Counterpoint (19 page)

Max and Carla were soon ready to leave,
they had not unpacked their luggage since they boarded, so they
just added what was left. The statuette box was re-wrapped, and
everything moved on deck as the small helicopter landed. Collins
was thinking fast, if the box he saw had the artefact, he must stay
with it. If it did not contain the statuette, then he needed to
stay on the ship and investigate further. His gut told him to stay
with the box.

“Captain, could I return in the
helicopter? It would save you having to take me back in your
launch.”

Steel knew what was in the box, though
he never let on. His instinct told him there were too many
coincidences happening, all at once.

“No, I am afraid that will not be
possible. My guests have a private charter so I cannot let
you.”

“Well, why don’t I ask them, myself?”
And Collins walked away towards Max, before Steel could say no.

Above the noise of the idling engine
and whirring rotors, Geoff Collins asked Max for a lift, it was
imperative he returned straight away because he was a diabetic and
needed medication. He lied convincingly that the captain has
suggested it. Collins added “but of course it is your
decision.”

Max could see no harm in it and ushered
him aboard.

“What’s in the box, the Crown Jewels?”
Collins asked. His eyes, though warm and friendly, focused intently
on Max’s. Yes, there it was, the telltale down to the right
movement of the eyes. Max hesitated and then replied, “No, it’s
just some equipment” Collins knew, before Max spoke, it was going
to be a lie, but why lie unless it was like the Crown Jewels.

The package was exactly the right size
and Max would not let anyone else near it, he even had it strapped
in the seat.

Max moved the box off the seat to make
way for the new passenger who had settled in and strapped up.

Carla arrived on deck and bent over
whilst holding her hair in place as she approached the helicopter.
She had a shock when she looked up at the man sat there. She
quickly turned and walked back to Max.

“Who is that she asked?”

“I don’t know, Stan, somebody, the
Captain wants us to take him back with us.”

“Max! When I touched the statuette I
saw the face of this man, and he will be trouble, big trouble.”

Carla was sincere, he knew that, but
surely, she must be mistaken. What could this man do, alone?

“OK, I’ll ask him to get off. But what
about his insulin, he needs to get back to take it” persisted
Max.

“The ship’s doctor must have some, if
not, one of the stewards has. He has diabetes.”

Max thought again. Okay, and then set
off, grudgingly, to break the unwelcome news to their
passenger.

Collins had lip-read most of what was
said, so he knew what was coming. He reached into his pocket and
pulled out a knife. With one swift movement, he leaned forward and
held the blade across the throat of the pilot in front of him.

“Take her up!” Collins demanded. The
pilot only hesitated for a moment, just until he felt the stinging
sensation of a cut on his throat as Collins slid the scalpel-sharp
blade lightly across his skin. It was only a long nick actually,
but there was blood, his blood!

The engine note rose, and rotors gained
speed rapidly. Max and several members of the crew rushed forward
as the machine started to lift off. Max grabbed a coiled tie-rope
used to hold the craft in position on the pad in high winds. He
leapt onto the front of a lifting skid and looped the rope around
it a couple of turns. With the skid under his armpit to hold on,
and the other hand holding the rope tight to stop it slipping, he
hung there.

The helicopter lurched wildly with its
front corner tethered to the ship. Collins faced a Mexican
standoff. The pilot could not break the tether, no matter how much
he wanted to. No one on the helideck could hear Collins threat to
kill the pilot, above the engine noise, so they would not release
the tether. He could not kill the pilot anyway, because he could
not fly himself. Cut the tether was the only solution. Collins
unbuckled and tried to climb onto the skid. The pilot saw his
chance, landed the craft with a jolt, and jumped out before Collins
could get back to him. Max leapt clear when the craft went down,
still clinging to the loose end of the rope, just in case the
helicopter went up again.

The crew rushed Collins and overpowered
him. They took him below, and locked him in a storeroom.

