‘Indeed, there were quite a few female pirates down through history,’ McQueen replied.
Maddie suddenly looked worried. ‘But there aren’t any pirates of the Cabibbean now, are there?’
‘No, that was only in the olden days, Maddie,’ Josh assured her. ‘Anyway, a ship as big as the Cleopatra would be too fast for those old sailing ships, wouldn’t it, Captain?’
Captain Gustarv nodded. ‘It would, young Josh. We can do twenty-six knots in an emergency. That’s as fast as many warships today.’
‘Captain Gustarv,’ Josh said thoughtfully, ‘how did you become captain of such a big ship? Was it easy?’
‘Easy?’ Gustarv smiled to himself. ‘No, not at all easy. As a boy, I watched ocean liners pass my house in Malmö, Sweden, and dreamed of being a captain of one of those ships. Later, I attended Sweden’s maritime college and qualified as a ship’s officer. Once I had done that, I went to sea on cargo ships. My ship would often pass magnificent ocean liners, and I would remember my childhood dream of one day captaining such a mighty ship. In one port I saw a massive ship belonging to the Kaiser Line. A friend was an officer on board and he gave me a guided tour. I was so impressed with what I saw, I vowed to myself there and then to one day become a captain of one of those ships. I wrote many letters to the Kaiser Line, asking for a job, but I was never offered one.’
‘That’s dericulous!’ Maddie exclaimed. ‘You’re the best captain I’ve ever known.’ She paused. ‘Not that I know many ship’s captains, but you’re still the best.’
‘Thank you, Maddie,’ Gustarv said with a kind smile.
‘So, what did you do?’ Josh asked. ‘How did you end up as captain of the Cleopatra?’
‘Well, I found out that the head office of the Kaiser Line was in Athens, Greece. So, I moved there. I took a job as a waiter in a cafe in the city’s tourist area, the Pláka, and every week I went to the Kaiser Line’s offices in Athens’ port of Piraeus and saw the Line’s chief of employment. He would give me forms to fill out and send me away, and every week I would come back. After six months, the employment chief finally relented and offered me a job as a junior officer on the Nefertiti. It was less senior than a previous job I had on a cargo ship, and it paid less, but I was at least an officer with the Kaiser Line and could work towards promotion.’
‘What did you do?’ Maddie asked. ‘Did you say yes?’
Captain Gustarv nodded. ‘Of course! I accepted the job with glee. From there, I worked my way up to first officer on the Boudicca, then finally achieved promotion to captain and was given my own ship. So today I am captain of the Cleopatra, the best job in the world as far as I am concerned.’
Everyone around the table had been listening to the captain’s story with rapt attention and they all now applauded him.
‘Well done to you, Captain,’ Nan Fulton said. ‘Your persistence paid off.’
Gustarv nodded. ‘I learned an important life lesson from my experience: if you want something badly enough, you must be prepared to work hard for it, but you must also sometimes make short-term sacrifices to achieve your long-term dreams. As I did.’
Dozens of waiters now appeared and, gathering around their table, sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to a blushing Nan. One of the waiters laid a large chocolate cake in front of her. Nan grinned and blew out the lone candle, bringing claps and cheers from the waiters and everyone at the captain’s table.
‘A very happy birthday to you, Mrs Fulton,’ Captain Gustarv said. ‘Or, as we say in Swedish, grattis på födelsedagen.’
Chocolate cake was shared all around, before the dinner culminated with Nan and her family having their photograph taken with the captain, as a record of the occasion. The Fulton family went off to bed that evening happy and weary after an exciting day, and ready for a good night’s sleep in preparation for their next port, Jamaica’s Montego Bay, which they would reach next morning.
‘Did you notice that both Mr and Mrs Santana were wearing wigs, Ben?’ Nan asked, as they rode down in one of the ship’s glass lifts.
‘Really?’ Ben responded. ‘I hadn’t noticed. I thought that Mrs Santana must have dyed her hair blonde. But her husband was wearing a wig, too?’ In his job, Ben made a point of noting small details. Some small details could mean the difference between life and death on special ops. But now that he was on holiday he had relaxed, almost as if he had switched off his personal radar.
