Harry Harrison - The Daleth Effect

“This one and this one,” he said, underscoring their names. “They have different aliases in the files, but they are the same men. One is wanted for sabotage, the other is suspected in a bombing plot. Very nasty types.”

“It is hard to believe,” Nils said. “They are the accredited representatives of these countries…”

“Who do exactly whatever Mother Russia asks them to. Please don’t be naive, Captain Hansen. A satellite means just that. Bought and paid for and ready to dance when someone else whistles the tune.”

The telephone burred at Nils’s elbow and he switched it on automatically.

A man’s frightened face appeared on the screen, bright blood running down his face.

“Help!” he screamed.

Then there was a loud noise and the screen went blank.

“What compartment was that?” Nils shouted, reaching for the dial on the phone. “Did anyone recognize that man?”

Gev reached out and stopped him as he was about to dial: the sergeant raised his gun and centered it on Gev’s back.

“Wait,” Gev said. “Think. There is trouble, you know that much. That is enough for the moment. Alert your defenses first—if you have any. Then find out what area is threatened. I saw airtight doors throughout the ship. Can they be closed from here?”

“Yes…”

“Then close them. Slow down whatever is happening.”

Nils hesitated an instant. “It’s a good idea, sir,” the sergeant said. Nils nodded.

“Close all interior bulkhead doorways,” he ordered. The instrumentation officer threw back a protective plastic cover and flipped a row of switches.

“Those doors can be opened on the spot,” the sergeant said.

“The local controls can be overridden in an emergency,” the instrumentation officer said.

“This is an emergency,” Nils told him. “Do it.”

Gev went to the wall by the door, out of their way. The sergeant lowered his gun.

“I did not mean to interfere with your command, Captain,” Gev said. “It is just that I have a certain experience in these things.”

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Nils told him. “We may have to use that experience.” He dialed the engine room, and the call was answered at once by one of the technicians.

“A malfunction, sir. Exit doors are closed and can’t be budged—”

“This is an emergency. There is trouble aboard, we don’t know quite what yet. Stay away from the doors, no one gets in there—and let me know if you have any trouble.”

“I think I recognized that man,” the radio operator said hesitantly. “A cook, or something to do with the kitchen.”

“Good enough.” Nils dialed the kitchen but the call was not completed. “That’s where they are. But what the hell can they want with the kitchen?”

“Weapons, perhaps,” Gev said. “Knives, cleavers, there will be plenty of them. Or perhaps something else… Could I see a plan of the ship?”

Nils turned to Arnie. “Tell me quickly,” he said. “Is this man on our side?”

Arnie nodded slowly. “I think he is now.”

“All right. Sergeant, back to your post. Neergaard, get me the deck plans.”

They unrolled them on the table and Gev stabbed down with his finger. “Here, what does kokken mean?”

“Kitchen.”

“It makes sense. Look. It can be reached from the dining room, unlike any other part of the working section of this ship. Also—it shares an interior wall with the engine room. Which I assume is this one here.” Nils nodded.

“Then they won’t try the doors. They’ll cut their way in. Is there any way you can reach the engine room quickly? To reinforce the people there in case…”

The phone rang and the engineering officer came on the screen. “A torch of some kind, Captain, burning a hole through the wall. What should we do?”

“What did he say?” Gev asked, catching the man’s worried tone but not understanding the Danish. Arnie quickly explained. Gev touched Nils’s arm. “Tell them to get a bench or a table against the wall at this spot, pile anything heavy against it. Make entrance as difficult as possible.”

Nils was looking haggard after issuing the orders. “They can’t possibly stop them from breaking in.”

“Reinforcements?”

There was no humor in Nils’s smile. “We have one gun aboard, the one worn by the sergeant.”

“If possible get him to the engine room. Unless you can counterattack through the kitchen. Strike hard, it is the only way.”

“You would know,” Nils said. “Get the sergeant in here. I’ll have to ask him to volunteer. It’s almost suicide.”

The sergeant nodded when they told him what was happening.

“I’ll be happy to undertake this, Captain. It could work if they are not heavily armed. I have another clip of bullets, but I won’t take them. I doubt if there will be much chance to reload. I’ll make these count. I can go in through that door from the aft storeroom. If it opens quietly enough I could surprise them.”

He carefully laid his cap aside and turned to General Gev, tapping the row of decorations on his chest. Instead of Danish he talked English now, with a thick Cockney accent.

“I saw you looking at this, General. You’re right, I was in Palestine, in the British Army, fighting the Hun. But when they started on your refugee ships afterwards, keeping them out, I went lost. Deserted. Back to Denmark. That wasn’t my kind of thing.”

“I believe you, Sergeant. Thank you for telling me.”

The doors were unlocked in sequence so he could go through.

“He should be there by now,” Nils said. “Call the engine room.”

The technician was excited. “Captain—it sounded like shots! We could hear them through the wall, an awful lot of them. And the cutting has stopped.”

“Good,” Gev said when he was told what had happened. “They may not have been stopped but they have been slowed down.”

“The sergeant has not come back,” Nils said. “He did not expect to.” There was no expression at all on General Gev’s face: emotion in battle was a luxury he could not afford. “Now a second counterattack must be launched. More men, volunteers if possible. Ann them with anything. We have a moment’s respite and advantage must be taken of it. I will lead them if you will permit me…”

“The phone, Captain,” the radio operator said. “It is one of the American delegation.”

“I can’t be bothered now.”

“He says he knows about the attack and he wants to help.”

Nils picked up the phone, and the image of a man with thick-rimmed glasses, his face set in lines of gloom, look^l out at him.

“I understand the Reds are attacking you, Captain Hansen. I can offer you some help. We are on the way to the bridge now.”

“Who are you? How do you know this?”

“My name is Baxter. I’m a security officer. I was sent on this voyage just in case something like this happened. I have some armed men with me, we’re on our way now.”

Nils did not need to see General Gev shake his head no to make up his mind.

“Did you say armed men? No arms were permitted aboard this ship.”

“Armed for your defense, Captain. And you will need us now.”

“I do not. Stay where you are. Someone will come to collect your weapons.”

“We’re leaving for the bridge now. Our country has stepped in before in a war; don’t forget that. And NATO—”

“Damn NATO and damn you! If you make one move towards this bridge you are no different from those others.”

“There have been quislings before, Captain Hansen,” Baxter said, sternly. “Your government will appreciate what we are doing even if you don’t.” He broke the connection.