***

Wilson, Philippe’s man watching the
Ocean Raider, rubbed his tired eyes and stood up stretching his
long limbs. The constant vigil was boring, nothing was happening on
the Ocean Raider, his cramped cabin was sweltering even with the
windows, and hatches open. The air temperature had not changed much
from midday, but the low angle of the evening sun reduced the solar
gain through the glass considerably, bringing some relief.

He reached for the mug of black coffee,
it was barely warm having been standing for 15 minutes; however, it
was wet, and the shot of caffeine would keep him going a little
longer.

The approaching launch with Geoff
Collins aboard, caught Wilson’s attention. It appeared to be moving
away from its earlier course parallel to the shore, to a position
close to the Ocean Raider. Through his powerful binoculars, he
could see the two men clearly. The one at the helm looked like a
local man, the other, a craggy faced man, looked tense and
vigilant. “He looks a mean and ugly bastard,” thought Wilson. “Not
a person you’d want to meet in a dark alley.”

Wilson was surprised and intrigued at
what was happening on board. It appeared the man at the helm had
locked it, lifted the engine cover and fiddled about with the fuel
pipe. It looked like he had kinked the plastic pipe deliberately,
replaced the cover, and carried on steering until the engine died
of fuel starvation. The regular note of the engine was barely
audible in the distance, but then suddenly it cut out. Now they
were flashing a lamp, waving and shouting to attract attention from
the crew of the Ocean Raider.

Wilson called in his report to
Philippe.

“Such a strange thing to do,” thought
Philippe, “unless you wanted a good reason to board the Ocean
Raider. What better way, than claim you have engine trouble.”

“Full speed,” demanded Philippe and the
powerful cruiser surged forward at a good 50 knots. “It looks like
we may have competition,” he shouted to his second in command, over
the thundering roar of the twin turbo diesels.

Wilson watched and reported all he saw
until the two men went into the lounge.

Later, more activity was taking place
on the deck around the helicopter pad; perhaps one was due.

The last communication from the Ocean
Raider, a few minutes ago was scrambled, so something crucial was
about to happen.

Philippe was getting worried now. He
had come all this way and was so close to retrieving the statuette.
Nothing must go wrong.

“Can’t you get more speed out of this
thing,” demanded Philippe angrily. The helmsmen shook his head,
“No, it's flat out, I am trying to pick the best course to get
there quicker, that’s all I can do.”

Wilson reported the approach and then
the landing of the helicopter. Philippe went mad with rage; he was
just 15 minutes away from the ship and nothing more could be done
to shorten the time.

He screamed to no one in particular,
“those fuckers are going to get away with my statuette again, and
there is nothing I can do about it.” He kicked out furiously at the
engine hatch cover, hurting his foot. He went silent with inwardly
seething rage at losing out again, and having lost his composure in
front of his men. He growled to himself “This fucking daughter of
mine and the imbecilic old fool with her, must have charmed lives,
but not for much fucking longer. I’ll hunt them down wherever they
go and then they will pay.” His men said nothing, but tensely
gripped the boat, willing it to get there on time.

The following report from Wilson
mentioned loading the box. A few minutes later Wilson gave a
running commentary on the take-off of the tethered helicopter and
its sudden landing again. Next, he reported the overpowering of the
craggy faced man and being escorted away from the machine, by the
crew.

Philippe felt some relief; he might
still get to the ship before the helicopter took off again.

The Helicopter pilot was in a state of
shock, he had never faced death before. The knife at his throat was
bad enough, but the blood from the long surface cut was all his!
The front of his white shirt stained with it. Trembling and feeling
terribly weak, two of the crew helped him to the doctor’s surgery
where they cleaned him up and applied a dressing.

Max and Carla waited on deck near the
running helicopter to keep an eye on the box. They were taking no
chances of anyone snatching it now.

Captain Steel told them the pilot was
feeling better after being cleaned up, and would still take them to
the airport in about 10 minutes.

