Treasure dp-9

by Clive Cussler

  Collins stared through the bridge windows at the popular playground of South America. "I'll not complain. This ship will be hosting the presidents of Mexico and Egypt during the conference.

  "That a fact?" muttered Campos. "No wonder they wanted to keep your vessel offshore."

  "May I offer you a drink in my cabin, or better yet, considering the hour, would you do the honor of dining with me?"

  Campos shook his head. "My thanks for the invite, Captain." He paused and motioned at the mass of ships filling the harbor. "But she's a busy time. Maybe a rain check for your next layover."

  Campos filled out his document for payment and handed it to Captain Collins, who signed. Campos looked through the aft bridge windows at the immaculate decks of the ship.

  "One of these days I'll take a holiday and sail with you as a passenger."

  "Let me know," said Collins. "I'll see the company covers all your expenses."

  "A mighty kind offer. If I tell my wife, she'll never let up till I take advantage of it."

  "A pleasure, Mr. Campos. any time you say the word."

  The pilot boat came alongside and Campos jumped onto the deck from the boarding ladder. He gave a final wave as the boat pulled away and headed out to sea to pilot the next incoming vessel.

  "Most enjoyable voyage I ever sailed." This from Collins's first officer, Nhchael Finney. "A frill crew and no passengers. for six days I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

  Company orders required ship's officers to spend almost as much time entertaining the passengers as sailing the ship, a duty Finney hated with a passion. A fine seaman, he stayed away from the main dining salon as much as possible, preferring to eat with his fellow officers, or making constant inspections of the ship.

  Finney didn't exactly look the part of a party mixer. He was big, with a barrel chest that fought to explode from the tight confines of his uniform.

  "I don't imagine you missed the joy of mingling and small talk," said Collins sarcastically.

  Finney made a disagreeable face. "Wouldn't be so bad if they didn't ask the same stupid questions all the time."

  "Courtesy and respect when dealing with passengers, Mr. Finney," Collins admonished. "It goes with the waters. Mind your manners in the next few days. We'll be entertaining some rather important foreign leaders and statesmen."

  Finney did not reply. He gazed at the modern high-rise

  "Everytime I see the old town," he said wistfully, "they ve added another hotel."

  "Yes, you're from Uruguay."

  "Born just west in Montevideo. My father was a sales rep for a Belfast machinery company."

  "You must enjoy coming home," said Collins.

  "Not really. I signed aboard a Panamanian ore carrier when I was sixteen. Mum and dad are gone. Nobody left I grew up with." He paused and pointed through the bridge window at an approaching boat. "Here come the bloody customs and immigration inspectors."

  "Since we have no passengers, and the crew won't be going ashore," said Collins, "the vessel should be cleared with a rubber stamp."

  "The health inspectors are the worst nuisance."

  "Notify the purser, Mr. Finney. Then show them to my cabin."

  "Begging your pardon, sir, but isn't that a bit much? I mean, greeting mere customs inspectors in the Captain's cabin."

  "Perhaps, but I want everything to run smoothly with the bureaucracy while we're in harbor. You never know when we might require a favor."

  "Aye, sir."

  It was dusk as the customs and immigration officials brought their boat alongside the Lady Flamborough and mounted the boarding ladder. The ship's lights suddenly blazed on and illuminated her upper decks and superstructure. Moored amid the lights of the city and the other cruise ships, she sparkled like a diamond in a jewelry box.

  The Uniguayan officials, led by Finney, approached the open doorway to the Captain's cabin. Collins studied the five men including his first officer. He was a man who missed very little, and he quickly noticed something odd about one of them. One man had on a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled low over his eyes and was wearing a jumpsuit, while the rest were dressed properly enough in the casual uniforms worn by most officials throughout the Caribbean islands.

  The fellow who stood out walked without looking up, keeping his eyes on the feet of the man in front of him. When they reached the dciorway, Finney politely stood aside and allowed them to enter first.

  Collins stepped forward. "Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome aboard the Lady Flamborough. I'm Captain Oliver Collins."

