by Gar Wilson
"I could almost swear you're jealous, Katz," McCarter, not known for his tact, remarked rudely, more as a way of releasing tension than out of malice. "The two of them spending the night together, and now all morning, too."
"I find her an attractive woman, but this is a very important mission, and my personal longings do not enter it. Aside from that, though, she has a magnetic force. I am all too familiar with her type."
None of them spoke, and a sympathetic silence descended. They had ail experienced what it was like to feel for somebody who was by all appearances undeserving.
McCarter, who'd expected Katz to fight back, hung his head with remorse. It was the helplessness of feeling trapped that had gotten to him, he decided. Why, he admired Katz more than anybody else.
"Sorry," he said. He rarely apologized. This time it made him feel better.
Katz nodded. "Forget it. So let's get on with that situation report. I'll start things moving."
"One radio man is missing. The equipment and spares have been knowledgeably sabotaged."
With the tension gone, the men became professionals again.
"The captain says the system is shut down temporarily for routine maintenance," Encizo said. "That's what I was told when I tried to put through a call first thing this morning like you told me to do."
Katz laughed cynically. "No skipper shuts down his links to the outside world when he has a thousand passengers aboard."
"The radar is on the fritz," Manning reported. "The sonar can't hear a thing, and the foghorn has laryngitis. They have signal flags up, visible about ten yards off either side."
Calvin James contributed. "They're firing the Very pistol, but nobody with radar is going to pass close enough to see them."
"And from what I gather," Manning said, "I'd bet a bearskin rug against a skunk hat that all the navigational equipment is spinning around like ballerinas. This ship is in the ocean of piss as far as I can tell."
"So," Katz said. "We're cut off from the world. Absolutely cut off."
"Too many coincidences," McCarter added. "Everything except the fog could be sabotage."
Katz nodded his head. "So we work on that presumption. The Cheyenne gang has cut us off from civilization and forced the skipper to proceed at steerage speed. And we only know two people from the other side."
"Except there is no Cheyenne gang," Encizo said.
"What do you mean?"
"I had to sweet-talk an ugly muchacha from the purser's office most of the night. She tells me there are only two people aboard from Cheyenne: Cardwell and Vulcan."
"You saw the passports?"
"No. She told me. If you want me to…"
"Never mind," McCarter said. "You're right."
"How do you know?"
"Elementary, my dear Watson." He tossed a copy of the passenger list on the table. "It includes hometowns. The church bus you followed, Katz, the group that nearly got you killed might have had less than half a dozen of the Cheyenne people along. We can be sure of no one except Cardwell, Vulcan and the two goons."
Katz said, "So there is only one large identifiable group aboard the ship. The computer experts."
"And they're clean," Manning said. "They're all well-known. To the industry. To the government. And each other. There are no Cheyenne people in that group. I guarantee it."
Katz sorted through his memory. "I thought we had this game going into the last quarter with a twenty-one point lead. Now it seems we have nothing."
"We have Cardwell and Vulcan. We could sweat them," McCarter said. His friends' eyes were unenthusiastic when they looked at him. "Yeah, yeah, they'd lie. But maybe their cohorts in this thing would come out in the open to help them."
Manning interrupted. "That's why they're holed up. You try to go into that stateroom, and I guarantee you'll go off this ship as chum for the local fisherman."
"Blast!" McCarter stared at the floor.
"By tomorrow morning, the shipping company will begin an air-sea search for the Odyssey," Encizo said.
"Where did you hear that?" Katz asked.
"I heard the cabin stewards talking."
Manning scoffed. "That's getting the news from the horse's ass."
"No, wait," Katz said. "They're undoubtedly right. They will start a search, and they'll find us fast."
"So we turn Cardwell and Vulcan in to the authorities. Let the CIA sort out the agents."
Katz smacked the metal of his artificial hand into his remaining palm, "You don't understand. Whatever they're up to, the Cheyenne troops are going to pull it off by tomorrow morning."