***

Geoff Collins looked around the small,
1.5-metre by 2.0-metre steel box of a storeroom. There was no
window or ventilation opening, just the single door. The enclosed
bulkhead light had been turned on by one of the two crewmen, who
brought him down to the room, so he looked around to find a way
out. The crew had searched him before locking him in, so he had
nothing on him, not even his lighter and cigarettes.

The room contained stacks of deep bin
type containers holding cleaning fluids, cleaning equipment such as
brooms, mops and a powerful vacuum cleaner on one side and linen
and crockery on the other. Some bins had locked fronts. If they
contained anything useful, it was out of reach.

He studied the door. It opened out, so
the hinges and tenon parts of the lock were not accessible. He
peered through the keyhole and could make out only one of the crew
left to guard him. Presumably the helmsmen who had boarded with him
was also locked away somewhere.

A thought crossed his mind, and he
reached for the mop. No, that was no good; the thick wire that
bound the tassels to the pole was too strong, so he put the mop
back. Sifting through the linen was next, but no, there was nothing
he could use there either. Then he spotted some white overalls that
had fallen to the floor at some time. As he picked them up, he
noticed the wire coat hanger inside them, just what he wanted. He
quickly fashioned the hooked end into an L shape suitable for
picking the lock. As he worked the wire in the door lock, he kicked
the door and shouted continuously, to mask the faint metallic
scratching noise from the lock pick.

He eventually felt the lock tenon trawl
back, now for the next part of his plan. Collins stopped making any
noise at all and peered through the keyhole, to see what his guard
was doing. The guard looked towards the door, relieved the din had
stopped and then looked away. Then Collins made a noise with the
wire in the lock as though he was trying to pick it. The guard now
looked across at the door, took out his keys, and walked towards
the door. He intended to leave the key in the lock to prevent
Collins from picking it.

Just as the guard inserted the key
Collins turned the handle and barged the heavy steel door. It swung
open with considerable force catching the guard in the face, and
sending him crashing against the far wall. Collins leapt on him and
with two swift punches, rendered him unconscious.

Collins dragged the man into the
storeroom, closed, and locked the door. He crept along the passage
to the captain’s cabin and went in.

He soon found the keys to the gun
locker and selected a 38 automatic and several clips of ammunition.
He made his way back up on deck.

Philippe could now see the Ocean
Raider. He grew anxious at the sight of the helicopter with the
rotors turning; it could take off at any moment.

“Take the boat in at an arc, towards
the boarding steps that are still lowered, and cut the engine,”
commanded Philippe. “We might be able to drift in unnoticed and
board her.”

“John, you’re the best shot, pick off
anyone who goes near the helicopter, but don’t hit the machine. I
don’t want it in flames or exploding.” John dashed into the cabin
and fitted his sniper scope to a powerful rifle.

Nobody aboard the Ocean Raider noticed
the speeding cruiser, as it swung towards the ship and cut its
engines. The loud whine from the helicopter drowned out the sound
of it throttling back.

The cruiser glided in
towards the boarding steps and bumped noisily into Collins launch,
alongside. The only person who heard the impact was Collins. His
senses were highly tuned for trouble. He peeped out of the cabin,
seeing nothing, he moved to the rail and looked over. The
phut
of a suppressor and
buzz of a bullet as it plucked the shoulder of his jacket, made him
leap back.

“Christ! Someone else is after the
box,” he muttered to himself.

Keeping low, he scuttled towards the
top of the boarding steps and waited; ready to ambush anyone
climbing up. He could also see the helicopter from this position,
and prevent it taking off without him.

Two heads appeared as men climbed up
the boarding steps. They were facing the rear of the ship, watching
the crew and helicopter. When they cautiously turned and saw
Collins, they were surprised he had escaped from wherever the crew
had locked him up. Two shots rang out, and both heads exploded, as
the massive 45 calibre bullets smashed their way through their
skulls.

Yells went up from the crew at the
sound of gunfire. The captain ordered an officer to issue firearms,
whilst everyone took cover.

Heavy covering fire broke out from the
cruiser as three men rushed up the boarding steps. Collins dared
not look down in case they shot him.