A Ravel of Waters

Chapter 22

Kay's cabin was the second down the corridor; there were four others between it and the crew's dining-saloon at the end. I yanked open the door and sprinted. Cordite smoke was wisping from the last doorway — Brockton's cabin. I rushed in.

Brockton's body had been almost cut in half at shoulder level by the blast. He lay sprawled, face down, over the black brief-case he had had at his feet on the flight from the Cape to the Falklands.

My impetus almost impaled me on two stubby barrels of skeleton-butted UZIs. I grabbed the finning under the nearest one to save myself from falling. It was hot. The man who held it swept it free savagely. I found myself looking into Grohman's face.

Before I could say anything, the muzzle of the second sub-machinegun was jammed into my ribs from the other side. The cabin was full of the bitter smell of death, cordite, and the kill-sweat of the two men. In a flash I recognized Grohman's companion as one of the men I had seen on the Falklands plane. Crew additions, Grohman had called them to Tideman.

'Back!' snarled Grohman. 'Get back! Keep away from me!'

I started towards the door; Grohman waved me against a side wall. 'No tricks! Don't try and escape!'

The shock of Brockton's murder had left me momentarily speechless. Now the sight of the bullet-ridden body with blood starting to stain the carpet loosened my tongue.

'You stinking murdering bastard, Grohman! I'll see you hang for this!'

His gun-barrel had more warmth than his laugh. 'The great Captain Rainier,' he sneered. 'The man who kicks my country's Navy up the arse!' His swarthy face contorted. 'Shut up, or I'll kill you!’

The corridor was filled with shouting men trying to see what was happening. Grohman said something in Spanish to his bully-boy. The man went at the crowd like a hooker in a rugby scrum, leading his charge with his UZI.

'Brockton!' I shouted. 'You killed Paul Brockton! What had he ever done to you!'

Grohman kicked Paul's body from where it lay across the attache case. 'A filthy American spy!' he rasped. 'Look!'

The hard-fabric case, which I had seen Paul open several times for customs inspection, obviously had a false bottom. I caught a glimpse of electronics, a mini speaker, and what could have been a tiny transmitter.

'Do you know what that is?' demanded Grohman. 'It is called a Racal Datacom Portable Cipher Terminal — special to the United States Navy. That is a pocket cipher unit — there's a fragment of the signal he was transmitting when I got him. There is also an acoustic coupler and power supply…'

The thought crashed through my mind — had Brockton revealed everything about himself to me? What else beyond what he had told me had led him to insinuate himself aboard Jetwind, Now I winced thinking of Tideman. He was in the same game as Brockton — did Grohman suspect him too? 'Grohman…'

'Captain Grohman to you now, Rainier.' His grin was a death's head. 'One false move from you and you'll join your friend. Shut up and listen. This ship is now under command of Group Condor, I am the leader. The bridge and other key points have been occupied by my men’

There was a renewed commotion at the door. I heard an oath from the thug with the gun and an angry voice.

'What the devil is going on here? I demand to know.. „’ It was Sir James Hathaway.

Grohman said, in English, to the guard, 'Don't hurt that man, he's worth a million dollars.'

Sir James would not have got as far as the entrance had it not been for that warning. He thrust himself inside, livid-faced.

'A million dollars? What!' He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Brockton.

'Group Condor will ask a million dollars' ransom for you,' Grohman said in a sinister voice. 'If it is not paid…' He indicated the dead man. 'Take him away,' he added to the guard. 'Lock him in his cabin. Get the girl. Bring her here — by force, if necessary.'

The man started to frog-march Sir James away. My concern was not for him.

'Leave Kay Fenton alone!' I snapped. 'If you touch her, I'll kill you with my own hands.'

My tone stopped the guard. He looked questioningly at Grohman.

I went on. 'She's half-drowned. She needs care, and above all rest. You'll kill her if you disturb her at this time.'

'It was a very touching rescue,' Grohman sneered. 'Very romantic, very brave. Just the sort of thing I would expect the great Captain Rainier to attempt against all the odds.'

