“He estimated nine-said he was leaving at dawn.”
The African had kept to his timing and the departure had been monitored by the reconnaissance plane. Its signal to Walvis Bay was relayed at once to the approaching ships. The reconnaissance aircraft kept up a steady flow of information, enabling Hertzog’s navigating officers to chart both course and speed for Makimber’s launch so they could achieve the blocking position their commander-in-chief wanted.
“There he is,” said Edmunson, pointing to starboard. The captain stood alongside the first officer and watched as a black smudge on the horizon formed into the recognizable shape of a launch. It was large, maybe forty tons, and moving fast through the water. Both men went out onto the wing to look through glasses.
“Quite a deputation,” said Erlander, counting the other Africans grouped around Makimber.
“I’ll be glad when we’ve offloaded and are underway again,” said Edmunson with a sailor’s superstition. “This has been a funny trip from the very beginning.”
From inside the bridge the radio operator said, “I’ve checked right back to the radio mast itself. Can’t find anything wrong at all.”
“Check again,” said Erlander. “I don’t want to be at sea with dead electrics.” He signalled dead slow and gave the course so that the bulk of his ship would provide some lee for the smaller launch. It maintained its speed flamboyantly, finishing with a wide arc to bring itself alongside the Bellicose. Makimber led the way aboard, followed by four other Africans. Makimber was clearly pleased with himself, his face lit by a constant smile.
“You’re on time,” he said. “It is good. Very good.”
“Are there docking facilities?” asked Erlander.
“Everything,” assured Makimber.
“Benguela?”
“Dombe Grande,” said Makimber. “There’s a river anchorage.”
“I’ve got some heavy stuff,” said Erlander. “I need to be alongside.”
“Everything will be okay. Everything,” said Makimber in a voice that lacked confidence.
“What about repair facilities?”
“Repair facilities?”
“We seem to have some radio trouble,” said Erlander. “We might need some electricians.”
“Not at Dombe Grande,” said Makimber.
“We could go into Benguela afterwards,” suggested Edmunson to Erlander.
“We’d like to inspect the cargo,” said Makimber.
Erlander led the way to a lower stairway, bringing them out on the open deck again. Several of them were suddenly aware of the noise, but it was Edmunson who spoke, gesturing over the stem of the ship. “What the hell…?”
The helicopters were coming in low, practically at wavetop level and out of the rising sun, like a swarm of black insects. The formation split at the last moment, arcing out of the direct line of the freighter but pulling into a tight circle. Erlander realized the four Africans with Makimber had pistols in their hands and that two were supporting themselves against the deck rail, taking aim.
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous,” he shouted. “They’re gunships, for Christ’s sake!”
The helicopters were circling sufficiently close for the cannon to be visible through the cutaway sides, heavy- calibre weapons with their bandoliers of tracers looped at the ready. There was an operator and armourer at every opening.
One of the Africans began shooting wildly, hand bucking with the recoil from his pistol. The answering fire was deafening, timed bursts coming from each helicopter as it reached the bridge area. Shells from the first ricocheted harmlessly from the flat decking at the stem. The others were aimed intentionally wide as well, either in the air or plucking up a churn of spray from the head or sides of the vessel. Erlander and Edmunson threw themselves below the rail line.
“What can we do?” said Edmunson frantically.
“Nothing,” said Erlander. He had always known it would happen one day; he wondered how difficult it was going to be from now on.
Makimber crawled up alongside. “There are rockets in the cargo,” he said. “Get us down to the holds.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Erlander wearily. “There are eight of them up there. Where do you think they came from? There’s obvious backup. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Look,” said Edmunson in confirmation. Through the rail venting, the warships could be seen, approaching in line-abreast formation.
“I want the rockets!” shouted Makimber.
Erlander screwed around so that he could sit with his back to the rail. “We’re in international waters,” he said. “We stand a chance if we argue. If we try to fight, they’ll blow us out of the water.”
“We’re sending men aboard,” announced a metallic voice, echoing across the water from a bullhorn. “If there’s any resistance, the next shot won’t be fired wide.”
Erlander and Edmunson stood up, and at the captain’s gesture distanced themselves from the still-crouching Africans. Six of the helicopters maintained the encirclement but the remaining two dropped low again, flattening the water with their downdraught. Erlander watched as the rubberized dinghies flopped into the water, to self-inflate before the wet-suited men splashed alongside, immediately hauling themselves aboard. It was expert and quick, outboard engines starting almost at once. Still unsure whether there would be any further firing from the Bellicose, the dinghies split wide and approached from different angles. Overhead the gunships stopped circling, hovering instead in an uneven but solid line, their cannon trained upon the Bellicose.
“Jesus!” said Edmunson, his voice a mixture of horror and admiration.
The commando group was ten strong. They came alongside the launch, occupying that first. Four spread out along its deck, covering the higher superstructure of the freighter with 9-mm. machine guns to enable the remaining six to climb up the rope ladder that Makimber and his party had used earlier.
They had kept their rubber suits on, even the hoods, so there was no designation of rank.
“My ship is in international waters,” said Erlander.
“Right,” agreed the unidentified leader, a muscular, moustachioed man.
“So you have no lawful authority for this attack. You’re committing an act of piracy.”
“Right again,” said the man.
Erlander felt a lurch of despair as he recognized the accent. “Get off my ship!” he said.
“Bollocks,” said the man.
“And so it comes to a happy conclusion!”
“I hope so,” said Grearson. Instinctively he gazed from the kiosk towards the surrounding buildings, wondering where the bastard was: he hoped he would be present at the exchange and get his ass burned by Evans.
“I’m glad you were sensible in the end and did everything we wanted.”
“Shouldn’t we be finalizing things?” said Grearson impatiently.
“We’ve got to be careful.”
“Set it out,” demanded Grearson.
“It may be that you have something in mind for the handover. A little surprise for us. So we’ve got to take precautions against that. We’re going to split them up, Tewfik and the woman. He’s going to be taken to an address and left there. He’ll be quite safe and unharmed- just unable to move about. Only the girl will know the address. The people who come to meet the freighter won’t, so there’ll be no point in seizing them. If the exchange goes according to plan, then you’ll be told where the girl is. Get to her and then you get to the boy.”
“No,” said Grearson at once. “That doesn’t give us any guarantee at all.”
“It gives you what you want, the boy back. But on our terms. And they’ve always been our terms, haven’t they?”
Azziz wasn’t going to like this tape, the lawyer knew. The pendulum had swung, greatly to his disadvantage. “How soon after the exchange?” he said.
“As soon as we’ve made sure that the weapons are there… that there’s no stupidity, then you’ll get the address of the woman, the same way as you got the two sets of photographs, through the harbour master’s delivery. She’s quite close, maybe an hour away. You should have the boy back two hours after we get what we want.”
