Ken Follett: Triple (1991)

Nat Dickstein stood in the amidships hold of the CopareHi, staring at the drums of sandy metallic ore that had cost so much. They looked nothing special-just large black oil drums with the word PLUMBAT stenciled on their sides. He would have liked to open one and feel the stuff, just to know what it was like, but the lids were heavily sealed. He felt suicidal. Instead of the elation of victory, he had only bereavement. He could not rejoice over the terrorists he had killed, he could only moum for his own dead. He went over the battle again, as he had been -doing throughout a sleepless night. If he had told Abbas to open fire as soon as he got aboard it might have distracted the Fedayeen long enough for Gibli to get over the rail without being shot. If he had gone with three men to take out the bridge with grenades at the very start of the fight the mess might have been taken earlier and lives would have been saved. If . . . but there were a hundred things he would have done differently if he bad been able to see into the future, or if he were just a wiser man. Well, Israel would now have atom bombs to protect her forever. Even that thought gave him no joy. A year ago it would have thrilled him. But a year ago he had not met Suza Ashford. He beard a noise and looked up. It sounded as if people were running around on deck. Some nautical crisis, no doubt. Suza had changed him. She had taught him to expect more out of life than victory in battle. When he had anticipated this day, when he had thought about what it would feel like to have pulled off this tremendous coup, she had always been in his daydream, waiting for him somewhere, ready to share his triumph. But she would not be there. Nobody else would do. And there was no joy in a solitary celebration. He had stared long enough. He climbed the ladder out of the hold, wondering what to do with the rest of his life. He emerged on deck. A rating peered at him. "Mr. Dicksteinr' "Yes. What do you wantT' "We've been searching the ship for you, sir . . . It's the radio, someone is calling the Coparelli. We haven't answered, sir, because we're not supposed to be the Coparelli, are we? But she says-~' "She?" "Yes, sir. She's coming over clear-speech, not Morse code. She sounds close. And she's upset. 'Speak to me, Nathaniel,' she says, stuff like that, sir."

Dickstein grabbed the rating by his pea jacket. "Nathaniel?" he shouted. "Did she say Nathaniel?" "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, if--?' But Dickstein was heading for the bridge at a run.

The voice of Nat Dickstein came over the radio: "Who Is calling Copamfli?" Suddenly Suza was speechless. Hearing his voice, after all she had been through, made her feel weak and helpleSL Who is calling Coparefli?- She found her voice. "Oh, Nat, at last." "Suza? Is that Suzar "Yes, yes." "Whom are you?" She gathered her thoughts. "I'm with David Rostov on a Russian ship called the Kar7a. Make a note of this." She gave him the position, course and speed just as the first officer had told them to her. "Tbat was at four-ten this morning. Nat, this ship is going to ram yours at six Am!' "Ram? Why? Oh, I see..." "Nat, theyll catch me at the radio any minute, what are we going to do, quickly --- r "Can you create a diversion of some kind at precisely fivethirty?99 "Diversion?" "Start a fire, shout !man overboard,' anything to keep them all very busy for a few minutes." Well-I'll try----~' "Do your best. I want them all running around, nobody quite sure what's going on or what to do-are they all KOB?" "Yes." 440kay, now--.?$ The door of the radio room opened---Suza ffipped the switch to TRANsmrr and Dickstein's voice was silenced and David Rostov walked in. He said, "Where's Aleksandr?" Suza tried to smile. "He went for coffee. Im minding the shop." "Me damn fool . His curses switched into Russian as he stormed out. Suza moved the lever to REcEm.