  The visiting officials stood strangely silent and Collins and Finney exchanged curious glances. Then the man in the jumpsuit stepped forward and slowly peeled it off, revealing a white uniform with gold braid that was an exact copy of the one Collins wore. Next he removed the straw hat and replaced it with a cap that matched the uniform.

  The normally calm Collins was momentarily caught off balance. He felt as though he was staring into a mirror. The stranger could easily have passed for a twin brother.

  "Who are you?" Collins demanded. "What's going on here?"

  "No name is necessary," said Suleiman Aziz Ammar with a disamiing smile.

  "I am taking command of your ship."

  Surprise is the key for any successful clandestine operation. And the surprise takeover of the Lady Flamborough was total. Except for Captain Collins, First Officer Finney and a stunned purser, who were bound, gagged and closely guarded in Finney's cabin, none of the other officers or crew had the vaguest idea their ship had been hijacked.

  Ammar cut his timing to a fine edge. The bona fide Uruguayan customs inspectors showed up only twelve minutes later. He greeted them as if they were old acquaintances in his makeup and nearperfect disguise as Collins. The men he had hand-picked to play the roles of Finney and the purser kept to the shadows. They were both experienced ship's officers and bore a remarkable resemblance to their counterparts. Few crew members would have noticed the facial differences outside of three meters.

  The Uruguayan officials cleared the vessel and were soon on their way.

  Ammar called Collins's second and third officers to the captain's cabin.

  This would be his first and most crucial test. If he passed their inspection without arousing suspicion, they would become invaluable to him as innocent accomplices to carry out the complicated plot in the next twenty-four hours.

  Making himself up to look like Dale Lemk, the pilot of Nebula Flight 106, was not a difficult process. Animar had easily casta plaster mold from Lemk's face after he'd murdered him. Disguising himself to pass as the captain of the Lady Flamborough was another matter. He was forced to work from only eight photographs of Collins obtained on short notice by one of his agents in Britain. He also had to inject himself with a compound that raised his voice to an identical level with recordings of Collins's voice.

  He hired a skilled artist to sculpt a likeness of Collins's face from the photos. Male and female molds were cast from the sculpture. Next, a natural latex, dyed to match Captain Collins's skin coloring, was pressed between the molds and set aside until gelation occurred, and then baked. He trimmed and carefully fitted the latex mask, using a resin-wax mixture to match minor changes in facial structure.

  Then Ammar applied foamed ear and nose prosthetics and added makeup.

  Finally, a correctly dyed, barbered and parted hairpiece, contact lenses to match the color of Collins's eyes, tooth caps, and Animar became the spitting image of the cruise liner's Captain.

  Ammar did not have the time to study Oliver Collins's personality profile in depth or study the Captain's mannerisms. He just managed to take a cram course on shipboard duties and memorize the names and faces of the ship's officers. He had no choice but to bluff it out, relying correctly on the assumption the crew did not have the slightest reason to be skeptical. As soon as the two officers stepped into the Captain's cabin, Ammar immediately acted to tip the scales in his favor.

  "Pardon me, gentlemen, for sounding a
nd looking a bit under the weather, but I've picked up a case of the flu."

  "Shall I send for the ship's doctor?" asked Second Officer Herbert Parker, physically fit, suntanned, with a smooth boyish face that seemed as if it saw a razor only on Saturday evenings.

  A near-stake, thought Ammar. A doctor familiar with Collins would have spotted the masquerade in a flash.

  "He's already given me enough pills to choke an elephant. I feel fit enough to muddle through my duties."

  The third officer, a Scot with the unlikely name of Isaac Jones, pushed aside a shag of red hair from his high forehead. "Anything we can do, sir?"

  "Yes, Mr. Jones, there is," answered Ammar. "Our VIP passengers will be arriving tomorrow afternoon. You will be in charge of the welcoming party. We don't often have the honor of entertaining two presidents, and I should think the company will expect us to carry out a firstrate ceremony."

  "Yes, sir," snapped Jories. "Depend on it."

  "W. Parker.

  "Captain .