‘Oh, yes, dear. A woman notices that sort of thing. Mrs Santana was definitely wearing a wig. But it’s unusual for a young man to wear a wig, don’t you think?’ Nan said.
‘He could be bald,’ Josh suggested. ‘That’s why men wear wigs, isn’t it?’
‘Mr Fergus, one of the teachers at my school, wears a wig,’ Maddie spoke up. ‘It blew off one day and his head was all shiny underneath. It was so funny.’ She giggled at the memory. ‘Mr Fergus chased his wig all the way down the street.’
‘A runaway wig,’ Josh said, laughing.
‘A blow-away wig,’ Maddie added, joining the laughter.
Nan frowned. ‘Now, you two, it’s not kind to laugh at other people’s misfortune.’
‘But it was funny to watch, Nan,’ Maddie returned, reining in her giggles with difficulty.
‘Just the same. You wouldn’t like it if people laughed at you,’ Nan pointed out.
‘Yes, but my hair isn’t going to blow off, is it?’ Maddie said.
Ben chuckled as the lift doors opened at Deck 3. Maddie’s logic was sometimes hard to contest.
Following dinner, Captain Gustarv went back up to the bridge for one last check. Only the officer of the watch, the helmsman and a lookout were on the bridge when he arrived. He was about to retire to his cabin when the navigation officer, George Demetrius, a fresh-faced young man, arrived. He was clutching a flash drive.
‘Oh, good evening, Captain,’ Demetrius said in surprise. ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’
‘Yes, thank you, Demetrius,’ Gustarv replied. He nodded to the flash drive. ‘What do you have there?’
Demetrius’s eyes dropped to the flash drive in his hand. ‘Er, a course change for the Cayman Islands leg, sir.’
Gustarv frowned. ‘You did not discuss that with me. What does it involve?’
Demetrius paled. ‘I didn’t think it was worth worrying you about, Captain. It’s only a small change.’
‘I am the captain of this vessel, Demetrius,’ Gustarv growled. ‘It is my job to worry about everything that concerns this vessel and its passengers and crew. What is the change?’
Demetrius hesitated. ‘Er, I have plotted a course that will take us closer to the Cuban coast as we approach Grand Cayman, sir.’
‘Why?’ Gustarv demanded.
‘We have received a new notification regarding the oil spill we were alerted to this morning, sir,’ Demetrius replied. ‘It is spreading north. It was recommended that we take a wider berth of the area.’
‘When was that notification received?’
‘While you were at dinner, sir. I didn’t want to disturb you. I was going to put the course update in and then check with you before programming it, sir.’
‘Show me the message.’
Demetrius hurried to a pile of printed email messages on a bench to the rear of the bridge. Taking the top one, he brought it to the captain.
Gustarv read the message. ‘Show me the course change you are advocating.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Demetrius slipped the flash drive into the ship’s computer, and when the programmed course for the next few days came up in green, he tapped a few keys and the course change came up in red. The two courses almost overlapped.
‘Zoom in closer,’ Gustarv directed.
The navigation officer tapped again, and the image on the screen reduced to the waters north of Grand Cayman Island leading to the island port of George Town. There was a distinct difference between the green and red lines in this section, with the red line curving to the north, towards Little Cayman Island and the southern coast of
Cuba, before rejoining the green line near George Town.
‘You have deviated too far north, Demetrius,’ Captain Gustarv observed. ‘We would need to increase speed and fuel usage to arrive at George Town on schedule. Fuel is money, young man. A deviation of ten nautical miles is quite sufficient to avoid contact with that oil spill. Adjust that now.’
‘Y-yes, sir. At once, sir.’ Clearly nervous, Demetrius tapped away at the computer, then stood back for Gustarv to review what he’d done.
The captain nodded his approval. ‘That’s better. Log the change.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Demetrius tapped again, and the course variation was programmed.
‘Very good,’ Gustarv said, his frosty demeanour dissolving. ‘You are a very conscientious young man, Demetrius, but you must learn to always check with me before you even think about making any course changes.’
Demetrius nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, sir. I will, sir,’ he promised.
Stifling a yawn, Gustarv headed for the door. ‘Goodnight, gentlemen. I am turning in.’
‘Goodnight, Captain,’ chorused the men on the bridge.
