'Excuse me, but what about the helm?' asked Niven.
'We're on automatic,' said Dave. 'The computer will watch the ARPA.'
'Yeah, but all the same. In this weather, it's as well to keep an eye on things.'
Dave didn't have time to argue. Silently, he waved the gun toward the bridge wing and the stairwell that led below deck. The two men gave the gun and then Dave a wary, attentive look and went through the door. A few minutes later they and the man who had been down in the engine room were meekly stepping into the workshop. Dave watched Al shove the engineer roughly inside with the barrel of his shotgun and then bolt the door behind him.
'He give you any trouble?' Dave asked him.
'He's alive, isn't he?' Al said ominously.
'Don't be such a fuckin' hard ass. Smith and Jones, OK?'
Al shrugged and it was then Dave noticed that he was wearing a crucifix on one of the gold chains around his neck. Al wore a lot of gold, but this was the first time Dave had seen him wearing a crucifix. Grabbing it in his half- gloved hand, he said, 'What's this?'
'What's it fucking look like, asshole?'
Al tugged the little crucifix out of Dave's fingers and tucked it behind the hard sternum of his bulletproof vest.
'You really believe God is going to look out for you with a shotgun in your hand?' laughed Dave.
'Who are you? Billy fucking Graham? What the fuck do you care what I believe?'
'I think a man ought to be self-reliant, that's all. I don't like the idea that there are any second chances in life. Makes people careless. The only one who's watching your ass round here is me, Al. Not God. Try and remember that.'
'You just watch out for your own shit and leave me to mine. I can handle the discordant notes in my set-up. I'm cool to the contraries inherent in my situation. Know what I'm sayin'? So why don't you get your nose out of my fuckin' conscience and let's go and kick some ass.'
With three men locked up that left fourteen others to be accounted for. All the officer and crew quarters were on the same deck. Most of the men were asleep. A few were drunk. Either way they offered Dave and Al no resistance. With the exception of Jellicoe. He was the last to be hauled roughly from his bed at gunpoint. Seeing the rest of his men standing meekly in the corridor under Dave's armed guard seemed to bring out in him something of his country's proud tradition of resistance.
'You know what this is, don't you?' he said stiffly.
'Shut the fuck up.'
'It's bloody piracy, that's what it is,' Jellicoe persisted. 'It's an offense against the law of nations, that's what it is. Well, mark my words, outside the normal jurisdiction of a state, I'm the law round here. And I can tell you bastards, you won't get away with this. Regardless of your nationality or domicile you can be sure that I will pursue you, arrest you, try you, and punish you as I am so empowered to do under international--'
Al jabbed the shortened barrel of his shotgun under Jellicoe's nose and racked the slide, silencing him with immediate effect. Then, wearing an expression of intense irritation, Al looked at Dave as if he held him personally responsible and said, 'OK, I'm cool to this Smith and Jones shit. But if he gives me any more of the Admiral Halsey I'm gonna pump one up each fucking nostril.'
'Do as the bastard says, sir,' said one of Jellicoe's crew. 'For Christ's sake. Or you'll get us all killed.'
Al turned his malevolent gaze back to Jellicoe and said, 'You hear that, you fuckin' fag? It's good advice. One more crack out of you and you're gonna be huntin' Red October, so help me God. Understand?'
Before he locked the workshop door, Dave took Jock aside.
'Sorry about this, Jock. Look, there are some tools and things on the floor that'll help you escape. Only I wouldn't start until around six. It's likely to make Al nervous if he hears you guys banging away and when he's nervous he gets trigger happy. Know what I mean? The ship's going dead ahead slow on auto-pilot, so you've nothing to worry about there. One more thing. You'll find some people handcuffed on the Carrera. The keys to their handcuffs as well as the key to the radio room are in the safe on my boat. It's a four-digit combination. The first number is keyed in already for you guys. You just have to work your way through the other 999 possibilities. Shouldn't take you more than a couple of hours. I know, I've already tried it myself. Understand?'
'Aye, I think so,' Jock frowned. 'What's this all about anyway?'
'It's like you said yourself, Jock. You make it any way you can.'
Clearing the accommodations block and locking up the crew was the easiest part of the plan. But scrambling from one yacht to another, and moving owners and crews off their vessels and along the dock wall in darkness had always looked more problematic. Now, in a high sea, it looked impossible. As Dave and Al had discovered on their own trip to the block, it would have been only too easy for someone to have fallen from the ship's dock wall and into the sea, where they would certainly have drowned. But Dave was nothing if not flexible in the way he approached his plan, and stumbling across those FBI shields and IDs had given him an idea how a lot of crucial time and effort might now be saved. And as soon as the ship's officers and crew were safely out of the way, Dave told Al about the change in plan.
'Al,' he said quietly. 'I've got a present for you. Now, I don't want you getting alarmed when you see what it is, OK? Because normally you would be, right? Under normal circumstances you would look at what I'm about to give you and feel very uncomfortable. And I wouldn't blame you one bit. But with anything creative, if it's any fuckin' good, there's usually a certain amount of improvisation involved. Like good jazz, y'know? Or Jimi Hendrix?'
'Improvisation?' Al's frown deepened. 'What the fuck is this? What are you talking about, improvisation? Do I look like Lee fucking Strasberg or something? We're taking down a score here, not some fucking director's notes.'
They were standing on the empty bridge staring down at a vague outline of the captive flotilla of yachts. Apart from the two lights on the ship's stern, everything was dark. Dave nodded and said, 'That's good, Al. Lee Strasberg is good. A much better example than Jimi Hendrix because there is going to be some acting involved. Did you ever see yourself as an actor, Al?'
'I hate fucking actors.'
'That's good too. See if you can hang onto that. Because the best way of manifesting your contempt for actors would be to demonstrate just how easy acting is.'
'Get to the point, motherfucker.'
'OK, here's your part.' Dave unfolded Kent Bowen's FBI identification wallet and handed it over. He hoped that in the half-light of the bridge Al wouldn't recognize Bowen from his photograph. 'Your name is Kent Bowen and you're an Assistant Special Agent in Charge with the FBI.'
Al scrutinized the card. 'Where the fuck did you get this shit?'
'Never mind that now. That and the other one in my pocket are going to save you and me a lot of legwork.' He glanced at his watch. The change in plan was now looking essential. 'Dangerous and time-consuming legwork,' he added. 'Just look down at those boats and think about this. That it's a lot of fuckin' boats to be gettin' on and off of in the pitch dark, and in this fucking weather. Right? This FBI thing is just a way of streamlining this particular phase of the operation. You dig?'
Less effort for the same return was OK with Al. 'I guess so.'
Dave took back Bowen's FBI wallet and tucked one half inside the strap of Al's vest, so that the badge was hanging out in the front.
'There you go,' he said. 'You look just like Al Pacino. Right, now here's the setup. You and I are going to board these boats posing as a couple of Feds. We'll tell them that we've been keeping one particular boat on this ship under surveillance because it's smuggling drugs. Only now we've got to move in and make the arrest before they transfer the stuff onto another ship. So we're asking everyone to stay in their cabins in case there's any shooting and to be real quiet. Think you can handle that?'
Al glanced at the badge he was wearing. He shook his head, and said, 'Jesus, this feels weird. I can handle this shit, yeah. Acting. Nothing to it. If Arnie Schwarzenegger can do it, then anyone can. I'm Jack Webb, no fucking problem. When I was a kid I watched Dragnet all the time.'
'Now you're talking,' said Dave.
'Who am I supposed to be again?' asked Al and before Dave could distract him, he had the wallet out of his vest and was scrutinizing Bowen's ID. 'I'd better get into character here.'
