Star of Africa

Chapter 29

As the afternoon wore on, the storm kept worsening steadily. Waves that before had been as tall as houses now loomed vertically like mountains of water, peaking high above the deck of the Svalgaard Andromeda and smashing thousands of tons of water over her bows with a violence that made the ship quiver from stem to stern and every man aboard catch his breath with fearful anticipation. The news from the bridge was grim: the latest weather update from the GMDSS reported that the severe tropical storm that had been lashing the Somali coast was now being upgraded to a full-blown cyclone. And from the readings, it looked as if the Andromeda was heading right into it.

Assuming the role of captain, Trent ordered the engine room to crack on under full power while he deviated course to try to outflank the storm. But it was moving so fast and erratically that it was impossible to anticipate where the cyclone might hit.

Sometime after 4 p.m., Jeff Dekker and Tuesday climbed up to the bridge to relieve the exhausted Trent and Lang. Ben had last been seen heading out onto the main deck to check on the fixings holding the fore and aft cargo cranes in place, lest they be torn loose by the incredible wind and start swinging destructively about.

In the galley, plates and cutlery were crashing all over the floor with the wild motion of the ship, and Murphy was squawking and flapping about in a panic. Jude helped Hercules clear up the mess and stow everything safely in place. As he worked, he was feeling unsettled and restless, and not just because of the storm. He couldn’t get Pender out of his head. Who was he? Jude wanted to know more. It suddenly occurred to him that, with all that had been happening, nobody had thought to search the cabin where the three mystery passengers had been accommodated.

Jude told Hercules he was going to the head, which was what they called the ship’s toilets. Instead, he crept unnoticed up the ladder way to E Deck and made his way to the cabin down the hall from O’Keefe’s quarters.

That was where Jude made his discovery.

Pender had apparently been in such a tearing rush to get off the ship with his prize that he’d left a number of items behind. On the bed lay an abandoned holdall containing some clothes and toiletries. There was a yellowed old Wilbur Smith paperback lying propped open on the floor. And a phone.

He found it under a bunk, where it had either been kicked by accident or had slid across the floor with the motion of the ship. Jude fished it out and examined it with a thumping heart. It looked like a normal Motorola cellphone, except for its unusually chunky size and the thick antenna attached to the casing. Jude quickly realised what it was. A satellite phone.

Jude turned it on and the logo IRIDIUM flashed up on its screen. It took him only a few moments to find a menu listing all the recent calls that had been made from it. There had been only two — and both to the same number, with the international prefix code for the USA. Jude redialled the number and pressed the phone to his ear. He wasn’t sure if the phone could work in such weather conditions, but he had to try. After a hissing pause, he heard a variety of electronic and static noises as the signal was bounced off the satellite.

His heart jumped as the connection was made. The dial tone was faint, and he had to clamp his hand over his other ear to hear it above the howl of the wind outside and the rain that crackled like fire against the cabin window. After five rings, there was an answer. It was a recorded answerphone message. A man’s voice, speaking with an American accent.

‘This is Eugene Svalgaard’s phone. I’m not here right now, so do the thing and I’ll get back to you.’

Jude cancelled the call, thinking, Svalgaard, as in Svalgaard Line? Confused, he racked his brain to recall the reading he’d done about the company before heading out to Oman. Its founder, Aksel Svalgaard, a young Danish émigré to New York in the early twentieth century, had ruthlessly built his empire from tiny beginnings in the 1920s. Having grown to become the fifth-largest shipping line in America, it was currently run and owned by his grandson, Eugene Svalgaard. The name had stuck in Jude’s mind. He was certain of it.

And Eugene Svalgaard was in communication with Pender? How could that be possible? Jude was thinking he must be getting it wrong. Maybe the lines had got crossed somehow.

He was about to try the number again when the sat phone rang in his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed the reply button and held the phone to his ear without speaking.

‘Pender? Is that you?’

The connection was poor, but there was no question that it was the same voice Jude had heard on the answerphone message. Eugene Svalgaard, CEO of the shipping line, owner of the Andromeda.

