Warren Murphy: Ship Of Death

"What happened?" asked someone in the back of the growing crowd.

"A guard broke a urinal," said the secretary next to him,

"How do you know?"

"Someone's swearing that the guard didn't."

The guard had orders to stay before the door. He had a list of identification numbers of those allowed to enter. He had a badge, a side arm and a pension only fifteen years away. However, wnen he saw supervisors pointing at him and heard a loud, "Why did he do that?" he checked the locked door once more and, with the pad, went to join the crowd to see who might be slandering him. It was not the kind of job anyone expected you to do right, but the kind where you tried not to do anything wrong. And someone was accusing him of a breach of something and he'd better deny it immediately.

When he got to the center of the crowd, he saw marble wreckage in a pile and an undersecretary for African affairs was announcing that he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Remo pressured the lock of the door downward against its weakest point and then, focusing the full energy of his body, the knob cold in his warm hands, snapped it forward. He backed into the darkened room, saying: "Stay out, no admittance."

He shut the door and announced that everything was all right, no one had entered. The room was dark except for a small lit screen near the ceiling. There was no light going toward it so Remo assumed it was a television tape and not a movie projector.

"And stay out," yelled Remo, sitting down in the darkness. The large television screen had a picture of a ship on it. Since there was no background against which to gauge, Remo couldn't tell how large it was. This he knew, however: it was not a sailboat because there were no sails and it was not an aircraft carrier because he knew aircraft carriers had flat things on them. He figured it carried bananas or something.

The man to his left had eaten a steak for lunch and reeked of it.

"Now, getting back to our incipient disaster," said someone near the screen. His voice was British. "Who hasn't been briefed by his naval ministry as to the vulnerable points?"

"Yeah," said Remo. "Here. I haven't."

"Oh, gawd. We really don't have time for a naval history, sir."

"Well, make time. I got time."

"Yes, but you see, the rest of us really don't. If you wouldn't mind, sir, I would just as soon make you privy to the naval functions after the meeting."

"You're not making me privy to anything after anything. Just tell me what's going on and let me get the hell out of here. This room smells," Remo said.

"You're American, I take it."

"As American as rice and duck," said Remo.

There was a small commotion up near the screen and again the British voice.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, we have just received a message that we are to wait for someone to be admitted with the lights out. I imagine that's so we shan't see him properly. I guess I can explain something of the dangers of this ship while we wait for the late arrival."

"The late arrival's already here," said Rem.

"Oh. Then it's you."

"It's my mother. Go ahead, Charlie. What's with that boat?"

"That boat, as you so quaintly call it, is the largest ship in the world. While it is moving, its bow can be in one current and its stern in another. Literally, in its transatlantic crossing, it experienced at times three kinds of weather simultaneously. It is powered by atomic engines and each of its propeller screws are larger than most sailboats of the type-one class."

"Oh, that explains it," said Remo, who did not know what a type-one sailboat was and was beginning to suspect that upstairs had fouled up again. So he was looking at a big boat, so what? He heard several foreign tongues and knew this was not an exclusively American venture. His main question was, What was he doing here? Was there somebody he was supposed to see and identify and kill later? Was there some master scheme he had to be aware of? Someone started to smoke nearby in a room fouled by body odors.

"Put out your cigarette," said Remo.

"Your pardon is in the begging," said the man with a thick guttural accent. He did not put out the cigarette. Remo snipped off the burning ember and let it drop into the man's lap. The man angrily lit another cigarette and Remo snatched the lighter. The speaker was talking about a world disaster they all might just muddle through if they kept their heads and worked together, when the commotion in the back row forced him to stop.

"We're trying to save the world here. What is going on back there?"

"He started it," said Remo.

The man denied he had started anything. He was chief of security of the Albanian government and he did not start anything.

"Did too," Remo said.

"Gentlemen, in one month, representatives from every nation in the world will place their lives in our hands, trusting to our skill that they will survive. The world expects us to do our duty. Can I not ask you to act in a spirit of cooperation? We are not here to seize some political advantage but to make sure hundreds of delegates and thousands of staff persons from all over the world don't go sinking to the bottom. Gentlemen, it is quite simply up to us to prevent the greatest naval and diplomatic tragedy the world has ever seen, a tragedy that most likely would unleash World War III. In the light of that, I must ask you, please, please, overlook your minor differences. We cannot afford childishness. Now, I am perfectly willing to hear any mature well-reasoned statement concerning the dispute in the back of the room."

The chief of Albanian security said that in the interest of world cooperation he would refrain from smoking.

"See? I told you he started it," Remo said.

Immediately, a man who identified himself as American Secret Service said that Remo's position was not America's. He apologized to Albania for American rudeness. The Albanian accepted the apology. There was light applause.

Remo laughed and made a raspberry.

The Englishman, who identified himself as assistant to MI5, Great Britain, continued. Everyone, he was sure, knew that the great ship called Number 242 was about to be rechristened Ship of States and become the permanent floating home of the United Nations.

"No," said Remo. "I didn't know that. The United Nations is moving out of New York?"

The Englishman paused a moment, then chuckled. "Very humorous," he said.

"No, I'm not kidding," Remo said. "I didn't hear about it. The UN's leaving New York. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, sir. That is exactly what I'm saying."

"I'll bet New York's happy as hell," Remo said.

"New York may be happy but we are decidedly unhappy. All of us in this room, in essence the policemen of the world, are facing a security situation unlike any other in the history of the world. We are, in essence, going to have to police our own bosses. This can be touchy. And, in an age of terrorism, the entire ship is a target, an incredible danger. Can any of you imagine what would happen if this diplomatic ship sinks?"

Remo raised a hand.

"Yes. The American," said the British officer at the television screen.

"I can imagine," Remo said. "Nothing. There's always another diplomat around. You never get rid of them. They're always there. They call cops and soldiers dispensable, but let's face it, a cop or a soldier has to be trained. He's got skills you've got to replace. But a diplomat? I mean, how did he get there? He said the right words to some pinko in Moscow or made a campaign contribution in the United States or some other politician back home wanted to get him the hell out of the country. That's what a diplomat is. He's really useless. It's the cops and the soldiers guarding them who are worth something. The ship goes down, nothing'll happen."

The room was dark and each man felt a sense of safety in that anonymity. And in the room there were murmuring approvals. The officer at the screen cleared his throat. Then someone clapped and the room became applause.