Ken Follett - Triple (1991)

When the Nablus reached thee point south of Ibiza where Hassan expected to encounter the Coparelli, there was not a single ship in sight. They circled the point in a widening spiral while H san scanned the desolate horizon through binoculars. Mahmoud said, "You have made a mistake." "Not necessarily." Hassan was determined he would not appear panicked. .'This was just the earliest point at which we could meet her. She doesn't have to travel at top speed. "Why should she be delayed?" Hassan shrugged, seeming less worried than he was. "Perhaps the engine isn't running well. Perhaps they've had worse weather than we have. A lot of reasons." "What do you suggest, then?" Mahmoud was also very uneasy, Hassan realized. On this ship he was not in control, only Hassan could make the decisions. "We travel southwest, backing along the CoparelICS route. We must meet her sooner or later." "Give the order to the captain," Mahmoud said, and went below to his troops, leaving Hassan on the bridge with the captain. Mahmoud burned with the irrational anger of tension. So did his troops, Hassan had observed. They had been expecting a fight at midday, and now they had to wait, dawdling about in the crew quarters and the galley, cleaning weapons, playing cards, and bragging about past battles. They were hyped up for combat, and inclined to play dangerous knifetbrowing games to prove their courage to each other and to themselves. One of them had quarreled with two seamen over an imaginary insult, and had cut them both about the face with a broken glass before the fight was broken up. Now the crew were staying well away from the Fedayeen. Hassan wondered how he would handle them if he were Mahmoud. He had thought along these lines a lot recently. Mahmoud was still the commander, but be was the one who had done all the important work: discovered Dickstein, brought the news of his plan, conceived the counter-bijacx and established the Stromberes whereabouts. He was beginning to wonder on what would be his position in the movement when all this was over. Clearly, Mahmoud was wondering the same thing. Well. If there was to be a power struggle between the two of them, it would have to wait. First they had to hijack the Coparellf and ambush Dickstein. Hassan felt a little nauseous when he thought about that. It was all very well for the battle-hardened men below to convince themselves they looked forward to a fight, but Hassan bad never been in war, never even had a gun pointed at him except by Cortone in the ruined villa. He was afraid, and he was even more afraid of disgracing himself by showing his fear, by turning and running away, by throwing up as he had done in the villa. But he also felt excited, for if they won-if they.wonf There was a false alarm at four-thirty in the afternoon when they sighted another ship coming toward them, but after examining her through binoculars Hassan announced she was not the Copareffl, and as she passed they were able to read the name on her side: Gil Hamilton. As daylight began to fade Hassan became worried. In this weather, even with navigation lights, two ships could pass withinhalf a mile of one another at night without seeing each other. And there had been not a sound out of the Coparelli's secret radio all afternoon, although Yaacov had reported that Rostov was trying to raise Tyrin. To be certain that the COparelli did not pass the Nablus in the night they would have to go about and spend the night traveling toward Genoa at the Coparelli's speed, then resume searching in the morning. But by that time the Stromberg would be close by and the Fedayeen might lose the chance of springing a trap on Dickstein. Hassan was about to explain this to Mahmoud-who had Jim returned to the bridge-when a single light winked on in the distance. "She's at anchor," said the captain. "How can you tell?" Mahmoud asked. 'naes what a single white light means." Hassan said, "That would explain why she wasn't off Thiza when we expected her. If that's the Coparelli, you should prepare to board."

'!I agree," said Mahmoud, and went off to tell his men. "Turn out your navigation lights," Hassan told the captain. As the Nablus closed with the other ship, night fen. "I'm almost certain that's the Coparelli," Hassan said. The captain lowered his binoculars. "She has three cranes on deck, and all her upperworks are aft of the hatches." "Your eyesight is better than mine," Hassan said. I'Shes the Coparellf." He went below to the galley, where Malurfoud was addressing his troops. Mahmoud looked at him as he stepped inside. Hassan nodded. "This is it." I Mahmoud turned back to his men. "We do not expect much resistance. The ship is crewed by ordinary seamen, and there is no reason for them to be armed. We go in two boats, one to attack the port side and one the starboard. On board our first task is to take the bridge and prevent the crew from using the radio. Next we round up the crew on deck." He paused and turned to Hassan. "Tell the captain to get as close ible to the Caparelli and then stop engines." as posst Hassan turned. Suddenly he was errand boy again: Mahmoud was demonstrating that he was still the battle leader. Hassan felt the humiliation bring a rush of blood to his cheeks. "Yasif." He turned back. "Your weapon." Mahmoud threw him a gun. Hassan caught it. It was a small pistol, almost a toy, the kind of gun a woman might carry in her handbag. The Fedayeen roared with laughter. Hassan thought: I can play these games too. He found what looked like the safety catch and released it. He pointed the gun at the floor and pulled the trigger. The report was very loud. He emptied the gun into the deck. There was a silence. Hassan said, "I thought I saw a mouse." He threw the gun back to Mahmoud. The Fedayeen laughed even louder. Hassan went out. He went back to the bridge, passed the message to the captain, and returned to the deck. It was very dark now. For a time all that could be seen of the Coparelli was its light Then, as he strained his eyes, a silhouette of solid black became distinguishable against the wash of dark gray- The Fedayeen, quiet now, had emerged from the galley and stood on deck with the crew. The NabWa engines (Red The crew lowered the boats. Hassan and his Fedayeen went ever the side. Hassan was in the same boat as Mahmoud. The little launch bobbed on the waves, which now seemed immense. They approached the sheer side of the Coparelli. There was no sip of activity on the ship. Surely, Hassan thought, the officer on watch must bear the sound of two engines approaching? But no alarms sounded, no lights flooded the deck, no one shouted orders or came to the rail. Mahmoud was first up the ladder. By the time Hassan reached the Coparelli's deck the other team was swarming over the starboard gunwale. Men poured down the companionways and up the ladders. Still there was no sign of the Coparegirs crew. Hassan bad a dreadful premonition that something had gone terribly wrong. He followed Mahmoud up to the bridge. Two of the men were already there. Hassan asked, "Did they have time to use the radior, "%Fho?" Mahmoud said. They went back down to the deck. Slowly the men were emerging from the bowels of the boat, looking puzzled, their cold gum in their hands. Mahmoud said: "Ibe wreck of the Marie Celeste." Two men came across the deck -with a frightened looking sailor between them. Hassan, spoke to the sailor in English. 'Vhaes happened here?" The sailor replied in some other language. Hassan had a sudden terrifying thought. "Let's check the bold," he said to Mahmoud. They found a companionway leading below and went down into the hold. Hassan found a light switch and turned it on. The hold was full of large oil drums, sealed and secured with wooden wedges. The drums had the word PLumBAT stenciled on their sides. "nat's it," said Hassan. '11at's the uranium."

They looked at the drums then at each other. For a moment all rivalry was forgotten. "We did it," said Haman. "By Ood, we did it."