"Like what?" Encizo asked.
McCarter volunteered an idea. "Like getting off the ship in lifeboats and heading for a Greek island. Around here islands are as thick as dung in a pasture."
"That means they won't get a chance to assassinate or kidnap the President in Venice, Katz," Calvin James said.
"If they're going to escape by lifeboat, what are they waiting for? The fog isn't going to last. The captain can navigate with a sextant," Katz spit out as he paced the floor.
"Then we've beaten them," McCarter said. "They'll never get through Greek paperwork in time to reach Venice. I mean, they show up on shore in lifeboats from a ship that hasn't sunk. They're going nowhere. Call them, Katz. Tell Vulcan we'll let them go without a fight." Impetuously he looked in the ship's phone directory and dialed Vulcan's phone number. He handed the instrument to Katz.
After a brief greeting, Katz went to the point. "Got an offer for you, 'Reverend. If you and all… I emphasize all… if you want to get off the ship in lifeboats…"
"Lifeboats? Leave the ship?" The Russian sounded incredulous. "Good heavens. We certainly have no intentions of deserting a perfectly good ship. You really must see someone about your drinking, Mr… Mr…"
"Dwayne Fredericks," Katz lied.
"Yes, well, Mr. Fredericks, please do not call again. Miss Cardwell and I are preparing my weekly sermon."
The phone clicked and Katz shook his head.
When he put it aside, no one doubted the response.
But Calvin James approached things from a different viewpoint. "Maybe we're missing the point." He furrowed his brow and felt ill at ease making a suggestion to men far more experienced than himself. But a pebble of thought was in his brain, and he could not cover it over the way an oyster makes a pearl. "Maybe the Russian mission does not require them to reach the States. Maybe they don't even have to reach Venice. I mean… getting a bunch of agents into the States at one time might be a big bonus. And killing or kidnapping the President by agents pretending to be American citizens might have some advantage. But what if their mission is right here."
Manning smirked. "Aboard ship?"
"Yeah."
"Like doing what?"
James began retreating. "It was just a thought."
"They could break up the shuffleboard tournament," McCarter said.
James tried to salvage something of his idea. "Maybe they know we are Phoenix Force agents. We may be the only target."
"They didn't know we'd come aboard," Katz argued.
"Or they could plan on sinking the ship? To kill a lot of people."
Katz again disregarded the idea. "The last time a cruise ship sank, three people were injured when they were getting into the lifeboats. And that was off Alaska."
Katz rubbed the bridge of his nose the way people did who wore glasses constantly. Something was definitely starting to nag at him.
"Katz…" Gary Manning caught the Phoenix Force leader's attention and nodded toward the door leading to the hall.
A slip of paper slid through the crack beneath.
Five hands reached for concealed weapons, but only McCarter actually drew his piece.
"I'll get it." Encizo put a detaining hand on his leader's shoulder and then crossed the living room. He returned with the folded paper unopened.
Katz read it twice to himself before reading it aloud. "Captain Nielson invites you and y
our traveling companions to join the assistant cruise director on an exclusive tour of the Odyssey's engine room, promptly at 5:00 p.m. today."
He raised his eyes and looked from one man to another.
Manning reacted first. He took the note from Katz and said, "It's typed."
"So it's not a regular invitation," Encizo said.
Katz took it back. "Few cruise ships let their passengers into the engine rooms. They cite insurance rules. You get guided tours of the bridge, and sometimes they show off their kitchens… but engine rooms? Not usually."
"Then you're sure this came from Vulcan?" Manning asked.
"Anyone doubt it?"
"No," McCarter said.
James shrugged.
"Not me," said Encizo. "But why 5:00 p.m.?"
"It's after tea time," McCarter said. "Just before bingo. A quarter of the passengers will be in the main lounge with their little cards."
"What about the rest?"
McCarter cocked his head. "The pianist will be playing classical music in a cozy bar. Bridge in the card room. A few of the ladies will be finishing up in the hairdresser's. And cocktails will be served at every bar aboard."
