Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“Like what?” the Commodore asked, draining the last of the coffee and wishing that he had a drink instead.

“One of the luxury suites. Burned out, and I mean really burned, floors, ceilings, walls, everything. Then drenched with water by the sprinkler system. Not only that — but there are bullet holes in the walls, we even dug out a couple of slugs. And stains on the unburned parts of the carpet that could be blood. I had some scraped off and examined by the doctors and pharmacists, who are reasonably certain that it is blood, and probably human blood.”

Fire and blood and bullets. All of the Commodore’s worst dreams were coming true. Dead. Could they all be dead? His head dropped with the terror at the thought, his chin resting on his chest. Not realizing it, he spoke aloud.

“I can’t believe that they are all dead, murdered, I just can’t believe it. It all seems so impossible.”

“The whole damn thing is impossible. Where was this ship for three whole days?”

“That, Admiral, is the important question to ask.” Commodore Frith jerked his head up, anger washing away the weakness of fear. “And by God, we are going to find them. First, though, I am going to have a drink — it’s been a long and tiring trip.”

“Sorry, Commodore, but the American Navy is dry____”

“Thank God the British one isn’t! Nor is this ship. I know from experience there are plenty of spirits on board.”

“All under lock and key now, one of my first orders.”

“Very commendable. But since I came aboard, this vessel is once more flying the Cunard flag. We’ll go to the Captain’s quarters, Rapley always keeps a well-stocked bar there for entertaining.”

And what kind of entertaining was it that was last held here, was the Commodore’s first thought when they came through the door. Dirty glasses everywhere, ashtrays filled and overflowing, crushed cigarette packets tossed in the corners.

“Was it this way when you found it, Admiral?” he asked. He was looking around and did not catch Mydland’s quick scowl.

“I assure you it was exactly as you see it and my personnel have not touched it since. Other than to seal the bar.”

The Commodore noticed the metal tape with crimped-on lead seal that had been wrapped around the bar. He nodded. “Very good. Will you now be so kind as to unseal it? Thank you.”

There were a few clean glasses left in the bar, as well as a half-full bottle of whisky among all the empties. Some party indeed. He held a glass out towards the Admiral.

“Will you join me?” he asked.

“I am on duty, sir.” The chill in Mydland’s voice would have frozen the blood of a lesser man; but not the Commodore’s. In truth he was scarcely aware of it. He drank deep and sighed.

“Anything else out of the ordinary?” he asked.

“One very important thing. The vault in the cashier’s office has been cut open with a torch — it’s still lying there. The funny part is that, although the outer door was broken open, apparently nothing inside was touched. All of the safe deposit boxes are still in place and still locked.”

“We must find them!” the Commodore said loudly, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth, goaded on by the strength of his emotions. “I cannot, will not, believe that they are all dead. The concept is too horrible and I will not accept it until there is irrefutable proof. Were there any clues as to what happened? Any notes, written evidence?”

“I thought about that and had my men do a search, as well as they could in the limited time. They came up with only one thing, written on a wall in the crew’s quarters, behind one of the bunks, “wogs,” it said.”

“Not too surprising. The British seaman tends to look down on all of the races not native to our islands.”

“But there was more, hidden by the mattress, a second line right below it. “with guns” was what it said.”

“Wogs with guns. Not very elucidating. We know that guns were fired and “wogs” could mean anyone from France to China or in between. These clues are meaningless until we find the crew and passengers — and that must be done at once.”

“We have been trying to do that for four days now, Commodore. I appreciate your concern, but everything possible has been done…. “

“No, it has not. Since the QE2 has been found we now know where to look for those aboard.”

“Do we Commodore? Perhaps I am being dense, but I don’t see it that way at all.”

Commodore Firth suddenly realized that because of the intensity of his own emotions he had angered this man. A very stupid thing to do in every way. He put down his glass and went up to the American officer.

“Admiral Mydland — will you please accept my apology? I have been rude and overbearing to you. I cannot justify my actions but I can only explain them because of my ever-present fear over the fate of these people who entrusted themselves to our care. You are in command of many men, so you must know how I feel.”

“I do, sir — and there is no need to apologize.” He put out his hand and the Commodore clutched it tightly.

“We are all tired, for it’s been a damn hectic couple of days,” the Commodore said, “for which I must thank you and everyone else, of all the nations, who helped in the search. But now I must ask for one last, great effort.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we might go through to the bridge I’ll show you on the chart.”

The Pacific chart was still spread out on the table, the course marked to the final, fateful day. The Commodore tapped this spot. “We know for a fact that the ship was here at this place at that time. She was sighted an hour earlier by a freighter who logged the sighting. His observation matches the plotted course. Now here,” he moved his finger down the chart and tapped a spot in the empty Pacific. “This is where the QE2 was found. If you would be so kind as to send for the best navigating officer aboard the carrier I will show him the simple equations that he must work out.”

“I’m afraid that you are ahead of me.”

“With what we know we can determine the area within which we must search. We know the time and the place of the last sighting of this ship. We know the time and place where next she was seen. Your officer will then take the QE2' s service speed of twenty-eight and a half knots and, after making his computations, will mark out a circular area on this chart within which the occupants of the ship could possibly be. The outline of this area will be all the places the ship could have reached at this speed and then turned about to reach the arrival point at the appointed time. Or they could have been transferred to another ship in the area at that time. Few ships are large enough to hold this number of people and it will be easy enough to examine all of those that might be involved.”

The Admiral rubbed his chin and ran his finger over the chart. “I see what you mean. They could have gone anywhere out to sea here, then stopped and turned back. Or they could even have been put ashore here in Baja California, Central America…. “

“Or here, in Guatemala. That coast is all jungle, without communication. It is possible that they are there, on the shore — or anywhere else. We must search every square foot, on sea and on land. They have to be there!”

Admiral Mydland nodded. “You are absolutely right. They must be there somewhere, I tell you. They have to be there.” He did not add that they could be drowned, murdered, anything. Those kinds of thoughts could wait. “We have mounted a tremendous international effort over the past days, on sea and in the air, to find this ship. That effort will continue now, and on the land as well. No effort will be spared. I tell you, sir — they will be found.”