As Rashkin left the bridge the two teams of invaders, one led by Palme, the other by Max Kellerman, had silently despatched five of the thirty East Germans guarding the ship. They were also putting into effect the second part of Beaurain's plan — which involved stationing men at the head of all companionways and exits leading to the main deck. Anyone attempting to mount the steps from a lower deck would immediately feel the impact of a harpoon. Both to port and starboard Stig and Max were now in control of the rear half of the ship. Only one man was facing problems: Henderson was in danger of losing his life.
*
The magnetic clamps Henderson had activated held him by the forearms and legs to the huge steel blade as he fought to complete his task. He was now lifted clear of the Baltic which was flashing past below at incredible speed. And the forward movement of the hydrofoil was creating a powerful wind which blew in his face, half- blinding his face-mask with spume and surf, tearing at his body in its attempt to rip him free from the blade and hurl him down into the water where the stern foils of Kometa would pass over him, cutting him to mince.
' God damn them! '
He had hoped to finish attaching the explosives and to have hauled himself over the rail and onto the ship's deck before the vessel continued its cruise. Cruise? This was more like a bloody race he thought, and when he wiped his face-mask free of surf smears he could see in the distance a flashing lamp. The lighthouse above The Hammer, the dreaded cliffs at the northern tip of the island of Bornholm which they were approaching fast.
As he positioned the second device underneath the foil — out of sight from anyone looking down from the deck above — the vibrations of the engines pounded his body as though he were operating half-a-dozen road drills. Henderson literally found he was shaking like a jelly. Only by making a supreme effort was he able to position the second device, activate first the magnetic clamps which attached it to the blade, then turn the switch which activated both timer and impact systems.
To negotiate the steep-angled support he had to repeat his earlier performance, switching off the magnetic clamps strapped round his left leg and arm, supported only by the other two holding his right forearm and leg. He then had to haul himself higher with his free left leg and arm. The process then had to be reversed so he could climb higher still up the prop, closer to the hull, this time employing his right leg and arm. His progress was not helped by the wind plucking furiously at him, by the roar of the hydrofoil thundering through the dark, by the engine vibrations which were rapidly weakening his remaining physical reserves.
Don't give up or you're finished!
It was the first time Henderson could remember having felt compelled to consider the possibility, and now he was realising it would be wiser never to look down. In his weakened state he was beginning to suffer from vertigo. The sight of the surf-edged water sheeting past below was dizzy-making. Every movement was a reflex of will-power. He didn't really care whether he made it or not — and the thought galvanised him with self- contempt.
A million years later he hauled himself over the rail and collapsed on the deck, lying still while he waited for his natural resilience to assert itself. That was when the machine-gun fire started, punctuated by the crack of stun and fragment grenades.
*
'Give me the gun, Oscar.'
Gunther Baum reached out a hand without looking and Oscar gave him the Luger immediately. The East German was standing on the port side and had no reason at all to suspect anything out of the ordinary. Ahead of him stretched the open deck. He could see dimly the sway of the lifeboats slung from their davits as Kometa showed her honoured guests what she was capable of, moving like a bird. Behind Gunther Baum his companion, Oscar, took a tighter grip on his own automatic weapon now he was no longer concerned with the brief-case.
'Is there something wrong?' Oscar shouted. It was the last sentence he ever uttered. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile hurtled towards him. He screamed and staggered back, Palme's harpoon protruding from his chest. Swiftly Baum, who was concealed in the darkness, aimed at a moving shadow and fired. The shadow dropped. Baum shouted in German at the top of his voice.
'Mass on the bridge! Withdraw from the deck!' Then he unscrewed his silencer and fired into the air twice.
Theoretically it was sound strategy, as Palme was the first to recognise. Baum was planning on assembling his men on the ship's equivalent of the high ground the bridge from where they could pour a hail of gunfire down onto the intruders approaching from the deck below.
Baum reached the bridge because of the swiftness of his movements, running crouched up the steps and pressing himself upright against the rear of the bridge. From here he could see exactly what was happening. He witnessed a massacre — of his own troops.
On the port side Palme projected the beam of a powerful lamp on his staircase; on the starboard side Kellerman employed the same tactic. Caught in the glare of the two lights, the MfS men jammed on the staircases were targets which could not be missed. There was a continuous rattle of automatic fire from the Telescope men and Baum saw his guards collapsing and tumbling over each other as they went back down the staircases. He raised his Luger and aimed it at the glaring lamp. As though anticipating he had pushed his luck far enough, Palme turned off the lamp at that moment and jumped to one side. Two bullets from Baum's Luger thudded harmlessly into the woodwork beside him.
It was Henderson, emerging on the rear of the bridge from the starboard side, who saw the almost invisible Gunther Baum pressed close to the woodwork. A brief glimpse, he pinpointed his position when the German fired his two bullets. Taking a grenade from his pocket, Henderson removed the pin, counted and then rolled it along the deck. The grenade stopped rolling a few inches from the feet of Gunther Baum. There was a flash which illuminated the whole of the rear of the bridge, showing Baum as its sole occupant, a thunder-crack as the grenade detonated. Baum fell forward, arms out-stretched, slithered over the rail and hit the deck below.
It was time to storm the interior of the bridge, take complete control of the vessel — and destroy it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
'Slow down to five knots,' Rashkin ordered as he ran back onto the bridge. He had come up from below via a small stairwell which led to his cabin and the main dining-room.
'Slow down?' Livanov was confused.
'For Christ's sake give the order — we are under attack.'
He broke off as he heard a loud explosion beyond the rear of the bridge. He did not know that this had killed Baum but he immediately grasped that the opposition had won — they had reached bridge level. Without issuing further orders he disappeared down the small stairwell, paused cautiously at the bottom, a Walther automatic in his hand, saw that the passageway was deserted and ran to his cabin.
He had already warned all his guests to remain in the dining-room, assuring them that they were in the safest place, that the intruders would be dealt with speedily. Rashkin had sensed that Baum's defences were being overwhelmed, that this would be followed by the destruction of Kometa and all aboard her. Someone was taking violent vengeance for the killing of Jules Beaurain. Telescope were in action.
The speed of Kometa had been considerably reduced by the time he reached the cabin. A man of great agility, it took him hardly any time to strip off his outer clothes and wriggle himself into the skin-diver's suit he had brought aboard secretly in a hold-all bag. Rashkin had only survived in his present position by always preparing for every contingency — and he never neglected his escape route.
As he unscrewed the porthole cover he was armed with two weapons — a sheath knife and the waterproof watch attached to his wrist. It was most fortunate that his cabin was on the starboard side. As he swung back the cover he could see clearly the warning flashes of the lighthouse above The Hammer on Bornholm. And he calculated the hydrofoil was no more than a couple of miles from the Danish island.
Climbing backwards through the porthole, he lowered himself until his body was hanging against the hull, supported only by his hands. He let go without hesitation or trepidation, knowing that at this position there was no risk of his hitting the submerged foil — the speed had dropped to five knots and the vessel was moving like an ordinary ship. There was a risk, however, in getting caught in the stern undertow, hurled into the wake and
