Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“We have weapons of all kinds. They are also aboard,” Josep told them. “We are prepared for any eventuality.”

“Well, which eventuality are you exactly planning for?” Uzi asked.

“We have a simple uncomplex plan. We have a deep-sea fishing boat, purchased further down the coast, and it is already at sea. The Captain knows the course of the QE2 after she leaves Acapulco, and will be standing by at approximately one day’s sailing from here. They also have a good radio and are listening for contact or any change of plans. So we simply wait until the diamonds are produced and the exchange is made. When that is done we will know also where the munitions ship is and what details have been arranged for turning it over in exchange for the gems. Then we act. We take the radio room, send out our message where contact will be made, then silence all of the radios. No member of the British crew will be hurt as long as they obey orders. Then we take the Nazis and Stroessner, Marquez and their guards. This time people will be hurt. But I am sure that no one here cares about that. We will have the stones, you, we will have your war criminals, so then we will leave the QE2 in their fastest launch and rendezvous with our ship out of sight. Sink the launch and that is the end of it. We will all have what we want.”

Uzi made up his mind very quickly. “I like it. We will cooperate with you in every way. I will discuss plans with you for a meeting at sea to take the prisoners off your hands. What about the munitions ship?”

“That will depend on the situation at the time. If we cannot arrange to take it for our own use, we can certainly inform Global Traders that they will not be paid. So the deal will be off. Do you agree, Diaz?”

The two revolutionary leaders eyed each other coldly. “Of course,” Diaz said. “My people will leave with yours in the escape ship. We will divide up the diamonds before we separate. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course it is. Then it appears we are all of a mind. Our task is now to sit and wait quietly to see what their next move will be.”

Quietly! Frances thought to herself. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry, but was so shocked that instead she said nothing. It was hard to take in, to believe. That these people sit about the room, sipping at their drinks and nodding seriously, while they discussed piracy and murder and theft. And her Hank just as serious and agreeable as the others.

She knew now why he had been so reluctant to tell her about his involvement with these people in the first place. The real world of spies bore little resemblance to the clean-cut, game-playing and escapist fictional one. These people played dirty and they played for keeps.

“I’ll have a drink, too,” she told Hank. “A strong one, if you don’t mind.”

From the bridge of the QE2, a good hundred feet above the water, Captain David Rapley had a clear and unhampered view of the sea ahead, and to port and starboard as well. Off to port, the jungles and mountains of Mexico were slipping away, dimly visible through the tropical showers that were sweeping down upon them. Ahead was the open sea, slate gray and speckled by rain. The arching bow cut cleanly into the surface, sending out a frothing white wave to either side. It was good to be at sea again; Captain Rapley never felt completely comfortable ashore.

“Coffee, sir,” the steward said, setting the silver tray before him. Rapley leaned back in the Captain’s chair and nodded. Poured from a silver pot into a china cup. A far cry from the poisonous brew served in a heavy chipped mug that had passed for a beverage in the Navy. For a moment, as he stirred in a spoonful of sugar and sipped at the hot and delicious liquid, he had a fleeting touch of nostalgia for those days now vanished. Mugs of tea and large gins in the Wardroom and the pleasures of comrades together doing a job that had to be done. A very different existence from this, the air-conditioned comfort of the world’s most luxurious liner. Over sixty-seven thousand tons of ship; one hundred and ten thousand horsepower at his command. A far cry from the five-stack destroyers he had first served in. The hell with nostalgia. They were good days but they were gone. He drank deep of the coffee. Their problems were gone too — and they wouldn’t be missed. Life was a good deal easier now.

The Staff Captain came up and saluted, a large yellow envelope in his hand. Captain Rapiey returned the salute and scowled at the envelope. There were still problems commanding a ship, but they were of a totally different order.

“We’re outside of Mexican territorial waters now,” Staff Captain Flint said.

“I suppose we are — or you wouldn’t be bringing me that damn thing.”

“Temper, Dave, temper. Ours is but to serve, not reason why. Shall I open it?”

The job of the Staff Captain was to shoulder whatever of the Captain’s burdens that he could. He was an accredited Ship’s Master as well and commanded the QE2 when the Captain was on leave. While at sea he was very much concerned with staff matters and worked closely with the Hotel Manager whose four gold bands matched his own four stripes. Most of the day-to-day matters concerning the passengers they worked out between them. Only when the problem became too important was the Captain bothered. And he was very much bothered this time.

“See that this is entered into the log,” the Captain said, glaring at the envelope as though it contained a poisonous serpent. “I don’t like the front office interfering with the running of this ship.”

“I agree,” the Staff Captain said amicably. “But you must admit that the passengers are what pay to keep the old girl going — so some concessions must be made.” He took out a single sheet of paper and passed it over without glancing at it. Captain Rapiey read it quickly, his eyebrows drawing together in a scowl as he did so. In the end he snorted loudly and turned to look out at the ocean before he passed the paper back to the Staff Captain.

“Bloody lunacy,” he said. “Whatever can they be thinking of?”

“Making money,” Flint said, reading the orders. “This is a diplomatic affair of some kind, plenty of extra charges being paid for the extra service. Good headlines eventually and in the long run plenty of good publicity.” As soon as he had finished reading he looked out at the sea just as the Captain had done a few moments earlier.

“It’s a preposterous jumble of cloak-and-dagger nonsense,” the Captain said. “High ranking government officials with diplomatic passports… all possible aid… a seaplane now in the air and waiting for a prearranged signal to land in order to board these passengers! I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“All the better. The passengers will love it, they’ll take pictures and show their friends at home. You couldn’t have arranged a better diversion if you tried.”

“Nonsense. It’s a dangerous stunt, that’s all it is. And what if there is an accident? It’s not safe to put a plane down on that ocean out there. Unsafe.”

The Staff Captain smiled.

“Come on, Dave, you’re letting all the responsibility-to-the-passengers stuff go to your head. During the war you wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing a seaplane land on an ocean like that. Wind seven knots, long rollers, easy enough to put the thing down in the trough between them, visibility still over a mile at the worst. A piece of cake. What do you say?”

Captain Rapley thought for a long moment — then smiled. “Send the signal. Until they are aboard the ship they are not my responsibility. If some screwball pilot wants to wreck his craft landing near me it’s not my problem at all.”