The room was in pandemonium with passengers and crew searching along shelves, shaking out drapes, tearing up seat covers and cushions. Garsten crouched to probe around where his briefcase had been set down, then yelled in alarm and recoiled back as something scurried up the outside of his jacket sleeve. He swatted with his other hand, missed, and lost his balance twisting and trying to grab it as it burrowed under his shirt collar.
Then there was a noise that sounded like an explosion from somewhere forward, and the salon lights went out. More shouting and consternation erupted in the darkness. Michelle, still on her feet, edged to the table where the buffet was laid out, found the end, and heaved it up hard to be rewarded by a tremendous din of crashing china and shattering glass. She lunged at the forms of Payne and Vanessa outlined in the darkness, and shoved them toward where Garsten had gone down on his hands and knees. They reeled and went down, and another shadowy figure loomed and tumbled over them. Michelle threw a chair in on top for good measure, and in the confusion moved to the end of the room where the two exits were, one leading up, the other down. Someone was coming down the companionway to the right. Michelle slipped into the passage on the other side that she had been in briefly earlier, leading aft.
Closets and doors lined both sides. Her only choice was to continue toward the stern, where the lights were still on, and hope that that part of the boat would be empty of people for the moment. She figured the engines were that way, and the engineer was still in the salon. On a vessel this size, there seemed a good chance that he worked alone.
The passage ended at a bulkhead door leading through to the engine room. Michelle peered in warily. To the right, immediately past the door, was a cubbyhole partly partitioned off from the rest of the compartment, with a chair, a tiny steel desk, and several shelves of charts and manuals. Opposite, on the left, was an open kit locker with steel steps leading up to what looked like a hatch out to the deck. Beyond was the engine room proper, built around the two main diesels standing parallel with a walkway between them. At the far end, past the engines, a steel ladder surrounded by more machinery led up to another hatch, which Michelle judged had to be near the stern somewhere.
As she was debating which way to go, a movement on a ledge near her head caught her eye. It was a mec—in fact, the peculiar one that Corfe called a "KE," with a socket like a hat on top of its head, that plugged into computer cords. It was waving at her. There was no time for quizzing. She picked it up and set it on the palm of her hand. It jabbed an arm several times, pointing in the direction of the engine room. She went through, among valves and housings, generators, batteries, banks of electrical gear. It was hot and noisy, with one of the generator systems running, but at least the engines were quiet.
Gesturing like a tiny, animated compass, the mec guided her to a point up among a tangle of pipes and valves, where she found another mec. It was wielding what looked like a miniature saw blade, working at one of the pipes like a logger sectioning a felled trunk. The KE in Michelle's hand pointed and gesticulated frantically, but she was too tense and fearful to grasp what the gestures meant. Then she heard shouts and voices behind her as the door above the stairs at the far end of the passage she had just come along was thrown open.
Michelle had a fraction of a second to make a choice. There were two directions she could take to a hatchway out. The one to the left, from the locker space, was closer but meant going back, toward whoever was approaching. She hurried the other way, between the main engines, scrambled up the steel ladder, and pulled herself through the stern hatch. Outside on the deck she froze, her head inches from the opening. A voice grew louder in the engine compartment below, calling back to somebody, but Michelle was unable to make out the words against the noise of the generator and auxiliary machinery.
Michelle eased back from the hatch opening and looked cautiously around. She had come up in the fishing cockpit, extending across the stern below the fantail extension of the after lounge, which sat above the engine room aft of the salon. Although she could hear voices and activity higher up and forward on the boat deck, the after superstructure hid her from view from all angles, unless somebody should come to the rail at the extreme end of the fantail, immediately above her.
Steps led up to the fantail, but that way was out of the question. The dock looked just a little too far away and too low to step across onto easily—and besides, seemed horribly exposed. Two gates through the stern rail of the fishing platform seemed to lead down even lower.
Voices sounded again from inside the hatch. "Hey, Cole, did you see that woman who was with the boss? She's gone someplace."