'Cut out the sarcasm,' I retorted. 'We're dealing with someone's life.' 'A life that is precious to you?'

I gathered myself to jump him. My intention must have been obvious. He aimed the UZI at my chest.

'You'll never reach me. Rainier,' he warned. His fellow hijacker also switched his aim to me. 'Your gallant rescue cut right across the beginning of our operation,’ continued Grohman. 'You nearly sank the ship in the process.'

Arno's last agonized cry now came back to me. 'You killed Amo,' I said. 'That makes two murders.'

'Arno could have lived, but he wouldn't cooperate. He was a key man. In his position he could have endangered Group Condor.'

'Is that what you call your group of murdering hijackers?' I retorted.

He flushed. ‘Puerio, sooner or later you will understand. Group Condor…'

Then, thinking perhaps that by arguing I was playing for time, he ordered bluntly, 'Take that old goat away! Lock up the girl, too, for the moment. She's worth more to us than he is.' 'She's only the sail-maker!' I expostulated. 'Ah!' he echoed. 'Only the sail-maker! For what sails!'

His jeer reduced me to silence. What other game might Kay also be playing? I simply could not believe it.

'Clear the passageway,' Grohman ordered as the thug marched Sir James out in front of him. 'No one is to leave their quarters from now on — understood?'

Jim Yell, I thought, wasn't the sort of man who would take kindly to being pushed around. Nor any others of the crew. They were paratroopers, trained to kill.

'The rescue crew must be cared for,' I intervened. 'They've taken a beating.'

'We'll see that they don't come to any harm,' said Grohman maliciously. 'Now — get on the phone. Check with Tideman on the bridge. And no tricks!' He gestured at the UZI.

I stepped past Brockton's body. I noted in the cipher terminal case that there was a plug connection to link with the telephone. It certainly was sophisticated equipment. 'John?' I said when I had dialled the bridge.

Tideman's voice was full of suppressed tension. He said, obviously marking time, 'You got Kay all right?'

'She's going to be fine, I think. I'm in Paul's cabin in the stern.' 'Yes?' I could imagine that neutral reply being forced out of him with a gun at his back. Taul is dead.'

Grohman made a silencing gesture. 'I am on my way to the bridge. With Grohman.'

Tideman's voice was without inflexion. 'I've got problems here.' In other words, the take-over was complete. 'Everything functioning — shipwise, I mean?' 'Aye.' 'Keep her like that until I come.' 'I'll do that.'

'Discretion is the better part of valour,' Grohman sneered further. 'First, the bridge. Then you'll enjoy my own recent experience of being confined to quarters. I am going to lock you up in the sick-bay — you'll be safer there. I want your cabin. Come!'

Jetwind was running like a greyhound newly back in its stride. Tideman was carrying a press of sail. What puzzled me was that Grohman made no move to interfere. Maybe that was why Tideman had been left alive, to handle the ship.

We made our way along the life-lines to the bridge via the radio office, Grohman behind me, UZI at the ready. Arno's chair was now occupied by one of Grohman's gang. Several alarms were buzzing away unanswered. 'Landajo! Who the devil wants us?'

'One of them is the radio-telephone, the other is Weather Routing's call-sign,' answered the operator. 'You expecting a call?' Grohman asked of me.

'Possibly Thomsen from Cape Town,' I replied. 'You can explain this situation, Grohman.'

'Let them buzz,' he told Landajo. 'You are not to reply to anyone — total radio silence.' 'Very good, comrade.'

Comrade! Brockton's warning about the Red threat in the Southern Ocean had become very real. Real enough for him to have paid with his life. 'This is to be the only signal — send this in our code. Landajo…' Grohman switched into Spanish. The message was brief, but I recognized the phrase, 'Las Malvinas son nuestras.'

'You won't get away with this,' I told Grohman. 'International terrorism doesn't pay.'

I did not appreciate how near the limit he was. He struck at me with his open hand, but I ducked. Before I could counter-punch, he had stuck the automatic in my stomach.