Jude was afraid to speak.

‘Talk to me, Pender,’ said the voice, sounding irritable and agitated. ‘What the hell’s going on out there? Hello? Hello? Jesus, it’s a godawful connection.’

Jude knew he had to reply if he was to understand what this was all about. He deepened his voice and put on a passable imitation of Pender’s accent, hoping that the crackly interference and bursts of white noise would cover up for him. ‘Where are you?’

After a delay for the satellite, the voice replied: ‘I’m about to leave for Mombasa. Got some business to take care of in Rome on the way. I’ll be there to meet you and take delivery as planned. Why are you calling? Is there a problem? Hello? Hello?’

Jude cut him off, hardly believing what he’d just heard. He had to go and find Ben and tell him about this. It was incredible.

Clutching the phone, he rushed from the cabin and hurried back down below, zigzagging and slamming into bulkheads as the floor pitched under his feet. The first person he ran into was Condor, who was bent double in a passage and looking as if he was about to expire from seasickness. ‘Have you seen my— have you seen Ben?’ Jude asked breathlessly.

Condor hadn’t.

Neither had Allen, the next person Jude found. Then, a moment later, Lang said he had seen the crazy English guy go out on deck and hadn’t seen him come back. That had been just a few minutes ago, Lang reckoned, though he couldn’t be sure.

Jude reached the A Deck hatchway and tore it open. The wind screamed in his ears and he was instantly soaked all over again as he staggered out on deck. He glanced up at the windows of the ship’s superstructure behind him, lit up like a tower block behind the curtain of rain, and wanted to be back in the safety of indoors. Out in the open was no place to be. It was as dark as night out there. The gale was frighteningly strong, snatching the air from his lungs and threatening to uproot the hair from his scalp. He ventured a few steps from the hatchway, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, ‘Ben!’

No reply. Jude battled the wind a few more steps, until he reached the first container stack. The giant cargo crane was a towering black shape against the darkness, like the silhouette of a prehistoric monster disturbed from the deep. He yelled at the top of his voice, ‘BEN! WHERE ARE YOU?’

Dread began to grip him. Nobody could survive out here long without getting swept overboard. What if—?

Jude sensed a presence behind him. He turned, clutching the locking bar of the nearest container for support against the gale. ‘Ben?’ he said, relief flooding through him.

The figure that stepped out of the shadows wasn’t Ben.

A sudden flash of lightning snaked and writhed from the sky and glinted off something long and pointed in Scagnetti’s hand. His clothes and hair were plastered to him and his muscled arms were gleaming from the rainwater. He came on a step. Another lightning flash; Jude saw the expression on Scagnetti’s face, the ragged teeth bared like a snarling dog’s.

‘Give it to me, Limey boy,’ Scagnetti yelled. ‘Hand it over. I want it, you hear me?’

Jude’s blood turned to ice. Gerber had warned him about Scagnetti. Jude knew what he wanted.

‘Don’t be stupid, Scagnetti. Put the knife down.’

‘Give me that diamond,’ Scagnetti shouted over the wind, coming on another step. ‘Or I’ll spill your guts all over this fuckin’ deck.’ He raised the switchblade and twirled it between his fingers.

Jude let go of the container and held up both hands to show they were empty. ‘I don’t have it!’ he yelled back.

‘I’ve heard you say that before, you lying fuck!’ And before Jude could back away, Scagnetti reached out with the knife faster than a striking cobra. Jude felt the steel bite his hand. A third fork of lightning split the darkness, its strobing white dazzle illuminating the deck. Jude saw the blood streaming from his lacerated palm. He clenched his fist over the cut and staggered back. He was level with the base of the crane now, glancing around him for some place to run, but couldn’t see a thing through the sheeting rain.

Scagnetti kept coming. ‘I hate people like you,’ he shouted. ‘Fuckin’ rich boys, you’re all the same. Want everything for yourself. Well, not this time. Give it to me! It’s mine!’

Scagnetti didn’t see the shadow that detached itself silently from the darkness, until it was right beside him.