"Well, she ain't in here."
"How's the starter? Can you rig it?"
"Nearly done."
Michelle eased herself quietly across to one of the gates in the fishing cockpit rail. Below it, a short ladder led down to a swim platform that formed the stern, riding just a few feet above the water. And there, pulled up on the swim platform, was a small, outboard-driven, three-person inflatable. Her way off the yacht was right there. Well, it was about time, she thought to herself. By now, she deserved a break.
She checked quickly that no one was close, then turned and backed feet-first through the gate and down. The inflatable was tied by a line to a handrail. Michelle put her hands against the craft's bow and gave it a test push. It moved more easily than she had expected. She slid it down off the platform into the water and threw after it one of several paddles from a rack. Then she turned, kneeling on the edge of the platform, and prepared to follow. Just as she was about to lower herself into the boat, a roar started up inside the yacht, and the hull shuddered. The diesels were running.
Michelle found the floor of the boat with a foot and steadied it. . . .
And then she realized what the KE mec had been trying to convey to her in the engine room. The pipe that the other mec had been trying to cut—probably a fuel line—was too big. The KE had wanted her to break it with something. Now, after everything, because Michelle hadn't understood, Vanessa, Payne, all of them, were about to get away.
Michelle stood agonizing, with one foot in the boat. She could write it off as a lost cause and get herself away at least; or she could go back, now that she knew what was needed, and at least try to do something. The water beneath the stern of the Princess Dolores began churning, almost settling her decision by throwing her out of the boat. A voice called from the direction of the bridge, "Cast off aft." Footsteps sounded from the far side of the fantail above.
Michelle hung on and turned her head, looking down and then back. . . . And as her eyes roamed over the docks behind her as if seeking guidance, an astonishing sight greeted her: Ohira's car was pulling onto the quay, the wreckage of the chain-link gate still trailing from one side of the hood. There seemed to be some commotion back along the access road, where the gate attendant was out of his box, waving his arms, other figures turning and shouting. Even as Michelle stared in astonishment, Eric's van appeared where the gate had been, with another car following behind.
Somehow, they were here! They just needed a few more minutes.
Still not certain what she intended doing, Michelle reversed direction and hauled herself back onto the swim platform. As she released her grip on the handrail, the KE mec fell away into the boat bobbing below. Michelle had completely forgotten that she was still clasping it. She climbed back to the fishing cockpit, crawled across the deck to the hatch, and lowered her head to look into the engine compartment.
Even just turning over, the diesels drowned any noise she might have made. The space between the engines was clear, but she could see the shadow of the engineer moving at the far end, near the cubbyhole that she had passed by, and the locker space where the other hatch was.
Then a sudden whoosh sounded from somewhere above. A crimson glow erupted on the far side of the ship's launch stowed on the boat deck, and a cloud of pink smoke rose from the vicinity of the bridge. Voices shouted above, and seconds later a bell be
gan ringing in the engine compartment below. Michelle looked inside the hatch again, in time to see the engineer turn away, talking into a phone headset, and then disappear to the side in the direction of the locker space ladder and hatch, apparently going up to the deck to see what was happening.
Michelle didn't really make the decision; some kind of higher self that had assessed the situation faster and more accurately took over. Dropping down through the hatch, she made her way forward between the engines to the place where the KE had guided her before. The mec with the saw was still there but no longer moving. Michelle looked around, spied a bench and rack with tools, searched along it. . . . She picked up a hefty-looking wrench and weighed it experimentally. There seemed to be plenty of clout there. She selected a bend in the pipe that the mec had been tackling, near a joint that a hard blow or two would stand a good chance of opening, aimed, steadied, and swung with both hands. The pipe didn't break away clean, but the joint ruptured enough to send liquid cascading out over the floor. For good measure, she broke a set of glass spirit gauges full of reddish liquid to send that spurting over the engine compartment too, then dropped the wrench and retreated back up through the hatch.
