by John Day
She stood the figure upright on the table. The well-crafted feet of the statuette and its perfect balance allowed it to stand firm. They both looked round it in awe. It was so intricate and beautiful.
“What do you think it’s actually worth?” Enquired Max.
“In money terms I have no idea. As a token of your love for me, ” she replied, “It is beyond price.”
She knelt in front of it and touched its hands with her little fingers.
Images flashed through Carla’s mind like pictures in a children’s flicker book. Instead of a short movie, each picture was like a still photograph. There was more to it though; each picture left a lasting feeling.
“Wow!” Exclaimed Carla snatching her hands away. “What was that all about?”
“Probably a static discharge” pronounced Max, “are you wearing nylon knickers?” He joked.
She explained briefly, what had happened, it reinforced her memory of the first image. “Max! We must leave at once, I cannot explain why, but I know we must.”
Max knew she was no psychic, but did have an uncanny sense of self-preservation. Even so, it was too late to leave tonight.
They were both startled when the cabin phone rang. Carla’s sense of dread had spooked them.
Max answered, it was Sam Leighton. He spoke urgently, and Max replied in a series of yeses and a final, “we will pack straight away.” Then, concluded the call.
Looking at Carla he said, “Sam needs us in Egypt straightaway. There is a helicopter on its way, and the Organisation’s jet is due to land at Malé in three hours’ time!”
Carla was still apprehensive, the new mission was nothing to do with her anxiety, but at least things were moving in the right direction.
Chapter - Unexpected visitors.
Captain Steel’s telephone rang in his cabin, and he reached for it “This is the bridge sir. A small boat is in distress, do I have your permission to assist.”
“Yes! I’m on my way up.” Steel replaced the phone and hurried to the bridge. Within minutes, the boarding steps were lowered, and the launch pulled away to make its rescue.
A similar launch was taking on water, and the engine had failed, all within 300 metres of the Ocean Raider. The two men on board the launch had flashed lights to get attention, and shouted their predicament to the first officer, when he came to the rail.
Once aboard, the captain was introduced to the helmsmen of the launch and his passenger, a craggy faced man who called himself Stan Peters. His real name was Geoff Collins.
“Captain Steel,” called out Mark Goodliffe. “I have an urgent and private call for you.”
“Thank you, I’m on my way,” replied Steel.
He requested their new arrivals to wait for him in the lounge.
Sam Leighton briefed Steel on the imminent arrival of a helicopter to pick up Max and Carla, and Steel related the unexpected rescue of the two men. Both Leighton and Steel were suspicious of the incident, so security was tightened.
Steel returned to the lounge and spoke to Stan Peters. Steel thought the man was probably an executive on holiday; he was intelligent and had an easy way with him yet authoritative. Stan Peters tended to confirm this when he answered the Captain’s questions.
The helmsman though, was a sullen and uncommunicative individual, who did not participate in the subtle information seeking questions, from Captain Steel. Still, Stan more than made up for that. Steel was already talking and drinking with Peters as if they were old friends. Steel even mentioned he would have to dash off shortly, to say goodbye to his only two guests, when their helicopter arrived.
“Would you mind if I went on deck for a smoke, Captain, just to settle my nerves after the rescue?” Stan asked.
The captain was pleased to agree; he was a non-smoker and did not allow smoking inside the ship. Stan, or Geoff Collins as he actually was, kept a sharp eye on the helicopter pad to see what else would be leaving the ship.
Max and Carla were soon ready to leave, they had not unpacked their luggage since they boarded, so they just added what was left. The statuette box was re-wrapped, and everything moved on deck as the small helicopter landed. Collins was thinking fast, if the box he saw had the artefact, he must stay with it. If it did not contain the statuette, then he needed to stay on the ship and investigate further. His gut told him to stay with the box.
“Captain, could I return in the helicopter? It would save you having to take me back in your launch.”
Steel knew what was in the box, though he never let on. His instinct told him there were too many coincidences happening, all at once.
