by Peter Tonkin
By the time this had been done, the three survivors and their rescuer were staggering down the red, running deck towards the safety of the bridgehouse. There, the bulkhead door into the A-deck corridor stood ajar, held on the storm catches. There were ready hands waiting to loose the catches and let them in, and then the great metal portal slammed closed. The iron bolts were secured. The storm was shut out. They were safe.
The whole vessel gave a lurch as though she had been punched by a right hook. She heaved and swooped. A big sea thundered down the deck. The whole group, rescuers and rescued alike, staggered a little and looked silently at each other. Perhaps they weren’t quite so safe after all.
Then the woman said, ‘Come. We must take you to the ship’s infirmary and check that you are well.’ As she spoke, she pulled back the hood of her wet-weather gear, letting her black hair tumble free. Lawkeeper stepped forward as though a puppeteer had jerked his strings. He and his rescuer stood face to face, looking at each other with burning eyes. ‘Mei hou ma, Su-zi?’ he asked.
And, with a shock of revelation only slightly less powerful than the lightning bolts smashing into the black waves all around them, Richard recognised this slight, intrepid person. He had last seen her clutched in the arms of a murderous thug who was threatening to kill her. This was Su-zi, youngest, most beautiful and most lethal of the daughters of Twelvetoes Ho. And if Ho Su-zi was aboard, then that could only mean that this ship must belong to Twelvetoes.
The driver of the crane, who had come in through the bulkhead door with the rest of them, turned out to be an unremarkable young Chinese. He had a thin, angular face, deep, long eyes, and a shock of black hair which seemed to have been subjected to an old-fashioned ‘pudding basin’ haircut. But he carried with him an undeniable air of authority and even before he gave the waiting crewmen a series of staccato orders and sent them all about their business, Richard had him pegged as an officer, perhaps the first officer. The young man accompanied Richard, Sally, Su-zi and the entranced Lawkeeper down to the sickbay. It was the officer, in fact, who was the only one in need of ministration. Somehow, in all the furore, he had cut open the palm of his left hand. In spite of their condition, he took priority. After the wound had been cleaned and bandaged, he gave them all a curt nod and left without further ado. There had been no introductions, no conversation at all, in fact. Even the doctor, who now turned to them, looked at them through narrow eyes and spoke through tight lips even to Su-zi.
Richard knew why this was, and so did Lawkeeper, but Sally was confused as hell. ‘These guys not speak English?’ she asked Su-zi.
‘We all speak English, missy,’ said Su-zi equably. ‘Now I think you better go through here and take your clothes off. Doctor look at you now.’ She saw hesitation in the woman’s eyes and misread it. ‘You not worry. This good doctor. Trained at Edinburgh and St Thomas, London.’
Sally gave a deprecating laugh and went behind the screen as directed. Things had happened so quickly that it was only now that she thought to take off her life preserver. And, with it, the rest of her soiled and sopping clothes. From behind the screen she could hear the other two being directed behind another screen to do the same. As soon as she was naked, Sally started shivering and she looked around for a towel or blanket, but there was none to be found. The doctor was carrying one when he entered and he handed it to her, his face expressionless and his eyes busy. By the time she had shaken it out and draped it round her, leaving a good flap to mop at her hair with, his swift visual inspection of her body was complete. No pushing or probing, which she appreciated, and yet she got the distinct impression that nothing much had been overlooked. ‘That’s a nasty one on your right thigh,’ was all he said.
‘It doesn’t give me pain any more.’
She had the livid scar of a fresh wound up the inside of her right thigh from eighteen inches above the knee right into her crotch. That was the result of a cunning little bamboo trap up in the Golden Triangle. She’d been seconded to the Royal Thai Police in Bangkok at the time. It had brought her stint with them to an end. It had nearly brought more than that to an end, but it had missed the artery and had been brought up short by the outside of her public bone. Nasty to look at but no harm done. And she didn’t really worry any more. Anyone who didn’t like scars wasn’t going to get on too great with Sally Alabaster anyhow.
‘You are very pale,’ he said. ‘I will take your temperature.’
‘I always look like this,’ she said. ‘But you’re the doctor. Feel free.’
