Those in Peril (Unlocked) (8 page)

‘Hi, Tim!’ He smiled at the operator as he looked up from his book.

‘Rogier, what the hell are you doing up here? You know this station is out of bounds.’

Rogier pointed past his shoulder. ‘Why is that red light flashing, Tim?’ he asked and Tim swivelled his chair quickly.

‘What red light?’ he demanded, and Rogier brought the pistol out from behind his back and shot Tim at the point where his top vertebrae joined his skull. The bullet blew out between his eyes in a bright burst of blood and brain matter which splattered over the radio panel. Tim toppled out of the chair and slid to the deck. Rogier turned swiftly and found that his men already had their guns on Jetson and the helmsman.

‘By Christ, Moreau. You have murdered that man . . .’ Jetson’s voice shook with shock and outrage. He started towards Rogier. Rogier lifted the pistol and shot him in the centre of his chest. Jetson clasped the wound with both hands and stood swaying slightly.

‘Are you mad?’ he whispered, shaking his head in awed disbelief.

‘You must kill the officers immediately. They are the ones who will organize any resistance,’ Rogier’s grandfather had ordered him, so Rogier shot Jetson twice more in the chest and then watched with professional interest as he staggered backwards into the control panel and collapsed in a huddle.

‘Secure the crew. They can be useful later as bargaining chips,’ his grandfather had ordered. Rogier nodded to his men and they pinioned the helmsman’s arms behind his back and bound his wrists together with a heavy-duty nylon cable tie. Rogier went past him to the control panel of the yacht and moved the engine telegraphs to the ‘Stop’ position. The vibration of the engines through the deck under his feet died away and he felt the subtle change in her motion as the
Amorous Dolphin
lost her forward way.

‘Sit down.’ Rogier turned to the helmsman. ‘Don’t move until you are told to do so.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Rogier . . .’ the helmsman pleaded, but Rogier shoved the pistol into his ribs and with his arms still pinioned the helmsman dropped hurriedly to the deck and sat in the spreading puddle of Jetson’s blood. It soaked into his breeches.

Rogier left one of his men on guard and led the rest of them to the lower deck. He stopped outside the door to the captain’s suite. In his capacity as a ship’s steward he had his pass key to let himself into any cabin which was not doubled-locked. Rogier had brought Franklin his coffee at 6 a.m. daily, so he knew from experience that the captain never double-locked. The door slid open quietly and Rogier stepped into the sitting room of the suite. He switched on the desk light and saw that the door to the bedroom was open a crack. There was the sound of heavy snoring from the cabin beyond. He crossed the sitting room and looked through into the bedroom. Franklin lay on his back on his bunk, on top of the bedclothes. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts. His paunch was protuberant, pale and covered with grey and straggly hair. His mouth hung open and the regular snores sawed up his throat. Rogier went to him and held the muzzle of the Tokarev half an inch from his ear. He fired a single shot. Franklin gulped noisily and cut off halfway through the next exhalation, but after that he made no further sound or movement. Rogier fired a second shot into his brain. Then he reloaded the magazine of the pistol, and led his men out of the cabin and down to the main salon.

Uncle Kamal came to embrace him as soon as he entered. ‘May Allah hold you to his bosom. You have done God’s work this day, Adam.’ He made a gesture to indicate the row of other prisoners squatting on the deck with their hands pinioned behind their backs. ‘Are these all of them? Is anyone missing?’

Rogier counted the heads of the squatting crew members swiftly. ‘Yes, they are all here. The captain, the first officer, the cook and the radio operator are in the cruel clutches of Iblis, the Devil, where they belong. The other missing crewman is the helmsman who is under guard on the bridge.’ He pointed out Georgie Porgie, the purser. ‘Keep that one here,’ he ordered, ‘I will deal with him later.’ Then he singled out the two junior officers and the chief engineer. ‘Those are officers. Take them to the stern and shoot them. Throw the bodies overboard.’ He was speaking in Arabic so his victims were unaware of their fate as they were hoisted to their feet and led away.

Rogier waited for the sound of gunfire before he went on. ‘That accounts for every infidel aboard except the girl. She will still be asleep in her cabin.’ He smiled bleakly as he recalled the exhausted state in which he had left Cayla, utterly worn out by his copulatory expertise. ‘I will go down and fetch her now. Meanwhile, Uncle Kamal, you must go up to the bridge and get the ship under way again.’

C
ayla was not certain what had awakened her. She thought she must have heard something. She sat up sleepily on the rumpled bed and listened with her head on one side. The sound was not repeated but something else had changed. Sleep slowed her mind so it took another few seconds for her to realize that the ship’s engines had stopped, and she was rolling ponderously to the scend of the sea.

‘That’s strange.’ She was unconcerned. ‘We cannot possibly have reached port yet.’ Then she realized that her bladder was uncomfortably full. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She braced herself to the unusual motion of the yacht and then staggered to the bathroom. She perched on the toilet and sighed with relief as she emptied her bladder. She stood up and started back towards the bed. Moonlight was pouring in through the porthole that looked out over the owner’s private deck and swimming pool. She was awake now and she paused at the porthole to look out at the starry sky and the dark sea. There was no wake pouring back behind the stern and she realized that her first impression was correct. The
Dolphin
had stopped. She thought that she would telephone the bridge and find out from the officer of the watch what was happening, but at that moment a shadow passed the porthole, and she realized that there was somebody out there on the private deck. Immediately she was angry. That area was strictly out of bounds to the crew. She and her mother used it for nude sunbathing and swimming. Now she would certainly call the bridge and have the trespasser castigated. But before she turned away another figure came into her line of sight. He was dressed in dark clothing and had a black Arab shawl wound around his head to cover his face, leaving only his eyes showing. They glinted as he turned towards her. He paused in front of the porthole and peered in. She shrank back in alarm. The man put his face against the glass and raised one hand to shade his eyes, and she realized that the moonlight was insufficient to enable him to see into the darkened cabin. His demeanour was furtive but at the same time menacing. She held her breath and stood frozen with terror. He seemed to be staring into her eyes, but after a few seconds he stepped back from the porthole. With another pang of fear she saw that he had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. He vanished from her view but immediately three more dark figures filed swiftly and silently past the porthole. All of them carried automatic weapons.

