The Victoria had been wallowing in the swell for an hour. As the sounds of young Pedro bashing engine parts and cursing rose up from the engine room, Consuela came and sat with her back against the rail beside Ana-Maria.
‘How long have you and Ricardo been together?’ she asked. Consuela had a mind to keep on the right side of this hard, young woman. She suspected Ana-Maria was prepared to do anything to get what she wanted.
‘Since I was a teenager,’ Ana-Maria replied. She went on to explain that the pair had grown up in the same Cuban village. When Ricardo had leave from the army, he had come home, bringing presents for Ana-Maria and her mother. But then he’d been arrested for planning to rob the Central Bank of Cuba.
‘Planning to rob the Central Bank?’ Consuela let out a low whistle. ‘That was very ambitious of him.’
Ana-Maria shook her head. ‘The robbery was not his idea, you understand. One of his generals was behind it. Ricky was only obeying orders. But after he was sentenced to prison for twenty years, he decided that he would only think about his own interests from then on.’
Consuela nodded. ‘Was the prison break Ricardo’s idea?’ she asked.
‘Cousin Antony was behind it, but the clever escape plan was Ricky’s.’ Ana-Maria went on to tell Consuela how Ricky had learned that the authorities permitted buses to take tourists to see the female prisoners rolling the famous Havana cigars by hand in the prison factory, right next door to his prison. As the women sat at the tables rolling tobacco leaves into cigars, one would sit up on a stage and read books to the others. It was very educational and made the time go faster for the workers. And tourists loved it. ‘In this same factory,’ Ana-Maria added, ‘they even make the Cohiba, the extra-large cigar, for President Castro.’
‘So, the tourist buses gave Ricardo the idea for the escape?’ Consuela chuckled, unable to quite believe it.
Ana-Maria nodded. ‘Ricky also knew that, off East Africa, Somali pirates have taken large ships hostage and been paid millions of Yankee dollars in ransom.’
‘Aha.’ Consuela was smiling in appreciation of Ricky’s wickedly clever mind. ‘And here we are, on the way to do the same thing in the Caribbean. You chose a very tricky man to be your boyfriend, Ana-Maria.’
Ana-Maria shrugged. ‘The truly tricky man is the one we call Cousin Antony. He is on the Cleopatra at this very moment. Our inside man. But, if anyone can pull this off, it is my Ricky. Still, I ask myself, why did you become involved? You, a fisherwoman.’
Consuela sighed. ‘I am tired of struggling to make a living. Pedro is afraid, but we have to make this plan succeed. I cannot continue with the old life.’
As the women were talking, Ricardo called for Consuela to join him in the wheelhouse. Consuela pulled herself to her feet and joined him. Ana-Maria, curious, did the same.
‘Look at that,’ Ricardo said, pointing to a big blip on the radar screen.
Consuela raised her eyebrows. ‘A large ship,’ she observed.
Ana-Maria posed the question that was in all their minds. ‘Could it be the Cleopatra?’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Consuela said. They watched it for several minutes, time enough to see that it was approaching and for Consuela to calculate its speed. ‘It is doing perhaps eighteen knots,’ she said.
‘The speed of a cruise ship,’ Ricardo said.
Consuela pursed her lips. ‘Sí, pretty much. At that rate it will be in our vicinity in thirty minutes.’
Ricardo nodded. ‘Your boy thinks he can get the engine running again. He found a blockage in the fuel line. We will steer a course to intercept this ship.’
‘It had better be the Cleopatra this time,’ Ana-Maria said sourly. ‘I am sick of bobbing up and down on the ocean.’
‘It will be second time lucky for us,’ Ricardo declared optimistically. Stepping out onto the deck, he went to where Volcán was lying, fast asleep. He shook the big man awake. ‘The ship is coming. Get everyone ready.’
A smile spread across Volcán’s face. He sat up and stretched. ‘At last. Now the pirates will have some fun.’
Captain Gustarv was awoken by the buzzing of the telephone beside his bed. ‘Yes, what it is?’ he answered, smothering a yawn as he rested on one elbow.
‘Captain,’ came the voice of First Officer Wells from the bridge, ‘we are receiving a light signal from just off the starboard bow – an SOS.’
