Eden's Gate (18 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: Eden's Gate
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They heard a bump and then a splash as if a section of grating had been opened and something had been thrown into the bilge.
“Come on now, John, time is running out,” Speyer called.
 
Lane sprinted back to the starboard stairs and took them two at a time to the main deck, taking care to make as little noise as possible. The thwartship corridor was empty when he peered out. He dashed across to the forward stairs and slipped inside, leaving the door behind him open a crack so that he could watch what happened.
Seconds later Baumann emerged from the port stairwell, a Glock 17 in his fist. He rushed down the corridor and cautiously opened the starboard stairwell hatch. He listened for a few seconds, then disappeared inside.
It would take them only a minute or so to discover that Lane had gotten past them and come looking. In the meantime he had to get a message off to the U.S. Coast Guard in Miami, and then warn the crew that they were all about to be killed. But he still had no idea
what Speyer's real plan had been all along. He was sure that it had absolutely nothing to do with the Cuban government redeeming a bunch of Nazi diamonds. But he didn't know what else it was. It depended on what was really sealed inside the box.
He stuffed the Glock into his belt as he hurried upstairs. He didn't want to confront the crew until he'd sent off his radio message. If he ran into one of them while toting a pistol, questions would be asked that might slow him down. He was pretty sure that the crewmen were innocent, and he wanted to keep the casualties to a minimum.
He had to cross a thwartship corridor at each level, but he didn't see anyone. It was as if the
Maria
was a ghost ship.
When he reached the bridge deck he stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath. The bridge was forward, down a short corridor. To the starboard were the chart room, exercise room, and the radar power supplies and control units. To the port was the radio room. The cabins for the officers and guests were along the thwartship corridor here and one deck down, where the officers' mess and galley were located.
From his vantage point amidships he could see straight down the short corridor onto the bridge and, through the windows, the star-studded sky. But he couldn't see anyone.
Keeping an eye on the bridge, Lane went to the radio room door, listened for a moment, knocked once and let himself in. The room was in total darkness.
Finding the switch, Lane closed and locked the door and flipped on the lights. All of the radio equipment was dead. The switches were all in the ON position, but the dials and indicators were dark. The big circuit breaker panel on the rear bulkhead seemed to be intact, but there was no power to it either. The circuit had probably been cut below in the ship's electrical generating plant adjacent to the engines.
But they were still sailing, which meant there still had to be power to the bridge.
 
Speyer lowered his gun when it was finally clear that Browne had slipped past them. “It's up to you, Spiro. Either you're with us or you're not.”
“It was that bastard Zimmer—”
“I don't care whose fault it was. What's it going to be? We still need your help.”
Metaxas was a practical Greek. He glanced at Baumann, then back to Speyer. The wound in his side ached, but it had stopped bleeding. It was just a scratch. “What do you want me to do?”
“Good man,” Speyer said, and he handed the first mate's gun back to him. “I'm going to retrieve the diamonds. You and Ernst are going to find Browne. I don't want him killed unless it's absolutely necessary.” Speyer gave Baumann a hard look. “You understand, don't you, Ernst?”
Baumann nodded.
“He's probably on the bridge deck trying to radio for help.”
“Power's been cut to the radio room, and all the antenna leads have been cut,” Metaxas said.
“But the bridge still has power,” Speyer said. “As soon as you've taken care of Browne we're going to blow the ship and take the captain's launch out to the rendezvous point. We'll sink it, too, so there won't be any evidence.”
“Digging out Browne might not be so easy as all that,” Baumann warned.
“There are two of you,” Speyer shot back. “And as soon as I'm done down here I'll come up to help out if need be. Just watch yourself. We're almost home free.”
 
The bridge was deserted, but there was power to all the controls and panels, and both radar sets were up and operating. They were in the Gulf Stream off the Florida Keys where shipping was fairly heavy. Although he couldn't spot any running lights out the windows, the were several targets on the radar screens.
Lane closed and dogged the hatch, then quickly studied the controls. The
Maria
was on autopilot, steering a course a little south of west, and making fifteen knots. The primary GPS showed the ship's latitude and longitude.
Lane cranked the autopilot to a new course well north of west, which headed them directly across the shipping lanes toward the coast of Florida fifty or sixty miles away. If Speyer cut the engines now, or sank the ship, the course wouldn't matter. But in the meantime they were headed in the right direction.
Power was still connected to the two VHF radios on the overhead. They were low wattage with a range of twenty-five miles or less, but there were ships that close.
Lane keyed one of the mikes. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is
the motor vessel
Maria
calling the U.S. Coast Guard Station Miami or any ship within hailing distance, we are sinking. Our position is twenty-four degrees fifty minutes north, eighty-one degrees twenty minutes west, heading northwest across the Stream. We have been hijacked by an unknown number of heavily armed men. Mayday, mayday, this is the motor vessel
Maria
.”
 