Nat said, "I heard that You'd better make yourself scarce until five-thirty---~" "Wait," she shouted. "What are you going to do?" "Do?" he said. "I'm coming to get you." "Oh," she said. "Ob, thank you." "I love YOU." As she switched off, Morse began to come through on another set. Tyrin would have heard every word of her conversation, and now he would be trying to warn Rostov. She had forgotten to tell Nat about Tyrin. She could try to contact Nat again, but it would be very risky~ and Tyrin would get his message through to Rostov in the time it took Nat's men to search the Coparelli, locate Tyrin and destroy his equipment. And when Tyrin's message got to Rostov, he would know Nat was coming, and he would be prepared. She had to block that message. She also had to get away. She decided to wreck the radio. How? All the wiring must be behind the panels. She would have to take a panel off. She needed a screwdriver. Quickly, quickly before Rostov gives up looking for Aleksandrl She found Aleksandes tools inacornerand picked out a small screwdriver. She undid the screws on two, corners of the panel. Impatient, she pocketed the screwdriver and forced the panel out with her hands. Inside was a mass of wires like psychedelic spaghetti. She grabbed a fistful and pulled. Nothing happened: she had pulled too many at once. She selected one, and tugged: it came out. Furiously she pulled wires until fifteen or twenty were hanging loose. Still the Morse code chattered. She poured the remains of the vodka into the innards of the radio. The Morse stopped, and every light on the panel went out. There was a thump from inside the cupboard. Aleksandr must be coming round. Well, they would know everything as soon as they saw the radio now anyway. She went out, closing the door behind her. She went down the ladder and out on the deck, trying to figure out where she could hide and what kind of diversion she could create. No point now in shouting "man overboard'~--they certainly would not believe her after what she had done to their radio and their radio operator. Ut down the anchor? She would not know where to begin. What was Rostov likely to do now? He would look for Aleksandr in the galley, the mess, and his cabin. Not finding him, he would return to the radio room, and then would start a shipwide search for her. He was a methodical man. He would start at the prow and work backward along the main deck, then send one party to search the upperworks and another to sweep below, deck by deck, starting at the top and working down. What was the lowest part of the ship? The engine room. That would have to be her biding place. She went inside and found her way to a downward companionway. She had her foot on the top rung of the ladder when she saw Rostov. And he saw her. She had no idea where her next words came from. "Aleksandr's come back to the radio room, I'll be back in a moment.tv Rostov nodded grimly, and went off in the direction of the radio room. She headed straight down through two decks and emerged into the engine room. The second engineer was on duty at night. He stared at her as she came in and approached him. I "Ms is the only warm place on the ship," she said cheer. fully. "Mind if I keep you company?" He looked mystified, and said slowly, "I cannot ... speak English.. . please." "You don't speak English?" He shook his head. "rm cold," she said, and mimed a shiver. She held her hands out toward the throbbing engine. "Okay?" He was more than happy to have this beautiful girl for ConaPanY in his engine room. "Okay," he said, nodding vigorously. He continued to stare at her, with a pleased look on his face, until it occurred to him that he should perhaps show some hospitality. He looked about, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one. I don't usually, but I think I will," she said, and took a cigarette. It had a small cardboard tube for a filter. The engineer lit it for her. She looked up at the hatch, half expecting to see Rostov. She looked at her watch. It could not be five-twenty-five alreadyl She had no time to think. Diversion, start a diversion. Shout '~man overboard," drop the anchor, light a fire- Light a fire. With what? Petrol, there must be petrol, or diesel fuel, or something, right here in the engine room. She looked over the engine. Where did the petrol come in? The thing was a mass of tubes and pipes. Concentrate, concentrate! She wished she had learned more about the enginC Of -her Car. Were boat engines the same? No, sometimes they used truck fuel. Which kind was this? It was supposed to be a fast ship, so perhaps it used petrol, she remembered vaguely that petrol engines were more expensive to run but faster. If it was a petrol engine it would be simHar to the engine of her car. Were there cables leading to spark plugs? She had changed a spark plug once. She stared. Yes, it was like her car. There were six plugs, with leads from them to a round cap like a distributor. Somewhere there had to be a carburetor. The petrol went through the carburetor. It was a small thing that sometimes got blocked- The voice-pipe barked in Russian, and the engineer walked toward it to answer. His back was to Suza. She had to do it now. There was something about the size of a coffee tin with a lid held on by a central nut. It could be the carburetor. She stretched herself across the engine and tried to undo the nut with her fingers. It would not budge. A heavy plastic pipe led into it. She grabbed it and tugged. She could not pull it out She remembered she had put AleksandesscrewMver into her oilskin pocket. She took it out and jabbed at the pipe with the sharp end. Ile plastic was thick and tough. She stabbed the screwdriver into it with all her might. It made a small cut in the surface of the pipe. She stuck the point of the screwdriver into the cut and -worked it The engineer reached the voice-pipe and spoke into it in Russian. Suza felt the screwdriver break through the plastic. She tugged it out. A spray of clear liquid jetted out of the little hole, and the air was faled with the unmistakable smell of petrol. She dropped the screwdriver and ran toward the ladder.