never have beaten back a second time. They threw ropes down to us. 'You and Kay first, sir!' Kay couldn't be swung up alone for fear of her smashing against the ship's side. Jim Yell and I roped her fast to me. We waited for the ship's roll; eager hands hauled us up and grabbed us. 'Get those men aboard – quick,' I told the group on deck. 'Then cut the boat loose. Let it go.' 'Aye, aye, sir.'
I gave rapid-fire orders for blankets, towels and hot-water bottles for Kay. Her cabin was close by, in the stern; accommodation.
One of the rescuers remarked, 'You look pretty done in yourself, sir. Let us carry her to the cabin.' 'No. Just get me some clothes. Anything warm. 'Wait – a glass of hot rum too.' 'At the double, sir.' 'I'll be in her cabin.'
I laid Kay on her bunk. I stripped the soaking, icy under-garments off her. I got to work towelling her dry and warm. Her nipples were purpled and crumpled like metal foil; an old scar near her right groin had come lividly alive from the cold. Her head still lolled; her colour was a blend of grey and blue. She breathed: I could not detect any telltale choke-gurgle which would mean her lungs were full of water.
I paused only long enough in my life-restoring massage to renew my supply of towels and hot-water bottles. The messenger thrust a pair of pants, woollen shirt and jersey at me. I whipped into the clothes; the hot rum down my throat was worth more than any of them. I turned Kay over on her face; she was still senseless.
I turned away to switch the heating to maximum. When I returned to Kay, she had managed to roll herself over. Her body was now pink from my rough massage. Her eyes were open and conscious. She extended her arms to me with a lead-like effort. 'Peter!' 'Kay!'
I took her under the armpits and held her to me. Her mouth was against mine; her lips were cold but her tongue was warm. 'My love, my love!'
I reached for the survival gear heaped on her bunk and chair. Kay smiled and shook her head. 'Not that. Just you.’ I never got to her.
From down the corridor came the rattle of automatic fire.
Chapter 22
Kay's cabin was the second down the corridor; there were four others between it and the crew's dining-saloon at the end. I yanked open the door and sprinted. Cordite smoke was wisping from the last doorway – Brockton's cabin. I rushed in.
Brockton's body had been almost cut in half at shoulder level by the blast. He lay sprawled, face down, over the black brief-case he had had at his feet on the flight from the Cape to the Falklands.
My impetus almost impaled me on two stubby barrels of skeleton-butted UZIs. I grabbed the finning under the nearest one to save myself from falling. It was hot. The man who held it swept it free savagely. I found myself looking into Grohman's face.
Before I could say anything, the muzzle of the second sub-machinegun was jammed into my ribs from the other side. The cabin was full of the bitter smell of death, cordite, and the kill-sweat of the two men. In a flash I recognized Grohman's companion as one of the men I had seen on the Falklands plane. Crew additions, Grohman had called them to Tideman.
'Back!' snarled Grohman. 'Get back! Keep away from me!'
I started towards the door; Grohman waved me against a side wall. 'No tricks! Don't try and escape!'
The shock of Brockton's murder had left me momentarily speechless. Now the sight of the bullet-ridden body with blood starting to stain the carpet loosened my tongue.
'You stinking murdering bastard, Grohman! I'll see you hang for this!'
His gun-barrel had more warmth than his laugh. 'The great Captain Rainier,' he sneered. 'The man who kicks my country's Navy up the arse!' His swarthy face contorted. 'Shut up, or I'll kill you!’
The corridor was filled with shouting men trying to see what was happening. Grohman said something in Spanish to his bully-boy. The man went at the crowd like a hooker in a rugby scrum, leading his charge with his UZI.
'Brockton!' I shouted. 'You killed Paul Brockton! What had he ever done to you!'
Grohman kicked Paul's body from where it lay across the attache case. 'A filthy American spy!' he rasped. 'Look!'
The hard-fabric case, which I had seen Paul open several times for customs inspection, obviously had a false bottom. I caught a glimpse of electronics, a mini speaker, and what could have been a tiny transmitter.
'Do you know what that is?' demanded Grohman. 'It is called a Racal Datacom Portable Cipher Terminal – special to the United States Navy. That is a pocket cipher unit -there's a fragment of the signal he was transmitting when I got him. There is also an acoustic coupler and power supply…'
The thought crashed through my mind – had Brockton revealed everything about himself to me? What else beyond what he had told me had led him to insinuate himself aboard Jetwind, Now I winced thinking of Tideman. He was in the same game as Brockton – did Grohman suspect him too? 'Grohman…'
'Captain Grohman to you now, Rainier.' His grin was a death's head. 'One false move from you and you'll join your friend. Shut up and listen. This ship is now under command of Group Condor, I am the leader. The bridge and other key points have been occupied by my men’
There was a renewed commotion at the door. I heard an oath from the thug with the gun and an angry voice.
'What the devil is going on here? I demand to know.. „’ It was Sir James Hathaway.
Grohman said, in English, to the guard, 'Don't hurt that man, he's worth a million dollars.'
Sir James would not have got as far as the entrance had it not been for that warning. He thrust himself inside, livid-faced.
'A million dollars? What!' He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Brockton.
'Group Condor will ask a million dollars' ransom for you,' Grohman said in a sinister voice. 'If it is not paid…' He indicated the dead man. 'Take him away,' he added to the guard. 'Lock him in his cabin. Get the girl. Bring her here – by force, if necessary.'
The man started to frog-march Sir James away. My concern was not for him.
'Leave Kay Fenton alone!' I snapped. 'If you touch her, I'll kill you with my own hands.'
My tone stopped the guard. He looked questioningly at Grohman.
I went on. 'She's half-drowned. She needs care, and above all rest. You'll kill her if you disturb her at this time.'
'It was a very touching rescue,' Grohman sneered. 'Very romantic, very brave. Just the sort of thing I would expect the great Captain Rainier to attempt against all the odds.'
'Cut out the sarcasm,' I retorted. 'We're dealing with someone's life.' 'A life that is precious to you?'
I gathered myself to jump him. My intention must have been obvious. He aimed the UZI at my chest.
'You'll never reach me. Rainier,' he warned. His fellow hijacker also switched his aim to me. 'Your gallant rescue cut right across the beginning of our operation,’ continued Grohman. 'You nearly sank the ship in the process.'
Arno's last agonized cry now came back to me. 'You killed Amo,' I said. 'That makes two murders.'
'Arno could have lived, but he wouldn't cooperate. He was a key man. In his position he could have endangered Group Condor.'
'Is that what you call your group of murdering hijackers?' I retorted.
He flushed. ‘Puerio, sooner or later you will understand. Group Condor,..'
Then, thinking perhaps that by arguing I was playing for time, he ordered bluntly, 'Take that old goat away! Lock up the girl, too, for the moment. She's worth more to us than he is.' 'She's only the sail-maker!' I expostulated. 'Ah!' he echoed. 'Only the sail-maker! For what sails!'
His jeer reduced me to silence. What other game might Kay also be playing? I simply could not believe it.
'Clear the passageway,' Grohman ordered as the thug marched Sir James out in front of him. 'No one is to leave their quarters from now on – understood?'
Jim Yell, I thought, wasn't the sort of man who would take kindly to being pushed around. Nor any others of the crew. They were paratroopers, trained to kill.