There seemed to be a fire up above, with figures running about in consternation on the boat deck. An alarm siren began sounding somewhere along the lakeside. Figures were running along the quay. Something fell from above where Michelle was crouching and clattered across the deck. She looked up and had just glimpsed the metal face peering down from beneath the fantail rail when a voice called her name from the direction of the dock. She looked across and realized that the Dolores had begun to move.
An Oriental was running forward on the dock, waving to her—one of Ohira's people. He was swinging a nylon sports bag as if to throw, and signaling for her to catch it. Behind him, several others were wheeling out one of the shoreside gangplanks. Michelle ran to the nearside rail and caught the bag. It was full of mecs. Even as she watched, one of them—a telebot—came to life and scurried along the deck to the object that had fallen from above. It looked like a gun. The other mec was climbing down after it from the fantail. The two of them began dragging it between them, while another emerged from the bag.
The gangplank touched the side of the cockpit, but at once the gap started opening again. "Ms. Lang! Come quick." The Japanese who had thrown the bag waved frantically. It was her only chance now. The inflatable tied below the stern was pitching crazily in the turbulence from the screws.
But as Michelle was about to move, another figure dropped down the stairway from the fantail. It was one of Finnion's guards. He hadn't seen Michelle, who was back under the edge of the fishing cockpit, but he had seen the Japanese holding the gangplank. Misinterpreting their intentions and thinking they were trying to board, he produced his gun and aimed. Michelle hit him full-force from behind, throwing all her weight. He doubled over the rail and went down into the water between the boat and the dock. Michelle caught herself before she went in after him, steadied herself, and then jumped to the gangplank. It was rolling back again before she was halfway down.
Vanessa ran forward from the salon to the bottom of the stairs going up to the bridge. Smoke was engulfing everything above. Garsten, in the doorway behind her, had torn his shirt off to shake the mec out of it. Ellipulos disappeared upward, hauling a fire extinguisher. Payne came down out of the smoke, his eyes red and cheeks streaming.
"What is it? What's happened up there now?" Vanessa shrieked.
Payne shook his head, groggy and bewildered. "One of them set off a distress flare behind the bridge somehow. The boat deck's alight. . . . I don't know. . . ."
Victor Bazhin and Norbert Dunne were blocking the door from the dining room and forward lounge, looking aghast. Zed shouldered his way through from behind them. "Where's Mike?" He spotted Payne. "Chief, somebody's overboard."
"Who?"
"I think it's one of Andy's guys—went in off the stern."
Finnion, holding a flashlamp, came through from the darkened salon aft of them. "A bunch of guys just showed up in two cars—Japanese or something. They've just crashed through the gate. That gray van of yours is there too."
Vanessa closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, her jaw tight. Now she saw their mistake in all its ghastliness. The van left unguarded; Corfe loose. And now Ohira was involved too—which no doubt had a lot to do with whatever had gone wrong in Tacoma.
Kyle, holding a gun, came out of the salon behind Finnion. "The lawyer—she's off the boat," he announced. "They got her off."
"How? Where is she?" Vanessa whispered.
Kyle gestured behind him with the gun. "Fished her off on a gangplank. They're landing her on the dock now."
"Why didn't you shoot her, you fool?" Vanessa seethed.
"Hell, it's not up to me. I just—"
"Give me that!" Vanessa's tone was enough to make Kyle let her take the gun from his hand. She went back through the salon, heading for the stern.
"Christ, she can't! There's people coming from all over out there," Kyle said.
"Wait!" Payne called after Vanessa, but she took no notice. He started after her. At that moment, the engines died.
"Get up on deck," Finnion snapped at Zed and Kyle. "Head her off outside."
Vanessa stormed through the salon, down the stairway at the end and along the passage, and burst into the engine room. Cole was wielding a wrench, grappling to stem fuel pouring from a broken pipe. His clothes were soaked; the floor was awash.
"What the hell now?" Vanessa shouted. "What happened to the engines?"