Baumann and Metaxas, their guns drawn, had positioned themselves on either side of the bridge door. They could make out Browne's voice, though not the words.
“He's calling for help,” Metaxas whispered.
“I thought you said that the antenna leads were cut?”
“They are. Nobody's going to hear him. But he's changed course. Northwest, it feels like. Toward Miami. Puts us across the shipping lanes. Means it's not going to be such a good idea sinking this ship with witnesses.”
Baumann thought it out. He didn't want to get caught and thrown in jail, not now that they were so close. He was too old to go to prison. “Is there another way out of there?”
“Captain Zimmer had me fix the port and starboard wing hatches so they couldn't be opened from the inside in case we had trouble up here with the crew. This is his only way out.”
“Where the hell is the crew? I haven't seen anyone since dinner.”
“Sealed in the crew's mess. Four steel doors, all welded shut.”
“Jesus.” Baumann had always thought that he was tough, but this was way over the top.
“Don't give me that look,” Metaxas said defensively. “It was your captain and mine who cooked up that scheme, not me. Besides, they won't drown. When the plastic explosives go up they'll all be killed instantly.” Metaxas grinned. “It's more humane that way.”
“Captain Speyer is probably launching the gig. Get down there and tell him what's going on. I'll hold Browne here until you get back.”
 
Speyer and his wife were on the port quarterdeck swinging the captain's gig over the side on her electric davits when Metaxas showed up. “Where's Ernst?”
“He's got Browne cornered on the bridge.” Metaxas explained the situation. Gloria looked at him as if he were something she'd found under a rock. He wanted five minutes with her, just five, and her attitude would definitely change for the better.
“Get back up there with a welding torch and seal the door. As soon as you're done we'll blow the ship and then get the hell out.”
“Don't be late,” Gloria said, smiling. She was enjoying herself. “We wouldn't want to leave without you.”
Metaxas shot her a dirty look, then hurried back up to the bridge deck. He pulled a small acetylene torch from the emergency stores locker and wheeled it back to where Baumann was stationed by the steel hatch to the bridge.
“He's still on the radio,” Baumann said, eyeing the torch. “Hurry.” This was a bad business. He had developed a lot of respect for the South African. But orders were orders.
Metaxas cracked the gas lines, held the torch away from his body, and lit it with a scratcher. When he had the mix right he pulled on a pair of dark goggles. Holding a welding rod at the seam just above the door lock, he drew a couple of quick beads to hold the door from being forced open. Then he started the full weld from the top.
 
Baumann called from the other side of the door when the welding was done. “Sorry about this, John.”
“Yeah, I know. It's nothing personal, just orders, right?” Lane said. He had checked both wing doors. They were sealed, too.
“Something like that. You would be in the way. You couldn't be a part of our plans. Not this.”
“What about the crew?” The only way out of here was through the windows. But they were probably polycarbonate plastic, almost impossible to break. They were designed to take waves breaking over the decks.
“They're going down with the ship, too,” Baumann said. “But they'll be dead first.”
“I'm sure that's a comfort for them,” Lane said. When Baumann didn't reply, Lane went back to the door. “Wait a minute, Ernst,” he shouted. “Did you find the diamonds? Can you tell me that much?”
“We found them. Helmut fished them out of the bilge.”
“I've radioed for help,” Lane called, but there was no answer. “Ernst!” He put his ear to the door but there were no sounds except for the distant vibration of the engines.
He wanted to believe that there was no reason for the bastards to kill the crew. But if he was a man in Speyer's position he knew that he would have to do the same thing.
Saving them was going to be impossible, but he would be damned
if he was going down with the
Maria
. Speyer and company had not seen the last of him. Not yet.
 
Gloria was safely aboard the launch, Baumann at the wheel, when Metaxas emerged from the port quarter hatch, an evil grin on his face. “Three minutes,” he said.
Speyer, waiting by the rail, raised his pistol and shot the first officer in the face, knocking him off his feet.
He cocked an ear to listen, but he couldn't hear a thing except for the ship's engines. He'd actually done it; against all odds, and despite Thomas Mann's warnings, he'd pulled it off.
Stuffing the pistol in his belt, Speyer dragged the first officer's body back inside the superstructure, then closed and dogged the hatch. It wouldn't do to have the odd body floating around out here. There would be debris, and an oil slick, of course. But by the time the authorities came out here to investigate, the Gulf Stream would have carried the evidence far to the north. Still, there was no need to take chances.
He hurried down the boarding ladder to the launch which was bobbing wildly on the waves streaming past the
Maria'
s hull and jumped aboard. He released the line and motioned for Baumann to head off.
“Where's the Greek?” Gloria asked her husband.
“Unfortunately he won't be joining us. He had a little accident.” Speyer caressed her cheek. “You did a good job for us, sweetheart.”
“Some of it wasn't acting, you know,” she replied. He grinned and looked back toward the
Maria
, missing the angry expression on her face.
They were a long ways off when Speyer checked his watch. He looked up as the dark outline of the ship seemed to shiver and a low-throated thump like very distant thunder came to them.
“Did something go wrong?” Gloria demanded.
“Look,” Speyer said. Already the
Maria
was sharply down on her lines, down at the bow where some of the explosives had blown a huge hole just beneath the water line. The engines were still driving the ship forward, and they would help propel her underwater very quickly now.
Speyer clapped his hands in delight, missing another odd look from his wife and one from Baumann. But even if he had seen them he wouldn't have cared. He was going to be the king.
 
 
Lane had discharged the second fire extinguisher against the port wing window when the explosions seemed to lift the big ship five feet straight up into the air, knocking him sideways. He regained his balance, turned the fire extinguisher around, and slammed it against the window. A spiderweb of cracks appeared. The tough polycarbonate plastic had been weakened by the extreme cold of the carbon dioxide. He smashed the base of the fire extinguisher into the window again, completely shattering it like an automobile window in an accident.

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