  "A landing craft will arrive within the hour to transship a cargo for the company. You will be in charge of the loading operations. A team of security people will also be coming aboard this evening. Please see they are provided with suitable quarters.

  "Rather short notice, isn't it, sir, taking on cargo? And I thought the Egyptian and Mexican security agents weren't due until early morning."

  "Our company directors work in mysterious ways," Ammar said philosophically. "As to our armed guests, company orders again. They want their own security personnel on board in case of a problem."

  "A matter of one security team overseeing another."

  "Something like that. I believe Lloyds demanded extra precautions or they threatened to raise our insurance rate to some astronomical height."

  "I understand."

  "any questions, gentlemen?"

  There were none and the two officers turned to leave. "Herbert, there is one more thing," said Ammar. "Please load the cargo as quietly and quickly as possible."

  "I will, sir."

  Once they were out of earshot on the deck, Parker turned to Jones. "Did you hear that? He called me by my first name. Don't you think that jolly queer?"

  Jones shrugged indifferently. "He must be sicker than we thought.

  The landing craft came alongside and a small cargo boom was run out. The loading operation went smoothly. The rest of Ammar's men, dressed in business suits, also came on board and were assigned to four empty suites.

  By midnight the landing craft slipped into the darkness and was gone.

  The Lady Flamborough's cargo boom was pulled into the hold out of sight and the large double loading doors were closed.

  Ammar rapped five times on Finney's door and waited. The door was cracked slightly and the guard stood back. Arnniar took a quick look up and down the carpeted passageway and entered.

  He nodded toward the Captain. The guard moved forward and stripped the tape from Collins's mouth. "I regret the inconvenience, Captain. But I suppose it would be a waste of words to ask you to give me your word you won't attempt to escape and warn your crew."

  Collins sat stiffly in a chair, his arms and legs chained together, and glared at Ammar with murder in his eyes. "You sordid sewer filth."

  "You British have a literary quality to your insults that is quite amusing. An American would have simply used a fourletter word meaning the same thing."

  "You'll get no cooperation from me or my officers."

  "Not even if I order my men to slit the throats of your female crew members one by one and throw their bodies to the sharks?"

  Finney lunged at Ammar but the guard swiftly swung the butt end of his automatic rifle into the first officer's groin. Finney fell back into his chair with a muffled groan, his eyes glazed in pain.

  Collins's eyes never left Ammar. "I'd expect as much from a band of subhuman terrorists."

  "We are not ignorant juveniles out to butcher infidels," Ammar explained patiently. "We are top-line professionals. This is not a repeat of the unfortunate Achille Lauro episode of a few years back. We do not intend to murder anyone. Our purpose is simply to hold Presidents Hasan and De Lorenzo and their staffs for ransom. If you do not stand in our way, we shall make our deal with their respective governments and be on our way."

  Collins studied Ammar's mirrored face, searching for the lie, but the Arab's eyes reflected genuine honesty. He could not know Ammar was a master at theatrical deception.

  "But you wouldn't hesitate to butcher my crew otherwise."

  "And you too, of course."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "You, actually nothing. Mr. Parker and Mr. Jones have accepted me as Oliver Collins. It's First Officer Finney whose services I require. You will order him to obey my commands."

  "Why Finney?" asked Collins.

  "I opened the desk file in your cabin and read the officers' personal records. Finney knows these waters."

  "I don't see what you're getting at."

  "We cannot afford the risk of calling for a pilot," explained Animar.

  "Tomorrow after dark, Finney will take the helm and steer the ship through the channel into the open sea."

  Collins considered that. Then he slowly shook his head. "Once the port authorities get on to you they'll block the harbor entrance whether you threaten to kill everyone on board or not."

  "A darkened ship can slip out on a dark night," Ammar assured him.

  "How far do you expect to go? Every patrol boat within a hundred miles will have you boxed in by daylight."

  ... They won't find us."

  Collins looked slightly dazed. "That's crazy. You can't hide a ship like the Lady Flamborough."

