Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

He lolled back in his chair, most of the sirloin steak uneaten on the plate before him. There were greater satisfactions than food and drink, women, anything. The unalterable pleasure of success. They had done it. They had won.

“Success,” he said, and drained his glass. Uzi and Diaz did the same. They were alone in the immense dining room, finishing off the salad they had found in the refrigerator, steaks they had fried. There were dirty dishes and soiled tablecloths all around them. None of the hijackers bothered to clean up after eating. Not with all the freshly laid places at the tables.

“When was the last contact?” Uzi asked.

“About an hour ago. I talked to the Tigre Amarillo. No more troubles since the repairs. They are using a radio direction-finder on our transmitter, homing in on us. If we are on course they should be in sight soon.”

“The course has not been changed,” Diaz said. “Let us hope the Captain gave us the correct one.”

“Esteban checked it,” Josep said. “He has a captain’s ticket. Fishing boats. The theory is the same. He says it was right. All the machinery still running fine. The miracle of modern computerization. If anything should go wrong we couldn’t fix it. But as long as the engines are running, the bridge instruments working, why we just sail along merrily. Esteban and the other two are keeping a watch on the engines. That is what really counts.”

“I found another note,” Uzi said. “Hidden behind the radios.”

“We should have them all now. At least all of the ones that can be easily discovered,” Diaz said, pushing his plate away. “When they find this ship there should be no clues, no clues at all as to what happened. We are all agreed on that. We want to be in port and off the fishing boat before they think of looking for us.”

“Equally important,” Josep said, “is the revolution. Those agreements that they all signed to let the Nazis take over. Do you realize what political dynamite they are? If we time things carefully they will be the lever that tips these regimes out of office. We must plan it with exact precision. First, rumors will be leaked that Stroessner and Marquez were aboard the QE2, and missing along with everyone else aboard the ship. Enough people in Uruguay and Paraguay know that this is the truth, so not only will the rumor not be stopped, but it will prove to be true. Then, at precisely the moment of most unrest and dissent — we release copies of the agreements. All at once, all over the world, at the same time. Every newspaper and television station will have a copy and the wave of reaction and disgust will spread. The unrest and rioting in our countries will turn to a single force of revolt. Unstoppable. That is when we hit the demoralized and leaderless troops and hit them hard. It will be like Iran all over again. No one will dare defend the discredited governments. The army will very possibly join in the revolt. It will all be over in a day. That is what I plan to do, Diaz, and I suggest you think strongly about doing the same in Paraguay. Think, organize, strike. Liberty is very close at hand.”

“Yes,” Diaz said, “I agree completely. Liberty is at hand and that is certainly worth drinking to.” He filled his glass and raised it. “To the freedom of our countries.” He drank the toast, emptied the glass, then stood. “I have to get up to the bridge now to relieve my man there.”

By agreement, the bag of diamonds had been left on the bridge near the wheel, in clear sight of anyone there. Two people at least were always on duty, one Tupamaro and one Paraguayan. If Josep had any plans to capture the arms ship which was now at sea, he had not mentioned them. The diamonds were the prize to be shared. Two hundred and fifty million dollars worth.

Uzi cared nothing about the stones. His prizes were locked in two cabins below. He went into the kitchen to prepare plates of food for them. With the operation nearly over he cared less and less about South American politics as he became more and more engrossed in plans to get the two Nazis safely out of Mexico. It could be done, but it must be done carefully. He put the plates on a tray and took them to the elevator.

There was little chance of violence from the prisoners, but he took no chances. Putting the tray onto the carpet outside the cabin, he drew his gun before unlocking the door. The cabin was silent and dark, the curtains drawn.

“Come and get your food, Eitmann,” he called out. There was only silence in response. Keeping the gun ready, Uzi carefully reached in and turned on the lights — then jumped back,

There was no need. Karl-Heinz Eitmann was lying on the carpet, gasping for breath. There was blood on his forehead. His own belt was tightened about his neck, with the other end knotted about the lighting fixture — which had been pulled from the wall and was lying next to him. Uzi took it all in and shook his head.

“You are losing your touch, Eitmann. The man who organized all of the slave labor for the Reich should have been able to commit suicide without bungling it.” He nudged the man lightly with his toe. “Off the floor, you look very foolish there. And put that belt back in your trousers where it belongs.”

Uzi brought in the tray of food while Eitmann stumbled to his feet then dropped into the chair, the belt dangling from his hand.

“I'll pay you very well,” he said hoarsely. “I am not without funds, no one would ever know. Please, take the money, let me go. I promise to have nothing to do with the Bruderbund, ever again. It was a mistake ____”

“Your entire life was a mistake. Shut up and eat your food.”

Uzi slammed the door as he left. He took no pleasure in the man’s humiliation, his constant tearful pleadings to be freed, the promises of larger and larger sums of money. He did not seek vengeance upon this pitiful creature. Just to bring him to justice.

Wielgus was a different matter. This was a man who made it very easy to detest him. He had not said a word since he had been captured; the burning hatred in his eyes spoke loudly enough. He ate well and slept well and kept himself prepared for an opportunity to escape. But Uzi was equally prepared and ready to die if he had to before he let that happen. As he was locking the door again, Uzi heard running footsteps and turned to see one of the Tupamaros hurrying towards him, brandishing his gun in the air.

“They are here! We can see them!” he shouted. “The boat has arrived. Come, get your German pigs on deck. I’ll help you herd them.”

There were shouts of jubilation when they came out on the Boat Deck and one of the Tupamaros let off a burst of automatic fire into the sky.

Coming towards them, just over the horizon, was a dingy and ancient Mexican fishing boat. It was the most beautiful sight that they had ever seen.

“All right,” Josep said. “Let us make sure that we have done everything that we can. Esteban, what about this ship?”

“Main engines off. There is a stand-by generator that is turning over to supply power. All radios are turned off, but power is being supplied to them. The same with the instruments on the bridge. The last launch, the one we did not let them take to the island, is in the water and tied to the accommodation ladder. “I’ll take care of the ladder as soon as we are all aboard.”

“Good. Then we are ready to go. Phone the two men on the bridge and get them down to the launch with the bag. So far everything has worked perfectly. But let’s get away from here before our luck runs out.” He prodded Wielgus with his gun and herded him towards the elevator.

It all ended that quietly. The handful of Tupamaros and Paraguayans who forced a blubbering General Stroessner before them, Uzi and his Nazi prisoners, all of them went carefully down the steps of the accommodation ladder to the folding platform at the bottom where the launch was tied up. This was one of the two red-painted boats that were normally slung just aft of the bridge. It was designed to be used as an emergency boat at sea, was water-jet propelled and immensely powerful. The engine burbled over quietly as they climbed aboard.