‘I will come up at once,’ Gustarv responded. Swinging out of bed, he quickly dressed, then hurried to the bridge, punching in the security code to open the bridge door.
Wells turned as Gustarv arrived and handed him a pair of night binoculars. ‘Over there, sir,’ he said. ‘They have identified themselves as a refugee vessel in distress.’
‘What name is the vessel giving?’
‘They are not giving a name.’
Gustarv went to the bridge window and, following the first officer’s pointing finger, focused the binoculars on a light winking in the darkness ahead and to the right. Wells also put binoculars to his eyes. Both read the Morse code message the light was sending. Gustarv lowered the binoculars. ‘What are the sea conditions?’
Wells hurried to the controls and consulted one of the computer screens. ‘Sea State 3, sir. Wind from the northwest at twenty knots.’
Gustarv nodded. ‘Good. The wind is coming across our port bow, so we can lower a starboard boat. Heave to, Mr Wells. Get the full bridge crew up here. Get a man on the starboard searchlight to illuminate this sinking vessel, and another on Big Eyes. Prepare to lower a starboard tender to go to the vessel’s aid and have the medical staff prepare to receive patients in the sick bay.’
‘Yes, sir. Should we alert the passengers to what we are doing?’ the first officer asked.
‘Not yet,’ Captain Gustarv replied. ‘Signal the vessel that we are coming to their aid. Ask them where they are from and how many souls are aboard. And radio RCC Miami that we are stopping to investigate an unidentified craft claiming to be a sinking refugee vessel. Give our position.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Things happened very quickly after that. ‘Stop Engines’ was rung down to the engine control room. Crew members sleeping in the crew quarters on Deck 1 were roused from their bunks, and they hurriedly dressed and headed for their stations. On the starboard wing of the open navigational bridge, the bridge lookout took the cover off a searchlight mounted there, switched it on and began sweeping the darkness. Beside him, another crewman was looking through a pair of giant binoculars fixed permanently to a stand, which was known as Big Eyes to seamen. Homing in on the winking signal light, the powerful searchlight beam lit up a small fishing boat rolling in the swell about 600 metres to starboard. Standing beside the lookouts, Captain Gustarv peered through the night using his binoculars. He could make out men and women in the stern of the boat. First Officer Wells was operating the starboard signal lamp, sending a message to the boat.
‘Keep your eyes on them and report any change,’ Gustarv ordered, before striding back inside the bridge, which was becoming progressively crowded with all the Cleopatra’s senior maritime officers and bridge crew, some of them yawning and still doing up shirt buttons. Delegated by First Officer Wells, Second Officer Cliff Dargan, a Canadian, was on the radio talking to the US Coast Guard’s Rescue Coordination Centre in Miami, passing on the information that the captain had required to be transmitted.
‘Tender manned and ready to be lowered, sir,’ advised Navigation Officer Demetrius.
‘Thank you, Mr Demetrius,’ the captain said. ‘Helmsman, give us full revolutions on both forward thrusters for ten seconds. Then use them as required to keep the wind on our port quarter and the ship continuing to point north. We need to keep the ship as stable as possible for the comfort of our passengers, but we must also safely lower and recover the tender.’
‘Aye, sir,’ the helmsman acknowledged from his chair. ‘Full revolutions on the forward thrusters for ten seconds.’ The deck vibrated faintly as the f
orward thrusters burst into action.
‘Do we know any more about the sinking vessel, Mr Wells?’ the captain asked. ‘Where it is from? How many souls are aboard?’
‘They haven’t answered any of my questions, sir,’ Wells replied. His binoculars were trained on the fishing boat. ‘All they say is “Please save us”.’
Gustarv stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘If they’re refugees, they’re probably from Haiti,’ he said, half to himself. ‘But it is more likely they are from Cuba. It’s strange that they’re so far southwest, though. Cuban refugee boats usually leave from the north of the island.’
‘Wind now on the port quarter, sir,’ the helmsman announced.
‘Very good.’
‘Dead stop, sir,’ the helmsman advised shortly after.
‘Lower tender,’ Gustarv ordered. ‘Tell the crew to check the status of the refugee vessel and report back before taking anyone aboard.’