"And the crew?" Katz asked.
"Between bells? The captain and half his officers will be dressing for dinner. Can't let the fat cats dine without giving proper importance to the occasion, you know." McCarter smiled. "That should include us before the cruise is over. We have the most expensive suites. That's usually the ticket to the captain's table or at least the honor of having the ship's engineer at your table. The kitchen help will be busy as hell, of course. The waiters and busboys will be setting the tables. Half the crew will have eaten earlier. The other half will be dining belowdecks. Cruise director and staff, let's see… anyone not at bingo will be at the singles' party. The disco chap will still be sleeping. The entertainers… getting into costume, I imagine."
"What about the theater?" Katz asked.
"The cinema?"
"Yes."
"Showing the end of a film, probably."
"And the grand master computer hackers of the Western world will be at their machines."
"Wrong on both of those notions." Manning had picked up the daily bulletin of ship's entertainment. "No matinee movie today. The master hackers have a seminar in the movie theater between four and six. So any kiddies aboard will be at the pool, gawking at the girls in G-strings."
Katz nodded. "In other words, practically everybody aboard will be busy?"
"Ho! I do believe you have it. The invitation gets you into the engine room while everybody else is otherwise occupied. Clever chaps, these Russian cowboys from Cheyenne."
"Only one error in your thinking, McCarter," Manning said. "One, we'll all be in that engine room. They'll have more to contend with than they expect."
Katz said, "Only three problems with your thinking, Gary. Vulcan knows damn well I'll expect a trap. Two, he'll know all of you will be there to back me up. And three, they know what to expect from us, and they're not the least bit afraid."
"Meaning?"
"I don't know. But five o'clock is like high noon."
"Cheyenne showdown," Calvin James.
"Yes," Katz agreed. "Cheyenne showdown at 5:00 p.m."
19
The Phoenix Force team had scouted the engine room entrances, three hours before the «deadline» that had been specified on the odd invitation.
Restrictive signs like Crew Only had meant nothing. With five hundred employees, nobody knew all of them. A staff, trained in how to cater to passengers, found it difficult to deny access to any part of the ship to the paying guests.
Not wanting to call attention to themselves, only one of the Force, Rafael Encizo, had actually entered the engine room.
Back in Katz's suite, he drew a map of the lower two decks of the ship.
The others grouped around the table to hear him out. They had spent their afternoon playing detective, trying to pin down who worked with Vulcan. It was boring work for active men.
Without enjoyment Katz dragged on another Camel: his mouth tasted bad, and finally he determinedly squashed the unfinished cigarette. Butts filled the ashtrays to overflowing. Manning drank Coca-Cola. Empty and partially filled cans around the room spoke of his tension — and his addiction.
McCarter played with the gun he intended to carry in the holster covered by his turtleneck sweater. For the fourth time he emptied the magazine of the M-S Safari Arms Matchmaster.45-caIiber pistol and recounted the shells. The seven-shot magazine was not enough, considering that he had no reserve whatsoever.
He scowled each time he refilled the clip.
Finishing touches and details on the sketch of the deck plans occupied Encizo, who was usually calm but appeared somewhat high-strung.
Only Calvin James watched patiently, and even he was obsessed with the digital wall clock, checking it every twenty to thirty seconds.
Twenty minutes, thirty-two seconds before the deadline. Twenty minutes, twelve seconds before 5:00 p.m.
"Okay." Katz exhaled two lungsful of smoke to cloud the table the way fog had restricted the ship captain's vision throughout the day. "Go through it slowly, Rafael."
"All right. Near as I can tell, beneath the bottom deck there's a sort of crawl space."
"The bilges," McCarter offered.
"Yeah," Encizo said. "You could reach it from the engine room. There's a hatch in the deck, but it looks as if the locking mechanism has been painted over. So let's skip that and go straight to the bottom deck and the engine room itself.