“No, I am afraid that will not be possible. My guests have a private charter so I cannot let you.”
“Well, why don’t I ask them, myself?” And Collins walked away towards Max, before Steel could say no.
Above the noise of the idling engine and whirring rotors, Geoff Collins asked Max for a lift, it was imperative he returned straight away because he was a diabetic and needed medication. He lied convincingly that the captain has suggested it. Collins added “but of course it is your decision.”
Max could see no harm in it and ushered him aboard.
“What’s in the box, the Crown Jewels?” Collins asked. His eyes, though warm and friendly, focused intently on Max’s. Yes, there it was, the telltale down to the right movement of the eyes. Max hesitated and then replied, “No, it’s just some equipment” Collins knew, before Max spoke, it was going to be a lie, but why lie unless it was like the Crown Jewels.
The package was exactly the right size and Max would not let anyone else near it, he even had it strapped in the seat.
Max moved the box off the seat to make way for the new passenger who had settled in and strapped up.
Carla arrived on deck and bent over whilst holding her hair in place as she approached the helicopter. She had a shock when she looked up at the man sat there. She quickly turned and walked back to Max.
“Who is that she asked?”
“I don’t know, Stan, somebody, the Captain wants us to take him back with us.”
“Max! When I touched the statuette I saw the face of this man, and he will be trouble, big trouble.”
Carla was sincere, he knew that, but surely, she must be mistaken. What could this man do, alone?
“OK, I’ll ask him to get off. But what about his insulin, he needs to get back to take it” persisted Max.
“The ship’s doctor must have some, if not, one of the stewards has. He has diabetes.”
Max thought again. Okay, and then set off, grudgingly, to break the unwelcome news to their passenger.
Collins had lip-read most of what was said, so he knew what was coming. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. With one swift movement, he leaned forward and held the blade across the throat of the pilot in front of him.
“Take her up!” Collins demanded. The pilot only hesitated for a moment, just until he felt the stinging sensation of a cut on his throat as Collins slid the scalpel-sharp blade lightly across his skin. It was only a long nick actually, but there was blood, his blood!
The engine note rose, and rotors gained speed rapidly. Max and several members of the crew rushed forward as the machine started to lift off. Max grabbed a coiled tie-rope used to hold the craft in position on the pad in high winds. He leapt onto the front of a lifting skid and looped the rope around it a couple of turns. With the skid under his armpit to hold on, and the other hand holding the rope tight to stop it slipping, he hung there.
The helicopter lurched wildly with its front corner tethered to the ship. Collins faced a Mexican standoff. The pilot could not break the tether, no matter how much he wanted to. No one on the helideck could hear Collins threat to kill the pilot, above the engine noise, so they would not release the tether. He could not kill the pilot anyway, because he could not fly himself. Cut the tether was the only solution. Collins unbuckled and tried to climb onto the skid. The pilot saw his chance, landed the craft with a jolt, and jumped ou
t before Collins could get back to him. Max leapt clear when the craft went down, still clinging to the loose end of the rope, just in case the helicopter went up again.
The crew rushed Collins and overpowered him. They took him below, and locked him in a storeroom.
***
Wilson, Philippe’s man watching the Ocean Raider, rubbed his tired eyes and stood up stretching his long limbs. The constant vigil was boring, nothing was happening on the Ocean Raider, his cramped cabin was sweltering even with the windows, and hatches open. The air temperature had not changed much from midday, but the low angle of the evening sun reduced the solar gain through the glass considerably, bringing some relief.
He reached for the mug of black coffee, it was barely warm having been standing for 15 minutes; however, it was wet, and the shot of caffeine would keep him going a little longer.
The approaching launch with Geoff Collins aboard, caught Wilson’s attention. It appeared to be moving away from its earlier course parallel to the shore, to a position close to the Ocean Raider. Through his powerful binoculars, he could see the two men clearly. The one at the helm looked like a local man, the other, a craggy faced man, looked tense and vigilant. “He looks a mean and ugly bastard,” thought Wilson. “Not a person you’d want to meet in a dark alley.”