Demetrius was holding a telephone handset to his ear. ‘Lower tender,’ he barked into it, passing the order onto Environmental Officer Gabriella Ponti, who also doubled as the Starboard Boat Deck Officer. ‘Have the crew check the status of the vessel and report back before boarding anyone.’
On the starboard side of Deck 4, the Boat Deck, one of the orange-and-white tenders that had ferried the ship’s passengers ashore at Las Cayes and Montego Bay had been lowered to deck level to permit its crew of three to board. Now, on the instructions of Gabriella Ponti, the Boat Deck crew lowered the tender down the side of the ship. Once the tender was on the sea, rising and falling on the swell, the two deckhands unfastened the lowering ropes. The tender’s skipper, who was also its driver, was a thirty-year-old native of the Philippines by the name of Rudy. Sitting in the small elevated driving cockpit close to the bow of the tender, Rudy gunned the twin diesel engines and swung the wheel to the right. With a roar from its engines, the tender coursed away from the liner’s side and headed towards the fishing boat.
‘Tender away!’ Ponti advised the bridge via her intercom handset.
‘Tender away!’ Demetrius repeated to the captain on the bridge.
‘Very good,’ Gustarv replied. ‘Mister Wells, come with me, please.’
The captain and the first officer made their way to the starboard wing of the bridge, where both put binoculars to their eyes to monitor the tender’s progress.
‘They are coming!’ Ana-Maria said, pointing to the lights of the Cleopatra’s tender as it pushed through the swell in the direction of the Victoria. ‘We have fooled them!’
The fishing boat’s engine, which had worked long enough to get them into position to lie in the path of the oncoming cruise ship, was now silent, and the boat was again at the mercy of the waves.
Ricardo set aside his signal lamp and turned to the others. ‘Get ready, amigos. They are coming for us. Volcán, tell Zapata it is time to blow the charge.’
Volcán, who had removed his eye-patch and was wearing an incongruous woman’s dress and long black wig, crossed the swaying deck to the wheelhouse. In the light of the dull wheelhouse lamp he found Zapata kneeling beside the engine-room hatch with a small black electrical box in his hands.
Zapata glanced up and broke into a smile. ‘Oh, you look so pretty in your dress, Volcán,’ he joked. ‘And look at your pretty necklace!’
Volcán’s ‘necklace’ was an AKM suspended around his neck from its sling. The weapon hung down inside the front of the voluminous floral dress he wore. ‘You won’t be so pretty yourself if you keep that up,’ Volcán snarled. ‘Ricky says to blow the charge.’
‘Whatever the chief wants, the chief gets,’ Zapata replied. He twisted a knob on the black box, from which an electrical wire trailed away into the open engine-room hatchway and out of sight.
There was a dull explosion below and black smoke curled up through the hatchway. Zapata and Volcán peered into the opening. They couldn’t see anything for the smoke, but they could hear water pouring in via the broken hull.
‘I did my job well, amigo,’ Zapata said with a satisfied smile. ‘We are sinking.’
‘Not sinking too fast, I hope,’ Volcán remarked, offering Zapata his hand and hauling him to his feet. ‘I do not want to be swimming with the sharks tonight.’
‘We have plenty of time,’ Zapata assured him. ‘Tonight we are the sharks!’
The pair left the wheelhouse and joined the others. Half of the men had, like Volcán, donned dresses and wigs, disguising themselves as women.
Ricardo handed his Makarov pistol to Ana-Maria. ‘I want you to be first to board the boat,’ he said. ‘Take our little Russian friend with you.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ She jammed the pistol into her trouser pocket.
As the tender from the Cleopatra approached, Rudy switched on a spotlight and trained it on the Victoria. He stationed the boat twenty metres off its port side, letting his motors idle. In the beam of his spotlight, he noted the vessel’s name on the prow. ‘Ahoy, Victoria, are you disabled?’ he called via the boat’s loudhailer.
‘Our engine is dead and we are taking water!’ Ricardo called back urgently. ‘Please save us!’
‘How many aboard? Any injured?’ Rudy asked.
‘Fourteen aboard. No serious injuries,’ Ricardo responded. ‘Please help us! Our boat is sinking!’
Rudy, who had been crewing cruise ships for a decade, studied the Victoria for a minute and saw that its prow was low in the water, with waves washing over it. He turned the dashboard switch to ‘transmit’ and radioed his superiors. ‘MV Cleopatra, from Tender 001. Do you receive? Over.’