Sally had the kind of white porcelain skin which usually goes with hair as red as hers. Such skin is usually a rash of red freckles but hers was not. Even in bright sunshine, never a freckle appeared. She burned like a baby, but she never tanned or freckled.
Sally was right. Her temperature was normal. ‘You have come through this experience well,’ he said, and vanished to look at the men. No sooner had he done so than the little Chinese girl who had hooked on the line came in with some white cotton knickers and a white general-purpose overall. ‘These will be small on you,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘The largest we have is designed for someone five feet eight inches tall. But look on the bright side. You will not look as silly as Captain Mariner.’ Long, dark eyes flicked over Sally’s scars. ‘You are a warrior,’ opined the girl.
‘Yeah. I guess I am,’ said Sally. ‘And what are you?’
‘I am my father’s daughter,’ said the girl and disappeared.
*
Fifteen minutes later they were all together in the guest suite beside the captain’s cabin. This was a tidy little accommodation comprising a single cabin, a day room with a bench-sofa suspended from the wall, clearly designed to double as a bunk, a shower room and a toilet.
Food was brought by a man and a woman of indeterminate age with round, smiling faces. ‘Do either of you guys speak English?’ asked Sally at once.
They bobbed courteously. They smiled.
‘I guess not.’
‘Oh, I think they do,’ said Richard. ‘But I don’t think they will.’
The quiet man and woman placed the trays of steaming hot food and a pot of tea on the long, low table in the middle of the room and left as quietly as they had come. The ship was moving so wildly now that the trays kept slipping around and the tea slopped over. Sally crossed to the window and looked out at the madness outside. The black waves had achieved the deadly series of a storm swell now and they marched across the water like lines from a Roman army, all steely swell and spear-sharp foam. The sky had closed right down — what could be seen of it through the rain. Even the lightning bolts seemed to be arcing down underwater, such was the power of the precipitation. The window Sally was looking out of faced forward along the deck. She could see the nearest containers with the spindrift streaming up and over their tops. She could only see about a third of the deck before it was claimed by the whirling murk. Just the sight of it was enough to make her shiver. She caught up a blanket from the sofa and wrapped it round her shoulders, feeling warmer and better at once.
Richard and Lawkeeper knelt unsteadily beside the rocking table. It was difficult for Richard to do this because the overall he wore was so small on him, but he didn’t seem to mind; his discomfort was clearly less than his hunger at the moment. Lawkeeper’s spectacular illness in the dinghy had obviously given him an appetite too. And the sight of the food suddenly ignited something in Sally’s belly. She crossed to the table beside them and knelt. As they ate, they talked.
‘I didn’t think they’d leave us together,’ said Richard.
‘I don’t think they will, much longer,’ answered Lawkeeper. ‘Su-zi knows me too well.’
‘She knows me too,’ countered Richard.
‘Precisely. She is Twelvetoes’ daughter. You and Twelvetoes are old friends.’
‘But you are Twelvetoes’ son!’
‘No.’ Lawkeeper answered with a little more passion than was necessary. ‘I am not his son.’
‘If
that child Su-zi is his daughter,’ interjected Sally, ‘that’s just as well. Considering the way you look at her and all.’ That brought the men’s cryptic conversation to a halt and let her get a question in edgeways. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘can either of you two explain to a poor, confused grunt just what in Hades is going on here?’
‘Simple,’ said Richard, shovelling a spoonful of fried rice into his mouth. ‘We’ve been rescued by pirates.’
‘Smugglers at least,’ temporised Lawkeeper.
‘This ship,’ said Richard, taking the interruption in his stride, ‘is owned by Twelvetoes Ho, a Triad leader working out of Xianggang and Macau. We know that because his daughter Su-zi is aboard. This means there is an important cargo aboard as well. Which further explains what the ship is doing out in the middle of a typhoon instead of sitting in some nice safe haven somewhere.’
‘Goods to deliver,’ said Lawkeeper. ‘Schedules to keep. Come hell or high water. Bet you wish these guys worked for you, Richard.’
‘Do I ever. What I have seen so far has been very impressive indeed. But that’s not the problem.’