'Don't try that again, you bastard!' he rapped out. 'When that signal is received a new era will begin! The Falklands will be ours again, after a century and a half of British oppression!'

I kept a contemptuous silence. Then he snapped, 'We've wasted enough time!' Tideman and the helmsman were on watch. A trigger-happy hijacker stood guard at the rear of the bridge brandishing an automatic like Grohman's. He started nervously when we entered.

'Las Malvinas son nuestras!' Grohman's catch-phrase relaxed the man immediately. It must have been the gang's password for the hijacking.

'Tideman!' said Grohman. 'Put the ship on automatic! Face this way. You are at the wheel, keep your eyes ahead! If you turn, you die!'

Tideman manipulated the controls, then turned and came to us. For all he knew, he was about to be blasted into eternity. 'What is all this about?' he asked coolly. Grohman indicated the UZI. 'It is all about this.' 'Do as he says, John,' I warned. Tideman gave me a quick glance. I could see the meaning behind it — did Grohman know his background? 'Stop!'

The other gangman moved so that both he and Grohman had clear fields of fire.

The slightly hysterical note returned to Grohman's voice. 'This ship is now under my command. You and Rainier will be locked up. Any attempt to escape and you will be shot.'

I could see Tideman's tension ease. Grofiman wasn't wise to him! 'Yes.' Tideman's tone was completely neutral.

Grohman ordered the guard. 'Search him! I'll hold your gun while you do it!'

The two of them were as wary as if hunting leopards. The passing of weapons between them was so quick it was almost sleight-of-hand. There wasn't a chance of jumping either of them.

The man frisked Tideman; from a pocket he pulled out the slide-rule which concealed the lethal blade. He raised it inquiringly to Grohman.

Grohman said, 'It's for navigation. Put it back. It can't. hurt anyone.'

When the search was over, Grohman returned the gunman's automatic. Then he backed to the ship's intercom, keeping his own weapon levelled on us. Bitch-box, Brockton had called it. The recollection was like a stab to the heart.

'Grohman speaking,' he said. 'I have taken over command of Jetwind. I am now the captain. The ship is in the hands of Group Condor.' His voice rose. 'We are liberation fighters. The Falkland Islands — the Malvinas — have groaned under the British yoke for a hundred and fifty years. We, Group Condor, have come to liberate the oppressed populace. This is a great hour for my country. The capitalist-colonialist regime is about to end. The islands will be returned to my people. An Argentinian regime based on equality for all will be installed under my leadership. Argentinian justice will replace the colonial tyranny which has suppressed the people for so long. Las Malvinas son nuestras!'

'Is that why you shot a harmless American reporter?' I said derisively when he had finished at the instrument,

'Brockton was a spy!' he shouted. 'We caught him sending off a signal which would have wrecked our enterprise. That was his death warrant. He had to die!'

'Enterprise? That's a goddam funny word for murder and piracy’,

Grohman shrugged and went on in his hectoring tone. 'When Argentina freed itself from the colonial rule of Spain, the thieving British saw their opportunity in the upheaval which followed and stole the Malvinas from us. One American life is nothing beside that.'

'How can you and four gunmen hope to seize such a spread-out group of islands?' I asked. 'You might perhaps get away with it for a while in a little place like Port Stanley. Also, think of the international stink you'll create…'

Grohman seemed amused. 'You'll see, in a few days' time.'

'It will take more than a few days for Jetwind to beat back to the Falklands into this gale,' I replied. 'A few weeks, more likely.'

Perhaps Tideman felt that his continued silence was playing the situation a little too dumb.

He said, 'I'll back that up, as a sailor.' The emphasis was on sailor.

'Shut up, both of you!' retorted Grohman. 'Don't argue with me. I'm in command, and what I say goes. You are the enemies of Las Malvinas. Consider yourselves lucky that I do not shoot you out of hand. But I will let you live — provided you behave — for a few days. 'Until we reach Molot.'