Warren Murphy - Ship Of Death

"I'm doing it for me," said Remo, ripping out a string of orange-coated wire that connected a clock to a half dozen taped-together dynamite sticks. "For America."

"For America?" Chiun asked. "The next thing you will tell me we are giving up our lives for the mad Emperor Smith."

"Right. For Smitty, too. Keep working."

"I will never understand you people," Chiun said.

"At least we don't all look alike."

Skouratis stood up. "No use," he said. "They're going to go and we can't get them all in time. They'll just tear this ship out of the water."

In frustration and anger, he pounded his fists on the steel bulkhead separating the passageway in which they stood from the engine compartments. Tears rolled down the furrows in his cheeks. "That swine. That Greekling swine," he said.

Remo could hear it—the first swish of fire. It started with a muffled thump around a twist in the corridor, and he could not see it, but he smelled instantly the acrid gasoline fumes. Then he saw a twist of smoke curling around the wall and down the corridor toward them.

"My ship! My ship!" Skouratis yelled.

"We'd better go," Remo said.

Skouratis shook his head angrily. "No. I stay. My ship." Tears ran down his cheeks in a steady trickle. "I stay."

"There still may be time for us to get out of here," Remo said.

Another muffled whomp shook the steel walls. Another bomb.

"Come on," said Remo.

"Wait," Skouratis said. "We can drown it. Drown it. Smother the explosions and fires."

"Drown it?"

"If we can get water in here, it'll smother everything," Skouratis said.

"Fill the ship with water, it'll sink," Remo said.

"No. It's all compartments. We can flood this and it'll still be safe." He stopped for a second. "Why bother? We can't get water in here in time."

Chiun cackled a laugh. "In an ocean, there is no shortage of water." Another bomb exploded.

The crackling of flames grew louder. The corridor began to turn gray with smoke.

"Where's a wall that has water outside it?" Remo said.

"Over there," Skouratis said. "But we can't…"

"Yes, we can," said Remo. "Show us."

Skouratis ran down the corridor. He was just a little old man in a rumpled gray suit, but he charged into the mist of smoke like Alexander leading his troops into battle.

He stopped at the curve of the corridor and pointed to the thick steel wall. "There. The ocean is right beyond that. But it's three inches thick."

"Steel is steel," said Remo.

"But people are real," said Chiun.

"You better get going to the door to get out of here," Remo told Skouratis. He looked upward and, high overhead, saw a sliding panel that looked like an elevator door. And he realized what it was. From the small dock at water level to which launches tied up, a panel opened to get into the ship. That was how the terrorists boarded the vessel.

And he remembered the small gang of people who got off Thebos' launch onto the dock, but when the elevator reached the main deck, only Thebos and his daughter were on it. The rest were Thebos' demolitions men and they had gone into this secret part of the ship through the panel, to plant their bombs and fire devices.

Remo nodded. Later he would take care of Thebos.

A bomb exploded behind them. The concussion pushed Remo toward the wall. "Get out of here," he yelled to Skouratis. Alongside Remo, Chiun ran his fingertips over the wall.

"It is just steel," he said confidently. "Now!"

Like pistons, his and Remo's fists thrust forward against the steel wall, hittirig it not in unison, but in a steady sequence of blows, each only milliseconds behind the last blow. The blows went into the core of the metal as vibrations and, as the steel vibrated to each blow, another blow shattered those vibrations and set up different stresses inside the steel. The metal creaked, as if groaning in pain. Remo heard Skouratis' steps moving out of the corridor.

The blows of their hands—left, right, left, right—continued against the wall and, under the press of muscle and bone, the steel turned mushy and brittle and chips of it flew off, and finally Chiun spun on his feet and drove forward with his right fingertips.

His hand bit through the steel as if it were a slice of American white bread and his hand was out into the cold Atlantic, and when he withdrew his hand, green seawater poured in through the hole.

Remo and Chiun each grabbed one side of the rip in the steel and twisted it back, as if it were the top of a sardine can. The water's flow erupted into the compartment with the whoosh of a giant fire hose and the pressure pushed Remo and Chiun back against the far wall.

Chiun said, "We go now."

"Right on, Little Father," said Remo. The two men ran and the flow of water lapped around their ankles as they moved toward the exit. Behind them, around them, they heard the muffled thump of explosions, but then they were through the huge rip in the wall leading to the maintenance closet. With their hands, they pulled the torn metal back to almost close up the hole, then escaped out into the corridor where they again sealed the closet door.

The corridors were filled with people, running in both directions in panic. Diplomats trampled each other, bodyguards fled ignoring their responsibilities to protect anyone else.

"See what happens when you hire cheap help?" Chiun said,

"Let's go up top," Remo said.

On the main deck, they found Demosthenes Skouratis talking to the ship's first officer. He gestured with his finger and, while Skouratis wore no uniform, the first officer understood the voice of command.

"After everybody is out of the central wing, then seal off all bulkheads leading into other sections of the ship."

"That will allow the central wing to fill with water," the officer said.

"That's where we want it kept. The ship will float. Now! Hurry!"

Skouratis saw Remo and Chiun. He was spun around as two diplomats pushed roughly by him, racing toward the lifeboats at the stem of the vessel. Chiun tripped the two men who skidded on their faces.

"I don't know how you succeeded," said Skouratis, "but I owe my ship to you."

The sounds of battle came from the stern of the boat. Men in formal dress, bodyguards in business suits, women in long gowns fought and clawed with each other, trying to struggle into the lifeboats.

"Look at them," Skouratis said. "Like ants, they flee in panic. And they run the world."

"Most men live lives of ants," Chiun said. "The only world they run is the world of ants. Real men run their own lives."

"You are very wise, old man," Skouratis said.

Below their feet, they could feel the muffled thump of more explosions. Remo felt someone at his shoulder and turned to see Smith. The blood on his face had dried in a smear.

"What happened?" Smith said.

"It's all right, Smitty. The ship's safe."

"Good, Remo. Good." His voice trailed off and he began to crumble. Remo caught him in his arms and leaned him in a sitting position against the wall of the deck.

He looked up as a pistol shot resounded, a small pop in the open ocean. At the stern of the boat, the Indian delegate had gotten his hands on a gun and had just shot a Cambodian delegate. He was now ripping a life jacket from the corpse. Two women screamed.

"Just a minute," Remo said to Skouratis. "I gotta go straighten this out."

"How will he do that?" Skouratis asked Chiun, as Remo strolled toward the stern of the ship. "There are many men there."

Chiun shook his head. "No. There are many ants there. There is only one man. That is Remo."

As Skouratis watched, Remo strolled into the swarm of men fighting over life jackets and battling each other for the lifeboats. Skouratis felt as if he were watching a child stack wooden blocks as he saw the seething mob slowly form up into straight lines, and their voices lower.