‘There’s a problem,’ said Sally in her flat ‘why am I not surprised?’ voice.
‘Yes. If they’re out smuggling, then they’re not going to want to draw attention to themselves. Which means they’re not going to tell anyone they’ve found us.’
‘Except the Dragon Head.’
‘Yes. Except Twelvetoes himself and even then only if there’s a signal time and they aren’t running in radio silence which they mostly do, I understand. They certainly aren’t going to take us to the nearest port. And they are not going to invite the coastguard helicopters over to take us back home either.’
‘So we’re here for the duration,’ said Sally. ‘Where they go, we go. And no shouting out for the old folks at home.’
‘Looks that way to me,’ said Richard.
‘Then why did they bother to pick us up?’
‘Because they’re seamen. They couldn’t turn down a call like ours. Lucky for us. That life raft would never have lived through this.’
‘What do you think happened to the rest of the people on the jetcat?’
Richard’s face folded into a frown. ‘I’ve been wondering about that. The routes are so busy I can’t imagine it would have been long before rescue showed up. I thought we were just unlucky to have missed out till now. But even if we’re running under radio silence, d’you think you could persuade Su-zi to send a message? Even just to Twelvetoes? My family might be worried, I suppose.’
‘I can try,’ answered Lawkeeper. ‘She won’t have been put aboard here just to sit on her hands. Captain will be in full command but she’ll be … What do you call it?’
‘Supercargo.’
‘I guess. Supercargo. Old-fashioned word. But if Twelvetoes is the owner, then supercargo will have the right to contact him.’
‘That’s the way it works. If the captain agrees.’
‘And if she thinks it’s worth doing. She’s her own woman. She’ll make up her own mind.’
‘I’ll try as well,’ said Richard, but he was clearly thinking more about their predicament.
‘There may not be any trouble,’ said Lawkeeper, but he didn’t sound convinced. When they had finished eating, Lawkeeper and Richard began a systematic search of the suite. Sally practised her own relevant expertise — she kept watch by the door. And as they searched and watched so they continued to talk. By the time she heard shuffling footsteps outside, Sally was well aware of who these two men were, and what they did; though she remained a little fuzzy as to where Lawkeeper fitted into the Ho clan — if, indeed, he did. She knew who Twelvetoes Ho was and who Su-zi was and was beginning to get a clear view of the predicament she and her two co-survivors were now in. She could not quite work out why they did not just break the door down and go kick some ass. But the combination of well-armed Triad pirates and a howling typhoon seemed to hint at action and so she held her peace for the time being.
At last the pair of them stopped their search.
‘Clean as a whistle,’ said Richard. ‘There’s nothing unusual here except this, which I found in the cabin.’ He held a brown cardboard box in his hands. ‘Certainly nothing that can help us or give us any angles.’
‘If the room is bugged then it’s too well hidden for me,’ added Lawkeeper. ‘And there’s nothing illegal in here either.’
‘Unless this is,’ said Richard, opening the box to reveal more packaging. ‘Does the word “Virtuality” mean anything to either of you?’
‘Let me see that,’ said Sally, crossing from the door. ‘This is state of the art,’ she said, pulling out a headset. ‘I thought you could only get these in the States.’ She lifted out the curved eyepiece, put it almost reverently on the table and slipped on the one-sized gloves. ‘Darned if there isn’t a disk in and ready to play.’ She put the headset over her eyes. ‘If I go doolally all of a sudden, I want you guys to come in after me,’ she said.
‘What is she talking about?’ asked Richard.
‘Virtual reality,’ said Lawkeeper. But Richard remained little wiser.
He did know about pirating, however. ‘It’s probably a copy of an American original,’ he said. ‘They do it to everything else so I guess virtual reality will be no problem.’
‘Like the old atom bomb,’ said Lawkeeper. ‘You only need to let one set of plans go missing and suddenly everyone has them.’
Sally switched it on. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ she said at once.
‘What is it?’ asked Richard, who had never seen anything quite like the contraption on Sally’s head. He was too old for such toys and the twins still too young.