‘This is Cleopatra,’ came the voice of First Officer Wells. ‘Go ahead, Tender 001. Over.’
‘Cleopatra, the refugee vessel is the Victoria. She has no power, is taking water and is down at the bow. They say she is sinking and have fourteen passengers and crew aboard. I can see a mix of male and female. What do you want us to do? Over.’
‘Wait one minute, 001.’
Rudy waited for First Officer Wells to consult Captain Gustarv. He knew the captain was obliged by international maritime law to save people from sinking or disabled vessels if it was in his power to do so. As he waited, Rudy heard men and women on the Victoria wailing to him, begging to be saved.
Wells’ voice crackled over the air. ‘Cleopatra to Tender 001. Do you read? Over.’
‘Go ahead, Cleopatra. Over.’
‘The captain authorises you to board the passengers,’ Wells directed. ‘I repeat, take off all passengers and crew from the sinking vessel and bring them back to the ship. Acknowledge. Over.’
‘Acknowledged, Cleopatra. Taking off passengers and crew,’ Rudy responded. ‘What about their boat? Do you want us to take it under tow?’ This last question was an important one. If the Victoria was left floating, it would become a hazard to other shipping.
‘Does it look like it will sink?’ First Officer Wells asked. ‘Over.’
‘Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure. Over.’
‘Place a beacon aboard to warn other shipping. Over.’
‘Roger. Tender 001 out.’ Rudy replaced the microphone on its cradle, then called to his two deckhands. He told them the tender was to take everyone off the sinking boat and to get ready for going alongside, as he was coming about. Gunning his starboard engine, he brought the tender’s bow around.
With the tender’s starboard side facing the port side of the Victoria, Rudy used both engines to edge the tender closer to the fishing boat, moving sideways like a crab. Rudy always used the tender’s starboard side to board passengers; it was the Kaiser Line’s standard operating procedure, much like a horse is always mounted from the left. Unintentionally, this put the tender between the Cleopatra and the Victoria, which meant that those watching from the Cleopatra’s bridge had difficulty seeing what was happening aboard either craft now that they were side by side. The tender’s two deckhands were at its open doorway amidships. One was gripping onto the Victoria’s rail, trying to keep
the two vessels together. The other prepared to help the refugees aboard.
‘Come, jump on over!’ the second deckhand called. He reached out a hand to help them across. ‘Women first.’
Ana-Maria took his hand and he pulled her onto the tender. Consuela came next. Then it was Volcán’s turn. As the deckhand took Volcán’s hand, he saw the butt of the assault rifle dangling from the disguised man’s neck. An astonished look of realisation suddenly came over his face. The deckhand withdrew his hand, but it was too late; Volcán was already leaping across the gap.
The deckhand bravely tried to stop the giant of a man. The pair grappled and, locked together, they fell into the interior of the tender’s cabin. Realising that something was amiss, the second deckhand let go of the Victoria. But Zapata reached over and grasped the man’s arm in an iron grip, effectively keeping tender and fishing boat bobbing up and down side by side.
Seeing what was happening, Rudy grabbed his microphone and flicked the switch to ‘transmit’. ‘Cleopatra from Tender 001,’ he yelled. ‘They –’
Before he could get out another word, Ana-Maria ripped the microphone from his grasp and shoved the barrel of the Makarov pistol in his face. Without taking her eyes off him, she switched off the microphone. ‘We are taking over now,’ she declared, pulling Rudy unceremoniously from his elevated seat.
Meanwhile, Ricardo boarded the tender. He put the end of an AKM to the head of the deckhand struggling with Volcán. ‘Freeze,’ he growled, ‘or you are one dead sailor!’
The deckhand immediately stopped moving.
Other members of the band leapt across the gap. Several remained on the fishing boat long enough to toss over weapons, ammunition boxes and rubbish bags before they, too, boarded the tender. But only just in time. The main deck of the Victoria was awash. Ricardo took over the driver’s seat of the tender and applied power to the engines. The tender pulled away from the Victoria and, as it did, the veteran fishing boat slid beneath the waves. Before long, just the small mast behind the wheelhouse was all that was visible above water and then that, too, disappeared.
Operation Black Shark Page 7