”
“You have access to their cabins. We could search them.”
“Who are we talking about here?”
“Wells. Daniel Wells.”
First Officer Ingle seemed disappointed. “Daniel Wells is a major shareholder of this fleet. He’s also a notorious gangster, which I’m sure your friend has already found out.”
“That doesn’t make him exempt from rationing. The food should be sequestered and allotted to the passengers.”
“Mr Duncan, I have more pressing matters to consider.”
“Mr Ingle, if you don’t comply with our request, I’ll be forced to spread the information among the passengers.”
“Are you blackmailing me, Duncan?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
Ingle proceeded to dress. “Okay, we’ll take a look in his room. I only hope you weren’t mistaken. I’ll issue firearms to my men, just as a precaution you understand?”
First Officer Ingle chose four men and they made their way towards the cabin, armed with revolvers. Ben and Ross followed.
Wells, Belinda, Greg and Leo were still lounged on the deck.
Wells smoked a large cigar. “Mmm, what have we here? The Spanish Inquisition?”
“Mr Wells. Could you let us in your room please?”
“For what reason, Ingle?”
“Please, just do as I say.”
Wells puffed vigorously on his cigar and fixed Ben with a hard stare. “No, I’ll not let you into my room. Do you know who I am, Ingle?”
“Yes, I know who you are. If you do not comply with our request, I’ll open it anyway.”
Wells pointed his cigar at the bold officer. “Ingle, you’ll not find employment so readily when this is over.”
“Where have I heard that before? Well, Mr Wells.”
They followed the gangster to his cabin. Leo and Greg were being discreetly covered by two of the sailors. Wells turned the key and they entered the cabin. The drawers were emptied and the wardrobe searched to reveal nothing. Ross pointed to a large trunk, situated at the side of the bed.
“Mr Wells, where is the key to this trunk?” asked First Officer Ingle.
“I lost it.”
Ingle withdrew his pistol and aimed at the padlock. A loud crack echoed around the room, which caused Belinda to jump. The padlock gave way and Ingle lifted the lid to the trunk. The trunk contained several bars of chocolate and various cakes, as well as boxes of cigars and six bottles of champagne.
“Well, well, quite a treasure trove we have here, Mr Wells,” smiled the first officer.
“I brought it on board for my sole consumption. It belongs to me.”
“Not anymore. You strictly disobeyed orders to relinquish your foodstuff. The food and drink will be distributed among the passengers. In the meantime, you’ll be locked up with Bell; that’s if he doesn’t mind the company. Take them away, Dawkins.”
“This is an outrage,” growled Wells. “We’ll starve.”
“You’ll be given the same rations as everyone else, apart from these goodies that is. I think you’ve had more than your share.”
“You have a family, Ingle don’t you? Or should I say, you had a family?”
Ingles stood up to the gangster. “Mr Wells, if we do get off this ship alive, and I very much doubt it, you’ll be handed over to the authorities.”
“On what charge?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can make one up. Anyway, aggravated assault will do for starters… Enjoy the rest of your cruise, Wells.”
“What about the woman, sir?” asked Dawkins.
“She is free to go. She too is a victim of his abuse.”
Belinda faced Wells and grinned broadly. He was led away, along with his two hoods.
Ingle turned towards the two passengers. “Mr Duncan and...”
“Mr Harper,” chipped in Ross.
“Yes, Mr Harper. Please accept some of this chocolate for your efforts.”
Ben protested. “No, the food must be distributed evenly amongst the passengers and crew. I trust you, Mr Ingle to do the correct thing.”
“Very well, Mr Duncan, it will be done.”
Ben spoke up. “Have you worked out any contingency plans, in the event we’re not picked up?”
“Of course we’ve have discussed it… Tell me, Mr Duncan, are you a military man?”
“I was.”
“Just as I thought. What would you do in the present situation?”
“We have no power to manoeuvre the ship, right?”
“That is correct. The stokers are too weak.”
“I would give them double rations,” suggested Ben. “Give them enough so we can start the engines and sail away from here.”
“But sail where to, Mr Duncan? Without functioning instruments, we’re blind.”
“What about the lifeboats?”
“The lifeboats? What are you getting at?”
“Why not launch a lifeboat with enough provisions for say four days. Man it with your strongest men.”
“We have thought about that.”
“Hang on,” said Ross. “I don’t understand. Why launch the lifeboat?”
“Because, we can row out of this fog and come back for the ship if we are successful,” said First Officer Ingle.
“But wouldn’t it take just as much effort to row a lifeboat as it would to stoke the engines?”
“Not quite, Mr Harper. Also, it would be another alternative for survival. Two bites of the cherry as you might say.”
“The food and drink won’t last much longer. You must make a decision,” insisted Ben.
“I’ll put it to the crew tonight. If I get the volunteers, we’ll launch a boat in the morning. The navy must surely be searching for us. We were due in Cyprus days ago. Also, they must realise that our radio is out. It’s just a matter of time. We must hang on and survive.”