The little Victoria was making heavy going of the journey to the Island of Pines, off the southwest coast of Cuba. The fishing boat rolled, rose and fell as it made its way through the running swell. On the worn wooden deck, half the passengers were leaning over the sides, seasick. The aroma of rotting fish that seemed to have seeped into the boat’s timber over the years was joined by the smell of vomit.
Ricardo Ramos looked at the heaving men and shook his head. ‘Such weak stomachs,’ he muttered. He felt perfectly well.
Consuela’s son emerged from the small cabin at the bow. Having been to sea on the Victoria since he was five years of age, he had developed what sailors call ‘sea legs’ and was perfectly steady on his feet, as if the boat wasn’t even moving. What was more, he balanced full mugs of coffee in each hand without spilling a drop. He handed a mug to his mother, who was standing at the wheel. The other, he passed to Ricardo.
‘Gracias, amigo,’ Ricardo said. ‘What is your name, boy? And what is your age?’
‘I am Pedro, señor. I am sixteen years old.’
‘Well, Pedro, what do you think of our little adventure?’ Ricardo asked.
‘I think it will be very sad for us to lose my father’s boat,’ Pedro answered. ‘The Victoria was his pride and joy. But then, since my father’s death, my mother and I have struggled to make a success of fishing with the Victoria. The boat is old. Her engine is not as reliable as it used to be. There are not as many fish as there once were. The cost of fuel is high and the price of fish is low. I will be pleased when my mother will not have to struggle to make a living anymore.’
Ricardo smiled faintly. ‘For all of us, the struggle will be at an end once we have completed our business with the cruise ship.’
‘Are you sure your plan will work, Señor Ricardo?’ Pedro asked tentatively.
‘It is new territory,’ Ricardo conceded. ‘Nothing so audacious has been attempted on the high seas before, but cruise ships are not equipped to handle such a threat. It will work. I have been planning this for a long time and I have someone on the ship working for us. Trust me, Pedro, it will work.’
Pedro was impressed. ‘Someone on the cruise ship is helping you?’
Ricardo nodded smugly. ‘Someone is keeping us informed of everything that takes place aboard. When the time is right, our contact will play an important role in the success of our mission. The Cleopatra is sailing unsuspectingly towards our net as we speak.’
Basking in the morning sun, the Victoria lay at anchor in a cove twenty metres off a beach on the western side of the Island of Pines. To create a shady place to sit, the passengers had rigged a tarpaulin over the deck behind the wheelhouse. While several men pumped fuel into the boat’s empty tank from the drums they had brought aboard, most of their colleagues were lounging beneath the tarpaulin playing cards.
Meanwhile, Ricardo was in the wheelhouse talking on the fishing boat’s radio. ‘Sí, all is good here, amigo,’ he said. ‘What is your position? Over.’
‘We are on course and on schedule,’ came the reply. ‘Have you collected your cargo? Over.’
‘Not yet. They are delayed, but we will have it before long. Over.’
‘I hope so, Cousin Fidel.’ The voice was tinged with concern.
‘Do not worry, Cousin Antony, that will all be fine. The family is looking forward to seeing you soon. Over.’
‘I’ll talk to you again tomorrow. Over.’
‘Sí, mañana. Bye-bye. Cousin Fidel out.’ Ricardo placed the microphone back on its cradle.
‘He called you Cousin Fidel,’ Consuela said, appearing beside him.
Ricardo smirked. ‘That is my codename. Our contact on the ship is called Cousin Antony – as in Cleopatra’s Mark Antony. Get it?’
Consuela raised her eyebrows. ‘So much cloak and dagger.’
‘It is necessary for the security of our mission.’ Ricardo stepped out of the wheelhouse and called to the others. ‘The Cleopatra is on course and on schedule, amigos.’
While several of his men cheered, one of them frowned unhappily. He was the same large, shaven-headed man who’d led the way during the prison escape. He wore a black patch over his left eye, like a pirate. ‘Where are the weapons, Ricky?’ he asked. ‘We cannot take the ship without weapons. You said they would be here last night.’
‘Relax, Volcán,’ Ricardo replied. ‘They were delayed. They will be here, trust me.’