Wilson was surprised and intrigued at what was happening on board. It appeared the man at the helm had locked it, lifted the engine cover and fiddled about with the fuel pipe. It looked like he had kinked the plastic pipe deliberately, replaced the cover, and carried on steering until the engine died of fuel starvation. The regular note of the engine was barely audible in the distance, but then suddenly it cut out. Now they were flashing a lamp, waving and shouting to attract attention from the crew of the Ocean Raider.
Wilson called in his report to Philippe.
“Such a strange thing to do,” thought Philippe, “unless you wanted a good reason to board the Ocean Raider. What better way, than claim you have engine trouble.”
“Full speed,” demanded Philippe and the powerful cruiser surged forward at a good 50 knots. “It looks like we may have competition,” he shouted to his second in command, over the thundering roar of the twin turbo diesels.
Wilson watched and reported all he saw until the two men went into the lounge.
Later, more activity was taking place on the deck around the helicopter pad; perhaps one was due.
The last communication from the Ocean Raider, a few minutes ago was scrambled, so something crucial was about to happen.
Philippe was getting worried now. He had come all this way and was so close to retrieving the statuette. Nothing must go wrong.
“Can’t you get more speed out of this thing,” demanded Philippe angrily. The helmsmen shook his head, “No, it's flat out, I am trying to pick the best course to get there quicker, that’s all I can do.”
Wilson reported the approach and then the landing of the helicopter. Philippe went mad with rage; he was just 15 minutes away from the ship and nothing more could be done to shorten the time.
He screamed to no one in particular, “those fuckers are going to get away with my statuette again, and there is nothing I can do about it.” He kicked out furiously at the engine hatch cover, hurting his foot. He went silent with inwardly seething rage at losing out again, and having lost his composure in front of his men. He growled to himself “This fucking daughter of mine and the imbecilic old fool with her, must have charmed lives, but not for much fucking longer. I’ll hunt them down wherever they go and then they will pay.” His men said nothing, but tensely gripped the boat, willing it to get there on time.
The following report from Wilson mentioned loading the box. A few minutes later Wilson gave a running commentary on the take-off of the tethered helicopter and its sudden landing again. Next, he reported the overpowering of the craggy faced man and being escorted away from the machine, by the crew.
Philippe felt some relief; he might still get to the ship before the helicopter took off again.
The Helicopter pilot was in a state of shock, he had never faced death before. The knife at his throat was bad enough, but the blood from the long surface cut was all his! The front of his white shirt stained with it. Trembling and feeling terribly weak, two of the crew helped him to the doctor’s surgery where they cleaned him up and applied a dressing.
Max and Carla waited on deck near the running helicopter to keep an eye on the box. They were taking no chances of anyone snatching it now.
Captain Steel told them the pilot was feeling better after being cleaned up, and would still take them to the airport in about 10 minutes.
***
Geoff Collins looked around the small, 1.5-metre by 2.0-metre steel box of a storeroom. There was no window or ventilation opening, just the single door. The enclosed bulkhead light had been turned on by one of the two crewmen, who brought him down to the room, so he looked around to find a way out. The crew had searched him before locking him in, so he had nothing on him, not even his lighter and cigarettes.
The room contained stacks of deep bin type containers holding cleaning fluids, cleaning equipment such as brooms, mops and a powerful vacuum cleaner on one side and linen and crockery on the other. Some bins had locked fronts. If they contained anything useful, it was out of reach.
He studied the door. It opened out, so the hinges and tenon parts of the lock were not accessible. He peered through the keyhole and could make out only one of the crew left to guard him. Presumably the helmsmen who had boarded with him was also locked away somewhere.