Ross intervened. “You said to Wells you didn’t believe we’d get off this ship alive.”
“Our main problem is we don’t know where we are. We don’t have much chance of being picked up unless this darn fog lifts. Also, many of the passengers are becoming delirious and restless. If they become hostile, can I rely on assistance from you and your companions, Mr Duncan?”
“You can, Mr Ingle. I take it we’ll be issued with arms if the time comes?”
“Of course… My advice to you is to go back to your wives. I’ll keep you informed of any further developments.”
Chapter Nineteen
The decision had been made. Two lifeboats with enough provisions hopefully for a week were to be launched. It had been decided to use the majority of the food and drink from the stash of Wells to endorse the rescue bid. The lifeboats were launched early, whilst people still slept. First Officer Ingle did not want any protests to hinder the operation. He had weighed up the pros and cons and believed he had made the correct decision, his only worry being that the remaining passengers would discover what had happened to the extra supplies.
Twelve sailors manned each lifeboat. Their task was to make contact with another vessel, or to reach land. The problem was how to report the position of the Empress Medina.
“Godspeed,” said Ingle.
There were now 458 passengers and crew left on the liner. A lot of mouths to feed, even though the vessel was light by twenty-four bodies. Ingle addressed the passengers and crew after the rations had been distributed. He was met with a hostile reception after he revealed the amount of food taken by the crew of the manned lifeboats.
Another problem unknown to Ingle was about to present itself. Three spokesmen from the lower deck attended the briefing in the Grand Stateroom. All eyes were on the trio as they made their way to the front of the stage.
A large man with a broken nose addressed Ingle. “We represent the passengers on the lower deck. We are under the impression that we’re not being fully informed about the given situation. We demand to know of any developments aboard this ship.”
“Mr..”
“Clarke. Andrew Clarke.”
Ingle continued. “Mr Clarke, Third Officer Springer has kept you up to date with the everyday situation aboard this vessel. He relates to you the same information that I relay to the passengers on the upper deck. There is no class distinction aboard this ship.”
“What about the rations? There are rumours on the lower deck that you have chocolate included in your rations.”
“That statement is completely false. You receive exactly the same rations as every man aboard this ship… True, we have recently come across some chocolate and cakes, but as I was just about to explain before being interrupted, we launched two lifeboats this morning, each one containing twelve men. As common sense tells you, we had to supply these men with enough food and drink to help them to accomplish their task of finding land.”
“How much food did they take with them?” asked Clarke.
“Hopefully, enough to last a week.”
The response resulted in a crescendo of gossip.
“Let me finish,” shouted Ingle. “It is my belief that the lifeboats present our best chance of ending this unfortunate dilemma. They needed the chocolate for energy. The boats do not propel themselves. Also, they were issued with a bottle of spirits each.”
“So, you’re telling us they’ve taken all of the chocolate?”
“Yes, Mr Clarke. Just about all.”
Clarke made to rush the stage and was pulled back by two sailors.
“You bastard, Ingle! You’ve killed us all.”
The first officer raised his voice above the protests. “I made the decision and I may die by it; but I believe the decision to be the correct one.”
“What about the cake, Ingle?” yelled a small man who sported a boater.
“They took some of the cake. The rest will be distributed amongst you all.”
His latest claim did not satisfy his audience. “You claimed that we had enough drink for six days. Well, if my calculations are correct, this is the sixth day.”
“That is correct. The bottle you were issued with today is the last of the wine and champagne. I would advise you to drink it sparingly.”
The man in the boater spoke up again. “Mr Ingle, the lifeboats will take at least a day to reach land, even if we are off the coast of Turkey. Let’s suppose they are lucky and then return to find us. That would mean that we would have to go at least one more day without drink.”
“That is correct. We fortunately still have 216 bottles of spirits. It will be equally distributed, starting tomorrow morning.”
“How long will the food last, Mr Ingle?” shouted Norman Quinn.
“Tomorrow, I’m afraid will be the last day for the rations. We will continue to fish of course, but so far, our efforts have not been successful. We can only pray and hope that the lifeboats make it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my presence is requested on the bridge.”
Ben watched as the first officer left the Stateroom. He felt pity for him. It cannot be every day that he has to play God.
******
Evening fell and the majority of the passengers had returned to their cabins, too weak to contemplate any strenuous tasks. Ben felt for Natasha. She was very quiet of late, and he was not sure if the lack of food was responsible for the lull. He suspected that his supposed romance and obsession with the mysterious Penelope contributed to her condition. Ben had painstakingly avoided Penelope, but inwardly she still intruded in his thoughts. She invaded his dreams and came to him as he slept. Ben could not determine if the dreams were in fact reality, but he kept his problems to himself; after all, he did not wish to upset Natasha any more than was necessary.
