Saleem had to pull himself away. He disconnected from the execution and followed the others over the side and down a ladder to the water.
Gunnymede began to lose consciousness. The Russian was too strong, the stranglehold too perfect. Stars filled his eyes as his brain began to close down. He made one last effort to pull Krilov’s arm from around his throat. His fingers touched the knife at his shoulder below Krilov’s forearm. He ripped it from its sheath and shoved the blade into Krilov’s arm with every ounce of strength he had left. The blade went through the arm, the tip digging into Gunnymede’s kevlar vest. Krilov howled in pain and although his grip weakened he held on. Gunnymede twisted the knife to one side and yanked it down hard with his final effort, cutting through arteries and tendons. Krilov’s grip failed.
Gunnymede pulled himself free and rolled away to draw in deep breaths as blood began to flow back into his brain.
Krilov’s hate and tenacity drove him on and he got to his feet. Gunnymede looked up at the beast, a wall of roaring flames behind him, and from his crouched position, launched himself with everything he had left. He struck Krilov below his chest with his shoulder in a classic rugby tackle and propelled the man backwards. Gunnymede released him at full stretch and fell to the ground. Krilov tumbled backwards into a puddle of burning oil that immediately soaked him. Flames licked at him. He screamed as he ignited, rolling out of the oil but by then he was a human torch. Unable to see, his eyes shut tight against the flames, knowing there was water in every direction, he ran, hit a rail, somersaulted over it and, in a fireball, plummeted to the water.
Gunnymede immediately flipped his focus to Saleem but the Daesh commander was gone. He hurried along the landing, searching over the side in every direction but there was no sign of him. The water was a rippling black emptiness. The beach was a few hundred metres away and in complete darkness. If there was anyone there he would not have seen them.
He suddenly remembered Bethan and spun around to look towards the ship. He hurried to the side and climbed onto the deck. The fire still burned. Crewmen had broken out hoses and were throwing burning debris overboard. There was no sign of Bethan.
Bethan was in fact below decks fighting for her life.
Jedson had recovered from the explosion without serious injury and had come at her with a pole, ready to bash her, his eyes filled with malice. As he lunged at her he slipped on an oily patch and fell. At the same time she stepped back to avoid his blow, her ankles hit the raised rim of a hatch and she fell into it and down a flight of stairs. With her hands still tied she’d been helpless to stop herself.
She struck the lower deck which knocked the wind out of her. Two men hurried along a corridor and stopped on seeing her. Arabs, one of them holding a copy of the Koran. He said something in Arabic to the other and they stepped over her and quickly climbed the stairs.
Bethan got to her feet while deciding where to go. On deck was Jedson. The only other option was to hide on the ship. She faced a long corridor with doors left and right, hurried along it to the end, down a flight of steps and through a metal door into a noisy room filled with machinery.
To one side was a greasy workshop. She grabbed the first tool she saw, a pair of pliers, and tried to cut her bonds. She couldn’t grip them well enough and they fell to the floor. As she picked them up she peered round the doorway and up the stairs in fear Jedson might be there. It was clear.
Frustrated, she looked around for something better and saw an electric grinder. She rubbed the plasticuffs against the stone wheel but it turned with every movement. She found a switch and the motor burst into life. She touched the plastic against the spinning stone which cut it instantly. She pulled her hands apart with relief. As she turned to leave she stopped dead. Jedson was in the doorway, his eyes filled with murder.
He lunged at her. She sidestepped, pushing him to one side. His back hit the spinning grinder cutting into him, his jacket getting sucked around the stone, jamming it to a stop. He yelled in frustration as he reached for her unable to advance. As he fought to release his jacket she grabbed a metal rod and slammed his shoulder with it, snapping his collar bone. His reaction was even wilder rage and he swung out a fist that connected with her face sending her flying back into shelving.
Bethan was rocked by the blow and staggered out of the room with a bloody nose while Jedson fought to free himself. She pulled herself up the stairs but as she reached the top, Jedson stepped from the workshop in time to grab her trouser belt. With all his might he wrenched her down, flinging her to the metal floor.
The effort sent a bolt of pain through his broken collar bone, delaying him long enough for Bethan to scramble up and stagger away along the gangway, through a steel doorway and into the engine room.
Jedson grabbed a long hammer from the workshop and