‘Ricky!’ Ricardo’s girlfriend, Ana-Maria, called. She was standing in the boat’s stern with binoculars to her eyes, scanning the shining sea. ‘I see a boat!’
Ricardo hurried to her side. Taking the binoculars from her, he followed the direction in which she was pointing and picked up a white boat. It had just rounded Frances Point and was speeding towards them from the southwest, its bow high.
‘Is it them?’ Ana-Maria asked.
‘Could be. It is not police or military – there are no weapons that I can see. Must be a private boat.’ Lowering the binoculars, Ricardo turned to the others. ‘We are about to have company, amigos. Break out the fishing tackle just in case.’
Soon, six of the members of the group were dangling fishing rods over the side. The white boat drew nearer, heading directly for the Victoria. It was obvious now that it was a large motor cruiser: fibreglass, modern, with a flying bridge up top and cabins down below – and fast. It was flying the American flag from its stem flagstaff. When it was 250 metres away, the cruiser reduced its speed. Most of those aboard the Victoria pretended to ignore it and focus on fishing or card playing. Only Ricardo and Ana-Maria kept an eye on it, from where they were sitting on the Victoria’s stern. Ricardo had the Makarov pistol tucked in his belt under his shirt while Ana-Maria had the AK-47 out of sight between her feet. Both were prepared to use their weapons if need be. Ricardo had no intention of going back to prison, and Ana-Maria had no desire to see the inside of a cell. If worse came to worst, they intended shooting their way out of trouble.
As the sleek white boat drew abreast of the Victoria, its diesel engines went into reverse with a roar, bringing it to a halt and creating a foaming white wake that rocked the wooden fishing boat. Two men could be seen aboard the cruiser. The one at the wheel was a native of the Bahamas. The other was fair-haired and looked to be in his twenties. He was American.
‘Ahoy there!’ he called, waving his white baseball cap. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and boasting a Florida suntan. ‘How are you guys doing?’
‘Buenos días, señor,’ Ricardo replied with a smile.
‘You speak English?’
‘Sí, I speak some English.’
‘Would Cousin Fidel be aboard?’ the man asked, squinting at them.
‘Why do you ask?’ Ricardo called back.
‘We got a delivery for Cousin Fidel, from Cousin Antony in Miami.’
A faint smile replaced the worried l
ook on Ricardo’s face. He came to his feet. ‘You are late. You were supposed to be here last night.’
The American shrugged. ‘It took longer than we expected. We had to dodge both the US Coastguard and the Cuban navy.’
‘The Cuban navy? Ha! It exists in name only,’ Ricardo scoffed. ‘They had to scrap most of their ships before they sank from old age.’
‘Okay, Señor Know-it-all, what matters is that we’re here now. You want your cargo or not?’
Ricardo nodded. ‘Come alongside.’
Using his engines, the cruiser’s skipper manoeuvred his craft until it bumped alongside the Victoria. Ricardo’s men grabbed the mooring lines that the agile blond tossed to them from the stern and bow of his craft. Ricardo and several of his followers then vaulted over the sides of the two vessels to the cruiser’s deck. Ana-Maria meanwhile handed Volcán her AK-47, then crossed to the cruiser with her binoculars, leaving the large man to stand guard over proceedings. No instructions or questions passed between any of Ricardo’s subordinates. He had briefed them thoroughly before they stepped aboard the Victoria. They all had their orders and knew what to do.
‘Where is the cargo?’ Ricardo asked the American.
‘Down below, in the cabins,’ the man replied.
Ricardo nodded. ‘Show me.’
The American watched Ana-Maria hurry past him and begin to climb the stainless-steel ladder that led to the cruiser’s flying bridge. ‘Where does she think she’s going?’ he said.
‘She will be on lookout,’ Ricardo replied. ‘There is a better view from up there. We don’t want to be disturbed while we are transferring the cargo. Now, the cargo?’
The blond led Ricardo and his men into the cruiser’s main deck lounge, then down a narrow companionway to three cabins. Stacked on the floor of the main cabin and lying on the bed were metal ammunition cases and long thin parcels wrapped in black plastic.
Ricardo turned to one of his men. ‘Zapata, your knife.’
Zapata, a scar-faced man, slid a blade from the sheath on his belt and handed it to his leader.
Operation Black Shark Page 5