Ben lathered his face. The army had taught him to respect hygiene, even in the face of death. Seawater was used to rinse his face, and the presence of the fluid seemingly teased him. He gazed at his sleeping wife, and the half-empty bottle of wine that rested on the dressing table beside her. How long Natasha could survive such hardship, Ben was unsure. If need be, he would offer himself as a guinea pig to determine the contaminated food from the edible, such was his love for his wife.
The crew who had been appointed as fishermen had fared miserably, their total catch being three skimpy fish. Ben realised they were nearing a critical point. A decision had to be made. They were now most definitely in a life and death situation. Ben, like his travelling companions had abandoned their quest to discover what this cruise was all about. More urgent matters beckoned, like staying alive.
Ben, through his training with the Royal Signals, estimated they could not last more than another week without food or water. Four or five days perhaps. He felt helpless as he stared at the desperate face that looked back from the mirror. His face was ashen and gaunt. He now resembled a victim of Auschwitz, and not a passenger on a luxury cruise.
He smiled at his unflattering appearance. He regretted the day that he had received that letter, which informed them of the good fortune. Nobody ever gave Ben Duncan anything for nothing, and his life had been blighted by bad luck. Apart from his marriage to Natasha, he could not recall a single stroke of good fortune in his thirty-five years on this planet. His alleged prize of a cruise aboard the Empress of Medina had added to his woes. Ben was the proverbial jinx. If there were a short straw, he would surely draw it.
He proceeded to shave his whiskers. Tomorrow, he pondered; tomorrow, he would do something. He could not just wait to die. He would make one last effort to rescue them from this awful death.
Ben froze, his latest stroke with his razor aborted. His eyes played tricks on him. The unmistakable image in his mirror of Davenport materialized before him. The ship owner was behind him, a smile on his face and smoking one of his giant cigars. Ben squinted and swivelled around speedily to confront the mysterious man. Nothing. No Davenport. Ben held his head. If he needed confirmation that he was losing his sanity, then this was it. The hallucinations; they would not go away. Ben continued to shave and sniffed the air. Cigar smoke. Ben was not imagining the distinctive odour of cigars.
He approached the wall, where Davenport had been standing moments before. He carefully examined the peach-coloured wall. There had to be a secret door. That would explain a lot of things, including the disappearance of Penelope. He knocked on the wall quietly, careful not to wake Natasha from her slumber. The wall was solid.
Ben undressed, climbed into bed, and merged his frail body with Natasha’s. Arsenic! That could explain the hallucinations. The doctor had related to him in an earlier conversation that arsenic did not kill everyone who took it. Could that be the answer? Perhaps he had taken a small quantity of it in his food. That would explain a lot of things. Ben almost settled on this explanation, but privately he believed something more sinister was afoot.
Chapter Twenty
Another dawn broke. Not that the passengers and crew could determine this by the sun, as the pervasive fog was still with t
hem. Many frail passengers raised their heads that morning, and hoped to see a clear, blue sky. They were to be disappointed. Morale was now at its lowest ebb, as the starving voyagers awaited their final allocation of rations.
Dr Waverley continued his medical checks. The sick bay was overcrowded, with symptoms ranging from dehydration to stomach cramp. Some, he suspected had visited the sick bay in the hope to receive extra rations, but this was not to be. Others complained that they were certain they were victims of arsenic poisoning. He acknowledged he could do nothing for them. They would die very soon anyway if they were not given nourishment. The majority of the sick were the aged, being that their bodies were frail to begin with.
First things first. Dr Waverley decided to check on the welfare of Wells and his companions. The doctor opened the cell door and was taken aback by what he saw. Simon Bell was sat against the wall of the cell; his black tongue protruded from his mouth, and his glassy eyes stared into the beyond.
Wells grinned manically. “It’s about time, Doc. Bell had a bit of a turn last night. I don’t think he’s feeling too well.”
Dr Waverley glared at the sadistic gangster. “You’ve gone too far this time, Wells. You’ll hang for this.”
“But, Doctor, who is responsible for his death? Greg perhaps, or was it Leo? Maybe I strangled the monster. Who knows? You see, Doctor; it could have been any one of us. A jury could hardly convict us; not knowing who the true culprit was, now could they? Who will stand trial? Besides, you don’t honestly believe we’re going to get off this ship alive do you? Not all of us anyway.”
Dr Waverley locked the cell door and returned with four armed sailors. Simon Bell, the man responsible for the misfortunes on the Empress of Medina was dropped into the deep, blue sea. Father Rattigan said a few words as he was tipped over the side. Understandably, Bell had few mourners to bid him farewell.
The queue formed for the final time. A small piece of cake, one small biscuit, and a third of a bottle of whiskey, brandy or rum was allotted to each person. This was their seventh day on rations and the passengers and crew alike grew increasingly weak. The merry banter that was evident on the first day had gone. Comradeship had been replaced by gazes of suspicion. What was evident was that only the strongest would survive. It was now a case of every man for himself.
The Cruise Page 12