"The front half of the bottom deck is filled with storage and fuel tanks. There is a hatch between the storage compartment and the engine room. We could enter from there, except we'd have to get inside the storage area. That would involve breaking a sturdy lock on a companionway from above, or using a locked freight elevator. Pd call that approach possible but not plausible."
Manning snorted, but never voiced what his problem was. With a baleful eye he looked at McCarter when he spoke.
"Leaving us what?" McCarter asked impatiently.
Katz said, "Let him tell it, David. We still have eighteen minutes left."
Seventeen minutes, forty-six seconds, James told himself.
The Cuban continued, carefully choosing his words. "The engine room occupies the stern half of the bottom deck. Just what you would expect. Three giant diesels. Generators. A complete tool shop. Lathes, drill presses, that sort of thing."
"Just tell us how you got in," Calvin James interrupted. He could not keep his eyes from locking on the clock.
"All right. The engine room occupies the entire back half of the bottom deck. On the starboard side, though, it's two decks high. I guess they needed the extra space for piping, wiring, catwalks out over the engines. That means the main entrance to the engine room is from the second deck up.
"Crew quarters all the way to the bow. At the stern is the auditorium. It must seat half the passengers aboard and also serves as the movie theater.
"And that's the way we go into the engine room," Encizo decided.
"You running the team now, Encizo?" McCarter asked snidely.
Katz ignored the Englishman. "What makes that the best way in?"
"First, that route gets us to the second deck up without attracting any attention. Anybody asks… which is unlikely… we say we're going to the movie."
"Better say we're looking for the computer seminar. The bits and bytes people will be occupying the auditorium then," Katz said.
"Okay." Encizo continued. "The door to the hallway leading forward has a small sign that reads Crew's Quarters. There's no big Passengers Forbidden sign. We won't get thrown out before we reach the engine room door."
"What makes you sure," McCarter said caustically this time, but nobody bothered responding to that.
"You can babble in Russian and French, Katz, if anybody tries to stop us." The suggestion was Calvin James's. "Rafael can spiel out in Spanish. You do your Cockne
y imitation, David."
McCarter grunted.
"Of course the Russians will expect us to enter through that door," Katz said.
Encizo nodded. "No question about it. When you go through that door, you're a sitting duck. You can take the stairway down or walk out onto the catwalks. Take your choice."
McCarter grumbled. "All they have to do is pick us off one at a time as we come through the door."
Manning took a swig of Coke and shook his head. "We can all get in there alive."
"How?" McCarter asked.
"They'll want Katz for sure."
"So?"
"So he goes in last."
"What?" McCarter was incredulous.
Calvin James understood. "Sure. I'll go in first. They won't mistake me for Katz."
Encizo said, "Me next."
Manning shrugged. "Sounds good. If they kill three of us, they can't expect Katz will ever come through that door."
"Throw in smoke," McCarter said. "We got the stuff. Stun bombs. I have several I bought at the bazaar in Istanbul."
"Better throw in everything first, before any of you go in," Katz suggested.
"No." Calvin James was emphatic. "Sorry, Katz. I didn't mean to take over."
"No problem. Go ahead."
"I just think I should carry a stun grenade, Rafael, the smoke, but I don't see using it until we know where the guys are who are attempting to ambush us. I'm sure they won't shoot anybody if it means losing a chance at Katz. The rest of us are small-fry to the Cheyenne bunch."
Katz looked from one to the other. "Well. Gary?"
"It sure isn't SWAT team tactics, but under the circumstances, it sounds good."
"Rafael?"
"It makes sense."
"Calvin, we know what you think. How about you, David?"
McCarter paused. "Yeah, yeah. I like it. But what about afterward?"
All eyes focused on Katz, but it was Calvin James, the Seals-trained frogman, who answered.
"If it becomes necessary for us to abandon ship, then here is the escape plan. Because I doubt you guys can swim as far as me, so in five minutes… no more… after the shooting is over, or the last bad guy is down, we meet on Promenade Deck, forward. I'll have a lifeboat ready to launch."