A thought crossed his mind, and he reached for the mop. No, that was no good; the thick wire that bound the tassels to the pole was too strong, so he put the mop back. Sifting through the linen was next, but no, there was nothing he could use there either. Then he spotted some white overalls that had fallen to the floor at some time. As he picked them up, he noticed the wire coat hanger inside them, just what he wanted. He quickly fashioned the hooked end into an L shape suitable for picking the lock. As he worked the wire in the door lock, he kicked the door and shouted continuously, to mask the faint metallic scratching noise from the lock pick.
He eventually felt the lock tenon trawl back, now for the next part of his plan. Collins stopped making any noise at all and peered through the keyhole, to see what his guard was doing. The guard looked towards the door, relieved the din had stopped and then looked away. Then Collins made a noise with the wire in the lock as though he was trying to pick it. The guard now looked across at the door, took out his keys, and walked towards the door. He intended to leave the key in the lock to prevent Collins from picking it.
Just as the guard inserted the key Collins turned the handle and barged the heavy steel door. It swung open with considerable force catching the guard in the face, and sending him crashing against the far wall. Collins leapt on him and with two swift punches, rendered him unconscious.
Collins dragged the man into the storeroom, closed, and locked the door. He crept along the passage to the captain’s cabin and went in.
He soon found the keys to the gun locker and selected a 38 automatic and several clips of ammunition. He made his way back up on deck.
Philippe could now see the Ocean Raider. He grew anxious at the sight of the helicopter with the rotors turning; it could take off at any moment.
“Take the boat in at an arc, towards the boarding steps that are still lowered, and cut the engine,” commanded Philippe. “We might be able to drift in unnoticed and board her.”
“John, you’re the best shot, pick off anyone who goes near the helicopter, but don’t hit the machine. I don’t want it in flames or exploding.” John dashed into the cabin and fitted his sniper scope to a powerful rifle.
Nobody aboard the Ocean Raider noticed the speeding cruiser, as it swung towards the ship and cut its engines. The loud whine from the helicopter drowned out the sound of it throttling back.
The cruiser glided in towards the boarding steps and
bumped noisily into Collins launch, alongside. The only person who heard the impact was Collins. His senses were highly tuned for trouble. He peeped out of the cabin, seeing nothing, he moved to the rail and looked over. The phut of a suppressor and buzz of a bullet as it plucked the shoulder of his jacket, made him leap back.
“Christ! Someone else is after the box,” he muttered to himself.
Keeping low, he scuttled towards the top of the boarding steps and waited; ready to ambush anyone climbing up. He could also see the helicopter from this position, and prevent it taking off without him.
Two heads appeared as men climbed up the boarding steps. They were facing the rear of the ship, watching the crew and helicopter. When they cautiously turned and saw Collins, they were surprised he had escaped from wherever the crew had locked him up. Two shots rang out, and both heads exploded, as the massive 45 calibre bullets smashed their way through their skulls.
Yells went up from the crew at the sound of gunfire. The captain ordered an officer to issue firearms, whilst everyone took cover.
Heavy covering fire broke out from the cruiser as three men rushed up the boarding steps. Collins dared not look down in case they shot him.
Bullets tore at the white paintwork of the ship’s hull, splintering wood and glass all around Collins, who now lay flat on the deck waiting for more heads to show.
A machine gun on a man’s raised arm appeared above the steps, raked the deck indiscriminately around Collins, who calmly aimed and fired at the wrist. The recoiling machine gun snapped the thread of flesh that attached it to the screaming man below. His wrist disappeared in a red spray of blood and bone.
Other gunmen appeared in an instant, keeping Collins pinned down whilst others climbed up the steps.
The helicopter pilot had just left the doctor and decided to make a run for it whilst the shooting was confined to the top of the boarding steps. Max and Carla ran with him to his machine.
Although pinned-down by Philippe’s men, Collins spotted the dash for the helicopter and shot the pilot dead. Max grabbed Carla’s hand and pulled her forward in the relative shelter of the helicopter. “Get strapped in,” he yelled.