‘On second thoughts, gents, don’t come in here after me,’ said Sally. ‘You’d all have far too much of a good time.’
‘I’m afraid the good times are over, for the moment at least,’ came a cold voice from the door. Richard looked up and a tall man in full captain’s uniform stood there. The young crane operator stood at his shoulder. Behind them there were several more men. It was just possible to see that they were all armed to the teeth.
Sally tore the headset off her face and stood, panting slightly, narrow-eyed.
‘My name is Song. I command this vessel,’ said the tall stranger. ‘This young man is Mr Wan, he is my first officer. There is no need for you to introduce yourselves. One way and another you are all known to me. You particularly, Captain of Detectives Ho. I think it is time that you moved to your new quarters, where Mr Wan will want to ask you a few questions. Captain Mariner, Sergeant Alabaster, please be comfortable. Your turn for a little chat will come in due course.’
The three of them exchanged glances and then Lawkeeper slowly rose to his feet. ‘Of course,’ he said with dry courtesy. ‘Captain Song and First Officer Wan are known to me, by reputation at least. I am honoured to make your acquaintance in person.’
‘Let us hope, Captain Ho,’ answered Captain Song, ‘that the honour does not prove more than you can survive.’
*
‘He’ll be lucky to survive that,’ said Pjotr Orshov, chief engineer of the Okhotsk. He was speaking to Second Officer Uri Engels who was crouching opposite him, also looking down the damaged hatch through which Leading Seaman Oblomov had just tumbled down into number four hold. The blustery wind of the departing typhoon still battered gustily around them. The storm swell still ranged across the surface of the sea beneath them making the Russian freighter pitch and toss uneasily. Deck water bubbled over the raised edge of the damaged hatch and sloshed down after the seaman. Orshov was talking to Engels but it was First Officer Gregor Grozny who answered.
‘He won’t survive. He’s dead already. Close the hatch, Chief.’ Behind his grim order, a low rumble of thunder whispered and faded.
Chief Orshov hesitated. He was a big, powerful man. He was in theory just a little higher in the pecking order than the first officer, second only to the captain. But that counted for little since Captai
n Zhukhov seemed to follow the first officer’s orders rather than the other way round. Still, even after all this time, Orshov did not appreciate Grozny’s tone. And anyway, he could hear Oblomov whimpering down there among the tight-packed crates they had loaded aboard so carefully in Magadan. But then Grozny met his gaze with that wild blue stare of his and the Georgian engineer remembered the mad laughter with which the first officer had greeted the reports which had followed them out of Magadan three weeks ago.
Like many of the crew, Chief Orshov had been a fan of Anna Tatianova’s programme. He had been deeply upset by the news of her murder. It was only fear that kept his hands from Grozny’s throat when rumours began to circulate about the first officer’s involvement in the killing. And it was fear now that made him kneel on the deck and begin to lever the hatch cover closed. Oblomov was probably beyond help in any case, he thought wearily. No one was going to go down there after him. They would have had trouble even getting a volunteer to lower a rope and pull him up.
Grozny was a smuggler not a scientist, a psychopath not a physicist. He had put the most precious cargo in the most secure hold. This was number four hold, which was immediately beneath the bridgehouse, from where the watch officers could oversee it at all times. Like all the holds on Okhotsk, it was accessible through great hatches which opened wide enough to allow containers in and out. But, again like all the four main holds, it was also accessible by a small inspection hatch. This stood in the middle of the deck immediately in front of the bridgehouse footing. The hatch was necessary because, once loading of the holds was complete, the main hatches were closed and then covered by the deck cargo of yet more anonymous containers.
No one aboard Okhotsk had any detailed knowledge of what the containers held. But part of Anna Tatianova’s obituary had involved broadcasting some of the footage from her final assignment and now everyone aboard knew about the mysterious container full of nuclear warheads she had been following. The crew simmered on the edge of mutiny, suspicious of their first officer and darkly fearful of what might be aboard. Only a madman like Grozny could have kept them together for as long as he had and brought them as far as this. But when he ordered Chief Orshov to close the hatch over the whimpering of Leading Seaman Oblomov, it was as though he set a match to a fuse.