Now she realized that it must have been the sound of rifle fire that had woken her. She had to get help. She was terrified and shaking. She ran back into her cabin and snatched the satellite telephone from the bedside table. Frantically she dialled the bridge. There was no reply but she let it ring while she tried to think what to do next. There was only one other person she could appeal to. She dialled her mother’s private line. Hazel’s recorded voice instructed her to leave a message. She rang off and immediately dialled again with the same result.

‘Oh, Mummy! Mummy! Please help me.’ She whimpered and began to compose a text message on her mobile phone, her thumbs flying over the keys as she typed.

She stopped in mid-sentence. There was somebody at the door of her cabin. Somebody was opening the lock with a pass key. She punched the send button on her mobile phone and threw the device into the drawer of her beside table and slammed it shut. In almost the same movement she sprang from the bed. She rushed to the door and threw her weight against it as it began to open.

‘Go away. Get away from me, whoever you are,’ she screamed hysterically. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘Cayla! It’s me, Rogier. Let me in, Cayla. It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.’

‘Rogier! Oh, thank the sweet Lord. Is it really you?’ She jerked the door open and for a moment stared at him in disbelief, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and then she sobbed with relief. ‘Rogier! Oh, Rogier.’ She flung herself against his chest and clung to him with desperate strength. He held her with one arm and stroked her hair with the other hand.

‘Don’t be afraid. It’s all going to be just fine.’

She shook her head wildly and blurted, ‘No! You don’t understand. There were men here. One of them looked into the cabin. There were others with him! Men! Horrible men. They all had guns. And I heard shooting . . .’

‘Listen to me, my darling. It’s all going to be all right. I will explain to you later. But nobody is going to hurt you. You must be brave. I want you to get dressed. We have to leave here. Dress warmly, Cayla. Wear your waterproof coat. It will be cold outside.’ He reached over her shoulder and switched on the main cabin lights. ‘You must hurry, Cayla.’

‘Where are we going, Rogier?’ She pulled back and stared into his face. Then her eyes went down to his chest. ‘You are bleeding, Rogier. There is blood all over you.’

‘Just do as I tell you, damn it. We haven’t got much time. Get dressed.’ He took her arm and led her forcibly towards her spacious walk-in cupboard. He shoved her through the door. The shelves on both sides were crammed with clothing, and more dresses and trousers were strewn carelessly over the couches and chairs and even the deck in untidy profusion. On her makeup table stood dozens of pots and jars and bottles of creams and unguents and perfumes, many of them without their tops screwed back.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she protested. ‘Let go of my arm.’ He ignored the plea, picking up a pair of strawberry-pink corduroy jeans from a chair and thrusting them at her.

‘Here, put those on. Hurry!’ But she stood frozen and staring at the pistol in the holster at his side.

‘That’s a gun! Where did you get it from, Rogier? I don’t understand. You’re all splashed with blood, but it’s not yours, is it? And you have got a gun.’ She started to back away from him. ‘Who are you? What are you, tell me that.’

‘I do not want to hurt you, Cayla, but you must do exactly as I tell you.’

She shook her head wildly. ‘No! Leave me alone. You can’t do this to me.’

He caught her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her back. Then he began to lift her slowly by the wrist alone. Her cries of defiance became squeals of agony, but he kept on lifting her until she was standing on the tips of her toes. Her squeals became louder and sharper, until she capitulated.

‘Stop, please stop, Rogier,’ she blubbered. ‘I will do anything you want, only don’t hurt me any more.’ He was pleased with how little it took to break her resolve. There had been others who had died still resisting him. This way he was spared so much time and effort. She dressed herself without looking at his face again, her head hanging and an occasional sob bursting past her lips. When she had finished he took her by the elbow and led her into the bedroom.

‘Where is your mobile phone, Cayla?’ he demanded. She shook her head sullenly, but could not prevent herself glancing at the drawer of the bedside table.

‘Thank you.’

He yanked the drawer open and took out the phone. He opened the ‘Sent Messages’ list and read aloud the words she had sent to her mother only minutes before: ‘“Terrible things happening. Strange men with guns” . . . I wish you had not done that, Cayla. You have only made it more difficult for yourself,’ he said in a mild tone, and then struck her another vicious open-handed blow across the face that snapped her head to one side and sent her sprawling to the deck. ‘No more tricks like that, please. I don’t enjoy punishing you, but I will if you force me to it.’

He opened the back cover of the device and took the Sim card from its slot, slipped it into the side pocket of his windcheater and zipped it closed. Then he tossed the phone aside. He stooped and grabbed her elbow again and hauled her to her feet. Gripping her arm he marched her out of the cabin and down the companionway to the main salon. She gasped with shock and pulled back against Rogier’s grip when she saw the crew squatting on the deck with bound arms and the masked men standing over them with levelled rifles.