  "Quite true," said Ammar, a cold, knowing smile forming on his lips.

  "But I can make her invisible."

  Jones was bent over a desk in his cabin making notes for the morning's welcoming ceremonies when Parker knocked on the door and entered. He looked tired and his uniform was damp with sweat.

  Jones turned and looked at him. "Loading duty finished?"

  "Yes, thank God."

  "How about a nightcap?"

  "A glass of your good Scottish malt whiskey?"

  Jones rose and lifted a bottle from a dresser drawer. He poured two glasses and handed one to Parker.

  "Look at it this way," he said. "You were relieved of standing early-morning anchor watch."

  "I'd have preferred that to cargo loading," said Parker tiredly. "What about you?"

  "Just got off duty."

  "I wouldn't have bothered you if I hadn't seen a light through your port."

  "Burning the midnight oil, making sure everything runs tick-tock smooth tomorrow."

  "Finney isn't about and I felt I had to talk to someone.

  for the first time Jones noticed the confused expression in Parker's eyes. "What's bothering you?"

  Parker downed the Scotch and stared at the empty glass.

  "We've just taken on the damnedest cargo I've ever seen come on board a cruise liner."

  "What did you load?" asked Jones, his curiosity aroused.

  Parker sat quite still, shaking his head. "Painting gear. Air compressors, brushes, rollers and fifty drums of what I assumed was paint."

  Jones couldn't resist asking, "What color?"

  Parker shook his head. "Can't say. The drums were marked in Spanish."

  "Nothing odd about that. The company must want them on hand when the Lady Flamborough goes in for a refit."

  "That's only the half of it. We transshipped huge rolls of plastic. "

  "Plastic?"

  "And great sheets of fiberboard," Parker continued. "We must have loaded kilometers of the stuff. We barely squeezed it ugh the loading doors. Mucked around a good three hours just trying to stow it."

  Jones stared at his glass through half-open eyes. "What do you suppose the company plans to do with it?"

  Parker looked up at Jones with a puzzled frown. "I haven't the foggiest i
dea."

  "The Egyptian and Mexican security agents came on board soon after sunup and proceeded to inspect the ship for hidden explosives and make cursory checks of the crew members' records for any hint of a possible assassin.

  Except for a sprinkling of Indians and Pakistanis, the members of the crew were British, and had no quarrel with the governments of either Egypt or Mexico.

  Animar's terrorist team all spoke fluent English and acted very cooperative, showing their counterfeit British passports and insurance-security documents when asked, and offering their assistance in the ship's inspection.

  President De Lorenzo came on board later in the morning. He was a short man in his early sixties, physically robust, with wind-blown gray hair, mournful dark eyes, and the suffering look of an intellectual condemned to a mental institution.

  He was welcomed by Ammar impersonating Captain Collins in an award-winning performance. The ship's orchestra played the Mexican national anthem, and then the Mexican leader and his staff were escorted to their suites on the starboard side of the Lady Flamborough.

  In the middle of the afternoon a yacht belonging to a wealthy Egyptian exporter came alongside and President Hasan climbed onto the ship. The Egyptian leader was the complete opposite of his Mexican counterpart. He was younger, just past his fifty-fourth birthday, with thinning, black hair. He stood slim and tall, yet he moved with the halting movements of a man who was ill. His dusky eyes were watery and seemed to stare through a filter of suspicion.

  The ceremony was repeated and President Hasan along with his staff were quartered in the suites running the length of the port side.

  Over fifty Third World heads of state had arrived in Punta del Este for the economic summit. Some chose to stay in palatial estates owned by their nation's citizens or at the exclusive Cantegril Country Club.

  Others preferred the offshore quiet of the cruise ships.

  Visiting diplomats and journalists soon crowded the streets and restaurants. Uruguayan officials worried whether they could cope with the sudden mass of important foreigners combined with the routine influx of tourists. The nation's military force and police units did their best to control the situation, but they were soon overwhelmed by the human tidal wave sweeping the streets, and they gave up all attempts at traffic control, concentrating their efforts on guarding the summit meeting leaders.