Алистер Маклин - Death Train

The rotors were already slowing and Kyle was frantically struggling to restart the engine. The helicopter dropped lifelessly from the sky and pieces of the fuselage were flung into the air as it broke into two on striking the water.

‘Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?’ Graham asked in disbelief.

She shrugged modestly then headed the speedboat out towards the open sea. Neither of them noticed a second speedboat creep gingerly from the hangar, its occupant waiting until they were a speck on the horizon before setting out after them, careful though to keep his distance.

The coastguard relayed the Napoli ’s position to Sabrina over the small radio transmitter on the speedboat and twenty minutes later they sighted the 17,000 tonne freighter in the distance.

Its rusted hull was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and the only indication of its affiliation to the Werner empire was the company flag flying beside the Liberian flag of convenience high above the stern. As they drew closer they saw the vague outline of the company logo on the funnel underneath a fresh coat of white paint.

One of the crewmen standing by the railing pointed to the yellow ‘W’ on the speedboat’s bow and a rope ladder was immediately dropped over to the side of the ship. Graham managed to secure the speedboat to the foot of the rope ladder and as he negotiated his way up the side of the hull he was thankful the sea was still relatively calm. Hands reached out through the railings and helped him over the side and on to the deck. He then gestured for Sabrina to follow. She was halfway up the ladder when an observant crewman noticed the gentle curves beneath her wetsuit and word quickly spread across the deck that a woman was about to come aboard. When she did finally clamber on to the ship she was met with an onslaught of wolf whistles and lascivious suggestions.

‘Where’s the captain?’ Graham demanded of the nearest crewman.

The crewman’s answer was to point to the bridge.

The captain, a stout Irishman called Flaherty, eyed them suspiciously when they appeared on the bridge. The Beretta tucked into Sabrina’s webbing belt didn’t go unnoticed by him.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’

‘There’s been a change of plan, you’re to dock in Dubrovnik after all,’ Graham said.

‘Just like that?’ Flaherty said sarcastically. ‘For your information I only take my orders from one person. Mr Werner himself.’

‘Stefan Werner’s dead,’ Sabrina said, then took a step towards Flaherty, her hands extended in a pleading gesture. ‘It’s imperative that you change course and dock in Dubrovnik.’

Flaherty turned away and looked out across the sea, his finger feeling for the emergency button on the underside of the chart table. It set off a warning signal in the officers’ quarters of trouble on the bridge.

‘My orders are to bypass Dubrovnik altogether to make up for lost time and unless I hear differently from Mr Werner I don’t intend changing my course.’

‘Werner’s dead,’ Sabrina repeated in exasperation.

‘So you’ve said, but I’ve got no reason to believe you.’

‘I’ve had enough of this crap,’ Graham interjected and pulled the Beretta from Sabrina’s belt before she could stop him. He held it inches from Flaherty’s unshaven face. ‘Give the order to change course for Dubrovnik.’

Flaherty swallowed nervously, silently cursing the apparent lethargy of his officers in responding to the emergency. ‘I don’t know who you are or what organization you represent but I can’t believe you’d actually hijack a grain ship bound for Africa. If you’ve got a grudge against Mr Werner why take it out on the thousands of starving people whose lives depend on this shipment reaching the relief camps in time?’

‘I said, give the order!’ Graham snarled.

The helmsman glanced at Flaherty. ‘What must I do, sir?’

‘Nothing,’ Flaherty replied defiantly.

The door leading on to the bridge burst open and two men entered, each toting a dated Thompson sub-machine-gun. Graham swivelled Flaherty around to face the sub-machine guns, the Beretta tucked into the folds of the captain’s sweaty neck.

‘Mike, wait!’ Sabrina said, then addressed Flaherty. ‘We’ll make a deal with you.’

‘I don’t think you’re in any position to make a deal.’

‘Perhaps not, but then neither are you. Here’s the deal. We release you unharmed if you give the order to drop anchor then contact the authorities personally and ask them to come on board.’

Flaherty chuckled. ‘You want me to contact the authorities?’

‘It would be to your advantage, unless you’ve got something to hide,’ she replied in a challenging tone.

‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ Flaherty answered, then gave the order to stop engines.

It would take the Napoli another three miles to come to a halt.

‘Now to contact the authorities,’ Flaherty said, still amazed at the terms.

Suddenly there was the sound of feet pounding up the metal stairs leading to the bridge, then the door was wrenched open. The two armed officers swivelled round to face the intruder.

Milchan stood in the doorway, his flickering eyes taking in the scene before him.

‘He’s okay, he works for Mr Werner,’ Flaherty said, then gave Sabrina a sidelong glance. ‘You’re becoming heavily outnumbered in here.’

Milchan closed the door behind him then stood behind the two officers and banged their heads together. They both crumpled to the ground. He picked up the sub-machine-guns and extended them towards Sabrina as though in offering. She took them from him, half expecting it to be some kind of trap. No sooner had she taken them than he turned and balled his fist menacingly at Graham. He tapped his clenched fist, then his chin, and gave Graham a thumbs-up sign.

‘What’s he trying to say?’

‘That you’ve got a good punch,’ she replied.

Milchan nodded in agreement.

‘What happens now?’ Flaherty asked, his voice apprehensive.

‘You and I take a walk to the radio room to contact the proper authorities,’ Graham said behind him.

‘Mike?’ Sabrina said, holding out her hand. ‘Our fight isn’t with the captain.’

Graham scowled at her, then reluctantly handed back her Beretta.

Flaherty pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his sweating face. ‘Who are you?’

‘We’re not at liberty to tell you,’ Sabrina replied.

Graham gestured to the door. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘As the ship’s captain I have the right to know what’s going on.’

‘You really don’t know what’s in that crate, do you?’ Sabrina said.

‘Crate? What–’ he trailed off, and suddenly he looked frightened. ‘You mean the one the Sikorsky brought aboard last night?’

‘What did Stefan say it contained?’

‘Machine parts,’ Flaherty replied, then looked from Sabrina to Graham. ‘Mother of God, what does it contain? And don’t say you’re not at liberty to tell me.’

‘We don’t make the rules, Captain,’ she said apologetically. ‘But the sooner we contact the authorities the sooner we can have the crate removed.’

Flaherty crossed himself. ‘Of course. I’ll take you to the radio room.’ He paused at the door to glance back at Sabrina. ‘I take it you were telling the truth when you said Mr Werner was dead?’

‘His plane crashed half an hour ago. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow.’

‘He was a good man,’ Flaherty said, then led Graham down the metal stairs.

Four crewmen appeared and carried the two unconscious officers from the bridge.

‘How did you get here?’ Sabrina asked Milchan.

He made undulating movements with his hand.