"Can't you see this? . . . Major emergency situation. The sight glasses for the tanks are wrecked too. We're not going anywhere. Get everybody off, fast!"
Then movement farther along the compartment caught Vanessa's eye. Two telebot mecs working together were dragging something along the floor in the aisle between the engines. They must have dropped it down the ladder from the hatch at the far end. It had a barrel, and looked for all the world like a cannon being trundled between them.
"Cole. What's that?" She pointed. The engineer looked back. His eyes widened into whites.
"Jesus!" He dropped the wrench, seized her, and pushed her down the aisle, virtually throwing her over the top of the mecs. "Get up that hatch! . . ."
"What—"
"JUST GET OUT!"
But Vanessa would need precious seconds to scale the ladder. Cole turned to run back to the locker-space hatch and collided with Payne coming the other way. Finnion was coming down the stairs along the passage behind Payne.
"GET OUT! IT'S A FLARE PISTOL! EVERYTHING'S GONNA BLOW!" Cole bawled at them.
Payne dived sideways for the locker-space hatch. Cole kept on going and flew up the stairs after Finnion, who had hurriedly reversed direction.
Probably, Kevin shouldn't have done it. The intention had been simply a scare tactic to keep the engine room off limits. But after his experiences of fighting the assassin bug in Eric's car, getting Lancelot to Tacoma to free himself from the machine, a wild ride with Ohira, and finally the crazy act to stop the Dolores from sailing while the van careened across Seattle, his adrenaline had taken charge.
And, being coupled into mec space, he hadn't known at that time that Michelle was off the boat and safe; she had been climbing down to a rubber boat at the stern at one point, but now the KE mec was there but Michelle was not. Then, seeing Vanessa brandishing the gun. . . .
And no-one was actually in the engine room itself by that time. . . .
He would agree with Eric later that it was an overreaction, unjustified by the circumstances, going too far. But he never really meant it. The feeling it gave him later, every time he relived the moment, was something that he would remember always and wouldn't have missed for the world.
He pulled the trigger.
The main blast came up through the side hatch that Payne had just emerged from, carrying him over the side and into the water on the side of the boat away from the dock. Bl
ack, oily smoke followed, boiling up also out of the stern hatch that Vanessa had come out of and shrouding the afterdeck. She clutched the rail by the starboard gate down from the fishing cockpit, coughing and retching. The Dolores was drifting, dead in the water. People were coming out onto the quay from the back of the Shoals club building, others gathering on its second-floor terrace. Someone had thrown a lifebelt to the figure struggling in the water between the boat and the dock. Sirens of approaching fire trucks wailed along the waterfront. Flames erupted from somewhere near the stern on the far side, and another figure jumped into the water. Orange tongues were also licking from the side hatch that Payne had escaped through. There was no way for Vanessa to go forward.
Payne was swimming toward the stern. Vanessa looked down and saw the inflatable boat tied to the swim platform, which was what he was making for. Black smoke from the burning diesel fuel and pink clouds from the flare blazing on the boat deck above were mingling to blot out the whole scene. The inflatable, she realized, could also be their way out of this.
She turned and climbed down to the swim platform. As her head came level with the fishing cockpit deck, she noticed the nylon sports bag with another mec just in the process of crawling out. It came to the edge and peered down, watching while Vanessa dropped into the rubber boat and helped Payne in over the side. When she turned to untie the line, the mec flew down at her and landed on her coat. Literally—it had wings. She gave a shout, more from ire than fear, tore it off and threw it down.
"What is it?" Payne gasped as he sat up.
Vanessa untied and used a paddle that was already there to push them clear of the Dolores's stern. "Those things. They're everywhere."
Payne lowered the outboard into the water and ran out the starter cord to turn the motor. But before he could let the cord back in for a real starting tug, another mec leaped from the floor, grabbed ahold of the cord with all four of its limbs, and wedged itself tight in the outlet. Payne pried at it with his fingers but couldn't budge it. "It's stuck. I can't move the cord."
Bug Park Page 33